#THEY ARE CANON AS OF THIS CHAPTER YOU CANNOT CHANGE MY MIND | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thetriumphantpanda · 9 months

Text

a woman's voice, i quickly ran

In The Woods Somewhere | Chapter One

Chapter Summary | Joel has been wandering for weeks, aimlessly listing through the forest as he scouts a new patrol path. He's gone much further than he needs, could easily turn back, which he almost does, until he stumbles across you and your coven of children, hiding out in the forest.

Chapter Warnings | Consumption of food, canon typical violence, descriptions of child death and dead bodies, mention of weapons, mention of religion, religious trauma, mention of a cult, swearing, child loss, allusions to controlling behaviour and domestic abuse, allusions to dirty thoughts but nothing explicit yet, age gap relationship in future chapters, no use of y/n.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 6.3K

Authors Note | Well, here we fucking go right? I definitely didn't need another WIP, but I seriously couldn't leave this one alone so here we are. Like I said on the masterlist drop, this is different from what I've written before. It's challenging me in the best way and I really cannot wait to share more with you. If you enjoy this then please consider reblogging, leaving comments or popping into my ask with your thoughts - I love hearing from you guys! And also consider leaving a tip on Ko-Fi if you enjoyed as well - I'm a poor student so anything really helps, but no pressure.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Joel’s boots sink into the ground underfoot. It rained last night. He’s thankful he managed to find an abandoned cabin along the way yesterday before the heaven’s opened. This walk would be even more miserable if his clothes had been soaked through as well. Every few steps his feet slip in the mud. He can already feel his ankles screaming at him to stop, but the sky above him is dark grey and threatening to rain once more, so he keeps walking, hoping there’s someone, somewhere looking down on him, taking pity, hoping he can find another cabin to spend the night in.

When he hears a distant rumble of thunder, he curses Tommy, out loud. He’s nowhere near Jackson now, having been convinced to take a scouting mission for this new route they’d stumbled across once the snows of winter had melted away. He feels like he’s been punished. Shunned from his own community. Even though his brain knows that’s not the case. He hasn’t spoken to Ellie in months, his chest constricting tightly when he thinks to her. He's no-one to blame but himself for where he is, but the Lord knows whatever he did, whatever he would continue to do for that girl, he’d do it all again given his second chance.

He can still see Tommy’s face when he came clean. The look of utter despair, the one chance they had at returning to normal, snatched away by Joel and his gun, and then the look of understanding that Joel had found his purpose again, found someone to give his love to. That’s why he’s here now, backpack laden with a singular change of clothes and his rations, rifle slung over his shoulder. Tommy thought some solitude would help. Help him come to terms with his new relationship, or lack thereof, with Ellie. Give him something to focus on. He still can’t help thinking that it was an excuse for him to be out of town for a few weeks, so that his scowling face didn’t make the children cry or the rest of the town avoid him.

When all is said and done, he misses her. He’d already lost one daughter, and through trying not to lose the other, that’s exactly what he’s done. Pushed her away. Alienated her. What he wouldn’t give to go back and hear those shitty puns again. Of course, in the back of his mind he knew this would happen, he just didn’t think it would be so soon. The only thing he would do differently about the years they’ve lived since they came back to Jackson, it would be to savour the moments he had with her, knowing they’d be gone all too soon.

He can feel his chest tightening. Not in the way it would when he’s exerted himself up a hill. In the way it happens when he feels things spiraling out of control. He rests a palm on the tree-trunk in front of him, other hand clutched to his heart as he closes his eyes and tries to calm him breathing. Ground himself. Count to ten. Think of things he can smell. Think of things he can hear. He’s focusing on the birdsong when he hears something else. Just as sweet as the chirping from the trees, but decidedly more human.

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are grey

Along with the singing, Joel can hear the telltale sound of children. He’s grown used to it since being in Jackson, hearing children enjoy themselves without having to worry about what happens outside of the walls that keep them safe. But there are no walls out here, only forest and danger, so the sound of children laughing is unsettling him, and he’s not really sure why. He pushes himself back from the tree, taking the rifle off his shoulder to rest in his arms as he takes tentative steps through the forest, careful not to step on anything that might give him away. He comes to stop near the front of the line of trees, letting his eyes adjust to the scene in front of him.

There’s a cabin, not unlike the one he’d spent the previous night in, situated in a small clearing. If he looks at it with his contractor eyes it’s pretty well built, solid and sturdy. But it’s not the cabin that he’s interested in, not really. His eyes are drawn to a woman, sitting on a bench that’s placed on the porch of the cabin, and more importantly, the small gaggle of children that are sitting around her. There are four of them, varying in age, two boys and two girls, who are sitting on the floor in front of the woman, who has stopped singing and is now reading aloud from a book that’s on her lap.

The voice that she speaks with is almost as lovely as the voice she sings with, and Joel finds himself leaning against the tree, letting the soft lilt of her voice soothe him. It’s a distant memory but it reminds him almost of his mother, when she’d read to him and Tommy before bed when they were young boys. He doesn’t know the story, can’t make out enough words to follow along, but that doesn’t matter.

He's watching intently as she closes the book on her lap and sets it down on the bench. He listens as she tells the children to go inside. She follows, guiding one of the older children with a hand on the back of his head. She’s only gone for a minute, then she’s back, this time with a shotgun clutched in her arms, much like the way he’s got his own rifle.

“You gonna be trouble?” She calls out, facing him directly, barrel of the gun trained into the trees where he’s stood.

He’s taken back by her observation skills. Joel had been careful to stay as still as he could, but somehow, she’d managed to spot him. He thinks to himself that it’s good, when she’s got children to care for.

“Don’t mean no harm,” He calls back, shouldering his rifle as he does, “Just lookin’ for somewhere to spend the night.”

He steps out of the tree line, hands raised in surrender to bring home his point. She keeps the gun trained on him though. Smart, he thinks, she doesn’t trust him. The sky above decides now, that after hours of threatening, to open, sending fat drops of rain onto the ground.

The woman points with the barrel of her shotgun for Joel to sit on the bench, under the cover of the porch, which he gladly does, grateful for the opportunity to take the weight off his aging ankles. Once he’s sat, he takes a moment to push the curls back from his head, water dripping from the ends, he also leans down to unlace his boots, relieving the pressure on his feet.

“How’d you find us?” She asks, still aiming the gun at him.

“How’s about you get that gun off me, and we’ll talk?” Joel asks, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s stopping you from attacking me once I do?”

“Probably the fact that my gun is there,” He motions to the pillar he’d rested his rifle on, out of reach unless he stands and takes steps to get it, “And those kids in there.”

“You got any other weapons on you?” She asks, Joel nods his head, because it’s true, he’s got a hunting knife in his backpack, “Can I search you?”

“Knock yourself out.” He murmurs in response.

She takes slow steps towards him, eyes not leaving his face as she kneels in front of him, fingers tracing the top of his boots for something concealed. She does the same up the leg of his jeans, trying to feel if he’s got anything hidden there, and then pats down his chest. Joel curses to himself at the way his heart jumps in his chest when her delicate hands touch him. Touch starved idiot, he thinks, he’s not had a woman touch him since Tess, and even that was more of a means to end.

She steps back from him, moving onto his backpack. She takes out his change of clothes, unfolds them to make sure he’s not keeping anything hidden there, but then folds them back up which Joel thinks is curious. She finds the hunting knife buried just below his clothes. She takes it out and inspects it, but doesn’t pocket it for herself, just rests it on top of his folded clothes. Finally, she rustles through his rations – some bags of dried fruit and jerky mostly. He'd been trying to catch fresh meat on the way so there’s still plenty left. Once she’s satisfied Joel has nothing else to hide, she repacks his bag for him, before standing back, gun still in hand but not trained directly to his face anymore.

“Where did you come from?” She asks, leaning against the porch fence.

“I’m from a commune, few weeks walks from here,” He answers honestly, “We noticed a new route out when the snow melted so I’m just scouting it out, makin’ sure there ain’t nothing to cause us trouble,” He looks at the woman now, directly in the eye, “You gonna be trouble for us?”

He’s teasing really, because what threat could one woman and four children pose to Jackson? But she doesn’t take it that way, Joel catching the way her fingers twitch on the trigger.

“Depends,” She speaks, “You gonna be trouble for us?”

“Doubt it,” He shrugs, “We won’t come out this far when we patrol.”

“Then why are you out here at all?”

Ah, yes, the million-dollar question. He really could have gone back a week ago. Once he’d walked as far as he would on his normal patrols, he could have called it and gone back, but there’s something about the solitude here that he enjoys. He also thinks he’s avoiding going back to his miserable existence now. Doesn’t want to live in a place where Ellie ignores him, where she walks past his house without acknowledging him.

“Guess I just like the outdoors.”

She raises her eyebrows at him but seems to accept his answer. The rain is pouring now, soaking the ground again and if there’s one thing he doesn’t want to do right now, it’s trekking through the storm to find someplace else to shelter.

“You mind if I say?” He asks, “Just until the storm passes.”

He watches her closely as she thinks, finally taking a moment to really take her in. She’s young, probably in her early thirties if he was to guess. She’s wearing a white dress, or it would have been white once upon a time. The long hemline is covered in dirt, ghosting along worn work boots. The dress has long sleeves, and the neckline is cut just enough to be enticing but not indecent. He wonders where the hell she’s come from. There are scars that pepper her face, one that cuts across her top lip and another that slashes through her left eyebrow. They look old and healed and he can see another mark on the skin around her throat – perhaps not a scar, more of a burn, that traces around the entirety of that delicate throat. He knows she’s been through something; it must be what’s made her so smart. She is, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing he’s seen. Like an angel, dressed in white, ethereal. He feels depraved in this moment, thinking of all the ways he might break her.

“You stay out here,” She says firmly, “And you don’t speak to the children, understand?”

“Understood.”

She nods, pushing herself back from the railings beneath her back, “I’ll bring some food out later.”

Joel watches as she moves away, murmuring a quiet thank you to her as she disappears back into the cabin, shutting the door behind her. He hears a lock click a moment later and he smiles. This woman knows exactly what she’s doing.

You settle the children at the table a few hours later. You dish servings of the stew you’d made over the fire into bowls and give each of them a glass of water. You turn your back on them when they clasp their hands together, bowing their heads in a silent prayer like they’ve always done. Like they were conditioned to do. You don’t join in. Instead, you take two bigger bowls, filling one for yourself and then the other for the mystery man out there. His portion is bigger. If he’d been surviving on dried rations and whatever he could catch, you think he must be starving. You’re not sure why you care so much, but you think it has something to do with the way you were raised. Before the world went to shit, your parents had always given guests the biggest portion of food, this is just something you carry with you.

When you turn around the children are eating their food. They’re slow, knowing they can savour what they eat now. They don’t have a master who takes their bowls away once he’d finished, no matter how much they had left. They’re quiet too, something they’re still yet to unlearn. Children are to be seen and not heard. You’d told them in the months after that you loved hearing them, the joy they let out when you taught them how to play properly. You’d insisted no-one was going to beat them again for speaking too loudly, but some lessons are harder than others to unlearn.

“Who is that man?” Thomas, the oldest boy asks quietly.

“He’s just passing through,” You smile, ruffling the hair on his head as you pass, “He’ll be gone by the morning.”

“He won’t hurt us?” He asks, and your heart breaks a little, because what do you say?

“I don’t know,” You answer honestly, dipping to press a kiss to the crown of his head, “I keep us safe though, don’t I?” He nods in response, “Then I’ll keep us safe tonight, now finish your dinner, I’ll be back in a little while.”

You set your bowl down on the corner table by the door, unlocking it with one hand before picking up your bowl again. The man from earlier is still sat on the bench, exactly where you’d left him, except now he’s got a book perched on his lap, which you notice is the one you’d been reading to the children earlier. He looks up, closing the book as you offer him his own bowl.

“It’s not much,” You speak softly, sitting in the small chair across from the bench, “It’s squirrel, the meat.” You inform him as he starts pushing his spoon through the meal.

“Thank you,” Is all he says as he lifts the spoon to his mouth, “How long have you been livin’ here?”

You chew your own mouthful of food, realizing quickly that the anxiety in your stomach at someone you don’t know being in your space means you don’t really want to eat anything, the meat and vegetables settling like lead when you swallow. Better to be out here and keep an eye on him though.

“Couple’a months,” You offer, pushing the food around in your bowl, “We’ve moved around a bit.”

“Ever get any trouble?” He asks, shoveling another spoonful of stew into his mouth.

You take a small bite of your own food, chewing it more times than is necessary before you struggle to swallow it down, “Not really,” You answer, “Few people come through, but the shotgun usually means they move on, I think the children help,” You shrug, “World might have gone to shit but people don’t wanna kill kids these days.”

You’re still trying to convince yourself to eat your food when the man in front of you sets his empty bowl on the floor. You look down into the stew, taking another bite making you feel like you might be sick, so you extend the bowl to him.

“No, thank you,” He holds his hand up, “That’s yours.”

“I ate earlier,” You lie, “Please, it’ll just go to waste.”

You can see him battle with himself a little, but ultimately his stomach wins, so he takes the bowl and finishes off your portion in silence, setting his old bowl inside this one once he’s finished. The light has faded fast, it’s still pouring with rain so there’s no chance he’s going to move off tonight. You stand, bending to take the bowls from between his feet.

“I’ll find you a blanket,” You speak quietly as you open the door, “You’ll be more comfortable that way.”

Inside, the children have finished their food and have started to clear up. Another hangover from where you’d been before. Thomas takes the bowls from your hand and gives them to Clara, just a year younger than he is. She places them in the bucket of water in front of the fire and starts to scrub as you root around in the ottoman by the couch. There’s only one blanket in there that you think will be big enough for him and it’s threadbare, but better than nothing you think. Whoever he is, he’s old, or older than you at least, so you take two cushions from the sofa, if his back is anything like yours, he’ll need them.

He's back to reading the book when you take them out to him. This time, he doesn’t close it, just looks up with a smile and says thank you as you place them at the end of the bench. You turn to head back inside.

“I’ll be gone once the sun rises,” He speaks, “Thank you, you’re a very kind girl.”

You scoff a little, thinking if only you knew what I’d done. You smile at him instead, you want to tell him it was nice to meet him, nice to meet a man who doesn’t seem to have ulterior motives, but what would be the point? He’ll be gone in the morning and you’ll be back to keeping your children safe. You say nothing. Leave him on the porch and lock the door. It’s for the best.

Joel doesn’t sleep. He spends his night upright on the porch, rifle over his lap, surveying the tree line in front of the cabin. Every now and then he stands, walking around, because his good ear can only pick so much out. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to stand guard, he wasn’t asked to. You’ve gotten under his skin. He’s been around you less than twelve hours, he doesn’t even know your name, doesn’t know who these children are to you, what you’ve been through, but still feels the need to keep you safe.

The rain had stopped some time ago, just after he noticed the lights inside the cabin go out. It makes hearing things easier, now he’s not trying to make out sounds over the roar of the weather. It’s unsettling though. A few times he thinks he’s heard something amongst the trees, the snapping of twigs and such, but it could easily be an animal. He doesn’t want to risk wandering off into the woods to figure out what it is, because if it is humans, his absence means you and your children are an easy target.

He's sat back on the porch when he hears it. The unmistakable sounds of someone cocking their gun. He’s too slow to react. The sound of the gun firing fills his ears and then the shattering of glass behind him. The bullet piercing through the window behind him. He jumps up, realizing whoever it is out there must have been aiming at him. He readies his rifle, eyes scanning the tree’s for movement. He’s stood with his back to the door, aiming his gun out, waiting for whoever is out there to give away their position when the door is yanked open, you’re stood there with your shotgun.

“Get inside.” He hisses, trying to gently push at your shoulder.

“I haven’t needed your help so far,” She spits back, as another bullet ricochets off the wall of the cabin, they’re definitely aiming at you both, “Where are they?”

“I don’t know,” He whispers, trying to figure out exactly where they’re firing from, “If you’re gonna stay out here, you need to be quiet.”

You scoff at him, as if you’d been making a ton of noise anyway, but then another bullet sounds, bouncing off the wall near your head and you let out a yelp, finally realizing you’re terrified. The man, whose name you still don’t know, grips the top of your arm and pushes you back inside the cabin, following behind you as he slams the door shut.

You watch as he pulls the couch away from the window that had been shot through. He points his rifle out of it and pulls the trigger and you think you can hear someone cry out into the night. Good riddance you think, as you watch him reload his gun. You turn around at the sound of a creaking door, finding Thomas and Clara and the two younger children, Edward and Isabel, clearly frightened by what was happening. You drop your shotgun on the table, rushing over to kneel in front of them. They crowd into your arms, Isabel is crying so you try and soothe her as much as possible.

“What’s happening?” Edward asks.

“There are some bad men outside who want to hurt us,” You answer simply, you’ve tried never to sugarcoat things with them, “But it’s okay,” You try and smile, “Because we’ve got someone looking after us.”

You turn just in time to watch your guest shoot again. It continues like this for what feels like forever, someone outside shoots towards the cabin and then he shoots back, until it’s silent. You watch as the man stays still, but there aren’t any other shots that ring out. You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. You were safe.

“Back into there,” You tell the children, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

They do as they’re told, heading back into their bedroom. You close the door and turn around as the man in front of you is finally lowering his gun. You both take a moment to look at each other, chests heaving and adrenaline flooding through your veins.

“Thank you,” You speak softly, walking up to him, “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“Probably not been attacked,” He grumbles, “I think it was me outside that made them think there was somethin’ worth takin’.”

“Still,” You place a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you.”

“You can’t stay here,” He says suddenly, “All those gunshots mean infected, I can’t keep you safe enough if they’re gonna start swarmin’.”

“We don’t have anywhere else to go,” You panic, feeling bile rise up in your throat, it had taken you months to find safety like this, and now you had to give it up, “Where are we going to go?”

“There’s another cabin, just a few hours walk away,” He explains, “I stayed there the night before I came here, same kinda thing, and far enough away to be safer, but we have to go now.”

You take a moment to think. You don’t know this man. Sure, he’s just killed people to keep you safe, but maybe this is all part of some master plan, lure you away, take the children from you, force you back into a life you don’t think you’d survive second time around. The alternative though isn’t much better. You stay here and what? You’re overrun by clickers, get torn apart by infected and if they don’t get the children, what becomes of them? When you think about it like this, there is really only one option, and that is trust this man in front of you.

“If I’m going to trust you, I need to know your name.”

“Joel.”

You return the favour quickly, telling him your name, before turning to go to the children. They’re sat together on one bed, comforting each other. You kneel in front of the bed, placing soothing hands wherever you could reach.

“The bad men are gone,” You speak softly, “But it was really loud which means it isn’t safe to stay here anymore, so the man out there is going to take us somewhere safer.”

“How do we know he’s a nice man?” Thomas asks.

“Well, he kept us safe, didn’t he?” You offer, “He didn’t have to help us like that, but he did, so I think that makes him nice, doesn’t it?”

They nod, but you know they would do anything you asked them to do, without question. There isn’t much to pack, you didn’t have much to begin with, but you ask them to gather the small bags you’d found for them along the way and fill it with what they would need. When you head back to the main room, Joel is still posted near the window, keeping an eye out for whatever dangers might be waiting to greet you when you leave.

You find your backpack and make sure it’s filled with everything you might need. It’s still got most of your essentials in it, perhaps you’d always thought this place wouldn’t be forever. You fit a few of the books in that the children love the most before putting it on, gathering the small knife from the table, setting it in your boot and then picking up your shotgun, just in time for the children to emerge with their own bags.

Joel turns around, “Okay, we need to be quick,” He speaks softly, aware that the children must be frightened, “And really quiet, okay?”

They nod, as do you, then he’s opening the door and leading the way. You don’t bother closing the door behind you. You just motion for the children to follow behind Joel. Isabel and Edward are holding hands, just like they always do, Clara and Thomas just a few steps behind them. The sun has started to rise, painting your surroundings in pale light as you start to move quietly behind them all. Then, it all goes wrong. You’re not entirely sure what happens past hearing another gunshot and one of the children screeching.

Joel whips around and trains his gun from where the sound had come from, firing a shot right into the man who was heading right towards you. You scream and step back before you look to your children. Edward is stood with his hand clutched to his side, blood seeping through his shirt and his hand. You barely have time to catch him before he falls. His tiny body is shaking in your arms, as you try and move his hand away from the wound. He cries out in pain when you try and move him.

“I know baby, I know,” You try and soothe, your own tears clouding your vision as you manage to move his hands away, “You gotta let me see, okay?”

When his hands do move, you can already tell there’s nothing you can do. Blood is pooling on the ground, seeping through the white material of your dress as you try and put pressure on it, which causes more pained cries to leave his mouth. You must get him up, you have to move him somewhere you can look at him better.

“We gotta get you up, okay?” You ask him, quickly brushing your tears away from your face as you try and hoist him up, but it’s no use, the screams of pain are more than you can bare.

You let him drop back to the ground, still trying to stem the bleeding when you notice that he’s stopped shaking and his crying has stopped. No. No no no no no.

“Edward?” You ask, shaking his shoulder, “Edward!” This time it’s louder, mor hysterical as your sobs rack your body. He can’t be dead. Not after everything you’d done, “Please, baby, come back to me,” You beg, “I can keep you safe, please just come back.” You cry into his bloodied body, knowing it’s no use, he’s gone.

You let out another sob as you clutch his small body to yours, rocking him back and forth like you used to when you were trying to get him to sleep, tears falling down your face and onto the ground. Then, a strong palm slips onto your shoulder which makes you jump, “We have to go.” Is all Joel says, trying to get you to stand with an arm on your elbow.

“I c-can’t leave h-him here.” You choke out through sobs.

“Give him to me,” Joel insists, taking Edward’s lifeless body from your arms, helping you to stand, “I’ll carry him.”

You don’t know why but you start to wipe at the blood on your dress, it’s seeped into the material so there’s no way you’ll ever get it out, but it’s something to focus on that isn’t Edward being dead. For the first time in years, you don’t look at the other children as you start to follow behind Joel once more. You know their faces would break you, would cause you to fall to your knees and not get up again. The three of them walk side-by-side in front of you again. Silent, but you can tell they’re crying from the way their shoulders are shaking. Isabel is in the middle of Thomas and Clara, each of them clutching one of her hands as they struggle to keep up with Joel’s pace as he walks through the dense forest.

You think you walk for hours, quietly crying as you do. You stop once, Joel walking off away from you whilst you sit with the children that are left, letting them sip from the canteen of water whilst you all catch your breath. You know he does it so none of you have to lay your eyes on Edward’s dead body. You make yourself as small as possible, knees to your chest, to try and hide the worst of the bloody stains on your dress. All too soon, Joel is whistling to you, telling you that it’s not much further.

By the time you reach the cabin, the sun is already starting to set. Joel motions his hand for you to go inside ahead of him which you do, guiding Thomas, Clara and Isabel in before you go. Joel stays outside as you get them settled on the dusty couch inside.

“What happened to Edward?” Isabel asks, her eyes wide as you crouch in front of them.

You take hold of her small hands, “I’m sorry baby,” You sigh, “Edward is gone.” You can feel the lump in your throat, you try to bite your emotion back for their sake.

“Where has he gone?” She asks.

You open and close your mouth, trying to find the right words. Trying not to rip up wounds from the past that you’d only just managed to close with them.

“Well baby, he’s gone somewhere else,” You sigh, “You remember before, when we lost people, and we were always told they went to heaven?” The three children nod at you, “I know we don’t believe that, but he’s somewhere better now.”

“And he won’t come back?”

“No baby,” You coo, running your hand over her hair, “But we’ll see him again someday, I promise.”

You press a kiss to each other their foreheads, opening your backpack to pull out one of their books. You hand it to Thomas so he can read to the other girls before you head outside. You can see Joel near the line of trees, he’s digging with a shovel and your chest constricts at the sight. It’s not fair. None of this is fair. Edward deserved to grow old. You’re angry. You want to scream. You want to strike your fists into something until all you feel is the physical pain, because that’s easier, it’s an easier pain to the one you feel right now.

Joel turns as you stand still at the door, he tilts his head, ushering you over to him. Your body follows the direction, like you always had before. A man tells you to do something, you do it.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to bury him,” He speaks softly, “But if you do, it’s ready.”

You can feel your bottom lip tremble so you bite down on it, hoping the pain stops you from crying, but it’s useless, you still can’t comprehend that he’s gone, despite the fact his body is wrapped in a filthy sheet next to the grave Joel has dug. He deserves so much better than this. You can’t help but take it as a personal failure. You’d vowed to keep them safe, and you’d failed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” He murmurs, letting a hand rest lightly on your shoulder which you shudder away from, “I’ll give you some time, just place him down and I’ll do the rest when you’re ready.”

He walks away, but not into the house, you notice. Maybe he still thinks the children are frightened of him. He walks around the side of the cabin as your focus moves back to the shroud in front of you. You drop to your knees, delicate hands rolling the top of the shroud down to reveal his face. His eyes are closed, and you can almost convince yourself that however he died it was peaceful. His skin is pale and mottled, lips blue. A tear drips from your face and onto his, clearing a trail down his cheek as it moves through the dirt. You lean forward, kissing his forehead, running a hand through his hair like you did each night to soothe him.

“I’m sorry baby,” You whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

You stay like this for a moment, forehead pressed to his. You can’t bare it anymore, pulling back and covering his face, but there’s something stopping you from lowering him into the ground. Then it’s final. You won’t be able to see his face again, listen to his voice when he talks or smile when he laughs. You turn, finding Joel hanging back.

“I can’t do it,” You mutter, “Will you?”

He nods, walking over to you. He doesn’t try and touch you this time, just bends and picks Edward up before placing him lightly into the grave. He stands, putting his hand to the shovel, you decide you can’t watch anymore, turning your back on the scene behind you to go back to the family you still have.

Darkness has enveloped the outdoors. The children have been in bed for a while, after Joel handed out the remainder of his measly rations to everyone. You wish you could convince yourself to sleep, but moving from the couch seems like too much work right now. You’re numb. Joel is sat at the other end of the couch, letting the small fire he set warm him through. The silence is deafening.

“You wanna talk about it?” His gruff voice asks.

You’re biting at the end of your nail, crying again. Your body is aching, dress covered in dry blood. You wish you could wake up from whatever horrible nightmare this is. You finally shake your head, biting at your lip as you do.

“I don’t think I can.”

There’s another beat of silence before Joel speaks again, “I know you don’t wanna think about it right now,” He sighs, “But Jackson, where I live, it’s safe.”

“Is anywhere really safe these days?” You scoff.

He nods his head, “Y’know, that’s what I thought when I got there, but it works,” He shrugs, “My brother, he sorta helps run it, big walls, everyone chips in where they can, take turns patrollin’, I’ve been there two years now and nothin’ bad’s ever happened.”

“So, you’re communists then?”

Joel can’t help but laugh, thinking about the existential crisis Tommy had when Ellie had suggested the same thing, “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

You sigh, because it’s starting to sound like a good idea. A place where you’d be shut in, protected by people. Where the children could actually be children. You’re still not convinced you trust him though. Sure, he’d protected you. Helped you to safety. Carried Edward’s dead body all the way here, but you’re still convinced it’s some kind of sick joke at your expense. You could be walking headfirst into a trap.

“It’s okay,” He murmurs, “I don’t expect you to trust me, it’s going to take time, but just follow me, even for a while, we’ll go slowly back that way, anytime you wanna leave, you can.”

“I can’t think about this right now,” You snap, “Can we just have some time?”

He gives you a small smile, “Of course, all the time you need, I ain’t in a rush to get back.”

Exhaustion floods your body, eyes becoming heavy, as the final ounces of adrenaline finally leave your body.

“Take the room,” Joel offers, “I can sleep out here.”

“You slept on a wooden bench last night,” You fight, “And I’m younger, I can sleep out here.”

“I didn’t sleep at all,” He counters, “So it don’t matter where I lie, I’m gonna be fast asleep in minutes.”

“You’re sure?” You ask, lifting your heavy bones from the couch.

“Go.” He nods his head towards the closed door to the second bedroom.

“Goodnight.” You speak softly, picking up your backpack to take into the room with you. You’re asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

Taglist: @morning-star-joy @tightjeansjavi @cavillscurls @cupofjoel @darkroastjoel @dinsdjrn @sinsofsummers @montenegroisr @millenial-teenybopper @casa-boiardi @pedrotonin @punkshort @givemeth @noisynightmarepoetry @joeldjarin

499 notes · View notes

dashielldeveron · 10 months

Text

soulmate trope | dabi

Dabi’s route of soulmate trope.

"post-canon dabi? canon isn't even finished as of when this was posted on 30 july 2023!" to you. i know he's doing just fine. and obviously i will be wrong about some things. warnings: female reader. manga spoilers up to chapter 390: specifically about touya's body but vaguely about ~all of that~. sexual content. food mention/discussion. injury descriptions (burns) that aren't reader's. weeb slander. a note: part of the plot revolves around...analysing anime. i use hunter x hunter here, and if you are not into that, i have, to the best of my knowledge, included neither spoilers (aside from early story arc names) nor information that cannot be understood via context clues. additionally, there is a brief pokemon metaphor that also can hopefully be understood with context clues as well.

~27.7k

You’re being watched.

Or rather, you had the eerily intense inkling that you were being watched, or as if you were some sort of recently awakened sleeper agent—as if you were somehow the key to someone’s spying into U.A., even though the most secretive thing going on right now in 3-A’s common area was that Hagakure’s facial features were somewhat revealed by the drying face mask.

“Jirou,” you said, bookmarking your place, “Would you mind checking for—I don’t know, any kind of outside surveillance devices in here?”

Jirou bit the stem of the carnation she’d been about to weave into Yaoyorozu’s hair and shifted all the strands of the braid into one hand, and she tilted her head to jab the arm of the couch with her earjack. After a few moments, she unsheathed it, the hole in the couch sealing itself, and shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. What’s up?”

Furrowing your brow, you shoved your book between the cushion and arm of your chair. “I’m not sure. It’s—I have this weird feeling that someone’s looking at me. Or through me, really. Both? I don’t know how to describe it, but it feels like someone else is seeing what I’m seeing.”

“Do your eyes hurt, ribbit?” Asui asked from her spot on the floor, where she was sorting her m&ms by colour.

“No. More like I’m hyperaware of them,” you said, “But I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching all of this because of me.”

“What’s there to watch? It’s nothing but a Girls and Todoroki Night. There’s nothing worth seeing and or any big secrets being spilled. Well, spoilers for the New Year’s episode of Kamisama Kiss, but it’s been out for years already,” said Mina, gesturing towards the television, and Uraraka snatched Mina’s hand out of the air and laid it flat on the coffee table again, because she’s not done painting her nails, damn it. Mina sighed dreamily at the sheep whose wool fluffed enough to take up the entire screen. “What I wouldn’t give for my hair to have that much volume.”

“I guess you’re right,” you said, settling down into your chair, pulling Shinsou’s blue-pineappled blanket up to your neck (he was out on his bike, so he wasn’t attending this Girls and Todoroki Night [Shinsou and Todoroki were the only boys allowed, since their presence wasn’t obtrusive or contrary to the vibe. Additionally, Shinsou thought it was funnier if his name weren’t included in the title of these events]). “Y’know, in the manga, the New Year avatar isn’t a sheep. It’s a dragon.”

Mina blew on her hands as Uraraka rebottled the nail polish brush. “Whaaaaat?

“It was changed to a sheep to align with the year the episode was released,” said Todoroki, his thumb and index finger pinching his lower lip with his eyes glued to the screen, “I understand the change on a narrative scale, but I believe the dragon had more of a character arc than the sheep. The dragon didn’t think it was as appealing as other years’ avatars, and it had to learn to accept itself and accept others’ love for it. It was rooted in misunderstanding.”

For some reason, when you looked at Todoroki, you were doused with regret. Sharp and cold, followed by a splash of something more muddled: envy, maybe? Gratitude?

These…these feelings weren’t yours.

***

“I can’t believe I missed a Girls and Todoroki Night,” said Shinsou, grinning, his legs dangling off the dorm’s kitchen counter, “but alas! The night was calling, and I had to go out in it.”

“We will not spoil Kamisama Kiss for you,” said Todoroki. He was crouched in front of the oven, hands clasped as he stared through the tinted window at the browning potato wedges. “You will have to watch that episode on your own.”

“You should really read the manga,” you were saying as you scanned the inside of the refrigerator, looking for anything that might go well with the potatoes—ah, Aoyama’s got some bougie-looking sauce. Savoury, by the looks of it. “It goes farther than the anime covers, and it’s so sweet. The worldbuilding gets better, too.” You took out the bottle and gave it an experimental shake.

“Really?” Shinsou wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know; that villain guy isn’t very fun. Feels like too much time is wasted on him.”

Todoroki’s head snapped towards Shinsou at the same time you slammed the refrigerator shut. “No,” the both of you said at the same time, and you continued. “The anime hasn’t been quite as accurate in tone regarding that character, but he’s really wonderful, eventually. You really feel for what happened to him and for his past relationship to the main characters. Simple but effective job of deconstructing his villainy and granting him humanity.”

“Huh.” Shinsou propped his cheek on his fist, his ankle resting on his opposite knee. “I wonder how much nuance I’m missing because I’m only watching the anime.”

For a second, you felt as groggy as if you’d just woken up, your eyes focusing a bit more precisely, blurring the kitchen tiles for a moment before re-focusing, and it crept in again: the feeling that someone was watching you, that someone else was here.

“Hey, Shinsou, Todoroki,” you said, blinking several times, Aoyama’s brown sauce clutched in both hands, “Do my eyes look any different?”

Both of them looked you over. Shinsou shook his head. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’ve got—” You nodded towards Todoroki. “I have that same feeling from last night. Like someone’s watching. But Jirou said nothing was wrong.” Shrugging, you tossed the sauce to Shinsou and sat in front of the oven with Todoroki. “I guess Kamisama Kiss must bring out the voyeur in me. Or being voyeur-ed. Watched.” You crossed your legs at the same time Todoroki jolted because of a crushed peppercorn popping in the oven. “Maybe we should start reading manga alongside the anime so that we can judge how accurate they are. See how much character nuance is lost or preserved.”

Todoroki’s eyes bulged. “You have no idea how much that appeals to me. I desperately need to discuss the differences between the Hunter x Hunter 1999 anime, the 2011 anime, and the manga. Sero refuses to watch the 1999 version.”

Amusement. Condescension. Bubbling to the top of your consciousness.

Distinctly not yours.

Why would you be feeling these things in the face of something that sounded so wonderfully, uselessly pedantic? A project like Todoroki’s just proposed sounded like an absolutely ideal waste of time that would allow you to be more accurate than the vast majority of people when it came to plot, lore, and characterisation. Why would emotions you’d associate with making fun of someone pop up now? You didn’t want to make fun of Todoroki; you were enthusiastic about joining him in this pointless endeavour.

The timer on Shinsou’s phone blared, and he tapped it off, patting his pockets (?) for the oven mitt, which he spotted on the counter next to him. “Why would Sero refuse to watch the older version?”

Todoroki helped you stand and guided the both of you away from the oven. “To be fair, in the 1999 anime, the animators did take liberties with panel composition and brought in new angles and lines sporadically. Colours are also odd and inaccurate, and those are corrected, for the most part, in the 2011 version. More of the manga is covered, and the animation is smoother in the 2011 version as well.”

Why did you feel the distant sensation of laughing? Nothing about this has been funny, per se, but the…what was going on?

“Okay, I’ll bite,” you said, strangely heavy and hyperaware and surveying the tray of steaming potato wedges as Shinsou shuffled it to the stove, “I’ll do it with you, all this manga accuracy checking.”

“Me, too,” said Shinsou, shaking the over mitt off, “My suggestion is that we keep it to just the three of us, to prevent exhausting arguments, like we’d have in a big group the size of Girls and Todoroki Nights.”

“I can lend you the first few volumes,” said Todoroki, opening a cabinet to search for Aoyama’s sauce bowls, “After that, I have a link to high-quality scans I can send you.”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, reaching for a potato wedge that did not sizzle and screech as much as the others, “Should we watch the first episode tomorrow night?” When you retracted your hand at the burn, you felt your own pain and someone else’s sense of nostalgia.

***

You’d already been on the precipice of falling asleep during Present Mic’s lesson, but when a concentrated shot of fatigue pierced you, you set down your pen and reluctantly resolved to get the subsequent notes from Iida. God, couldn’t this wait until you were out of class? No one needed to see how terrible your own notes were. No one needed to see your drawings in the margins.

Burying your face in your hands, you dug the heels of your palms into your eyes, rubbing them as the lethargy kicked in, and you braced yourself for the uncanny sensation of being your own worst voyeur.

When you opened them, after the lightheaded dots blinked away, you weren’t in the classroom, instead entrenched in darkness. Well, wait—you groped around on your desk: physically, you still were upright in your desk at U.A., able to grasp your pen, set it down, able to faintly hear Present Mic, as if he’s in the next room over.

Blindly, you tapped Mina’s desk behind you, turning your head over your shoulder. “Do my eyes look weird to you?”

“No. Should they?” she whispered back—or maybe she said it at a normal volume, and the classroom had been so far removed the distance silenced her.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you faced the front again. Looks like you have to figure this out yourself, or else you’ll be sitting in pitch black for who knows how long.

A minute passed. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, shapes appearing—you’re inside. In a room with the lights off. Sideways, for some reason. One of the shapes was so rigidly rectangular that it had to be a shoji divider, and you were just trying to estimate its size when all of your mental facilities halted at a loud, rumbling groan.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” a scratchy, masculine voice said, “Must be my turn, huh?”

He flipped over, and barely cracked venetian blinds behind dark curtains just barely illuminated part of the scene: you were seeing this sideways because he was lying in bed, an out-of-place, opulent, Western-style bed in what you assumed was an Eastern-style room, judging what you could make out of traditional wallpaper and tatami flooring.

“Well, you’re not getting anything out of me,” he said, reaching for one of the many strewn pillows and hugging it—you lost half of your sight when his face sank into it (too dark for you to get a good look at his hands or arms), “Sucks for you, but I’m going back to sleep. Don’t care how curious you are. Not sharin’ anything with someone who can’t cook potato wedges right.”

No, get up. Get up. Say more right now. Who was he? It’s—it’s the middle of the day, anyhow; what is he doing asleep?

“Hah. You’re angry with me.” His laugh sounded more like a hiss, somehow. “Get used to it.”

He shut his eyes. After about a minute, the darkness faded, and Present Mic’s voice hit you at full volume, and you winced, clamping a hand down on your notes when the classroom came into view.

***

“You are not dropping out of school the semester you’re supposed to graduate,” said Aizawa, pinching the bridge of his nose, elbow digging into the puffy leather chair by Nezu’s desk.

“From my perspective, it does not appear you are a liability to U.A.’s security.” Nezu steepled his paws together, his pink toe beans preventing him from pressing them completely flat. “Simply seeing through each other’s eyes and feeling some of his emotions are no cause for the drastic security measures you are proposing. I believe that so long as you have some sort of indicator that either situation is happening, faculty can prepare for your temporary debility.”

“Don’t even think about abusing it to get out of class,” said Aizawa, propping his chin on his fist.

“You think I would? Shocked! Shocked and offended,” you said, “I’m gonna be in class; I don’t trust anyone else’s notes. I want my own interpretations of lectures.” You slumped down in your seat, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling. “Principal Nezu, do you have an idea of why this is happening to me?”

“I do.” Nezu opened the top drawer in his desk to retrieve a stack of yellow-green papers, torn from a legal pad and crimped because of whatever was spilled on it. “Recovery Girl and Midnight have been analysing the results of Tainted Love’s quirk for some time now. The female rehabilitation centre with which Midnight works, Sakura Grove, has uncovered evidence of two other incidents that caused a soulmate bond with similar qualities to form.”

“What? No,” you said, letting a whine creep into your voice, “That means my soulmate’s a jerk. He was rude to me. He insulted my potato wedge recipe.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he crossed his arms. “You can’t expect there to be love at first sight, can you? Love is a choice. You work at it every day. You have to keep choosing it.”

“Yaoyorozu and Jirou were already dating when they got assigned soulmates,” you said, listing on your fingers, “Midoriya and Uraraka had been pining after each other for years—”

Aizawa scowled. “Stop that.”

“So, do you want me to report anything? Do you want me to duck out of class when he—checks in?”

“If you feel unsafe, let us know. Otherwise, it is of my opinion that you will be just fine,” said Nezu, and he reached for his paw-sized coffee cup to remove the melting stroopwaffle cookie off the top. “Report what you perceive as dangerous, but you deserve privacy. When you decide on your signal that the bond is active, please send an email to faculty members. Whether or not you inform your peers is at your discretion.”

***

So, of course, you told everyone.

Meaning no one batted an eye the next time the soulmate bond activated, which was in class. Feeling the exhaustion and the slight buzz from your soulmate popping in to watch through you, you made the phone call symbol, grabbed a marker from the whiteboard, and headed out into the hall, no questions asked.

“Hey,” you were saying, shoving your forearm against the concrete-block wall and popping the marker cap off with your mouth, “Good to hear from you. Didn’t know I could see through you, too. Excited to see how we’ll deal with that. This is my phone number.” You scrawled it across your arm, along with your given name above it. “If you can’t memorise it now, that’s fine. I’ll write it down next time, too, so you could prepare to have something nearby to record it with. I look forward to getting to know you.”

No strong emotions on his part. But he was there.

“Okay,” you said, and you turned to sink down against the wall to sit in the deserted hallway. “Some basic stuff: I’m a student at U.A., in my last year. I’m in that—uh, I’m in the class that’s gotten into a bit of trouble over the past few years. Midoriya, Bakugou, and all of them, if you watch the news. I’ve just ducked out of class with everyone.” You kept looking at your arm so that he could memorise it. “I don’t really wanna talk about my quirk, since that seems like such a boring, capital-A adult question, but I can tell you about it later, if you really want to know. Oh! I do not suck at making potato wedges. It was just a recipe that none of us had made before, and they were fine. They were good. I—”

And he’s gone, link severed.

Crossing your arms, you slumped against the wall. Did he choose to end it? Could he? He didn’t seem very receptive, so you wouldn’t put it past him.

***

You woke up from a nap watching through him play a video game, some non-discernible, first-person shooter. Again in the dark, but perhaps not in the same room. The windows weren’t open enough to let in enough light to tell.

Your soulmate never acknowledged you were there by gesture or word. Just played his stupid fucking game. You were trying to send him foul vibes of frustration and indignation, but he ignored you.

After a mere six minutes of the world’s worst Let’s Play, you decided you could be a little bitch as well.

***

“Oh! He’s here. Excuse me,” you said to Shinsou and Jirou, making the phone call gesture as you pushed yourself up from the lunch table, “I’ll be back in a moment. Please guard my gummies from Monoma.”

A flash of curiosity, finally, from your soulmate as he got the image of Shinsou and Jirou smirking to themselves and waving you off.

Once you were alone outside in the courtyard, you pulled out and unfolded the piece of pink construction paper, at this point every inch covered by doodles of flowers and increasingly shitty bulbasaurs. You tapped at the writing in the centre. “This is called a telephone number,” you said, “This one belongs to me. If you dial this number into a phone to call it, you will reach me. Then, we could have a conversation and arrange to meet up, instead of this unreliable, one-sided bond.”

You flattened your hand to smooth out the creases, halting midway when it struck you. “I’ve just realised you may be confused by this situation. Don’t worry; I am as well. But be assured, due to a quirk incident, we’ve been assigned soulmates. Yeah, I know they’re fake, but with this villain Tainted Love’s quirk, soulmates are real.”

He evidently was feeling like he wanted to walk straight into the ocean.

“I’m assuming you’re not a U.A. student, so—do you remember breathing in some sort of pink dust? Within about the past—I don’t know, two and a half years? That’s how long Tainted Love was active. She only got arrested about a month or so ago.” You couldn’t garner anything from him except for exasperation, so you continued. “And not, like, snorting a line of pink dust. It would’ve been in a dust cloud. A bit like fog. You would’ve noticed it.”

Staring at your phone number the whole time, you allowed him silence to think. Whatever he was feeling was very subdued, so you couldn’t really surmise what it was, but ten seconds before the bond broke, a livid, fiery ire consumed your whole body in the heat of recognition.

***

Shinsou, Todoroki, and you were all crowded around a laptop in Shinsou’s dorm to watch the beginning episodes of Hunter x Hunter the next time your soulmate spoke to you. He’d gone a couple of times ignoring you in silence, once outside on a walk during the day on a path uptown you didn’t recognise, and the other on some rooftop while playing on his phone and watching a meteor shower. Completely disregarding your attempts to give him your number or talk to him in real time.

It just figured that he bothered to spare you any information when you were trying to see what the next phase of the Hunter Exam was, so Todoroki and Shinsou paused the show for you and waited. With a stab of affection for your friends, you moved to the corner, waiting for your soulmate to say something.

And he was. Your soulmate knew more combinations of swear words and general filth than you’ve ever cared to consider, and you were almost impressed with the creativity of his vulgarity. Outside under the night sky, he was furiously ripping open some medium-sized, cardboard box as he stomped towards a carefully cultivated, lilypad-covered, manmade pond towards the back of a highly organised, traditional garden.

Eventually, non-profanity was added. “Goddamn fucking shit-ass fish and goddamn fucking shit-ass crusty motherfucking doctor can’t take care of his own goddamn fucking pet project.” Tips of his house slippers stopping at the pond only by way of running into the stone wall, he stumbled, growling in frustration, before regaining his balance and yanking out the plastic bag inside the remnants of the box. “Wants a goddamn gift for fucking Mom but can’t be arsed to do it him-fucking-self. Deserves every fish fucked into his respiratory system, clogging up his arteries to give himself a goddamn heart attack. And then I can’t be blamed for—” The plastic stretched, and he ended up tearing it in half above the water, pieces falling atop waterlilies. “Shit on a cuntbag. What the fuck. I don’t deserve this.”

He stretched to reach the waterlilies, cupping his hands to sweep the fish food off and into the water. And—the moonlight struck the gently rippling water, enough for you to see a flash of an orange koi tail break the surface tension, but not enough to see whatever was going on with his hands—not that he was doing anything strange with them (just picking shreds of plastic out of the water), but they somehow were strange. They moved stiffly and had some sort of bumps on them, but—does this guy live in darkness? You couldn’t tell anything about what his hands looked like aside from the shadowed bumps, which could be anything.

“I deserve a lot, but I sure as hell don’t deserve this.” He rounded the pond and punched a few buttons on a small, hidden, monitor, checking the pH of the pool and water levels. “Not my fucking job. Not my fucking job. Why do they think—why am I the one to do this shit. How come I can get in trouble with my fucking brother for him not taking care of his project.” He swatted at his wet bathrobe sleeve, pissed, and shook out some of the water. “Hey, you. I know you’re there.”

Back in the dorm, you jolted in your seat. In the distance, you could hear Shinsou ask what was wrong. “Nothing,” you said, sounding distant yourself, “He acknowledged me is all. Hasn’t done that for a while, so it felt like a fourth wall break.”

Your soulmate sat down on the edge of the pond, glaring out at the rest of the garden (wisteria heavy, vines swaying in the night wind). “Are you hot?”

You’d never wanted to be able to transfer direct words or actions to him so much, because he needed to be strangled.

“I’m not kidding.” He crossed his arms, covered by a dark bathrobe, sticking his hands in his armpits. “Are you hot? I don’t like the idea of being connected to some hideous fuckwad.”

Never mind. Now you have never wanted to be—

“This quirk shit isn’t gonna last long, but if you’re hot, you need to get on my dick before it goes away. I wanna see how it looks giving me a blowjob from your perspective.”

Kill. Destroy. Maim. Eviscerate, even.

“Ooh, watch out. We’ve got an uptight, prudish bitch over here,” he said, and he laughed—again, sounding more like a hiss than anything else. “Well, then. If you’re not gonna put out, then I’ve got no use for you. Don’t need anyone, especially not some goddamn lunatic who claims to be my soulmate. Too many people are interfering in my life, anyway. And to be honest, it seems like you’re dumb and irritating. I don’t like people like you.”

Maybe you’re soulmates because you’re destined to kill him on sight. Your soul, calling out for his to suffer extreme violence. He’d deserve it.

May all his potato wedges burn.

***

Monoma was at the next Hunter x Hunter anime viewing, because he’d been dying to know why you were wearing an actual and literal clown costume, wig and enormous foam nose included.

“I’m liking the new hero outfit,” Monoma said, flipping his hair back with a flourish, “but why are you wearing it during our off-hours?”

“Shove off,” you said, grinning as Shinsou tossed you a pillow to hold, “Did you bring your peach gummies?”

“I did,” said Monoma, sitting next to you on Todoroki’s tatami mats, and he pulled a massive bag of white peach gummies from inside his jacket, handing it to you to open. “May I ask if it’s seriously part of your new uniform, or—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Monoma,” you said, ripping open the bag at the notch, “I’m making a point.”

“Her soulmate,” Shinsou supplied, pulling up the next episode, “He wants to know what she looks like. So, she’s been dressing up in horrible, gawdy shit so that he can never really tell, even around mirrors.”

“He’s pissed,” you said, beaming, digging into the bag and popping a gummy into your mouth, “He wants me to stop playing around, but he was mean to me. Mean to me, unprovoked, and in a way that wasn’t hot. Tomorrow, I’m wearing a sheet and running around like a ghost. I will say nothing to him but boo.”

“I suppose that explains the influx of regular face masks you’ve taken to wearing during class.” Monoma scoffed, his incredulous, open mouth stretching into a grin. “You are impossible. If your humourless soulmate is worth his salt, then he should at least value the effort you’re putting into it.”

“Sero has sent me a message,” interrupted Todoroki, thumb swiping his phone screen, “He says that he has changed his mind and would like to join us. He’s started rereading the series and likes it more this time around.” Todoroki looked up and around his room, lips pursed. “There is not much space for five people. It is getter harder to see the laptop.”

***

The five of you started the Heaven’s Arena arc of Hunter x Hunter in Aizawa’s dorm apartment, seeing as he had the best television setup: for one, having an actual television instead of simply relying on his computer. His sound system held up, too, though you suspected Present Mic had something to do with that, instead of Aizawa’s own preferences.

You, Shinsou, Todoroki, Monoma, and Sero were scattered across Aizawa’s living room, all cosied under blankets and pillows and pointed towards his wall-mounted television, sitting on his cat-hair covered couch and armchairs, mugs and snacks on his coffee table, socked feet loose, and house slippers at the edge of the shag rug. The cats, Dango and Konpeito, chose to snuggle up towards Todoroki and you (beat that, Shinsou!), so you were careful not to disturb them from their slumber on your lap. No sudden movements, even when the tired dizziness of your bitch soulmate faded in.

“Spoilers for Hunter x Hunter, I suppose, even though it’s been out for decades,” you said under your breath, raising your hand to signal to the others that your soulmate was looking in. At your movement, Dango raised her head from her cocoon in your lap to yawn, her face nearly turning inside out, and she flinched, her pupils dilating, at the creak of the door.

Laden with groceries, Aizawa stepped into his own apartment, his brow furrowing at the sight of his students in his living room. “You have ten seconds to tell me what you’re doing here.”

“The fuck?” Sero whipped his head towards Shinsou and back at Aizawa. “Shinsou told us you were okay with it.”

“I said that he wouldn’t mind, which he can’t if he doesn’t catch us,” said Shinsou, bracing himself when Aizawa tugged at his capture weapon around his neck, “It’s my fault, Aizawa-sensei. Please don’t get angry at anyone else.”

Your soulmate seemed pleased that you were getting in trouble. Bastard.

Aizawa set his cloth bags on his kitchen counter, the insides shifting with the weight of the groceries. “Is this appropriate for Eri to watch?”

“Well, in general—”

A character onscreen chose that moment to seductively moan another character’s name, over and over again.

Aizawa winced, scrunching his eyes shut tightly. “Turn that shit off. Find another place to watch it.” Shaking his head, he unbagged the first of his groceries. “Shinsou, never bring anyone, including yourself, into my personal space again with express permission.”

“Damn it,” you said, reaching for the remote. You pressed the power button, watching the screen fade from the vibrant colours of Heaven’s Arena to black, with Aizawa’s living room reflecting back at you. Forlornly, you scratched the back of Dango’s neck, watching her mirrored reaction, before you realised what you were doing: giving your bitch-ass soulmate a clear view of your bare face. Eyes bulging, you gasped and bent over to hide your face, with Dango scurrying away at being disturbed.

The connection cut at the faint suggestion of intrigue.

***

YOU

hey i know we said we’d keep it small but. i think midoriya would really enjoy the battle analysis that the hxh characters are doing

YOU

bc they be doing some QUICK analytic work based on their opponents’ personalities

TODOROKI 💅🎏

Midoriya has been asking more questions than usual during our sparring sessions.

SERO 🧃🍊

ffs why isn’t he already in the group? should’ve thought of him

SHINSOU 💜🍡

want me to add him?

YOU

would that be okay, todoroki?

TODOROKI 💅🎏

There’s more than enough room at our new venue. We should invite him.

SHINSOU 💜🍡

why don’t you text him then? it’s at your place

MONOMA 🔇🎭

Midoriya CANNOT sit next to me

MONOMA 🔇🎭

I’d like to hear the onscreen dialogue instead of whatever he’s saying under his breath

MONOMA 🔇🎭

He CANNOT shut up

YOU

WHOMST won’t shut up??????

SERO 🧃🍊

don’t worry no one will sit next to you

MONOMA 🔇🎭

Good

MONOMA 🔇🎭

Wait

TODOROKI 💅🎏

Midoriya can attend! He’ll be a little late today, but I think we should wait for him, since it’s his first time joining us.

Startled by the waiter, you put your phone down on your notebook and accepted your coffee graciously. You shifted your laptop and notebook over so that you could cup the mug in front of you, its warmth seeping through the sides, and you took a tentative slurp. Interesting. You’ll finish it, but you won’t order this again.

You were killing time that Saturday by getting ahead on your work for Put Your Hands Up Radio: editing and fact-checking news segments that Yamada would read between songs towards the evening. Electing to get some sunshine on your skin before hunkering down with the group again to analyse some anime, you’d chosen to edit the articles outside at a café you’d discovered recently, one at which you hadn’t decided on a regular order yet and were shopping around the menu each time you came. Plus, if you’d stayed on campus, no doubt Shinsou or Monoma would’ve found you to distract you.

The café’s patio with scorching, cast-iron furniture and haphazard parasol installation led to most of its customers sitting inside, but that meant you had space to think, even with the hot groves of your seat imprinting patterns into your skin.

Your soulmate was probably being rude because he was scared, or perhaps he didn’t believe that Tainted Love’s quirk was legitimate. You’d have to assure him that it was, as you’d run through Nezu’s report with Midnight and Recovery Girl, fact-checking that. Either way. Some frustrated guy—living at home, apparently, and pissed about it—was paired out of the blue with some student at U.A. He might be scared that you were a creep.

Tainted Love’s team’s notes on her quirk that Midnight had confiscated explained that each soulmate bond, somehow, was moulded around the pair’s personalities and would fulfil a lifelong need. A lot of responsibility, it seemed, but if it were true—and other pairs proved it true—you would fulfil it naturally, and so would he.

So, even though your soulmate had been rude, you’d give him a chance. The soulmate bond existed for a reason. Plus, he might be a real-life tsundere, and wouldn’t that be fun to crack? To be the only one a rude, evil person was soft for was the ideal, wasn’t it? Someone so naturally cruel and heartless but learning to be kind for you—

Get a hold of yourself. He’s a real guy who will be in your life forever, not just someone you can throw away, like a celebrity/pro-hero crush. Treat him seriously.

“I’m…being serious,” you said to yourself, pouting into your coffee. You hunched in your seat to drink from the mug without lifting it, and you slorped away the neck of the latte art swan the barista had so carefully poured. “He’s probably not even be a sexy sort of cold-hearted. He’s just a type of bitchiness I haven’t learnt how to handle yet.”

Those boys in the anime analysis group? You could play their types of bitchiness like the world’s smallest fiddle. They were all so easy to handle (especially Monoma because of his predictability; Todoroki gave you the most trouble due to his complete non sequiturs), and it was fun bouncing off the petty parts of their personalities. Your soulmate spun things differently, but you’d learn his inclinations in time. If not, it’s not worth your time trying to “fix” someone who has no redeeming vulnerability.

You sighed. Now that you’ve lost your editing groove, you might as well do some last-minute reading before watching the next few episodes tonight. Closing your laptop, you reached down into your bag to get the next volume of Todoroki’s manga, and your vision blurred over, dizziness incoming. Well, at least you’re sitting down.

You held the manga volume in your lap and waited for your soulmate’s line of sight to appear. If he were in a darkened room yet again, you could buy yourself a little treat. The café’s display case had some sort of new chess square that you’d been eyeing. And—shit, sunlight was coming through. No little treat for you.

Well, maybe you’ll get one, anyway. You slumped farther down in your seat, blinking as dappled, sunlight-covered pavement and an empty terrace outside a business across a busy street came into view—your soulmate jumped back off the road when a car whooshed by, and after that, he jaywalked, horns blaring in his wake.

He did a little hop to get on the opposite sidewalk, hands in his pockets, and peered past the iron fence into the window of the shop—a packed coffee shop; maybe you could at least learn his coffee order, because then you’d have some shred of information about him. But no, he unlatched the iron gate and wove his way through the cast-iron patio chairs and tables, and—

You’re staring right at you: sitting, legs crossed, not taking up space, stuff spread out over your table, and he’s gaining on you. You flinched, watched yourself flinch, and your gaze darted around until you were able to meet his (your) eyes (your head making minor, nervous movements you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t seen them), expression cautious, curling in on yourself on impulse. When you saw how, through an outsider, that made you look small, you made the effort to sit up and roll your shoulders back, elbows on the table. You watched yourself recoil at the heat of the iron, and you had to use his perspective to know where your notebook was so that you could rest your arms on it.

He brushed past your table’s open chair, instead yanking the table by the edge away from your lap so that he could stand closer to you and grabbing your face. He first cupped your jaw with his whole hand, pale skin and leather of a fingerless glove cold to the touch, and then, when he seemed sure you weren’t going to protest (his vision turned slightly to the left—he must have tilted his head), he narrowed his grip in little jerks of his hand, sliding erratically from gripping your jaw to just tilting your chin upwards towards him. He turned your head to the left and to the right before returning to centre to stare you down (you’d been pliant under his control, because the doubling of you watching you do things was throwing off your senses of balance and direction).

“Not as hard as you fucking made it out to be, huh?” His thumb rubbed over your chin. His nail was cracked. “Now, are you gonna stop acting like a little bitch, or are we gonna keep playing your stupid game?”

“First of all,” you said, fascinated by the way your lips curled in under your teeth to shape the consonants, and judging by where your soulmate was looking, he was, too. “It’s not an act. I am a little bitch.”

“No more of that hiding shit.” He tapped your cheek a little harder than he needed to with his middle two fingers. “Don’t know why you’d wanna hide this, anyway.”

You wouldn’t’ve said you winced at his rough touch, but you noticed enough of an aggravated microexpression around your eyes that you could tell you didn’t like it. “You’re doing the same. Hiding what you look like from me.”

“And I’m gonna keep doing it. You get nothing. There is no us. Soulmates don’t exist, and even if some hack fraud’s quirk has paired us off, I don’t need anybody, least of all you.”

“Well, maybe you don’t need anyone,” you said, your eyes dipping to see more of his hand (hot damn, we forgot we can’t see through our own eyes that quickly?) and then raising them to look directly into your soulmate’s—hyperaware of the way your eyelashes fluttered against your skin, of the slight pinch of your eyebrows, of the way the sun struck your cheeks, “but you could want someone.”

A sliver of a cool breeze wove its way through the patio, some of your hair swaying with it.

“I won’t pressure you to do anything you don’t want,” you said, lying, “but at the very least, we could communicate enough for this to be easy for us. Please let me give you my phone number, and please save it this time.”

His thumb inched up to press into your lower lip.

“Please,” you said, eyes dark but slightly glassy, letting your tongue tap the tip of his thumb, so lightly wetting it that it was as if you hadn’t touched it at all.

Your soulmate tilted his head again, lurching to the side as he shifted his weight to lean on the table. He knocked your pen onto the ground, and when you made the slightest movement to grab it, he pressed his thumb harder against you to still you, and he shook his head.

Your throat ran dry. Your (his) eyes honed in on the bead of sweat dripping down it and into your blouse. “Give me your name, then. A name, if you hate me that much.”

“It’s Touya,” he grumbled, and he closed his eyes in the moment before he kissed you, cold lips open before even touching yours (both rough, but his lower lip was much rougher for some reason). Blind, you startled back at the initial touch, but he held your chin firmly near his, sliding his gloved hand to your cheek as his tongue did into your mouth, pressing against the roof of your mouth and along your gums, alternating pressure where he pleased, not seeming to care what you did with your tongue—not that you were doing much at all due to surprise, but you at least had the mind to press your lips back, because while yes, his style was unorthodox, it still felt good. He laughed through his nose, once, when you slid your tongue against his, but when you raised a hand to cup his cheek, he pulled away before you could do more than graze him.

“Touya,” you said, and now that he was looking at you again, you—well, you looked kissed out, leaning towards him to chase that feeling, to encourage him to touch you again, and you looked fucking hot (the hell? It took a lot for you to think of yourself that way, and today hadn’t even been a good day for you, but now, freshly kissed, saying your soulmate’s name, you found yourself thinking you were pretty. Uh. Could this be what he was thinking instead of you? You couldn’t tell; it felt like it was coming from somewhere deep in your gut). “Touya. Let me write—”

You watched yourself grapple for your pen for a while. He huffed, crossed his arms, and bothered to look down where your pen was for you, and when he did, you finally grabbed it.

“Touya,” you said, uncapping the pen and hovering over your notebook, and you paused after the first stroke. “Touya spelled like that Todoroki Touya who released that Endeavor video during the war?”

The ink bled through the sheet of paper from being pressed in one spot for too long.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, voice rasping, “Spelled just like his.”

“Okay,” you said, bending over your paper and writing based on muscle memory, and under his name, you wrote your phone number for him again, with your name written beneath it, just to hammer it in. You ripped the page out of your notebook with some difficulty before passing it to him.

Touya scanned it and rubbed his thumb over your name, the leather of his fingerless glove catching on the uneven tear.

Cute. Nerd. “Do the gloves have something to do with your quirk?”

“What? No,” he said, crumpling the paper and stowing it in his pocket, and he kept his hands there, hiding them, “I don’t have a quirk.”

Okay, so Touya spoke in a rush and concealed evidence. Sounds like a lie. Monoma took that route on occasion, so the obvious thing for you to say was “Oh, so you wear them because of Naruto? Do you run like him, too?”

“Fuck off,” he spat, and you watched yourself grin: you’ve got him. “As if I had time to be a fuckin’ otaku.”

“Good to know,” you said, “So, all the manga re-analysis I’ve been doing with my friends is new to you? I hope you’re not planning on reading or watching any of the works that we’re covering, then. Unless you wanted to read along with us?”

“I don’t need that shit to scorch my brain.” For some reason, he winced, scrunching his eyes shut for a moment, and you waited in the dark for him.

“You have enough going on?”

He pried his eyes open, blinking blearily at you, still grinning, still smug. “Yeah,” he said, and he dug his left hand out to stare at the back of it, leather shining in the sunlight while he wiggled his fingers. He bent across the table to grab your coffee, fingers spidering over the rim to grip it, and he brought it to his mouth. “This is fucking awful; what’s wrong with you?” he asked after an audible swallow.

“It’s not my usual order.” Closing your notebook, you crossed your arms, staring down at you and feeling more and more like you’re in a dream. “You can either tell me what your quirk is, because I know you’re lying, or you could stay? For coffee? I’ll buy you something better.”

(You would have asked what’s up with his appearance that he didn’t want you to see or feel, but considering how early in your first official meeting it was, the question may be too insensitive, especially if he were born with it.)

Touya glanced over his shoulder, saw something you couldn’t, and set your mug on the iron table with a quiet clink. “I’ve got to go,” he said, and he spun around, taking the first step away.

You slammed a hand on the table purely on guesswork based on where he left your mug, and the sound of shaking iron and tinkling porcelain resounded, distant when you heard it through his ears, yet feeling the vibrations travel through your own arms. “Tell me your goddamn quirk, you daft fucker.”

Touya paused, and he turned back to you. “That’s more like it.” He sat on your table, at the place over your lap, and he reached out towards your face. You saw yourself lean back, eyes wide, but he simply dug his fingers into your hair at your hairline, scratching your scalp and digging his nails in enough to hear the movement.

(You saw yourself frown the moment you noticed his skin was colder than the glove.)

“Barking at me like that is how information is usually torn out of me. Makes me feel at home,” he said, a bit too cheerfully for your liking, “You can be trained to be a bitch towards me yet.”

“Touya,” you said, raising your head to embolden more of his touch, “Who’s—who’s been treating you like that? You don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up.” Touya laid his hand flat atop your head, the weight of it pushing down on you. “Sure, I lied. Said I didn’t have a quirk. Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters.” Your tongue swiped over your lower lip, and Touya’s gaze darted to it. “I want any scrap of you I can get. Everything I’ve already learnt I’ve filed away in my heart: your name, the way you speak, your hatred of your brother’s fish and living at home—”

The hand on your hand slipped to slap over your mouth. “Jesus Christ, stop noticing things about me. Freak. Goddamn.” Touya lifted his hand off of you, and based on his perspective, he ran it through his own hair. “So that you don’t go making your own intrusive observations, I’ll tell you about my quirk: I effectively don’t have one anymore. I used it a lot, and it fucked me up. So, for my own self-preservation, which I’ve been told I should value, I can’t use it anymore. Good enough for you?”

“Great enough for me,” you said, “I’ll take care not to talk about my quirk or hero course stuff too much. I don’t want you to feel left out.”

“Holy shit,” said Touya, and he broke eye contact with you to stare at his boots (scuffed, black, but new, so the scuffing must be intentional), blinking rapidly before pressing—probably—his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids.

Something was deeply wrong with this man. You needed him to kiss you again. You opened your mouth to ask him to, but wooziness and your dry throat called; the ripped page of your notebook you’d been staring at dripped back into your own perspective at a glacial pace. You heard the scuffle of his shuffling off the iron table and the grit of his boot against the concrete, and when you grappled for him in the dark, your hand clenched around nothing.

You rubbed your eyes until the vertigo passed, and when you opened them, Touya was gone.

***

Later that afternoon, you were scrolling through your phone on the end cushion of one of Todoroki’s couches in the living room in a poor effort not to gawk at everything. You expected some of it could be excused, since it’s your first time at his house, but good God, rich people were insane. This was the biggest, traditionally-styled building (estate?) you’ve been in since you toured a castle preserved from the Edo period—but it was apt, you supposed, since Endeavor had been acting as a sort of daimyo of his own.

Dormer gables. Hip-and-gable roofs, with golden shachihoko shibi cupping the corners—though instead of the customary sea monsters, if your eyes weren’t deceiving you, they appeared to be made for flame-swimming instead of in water. A recessed entryway, its wooden flooring tiles hand-cut in tiny designs to make you aware of the space, with brand-new guest slippers already provided before you could ask. Todoroki’s house (estate?) screamed business, or at the very least, don’t touch anything.

At least the living room in which you sat stiffly had a touch of clear modernity—and so it seemed that the inner rooms actually revealed that they were living in the modern age, but the barrier of traditional architecture to get to actual living space heaved a hyperawareness of outsider onto your shoulders.

Todoroki himself, bless him, moved around like the elegant austerity didn’t even occur to him. Waiting for Midoriya with the rest of you, he’d helped everyone spread out their notes and manga over the short table and floor, gathering blankets for everyone when it occurred to him that not everyone’s body tolerated temperature like he did (since the house was kept oddly cold), and, instead of offering tea, like he’d said his sister would expect him to do, he provided a peculiar but pleasant combination of snacks: cheap-ass cup noodles, strawberry chardonnay-flavoured cheese on soup crackers, old mooncakes that had been in the fridge for a month but he declared were still good, and gummy worms for Monoma.

The bitch even bought everyone a fancy little drink according to personal preferences—and no one had even requested them or informed him what to get, but he’d gotten everything right, regardless (you suspected he’d asked Shinsou for help).

“Thank you,” you said, turning over in your hands the poshest bottle of pink lemonade you’ve ever seen, “You’re a very gracious host, Todoroki.”

He slurped his own caramel frappe. “I’m very excited to have so many friends over at once.”

“Of course,” you said, your weight jostling on the couch cushion as Todoroki sat next to you, “I can’t believe we didn’t think of going off-campus to watch this shit earlier. There’s way more privacy here.”

“Our doors are always open nowadays,” he said, and when Sero tapped Todoroki on his shoulder to help open another package of cheese, he held up a finger to pause your conversation.

Smiling softly, you twisted off the bottlecap of your lemonade, holding it up to your nose to inhale that pressurised burst of lemon scent, and—oh, hey, you felt a little lightheaded as you did so. Two times in one day? That’s new. At least it was from your perspective this time, so you didn’t have to worry about knocking anyone’s drink over.

“Hey,” you said, snuggling down into the couch, your palm atop the opening of your drink (when Monoma shot you a questioning look with the phone call hand signal, you nodded, and he relaxed and leaned towards you, his teeth cutting into his lower lip as he grinned). “Funny how we keep meeting like this, yeah?” you asked, feeling soft and full of love for this fucker, and you reached towards the coffee table to set down your drink and grab a flower-shaped mooncake. “I guess I can stop hiding from my reflection now, sweet boy.” You made eye contact with yourself in the reflection of the Torodokis’ enormous flatscreen, and you held your mooncake up in a toast before biting into it. “Hope you’re well. You seemed stressed earlier. I’m currently—”

Your phone rang in your lap, and you narrowed your eyes at the unknown number before answering it. “Hello?”

“Where the hell are you right now?”

“Wow,” you said, chewing, “No greeting, even? No mention of how much that you miss my voice or my lips now that you’ve—”

“Just tell me where the fuck you are,” said Touya, at the same time that Monoma’s eyebrows shot to his hairline at the kissing implication, and he thumped Shinsou in the chest for him to look up from his phone.

“Does it matter?”

“I told you my quirk shit when I didn’t want to, so fucking tell me,” said Touya, sounding muffled and, again, like he stood near traffic.

Swallowing mooncake in a rush and choking a bit, you cleared your throat and said, “Fine. I don’t know why it matters that much to you, but I’m at a friend’s house. Our anime analysis group has gotten too big for the dorms, so we’re trying out his place.”

You had to ensure the call hadn’t dropped due to his long response time. “What friend?” he asked.

You raised a brow, though he couldn’t see you. “I doubt you would know—shit!”

Struggling to tear the plastic covering the cheese, Todoroki had accidentally slammed his elbow into your collarbone.

“Geez.” You winced at Todoroki and rubbed the spot. “No, no, I’m fine,” you said when he reached towards your collarbone, his fingertips already icing over, “You may want to go get a knife to open that, though.”

Nodding soberly, Todoroki lowered his thawing hand and rose from the couch, tossing the cheese to himself. “I’ll do that. Anyone need anything from the kitchen while I’m up?”

While the others answered, you spoke into your phone again, hand on your chest. “Sorry about that. I guess if you paid attention to the news last year, you’d know him: one of Endeavor’s kids, Todoroki Shouto.”

The soulmate connection started to trickle away, but Touya stayed on the phone. “Do you not have any other friends who have a place?” Plastic crinkled on his end, along with a car horn in the background. “Hell, the library downtown rents out portable TVs—”

“Why should I be at another friend’s house?” Touya wouldn’t be able to see the reflection of your self-satisfied smirk now, but surely he could hear it in your voice. “Jealous that I’m at the house of another man?”

Touya gagged into the speaker. “Someone’s full of herself. Don’t wait up for me,” he said, and he hung up.

You pulled your phone away from your ear, pouting at the call screen before creating a new contact.

“You didn’t tell us you’d met your soulmate,” said Shinsou.

“It only happened this afternoon,” you said, saving his number under Touya 🐠🚷 (the fish for the koi pond he hated, and the no pedestrians sign for his apparent propensity to jaywalk), “and I’m not sure what to make of him. I was hoping to form my own opinion before telling all of you.”

Todoroki perked up and tilted his ear skyward at the sound of the front door opening. “I’ll get it,” he said, standing, “I bet that’s my brother. He’s back four hours late from physical therapy; I hope everything’s okay.”

Your eye twitched.

(Todoroki had warned everyone before coming over that his family would probably be in and out. Less so Fuyumi and Natsuo, because Fuyumi had recently moved in with her significant other and Natsuo had his own place near campus, but more of his parents and Dabi. Well. Touya, now, but you had your own Touya to worry about.

You’d met Dabi. Twice, during freshman year. When he’d been a villain, instead of whatever was happening with him in recovery. Rather formulative experiences for you, ones you only permitted yourself to think about in the hollowness of lonely nights—but you didn’t need those memories anymore, because you had your Touya now.

Remember? You have your own Touya. You don’t need another.)

“Do you want me to carry that for you?”

Todoroki’s voice trailed behind boot scuffing and a sliding door, and in Dabi/Touya shuffled—hoodie yanked up (layered over a longer coat?), strings pulled firmly around his face, plastic bags from the convenience store down the street on his wrist, very determinedly staring at the floor as he strode past behind the couch instead of at the four of you strewn across his living room, ducking into the kitchen as soon as possible.

You’d barely seen him for five seconds, and your heart was going to beat out of your chest. Or maybe that was just the bruise forming on your collarbone.

Todoroki nodded after his brother, standing behind your place at the couch. “There’s no ceremonial introduction, I assume. That’s my brother, Touya. You’ve all,” said Todoroki, scratching the back of his neck, “met him before. But! If you’re nervous, we will not be seeing much of him. He doesn’t spend much time in the main house; he lives in the old-fashioned teahouse towards the back of the garden. Privacy, you know, even though we’ve got to keep him close.” Todoroki wetted his lips as he looked towards the emptied shrine on the far wall. “He shouldn’t be any trouble, but I may have to zip out on occasion to help him. Not all of his skin grafts are taking.”

The doorbell rang, and Todoroki started towards it. “That must be Midoriya. Sero, would you please pull up the next episode?”

When Todoroki stepped into the entryway to greet him, you couldn’t suppress your curiosity. “I’m gonna go pour this over ice,” you said, gesturing with your pink lemonade bottle, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Shinsou—the only one whom you’ve told about what happened with Dabi back then—shot you a crooked grin, but he distracted Monoma from noticing exactly what you were doing while you sneaked away down the hall.

His back was to you. Water flowed out of the kitchen faucet while he yanked his hoodie over his head and tossed it over the back of a chair, and he did the same with a longer, black coat—similar in shape to the coat he’d worn as a villain but not the same one. Maybe he’d grown accustomed to having the weight of it on his body, so what he wore now was a type of security blanket. While he ran a spoon under the faucet, he fumbled behind himself for his plastic, convenience store bag and fished out a pudding cup.

Backtracking a little, you purposely made your footsteps audible so that you wouldn’t startle him, and you entered the kitchen, shaking your lemonade for more noise to alert him of your presence.

His white brows pinched when he saw you, and he hastily shut the water off and scooted off to the edge of the counter while he put his stuff away, his movements rigid and close to his chest.

“Hi,” you said (oh, my God, you were talking to Dabi; holy shit), “Where do the cups live?”

Dabi blinked slowly, unable to look at you, and he peeled the lid off of his pudding cup. He glanced towards the door and back towards his stuff on the table, and he pointed towards a cabinet, his finger returning to his fist in a rush to get back what he was doing.

“Thank you,” you said, opening the one he’d pointed to. Oh. Fancy. Lots of choices. “I hope we’re not bothering you. We can—we can always leave, if you need us to. Or you could join us, if you like.” You turned around in time to see the flat of his tongue lick pudding off of the lid, stitches showing at the back of his tongue, and in the moment where he ducked his head, the tiny, unblemished part of his skin near the corners of his eyes blazing pink, your brain short-circuited.

(Dabi had been your first kiss.

During freshman year, in the week of that first round of internships, you’d been planted in Hosu City, around the time Stain closed his fist around the public consciousness. On a night patrol, your mentor had slipped into a restaurant that the yakuza frequented and stationed you in a nearby alley to watch for other yakuza incoming from the employees’ entrance.

An official sidekick had caught up with you—late forties, spandex, unrecognisable. You’d been terse in your replies, since he’d been essentially blowing your cover, but he couldn’t take a hint.

It’d only occurred to you that he’d been hitting on you when he’d propped an arm on the brick wall above your head to dominate your personal space, and an all-consuming dread had erupted in your stomach when he’d said, moving to take your chin in hand, “You know, you remind me a lot of my daughter.”

Before he’d been able to touch you, something rabid and ravenous about the size of a labrador had tackled him to the ground, the force knocking him almost two whole meters away, and the thing ripped into the sidekick’s chest, blood spewing—and somehow having the sense to cover his mouth to stifle the shouts.

In the moment you’d moved to get a better look at what was, in retrospect, a nomu, another figure had stepped between you and the sidekick, his own arm resting on the wall to keep you from getting closer.

“Hey,” Dabi had said, an easy grin stretching across his face, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about anything. Just testing some shit out for someone. So long as you don’t go making any noise, I’ll let you walk away.”

Dabi hadn’t made his villain debut back then, but even so, it hadn’t seemed like it was just testing something out for someone; this guy had seemed his own brand of dangerous. Your gaze had started to creep towards the source of crunching, but he’d tapped your cheek, making you look at him. “Nuh-uh. Keep your eyes on me. If you don’t know anything, I don’t have to kill you, do I?”

“I, I’m—” You’d steeled yourself somewhat, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “I’m not just gonna let you kill a hero while I stand here.”

Again, Dabi had stopped you before you could take a full step, this time by gripping your jaw, letting it rest in his palm while his fingers dug into your cheeks. “Can’t call him a hero. Was comparing you to his daughter—didn’t you hear? And it looked like he was gonna assault you. Some guys aren’t meant to be fathers.” His syrupy gaze had fallen to your neck, and he’d squeezed your face. “Jesus, your heart is beating like crazy.”

“I don’t normally calm myself down to the sounds of someone getting maimed,” you’d said, blood splattering in the air behind him, “Oh! Fuck.” You’d scrunched your eyes shut and curled in on yourself, trying to block out the sound of bones snapping.

“Some hero you are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you’d said, “You’re more of one than I am, tonight. Thanks—?”

“Dabi,” he’d said, and at the time, it had just been a name. When you’d pried open your eyes, he’d been smiling, mouth closed, head tilted at being called a hero. You’d smiled back, but at an enormously strident crack from behind him, you’d had a full-body jolt. “Fucking hell, calm down,” he’d said, his arm sliding from the wall to your upper arm, “For once, you’re safe with me.” Seeing you try to look over his shoulder again, Dabi had dragged you forward by the jaw to kiss you, closed-mouthed but hot, leaning into you, his mouth overwhelming you with hardly any effort on his end, and he’d kept kissing you, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand, until the nomu slinked into silence.

Dabi had broken off when the nomu scuttled farther down the alley. “Right.” He’d taken a deep breath. “You gonna tell anyone about me?”

You’d shaken your head, confused as to why he seemed more concerned about descriptions of him rather than descriptions of the murder. But he’d been nice to you. Had given you a hell of a first kiss. “I can say someone in the yakuza killed him.”

He’d roughly patted your cheek and dropped away from you, stowing his hands in the deep pockets of his coat. “His death isn’t worth reporting, but I’ll take it.” He’d spun on his heel, raising a lazy hand in a wave as he disappeared into the night. “You’d better hope you never see me again.”)

And now, here he was, hunched over shitty gas station snacks in his family kitchen, a spoon hanging out of his mouth while he stowed things away. His naturally white hair showed now, and…he seemed terribly shy. Dabi, shy. Fucking ridiculous. But, you supposed, there’s guilt and shame around, uh, doing what he did. And—and his body was horribly, horribly mangled and mottled. He might not think anyone should look at him.

Todoroki (Shouto, you supposed you should think of him as, since Dabi was a Todoroki, too) had mentioned not all of Dabi’s skin grafts were taking. It was obvious. He’d burnt up during the war, and while you’d heard Recovery Girl and Eri had worked on him, despite outside protests that he wasn’t worth it, he still was very clearly cobbled together.

He still had a lot of staples, though faded stitches filled in new gaps, and those that remained had been replaced with medical-grade staples that wouldn’t get infected. Patches of successful grafts left a waning diamond pattern, particularly around his neck. Very little purple, overall, but going by the scars, you could still tell where it had been. Based on his appearance, he shouldn’t be alive, let alone able to walk around.

But he scooted with such speed out of your way when you got ice out of the freezer. “But really, you could stick around with us, if you wanted to. No pressure, though, if you want to be alone.” Calmly. You were calmly popping ice out of a tray and letting them clatter into your glass. “We’re watching Hunter x Hunter right now, if you’re interested. Have you read or watched it before, either the 1999 or 2011 version? Do you have a favourite character?”

Dabi clutched his snacks and discarded clothes to his chest, almost at the door, with his eyes darting all around the kitchen except on you.

Yeah. Must be shy. You were one of the U.A. students who fought in the war, after all, even though you didn’t personally fight him in the end. Probably feels guilty about the whole thing. Shy could be refreshing, after those bitches in the living room and your cunning soulmate.

Finally, tentatively, Dabi shifted his belongings to his right arm, and he raised his left to pat his throat, swallowing so that his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Oh,” you said, ice melting in your hand, “I’m sorry. Are you on vocal rest? Vocal cords messed up somehow?”

After a moment, Dabi nodded. He edged towards the hallway.

“Okay. I hope you feel better soon,” you said, and you poured your lemonade over the ice. “I’ve kept you long enough. Please go rest; I hope we don’t disturb you further.”

Before you finished, he’d already skibbled off, his house shoes slipping on the wood.

***

(The second time you’d met Dabi hadn’t been as hands-on, but it’d still left an odd impression.

It’d been in an urban jungle-type battle, after knowing his involvement the League but before his backstory reveal, and you and some classmates had been fighting a handful of PLF-aligned villains.

You’d slithered underneath a lean-to created by a partially collapsed building to catch your breath, along with shielding yourself from an explosion Bakugou had been building up. You hadn’t even known Dabi was in the group you were chasing, but he’d slinked underneath the same, protective ruins as you had, barely slipping underneath the cover before Bakugou’s explosion had shaken it.

Dabi had braced himself on the crumbling entrance, scrunching his face away from the explosion, and once it’d stopped, he’d noticed you were barely two paces away from him, sweat dribbling down your face the same as it’d been down his.

You still didn’t know if his startled, constipated expression had been of recognition or simple surprise to see someone else taking cover under something that could collapse and kill them. He’d taken in your U.A. gym uniform—your personal hero costume had been in repairs that week—and there’d been a couple of heavy seconds where neither of you had done anything besides pant and let sweat drip onto the rubble.

He'd slipped out first, since he’d been blocking the entrance, and you’d left soon after. You hadn’t been five steps out of the lean-to before someone on the PLF side had destroyed it, and in the privacy of your heart, you liked to think that Dabi had waited until you were out to raze it.)

***

You made it a habit to call Touya whenever the soulmate bond activated. Though he never initiated a call, he answered most of yours. What else was he going to do, if it were on your side, besides sit there in the dark? He continued to be hold information about himself like a miser clutching coins, but you found it refreshing to have a charismatic grouch of a pseudo-pen pal.

You’d closed the door of a library study room behind you as you called him this time, setting your stack of books on the table.

“You’re finally reading something besides manga? I thought your brain was gonna rot,” he said upon picking up.

You slung the strap of your purse over a chair. “No greeting? No admittance of missing the melodious sound of my voice?”

“Why in the hell would I do that,” he said over the screech of pulling out your chair.

“Because you missed the melodious sound of my voice?” You pulled out your notebook, flipped it to a new page, and fossicked around for a pen. Clicking the one you found, you reached for the first book in your stack, a rudimentary sign language dictionary, and you jotted down a list of common words as they came to you, such as thank you, help, and, of course, the all-important cat.

Touya clicked his tongue. “Are you seriously gonna make me study with you?”

You made the final stroke in the word pudding. “I don’t expect you to absorb the information. If you rather I read manga, I can go to that section for a while. Pick out a shoujo.”

“Get fucked with that otaku shit,” said Touya, and—he must have had his phone on speaker, because a couple of people were speaking to each other nearby about what must be the latest Assassins’ Creed, and the sound changed after some scrapes, with Touya sounding closer. “Why study sign language?”

“There’s someone in my life who recently became unable to talk all of the time,” you said, “and I’d like to help give him some way to communicate.”

“Just text him,” said Touya, “Well—never mind. Who’d wanna text you, anyway?”

“Sometimes, people put away their phones, Touya. Have you heard of it?” You drew a line down the half of your paper to make a new column, one sorting the words in groups—places, family members, requests, and the like.

“What are you getting out of it?” Touya must have scratched somewhere on his face, the sound coming over the phone. “You makin’ fun of him? Making him feel bad? If he wants to talk to you, he can just write shit down.”

“I think he might hate it because of how slow it is. And what if I luck out, and he knows sign already? Then half of my work is done for me,” you said, listing off all of the terms for family members, “Text-to-speech may be okay, but I don’t know. Still slow.”

“He probably doesn’t even want to talk to you,” said Touya, “let alone learn something for you. That’s a lot to ask for someone you ain’t fuckin’.”

You hummed and ignored him. You titled a new column Body, and the first word under it was burns. Followed by healing, surgery, hands, skin, hurt, and rest. For the first time in a while, Touya’s emotions were strong enough for you to feel, but you couldn’t name them. More like some pitiful, fearful soup, if anything, and other stuff you couldn’t put your finger on.

His voice still came in confidently derisive, though. “What kind of fucked up guy are you spreading your legs for, since those are what you’re writing down for his body? Seems like you’d be better off as a cocksleeve for someone else actually capable of fucking you.”

“Oh, rude! Rude!” Scowling, you set down your pen. “That’s rude to both me and him. I’m not talking to you anymore. Enjoy studying, asshole.” You flipped to a random page in the dictionary and started memorising, a bit too pissed to be productive for real, and you kept it up—if Touya were going to be here, then he’s not learning productive sign language, either. Try using marble and mare in everyday conversation, jackass.

Later, you caught yourself zoning out while staring at an entry, only shaking yourself out of it when Touya grumbled under his breath for you to turn the page already.

***

Todoroki paused the episode when the pizza arrived.

Moaning way too sensually, Kaminari stretched his arms above his head and arched his back. “My electricity is cooler than Killua’s, right? I have more swag than him?”

“No.”

“In your dreams.”

“Yikes.”

“Wrong,” said Shinsou, pelting him in the face with a popcorn kernel.

Kaminari picked it up off the floor and ate it mournfully. “I’m getting beaten by a fictional twelve year old.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you announced, pushing yourself up from your seat between Shinsou and Monoma (which was just as well, since they were comparing scans of the current manga chapter over your lap), and you set off with the intention going to the farthest bathroom to increase your chances of bumping into Dabi.

No such luck, even though you deliberately stomped your slippers as loudly as you could to try to draw him out. Sighing, you backtracked to a tiny bathroom you’ve used before, one that wasn’t as intimidatingly wealthy as the rest of the house and therefore actually felt like it was meant to be used, and you opened the creaking door onto an exhausted, shirtless Dabi trying to rub some sort of cream on the back of his neck, a massive jar open on the sink, blood seeping down his biceps at the strain around his staples.

Both of you froze. He took a quick glance to the gobs of cream on his hands and managed to kick the door shut from his seat on the closed toilet, but your foot caught in the door, which struck your nose and cheekbone, with you yelping and clutching the area.

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” you said through the crack in the door, shakily dragging your bruised foot out of it, “I didn’t know anyone was even in this side of the house. Are you okay? No, wait, sorry again—you’re bleeding; of course you’re not okay. I’m sorry.” You checked your nose for bleeding of your own, but nothing leaked out of your nose. “Can I—may I help with whatever you’re doing?”

No answer. But he hadn’t shut the door.

“Fine,” you said, and you spoke into the crack, only able to make out the granite on the near side of the sink. “I don’t know what’s going on with you nowadays, but I hope you’re doing okay. Or that you’ll be okay soon, at least. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, and I’m sorry you had to go through it. But I can grasp, I think, that having a bunch of your brother’s friends over can be intimidating and isolating. If nothing else, I’d like to get to know you better—or you could just get to know me better, if you don’t feel like sharing—so that having all of us over isn’t as terrible. I’m sorry we’re bursting into your life when you’re working out a lot of stuff in recovery—”

Dabi yanked open the door, brow furrowed, and instead of looking at you, he clamped his slimy hands on the sink and stood on his toes to arch towards the mirror, opening his mouth wide to breathe hot air onto it, teeth bared, as if he were roaring. In its fleeting fog, he traced out kanji, streaked with lotion and hidden by his left hand as he wrote, and he blew over it a final time before stepping back and jabbing at the message.

Stop apologising.

“Ah—oh,” you said, while Dabi squatted and rooted through the cabinet under the sink, “Okay. I’ll try. Thank you for saying so.” How do you talk to someone who was formerly 1) an S-tier villain and, more importantly, 2) your longest-running crush?

Dabi plopped a meagre first-aid kit on the counter and pointed to the source of bleeding on one of his arms, the inside bicep where two staples had come loose.

“I don’t know shit about first-aid,” you said, reaching for the kit anyway, “I know you have to keep pressure on it, and stuff, but—”

And so the first time Dabi looked you in the eyes was to shoot you an incredulous, suspicious glare that accompanied his snatching the kit back from you, clutching it out of your reach. Relaxing once it was in his hands, he hesitated a moment, shifting his jaw, before nudging the open jar of lotion with his knuckle, reverting to his fixed gaze on his feet.

“I can do that,” you said, heart racing, “You wanna—why don’t you sit back down?”

Not lotion, you noted, as Dabi pulled out disinfectant wipes and a roll of gauze near its end, burn cream. Aw. You dipped your first three fingers into it (heavy, roll-around slimy, like holding a frog) and hoped to God that your soulmate didn’t tune in during this. Touya didn’t like a lot of things you did, but he’d probably loathe your gawking over the scarred back of someone who wasn’t him.

Yeah, Touya would probably hate how you would hone in, laser-sharp, each time Dabi’s muscles flexed as he wrapped his wound, how the space between his shoulder blades with the tiny dent along his spine (well, his spine indented at the top of his back, where he was broader and still held muscle, and poked out towards his lower back as he bent over) held your focus far too long to be impersonal—and you got to touch it. You kept the contact to your fingertips, because as much as you wanted to flatten your hands to feel every moving tendon, you didn’t want to scare him. He’s probably not used to outside touch, and you shouldn’t come on too strongly, especially when someone else’s soul was fucking bound to yours.

But as your fingers smoothed over the marks around his shoulders where burns used to be, skin cold to the touch, as Dabi turned his head to the side just barely so that he could watch you out of his periphery, you found it hard to remind yourself that you already had a Touya. Can’t have two.

“I know it’s none of my business, but, uh, if you’re on vocal rest this often, I could—I could help you learn some sign language?” You scratched underneath your eye in a nervous gesture and smeared some of the burn cream on your cheek. “Nothing intensive. Only simple, everyday stuff, like—well. I don’t know what frequents your vocabulary. You don’t have to, but I’m offering. Just in case.”

In the mirror, Dabi halted in tying the gauze to glare up at you, his lip curling up in flash of a sneer.

“Okay, that’s cool. That’s fine. I can—I can leave a sign language book with your brother, if you—if you ever change your mind.” You nodded, just to have some sort of reaction he could see, and he tucked away the disinfectant wipes and tossed the empty roll of gauze into the trash bin. “Hey,” you said, noting how he’d only bled at his left arm, which was covered with mottled patches of skin, staples, and stitches, along with the faint diamond-pattern of skin grafts, while his right arm needed no medical attention, pale and unblemished without any sign of damage, “What’s up with—if you’re comfortable with sharing, why doesn’t your right arm have any scars? Was Recovery Girl able to heal that more effectively, or something?”

Holding your gaze in the mirror, Dabi raised his eyebrows, nearly vanishing under the drooping, white spikes of his hair, and he reached over with his left hand to rub his thumb over his right shoulder and curving down into his armpit.

He actually laughed (a laugh through his nose, yes, and one without the humming sort of vocalisation usually accompanying a laugh through a nose, but a laugh nevertheless) at how hard you jumped when he popped off what was apparently a prosthetic.

***

“If you hate gardening this much, why keep doing it?” you asked, once again trapped in Touya’s perspective late at night while he tended to a traditional, Japanese garden. You lay flat on your back in bed, hands and phone resting on your chest (laptop closed to the side. Your essay was due at eight o’clock in the morning. Would Present Mic accept late work due to soulmate interference?).

“Lots of dumb fucking reasons that all fold in together,” said Touya, shovelling gravel out of a wheelbarrow and into the man-made brook he was trying to shape, “One: my stupid fucking family has decided that doing this earthy shit would calm me down. Zen gardening, or whatever.”

“Oh, do you have issues controlling your anger, Touya?”

“Stop that. Two.” Gravel pittered off the shovel blade, falling into the trickling water with a series of tiny plops. “One of my brothers brought up how Mom always liked the garden but was stopped from taking care of it herself, and since I did some shit to—it’s not like I could’ve helped it; they were keeping stuff from her, too. Anyway, Mom’s fucking sad nowadays. Better, but sad.” Touya sank the shovel into the gravel to lean on it, tracking the flow of the water for a moment, twisting through the previous path currently being overtaken by moss and fallen stone. “And my brother thinks the garden being fancy again will make our mom happy, especially if I’m the one to do it. Dick. Saying if we hired people to do it, it wouldn’t be the same. Started with just the damn fish, but now the whole fucking thing’s my job. It’s fucking shit. It’s blackmail and family obligation and rent all at once. It’s a fuckin’ nasty trick.”

Touya dug into the wheelbarrow again. “And my fa—that guy had the nerve to suggest that I needed something to do during the day. As if I’m not busy enough.”

“During the day? Touya, I’ve only seen you garden at night.”

“Because it’s too damn hot outside all the time. And I don’t want anyone watching me. I’m no one’s business. But I bet they’d like staring out of a window at me, while I break my fucking body again moving all of these shitty rocks and shaping Mom’s fucking evergreens.” He shovelled with deep malice. “Did you fucking know that there’s goddamn symbolism in these shitty gardens? That you can’t just put things anywhere without it meaning something? Somehow ponds are supposed to be oceans. Rocks are supposed to be mountains. Forced perspective shit, paired with tenets of Zen and Shinto, and it’s the pettiest, most unnecessary bullshit I’ve ever had to deal with, and I dealt with a friend’s abominable driving for years. Never got any better at it, even though I got fucking motion sick.”

He knelt, and when two, fat glops of Touya’s sweat dripped onto the stone at the impact, you rather enjoyed the gentle wafting about your dorm room at the blades of your ceiling fan.

He must have felt your appreciation. “Stop that. I’m making a point. Look at this shit,” he said, gesturing to the brook and then up at the three-quarter moon, “I’ve gotta change the course of the water, because it’s better to face towards the moon to capture its reflection, and I’ve gotta make it somehow cascade or waterfall at some point over there.” He pointed far across the garden towards a flickering pair of stone lanterns. “How am I supposed to do that? I can’t even make it flow through gravel right. I might have to move some of the stepping stones again. I fucking hate those things. They’re too heavy for one person, and I’ve already had to rearrange them because some of them weren’t fucking weathered or natural-looking enough.”

“Sure. Death to aesthetics,” you said, blindly feeling around for a pack of gum you kept in your bedside table, “I’d come help you if I could, but somebody—”

“You’re not getting a location out of me, princess.”

You paused, hand on the knob of the first drawer, and a wide, smug smile broke across your face (Princess, Touya? You’re gonna call me princess? You sure you don’t care about me?).

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“I could feel it,” said Touya, flexing his fingers on his knees, “so shut up.”

Gloved hands clenched into fists, he glared at the brook, the gravel, up at the moon, and back into the water.

“You know, it looks like if you moved most of the gravel to one side, the water might flow the direction you need it to.”

“Who’s the one busting their ass here, me or you?” But he plunged his hands into the water, grabbed heaping fistfuls of rocks, and patted them onto the far side of the stone bed.

“Touya,” you said, feeling around in your drawer for the pack of gum, “Take your gloves off! You’re gonna ruin the leather.”

“Like I care.” He dragged more gravel underwater. “If I took ’em off, you’d see my hands.”

“Come off of it, Touya. I bet they’re perfectly fine,” you said, successfully grabbing gum and sliding your drawer shut, “Hands are often the most attractive part of a man.”

He paused, water flowing around his arms up to his elbows (he wouldn’t roll up his sleeves, either. Stubborn boy. He must hate whatever’s going on with him). “Not the dick?” He sounded like he was grinning.

“Not always. Some of them look like sad, sea creatures,” you said, unwrapping your gum into your phone’s speaker to annoy him, “It takes talent to have a pretty cock. Hands, however, can easily be lusted over because of what they’re capable of. Or what you know they’ve done.”

(Hee hoo hah, like burn down a city. You’re so normal about it.)

“Not how they look?”

“Appearance can help, but it’s not the whole cow,” you said, chewing while the flavour faded fast.

Touya scoffed, his fingers sinking into gravel. “You makin’ fun of me?”

What? “Of course not. Why?”

“Don’t say shit like that to get on my good side. I’m more than aware I ain’t got anything besides my shitty personality goin’ for me.” He cleared his throat. “That sign language guy got anything I don’t?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You sure seem obsessed with him,” said Touya, leaning more deeply into the water, soaking his hoodie even more, “even though he sounds pathetic. You tryin’ to fix him to make yourself look good?”

“Of course not. I know no one can fix anyone else. He has to choose to do that himself,” you said, “Not that there’s anything about him that merits fixing.”

Laughing (oh? hot), Touya scooped a handful of gravel out of the wheelbarrow to add it to the far side. “Yeah, you’re fucking obsessed with him. Am I not your soulmate?”

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it (and…you…couldn’t see it). “You haven’t given me anything to obsess over, unless you want me to research gardening tips or how to breed carp.”

“I would love for you to be obsessed with breeding, sweet—”

“Oh, my God, you have to ease into that sort of thing, Touya.”

He pulled his hands out of the brook, drenched sleeves gushing water back into it. “D’you want me to start with how much I wanna suck on your perfect tits?”

“Touya,” you said carefully, shoving the gum to one cheek, “Is everything okay? You’re acting—strange.”

“What do you—”

“Where’s the blind hatred for me? Where’s the disdain?”

Sitting back on his knees, Touya shoved his leather-wet-dripping hands into the damp, double pocket of his hoodie with a muted slosh. “You think I hate you?”

“You’re that rude to people you don’t hate?”

Water seeped through the pocket and through his jeans, visibly darker in the moonlight and soaking his thighs. “Fuck off. I mean—what I mean is that I’m not used to people like you. Who don’t talk like me. Who aren’t mean to me back. Or who don’t seem to want anything from me. Didn’t know you really thought I was rude.”

You screwed up your face. “Who have you been hanging out with? What the hell is wrong with you? Spend time with people who like you, please?”

“No one likes me—”

“Get your head out of your ass, edgelord,” you said, sitting up in bed and holding the phone up to your mouth, “Newsflash, dipshit, it sounds like lots of people like you. Your brother, who wants to help you make your mom happy, in an easy, physical way that you’re more than capable of. Your mom, who sounds like she’s happier now that you’re back in her life. The rest of your goddamn family, who want you close by so that they can help you if you ever fucking accepted it. Your stupid friends who are into Assassins’ Creed.”

“Stop fucking noticing things about—”

“And me. I like you, dipshit. Get over yourself. You’re digging yourself your own lonely, self-deprecating hole, where I guess you’re at your most comfortable. But tonight alone you’ve shown in your garden that you fucking hate digging holes. They mean unnecessary work.”

Inhaling sharply, you threw your phone into the bedspread, but all that came through was a distant deer scare, bamboo hitting rock.

“Since when do you like me?” he asked, pushing on his knees to stand.

The artificial-yellow light from your lamp starting creeping in around the rim of your vision, blotting out parts of Touya’s silhouette in the moonlight. “I talk to you, don’t I? I wouldn’t even acknowledge the bond if I weren’t open to—we’ve been hanging out. You didn’t know?”

“Like I would know what that looks like,” said Touya, the walls of your room coming into view while Touya pulled his own phone out of his inner pocket, tapping the screen to see how long the call has lasted, “Like I would know how someone like you would behave when they like me.”

“Stay on the goddamn phone,” you said in the moment his thumb hovered over the end call button, the last thing you made out before fully sinking back into your dorm room, “If you don’t know what I—well, what does your love look like, Touya? What do you do when you like someone?”

“Sexually? Romantically?”

“Not necessarily,” you said, pissed to have the connection severed and sliding off of the bed to turn off the lights, “Just when you care for someone at all.”

“Gimme a minute,” came Touya’s voice, and after you flipped the lights and the ceiling fan off, you wandered over to your window, switched your phone off speaker, and held it to your ear as you stared up at the same moon Touya was under, and you waited.

“Right, I don’t know for sure,” he said after a while (but it sounded like he’d stopped dealing with the gravel to think about it), “but this is the only thing that’s coming to mind. Before I was living at home again, me and some friends didn’t have consistent sources of food. Don’t interrupt to say you’re sorry. But. So, whenever I’d, uh, buy stuff. From a store. I’d make sure I got some sort of snack for whoever I was with, even though we were all too proud to ask for shit. Didn’t really think about doing it on purpose. But I guess I did.”

“You are deliciously, delightfully, tender as fuck,” you said, clenching a fist over your heart, your boob jostling with the fervent impact (and it pleased you knowing that Touya would’ve laughed if he’d seen), and you kept talking over his sounds of disapproval. “And I am gonna cook for you. I am going to set you a table so vast that you’re gonna be eating off it for a long, long time. You’re never gonna be fucking hungry ever again, Touya.”

When he didn’t answer, you worried you said the wrong thing, but you stayed on the line, listening. Two minutes later, he hung up, and you could have sworn he cut off in the middle of a wet sniffle.

***

What can you cook? What were you good at cooking that actually constituted a filling meal?

Start small, you supposed.

Fuyumi kept the Todoroki kitchen much more well-stocked than the kitchen to which you had access, and so, with welcome permission, you headed over to the estate earlier than the scheduled viewing time to prepare, with Shinsou and Todoroki hanging out in the kitchen with you.

“Jirou says she can attend,” said Todoroki, thumb swiping across his phone screen, “Turns out her tipping point was stating the merits of studying Melody’s music powers. She’s asking if Yaoyorozu may attend as well?”

“It’s your house.” Shinsou was folding his napkin into an origami frog. “If there’s a need for excuses, you can always say Yao might like—I forget his name, but he’s that character in the Phantom Troupe whose hair looks like a mop? She might like analysing how his power lets him copy anything, even though it doesn’t have the same limitations like her quirk.”

“I will mention that,” said Todoroki, nodding sagely.

The plan was simple: with a captive audience of anime nerds, you could get feedback on your cooking until it was good enough for Touya (a small part of you still cringed thinking about how he reacted to your potato wedges). You would lure your friends into a state of complacency with your smaller dishes—baked goods, and the like—until there was no escape when you served them something more filling, like soups.

Today, you were making teeny little lemon ricotta pancakes (the recipe called for them to be regular-sized, but if you made them around the size of a potato chip, it would be more accessible to eat with fingers in the living room) that gave you the air of being fancy but were actually mindless to make, it turned out, and right now, you were stirring the stewing blueberry syrup that you’d decided would be a dipping sauce rather than drizzled over—the Todorokis had an excess of white furniture, and you would like to be invited to use their kitchen again.

“I think,” you said, once the syrup was behaving like syrup when you let it dribble out of the ladle back into the pot, “I’m gonna take some to your brother. I don’t want him feeling left out, if he comes through. He’s home right now, yeah?”

“He’s in his teahouse. It’s towards the back of the garden.” Todoroki got up from the table. “Do you want me to show you?”

“I’m sure I can find it, since it’s the only building not connected to the main one,” you said, but you did accept his help finding a tray and sauce cup for the syrup, and once it was set, you picked up the tray and strode with purpose towards the garden.

Walking through its seemingly-natural landscape while balancing food and liquids proved to be miraculously easy. Their hired gardeners must be doing insane upkeep to ensure its deliberate, natural-but-not cosiness. You made a mental note to ask Touya what some of the structures symbolised, like the recurring patterns of three rocks of different heights close together. He’d know, reluctantly, since he did stuff like this, and you considered his work to be superior to this, anyway.

In the blistering sun, you had to narrow your eyes to slits, regretting that both of your hands were full so that you couldn’t shield them from the light, and you found a gated, stone path to the teahouse. Clearly, it had once been slightly dilapidated but had since been worked on; another room had been latched on to the side to double its size, judging by the change in architecture styles, and the roof reflected sunlight a little too well for its polished, stone tiles to be less than a year old.

Bracing the tray, you took the steep step onto the neatly swept, bamboo engawa running around the edge of the teahouse, and you—was the door around to the side? Around the left side of the original part of the tearoom, two shoji panels had been spread to let in sunlight upon an empty room with an actual fucking sunken hearth, unlit, with one of the same fire-fish as on the estate’s roofs for the crank’s lever. Behind what would have been the seat of honour stood a dishevelled tokonoma, devoid of scrolls or incense burners but instead housing an unzipped backpack atop a long coat, its sleeves trailing onto the floor outside the tokonoma, with sticky notes taped to its inner wall. A red-tinted wood dresser had been pushed into the corner, tissues and hand sanitiser atop it and a single stack of books propped next to it.

A pair of boots was tucked inside the open shoji. Maybe he’s asleep.

At your first step inside, you jolted so hard you had to struggle to hold onto the tray—the floor had chirped at you. Dead ringer for a bird call. Tentatively, you took another step, and it chirped again, this time with a bit of a wheeze, more artificial-sounding.

You jumped and stumbled again at another wall sliding open, giving the impression that a flock of birds had flown inside, and Dabi poked his head through the gap (you could make out the gleaming pause screen of a gaming system in the newer room behind him). His face had relaxed when he’d seen it was you, but it pinched into a strange, unnameable expression when he saw what you were carrying.

“Hi,” you said, holding out the tray, “I’ve made too many snacks for the anime group today, so I thought you might like some? I can take it away, if you don’t want any.”

Since he probably didn’t know the amount of people attending nowadays, he probably didn’t recognise your lie. Dabi held up a finger for you to wait while he exhumed a short table and two floor seats from storage in the walls, and he waited for you to sit before he did, slowly, crossing his legs on the cushion, his joints creaking.

“They’re little lemon ricotta pancakes. Todo—Shouto told me you didn’t have any food allergies, so it should be fine. That’s blueberry syrup,” you said when he pointed at it. “I’m—I guess you could say I’m practising recipes for cooking for someone else. If you don’t like it, please let me know. I’ll make it better next time.”

Dabi fiddled with two of the tiny pancakes before selecting one, inspecting it in the sunlight, and dipping it into the syrup (you went a little crazy when it dripped onto his tongue stitches, but you managed to suppress it). As he chewed and swallowed loudly, Dabi’s eyes bulged, brow furrowed, and he, panicked, fumbled around for probably his phone, patting the pockets on his jeans. Hands pausing after slapping the empty pockets on his ass, he sprung up, grabbed a pen off of the dresser, and snatched a sticky note off of the inner wall of the tokonoma. He returned to the table and knelt half on the seat, scribbling furiously, and when he pushed the sticky note to you, under a crossed-out potting soil, sledgehammer, he’d written fuck you marry me NOW.

There’s a moment in which you forgot, a moment in which you laugh, head tilted back, flooded with endorphins at your long-time, pseudo-celebrity crush liking something you made to even joke about being in a relationship with you. You opened your mouth to make some joke about how you’d like to go on a few dates first, to have some sort of courtship, but you stopped at the first word: “Touya.” You cut yourself off, brow pinched. You can’t have two.

Not that…not that Dabi/Touya could ever genuinely like you, who fought against him and now witnessed his debasement, but in the far-flung chance that he could, you should clarify about your Touya.

“Touya,” you said again, this time sober and grim, hands folded on your lap, “I know you were only joking, but I was in a quirk-related incident a while ago, and it assigned me a soulmate. So, even if you could like me, I’ve got someone waiting. Presumptuous of me to say, I know, but. I want to treat you with kindness and not make you wonder, in the case it arises. Funnily enough, his name is Touya, too—”

Your phone rang loudly in your back pocket (you kept it on loud nowadays so you could easily feel around for Touya’s call, but it’d led you to awkward moments like this, too). Dabi scowled when you brought it out to silence it and dipped another pancake in the syrup, letting it absorb what it could to tinge it purple.

“It’s him, actually. Odd timing.” Lying flat in your palm, your phone flashed an incoming call from Touya. Leaning across the table, Dabi grabbed it out of your hands to answer it, put it on speaker, and lay it in the centre of the table while he ate his soggy pancake, shaking his head when you moved to undo all of that.

“Hey,” came a tinny, raspy voice that was very much not your Touya’s, “You’re the soulmate, right?”

Dabi shouldn’t have to hear this. Before you could tap the speaker button again, Dabi swatted your hand out of the way, gesturing for you to answer.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, shifting in your seat, “Who are you? Where’s—”

“Tell Touya he left his phone at my place the next time you see through him.” A repetitive, techno instrumental played in the background (video game music?). “At Shiiiiiiiimura’s place. Yeah.”

“I can do that, Shimura,” you said, unsure if you should hold out the vowel as long as he did, and perhaps you can take advantage of the situation for a brief moment, because Dabi was staring at your phone with a constipated sort of expression as he listened. “I can’t control when the bond activates, but I’ll let him know. Do you know what sort of food he likes?”

Shimura barked out a laugh, filling the room in a wide, cleansing way you wouldn’t expect from someone with his scratchy voice. “I heard your potato wedges are shit.”

You sputtered, “He didn’t even have any—”

Dabi ended the call, frowning, shaking his head, and tipping your phone off the table to gently bounce twice when it hit the tatami. He held up a tiny pancake and made a show of looking at it, at you, and back at it, and he shot you an aggressive thumbs-up.

***

Uraraka spent an entire patrol gushing about how she would fuck the author of Hunter x Hunter if she could, so she showed up to the next get-together, along with Asui, whom everyone already thought would be friends with the story’s protagonist if he were real. When you Aoyama caught you in the act of stealing one of his posh cookbooks, you explained the situation to him, and so he tagged along to taste what you were cooking, along with supplying some of the fancier ingredients you wouldn’t’ve known how to obtain. Then you’d asked Sato for advice on how to make the swirl in a strawberry swirl loaf not go to shit, and then the group had spent a few hours discussing the good relationships with animals that Hunters are inherently supposed to have, so Kouda was summoned for his opinions.

The long of short of it was that there were many more spectators than necessary to when Dabi strode into the viewing room, drenched in sweat from his walk back home, to pelt the back of your head with a two-pack of Sakeru cheese. As you rubbed the back of your head, pulling the cold plastic from between your shirt collar and skin, he at least had the decency to drop the single-wrapped fish bread into your lap.

“Hey, Touya,” you said, grabbing his hand before he could skitter away as usual (his wide eyes couldn’t decide to look at both of your hands or at your face), “I’ve set aside slices of both strawberry swirl bread and garlic bread for you in the kitchen. I recommend heating the garlic bread up so the cheese gets all melty again, but it’s good at room temperature, too. Thank you, by the way. For these.”

Nodding hastily, Dabi tore his hand away from your in two, spasming jerks, and he slithered into the kitchen.

Though the rest were watching the show, Shinsou was turned towards you, his head tilted with an incredulous sort of smile. You stuck your tongue out at him and crinkled open the cheese.

Dabi returned with both slices on a paper towel and stood behind you at the couch for a minute, watching the episode. Shifting his weight, he pulled out his phone. “This is garbage,” came a droning, text-to-speech voice from behind.

He stood behind the couch for three more episodes.

***

Through another moonlit, soulmate connection, Touya was failing to prod stray ducks out of the koi pond with the skimmer.

“They’re tenacious little bastards,” you said, sitting on the counter of the dorm kitchen and praying to God that the oven timer wouldn’t go off while you couldn’t see.

“Why. Won’t they. Move.” Touya nudged a duck with the flat of the skimmer, its width as long as the entire duck, and the duck kept gabbing to its friends. “I have no idea if ducks upset the chemical balance of the water enough to kill koi; I’ve never seen them in here before ten minutes ago. Goddamn.” He waved the skimmer over the water’s surface, filtering some debris, and he flipped it onto a duck, who remained vexingly apathetic at the new source of wet. “Tonight was gonna be easy; I was only gonna put up windchimes; I was gonna get to go to bed early. Now I—no, no, no, don’t—!”

One duck bit at the skimmer net, and having pierced it, the duck led the rest of them to the centre of the pond, where the skimmer couldn’t reach, no matter how Touya strained.

“I fucking hate birds,” said Touya, slamming the skimmer on the ground, “and I fucking hate fish. They’re not even good when they’re alive.” Seeming to have a change of heart, Touya picked the skimmer up and took care to lean it against the stone wall of the pond. “Tell me something good, won’t you?”

Does that imply you don’t have to work on any fish dishes? “You’ll be thrilled to hear that my little anime analysis group is almost through the Hunter x Hunter anime, probably. We got to the end of the 1999 version last night.”

Touya sat and splayed his legs on the koi pond stone, watching the moon’s reflection ripple as koi tails broke surface tension. “That’ll only make your process more streamlined, since you’re not watching two episodes covering the same chapters in conjunction anymore. The Chimera Ant arc takes forever, though. You’re not almost done.”

Groping around for your oven mitts, you smiled. “How do you know that, Touya? Thought you hated—”

“What are you going to watch next?”

Stupid boy. Shy boy. “Well, Sero is pushing for Pokémon since there’s so much of it.”

“God, no,” said Touya, leaning back on his hands, “Iconic, yeah. Fun, not really, because in the games, you’re the one getting to battle and bond with the things. It’s not fun to watch someone else get to do it.”

“I can rely on you for negative reviews of everything.” Oven mitt? Oven mitt. Now, where’s its pair? “You want a pokémon, Touya? Which ones?”

“You are such a fucking child—”

“You want a pikachu, don’t you?”

“Hell, no,” Touya spat, “None of that cliché shit. Pikachu isn’t even that good. I—” Cutting himself off, he hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his gloved hands together. “You’ll shit on me for it. Forget I said anything.”

“Should I let you make fun of me first?” You slipped on the other mitt. “I’m cliché as hell. My top choice is either a certain starter or an eevolution.”

“No, I—”

“All right. How about you tell me your favourite as a kid and the one you would choose now?”

“You’re pushy as hell. When I was a kid, I wanted a Ninetales. I was—my mom had read enough for me to know about traditional kitsune,” said Touya, and he ducked his head to stare between his legs (crotch unfortunately hidden in shadow), “and Ninetales is immune to fire. It can use it and not burn up, and it’s not affected by outside fire attacks.”

The memory of rubbing burn cream across Dabi’s shoulders and how delicate his skin looked surfaced. You wouldn’t wish that on anyone. “You scared of being burned, Touya?”

Touya kicked the stone beneath his boot, scuffing it. “Just seems like it’d be neat.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” you said, wrapping your muppet-y, mitted hands around the oven handle in preparation for whenever it would go off, “and a perfectly logical pokémon to latch onto. It’s fairly popular. I don’t see how I’m supposed to make fun of you for that.”

“Sure.” Touya bent farther to re-tie his bootlaces. “I like my current choice for a dumb as hell reason, though. Shiiiiiiiimura,” said Touya, yanking the laces tightly (and he dragged out Shimura’s name, too. Was that the proper pronunciation?), “was trying to hype us up for something stupid we had to do that some of our friends were scared of. Shimura’s teacher—’scuse me, abusive fucking manipulative shithead of an adoptive father—wanted him to make a speech to show leadership, or some bullshit. Instead, Shimura pulled out his phone and showed us someone’s video of playing one of the early Pokémon games, for the battle at the end to win the game. And to defeat the last boss’s toughest Dragonite, the player used this…this fuckin’ weak-ass, all-around insignificant pokémon picked up from the beginning of the game, and it fuckin’ won. It won against the toughest opponent, and—and Shimura was saying, oh, the Venomoth is us, and we can win against our big-ass enemy, oh, ho, ho—”

“Excuse me. A Venomoth? You only use them temporarily at the beginning of the game, when you don’t have anything cool yet. They fucking suck.”

“See, you’re making fun of me. I’m not going to say anything else.” Touya leant back on his hands again, this time crossing his legs to prop his ankle on his opposite knee.

“No, I’m—I’m sorry. Sorry. First impressions. But you’re convincing me. Go on. I’m listening.”

Touya flicked water towards the ducks. “Are you gonna keep insulting—”

“I won’t! I won’t,” you said, sliding off the kitchen counter to stand directly in front of the oven, “So, Venomoths. I hear they’re fantastic.”

Touya rolled his eyes, and it was cute, you thought, how you had to follow the motion, seeing the moon at the upwards roll and back at its reflection in the pond. “Yeah. I bet Shimura’s forgotten all about it, but it stuck with me. Not immediately—at the time it was stupid, and to be fair, it’s still stupid. But now that I’m back here, living at home, it’s—it’s stupid. It’s, like, if that stupid fucking bug can defeat a goddamn dragon, then I can tend the garden. I can keep that stupid tsukubai clean. I can hang out with my brother. I can fucking—” He cut himself off again, this time striking the water hard enough to splash one of the ducks (it quacked at him with disdain and simply swam a couple of centimetres away).

“Do what, Touya?” The oven timer started beeping, and you tensed. “Hold on; don’t say anything. Don’t say—I have to concentrate; I’m getting stuff out of an oven.”

Touya stirred the pondwater with his ring and middle fingers while you blindly approximated the logistics of getting the tray out of the oven, and by standing at the oven’s side inside of reaching into it from the front, you were eventually able to remove the tray and rest it on the counter above it—you’re not going to bother feeling around for the pot holders.

When you sighed in relief once you’d closed the oven again, Touya asked, “What are you cooking?”

“Strawberry cheesecake muffins,” you said, frowning in the tray’s general direction, “They’re supposed to have a marbling effect, and I’m supposed to be putting on some sort of streusel-type sugar on top right now, but I’m not gonna risk it. I hope they’re done. You have to trust the recipe’s bake time with cheesecakes exactly, so I’m hoping it’s the same for—”

“I am gonna make you come so hard,” Touya was saying in a strained sort of way as he ran his hands down his face, “I am gonna fuck you so hard that you leave in a permanent dent in my mattress. I am gonna hold you and kiss the back of your neck and make you cry out as you gush around my fingers. You’re—you’re so fucking per—I am gonna take care of you back.”

“Cool.” Right, so bake the muffins again at some point. “Do you have any food allergies?”

“I’m allergic to you not saying anything hot in response to what I just said.”

Sure, Touya. “I’m also gonna make you this really sexy tomato soup with what the recipe calls a grilled cheese top. It’s got cheesy bread cut into chunks that coat the surface so that you can’t even see the red, and it melts into the soup—”

“Stop, I can only get so hard—”

“Show me your cock, then.”

“No,” said Touya, deliberately looking at a trio of fish convening near the pond’s surface, their o-shaped mouths blorbing and blobbing underneath the water towards Touya’s waving fingers, “I meant—well, first, you are gonna make that soup, pl—please—but I meant that—I mean.” He twirled his finger under the water, and the koi were fascinated. One of them kissed his finger. You were feeling a similar impulse—and perhaps that’s what prompted Touya to continue. “I came the first time someone stuck their tongue in my mouth.”

It occurred to you that anyone could be walking by the dorm kitchen to overhear. Now that the muffins were out of the oven, you elected to turn off the speaker setting to hold you phone to your ear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I was sixteen and insane with hormones, and it hadn’t been long since I’d woken up from—well. When someone kissed me with tongue for the first time, I came in my pants. Taken completely by surprise that someone was even kissing me, that someone could even want me when I look like—and then that. We were outside, on a public bridge, during the day. I haven’t seen that fucker since.”

You had been contemplating whether it’d be worth fumbling around for a knife to ease the muffins out of the tray, but all cogs stopped at Touya’s story. “Why are you telling me this?”

“So you’ll tell me something back. I already told you some embarrassing shit about pokémon and shit, so you have to embarrass yourself back. You’re the one who brought up cocks, anyway. So—so you have to share something back,” said Touya, allowing a fish to rub up against his hand in a pseudo-sort of petting it, “Something about when you were young and stupid.”

“And preferably sexual, right? I know what you’re about, you shy, baby boy.”

“Ffffffuck that.I ain’t shy—”

“You won’t show me your face, Touya. You’re scared for me to see it. Shy boy.”

Touya scratched along the side of the koi like it wanted, and another nudged the back of his hand to be scratched, too. “Fuck off.”

“I’ve only told one other person about my first kiss,” you said, moving to sit on the counter again, “Wanna hear that story?”

“Fine,” said Touya, and he pulled his hand out of the pond, flicking water off his fingers and into the open, mournful mouths of the koi he’d been petting. “You had better be about to tell me about seeing through me at that coffee shop.”

“Come off of it, Touya; isn’t it better for me to have outside experience and still choose you regardless? My first kiss was way before that,” you said, hoping how pleased you were at his mild possessiveness was being transferred to his side of the bond, “and I didn’t even know the guy’s name at the time. And it was—it could’ve turned really bad, really quickly. Because my first kiss was with Dabi, before he made his villain debut.”

“Do—huh?” Touya shook his head, causing you to wince and steady yourself at the dizziness. “Beg pardon? Beg your fucking pardon? I didn’t—know that that Dabi guy went around kissing people.”

“He did at least once. It was back in freshman year, and I was out at night during my hero internship.” Getting comfortable on the kitchen counter, you crossed your legs and leant against the cabinets to support your back, exhaustion kicking in. “Some older sidekick hit on me in what was an exceedingly creepy way—he made it pseudo-incestuous by saying I reminded him of his daughter. In retrospect, the interaction could have gone much, much worse, if Dabi hadn’t inadvertently rescued me—scratch that, it may have been intentional, looking back, because he’d said stuff about the sidekick being a shitty father, and now he’s, uh, let us know about his own dad.”

It took Touya a moment. At least he wasn’t shaking his head anymore. “Are you saying Dabi burnt some guy to death in front of you, and you still kissed him?”

You sucked in through your teeth. “Not exactly. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was testing out a nomu, and that ripped the other guy to pieces. And—this is gonna sound wild—I think Dabi may have kissed me to comfort me? I know it was a distraction from the gore and from getting a good look at the nomu, but I think he may have also done it to calm me down. It was—oddly sweet.”

Touya gripped the edge of the stone wall, his fingers dipping into water (but not deep enough to remoisten his leather gloves) and koi swarming. “What did the nomu look like?”

Even though you couldn’t see it, you held your phone away from your ear for a second to shoot it an incredulous look. “Wha—Touya, weren’t you going to ask if he were a good kisser, or something?”

His knuckles popped when he clenched his fingers and asked flatly, “Was he a good—”

“You’re better.”

“Thanks,” he said, not sounding like he cared about that at all, letting a koi drag his hand into the water by biting his finger, “What did the nomu look like?”

“God, I don’t fucking know. That wasn’t important to me. I, uh—it was around the size of a good-sized dog, like a golden retriever or a lab. I don’t—I guess it walked on all fours,” you said, wondering why the fuck—oh, the dizziness must not have come only from Touya shaking his head, because it’s sweeping over you again, waves emanating from the bond. “Now that I’ve seen other nomu, I can recognise that its head looked whacky because its brain was exposed, and I think its skin was more green-tinged than the others who had that navy-black colour going on. Honestly, Touya, I wasn’t—”

Through the phone came such a strident, alarming crack that you halted mid-sentence to listen for it again. It’d come from Touya’s side, clearly, but nothing in his line of vision betrayed its source, although—and you would not have noticed this if you hadn’t been scanning his environment for any hint—something that looked like split glass frosted the inside of Touya’s fist before he unclenched his hand a second later, any illusion of something there melting into the water.

But something was wrong. “Touya?”

“You still see that Dabi guy when you watch anime at Shouto’s house, yeah? Stay on the line,” he said, darkness of the bond fading drabbling at the edges of his vision from your perspective.

“I am,” you said, uncrossing your legs, “I do.”

“What do you think of him? Ugly fucker, isn’t he?” Touya fell still as a duck approached him as it navigated through the water lilies, and Touya’s outstretching his hand to its head was the last thing you saw before the bond gave out. “Still as pathetic as he was in the war? Think he should be in prison?”

“Negative reviews of people, negative reviews of television, negative reviews of potato wedges—so cool, bro. Now say something true and beautiful.”

“Answer me, damn it.” A disgruntled quack.

“You’d better not be strangling that duck.”

“You think so little of me? Do you want me to put the duck on the phone?”

“I don’t think it could sit comfortably,” you said, pushing yourself off the counter and walking to the knife drawer now that you could see, “I see Dabi every once in a while when I’m at Todoroki’s house. He’s shy. I don’t mind. It’s not my place to assume anything, but. I don’t think he’s doing okay, since it seems like he’s spent a good part of his life wanting someone to look at him, to pay attention, and now he’s getting that in a way he probably didn’t anticipate, and I want him to be okay. I think I’d like to help him get there, if he’d let me. But I know I’m nobody important to him, and that’s fine.”

“Sounds a lot like pity,” said Touya, and when you made a noise of protest, he kept going. “Or maybe you’re fucked up enough that you like him? From when he kissed you?”

You couldn’t exactly tell your soulmate that you’ve been suppressing naïve, celebrity-crush-type feelings for someone else. “Well,” you said, grimacing as you slid knife edge between a muffin and the tray and started to remove it, “He’s very babygirl-coded.”

***

TOUYA 🐠🚷

looked it up. definition of babygirl does NOT help

TOUYA 🐠🚷

incidentally

TOUYA 🐠🚷

what should a guy wear to impress someone

YOU

a guy? or you specifically?

YOU

because i am, of course about to suggest the golden standard of rolling up thy sleeves to thy elbows, but you won’t even showing your fucken hands asldkjfa;

TOUYA 🐠🚷

gloves necessary.

TOUYA 🐠🚷

but think formal. formal setting.

YOU

why are YOU going to a formal event?

TOUYA 🐠🚷

have to. blackmail/family obligation/rent.

TOUYA 🐠🚷

open to suggestions. about style more than brand, because if I go too expensive, my dad will think I’m making him pay a lot as sabotage.

YOU

and here i was about to recommend that you go skinny-dipping in a vat of liquid gold

TOUYA 🐠🚷

you just wanna see my cock, don’t cha

YOU

what makes you think I’D be invited to some shitty formal event

TOUYA 🐠🚷

I’m betting you’d hear about it on the news

YOU

i think i’d be more interested in what food is provided

TOUYA 🐠🚷

…

TOUYA 🐠🚷

no, I shan’t say

YOU

is this a cum joke

TOUYA 🐠🚷

but seriously. what should I wear. assume I will do something awful and evil and that you will see the outfit on the news when I get arrested.

YOU

touya, how would i recognise you. idk what YOU even look like. not that it matters, i guess. all that matters is that you wear something that fits you well. you don’t need to impress me; you’ve already won me over

TOUYA 🐠🚷

i what

TOUYA 🐠🚷

wait what do you MEAN it doesn’t matter

YOU

does it help get it through your thick head if i tell you that you are also babygirl-coded? perhaps not even coded but genuinely babygirl??

TOUYA 🐠🚷

it does not.

***

Adjusting your lace shawl, you gripped Shouto’s arm as the both of you furtively sneaked away from the hordes of pro-heroes, industry workers, and flashing press to slink back to the enormous table of hors d'oeuvres to see how many of them you could pack into your purse and his strategically planned inner coat pocket, sewn into the inside of his lapel for the occasion.

When Shouto had invited you to this ghastly awards ceremony for Endeavor, he’d claimed his motivation was that so he could talk to you about how the 2011 Hunter x Hunter anime was wrapping up, since he (flatterer!) said you had the best interpretations of certain characters, unlike some of your classmates, and Shouto tempted you with how you could stake out whatever posh food they had for you to try to recreate later. So, you’d dug out the dress you’d only worn to All Might’s official retirement party and agreed to attend.

Those present were a strange conglomeration of people, since the public opinion of Endeavor has been odd and tenuous lately. Essentially, the handful of attendees you knew were busy ingratiating themselves to people you’ve never seen before but they evidently were acquainted with, so those with whom you could hold an actual conversation with were scattered and few.

However, you didn’t even need to bring a book, because once you and Shouto had settled at a back table with both of your plates stacked with the most variety you could fit on them, he deadass pulled out his anime analysis notebook, which was starting to resemble Midoriya’s quirk analysis notebooks in terms of extensiveness and insanity, with lines crossing several pages to connect ideas. As you discussed where the two of you thought the characters were going, you had your own notebook—a new one, this one for recipes, and whenever either of you thought one of the appetizers was interesting, you wrote it down.

You were chewing on what Shouto had informed you was a water chestnut when the chair on your other side was pulled out with a screech against the tile, and Todoroki Touya plopped into it, his legs hardly having the time to spread before swiping a piece of candied salmon from your plate. The instant he bit down into it, his nose scrunched up.

“It’s fish, Touya,” said Shouto, dipping his own crudité in a tiny bowl of raspberry vinaigrette, and he passed his napkin to him. Touya spat the salmon into it, bunched it up, and edged it underneath the edge of your plate.

On your list, you wrote no fish! at the top, but before you even lifted your pen from the paper, you froze. The list wasn’t for this Touya; it was for your Touya. You crosshatched it out, trying to remember if your Touya had ever said anything about liking fish. He’d said he hadn’t, right? He didn’t like them alive, at the very least.

Shouto chomped down harshly, the crunch of raw celery distinct even through his closed mouth. “What brings you over here, Touya?”

He already had the text-to-speech function pulled up on his phone, and he held a parmesan palmier between his teeth as he typed. “People were asking Natsuo and Fuyumi about what they’re doing with their lives. It was only a matter of time before they got to me. Don’t wanna hear anyone else describe the nothing I’m doing. At least I know you guys are too busy talking about nerd crap to shit on me.”

“Oh, sweet boy,” you said, pursing your lips, “You’re in recovery. That’s enough. You don’t have to do anything to be worthwhile.” Wait. Fuck. You don’t talk to this Touya this way. Reel it back.

Crumbs fell from his mouth to the tablecloth. “The hell is wrong with you?” he typed.

Yeah, reel it way back. You elected not to respond, instead biting with difficulty into a brie/fig/prosciutto crostini and not being able to taste any of it.

“Would you like to discuss some so-called nerd crap with us?” Shouto arranged his notebook father across the table to be more in the middle of the three of you. “I know it’s been a while since you read Hunter x Hunter, but it’s been on hiatus so long that there’s not much new information that you need to know.”

“Hey,” you said, rushing to swallow, “You’ve read this before? How come you haven’t been sitting in to watch stuff with us?”

Touya shot Shouto a dark look, tongued a chunk of palmier into his cheek, and furiously typed on his phone. “I’m not interested in that shit anymore. It’s for kids.”

Shouto looked taken aback. “This is news to me. Do I have permission to take your manga volumes out of the house, then?”

“Fuck you,” Touya had already typed while Shouto was talking.

You bit back a smile. You’ve been borrowing a former, major villain’s manga? Cute. “But if you read it a while back, that means you’ve had more time to think about the characters,” you said, resting your elbow on the back of your chair as you shifted to face him, “Most of us are absorbing the story for the first time. It’d be cool to hear what you think.”

That parmesan palmier had looked good. Trusting this Touya on his taste, you wrote it on your list to investigate later, while he typed his response.

His expression fell flat enough to match the robotic tone. “Do you just want to hear me project my daddy and mommy issues onto the characters in the Zoldyck family?”

“No, Touya,” you said, laughing, “You have valuable things to say across the board, and I want to listen.” You almost nudged his knee with yours, but you had to stop yourself, something dark swirling in your chest. This wasn’t your Touya. You’re not allowed to.

His eyes flicked down towards the movement, but he didn’t comment. Shifting his jaw, he slipped off his white tuxedo jacket to drape it over the back of his chair, and for some reason, his gaze kept darting to you while he rolled the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows, but he tried to give the appearance of being very focused on whatever skewered meat and pineapple was on the rim of your plate.

You were frowning. Fuck this. Fuck him. Touya was probably one of those guys who knew their effect on women, so he would know about the rolling-sleeves-to-elbows move. And fucking hell, was it effective for him, because the way he’s lost a lot of weight but was currently gaining it back made the tendons in his forearms much more noticeable when they tensed and strained, and the asymmetry of the burns and scars up his left arm in comparison to the smoothness of his prosthetic right only made him even more horribly, horribly attractive, and you were pissed about it, only getting more furious as he wrapped his tongue around the base of the first pineapple chunk and used his teeth to maneuver it off of the stolen skewer, hooded eyes staring you down. This Touya can act like a fucking slut, sure, but your Touya won’t even show you his goddamn hands.

“Hey, watch out.” You scratched your forehead in an attempt to conceal how enraged you were. “I’ve already had one of those. That lump at the end is an overly-breaded coconut shrimp. So—fish—be careful,” you finished lamely.

Touya’s hands and mouth were full with the skewer. Unable to type on his phone, he shifted the skewer to his left hand, flattened his right, and tapped his left wrist with it—the JSL sign for thank you.

You nodded and didn’t think anything of it for a moment, but when it hit you, you seized up and stared at him, chest swelling, proud and confused and frozen. Getting a little lightheaded, actually, but oh, God, who wouldn’t at the sight of Todoroki Touya, quiet and subdued but still suave as fuck, sitting so close to you in a freshly dishevelled white tuxedo that fit like it was custom-made for him, smelling so, so good and smiling with his perfect teeth (how are they that good when he was with the League for so long?), leaning towards you to steal your food and showing that he’d been paying attention to you, that he’d taken the JSL book you’d left with Shouto, that he’d thought about you when you’ve been apart and cared enough to try to learn something new with you, and you were going to kiss him; he deserved it; you were going to grab that stupidly adorable face and—no, that lightheadedness was also stemming from the soulmate bond activating.

Nausea swept through you for more than one reason. If your Touya discovered you were fighting the urge to kiss someone else, let alone the other Touya, then—you didn’t know. You didn’t know how you’d ever recover. Please let this be from your perspective, so he can’t feel your feelings, please.

“I have to go,” you said, pushing up on the table to stand, not even bothering to flash Shouto the soulmate hand signal. You had to get away. No matter if it were from your perspective or his, distance would help you suppress your fucking shameful crush on your friend’s older brother.

Good God, you were crossing the streams, you noted and fumed as you escaped onto a vacant alcove. Because they have the same goddamn name, your brain has been conflating the two of them. Shut up. You’re only allowed to have one Touya. Two would be greedy and dismissive of the soulmate bond in the first place.

Vertigo struck you so severely that you had to brace yourself against the nearest column, but you swopped to the balcony railing because you could grasp it and put most of your weight on it, and because your brain was swimming, you hand to get on your knees to wait for it to pass. “No, you can’t,” you said, trying your hardest to push thought of that Touya out of your head in case your Touya could feel them, “You can’t—that one doesn’t need to be in a romantic relationship right now. He’s working on himself. It’d fuck him up.” And ohhhh, you left your phone at the table, so you couldn’t call your Touya, and fuck, you didn’t want him to feel confused or betrayed because you weren’t calling him—

“Whose future are you deciding, here?”

Your Touya. He was here?

You opened your eyes to the sight of the balcony and the garden below, thank fuck. Okay, you could work with this. You could work with this; he’s not supposed to be able to feel—

His voice came from close behind you, as if he were leaning on another side of the column. “What’s got you feeling this guilty?”

Holy shit holy shit, has the bond evolved? Can feelings be felt from both sides regardless of perspective? “Hey, Touya.”

“Don’t turn around,” he said, even though you’d made no movement to.

“Can you see?”

“Only through you, angel. Otherwise, I’m in the dark.” With the sounds of clothes shifting, Touya must have crouched behind you, joints cracking. A fingerless-gloved hand brushed down your arm, and he moved your lace shawl out of the way to stroke your bare skin. Your mind was already going haywire at your betrayal, and his cold, gentle touch was not helping. “What’s wrong, hm?” He adjusted himself again behind you so that he could wrap his other arm around your waist, pulling you back into him, and his cool, rough lips pressed against the curve of your neck as he rested his head there.

You were going to cry. You’ll do it. For real, this time.

“Did that Todoroki Touya guy bother you? I saw him sitting at your table.”

God, no, he brought up whom you were trying to avoid, and you cringed, hating yourself as Touya’s hand sank down your arms to entwine his fingers with yours, rumpled shirtsleeves grazing your bare skin and leather gloves curbing the maximal skin-to-skin contact.

“He’s so fucked up that I wouldn’t be surprised if you hated him,” Touya was saying into your ear, “I could grind him into a pulp for you. He’d deserve it, wouldn’t he, for what he did to everyone? And I was burning up with jealousy from across the room; someone as pretty as you shouldn’t have such a hideous thing by your side.”

You made a noise from the back of your throat. You didn’t know, and you especially didn’t need the one person you were trying to hide your internal conflict from while you were actively trying to work out the internal conflict. First things first, you supposed. “Touya’s not fucking ugly.”

Your Touya snorted against your neck, hot air washing down the hollow of your throat. “I forgot how twisted you are. But there’s no way you could actually like him, right?”

“I can’t,” you said, releasing the balcony to clench your fists on your knees, “I can’t like him. He needs to discover who he is as an individual before he finds out how he functions in a relationship. He doesn’t need romance—or me, at this point in his life.”

“Interesting,” he said, more clearly now that his mouth wasn’t muffled against your skin, “Sounds like you think something’s wrong with him. Like he’s not whole. And isn’t he broken? You’d have to be, if you pulled the shit he did, burning cities to the ground and murdering—”

“Shut up,” you said, hunching in on yourself, “You’re don’t know. You’re believing what other people have told you about him. You’re just—you’re just like people who talk about that nerd shit you hate without checking the source material. They’ll talk about certain characters in terms of false narratives they’ve crafted, and they’ll talk about them for so long that the false information becomes conflated with the characters, with everyone thinking the wrong stuff is real. I—fuck.” You winced, but he was listening, his free hand winding around your neck to adjust the migrant clasp on your necklace to the back of your throat. “I know my ideas of Touya stem from propaganda, but I want to learn about him from him. Just based on what I’ve seen, there’s so much out there that’s wrong—it’s even subconsciously perpetuated in his own home, since the shrine where his family mourned him is still there. And I hate it. I hate it, because he seems so lovable, but so are you, and I hate myself because I want to love only you, because you’re my soulmate, and I’m so, so, so goddamn terrified that you’re gonna reject me and leave me alone forever now that I’ve betrayed you. By feeling stuff for someone else.”

You were crying. You were crying, nose stopping up, and Touya kissed your throat, over the clasp of your necklace. “Rejection’s a bitch. I know that,” he said under his breath, “So, I’m not gonna do that to you, even if…” He trailed off, instead latching his mouth to your neck again, letting his tongue flick over your skin once, as if it were an afterthought. “You really like him?”

“I’m scared that I do,” you said, taking a corner of your shawl to daub at your tears.

“The only thing to do is feel it out, I guess.” Touya settled at last, shifting weight and moving his legs so that they’d be on either side of you, and his left arm joined the other around your waist to hold you close. “Or let it die, if you want. The soulmate bond doesn’t matter in the end. You don’t have to love him or me.”

“But Touya,” you said, sniffing, dying to look back at him but restraining yourself, “I do.”

***

Later that night, you were researching how to make little cheese balls that were shaped like pumpkins like they’d had at the awards ceremony when you felt the familiar wooziness. Funny. It’s not often that the bond activates twice in one day. You closed your laptop and set your notebook aside, waiting for the slow, drowsy fade into Touya’s eyes.

Tonight, it’s a jarring, instantaneous slam into his perspective, and you felt like you’d been knocked about in the baggage rack of a train. You threw out your hands to balance yourself, even though you hadn’t been physically moved, and the queasiness made it hard to concentrate, blackness blotting at the edges of your periphery.

But the darkness of Touya’s bedroom wasn’t helping, with only partially drawn curtains letting in moonlight, and—and oh, my God, he’s flat on his back in bed, tousled bedsheets, cock out, and it’s so pretty, unfairly pretty, thick as hell but thicker at the head than the base, blushing deep pink, leaking onto the faint lines of re-developing abs and a vaguely red trail of hair, and—

The hand touching it has skin grafts.

“—ugh, darlin’, fuck, you know what I’m gonna—gonna do to you, angel?” Touya was muttering to himself, too caught up to realise you were there. “You don’t—you don’t know what you do to me.”

You’d registered his pubic hair as vaguely red because, now that you were staring, only the very tips of the untouched hair trailing down his stomach were red, with what he’d probably shaved at some point lower on his body snowy against whatever unburnt skin could still grow hair. He’s gripping himself at an angle that doesn’t make him rub against a strand of load-bearing staples on his upper thigh (did someone say load?), connecting a stretch of familiarly burned skin to a healing graft, diamond-speckled and twitching with his cock the closer he drew to orgasm (from the back of your mind surfaced a questioning thought of if he’d advocated for healing his hands first, since staples would hinder smooth masturbation). His prosthetic arm lay unattached at his side.

“Hahh, I wanna,” said Touya, drawing in a ragged breath, “wanna make a mess outta you, y’always too put together, too fuckin’ pretty for y’own damn good, fuck.” He rubbed his thumb over his tip, the skin there giving everso slightly at the pressure, with another bead of precum swelling before it dripped onto his stomach. “Gonna find wha—whatever I can do to make you fuckin’ whine, and I’m gonna, hah, follow that sound for the rest of my goddamn life, and, oh—fuck, fuck, how, how sweet you’d feel wrapped around me, how much I don’t fuckin’ deserve—”

He cut himself off to take a deep, stuttering breath, and you saw the gates of heaven in the way his chest surged forward when he arched his back, lines of burns and scars carved into his skin like a roadmap. And Touya moaned for you, and you didn’t know how much you’d needed to hear both Touyas do that until now, but before he could finish the first syllable of your name, you were lurched out of the bond and back into your room, just as abruptly as it had begun.

Your hands were shaking as you tied your shoelaces, aware of the leak into your underwear when you bent over, and you dashed to the nearest train depot, navigating in fervent, distant buzz all the way to the Todoroki estate. You must have appeared sufficiently crazy, because the only vacant seats on the train were next to you.

(In your heart of hearts, you had known.

If you’d put it into words, consciously, where both Touyas overlapped, it would’ve been too hard to bear if they’d been different people, which was, regardless, the most logical situation. Getting excited for your soulmate to be your former crush and then being disappointed when it wasn’t him felt like a betrayal to your soulmate. You hadn’t wanted to set yourself up for disappointment or betrayal, because you shouldn’t feel guilt when you look at your soulmate. Someone who holds your heart in his hand should never be second best to you. Touya’s had enough of not being enough in his life.

Surely the random chance of a stranger’s quirk wouldn’t be so kind to give you whom you’ve been wanting. You haven’t allowed yourself to hope.)

You didn’t even go in the front door. You clambered over the garden wall and berated yourself for not recognising Touya’s garden earlier, even though you’ve usually been around the kitchen and living room when you’re here. It took you longer than it could’ve to get to his teahouse, because you were deliberately staying on the garden path instead of walking on his hard work, but you didn’t even take off your shoes at the entrance, the nightingale floors chirping out in the night as you surged towards his bedroom door.

Touya lay facing the window in his very Western bed that took up most of the room—and much of his bedroom was like that, with his modern belongings scattered across other outdated furnishings, clean but cluttered, thought it startled you to open the door onto a Naruto poster taped in the space designated for a hanging scroll.

You only had time to absorb poster and lived-in before you saw the face of God in how Touya stretched and groaned in bed, arching his back and holding it until his back popped (a little too fixated on his moonlit nipples, like seeing them would fix you, flip you back to your factory settings). “Natsuo,” he said, coming out of his groan, eyes scrunched shut, “Don’t say you’re here to make me re-hang the windchimes. I spent all day tracking how air flows through the garden.”

You sat at the foot of his bed, mattress dipping slightly, still in your coat and shoes and hesitant to spread dirt, but the need to be near Touya, even if it were through blankets, consumed you. Hands folded behind his head, Touya cracked open an eye at the weight, and he froze.

You hadn’t prepared any confession on the train. You’d been too focused on the memory of his thighs. So, what garbled nonsense that came out of your mouth was “I figured your dick would be pierced.”

Touya appeared to snap back into reality, and he sat up in bed, pulling the blankets up to cover more of his bare chest (mourning for his nipples. Inconsolable about it, even) and quite obviously tried so hard to be chill (the way his leg started jiggling underneath the covers and how he wouldn’t look you in the eyes for more than a couple of seconds gave him away, though). “Is that what they say about me?”

You folded your hands in your lap, bent over for a swift escape in case he wanted you to leave “Jirou conjectures that you have a Jacob’s ladder.”

“Just what I need. More holes in my body.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip—much more scarred than the upper one, clarifying some things about kissing him. “Don’t know how to take that a bunch of kids who resent me talk about the state of my dick. You a part of that crowd?”

“I was shown a picture of what was advertised to be a very realistic dildo,” you said, scooting your ass farther back onto the bed now that he wasn’t going to send you away, “It had many, many piercings. It wasn’t as thick, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does not,” said Touya, brow pinched. He brought his legs up to hug them to his chest, but he must have changed his mind, instead just letting them block your view of him, hiding behind the cover of the lumpy comforter.

You waited for him to elaborate. His tuxedo was thrown over a wicker trunk, bowtie tossed onto a kotatsu, even though it wasn’t cold enough outside, with his gaming controller next to it and an open can of black tea. Two floor seats were haphazardly tucked underneath the kotatsu’s blanket, the one facing the TV flatter and duller than the one nearer the door. His only bookshelf had the illusion that it was constantly being added to, with the first shelf arranged neatly and the rest completely shoved together, the lowest one still mostly empty—your sign language book lay horizontally on it.

He should’ve said something by now, right? Antsy, you shifted your weight, staring down at your shoes. To have something to do, you slowly took them off, lining them up with Touya’s house slippers (with seahorses on them?) next to the bed, and you swallowed your pride to break the ice. “I’m glad it’s you, by the way. Very glad.”

Touya grunted and draped an arm over his knees. “Did you know?”

“I will be generous and say not really,” you said, shuffling off your coat to hang on the bedpost, “I didn’t permit myself to make the connections.”

“Eh.” He shrugged with one shoulder—the left one, the natural one. He’d reattached his prosthetic in the meantime. “There are around one hundred Touyas in Japan, according to the last census.”

“Sounds like a prepared statistic,” you said, holding back that the name frequency has probably plummeted in the last few years, “I’m serious, though. I wanted my Touya—soulmate, you, Touya—to be Todoroki Touya. So badly.”

He covered his mouth, thumbing at his lower lip and simply staring at you. In the moonlight, his eyes were as fucking bright blue as—well. As his flames. More things were clicking into place.

“Really, Touya,” you said, desperate for him to believe you, “I liked you as the stranger in the alley, and I liked you as Dabi, and when my soulmate seemed to share some traits with the other Touya in my life, I didn’t give myself permission to think about it. Because I was growing fond of the you that spoke to me, that I was getting to know, and while my feelings for the other you were being rekindled, too, I wanted to love the soulmate you more, because it's become fucking evident to me that I was made to love you, even without this soulmate stuff. You’ve been scattered throughout my life, anyway. It just happened to speed things up, since it forced you to talk to me. Otherwise, you’d probably still be at the point where you’re the brooding-older-brother figure who isolates himself in his room when his brother’s friends are over.”

Touya was frowning, but you waited it out entirely this time. “You saw…all that,” he eventually said, gesturing down himself, “and you still want me?”

Biting back a smile, you lifted your knees to the bed, moving slowly to gauge his reaction before getting closer to him. “I saw you decapitate someone, and I still want you.”

“You’re insane,” said Touya, tensing up as you neared him but twitching into a nervous grin, eyes falling to your boobs, away to the window, and back to your face.

“Correct,” you said, and you knelt next to him, taking all of your restraint to keep from reaching out the final few centimetres to run your hands down his chest. “Don’t you need someone a little insane, though?”

The comforter fell a few inches down his chest, and you throat ran dry at the long line of fading stitches and staples.

You raised a quivering hand to his face, and it’s strange: both of you flinched in the moment your fingertips felt the tiniest bit of body heat emanating from his cheek, and it’s strange: it’s the first time you’ve felt any heat come from Touya at all, and it’s strange: you could see yourself so clearly waking up next to him every day, putting your chin on his shoulder while he picked out fruits at the grocery store, feeding the koi late at night together while you lured the ducks away, watching his eyes soften in the same way both when he sinks his teeth into something you’ve baked and his cock deep into you while he cradled you closely to his chest, but at the moment, it might be too much for you—and perhaps Touya as well, judging by the nearly incomprehensible, jumbled sort of expression—if you even touched his face.

Perhaps the prospect of romance was too much for him at this point in his life. The last thing Touya should be feeling about that was guilt.

“I don’t mind being on the backburner while you figure things out,” you said, returning your hand to your lap and trying very hard not to look at his nipples, “I’ll wait for whatever you need to do. I’ll—”

“No,” said Touya, shaking himself out of whatever spiralling dive he’d been leaning into, “Hell, no. No fucking—” He snatched the hand you’d almost touched him with and clenched it hard, smushing your fingers together (startled by the physical contact, even though he’d initiated it), and after a flash of frustration at his prosthetic arm, he passed your hand to his left. “You’re fucking sticking around. You—you don’t just look at me; you see me, in such a different fucking way than anyone else, and you did it immedia—it took my family so long to look, and you—you’ve been watching. Been paying attention. It’s all I’ve ever—” He frowned, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “It’s good to have you around while I dig myself out of this hole,” he said, squeezing your hand harder but glaring outside through the window, “I wish I had known you sooner.”

“I’m here now, and I want to get to know you better. I want to hear more about you, things that are true,” you said, “and don’t start with anything self-deprecating, Touya. The next time the bond lets you see through me, I’m gonna show you what you look like through my eyes. And I’m not lying to you when I say you are so very, very pretty.”

Grunting, Touya fidgeted in bed, the covers slipping down to his stomach, drawing your hand closer to him, with your body leaning in to follow his pull. “Shit,” he said, “Don’t say shit like that right now.”

“Touya, I am gonna tell you how gorgeous you are until you believe it, and that starts now.”

“Not tha—well, yes, that, but I—” He sucked in through his teeth (also sucking in through a tiny hollow in his cheek caused by a loose staple, with a faint, wheezing whistle) and threaded his fingers through yours, pulling your hands towards his shoulder so that you loomed over his chest, “I have a hell of a refractory period now. It’s fuckin’ hard for me to get hard a lot, and you saw me; I just—” Inhaling sharply, he jerked his hand away from yours and frantically started wiping it on the blankets. The new skin around the tips of his ears bloomed pink. “I haven’t washed my hands.”

“Touya,” you said, “Like I care.” You took the hand he was trying to hide in the folds of the blanket and licked up his palm, holding eye contact and relishing the way the blush spread to the untouched skin around the corners of his eyes. “I want all of you. Both sides you’ve shown me, and more. So long as it’s real. So long as it’s you.”

“All right. First step is getting on top of me,” said Touya, and, palm wet, he took your hand again, and he tugged on it, guiding you into his lap, other hand sliding down the thigh you swung over him. “Makes it easier to talk, y’know. To look at you.”

“Oh? Are we starting with your tragic backstory? If you’re taking requests,” you said, sliding your hand up and over his shoulder to run your fingers over his collarbone (jutting out from under both burnt and new skin), “then I’d like to hear your perspective of when you first kissed me.”

Touya lift his prosthetic hand to your cheek, just as cold and strong as his real one, and he placed his thumb at the corner of your lower lip, tip breaking the seal of your lips to press in just barely. “Actually, I think we’ll start with this pretty mouth of yours.”

***

Iida was shouting and gesturing from the living room that you only had fifteen minutes before the episode viewing was scheduled to start, and Shinsou shut him up by reminding him that Tokoyami had to pick up Ojiro and Hagakure from the floristry across town and that they’d start watching whenever they started watching, so chill out, Iida. Go help Mina pick the bugles out of her hair, or something.

You and Touya crouched together in front of the oven, staring through the glass at the rows of potato wedges—the recipe he claims his mother made when he was five, but surely a woman as sensible as Todoroki Rei wouldn’t put that much fucking cayenne pepper or paprika or chili sauce or—listen, it was a lot.

“C’mon, pretty boy, tell me something else true about you,” you said, nudging his shoulder with yours while you made eye contact with him in the oven’s reflection.

“Hm,” he said, scratching the underside of his chin with a bare hand (the gloves lay folded back on the teahouse dresser), “I hate fish.”

(Here you sighed dramatically, because you obviously already knew this. His loathing was intensified at the moment, though, because he’d had to get up and leave you in the middle of the night last night because the koi pond monitor was blaring at a stupid clog in the filter.)

“Tastes fuckin’ gross dead. Bitch to take care of livin’.”

You pushed on your knees to stand, and you held out a hand to help him up. “Enough with the negativity, dickhead. Tell me more about what you like.”

“Besides you?” He took your hand and grinned, putting all his weight into it as you strained to lift him, and when the oven timer beeped and you’d shot a few choice words his way, he had mercy and stood up by himself. He grabbed the oven mitts and tossed them to you, and while you removed the tray from the oven, he ran his hand through the sharp, white spikes of his hair, inadvertently wiping specks of paprika into it.

You set the tray on a cooling rack. “C’mon, Touya. No need to be so cheesy.”

“I can be worse,” he said, winding his arms around your waist before you could even take off the oven mitts, cradling you close to him, no room in between, and he propped his chin on your shoulder. “I can even incorporate—you call me cheesy; you’re the one who called me pretty boy not a minute ago.”

Blindly, you raised a hand to run it back through Touya’s soft, soft hair, and you gently bumped your cheek against his. “I am not being cheesy by simply stating the truth. You’re gorgeous, Touya.”

“Bet I’d look even better throbbing inside you.”

“Please follow a logical flow in conversation like the rest of us,” you said, and when you couldn’t grasp the spatula you were reaching for, Touya grabbed it for you, scraping up some of the first row, having to release you during the process.

Leaning on the counter to face him, you flinched at the heat before pinching a potato wedge between the tips of your fingers, but Touya held one like it was completely cool. It had almost touched his tongue before he paused and waited for your reaction to his recipe.

His potato wedges were bad. Too crunchy on top because of the odd broil time and not-fully-ground peppercorns and too soggy and soft underneath, especially in the part where it’d stuck to the tin foil and peeled off, and the combination of spices didn’t quite mesh together well. With a sliver of quiet triumph, you swallowed a bite of potato wedge decidedly worse than the ones you made.

But Touya was looking at you, eyes brimming with hope despite his otherwise carefully cultivated cool exterior, watching, waiting for you—and it was Touya, after all; Touya was the one who cooked these—made them for you, deliberately, on purpose—and so that made what words were about to come out of your mouth true and beautiful.

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair, @tiredkittykat, @cheshireshiya, @90s-belladonna, @infjsnightmare

#bnha #dabi #dabi x reader #dabi/reader #dabi imagine #dabi fic #mha #dabi headcanons #dabi fanfiction #dabi fanfic #soulmates #soulmate au #soulmate #dash it all

525 notes · View notes

astaroth1357 · 11 months

Text

We Gotta Talk About Barbatos (And Kinda Solomon But This Ain't About Him)

SPOILERS for up to Chapter 16 of NB

These recent chapters have been giving us breadcrumbs about the pasts of both Barbatos and Solomon, the two of which seem to be deeply entwined. I have yet to make a post about Solomon's past (which gets twistier and twistier by the minute btw), but right now I just want to touch on my questions about Barbatos and... well. The hell is he up to?? I have one question that has been eating away at me the longer NB goes on and I think its answer could solve everything:

Is there only one Barbatos?

What I mean by this question is something along the lines of my Timeless!Barbatos idea from a while ago. Is there only Barbatos, i.e. is Barbatos a being that exists outside of the constraints of time? Is he like the controller/arbiter of time, but not subject to things like continuity himself? When he exists in a certain timeline, is that mirrored through every other timeline (i.e. multiple Barbatos that are spread throughout multiple branches) or is there ever only ONE. Just him. And he selects which timeline to inhabit?

I have this question because there are things about the Barbatos we interact with and hints dropped by others that Barbatos is, potentially, far, far older and far more powerful than I think we can actually grasp.

Thirteen's last point is the one that really makes me wonder, because if Barbatos really has such a broad ability to transcend time and space, then it would be a bit of a nightmare if there were a billion of him running around. Any random change makes a new timeline that makes a new Barbatos with those same godlike abilities until you're completely swamped in the man. Plus, Barbatos never gives us any indication that he speaks to or witnesses his past or future selves, even when he's manipulating things from sidelines...

If there is only one Barbatos, then 1. Little Dia managed to convince, like, the singularly most powerful being in the universe to play House with him, which is such a power move. And 2. That also means any interactions we have with Barbatos in this (or any) timeline cannot be replicated elsewhere. No matter how funky our time adventures get, that Barbatos remains a constant. Thus, NB Barbatos IS OM Barbatos. Probably just hijacked by Solomon to go to past. A past he was no longer present in, because he exists in a continuous state of "present" (his presence is instantly erased from past and he doesn't appear in the future).

And for a being THAT powerful, you really have to wonder...

How much has he changed...?

In Chapter 16, we learn why Beel went berserk and destroyed the Castle. He was triggered by Lucifer explaining a banshee's scream. In OM canon, two kinds of people can hear these screams: those who will die or have a loved one who will die soon and those who have heard it before.

Beel heard a banshee scream in the human world before the War and internalized it as the warning that Lilith was going to die. Naturally, he thinks that if he had told Lucifer then he may have changed his mind but Satan drops this bombshell on us.

A baneshee's warning is supposed to predetermine time. According to Satan, Lilith was alway going to die. But we have a problem here...

Lilith just. Is not dead. Like. Canonically in both the OG title and in NB, Lilith survives the War. So... what gives??

Beel can hear a banshee scream and nobody else can. There's no question that someone was supposed to die. Which only leaves three options:

1. Lilith is dead. Even as a human, she perished.

2. Lilith was never made human... Someone lied to Lucifer and she's actually dead.

3. Barbatos fucked with time to save Lilith.

Option 1 would be pretty lackluster, all things considered. Though it would be a little darkly humorous if Lilith fought and survived in a Celestial War, then got hit by a car one year later or something.

Option 2 would be... so fucked up. But could also shed some light onto Diavolo's guilt about taking in the brothers. Like, imagine if he knew that nothing could be done for Lilith and still tricked Lucifer into eternal service anyway knowing that he could never check his bluff. That would be downright diabolical... and out of character, so I don't think that's the case. (Though, I could see Barbatos lying about it if it gave Diavolo Lucifer's loyalty in the end.)

But Option 3... I think that's actually spine-chilling. Imagine if Diavolo ordered Barbatos to find some way to twist time to save Lilith. And not just spare her life, but to somehow turn her human. That means that we're already playing the events of an altered timeline.

Now combine this idea with our Singular Barbatos theory. If there is one Barbatos, then this is the only timeline where he currently resides. If Barbatos wasn't in THIS timeline, Lilith would be dead. In every other timeline, Lilith is dead. And if OM keeps the detail about MC's lineage, then MC NEVER GETS TO EXIST. They can only be alive in THIS BRANCH OF TIME. There are no other MCs. Just the one (and the corpse that got phased out of being, but we don't talk about them). And this could explain why MC's very existence would be so important to a time-travel being like Nightbringer. There's only one MC to use.

Now, since MC is so powerful (possibly as being that is an aberration in time) it makes me wonder a whole lot more about where someone as powerful Solomon actually came from... How much meddling as Barbatos really done here? If... it was even Barbatos at all. 👀 (Speculation for another day)

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me nightbringer spoilers #obey me nightbringer theories #obey me nightbringer #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me thirteen #omn spoilers #omnb spoilers #omnb barbatos #omn barbatos

517 notes · View notes

huramuna · 6 months

Text

a maid's folly - chapter 1.

dark aemond x maid ofc minor aemond x floris baratheon work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

previous | next

summary: a new maid from the Vale arrives at the Red Keep during a tumultuous time and becomes ensnared in the One-Eyed prince's web.

word count: 2k

i got a few requests for dark aemond x maid / servant / lowborn so here is my amalgamation of all of those! this will be a mini series!

warnings: smut (eventually, will add further tags on chapters with smut), power imbalance, dark Aemond, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, Aemond being a touch starved weirdo, possessiveness, jealousy, this is going to be ANGSTY

guilded lily - cults • christmas kids - roar

It was an eve of spring, a gentle breeze whistling through the corridors of the Red Keep. A particularly strong gust rippled the bandanna atop the maid’s head– she slapped a hand to the crown of her skull, pulling it taut once more.

She shouldn’t be getting knocked over by a mere gust of wind– in the South, no less. The newly appointed maid was a young girl of nineteen name-days passed. She was known by Rosemary; Rosemary Stone. Originally from the Vale, more specifically, she was raised in the Eyrie. Her mother was a handmaiden to Lady Jeyne Arryn– the two women were particularly close and Jeyne took Rosemary under her wing as if she were her own after her mother passed. Rosemary knew there had been a deep love between her lowborn mother and the Lady of the Vale.

Rosemary’s mother spoke little of her father, if at all– she had heard rumors swirling around the Eyrie that it was a bannerman of Lady Jeyne’s, but she paid no mind to it, it didn’t matter to her either way. She was raised as well as a bastard could be and received much love from Lady Jeyne and her mother.

“Rosemary, you must listen to me, my dear,” Lady Jeyne had said just a few moons prior, “The world is changing. You’ve grown in the safety of the Vale, but I fear that… you are unprepared for your future. You’re a young girl, beautiful and you could become something one day, something beyond your name,” she paused, taking Rosemary’s hand in her own, “You must leave the Vale.”

Rosemary blinked, recoiling slightly as if she’d been hit with a physical blow, “W-what? What do you mean, ‘leave the Vale’?” she asked, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly, “All I know is the Eyrie— all I know is you, all I know is… is…” she sniffled, clenching on Jeyne’s hand tightly before letting go.

Jeyne let out a small sigh, getting a bit closer to her, their knees touching, “My sweet girl— that is exactly my point. I… cannot in good conscience let you live out the rest of your life here. You’re young, you have no titles, no land,” she paused, “No blood relatives keeping you here— you may see your bastardry as a hindrance and in some ways, it may be— but you have more freedom than anyone else in this Keep. More than I have, more than your mother had.”

The girl wiped the tears now pooling at her lashes, “I don’t wish to go— I don’t know anyone, and if… if I do, where would I go?”

Lady Arryn took Rosemary’s hands in her own once more, rubbing small circles on them in a soothing manner, “I’ve been corresponding with King’s Landing— I believe you may be a good fit in the Red Keep, mayhaps as a handmaiden or a servant. I will make the necessary arrangements,” she let out a small sigh, “Between you and I— I’ve heard that King isn’t well, and that it is the Hightowers who sit the Iron Throne now. The Vale is impregnable— but it is also where information goes to die. I shan’t be uninformed, up here in the Eyrie with none the wiser if a war is brewing right under our noses— I wish for you to send me letters of anything you deem noteworthy. We are safe from legions of soldiers but we are nothing against dragons— Maegor saw to that.”

Rosemary’s brow furrowed, “You wish for me to… spy?”

“In a way— think of it as your secondary goal,” Jeyne hummed, “Your priority is socializing, getting acquainted with other people and mayhaps finding a nice lover or two along the way, hm? You shan’t find any of those in the Eyrie, dear.”

The girl cracked a smile, albeit a small one. Slowly, she nodded. She didn’t wish to disappoint Jeyne. In a way, she was another mother to her, and she felt a strong desire to please her.

But she still felt a deep pit in her stomach— she didn’t know what to expect in King’s Landing.

Rosemary was pulled from her reverie by a tap on her shoulder. It was Magelle, one of the older serving ladies.

“Wake up, girl,” she whispered in a harsh tone, “Take this tray to the prince.” the older woman shoved a silver platter of hot water and tea leaves at her.

“The… prince— y-yes, the prince,” Rosemary stumbled, “Which one?”

Magelle rolled her eyes, “Do ye see wine on this tray? I told ye— the older prince only drinks wine. I’ll be rolling in my grave when that boy asks for tea. This is for the younger prince, Aemond. Remember what I told ye— no eye contact, especially with the second son. Ain’t a pretty sight none anyhow. Now get goin’.” she huffed, swatting the younger maid on the bottom, practically spurring her into action like a horse.

Rosemary stumbled through the halls with the tray, getting lost a few times— what was the point of all of these damnable hallways?

Eventually, she found her way to Maegor’s Holdfast, where the royal apartments were. She counted, Aemond’s chambers were third from last.

A gentle knock on the door was heard as she walked up to it. Her hand was shaking ever so slightly as she adjusted the hood of her kerchief , pushing up a single, errant hair. The teacups rattled on the tray she was balancing with her other hand. She was to serve the prince– the second prince, to be clear. If she were to serve the first prince, she would’ve just had to come with a decanter of wine and call it a day. But this prince– Prince Aemond ‘One Eye’-- was an enjoyer of tea, apparently. Rosemary thought it a much better choice than wine— she found the liquid to be sour and unappealing.

“Your g-grace,” she murmured, then cleared her throat, enunciating once more, “Your grace– your tea.”

“Enter.” a voice said– it was quiet, but something about it made her want to prick at her nail beds.

She opened the door with her shoulder, scurrying into the room with her head down. As a servant of the Red Keep, she was taught to not make eye contact with her betters unless addressed, especially Aemond, as Magelle had warned.

“Do you require sugar or cream, your grace?” Rosemary asked, putting the tray to the small wooden table, looking down at her feet.

She heard shuffling from her right, the creaking of leather and light footsteps growing closer. The scent of sandalwood and fire permeated her nostrils— it wasn’t unpleasant, just different.

“You’re new,” Aemond said, not even facing her. He walked past her to the table she placed the tray upon, pouring the rich brown liquid into his cup, “Are you not?”

Rosemary put her hands together, sinking her thumb nail in the soft of her palm, “Y-yes, your grace,” she replied, blinking profusely, “I’ve just come from the Vale less than three days ago.”

“The Vale?” he hummed, “Hm,” he dropped two cubes of sugar in his cup, stirring it, tasting it, before adding another two cubes.

She watched from below fettered lashes, her eyes landing upon his hands— they were large and calloused. She heard that he was a proficient swordsman and rode the largest dragon in the world— and yet he took his tea with four sugars. Quite curious.

“If… you needn’t anything else, my prince,” she bowed slightly, “I will leave you to your tea.” Rosemary began to move, eager to escape. He was quiet enough, but something about him unnerved her— as if she was being taken apart in his head.

“Wait,” his voice broke through the silence like a whip, “Come here, girl.”

Her heart stopped in her chest— she was surely dead. She must’ve done something wrong, and he was to execute her. Rosemary was not an optimistic thinker. The maid turned towards him, head bowed.

“Eyes up, little lamb,” he murmured, his already quiet voice rasping slightly, like flames licking at his throat. His hand, calloused and all, tucked under her chin, tipping her head up.

Rosemary, ever diminutive, raised her eyes to him— her two deep, brown eyes met his one violet. She wasn’t breathing, her fingertips shaking ever so slightly.

From her briefing about the royal family, she thought she was to look out for the older prince, Aegon, as he was known to be handsy with maids and servants alike. But no one had told her of Aemond except the warning not to look at him— and if they had, they said he was reserved, quiet and broody.

Magelle said that he was a sight for sore eyes— and after looking at him now, she wondered if the old bat was blind. He had chiseled features and a pleasantly shaped mouth, like a taut bowstring. She glazed over the nasty scar over the right of his face, but didn’t pay it much mind.

“Your name, little lamb?” he asked then, turning her head to the side, up and down, back and forth, as if appraising her like a slab of meat.

“Rosemary, my prince,” the shaking maid replied, so quickly and quietly that she thought that she almost didn’t speak at all.

The only indication that she had spoken was the tug of the prince’s upper lip in something akin to a grin. “Fitting. Lamb goes well with rosemary— or so I’ve heard.”

She felt a bead of sweat fall from her brow, “I don’t much like lamb, your grace.”

He snorted at that, “You valemen, or valewomen, raise sheep, do you not? My uncle once said that the sheep of the Vale are prettier than their women,” he let go of her face, but not without looking at her a bit more, “He never had any taste, truly.”

Rosemary felt her hands twitch as they came back together. What on earth did that mean? Was he calling her a sheep— more beautiful than a sheep? Was he calling her ugly? She was truly puzzled by the prince’s words, but said nothing of it.

“Thank you for the tea. You may go now.” he hummed, turning away from her, attending back to his tea.

A sigh of relief was felt throughout her body as she curtsied— it was still shaky from her nerves, but she managed to keep herself upright. “Have a good evening, my prince.” she murmured at last, leaving his chamber.

She heard him once more, emitting a small ‘hm’. She could practically see the twitching sneer on his face like before.

As she descended down the hallways, she unwrapped her kerchief from her head, her light cream colored braids falling out of their delicate shape and strewing across her back. Something about Aemond unnerved Rosemary so completely and her skin crawled as she left.

She had never met a dragon before— how could she have? — but she felt as if he was an embodiment of one, bones made of obsidian and ash. And she was just a lamb in the face of a dragon.

Descending back to her room— a chambered closet with a straw filled mattress— she curled into her bed, tossing her apron and dress aside. One of the things she brought from home— if she could even consider the Eyrie ‘home’ anymore— was a quilt sewed with thick, blue threads. It had depictions of the stars and moon, with little lambs and nightingales and dusk roses, sewn by her mother— with contributions from Jeyne— before her birth. Her hands traced the stitches, eyes filling with tears. The hem was frayed slightly from her habit of doing this very thing over the years.

It was the only thing she had left of her mother, both of her mothers. Her chest ached at the thought that she would likely never return to the Eyrie, never see Jeyne again— never have her hands held by her, never have their knees touch, never have her kiss her forehead and tell her that everything would be okay.

She was alone. A lamb alone in a castle of vipers and dragons.

How truly precarious.

Her sleep, when it came, was fitful. Tossing and turning, she dreamt of nightingales and lambs being torn limb from limb between dragons, some black and some green. Her skin was charred ash, her chest skewered by a stag’s horns until she bled out, wolves coming to feast upon her corpse.

tag list: @watercolorskyy @queen--kenobi

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #the maid's folly #aemond x servant

193 notes · View notes

dumbbitchenergy17 · 7 months

Text

Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 8

Chapter Seven: Because of You

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 5.4K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, injuries, harsh language, joel actually cares :0, just fucking sad shit tw: trauma from abusive mother, description of child abuse

—————

I cannot cry because I know that's weakness in your eyes. I'm forced to fake a smile, a laugh every day of my life. My heart can't possibly break when it wasn't even whole to start with.

Joel and Tommy returned soon after you passed on the question. They expected some resistance or some smart comment but you accepted the meal with a noise of thanks and eyed the medicine Joel provided but took it regardless.

Ellie was quickly berated by both Miller brothers to understand what the sudden calm behavior came from and clearly, the young girl had something to do with it. “I just talked to her?” That was her response and it was the truth. A single conversation with the young girl that didn’t involve scolding or harassment about being seen as ‘normal’ in Jackson was what occurred. Ellie worked at your pace not pushing you to reveal everything and treated you like a human being, not some wild animal that the people of Jackson think you are.

Whatever you took knocked you out leaving you sleeping throughout the rest of the day only to awaken nearing sunset with a healthy meal Ellie had gotten from the mess hall by Joel’s orders but she did sneak some desserts in for you to eat. The environment and relationship that was changing from your near-death experience started to become more noticeable. You still kept to yourself, your bedroom and the stables your sanctuary from all that was outside, you hardly talked to Joel this instinct that keeps you at a distance from the man, Tommy it was more of him talking to you but you would add your two cents in and were so rigid when he would appear at the stables at random times to check in on you or to bring you something to eat.

The only person you would really ‘close’ to was Ellie. You started eating some meals with Ellie just the two of you and she would fill the silence by talking about whatever was on her mind with you speaking at times, she would hang around the stables and help with the horses when she wasn’t at school or hanging with Dina and Jesse. She took you to some places she would go with her friends and there was one interaction where you met Dina and Jesse that didn’t involve you beating someone up or trying to kill them when you first met them. It was awkward with you standing slightly behind Ellie just staring at the two teens as they tried making conversation with you either responding with grunts and nods or not even saying anything. But when Ellie would speak to you a few short sentences would come out but directed to her.

Despite being close to the younger girl and interacting with her friends you kept that boundary with the Millers and yourself. No matter how many times Tommy would invite you over for a ‘family’ dinner you refused.

“I’m not in your family.” And that’s how it would end, no amount of begging or offering of your favorite meals would convince you. Why would you have dinner with people who claimed it was for a family when you had no relation to them?

The cold was only getting more colder entering the final month of the year before spring would soon come. Making sure all the horses had extra hay for this chill in the air especially the two colts that are Dakota’s. Once they were situated you went out to do some last-minute things only to be interrupted by the appearance of Ellie petting one of the horses Shimmer.

“What are you doing here?” Your tone may have sounded cold and threatening to others but the young girl knew otherwise.

“Just wanted to see if you’re done here. I need help moving something from Tommy’s to the house.” She says rocking on her feet it looks like she just got out of school her pack still strapped to her back.

“Why can’t you get Dina or Jesse?” You question grabbing feed from some of the older horses petting Red in passing, “Because the two of them have this dinner date thing—blegh.” She says rolling her eyes and making a gagging noise.

“I thought they broke up?” You were very confused by the two’s on-and-off relationship, “Yeah they are doing this date to see if they want to get back together. Come on let’s go I need your help and everyone else is busy.”

Adding the remaining food in the large trough outside all of the older horses' section you move back inside grabbing your coat and throwing it on. “Fine.” Ellie pumps a fist up in the air with glee as you take your time signing out in the log and writing some notes on items needed. Ellie rocks on the heels of her feet,

“Come on let’s goooo.” She groans and you follow the girl out of the stables trying to take the quickest route to Rancher Street. Normally you would take backstreets walking through the few wooded areas only to walk through the main streets when completely abandoned. The awkwardness from the lingering stares from people as you follow the younger girl like a shadow keeping close by but distant enough that people seemed to move away when the two of you came near. It didn’t bother you, you weren’t looking for companionship or kindness from these people you didn’t know them and they didn’t need to know you.

The family street appears as the two of you pass by the house you reside in towards the other house containing the younger Miller brother and his wife and child. Ellie bounds up the porch steps letting herself in holding the door open for you to follow. You hear the door close behind you and the sound of voices further into the house but you can’t make it out.

“Tommy we’re here!” Ellie calls out and Tommy responds with an ‘Over here!’ and the two of you enter more into the house. You should have noticed something was off with Ellie’s almost nervous but excited energy. When the two of you turned the corner and saw the dining room you stopped in your tracks. The table was set for dinner food was already prepared Tommy held his son on his hip bouncing the slightly fussy baby, Joel sat on one side of the table already nursing a glass of whiskey, while Maria entered with what you assume was the final piece of the dinner.

“Great you guys are here come sit food is still hot.” Tommy gestures as he places his son into the chair designed for the baby before taking his seat at the head of the table. Maria moves to sit beside her child the baby separating the couple. Ellie already throws off her pack and coat taking a seat beside Tommy leaving an empty seat between Ellie and Joel. You still haven’t moved staring at the display.

“Come on kid, food’s gonna get cold,” Tommy calls out to you and your eyes slowly move from the table to the man. He carries an almost hopeful smile on his face as the others stare at you waiting for you to join in their family meal.

“What the fuck is this.” Void of emotion and sharp edge to your words. You were cornered the air was thin and a pit in your stomach made your insides churn.

“Hey, language,” Joel calls out in a warning tone, especially before the young child. Your gaze snaps away from Joel to Ellie who looks anxious about the growing tension, “You said we were just picking something up from here.” Your throat felt tight and a tingling sensation fills your fingers flexing them trying to gain feeling.

A sheepish look covers the young girl, “You wouldn’t have said yes if I asked. You never said yes before. So I thought this would be the best way to get you to come…” Her plan which everyone else seemed to be involved in had backfired horribly.

“I’m not hungry.” Your response is short already rejecting all of this: this idea, the meal, the people, everything. You didn’t want this. “You haven’t eaten since lunch and that was hours ago.” Tommy brings up having been the one to bring lunch for you just a simple sandwich not filling enough to miss dinner.

“I’m not eating that.” You shake your head sending a glare to the meal before you. Though the smell and appearance of it once made your mouth water and crave it you only felt ill looking at it.

“We can get you something I’m sure we can mix something up real quick. It would be good to all sit together and talk about how our day has been anything just a nice family dinner.” Tommy tries to convince you but it was that one word that made you want to hurl.

“I’m not part of your fucking family.” You hiss taking a step back, “I don’t want this or you or anyone.” You wanted to bolt you wanted to be back in that cabin maybe you should have pressured them more to put you out of your misery back then or maybe not fought as hard against those raiders.

“Why can’t you just accept our help or the fact we care about you?! Sure the world is fucked up but you don’t need to hate the small amount of good that is left,” Ellie stands taking a step towards and a frustrated look crosses her face. “If some shit happened to you just talk to us but don’t fucking act like your the only one suffering. You don’t want a chance to be a part of a family that cares for you again be my fucking guest.” It was like a punch in your gut and if there was any food in your system it would have left your stomach. Your gaze snaps to the three adults each of them with ranges of pity.

Fucking pity.

They saw you as someone weak.

Some broken little thing that needed fixing.

Your gaze pauses briefly with Maria’s, the understanding of how hard those words affected you. She knew the truth she knew why you were cold-hearted your life focused on yourself and everyone else was your enemy. The look of a mother who wished to comfort a child. Why hadn’t you ever received that look? What made you so different that she could never give you that look? It made you fucking sick.

A metallic taste floods your mouth from how hard you are biting your cheek. The weight on your chest felt unbearable just having them stare at you. You don’t even think you could respond unless it was to throw up. It was hot and uncomfortable in that room and it only seemed to rise in temperature. Your vision just seems to tunnel black creeping in from the side.

Fuck you can’t breathe.

You probably could have ripped the door from the hinges from how hard you swung the door open. A loud crash as the door slams against the wall but you don’t even care. Numb feet trip down the steps the coldness of the air heightens as you rush away. The people inside that house their voices fall on deaf ears. You couldn’t hear anything. Blindly letting your body guide you somewhere finding the familiar clearing that was introduced to you by Ellie. Where you sat awkwardly to the side just observing the trio of friends laugh and tell jokes. They tried to include you but you just shook your head listening in as you picked the dirt under your nails. Your chest screamed for air that it desperately needed. The blood spills freely from your mouth staining the snow a crisp crimson. You hold onto a tree with one hand hunched over gasping for air surprised you haven’t buckled over.

Why didn’t she care about you?

Why didn’t she love you? She could have at least pretended for your sake.

And why didn’t he stay? Did he care that little that he didn’t want to try?

Was she right? Just a bastard child to a bastard father.

“Kid?” Your eyes darted spotting the couple standing a few feet away from you. Maria holds her son in her arms the baby is sound asleep wrapped up. Tommy takes a step forward and you react taking a stumbling step back swiping your mouth ridding the blood that paints your lips and a bit of your chin. “You’re alright..” Tommy stops holding his hands out like he’s talking down some rabid animal.

“Tommy,” Maria calls out to her husband who glances back as the woman moves forward, “Go tell the other I got her…give us some time to talk. Girl on girl.” She says before looking over at you who watches the interaction with cautious eyes. Tommy hesitates just for a moment before taking his son and leaving the clearing until it’s just the two of you. Maria heads swiping some snow off the log that substitutes as a bench taking a sit before patting one end. You don’t move keeping your distance.

“You don’t have to might be nice just to sit and talk.” She says warmly, not an ounce of disgust or even remotely upset with your actions in her home. You shuffle forward but sit on the snowy floor a good foot or two separating you. “Ellie is sorry for what she said, though I’m sure she’d feel even worse if she knew how hard those words hit you huh.” She speaks not expecting you to respond. Finding more interest in the snow your gloved hand tracing shapes in the snow.

“Is it the fact that you don’t want to have dinner with us or you’ve never been given the opportunity to have a normal meal with people?” Maria saw the way your gaze snapped to her before darting back to the snow avoidant of the adult’s gaze.

You’re not even sure you’ve had a decent meal in your entire life. Even being here in Jackson you’ve eaten the bare minimum to survive. Why would you indulge yourself in the luxuries of a homecooked meal or even fresh food? You didn’t deserve it, a stranger in this place. No reason for them to feed you well enough until they can throw you make in that cell or perhaps turn you over to the raiders.

“It’s not fair.” You mumble and Maria looks down at you not rushing you to speak, “You live this great life, a perfect little family in this perfect town. Nothing is wrong with you.”

“Not everything is perfect. We’ve all lost something…some more than others. I hav—had a son, Kevin,” Maria falters slightly and you can hear the sudden sadness lace her voice as you look up at her, “He was only three on Outbreak Day. Tommy has lost people he’s cared for, same with Joel and Ellie. It takes time to come to peace and some just never get over it.” Maria says a sense of peace despite the fact of losing a child.

“It still hurts but the pain gets easier but it never leaves. Some days are better than others. I can only be grateful for the life I have now and knowing my little boy is in a better place.” Her voice gets all choked up and she swipes away a stray tear from he misty eyes.

“I’m sure he knows he is loved.” You say softly and she nods looking down as a few tears fall but she takes a moment to compose herself.

“I’m sure in another world both my sons would have known each other. I’m sure in another world your mother would have loved you the way you deserved to be loved.” She says and you’re not sure how to react.

You’re not sure you could ever imagine a world where she loved you. To hold you in her arms like you were fragile glass. To read to you stories about far-off lands of heroes fighting to save the day. To soothe your tears and heal your cuts and scrapes you gained for having too much fun not from getting beaten and burned by those around you. To care about your interests and the things you enjoy. To be funny and make you laugh so hard you cry. To hold your hand when you are scared and protect you from the nightmares and fears that couldn’t hurt you. To make you a homemade meal to sit at a table and talk about your day and just be together. Maybe you would have a day in that picture. He’d come home from whatever job existed before the Outbreak Day, complain about the long day but happy to come home to his daughter and wife.

“I don’t think she’d ever love me no matter what world we lived in.” You wonder what kind of person you’d be in a different life but you believe that some people truly can’t change. Maybe this apocalypse truly brought out the real side that people had hidden in a normal society. “I’d rather have her lie to me. To at least act like she wanted to read me stories, to hold me on the cold nights instead of sleeping by a barely working radiator, to have my father be in my life and not just a string of drug addicts and horrible men, to tend to my wounds from bullies instead of learning how to stitch my first cut at nine, to just sit with me and a goddamn table and talk to me! To treat me like her kid...her fucking daughter instead of some bastard child!” Your throat grew more tight and your vision more blurry. It was anger a hatred towards her. You were jealous of all of those people who had good parents. A father in their life. A mother who loved them. You got neither. You wanted that. You craved it.

“I just wanted a mom.” You gritted out a burning in your eyes until you felt something run down your cheeks. Raising your hand see wetness appear on your gloves before turning your attention to Maria who looks at you sadness covering her eyes. Harshly rubbing your eyes to rid the tears and scowl though not a very good one. “Doesn’t matter it’s stupid anyway.”

“It’s not.” Maria defends against your statement, “You deserved someone to care for you and she failed you. Not you. You deserved that life you wanted and she failed to give that to you. She failed at being a mother. You didn’t fail as a daughter.” She says and it’s quiet between the two of you. A mother who wished she could’ve given the world to her first child but was given the chance to try again and a daughter who gave all she could’ve to a woman who was meant to be a mother and given nothing in return. Maria stands up holding a hand out for you. It’s a moment before you accept her hand though it’s not the action of helping you stand but telling you something deeper.

A mother caring for a child that isn’t even hers.

The walk back to Rancher Street has a new energy and a different feeling. You can’t describe how things changed between yourself and Maria but it did. As the familiar view of the house you occupy with Joel and Ellie comes into view a guiding hand rests on your shoulder and you’re brought away to the house that is Maria and Tommy’s. “Why are we going over here?” You ask confused maybe Joel and Ellie were waiting in their house. But they would have been waiting in their home for you to return.

“Just trust me.” She says and while a part of you, the part that screamed at you to run and hide. To reject this adult’s trust, you didn’t know her, she could hurt you, you don’t know her intentions. But you still followed after her until you reached inside the house that remained empty no sound of Joel or Ellie. Coming around the corner is Tommy and their son held in his arms. “You’re back.”

“Can you go sit at the dining table for a moment?” Maria asks and you nod trailing over to the dinner table to food still set and waiting for someone to eat it. You could hear some muffled voices a whole room separating you from deciphering the words between the couple. The couple returns with the male holding Liam as he places the baby in the highchair. The child babbles at his father before Tommy pulls away heading off to the kitchen with Maria. The baby seems in their own world before he makes eye contact with you and you feel locked in its gaze. A staring contest between a teenager and an infant. Pinned under the child’s innocent gaze unable to react. You weren’t sure what to do. He seems to see something you don’t do before giggles fill the room as it laughs at you. Maria and Tommy return the couple smile softly at the sight.

Your gaze snaps to Maria and Tommy, “I don’t know why it’s laughing at me.” The worried expression only causes the child’s laughter and babbling to increase.

“Well, Liam seems to like you so I don’t think you need to worry about him giggling at you,” Maria says before serving generous portions of food onto a large plate and covering it to keep the food all warm. She gives the plate to Tommy who collects his son and the two head back out and you watch them leave. “Where are they going?” You question as Maria grabs a new plate and starts filling it with a spread of the food placing it at one seat and grabbing a new plate she looks up at you.

“What would you like?” She asks and you look at the food, then the plate, then at her a look of confusion. “What?”

“What would you like to eat? There is chicken, a mix of vegetables, and mashed potatoes with some gravy we also have some leftover cookies but those can be for dessert.” She explains pointing at the different options before you. It hit you hard in the chest what she was doing for you. “You don’t have to stay, I can serve you and you can stay here and I’ll eat somewhere else or you can sit somewhere else in the house if you feel more comfortable.” She reassures you willing to work at your level. To just sit at a table and talk.

“You can choose.” You say fidgeting with the gloves on your hands feeling hot from the layered clothes. She does a spread of the options giving you the option to try everything with portions you would never serve yourself. It was too much food that you didn’t deserve. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen this much food just for you in your life. Maria settles down going to get started on her meal when she looks at you sitting across from her staring at the meal unsure where to start or if you even could. Maria stands up grabbing her plate, “Come on.” She grabs your plate and drink follows after her as the two of you leave the dining room finding yourself in the family room. Maria places her food on the small table in front of the couch gesturing for you to follow.

“You can sit on the floor or the couch whatever you prefer.” She says before moving toward the television to set something up. You sit on the ground your plate of food resting on the table at your chest your legs crossed under the small table. “You can start eating if you’d like. Don’t wait up for me.” She says over her shoulder and the hunger you’ve been holding back has you digging into the meal. Rich flavors and the weight of the fresh warm meal a great feeling in your body. A pleasant sound fills the room as light shines from the tv. Maria sits on the couch her plate resting on her lap as she starts to eat as the film begins on the screen.

“This is one of my favorites.” She says and the film plays and you’re sucked into the story reading the title of the film with wide curious eyes.

“The Lion King? How can a lion be a king?” You say looking back at the older woman, “Just watch the movie.” She says and you return your attention to what’s on screen.

You ended up moving up onto the couch around the midpoint, the food filling you up, and when Maria said that you were allowed to have more servings you declined so full from that. You weren’t sure how you got so invested in the film, feeling a deep sadness and shock when Mufasa died. To be invested in the characters Timon and Pumba a crack of a smile listening to their jokes. By the time the credits came it wasn’t shocking from the full meal, the film, and just the exhaustion from the day's events you drifted asleep your cheek pressed against the arm of the couch your arms acting as a pillow.

Maria got to work quietly cleaning taking your plates to the kitchen and started to pack up the remaining food leaving leftovers for them but having some to give to Joel and Ellie. With the leftovers in hand, she glances at you still asleep on the couch the dim glow of the TV shines on your features before she quietly exits her home to fetch her husband and child.

Joel wasn’t sure what to say or do when you returned. Given Ellie’s outburst that quietly turned to guilt once you fled his brother’s home, they went out looking for you. Looking back at their home, then the stables all the while comforting the young girl who was filled with guilt for the harsh words she had spat. When Ellie suggested a location the young introduced the older one to they ran into Tommy with Liam who reassured them that Maria had you and they were talking things out and to return to their home.

Joel wasn’t expecting Tommy and his nephew to appear at his door with what looked like the meal they were meant to eat. Still, he questioned where you were but Tommy reassured him that Maria was providing her dinner and it would be better to make it a gradual approach involving you in these things. He could understand that, you kept to yourself eating meals alone in your room or at the stables when someone would bring you something, you came and went with little to no warning. Sometimes late a night he had to really strain his already bad hearing for the front door to quietly creak open and even quieter footsteps travel around the first floor before retreating to your room. So the four of them ate the meal Maria prepared in Joel’s dining room. Ellie hoped to apologize to you but for the time being, was able to distract herself with Tommy’s son. Now that it was truly dark and a meal would be over when another knock came at the door and it was Maria with leftovers he couldn’t help but feel slightly frustrated.

“She fell asleep after dinner. Tuckered out from the day.” Maria says while trading the leftovers to Ellie for her son. Joel nods his fingers holding the loops of his belt, “Well myself or Ellie will come over in the morning to collect her.” When he said that he saw the look Tommy and Maria gave each other clearly he was out of the loop with something.

“What is it?” A hint of concern in his tone. “Joel..” Tommy starts not sure the best words as Maria takes Tommy’s hand giving it a reassuring squeeze, “We’d think it might be better if the kid stays with us.”

Joel wasn’t sure how to take that news. Did you ask to stay with them given the events of today? Was it something he did before? “I’m sorry what?” The words didn’t seem to register.

“We just think it might be good for her to be in a more family-oriented environment,” Tommy says and Joel sends him a questioning look, “The hell does family-oriented mean?”

“Joel come on, she stays practically locked up in her room and if not she’s at the stables until she has no choice but to come back. Ellie talks and tries to spend time with her but seriously Joel do you know one thing about her? You both are busy anyways with Ellie in school and you with your patrols she’s left with nothing to do.” Tommy says and Joel feels like this is an attack on his skill of taking care of a child. His hand rests on the broken watch around his wrist. He raises Sarah all by himself with the help of Tommy but it is just him and his babygirl. Then there was Ellie he would say he is raising her well for an ambitious spitfire of a kid. Tommy’s words hurt him and the image he had of being a good parental figure but it shined a light. He saw Ellie as his daughter his kid to protect and care for but in the beginning, you were some brat shoved in his hands as his responsibility now but he couldn’t explain this need to watch over you. Though he did it while keeping a 15-foot pole separating you both.

“You said you couldn’t do it cause of Liam why the sudden change?” Joel wanted to find an excuse just the tiniest one so he could claim he was the better fit but he had no clue why he wished this. The old him would be rejoicing and letting them take you off his hands.

“That’s because we didn’t know her. All of us needed to learn to trust her and we do. She’ll be around at least one of us when with Liam and this might be the first step and getting her out of her shell,” Maria says “She’s been through a lot Joel and she’s only now wants to talk about it. She needs normalcy in her life. I don’t mean this in a wrong way but you and Ellie still live and act like you’re out there fighting to survive.” Now that riled up the older Miller. Sure he kept to himself spoke when only necessary to do his job then returned home to do it all over again but things were different now. Ellie and him had things that they never had out there and being here was their fresh start from everything that has happened to them.

“Tommy.” Joel looked at his brother hoping he would try to defuse the situation and maybe reconsider but he didn’t. “Did you even ask her? Do you really know her well enough to know what’s best for her?” He sounded spiteful a bite to his words.

“Stop it,” Tommy’s voice curt to his brother and his wife, “We just came here to tell you she’s going to be staying with us. Not fight over who knows her better. If she wishes to return to stay with you she’s more than welcome to.” It’s quiet between the three adults before Liam begins fusing and it’s too late for the baby to be out.

“Look you’re welcome to see her. We’re not keeping her away from you Joel but if you really think she’s better off with you. Put some goddamn effort in getting to know her instead of treating her like some stranger.” Tommy says before delivering his brother a pat on his shoulder that was meant to be comforting but only felt like a mockery. The family retreats back to their home as Joel closes the door a weight in his stomach as he stares at the woodgrain on the door.

“Joel?” Ellie’s voice makes him turn from where he stands to find Ellie standing in the living room. He was sure she heard their conversation but didn’t but in. “Is she not staying with us anymore?” Sadness laced her features and it only added more guilty weight to his gut. This wasn’t something he could give some hopeful response that things would be better but he truly didn’t know. You’re decision would be up to you and it may be his fault for not putting in an effort.

“I don’t know kiddo…I don’t know.”

Where the Wild Things Are Tags

@ashisabitgay @bobbypickl3 @christinamadsen @clovergray @cozyphine @daemontargaryenwhore @darthrue @daughterofthequeen @ellistyle @fictional-character-whore @gods-menace @kitdjarin1 @lorenaloveslewis @lovelyygirl8 @lunawants @maelartasch @marvelandhamilton @minaridior @oscarissac2099 @poetoflawed @queenofthekill @rhaenyramistress @scoliobean @stargurl99 @stickthegremlin @supernerdycookietrashblrr @todoroki-simp @ucannotcompare @wife-to-pedro-pascal @your-shifting-gurl

If your name is crossed out tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason. Sorry :(

#the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x teen!reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x platonic!reader #ellie williams x teen!reader #ellie williams x reader #tommy miller #tommy miller x platonic!reader #tommy miller x reader #where the wild things are #where the wild things are series

302 notes · View notes

makeste · 6 months

Text

BnHA Chapter 408: Orphaned Cryptid to Billionaire Supervillain

Previously on BnHA: HE WAS BORN AN ARROGANT BABY.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi decides he’s going to cover the rest of the AFO/OFA saga in the span of just seven pages, the majority of which are mostly just filled with lovingly detailed closeups of AFO and Kudou’s eyes. Back in the present day, Kid For One takes a couple of seconds to trample the last of the “Kacchan is OFA II or is related to OFA II” theories into the dust, and is then all “fuck it, I’ll just take him out with one last spectacularly grotesque supermove.” Kacchan is all “lol you fucking dipshit”, and he says it with such confidence that it truly makes me believe he can defeat AFO’s “ALL THE QUIRKS EVER!!” attack with his piddly little exploding bloodsweat quirk. AND IT WILL BE A SIGHT TO SEE.

interesting!

Yoichi’s name btw is written with the kanji 与 which means “bestow” or “give”, and 一 which means “one.” so basically “one who gives”, which is fitting as the creator of OFA, but also fits in with this new context of being the first “possession” bestowed upon AFO

oh yes and also AFO I guess has just torn his brother to shreds or something too. idk. I’m going to be honest with you guys, this panel has such a surreal vibe that I just sat here blinking stupidly at it and wasn’t even shocked or anything. like what. is he dreaming this?? or did he really just make a “STOP! IN THE NAAAAME OF LOVE” gesture and in doing so remove half of his brother’s jaw

ewww

idk what’s wrong with me today guys. AFO just disintegrated Yoichi, and Kudou and and OFA Tres (who apparently still doesn’t have a name???? freaking Kudou got named before you??) are literally RIGHT THERE and presumably horrified, and all I can think about is how fucking gross it is that they’re all hanging out in a fucking sewer

oh shit y’all it’s about to go down

he can’t kill Kudou right off the bat can he? does Kudou even know he has OFA yet? are we going to see him transfer it to OFA III? I’m so fucking excited omg

LOL WHAT

“weirdly matte” omg. so apparently he’s like All Might, where the “he’s just drawn differently” thing is something people actually acknowledge in-story. “yeah he actually has no pupils. that’s a real thing. technically that should mean he can’t see since pupils are what let light into your eyes, but don’t worry about that part. just know that his eyes canonically look weird to the story people as well, and everyone is creeped out by it, not just you”

yeah he’s actually blind

so he literally can’t see outside himself. way to lay those metaphors on thick, Horikoshi

(ETA: this is my “just in case my impeccably dry wit doesn’t translate well across the internet” ETA to assure everyone I know he’s not actually blind lol.)

now we’re cutting to some random city where AFO is broodingly staring at Yoichi’s severed hand because he’s perfected the art of always doing incredibly unsettling things

I cannot believe the fucking hands thing has an actual origin story. of course it does. this man has never done a single hinged thing in his life. it’s all unhinged or bust. am I talking about AFO or Horikoshi? YOU DECIDE

he’s sitting at a table with a bottle of wine holding his dead brother’s embalmed severed limb and thinking about fucking quirk shit

so your transformation from Orphaned Cryptid to Billionaire Supervillain happened almost completely offscreen huh. I’m kinda disappointed, ngl. I could have read a few more chapters about that. maybe a spinoff miniseries

WAIT WHAT

are you serious. we finally get a panel that’s INCREDIBLY RELEVANT to pretty much ALL OF MY BNHA THEORIES, only for that same panel to contradict itself ONE SPEECH BUBBLE LATER?? so what is the truth???

omg omg omg

so many fucking questions, omg. what the hell does “through research” even mean. how did he confirm Yoichi’s quirklessness, and why did he later change his mind? how the fuck can Yoichi have a quirk factor and yet not have an actual quirk. “it was just so weak it didn’t count or something I guess” okay??? how much of this is unreliable narrator vs. the word of god? how is it we’re getting so many answers and yet all I have is more fucking questions you guys

BRUE?CE?CEE??!

bruce

Kudou is so goddamned hot. I hope you washed the hell out of that arm wound after getting it all covered in sewage you stupid sexy man

I can’t get over Three’s name. “idk if anyone noticed, but it’s kind of a subtle homage to another very famous superhero” Horikoshi your nap wasn’t long enough, please go home

also love how Bruce is talking shit about OFA being a puny loser quirk for wimps. how the fuck do they even know what’s going on, anyway? was there a tutorial???

oh you just had a feeling huh??? that it was “something like this”, huh??? how is it that I, who knows all about OFA because I’m from the future and have read 408 chapters of this nonsense, am somehow still less in the know than this handsome clown who doesn’t know shit but just “had a feeling”

(ETA: while editing this post I noted that Bruce is sitting in front of a computer in what seems to be some sort of medical lab, so maybe they ran some tests or something? except that only makes me more confused, because it implies they didn’t actually figure out OFA’s workings via convenient plot instincts. so then how the fuck did they figure out the transfer process?? questions)

meanwhile AFO is sitting in the panel next to him whining about how someone stole Yoichi’s quirk. excuse you. he did not steal it. it was in fact a gift

these flashbacks are all jumbled up and it’s unexpectedly fun to read, but also really chaotic

I guess he’s talking to Kudou on the right and AFO on the left

so many intense closeups of eyes in this chapter oh my goodness

Horikoshi even drew the individual goddamn eyelashes. this looks like the margins of someone’s notebook from when they were really bored in middle school

oh my god the information overload!!!

so much for AFO actually feeling emotions lol. or is he just lying to himself about why he cried. that delicious ambiguity

so we don’t even get a flashback explaining how the transfer actually happened?? to either Kudou OR my beloved Bruce?? goddamn you Horikoshi. omg I would seriously kill for more of this. make a movie about it. I want the OFA origin story prequel movie damn it

I like how AFO just sits there on a throne holding court with a single tiki torch beside him for aesthetic reasons

I can’t quite figure out how he killed Banjou and I’m not sure I really want to know. it looks very violent

friendly reminder that Shinomori is Sir Not Appearing In This Flashback because he’s the only OFA user who died of natural causes! good for you Shinomori. En probably wishes he was more like you

poor En

was Nana just taking a stroll or something one day and stumbled across this epic fight with the evilest man on the planet vs some kid in a trenchcoat, and then the poor kid got bisected and he looked at her and he was all “please eat my hair” and she was just like “ok”?

OH WOW

what a transition omg

LOLLLLLLLL

you know, part of me always wondered how All Might was so certain he’d killed AFO that he apparently never bothered to confirm it. but looking at this panel now, I can understand

fjjfdzjgf

he’s sweating so much. like “okay yeah he punched the top of his face off, this is pretty bad but I’LL DO MY BEST”

BACK TO THE PRESENT DAY AWW SHUCKS

so let’s recap. over on Kacchan’s side we have “GOTTA USE THE PAIN TO WIN!!!” haha ouch. and then over here on KFO’s side we have. whatever the fuck we just experienced over these past two chapters. so basically it’s a battle between the two most deranged characters in the entire series. glorious sweet chaos

DSFJKSLDKGJL he’s now trying to figure out how the fuck they look so much alike and whether they’re actually related

“no, that can’t be it. so then maybe... this kid grows up and then somehow travels back in time...?!” HE’S JUST LIKE US FR

so now he’s saying it’s because Kacchan didn’t have character development yet the last time, but now that he does his eyes are all Full Of Determination just like Kudou’s and so we’ve basically come full circle!

transcended WHAT? :O :D :D omg I’m kidding you guys please don’t hurt me

lol

actually the more we learn about Kudou the less I personally see the resemblance now lol. because Kudou seems so calm and collected, but Kacchan is just... [gestures to literally everything about Kacchan]

so AFO’s trying to strategize, but he can’t warp Kacchan away because the only available targets are too close and he’s still got that SUPERSPEED, BOYO so it wouldn’t make a difference. lol but if you kept doing it repeatedly it might be kind of funny though

and he can’t keep fighting him either because he’s getting his ass whooped and it’s speeding up his de-aging or whatever. well you could just give up then I guess. your call, AFO

oh was that your plan?

spoiler alert for me lol. but it’s not exactly shocking or anything since he’s dying, guess he wants to abandon ship

(ETA: just FYI for anyone reading this who’s not familiar with my dumbassery, I have currently only read chapters 1 through 374 at this point in time, before skipping ahead to 403 because Kacchan came back and I lost all willpower. I am working on catching up with the rest!)

oh so now you did come up with a strategy?

lmao what the FUCK

how much of this is going to be clearer to me once I finish the chapters that I missed, and how much of it is just plain old “nope this is all brand new zero-context BnHA bullshit” lol. this looks like every single quirk AFO ever absorbed combined into one gigantic horrifying blob that forced Horikoshi to take an extra week just to draw it

oh my god!?

Kacchan hovering there bravely facing all this is giving me Gandalf “you shall not pass” vibes and I’m LIVING FOR IT

so either AFO is going to kill Kacchan for the second time right here and now, or he’s going to fail and turn back into a squishy evil baby fdslfjkls

love how All Might is all “DODGE IT YOUNG BAKUGOU!” thanks for the warning, champ. doing his part

more exploding bloodsweat closeups. are these just going to be a mainstay of Kacchan fights from now on

“are you stupid?”, when faced with [gestures to the entirety of the previous page], is possibly the best line ever uttered by anyone in the series. even better than the polite “coming through” uttered only seconds before it

ah man. you love to see it. he literally doesn’t even care. HE ALREADY DIED ONCE TODAY, AND IT CLUED HIM IN TO THE FACT THAT HE’S A MAIN CHARACTER AND ACTUALLY IMMUNE TO DEATH. sorry AFO it’s curtains for you. CURTAINS

#bnha 408 #all for one #bakugou katsuki #ofa the second #kudou (bnha)#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

164 notes · View notes

prismatoxic · 2 months

Note

cause I need to hear more of your sweet thoughts bout those two freaks, favorite laichil moments that have been stewing in the back of the mind?

oh gosh ummmmm

well now that episode 11 is out i am so very deeply fond of laios's visual pan from kensuke to chilchuck's dawning, rage-filled horror at what's happened

i think the swearing was better in the manga--not because the anime let him say actual words (bc i think that's awesome) but bc in the manga i thought they were still running while chilchuck was doing this. good visual

OF COURSE THE BEST EPISODE 11 CHILAIOS MOMENT... TO ME... is when chilchuck tells laios they're going to have a Talk later

the dub delivery kind of disappointed me (as it always does) BUT IN THE SUB the way laios immediately agrees is so very much, to me, a "yes sir" moment. and if you read my fic you know i'm very into this

i have a lot of little canon moments that i'm super fond of and am very excited to see in the anime... my faves are often when chilchuck is being a hostile little goblin but i'm so fucking excited about what i assume will be episode 13. you know. because

okay i have a lot of thoughts actually (MANGA SPOILERS I'M SERIOUS)

so. chapter 30.

chilchuck goes to get the party's supplies from where they were abandoned in the house they had dinner with falin at, having his own character arc along the way. we have seen him try to convince both leed and senshi that the smartest thing to do will be to lie to laios and marcille so they can return to the surface. trying to continue in this state will kill them, but neither of them will rest if they think they can still find falin. neither senshi nor leed agree with chilchuck's plan, and leed insinuates he's a coward. chilchuck stays firm. even after he's clearly pushed off kilter by leed saying he should just tell the truth, we don't have any concrete reason to think he will.

then they return and senshi is struggling to keep a now-awake laios down. laios is wounded and weak and senshi is a dwarf but laios is so deeply, fervently determined to get falin back that he's very hard to stop.

chilchuck, by contrast, is not strong at all, but somehow his added presence gets laios to sit back down. chilchuck rests a hand on laios's shoulder and even before he says anything, laios is looking at him. he knows something is coming. i think he resents chilchuck for it, too--the implication that there's anything to be said here.

we don't know at this point what chilchuck intends to say. senshi still thinks he wants to lie and intends to stop him, but i think it's clear in this moment that chilchuck has changed his mind.

he kneels--proud, all-too-aware of "how his people are treated for their size" chilchuck kneels between laios's legs. and i'm not pointing this out for horny reasons, for once.

he's bringing himself closer to laios--assuming a position associated with pleading and willingly making himself not the authority in this interaction. he believes, wholeheartedly, in what he wants to do and what needs to be said, but...

he also knows laios is hurting.

laios is... devastated. he's terrified. he's angry. but he's also still laios, and he knows chilchuck, insofar as chilchuck has allowed him to. he also respects chilchuck. so this--a teary-eyed plea to do what goes against everything he feels--gives him pause. chilchuck does not beg, and he does not cry.

...and he never talks about how he feels.

but he does, here: he doesn't want to lose his friends. and he does mean all of them, senshi included. he has three people to think of--three people whose lives he cannot in good conscience allow to be put at risk any more than they already have been. even so, he acknowledges that however laios feels about falin is probably incomparable.

but he tries to give laios hope--he gives him a plan of action. he says we will come back. he tries to impress upon laios that this isn't defeat and it isn't surrender, it's being safe. it's giving themselves an actual fighting chance at getting falin back.

laios doesn't want to... but he also doesn't say that. all the things he's feeling haven't gone away, but he's also aware of just how big this situation is if chilchuck opened himself up this way. chilchuck does not and never has done this. up until the fight with the red dragon, you could be forgiven for assuming chilchuck is just a contracted coworker who's a little fond of the party and nothing more.

senshi and leed, the only people who knew chilchuck's plan to lie to the others, don't openly acknowledge his change of heart... but they back him up. they pitch in to push laios just a little further, to get him to agree.

and it works.

so. um. episode 13 will be good i think

#tox answers #chilaios #dunmeshi spoilers #dunmeshi anime spoilers #ummmmm i got a little into this one #long post

141 notes · View notes

meguemii · 10 months

Text

ˋ°•*⁀➷S. Gojo

Head canons.

Annoying! Gojo x Reader who is not a fan (enemies to lovers)

Now you could NOT stand Gojo Satoru, but being so close with Shoko and Suguru it was unfortunately inevitable that you and Gojo would often cross paths.

You could not understand why they loved him so much because he was always just always insufferably cocky. So what he was strong. You were too but you didn’t boast about it constantly. Chosen one your ass.

Constant “Y/NNN! why can’t we hangout one on one? you always do with Shoko and Suguru!!”. “Because I don’t like you Gojo.” -_- . But he never gets the hint, not even hint. YOU ARE SAYING IT TO HIS FACE.

He’ll start clinging to you in group settings, arm always around your shoulders in a teasing way. Because he thinks it’s all in good fun when in reality you just cannot stand him.

He called you a nickname/ pet name once and you lost your shit. “My name is Y/N. You don’t get to call me that. Infact you need to call me by my last name. L/N. Do you understand me Gojo?” THE PUPPY DOG EYES GE GIVES YOU IN RESPONSE AS HE MAKES HIS LIL QUIVER LOL. “but Shoko, Geto, Nanami, Haibara and even Utahime get to call you that” making this face🥺.

Ever since then he only calls you by a nickname or pet name . “N/N wait for me!” which you don’t do. “good morning gorgeous” stuff like that.

As time goes on everything becomes more natural, you don’t scream at him as much or get violent. No more duels to the death or even death glares. Just annoyed faces. Then those annoyed faces turn to soft smiles. Which turn to secret laughs on private.

You and Gojo finally start getting along, or at least you start getting along with Gojo. Going to get food by yourselves, shopping trips, long late night talks about the jujutsu society. Really getting to know each other.

He’ll start bringing you snacks and drinks at random times, the teasing becomes more flirty. Random gifts, souvenirs from missions. Lot’s of compliments.

Then he invites you to a family get together where he introduces you as his girlfriend? eeeeerm? did we miss a few chapters?!!?!? Fake smile, introduce yourself, have a good time. “WHAT THE FUCK GOJO???” he is so lost about why you’re mad. “What?🧍” “Since when are we dating?!” “since forever ago” big face palm

That’s the story of how you and Gojo Satoru started dating🤗

Gojo Playlist

Master list

Okay first real Gojo head canon done, the only acceptable trope for Gojo x Reader is ennemies to lovers change my mind (that’s a joke i love all of the gojo x reader tropes ^_^) I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY THIS ONE AS MUCH AS YOU ENJOYED MY AWKWARD MEGUMI HEAD CANONS.

Not proof read :’3

reblogs and hearts are appreciated❣️I also love hearing from everyone so feel free to comment x

I’m working on Hardly Friends chapter 4 as well as some mood boards + scenarios for you guys since you all really loved that one!!

Love, Emi

#gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x yn #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo x yn #gojo satoru x yn #gojo satoru headcanons

321 notes · View notes

tetheredfeathers · 2 months

Text

My favourite post Mockingjay fics

@notafraidtodissapear since you asked 💕

One shots

making a blank page bloom: drabble collection by songbirdheart

A writer I have discovered recently, I cannot emphasize how much I love her writing. If an angel could write it would be her. This fic is sweet and short. Katniss sings her poem to Peeta.

eden by songbirdheart

Another one by the same author. Can you tell how obsessed I am?!!? Dw you'll understand her genius when you read it. A poem about everlark growing back together.

What's In A Name? by Joshs_left_earlobe

Everlark's first fight, lots of fluff and angst.

Fighting the Rain by starsmahogany (Jodalyn)

Cute fluffy fic of Peeta taking care of Katniss after she comes homes soaked from the rain.

The Unexpected Message by Diana_Flynn

Years after the war has ended Katniss has a fight with Peeta, but she finds an a gift that changes her perspective.

Multi chapter fics.

Baby Steps by Ronja

Growing back together/pregnancy fic, goes back and forth between her pregnancy and their initial growing back post war. Delves into some of the political aspects of Panem, and Katniss and Peeta's involvement. Enjoyed reading this alot.

When the Red X is on the Door By: MADAM BETH

A growing back that fixates more on Peeta's episodes, very realistic and perfect characterization. Timeline goes back and forth from initial post war to their with children. Loved this, it's also 57 chapters so might as well think of it as the 4th missing book.

Growing New Wings By: SkyLark89

Very accurate to the book, I always come back to this fic after my rereads. They rewatch the games to help Peeta's memory and work on the book. Starts off after Peeta's arrival and ends with "real".

A Little Drop of Hope By: Chinchilla17

In Peeta's pov, most growing back fics are in Katniss' pov so it was quite interesting to be in Peeta's mind after the hijacking.

The List orphan_account by silvercistern

This one is a must read, I'm sure everyone has heard of this one. Like if Collins were to write another book it would be this one.

Back to Twelve igsygrace

Another popular one, by the same author who wrote Peeta's games. I don't even need to tell you how good this. I will admit though I had some mixed feelings about the ending, because the author makes them go through another war. I'm not really sure if it's war tbh, but someone is trying to overthrow the government typa shit..

I have a problem with canon divergence so I didn't read the final chapter. idk why canon divergence just feels so wrong to me. But if you do like canon divergence this one could be really good. Anyway it's only the last chapter that is like that, the rest are all regular growing back material.

Synchronicity by ashyblondwaves

A collection of one shots and stories examining Katniss and Peeta's relationship post-Mockingjay. Peeta's POV. Pretty long but I really liked it. There's something about the writing that drew me to it. The problem is I have read a lot of these along time ago so I can't remember the exacts reasons any of these fics stuck out to me, I just remember they did.

Worse Games to Play By: Belmione

How Katniss finally decides to have children. Read a long time ago, but it's really sweet.

81 notes · View notes

theyanderespecialist · 11 months

Text

Base Yandere Monkey D. Luffy Headcanons: His Treasure (One Piece)

#Yandere #YandereLuffy #YandereHeadcanons #YandereOnePiece #LuffyOnepiece #Onepiece #Headcanons #LuffyxReader #GenderNeutralReader #Reader #GenderNeutral

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am here with a new chapter! This one another request from, Archive, and almost a year old, if not older. Better late than never! Anyways it is base Headcanons for Luffy! I hope that you all enjoy this!]

(Disclaimer: Luffy is not yandere in canon, this is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and fictional yanderes is fine! Just do not be gross or illegal about it! Also, Remember to separate headcanons from canon, and fiction from reality! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life!)

(Disclaimer 2: I have not watched all of one piece so I am not up to date on it all, so if some of this is incorrect I apologize!)

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Monkey D. Luffy X Gender Neutral Reader-

.Luffy is going to be King of the Pirates.

.That was one of his goals for the longest time.

.He put his heart and soul and everything he is into becoming the king of the pirates.

.Then he met you, he was not able to love, but something about you changed him.

.He felt something that he has never felt before and he cannot get you out of his mind.

.He more or less persuades and or kidnaps you to join his pirate crew.

.He is not going to leave your island until he gets you to agree to join his pirate crew.

.He is just as determined to make you his as he is in becoming king of the pirates.

.And you will be his co-ruler! The Majesty of the pirates!

.He also is very open about his love for you.

.Declaring you his majesty a lot.

.He is also VERY VERY VERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRY protective of you!

.Like if anyone was to hurt you, they are beyond dead.

.He will not stand for you to be hurt. You've seen Luffy go so beyond angry. Think that times 100.

.You are his treasure. HE WILL NOT LET YOU BE STOLEN OR HARMED. ]

.Though he lacks the common sense to know when to stop declaring his love or be able to take a hint that you are not interested.

.Oblivious to that in general he also knows he can worm his way into your heart and then you will be his for sure.

.He can be seen as a childlike yandere in the sense he goes to extremes.

.Such as declaring his love for you and trying to marry you.

.To also being very simple that he loves you and you will love him so why should you both wait?

.It is a simple way like a child has.

.He would also risk his life to protect you and defend you, no matter what!

.Luffy would hate one thing about you, that if your love was weak.

.Saying that you and he could not be together.

.That it was impossible.

.He loves you with all his heart and will make you love him just as much to take that risk and be brave enough to accept your love for him.

.He is the type of yandere to be determined and not give up if you say no.

.He will show you that you two are meant to be.

.He does not care how long it will take he will make you his treasure no matter what!

.He would deal with rivals by beating them just saying that you are his treasure or his majesty and that no one else can have you.

.He would confess to you almost instantly and beg you to join his pirate crew.

.If you say no, he will not give up either persuading you or kidnapping you or both!

.He is also very good likely so no matter how much you say no or how much you fight his love.

.He will not give up or falter and he will make you his majesty of the pirates!

.No matter what you are his treasure!

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS Another chapter is done! I hoped you all enjoyed this and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!]

#yandere #yandere luffy #yandere one piece #yandere headcanons #headcanons #one piece #one piece luffy #luffy #monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader #reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral

184 notes · View notes

storiesbyrhi · 11 months

Text

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, animal death, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: What is expected of us? 2962 words.

Notes: This is dedicated to @jo-harrington, @somnambulic-thing, and @toomanyacorns, who all helped brainstorm and/or fact check this chapter.

1836

“You cannot ask how I know of this place,” Eddie said as he made a path for you to follow. It was well beyond the forest and the open plains you and he usually traversed.

“When you say such gloomy things, Eddie my love, you do know that I know what is left unsaid?” He threw you a look over his shoulder. “Well, excuse you, Mr Vampire. All brooding and mysterious,” you teased. You cleared your throat loudly and put on your best Eddie voice. “You cannot ask how I know of this place,” you impersonated.

Eddie stopped walking abruptly, letting you crash into his back. Instant speed and he’d hoisted you up over his shoulder. You laughed and hit your fists against his back.

“And you, my little witch? Were you not the one that said you would not play audience to my… murderous misadventures?”

“Murderous misadventures,” you repeated in your Eddie impersonation, giggling and letting your body fall limp as he carried you off to wherever he had planned.

Like he’d teleported, Eddie had you both to the destination in a second. Vampire speediness made your stomach turn with motion sickness. As he put your feet back on the ground, his hands lingered in case you were unsteady.

“Oh… Wow…” you marvelled, looking up at the great tree. “Surely she’s been here longer than you or I.”

Eddie knew you’d like the glorious tree. He knew you’d call it ‘she’ too. “See here,” he directed, showing you how the wide trunk was hollowed out in part. It was a space large enough for him to walk into.

You followed him. “It’s warm… Dry…”

“It was a place of respite. Somewhere to wait out storms,” Eddie told you.

You spun on the spot and looked at him, the darkness of the night even darker within the tree cave. “This is not a recent discovery for you?”

Eddie said nothing. Whoever had sought respite was instead met with violence.

“There’s something else.” Eddie crouched low to the ground. He reached into the darkness of the tree cave corner and pulled out a large suitcase. It looked as though he’d pulled it out of thin air, but you figured there were many holes and crevices within the tree appropriate for hiding things in.

You knelt next to Eddie and looked at the suitcase. It was old, the metal corners and lock rusted, and the fabric torn and discoloured.

“All their possessions were pillaged. The case was left for… fun,”

“Fun?” you asked.

“An ominous thing to find. An empty case in a hollowed-out tree.” Vampires hunted humans for sport. It was no surprise that mind games were part of the fun. “I don’t know when this was put here,” Eddie continued, picking up a wool blanket and shaking it off. He laid it on the soft dirt floor. “Perhaps it was us. Perhaps it was the humans… But these… These were me.”

With the blanket gone, a bundle of envelopes and paper was revealed. Eddie took them and stood. He kicked off his leather shoes and stepped onto the blanket, stretching out and looking at you.

As you sat next to him, crossing your legs, he let you take the paper. Eddie folded his arms under his head to make a pillow, then closed his eyes. It was as close to peace as he could get.

You were fluent in French and easily devoured the letters. It was a love story.

A Frenchmen had been all over Europe, you judged by the changing addresses and postmarks on the envelopes. A Marguerite du Bruyeres wrote to Guillaume du Bruyeres often. Though none of the letters were sent to America, Guillaume traveled with them.

She wrote of how colours were paler without him there. How pastry was stodgy and the city smelled less of blossoms and more of sickness. She wrote of how she missed him, oh, how she missed him.

Marguerite called Guillaume stupid but brave. Her loopy handwriting was romantic and her bittersweet farewells were so obviously prayers that one day, her Guil would make it home. Being part of the French army was a dangerous thing.

“Where did you find these?” you asked Eddie. The letters had absorbed all your attention. You’d read each of them, taking almost an hour.

Eddie stirred, eyes fluttering open. “Here,”

“He was here?”

“Guillaume de Bruyeres? Yes. He was,”

“These are… The dates on these were before he came to America. So, he was here to fight against the British Empire,”

“Guerre de la Conquête,” Eddie said, his French as fluent as yours. “They have always been like this, your humans. Always fighting for land. For resources. For title. They take and take, they recreate, repopulate, and expect their children to do the same. Little monsters who grow up with the same bloodthirsty nature for land. Resources. Title,”

“That’s the real monster, is it? Human endeavour?”

“Human conformity,” he corrected. “And don’t tell me you’re an advocate for colonisation, little witch. You love the forests and the animals too much,”

“I don’t love them enough. None of us do. I’m not an advocate for colonisation. I just don’t judge the humans for what they are.”

Eddie smiled. You were wrong, of course. You often judged them, as you did the vampires, albeit for different reasons. He’d leave you on your high horse though. He figured it would only take another decade or two before the humans disappointed you beyond repair.

“I knew you’d find the letters of interest. You did not hesitate to read them. Does privacy end in death, I wonder?”

You looked up at Eddie from where you were studying the ink on one of the letters. Feeling hot shame wash over you, you bundled the papers up and put them back in the suitcase.

“Why did you show me them if you were going to torment me for reading them?” you asked coldly. “You read them. You-”

“I what? I killed him? Took his furs and his love letters and never thought of him again?” Eddie was still casually laid out on the blanket. “I never read them. Not more than the addresses. And he was dead before I got here. The British found this foxhole. They took his furs and his rations and his weapons. I took the letters.”

For a moment you were silent. Eddie knew you were crying before you did. He had sat up, body mirroring your position, and reached out to brush the tears from your cheeks.

“I don’t know what you need me to think of you,” you whispered. “Some days you demand I face the truth. That you’re unholy. Undead. That I should not trust you and that this will all end in tragedy. Other days you trick me into being the one suggesting it, before rolling over to show me the humanity that’s left in you.”

Eddie’s jaw clenched and his gaze wandered down. He picked your hands up from your lap and held them. Apparently, from your high horse you had a vantage point to see him and all his contradictions.

“I took them to her,” he said. He frowned suddenly; you figured it was at the memory but it was that he’d let the confession slip out before he could stop himself. There was no choice but to continue. “I returned the letters to Marguerite. She was eating rye bread. Her lips were stained with wine. From the moment she saw me, she was afraid. At first, it was that I was a stranger. Then, that I had come with ill news about her husband. When I handed her letters, she sobbed.”

Eddie looked up and tried to gauge your reaction. Did you think this was a story of love or a confession of violence? He couldn’t read it on your face, but you knew the ending. The letters were in a rotting suitcase beside you, not buried with Marguerite as they should have been.

“She smelt so rich. I was not young, but I was not adept in restraint. Eighty-years-later and it still takes effort. I escorted the widow home. I bled her dry… I don’t know why I took the letters. I don’t know why I kept them. I don’t know why I have never been back to France. It’s surely not humanity that’s left in me.”

You were crying again.

There was no reason for a vampire to hold onto love letters. But he did.

“I would take death… over the unknown,” you spoke quietly. “If… If it were me. If I was Marguerite and I was given the choice. Live out my years and not know what became of my beloved. Or die knowing I was loved.” You looked up, stared into Eddie’s dark and unblinking eyes. “I would have let you bleed me dry if you brought proof I was loved.”

He’d woken that desire in you. So independent for all your years. Defiant. Self-governing. Seeking the company of your coven when you needed. Then, the vampire. The bright morning sun of something inside you screaming it needed to be loved.

“I think she would have too,” Eddie whispered.

“Are there others like you? Other vampires that… feel?”

“Not that I have met. And that is a saving grace. It would be a weakness snuffed out, if they thought it could exist,”

“If they find you with me?” It was a question you had been too afraid to ask.

Eddie hesitated. There was no point in shielding you from harsh truths anymore. “An eternity of unbridled agony. I imagine I’d wish for the witches to find a method of death for us. For them and for me.”

In the warm shadowy insides of a beautiful tree, you and Eddie held hands and looked at each other. He questioned his flaw of humanity. How had it survived his death and transformation? You questioned your judgment. What did you believe to be right and wrong now? Were there any such things as a definitive good? A definitive bad?

“I do know what I need you to think of me,” Eddie spoke. “I want you to be safe. I want you to live a long life. I want you to thrive. But… But I need you to love me. It… feels like breathing again. It feels like I can taste food. Crisp apples and butter. I need you to love me.”

You did.

You loved him so completely and utterly that it was all-consuming. You loved him as he was. As he would be.

Eddie caught you when you launched yourself at him, crashing your lips to his. You cried into the kiss and took the breathlessness of his crushing arms without complaint as he held you tight.

“We could run,” you said, knotting your fingers into his wild hair.

“What is a witch without her coven,” Eddie replied sadly.

“Loved. She can be loved.”

As layers of clothes were peeled away and skin was touched and kissed, the moon dimmed when eclipsed by cloud. Eddie nipped but never drew blood, just deep bruises you hid well. His tongue was never warm, but it was wet and could move with vampire speed, so fast that it vibrated against your core. He dragged you up, up, up and towards a shattering orgasm.

The whimpers and moans and constant rambling promises of love and lust drowned out the rest of the world. Eddie’s sharp senses didn’t detect the movement of his colony. You didn’t hear the screaming coming from the village beyond the forest and flatlands.

For one last night, it all seemed so possible.

…

1986

The trailer was muted in pensive silence. Lost in story, you replayed Henry Creel’s life in your head. The endgame came to you suddenly.

“I don’t know if I can kill Vecna,” you said. The others looked at you, disheartened. “But… One… One before you, El. Before the Upside Down… We can kill him.”

Most of the humans appeared confused. Hopper slowly asked, “You… can… time travel?”

“Oh, like a Baby Hitler situation?” Robin added, pointing up at you.

“No… and, no, no Baby Hitlers… Who he is now is just… trauma and scar tissue, right? What if I heal that? Heal the damage that has been done. Take him back to when he wasn’t as powerful.”

You looked mostly to El. She thought carefully before answering. “He has always been bad,”

“Yeah, I know. But he hasn’t always been unstoppable. You said he was contained at the lab, right? If humans contained him, then we can kill him.”

So, a plan was hatched. Vecna would not need to be hunted down; he was freely killing the townspeople of Hawkins. He would need to be called though and Will Byers was the perfect bait. He and El would draw Vecna’s mind back to Creel House and buy time.

“He’ll know something’s happening,” Nancy said.

“So, they can distract him with that. Tell him about me. About how I healed Erica of his poison. How I’m somewhere close and he won’t find me until it’s too late,”

“You really want to poke the bear like that?” Hopper asked.

“He seeks power. If he thinks he can get it through me, he’ll want to know everything they know,”

“But what if he… Gets into our heads. Sees this,” Will motioned to the room.

“I can hide this from him with a spell. It won’t last forever. A temporary cloak over time and space. But it will be enough.”

Joyce, Hopper, and Jonathan would stay with El and Will. They would protect them and pull them out if anything went wrong.

“I gotta be honest… I am not thrilled at the idea of going back there,” Robin admitted.

She and Nancy would take you through a gate, show you where Vecna was. Their Molotov cocktails and sawed-off shotguns may not have worked, but your witchfire and insidious healing would.

“I know we’ve gone over it, but… We are totally sure there is no possible way to get him up here?” Nancy asked. If he could be lured out of the Upside Down, Vecna would be a little less powerful. A little more vulnerable. Not by much, but even the smallest thing could tip the scales.

“We’ve gone over it a dozen times. This is it. If this doesn’t work-”

“It has to,” Joyce interrupted Robin. “It has to.” She looked from Will to Jonathan.

“Nance, one more time,” Hopper instructed.

Nancy recited the plan again and again. A kill plan. One that could not fail. You would not let it.

…

Needing time alone to prepare your craft, the humans left. They’d go back to Reefer Rick's house to eat and sleep before heading into what they hoped was the last supernatural battle of their lives.

You sat at the trailer’s kitchen bench for fifteen minutes or so in quiet stillness. It wasn’t long ago that you sat listening to the sounds of Hawkins. It was worse now. Loud rumbling tanks with no destination – no identified assailant of the attacks. Voices that could only speak in terrified and panicked tones. Lives being thrown into cars; tires speeding passed the ‘Come Back Soon!’ sign out of town.

Hawkins was hours away from becoming a ghost town.

Standing at a window, you looked out over Forest Hills. Although they had the least amount of worldly possessions, and some of the most mobile homes, these were the people who would leave last.

You turned away and took a breath. It was time to write a spell. It would not be easy, but the vampire had not yet returned, and with sunrise looming on the horizon, a difficult distraction was a welcomed thing.

…

1840

Sometimes, when the water rippled and showed your face as a distorted and immeasurable image, it’s when you recognised it best. The mud beneath the surface swirled up, making the picture all the more clouded.

“Did you hear me?” your aunt hissed.

Your gaze snapped up from the wet ground, the puddles of dirty rainwater and witch blood.

She shook her head at you.

“They’re immortal,” you said, voice floaty and lost. “Really immortal… Not like us,”

“Amabel…” She cursed 1836 in her mind, what it had taken from you. “Amabel, look at me. Listen to me. Tell me the plan.”

A witch could live as long as she wanted, granted no monster intervened. Vampires were monsters. You hated them with every fiber of your being. Every single molecule and atom that made up your bones and marrow loathed the irredeemable and soulless creatures.

You’d watched them tear your sisters to parts. Limbs scattered across the flatlands. Heads spiked onto branches in the forest you used to love. Yes, a witch could be killed.

“Amabel!”

“Lure. Lure them,” you said, pulling a dagger from your boot and slicing a deep cut along your forearm. Blood swelled to the surface and dripped from you. “I am the bait,”

“Yes. Lure them. We heard them like livestock into the cages. Hold them there to burn under the sunlight.”

You looked up from your bleeding arm to your aunt. Hard determination was set on her face. You could tell she was already concerned about you, so it didn’t much matter making it worse. “To what end? It won’t kill them. They’ll escape by next night,”

“You know why. We need practice.”

While the vampires withered during the daylight, vulnerable in cages, your coven practiced both witchfire and science. There had to be a way to kill them, and Penelope needed lab rats.

“I am the bait,” you repeated, glancing one more time at your reflection. “We will make them suffer.”

End Note: The tree in this chapter was inspired by one that I grew up near. The Herbig Family Tree is a literal tree that a German family lived in 1855. I was picturing that and also the 'olive tree of vouves', one of the oldest olive trees in the world. They are both these huge old things that have stood and witnessed entire lifetimes go by, and have amazing hollowed out bodies. They're cool. Trees are cool.

The Grimoire has no new additions for this chapter, but the timeline is updated.

We're gearing up for battle, folks!

Fic Taglist: @kaitebugg03 @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Witch!Reader

163 notes · View notes

marvelmusing · 1 year

Text

Keep Your Judgement

Chapter Eight

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: As the days go by, you and Aleksander grow closer, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by your fellow Grisha.

Warnings: mentions of canon level violence.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

“Hello, my darling girl,” Aleksander coos with a fond smile as your face peeks out of the long grass. “What have you got there?”

His voice is always soft and doting when you’re in fox form, as if you’re something small to be handled with care. He knows that your heightened senses mean your thoughts are more instinctual in this form.

If foxes could blush you’re certain his words would have your fur turning pink with flustered pleasure, instead of the small shiver that runs down your spine in response.

Shyly, you drop the bundle of flowers you’ve collected onto his lap before you move over to the space beside him on the blanket and shift back into your human form. The prickling sensation and slight ache in your muscles is almost familiar to you now.

He raises a brow questioningly at you, to which you duck your head and explain quietly.

“Vladim wanted some lavender for one of the tonic’s he’s been working on.”

Somewhere close by, the grass rustles and your head perks up at the sight of pointed ears poking out from the greenery surrounding you. Tension fills your body as the fox watches through your eyes, and the urge to pounce on the unsuspecting creature itches over your skin.

Aleksander says your name sternly and your head turns quickly to look at him with wide, fearful eyes as you fight with the instincts now buried into your body.

He curls his fingers around yours, placing your hand on his lap. His power links with yours as the amplification in his bones reaches for you, pulling you back to yourself.

“Leave the rabbit be.”

At Aleksander’s casual command, the fox goes still in your mind now that the prospect of chasing down the rabbit no longer appeals to him as much as looking at Aleksander does. Breathing out a shaky breath, you nod and blink rapidly in an attempt to suppress the tears gathering in your eyes.

“Thank you,” you whisper quietly. He nods in acknowledgement.

When Aleksander releases his hold on your hand, the fox’s attention snaps to him, watching as he shifts away from you and stands with a small noise of exertion. He then extends a hand towards you.

“Shall we begin to head back?”

With a nod, you take his hand.

The fresh air seems to have done him some good, there’s a lightness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, though at times the walking has been a little too much for his lungs. Neither one of you mention it when he needs to sit for a moment to take a few deep breaths.

It concerns you that his condition might be worsening at a rate you cannot hope to keep up with. The research you’ve been conducting has been positive, but so far everything has been theoretical. To test it you would need the sun summoner, or more knowledge of Morozova’s work.

Over the past few days, Aleksander has been helping you become more comfortable with changing your form. Now, you can trot happily by his side in fox form as you walk through the woods near the Sanctuary. He seems more relaxed when it is just the two of you together.

Aleksander doesn’t like you running through overgrown fields in fox form, concerned that you might unknowingly end up in a trap.

Whenever you do find a hunters trap out in the fields, you use your power to trigger the mechanism inside it, causing the harsh metal to snap shut. Doing so prevents yourself or any other creature from being caught in it without a confrontation with the local hunters.

Aleksander rolls up the blanket you had been sitting on, tucking it beneath his arm before the two of you begin to move in the direction of the path which will lead you back to the Sanctuary.

“The connection between myself and Alina,” he says slowly, looking down at the grass beneath his feet. “Could it create a link similar to what you experience with the fox?”

A frown creases at your brows.

“You can hear Alina in your mind?”

He shakes his head.

“Last night, I used the tether to visit her. I remained in my room but, simultaneously, I was there at her bedside while she slept.”

This new information has your mind running wild with possibilities. The connection between the two of them is what you intend to use to heal the damage done to Aleksander by merzost.

“Could you interact with anything physically?” He ponders your question for a brief moment before he turns to you.

“I extinguished a candle.”

“The bond must be strong,” you muse quietly.

Aleksander hums, though there’s an edge to his tone as if he dislikes the strength of their connection. It must hurt, to find your equal only to land on opposite sides of a war, pitted against one another.

At the sight of you shivering in the breeze, Aleksander seems eager to change the subject, moving the focus back to you as he asks,

“Are you cold?”

Shaking your head, you tuck your arms protectively around your body before you admit honestly,

“It’s just a little chilly without the fur.”

In fox form you don’t need to worry about the weather, it’s only once you shift back into your human form that you realise how much warmth the fur grants you.

The kefta you are wearing is an old one, you haven’t had time work on a new one yet. Corecloth is in short supply at the moment, and you prefer to give it to someone who has no kefta when they arrive at the Sanctuary – like how Genya or Fedoyr had.

Aleksander unclasps his cloak, dark fabric flowing smoothly as he sweeps it from his shoulders and drapes it over your smaller frame.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile as you tuck his cloak around your shoulders, slotting the clasp into place.

The scar on Aleksander’s hand looks particularly dark today, the dried blood stained with merzost where the remains of Morozova’s stag are still embedded in his skin. Genya had attempted to heal it, you know, but she had been unsuccessful.

“What are you thinking about?” Aleksander asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Amplifiers.”

Absentmindedly, your thumb runs over the edge of the fox’s claw embedded in your own hand. Where Aleksander’s amplifier has healed gnarly and black, yours appears natural as if it has always been a part of you.

“I think the stag antler is rejecting you because you are an amplifier yourself.”

Aleksander straightens slightly as he walks, keeping his eyes lowered as he considers your words. Then he says,

“Alina seemed to believe that she could claim the stag’s power because he chose her.”

“Perhaps,” you muse. “There’s no way of knowing, really, because I can say with absolute certainty that the fox chose me.”

Aleksander nods slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

“At the Little Palace, I would usually attempt to locate an amplifier that shares similar traits to the Grisha I had in mind for it.”

“You said the fox would be well suited to me.”

He nods again.

“Why did you think that?” you ask quietly. He had been right, after all.

Aleksander halts his steps, stopping to look at your face as you stand in front of him. His head tilts to one side as his dark eyes study your expression, his gaze lowering momentarily to glance at your lips.

“Because you’re clever and resourceful.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the intensity of his gaze which then softens when a loose hair of yours sways in the breeze.

“There’s a wildness to you that refuses to be tamed by hardship; a fight that will not give in.” Aleksander brushes the strand aside delicately, his knuckles tracing over your cheek. “Because you’re something remarkable.”

»»---------------------►

As you reach for the handle of the door which leads to your room at the Sanctuary, the fox bristles slightly in your mind, alerting you to the presence of someone in your room. Slowly, you open the door.

At the sight of a familiar head of red hair, accompanied by a red kefta, you breathe a small sigh of relief and step smoothly into your room.

“Genya. Is something the matter?”

She looks down at her hands, adjusting the hem of her sleeves and brushing some invisible dirt from the fabric. After a small pause, she appears to gather her words together.

“You and the General seem close.”

Her eyes are wide as she watches your expression. Her observation makes you ponder over your relationship with Aleksander.

He knows you better than anyone else here at the Sanctuary does. He is the only person who knows about your bond with the fox, or your ability to change forms. But despite his compliments, and affection towards the fox, he has never indicated that he wants anything else.

“I suppose we spend a lot of time together,” you admit with a small shrug.

She turns her head, looking down at the sheets draped over your bed. Smoothing out some of the creases in the fabric, she hesitates before she speaks her next words.

“I want you to be careful.”

You frown.

“What do you mean?”

“I like to think that I know him well enough to trust his intentions with you, but after everything that happened in the Fold… it changed him. For better or worse I can’t say, but I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

Grisha have always been fond of gossiping and being based at the Little Palace had meant you heard the majority of it over the years. The whispers about Genya and the king turn your stomach even now. Her fears for your safety are well-founded, grounded in experience of men with power.

Moving towards her, you sit down on the edge of your bed.

“Thank you for looking out for me. But in all honesty, I’m not sure if he even sees me in that way.”

She smiles softly, the tension leaving her shoulders as she sits down beside you.

“I’ve been observing members of the court since I was eleven. He practically lights up when you enter the room.”

That surprises you.

“He does?” The frown on your face deepens as you consider the time you spend with Aleksander. “Even when he’s kind, I feel like he’s holding me at a distance.”

Genya considers your words for a moment before she admits,

“I think he fell rather hard for Alina.”

At that, you think of the scar on his hand, where Alina had driven a knife into him. Sometimes you notice him staring at it with an unreadable expression. The wound itself is filled with a painful level of merzost, but you can only imagine how much it hurts for him to be reminded of what he had lost with Alina.

“There’s talk of her being back in East Ravka – that she’s gone into hiding with the royal family,” Genya remarks lightly.

Alina’s time at the Little Palace seems like an eternity ago, but you still remember how much time Genya had spent with her, you remember seeing the two of them walk arm in arm with wide smiles on their faces.

The two of them had been friends, and the thought of Alina using her power as the sun summoner to stand beside the monarchy has you watching Genya’s expression intently as she stares down at the frayed rug on the floor.

“Well, it’s her loss,” you say.

The words you’ve chosen might be slightly humorous, but you believe in them fully – Genya is loyal, and her friendship is something you would struggle to throw away once it’s been earned.

Genya straightens, holding her chin high with a small smirk.

“Obviously.”

The two of you share a look before you laugh.

»»---------------------►

The sound of heavy footsteps halts at the doorway of the workshop and you look up from the bundle of pages in your lap.

Aleksander raises a brow at you as he steps forwards into the room, observing the spread of paper that covers the floor surrounding where you’re perched cross-legged on the wooden flooring in front of David’s desk.

He moves cautiously, taking care not to tread on the pages as he glances between you, Genya, David, and the abundance of papers.

“May I ask what exactly is happening here?”

“I think Morozova had a number of journals,” you explain, standing carefully and making your way towards him on tiptoe. “Genya is good with identifying different inks while David and I can work out the age of the papers.”

Coming to a stop at Aleksander’s side, you look over the collection of papers that the three of you have already sorted through.

“I think the journal you have…” At that, you gesture to the leather cover that had contained the pages of the journal. “…is a condensed version of Morozova’s work – a travel journal of sorts – containing small extracts of the other journals.”

“Do you think the rest of his journals might still exist?”

“Potentially.” As you lean towards him, you lower your voice to add, “I can tell when I’m right because Baghra becomes rather vocal with her disapproval.”

“Stupid girl,” Baghra grumbles scornfully from her seat behind bars, crossing her arms as she turns towards the window, and you roll your eyes at her.

Aleksander tilts his head as he observes your reaction.

“She doesn’t bother you?” he asks quietly.

His question makes you pause, looking up at him as his dark eyes stare down at you, which makes you wonder how many friendships Aleksander might have lost over the years due to his mother.

Holding his gaze, you shake your head slightly.

“No, she doesn’t.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile before he looks away, turning to speak with David. When you also look away, fiddling with some papers, you catch Genya’s eye, and she gives you a pointed look. After that, you can’t suppress your smile.

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire @dhampiravidi

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @housekeeperjjswife

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

KYJ Tag List: @tartiflvtte @weepingwitchofthewest @issybee0611 @poemfreak306 @nanapuddingisasimpformrballs @writerloversjm @prochnost513

»»---------------------►

#keep your judgement au #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

276 notes · View notes

tremendum · 8 months

Text

twin suns ; your shadow at morning

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

part three of the Twin Suns series ; prologue ; part i ; part ii

pairing: au (canon-divergent), western-inspired Din Djarin x fem!bounty!reader (afab, w use of woman, girl, etc) rating: eventually explicit in future chapters. slow slow burn. (18+. mdni.)

warnings: canon-typical violence, themes of hunting/being hunted, fear, a brief mention of vomit twice, pretty bad injuries and descriptions of reader's blood/injury,, temporary blindness still, mean!Mando, lots of sand description like anakin would h8 this, slightly possessive themes

synopsis: “the messenger nods, his expression revealing nothing. 'good. prepare yourselves. the journey is long, and the desert does not forgive hesitation.'”

word count: 4.7k.

notes: hii :) silly how i haven't posted in months??? sorry ive been away, just having a hard time rn. but here's part 3, it's still going a bit slow because i love a good slow burn but we're getting to some yummy parts in the next few chapters ;) lmk if ive missed ur tag, i lost my taglist.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

for what may be the first time in years, you don't wake up with a start.

this visit to consciousness is pulled rather slowly from a lone yearning sensation. you're not sure what it is - or if it's even real - a feeling deep in the corner of your brain that urges something along the lines of wake up! wake up!

and when your brain finally starts to stir, it's with a heaving breath of pain from deep within you, as if someone had taken the spongy material and hurled it against the dartboard of a cantina.

your face twitches against something gritty. oh- there's kriffing sand in your teeth. on your tongue.

it feels heavy, dusty. wake up!

your eyes open slowly as you let out an exhale into the rusty ground.

they slide open like dry, grating sandpaper against your tired irises, but to your shock, you're met with nothing - nothing changes, besides a shift from black to mauve.

in a moment of sheer panic, your head reels upwards from the sand and, despite the screams of protest within your throat, you twist your head around.

wait- wait! you can make out a bit of light. there's... two faint dots in your vision, faint and searing at the same time.

twin suns.

you resist the urge to scream or gasp in fear - yet the burning sensation from holding back both still evokes your body to twist slightly from your stomach to your side. it is mere seconds before you are expelling all the remnants of fear and confusion and rage from your stomach to splay across the small mountain ranges of eroded sand carved by wind.

the ringing in your ears ebb when you can finally make out a squeal, a cry - something between the two - less out of pain or horror, but of concern.

green comes into your mind, for whatever reason - then shortly and likely consequently, the faint realization that you cannot fucking see a thing.

oh. oh.

the suns. the miserably lonely nights. stale wind whistling through empty valley corridors. a lonely girl in an abandoned apartment ripped open by the forces of galactic war years ago; blaster at your hip, blades on your thigh.

unfriendly company. a vision of your own face plastered on a holo just to the side of a Neerok table.

that strange metal hunter and his little green accomplice. a tickle of excitement in the shadow that followed you for weeks. a cat and mouse game.

happy hunting, Mando.

a lasso. the headscarf wrapped around a small baby. the carbonite chamber.

maker's mother - Maracavanya.

they'd shot you back down into Tattoine's dunes.

oh Gods, you're wrecked, with the hunter, back on Tattoine.

perhaps your eyes roll back into your head as you slump back - no way to know for sure - a gasp of pain from the left side of your skull. you weakly pull a hand to your brow and it's vaguely warm, wet, sticky when it pulls back. oh.

you wince, your nostrils flaring as you pick up the thick smell of smoke and sharp jetfuel burning.

kriff, those suns are searing behind your unseeing eyes, your legs are still pins and needles, you're- oh, your face is throbbing dully with the numbing agent. maybe carbonite wasn't the worst thing to happen to you in the last thirty minutes.

your hands grasp at the ground, handfuls of sand which slip right through your dry fingers as you keel over again, expelling nothing but bile and then after a few moments nothing but choked, burning air that you fight to suck in and out of your lungs. your head doesn't feel right; be it the blindness or the crash?

the bounty hunter calls your name from far away, as your ears buzz - but the grip you have with your right hand sends a shooting agony through your entire being and a yell of pain ripples through the air.

crying, after that - the baby. you startled him with your roar of pain. fear strikes you - is he okay? he wasn't strapped in when you crashed, was he? you can't remember.

leathered hands wrap around your chest and for a split, childish moment, your arms twitch; almost as if you were about to grab him back. but it's not an embrace, you chastise your foolish, betraying mind.

the Mandalorian wraps something around you, a rope. around your waist again.

it clicks in your head, fuzzy from the crash. how'd you even get out of the ship?

"wh-" you croak, unable to form words as you grapple with your mind for something to ground yourself. "are we back on Tattoine?" you ask, voice much too meek; the blistering heat sure feels like Tattooine. silence, besides a grunt of his own pain from the man who tugs you up onto staggering legs, leading you up through what you imagine is the hull and past the thick burn of smoke that cause you to cough so deep your body starts to sway.

his hands are sturdy and unforgiving on your upper arm until you're guided to what feels like a cot, a severe absence of light causing your mind to panic, heart beating wildly at the sudden loss of sensory cues. it's all black, now.

"is..." you sound so unlike yourself it almost knocks you off your feet. "is the child okay?" you ask, throat burning. it's silent for a moment too long and fear strikes down on your heart, assuming the worst.

"yes." the Mandalorian finally confirms. you let out a shaky sight of relief, nodding as your body is then pushed until you sit on weak legs. "if you're going to pass out, try to stay upright." the voice says, unforgiving.

his footsteps are heavy as he stalks away, your lips screaming silently for water.

a hesitation in the footsteps has your heart thundering in fear, your arms swallowing yourself until you're curled in on your chest. you're too weak to try and protect yourself from him.

the gaze you've come to know is burning though your unseeing eyes; you can almost see that glint of the helmet in your mind. he says nothing, just stares.

you wish he would just leave.

the quiet is so absorbent, it hurts your numb mind. the baritone breaks the silence, again.

"-and if you're going to throw up again, do it on the durasteel."

you're not sure how long you sleep for.

when you wake, you're on your side, slumped against the side of the cot; your neck creaks as you slowly stir upwards, eyes cracking open slowly.

a peek of light creaks in through the hull as you groan, eyebrows furrowing as far as they can. you're puffy, you can feel it. your brow and temple are swelled and likely bruised. looking down out of habit, you can tell that the aching, searing pain in your hand has only worsened - the numbness of the carbonite chamber wearing down too soon.

you're fucked when it's completely gone, realizing now that not only do you likely have a broken hand and several broken ribs, but that your brow bone is surely chipped, your brain bruised from knocking too much against your skull, and you're right and proper screwed.

there's a gash on your thigh that has since stopped bleeding, but you're sure if it's not dressed and attended within forty eight hours, you'll succumb to the sand mites that infest the plains outside. you're too busy assessing your injuries to realize it; when you do, you let out a sharp screech, shaking your head as your hands fly up towards your cheeks.

you can see again - sort of.

light sources peek out at you through a blanket of thick fog.

it's as if you'd taken semi-translucent paint and slathered it over your retinas - especially in the low light, it's hard to catch anything besides a faint glint and the outline of metallic shapes in the hull. still, it fills you with some sort of giddy elation; perhaps spurred on by your head trauma and the sheer shock of the events, you huff a short laugh to yourself. your fingers on your good hand wiggle slightly, you can see the motion as you wave up at yourself.

maybe this isn't a permanent blindness, then.

but a twitch from your bad hand has you gasping in sheer pain, biting down on your lip to keep quiet in fear of stirring the Mandalorian from whatever corner of the ship he lurks in. your stomach flips at the fleeting thought that he could have been there, watching you this whole time in the darker shadows of your sight - and you'd have had no clue.

your moment of joy is over when reality washes over your entire body: you're stuck with the Mandalorian with a severe disadvantage: sure, his ship is wrecked, but you have impairing injuries and little to no sight.

he's likely injured, too, but not enough so that he's unable to use a hand - or his brain- like you.

you deftly get to work, your movements like a well oiled machine after months of repairing yourself on your own. you can't shake the creeping fear that the Mandalorian is watching you; you swear a movement from the corner of your limited sight moves and you nearly jump out of your skin.

if he's there, he doesn't move a muscle as you slowly start to tear at the material of your tunic, ripping the bottom hem until there's one long strip. biting down on your lip, you apply pressure to the points in your hand that you're sure are broken, knowing the better wrapped it is, the better it will be for you.

the hardest thing you can find on the floor near you to bite down on is shoved between your teeth as you swiftly start to push your fingers back, aligning knuckles that'd been sprouting from your hand like gnarled tree branches.

you groan out anyways - muffled, yes, but only by the long, cool, durable object between your teeth as your head falls against the wall in pain.

fuck.

as you assess your wounds in the dark, trying futilely to wipe the blind fog from your eyes, the thoughts swirl around your mind.

doubt creeps into your head from the cracks in your resolve; because you're not a fool. there's no true way that you could warble your bottom lip a bit, blindly insisting that you were innocent, and the Mandalorian would just fold when faced with an entire ship of pirates who were willing to pay him his entire weight in credits for you. there's no way you were that good.

so what was it that'd snapped in that emotionless helmet of his that prompted the escape attempt?

the money? the Maracavanya clan is not nearly as trustworthy as whoever casted a puck to the bounty guild for you; he has to feed himself and the child, maybe he really is strapped for cash. sure, the beskar goes for a very pretty pence or two nearly anywhere in the galaxy, but you're also fairly sure there's something very sacrilegious about a Mandalorian selling his own armor.

so you're the means to an end - not the first time, and probably not the last, given that you somehow escape the Mandalorian's grasp alive.

there's no way, as a rational person, that you can realistically imagine beating the Mandalorian in combat in your current state. he'd throw you down to the sand within seconds; you can try to outsmart him, considering you've been evading him for weeks up until this point, but it will be much more difficult to do so in the middle of the desert plains with such injuries.

you're fucked.

and you realize, as you dap away at the wound on your head with a strip of cloth, that if it's the child's mouth you're indirectly feeding by being turned in, then that's an externality you aren't terribly furious about... but the Hunter, on the other hand...

you're feeling less dizzy as you finish doctoring yourself in the dark of your blindness, but the numbing agent is surely wearing off; aches and stings and gasps tear from you as the minutes wear on. you're too weak to stand. water and food would go miles for you right now- maker, if you could just-

you shift accidentally and a searing pain rips a tearing yelp from your raw throat. the object you'd shoved between your teeth falls with a cland onto the durasteel floors.

your hand flies to stabilize yourself on the object you'd let fall - a vibroblade, the hilt wrapped in a sharply oiled leather and blade serrated; oh.

at least you'd had the wherewithal to stick the hilt side of the blade between your teeth. thanking your lucky stars, you quickly move to sheath the blade in the waistband of your pants. you'd felt less than whole ever since the Mandalorian had taken your blades; you'd only ever carried a small blaster.

you wonder where he'd discarded them absently - clearly, he was not one to waste a weapon, had he taken yours and added them to his arsenal? a trophy, for one more notch on his ammo-belt? bitterness floods your mouth as your lips shape into a scowl - in a world full of blaster pistols and rifles, you'd preferred a more agile melee skillset when training. it wasn't well equipped for the rolling and harsh isolation of the sandy wilderness; arid and desolate just as the people you've met here. it was much more suited for where you grew up, and maybe you were too.

nonetheless, this vibroblade feels like coming home and your heart cools as you feel the cold of the blade against your spine.

"don't."

you jump out of your skin in shock, hand instinctively flipping the blade until it's concealed up your forearm, the hilt upside down against your palm.

you resist a growl of irritation at his slinkiness; when did the Mandalorian show up? you crane your neck upwards towards where you'd heard the word, your jaw tightening. "do you have any other words in your vocabulary?" you snap. you feel as though you've said this before.

"give me the blade."

he's not asking- he seems like the kind of man who's never had to ask for anything in his life. you roll your eyes out of habit, shaking your head.

what are you going to do, anyways? swipe blindly towards a man covered head to toe in impenetrable metal? you have a decent grasp on up and down purely based on gravitational pull. in a moment, you consider spitting, like you were taught to do in the rumbling avalanches of the cold season back home to orient yourself, just to spite him - you bite your tongue in fear of losing a hand lest your spit graces the Mandalorian's sacred armor.

a moment of panic sends you into a desperate lurch to plead with the Mandalorian. "I don't have a weapon," you insist, "if I could just-"

roughly, his gloved hand pries the blade from your grasp with a harsh tug. "what makes you assume you deserve a weapon? you're my prisoner. just because I didn't freeze you doesn't mean any different."

his words are final; besides, you're reeling through pain on most surfaces of your body and many spots internally; there was no chance for you to put up a fight, so you drop it.

for a moment you expect him to whirl around and disappear from your faint field of vision - but there's a faint motion; a shine above your eyeline and then too soon, a click.

kriff.

you don't have to see to know the click of a safety when you hear one.

"I'll only ask one more time." the Mandalorian's slow, cold voice crackles through the static of his modulator. "who else is after you?"

you can tell this is not turning out to be the bounty capture he'd anticipated - you feel half triumphant but half regretful.

upon first instinct, your mouth creaks open to spew some half-planned lie, but knowing better, you just grit out, "why were you after me?"

he's a statue of a shadow in your faint sight - body large enough to cover most of the cot's lights as he towers over you, staring down the barrel. "what else aren't you telling me?" he asks, voice crackling with danger and frustration.

defiantly - as if you aren't incapacitated in his broken ship, barely able to breathe without yelping in pain - you sneer back at him. "why do you care?"

"I'm trying to make sure I don't get shot out of orbit again." he snaps, hips moving as he shifts, blaster still pointed at your forehead. "there are far worse people in the galaxy that could have gotten to you."

who is he to tell you that? he tried to freeze you in carbonite. you can't help as your brows furrow in skepticism, "well, forgive me if I don't take your word for it." your voice drips in sarcasm.

he shifts, starting to rustle with some blaster pistol on the side table, finally moving his weapon away from you. "you should've told me about the others. I could've prepared better."

a bitter, ironic laugh tumbles from your raw throat, "oh, and what? you would've graciously shared your bounty with me?" you mock, rolling your eyes. his grandiose attitude is grating deep into your nerves.

the Mandalorian's voice is firm. "I protect my assets. it ensures you're alive to give me what I need."

your veins light as you hiss, furious: "I'm not some object you can just take!" you snap. you're aching, furious.

you're sick of people in this galaxy stepping their boots over your spine and trading you around.

"if you're so sure you're not, why do I have this?" he retorts, sarcasm slipping through his mask.

he tosses a small object just to your side onto the cot and the mere shape of it makes your mouth sour. you don't need to see it to know what it is.

your puck.

you exhale harshly, feeling angry, cold, in pain, and miserably alone in the universe. once again proved wrong in your short string of optimism of the good in people, you deflate.

"I'm not someone you can deceive. I took this job because it's my Creed, not for personal gain." he adds after your silence.

the tension in the room is palpable - you feel as though you could pass out in any moment, and Maracavanya, the Mandalorian, your old partner... a cell, guards with vibro-clubs, galactic court - all of it beats down on you, striking freezing fear into your heart.

it is perhaps through this fleeting weakness that you allow yourself a small whisper to him, "you don't understand what's at stake for me."

"you're right." he says.

he walks away silently, but you can tell he's gone. the words he doesn't say linger still, cold and lonely and harsh in his wake. you close your eyes, knowing only rest could help you heal now - but the unspoken words of the cold man haunt you waking and asleep.

you're right, I don't understand - and I don't care.

he arrives just as quietly as he did the first time.

your sight is coming in slowly - it's been hours, likely, of you lying still in the rock-hard cot, staring at the nothingness, willing the sparse bacta spray and ointments you'd kept saved on your person to kick in and relieve you.

he says your name.

it startles you.

you don't dare respond, not nearly bothering to rise and welcome your captor into your (his, your mind reminds you) quarters. he comes in anyways, walking with a stiff, uncomfortable swoop.

"we have a follower." he states, leaving you to pull up your brows, sitting slowly. your shock must be evident on your face. a sleeve falls over your shoulder as you sniff, "we?" you mock.

he doesn't take the bait, as always; turning on his heels, the man stalks out of the cot, down towards where rusty, hot wind blows sand over the dilapidated entrance to his ship. he must've just returned.

the entrance to the ship had taken just as bad a beating as you; more than once in your miserable moments of recovery you'd wished quite bitterly that the Mandalorian had considered upgrading his ship with the same precious metal shell he wrapped his nearly-unscathed self in.

you have to scramble to follow him, squinting as if it will help your impaired vision. a dark wall of metal moves just out of your field of vision, and you chase it. "where have you been?" you ask then, not nearly as concerned by his first sentence as you are with his sudden arrival.

when you'd woken, you'd crept out of the small cot, feeling with your hands on the walls to keep you upright and trying to avoid your hips from encountering a spare corner. it was then, with feelings of both relief and anxiety, that you determined he wasn't anywhere on the ship, and neither was the Child.

"in town." he sounds impatient, urgent. "w-"

you're shocked. "-you left me alone?" you ask, incredulous as your brows raise. the shine of his beskar can just barely be made out through your blindness. you nearly laugh - at his stupidity, or of the irony that you had your chance to escape and slept through it.

"the Crest locks from the inside." he retorts. your brows furrow, "what?"

"when I tell it to, it locks it from the inside." it's clipped, his voiced laced with irritation and a hint of condescension. your blood boils, but he has no time for your mocking tone.

"listen." he utters, voice closer than you expect - instinctively, you jerk back, widening the space between Mando's helmet and your face. "I was in town buying parts. a man followed me back here - about a click away. saw him in the cantina a while ago, and again at the market the other day. he's been following me, so I led him here. you are to stay on the ship."

it's the most words you've ever heard from him - if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was doing this to protect you. bitter fear curls into you as your brows furrow under your scarf, twinging in a bit of pain from your healing injuries. he's not protecting you - he's protecting his assets. making sure he's the one to win the prize of your capture.

and he doesn't seem like the kind of person who keeps as many friends as he does enemies.

it's like clockwork - a slamming noise shuts off whatever retort was building on your lips.

Mando whirls around, whipping his blaster out as he stalks towards the entrance to the broken ship. as quiet as possible, you slide down the rungs behind him, blatantly ignoring his orders; just then, a voice calls out.

"Mandalorian?" a moment of hesitation in the hunter's shoulders. then, chillingly, you gasp as the voice calls out a second name.

yours.

from what your weak eyes can make out, the man standing outside the wreckage of the Razor Crest is a Rodian - his emerald skin contrasting sharply with the desert. you stare in shock from behind the Mandalorian's frame, hoping you're far enough away that the large, multifaceted eyes of the man can't detect you.

he wears earth-toned robes that blend with the desert surroundings, a testament to his familiarity with the unforgiving terrain; peculiarly, his attire is practical, with layers of fabric offering protection from the twin suns' scorching rays and the harsh winds that sweep across the dunes, but upon his waist, a belt secures a small satchel - and, more bizarrely - and an emblem for the city of Mos Espa.

his movements are deliberate and measured - posture unwavering despite the blaster pointed towards him. a few feet down the ramp from you, the Mandalorian stands vigilant, his beskar armor glistening under the twin suns and reflecting into the sensitive layers of your eyes.

"who are you?" he asks, voice low and chilling.

the desert winds howl, carrying whispers of the unforgiving sands across the barren dunes of Tatooine and your weak skin tingles against the particles. finally, the man speaks.

"I come on behalf of my master. he requires your presence at his palace."

palace? your bones chill; what palace in this miserable rock would have business with the Mandalorian? his helmeted gaze bores into the messenger, giving you a split moment to take a deep exhale.

"who is your master that he can't come find me himself?" Mando's voice is gravelly, edged with caution, though he lowers his gun with a hesitant recognition in his voice.

the messenger's eyes flicker, betraying a trace of unease. "not just you. he requests both of you."

your stomach flips. oh, Maker.

before you can stop yourself, you take a staggering few steps until you're next to the Mandalorian, who gives you a cold stare.

with your eyes narrowed against the faint sights in front of you, the gears of your mind whir. "and if we refuse to go?" you ask, voice scratchy. fear pounds in your chest like a wild beast needing escape.

the man folds his hands diplomatically. "the Daimyo has requested your presence at his palace, both of you. he does not extend such invitations lightly - he has his reasons, and you would do well to hear them from his own lips."

oh. oh, kriff. recognition floods through you - a combination of relief and utter fear.

your brows lift, "the Diamyo?"

an old friend, your mind whispers, sardonic and teasing.

a tense silence hangs in the air, broken only by the distant cries of native creatures and a cooing at the Mandalorian's side. a breath of hope is breathed into your chest at the realization that the Diamyo's palace could be just what you need to escape this metal shadow; a shift in the breeze sends your hair around your face and you're soon filled to the brim with anticipation - you need to do this. no matter the danger it entails, what tricks may lie within the halls of the palace...

it's your only hope.

out of pure accident, your eyes land on Mando in what is a fleeting glance, a silent conversation that neither of you intended. it's as if both of you know that this meeting could change the course of both of your journeys, somehow - a threatening veil soon placates your mind, knowing the Mandalorian has surely already considered your plans for escape.

with a sigh heavier than the beskar he shrouds himself with, Mando nods. irritation is laced through his voice. "fine. we will go to the palace."

the messenger nods, his expression revealing nothing but a slight air of relief that notches a bit of anxiety into you. "good. prepare yourselves. the journey is long, and the desert does not forgive hesitation."

and with that, the messenger turns and retreats into the unforgiving expanse along with the dying suns, leaving you to face the remnants of Mando's ship and the uncertain path that lay ahead.

the man is long lost to the fading horizon of the desert when slowly, the hunter pulls a pair of cuffs from his belt; your stomach drops as you hang your head in frustration.

"may I at least use the 'fresher, first?" you snark, sending the cold statue a false smile. you haven't bathed in days - your hair needs a cleanse desperately and you're sure there's more than enough blood, dirt, and grease caked into your skin.

his grunt is angry as he slams shut the ramp, sealing you into complete blindness in the lack of bright lights. despite his anger, the Mandalorian pulls your incapacitated self into the fresher and slams the door shut.

as you shower and relish the last moments of what little, bizarre freedom you had since being captured, you wonder if he's still right outside, waiting for you to step out.

he is.

it's with a pit of misery at the bottom of your stomach that you sit in the corner of the cargo bay with your hands bound together and watch him clean and prepare every single weapon he can fit on his person.

whatever reason the Mandalorian has to listen to the request of the Diamyo, he doesn't tell you. he doesn't do much except run his gloved fingers slowly over the vibroblade you'd tried to steal - the glint of your harsh teeth marks barely detectable to your impaired vision. he sheathes the blade on his hip, to your surprise. a daunting reminder of his power over you.

and as much as you try, you can't ignore the feeling that the fate of your soul is about to rest in the hands of Boba Fett and the mysteries that await you within the walls of his palace.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

taglist (message to join). @silkiers @leithatnight @totallynotastanacc @afandomidiot @bbyanarchist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @notsosecretspy @djarins-cyare @satireclub @famefoxx @sunnywithachanceofjavi

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian smut #the mandolorian x reader #mando smut #mando x reader #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction

76 notes · View notes

maddilynmuse · 5 days

Text

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55890415/chapters/141920194

Huh. I wrote almost 10,000 words in less than a week. When the brainrot hits, it really fucking hits.

WARNING, POST GAME SPOILERS, CONTINUE AT OWN RISK! (And if you do click the link, y’know, mind the tags)

Anyways, hello In Stars and Time fandom! Look what I just finished up earlier today~ For those who don’t obsessively check ao3, it’s a little series I’ve made about Siffrin post-canon having some time loop trauma manifesting as getting stuck in just repeating his lines (well, most lines are his, hehe) and going semiverbal. This here is a prequel to the smaller fic “Line, Please” which is the same basic premise, but later chronologically (so the fam isn’t quite as freaked out).

Do mind the warnings, this is a trauma response after all, but what can I say? For as much as I like to break characters open and see them bleed, I also adore some hurt/comfort and recovery. I think this game and fandom ought to understand, Change is destruction, but can be good too.

… and I wasn’t sure whether to go into it on ao3 or if it’d be weirdly personal and TMI, but fuck it. This was partly inspired by me going nonverbal about a week prior to “Line, Please.” It doesn’t happen to me often (I could count the times on one hand), but the mortal terror and sheer, prolonged dread of hearing people talk about imminent tornadoes all day, hurriedly packing as much as you can into a bag and going to the closest thing you have to shelter only to realize it is closed, it will not accept you, you cannot get in, desperately looking for anywhere else and slowly realizing you have no good options… Well, good news (for me at least), it missed us. I didn’t lose my life, car, apartment, or anything I owned. But turns out an entire day of slowly building terror and helplessness will fuck up your mental state. Im lucky that was the worst though.

… so yeah.

Anyways! Back to fic, there’s a nonzero chance I’ll somehow manage another insane bout of productivity next week, but there’s also a nonzero chance I will once more fall off the face of the earth for months (for more details, see the unnecessarily long author’s note on chapter 3, but good news! Job’s been confirmed, YA GIRL WILL CONTINUE TO HAVE INCOME!!! NO STARVING! YAY!)

Hope y’all have enjoyed, and sorry not sorry for the rant. You chose to click Read More, I wash my hands of responsibility /hj (but seriously, thanks for reading and have a good day).

And zero pressure, especially since I really don’t put too much on there, but link to Kofi.

#in stars and time #ao3 #isat fanfic #ISAT #isat spoilers #vent post #cw: storms #cw: mortal fear #cw: mental health #these are warnings for the post not the fanfic btw #the fanfic is well tagged but tell me if I miss something #also shoutout to ThatDogAnon who consistently is one of the first to comment and leaves nice fucking comments and thank you so much!!!#mine #fanfic #terminal brainrot #I love it

20 notes · View notes

xiubaek-13 · 5 months

Text

Chapter 47 - Do It Together

Requested: No

Genre: Canon-AU, smut

Pairing: ? (at this stage undecided) x Reader or is it Baekhyun x Reader ?

Warnings: 18+ fic, minors DNI! Smut, power play, pet names, dom/sub dynamics (if you squint), oral (m & f receiving), threesome mfm, unprotected sex (don't be like them), overstimulation, restraint, vaginal fingering, face fucking, vaginal sex, creampie, masturbation (m), dirty talk, like the entire chapter is smut ok? You've been warned.

Word Count: 10,350

A/N: Oh boy, ok so this took some time but also, these are my two EXO biases so writing this put me through it. There is only one chapter left after this and then this story will finally come to a close. It's been a labour of love (and took many more years to complete than I ever anticipated) and I'm thankful to each and every one of you who read and interact with this.

“Ok but like, if he comes back are we really doing this?” Baekhyun asked as soon as Minseok had left the room.

“Only if we all agree to the terms of the reward and are willing. He likes to be in charge so I dare say he’ll have rules about what you can and cannot do. So if you aren’t ok with being instructed by Xiumin then probably mention it sooner rather than later.” You replied. You paused for a moment then added. “I cannot tell you how nervous he has been to bring it up with you Baek. He was so certain that you would laugh and reject him. So like, let him down easy if you don’t want to do this.” The last thing you wanted was for him to come back only for Baek to change his mind. Minseok would be so embarrassed.

He shook his head and moved his chair closer to yours. “No, like I said, I’m completely down for this and I don’t mind if I’m in charge or if someone else is when sex is concerned.”

“So versatile.” You smirked.

“You love it.” He winked.

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve experienced you not being in charge like that.” You let your mind drift as you imagined the different possibilities. Would Xiumin lay down a few generalised rules or would he direct the whole experience? Would he make Baek watch? Would he watch you and Baek?

Baekhyun hummed in response, obviously also letting his imagination run wild with the opportunities this night might bring.

You laughed as you caught him lost in thought. “I can always leave if you want him to yourself Baek.”

Baekhyun raised a brow at you before smirking. “If that was something I was down for, why do I feel like you’d want to watch?” You blushed at the thought.

“Moving on.” You murmured. Why was your face so warm?

Your embarrassment was not missed by Baek. “Oh we are most definitely discussing that later.” He grinned.

“I said moving on.” You repeated. That wasn’t something you were going to unpack right now but there was no denying that the image in your brain was anything other than hot.

“Mmmhmm, for now.” He agreed. Baekhyun’s face took on an inquisitive expression as he asked. “Did he have someone else in mind or was I really his first choice for this?”

You nodded. “As far as he told me, which stretches back to before these lessons began, you were his choice.” The man across from you preened at this. “Don’t let it go to your head Baek.”

He smiled softly. “Bit hard not to, if I'm being honest.” Byun Baekhyun sounded genuinely flattered. For all of his bravado and confidence in all other areas of his life somehow Minseok choosing him made him coy? He then added. “I don’t know who I thought he’d pick, but I wasn’t expecting to be his first choice for something like this.”

You levelled your gaze at him. “You are literally the mood maker of the group. He trusts you to listen to him when he’s serious about something but also to keep any situation light hearted and not let things get awkward.” You paused, then shrugged. “If you think about it, you’re kind of the perfect choice for this.”

His small smile started to turn smug. “So many compliments for me in such a short time. You should stop feeding my ego noona.” He leant forward so his lips could brush your ear. “Especially after our earlier conversation.” You felt his hand glide over your waist, sending a shiver through your body. You were so responsive and ready for the night to proceed, certain that you’d fall apart quickly for them. “Whilst that particular activity was a very pleasant surprise - and came with a happy ending - I can’t honestly say I’m completely satisfied. I got to hear all the pretty noises you make for me but I didn’t get to touch you.” His hand gripped your waist as he spoke, his thumb rubbing small circles, the motion coupled with his words caused your breath to shudder.

“So many things I want to do to you noona,” Baekhyun leaned down, his soft lips peppering kisses on your shoulder, working his way up your neck. “I don’t know what I want more, to fuck you and have him watch.” His teeth grazed over your collarbone, sending even more shivers as you gasped aloud this time. “To watch him fuck you.” You felt him smile against your skin as he let out a soft chuckle as your body betrayed you with another shudder before he continued his path and kissed up your neck, “Or both of us take you at the same time, until you’re so fucked out you can’t form a single.” to your chin, “coherent.” then to your jaw. “thought.” He brought your face to his, locking your lips together in a searing, hunger filled kiss. Your hands moved to cup his cheeks as his grip on your waist pulled you closer towards him.

“Baek,” You murmured through the haze of lust that was threatening to take over your senses. You were barely keeping your desire restrained and Baekhyun’s lips on your body and the words coming out of his mouth were in no way helping ground you for what was to come. You also didn’t want the first thing for Xiumin to see when he returned was that the two of you didn’t even wait for him before you got started. You could see the look of disapproval he’d give you and it was enough to break through the sinful feeling of Baekhyun’s lips and wandering hands on you. You pushed him with just enough force to separate yourself from him. “We need to wait. This is his reward, we can’t ruin it for him.”

He pouted at you, almost sulking. “Well hyung needs to hurry the fuck up then, because I want more of you.”

You laughed softly. “Did you or did you not say less than ten minutes ago that you were good at taking direction? You’re sounding like a real brat right now.”

“Shut up. I’m horny. My brain is like 85% not in use right now okay?” He made a point of shoving his hands under his thighs, basically sitting on them, in order to stop himself from reaching out to touch you.

You weren’t faring much better, holding on to your self control by tattered threads. You needed Xiumin to come back and take control of this whole situation before Baekhyun and you could no longer resist the temptation. “Yeah, well you aren’t the only horny one Baek.” You sighed. “But we need to control ourselves. You have no idea how nervous he’s been about discussing this. Without me slipping up I don’t know if he’d ever have actually discussed it with you.”

Baekhyun took a few deep breaths as he tried his best to put his lust in check and wait. He knew you were right, and that he also wanted this reward to be everything Minseok hoped it would be. He didn’t have to be happy about waiting though. “Fine,” he conceded at last. “We wait.”

Thankfully neither of you would have to wait much longer.

***

You could feel the shift in the air when he returned to the room. Minseok had taken time to calm himself, and you assumed, mentally prepared himself for the role he was about to play. The switch into his more dominant side was always fascinating to you. It was always there but when he turned it towards the bedroom it was just so damn sexy. The others got to see him tap into a sexy persona during choreo and take charge in certain situations but most of the time he was just their cute, nagging hyung.

Sure, they’d all shared a living space for many years and had no doubt seen and heard everything more times than they wanted to count. There was no one who could convince you that if you placed a group of guys in their late teens to early twenties together that they were never caught masturbating or having sex by any of the others. But actively including one of those guys in your own sexual experiences? Now that was something you were less sure they had done - and if any had, clearly the two men you were currently with had not been involved. Regardless, it was happening tonight and you had a front row seat, or rather, you were on the stage with them, a very active and willing participant.

Xiumin walked towards the two of you but didn't take a seat. Instead he picked up one of the arm chairs and moved it so that it was facing the end of the bed, then pushed it to the left until he was satisfied with the off centre view of the bed whoever sat in it would have. The new angle would definitely provide a better view of whatever happened on the bed. So he wanted someone to watch? He turned to face the two of you, motioning for you to move towards the bed. “Noona, please take a seat.” He gestured to the armchair, so you did as you were told and took a seat. He took a seat at the end of the bed, tapping the spot next to him for Baekhyun to follow suit.

Once Baekhyun was also seated he began to speak. Gone was the nervous wreck that was Minseok, replaced by the very self assured, confident and in control Xiumin who was ready to receive his reward. “Before we begin we need to go over some ground rules.” Both Baek and you nodded in agreement causing Xiu to chuckle. “Firstly, words are required. If you are asked a question, want something or are spoken to, I expect it to be conveyed verbally.” He paused as he waited for the two of you to realise that he was waiting for confirmation that you each understood him.

“Got it.” Baek replied. “Uh, do I have to call you anything in particular? Or can I stick with hyung?” He asked.

“Hyung or a variation of Xiumin is fine for you to use Baek.” He replied. His eyes turned to you. “You, however, will refer to me as Xiumin, Xiu or Sir tonight. Am I clear?”

Instinctively you began to nod, catching yourself when he raised a brow at you. “Very clear Xiumin.” You replied, doing your best to mask the desire that was building in you again. You and Minseok had engaged in power play on more than one occasion, but most of the time it was simply him taking control as you lost yourself to pleasure. Xiumin was going to control what all of you got to experience tonight, and you could tell that if you didn’t do as you were told then you weren’t getting any relief. Your thighs rubbed together in anticipation.

“Secondly, we need to discuss how this will play out, everyone’s limits and a safe word.” He looked at each of you and smiled softly. “I think we start with each of your limits.”

Baekhyun smiled and gestured for you to go first. “Ok, well I guess as far as my own limits go, I don’t like extreme pain. Light stuff like restraints and spanking is fine but actual pain crosses the line for me. Uh, I’m also not ok with any bodily fluids that aren’t cum or saliva. Oh, and I’m not a fan of anal. I think that’s all?” There were probably more but as far as ones that might come into play tonight, those were all you could think of.

Xiumin nodded. “Pity about the last one, but noted. Baek, what about you?”

Baek shrugged. “Uh honestly? Apart from the same bodily fluids thing as noona, I don’t think I have any. I will let you know if I’m not ok with anything as it happens - though I kind of doubt that I’ll have to.”

You thought of one almost immediately and cocked your head as you spoke. “You don’t like degradation.”

He nodded. “Oh yeah, I don’t like it, it’s not a hard limit for me but praise is far more effective for me.” He thought hard for a few more moments before deciding that no, there were no other limits he thought needed mentioning. “What about you hyung?”

Xiumin didn’t miss a beat. “I have a few but I think the only relevant ones for tonight are degradation and causing actual pain. If I hurt either of you, you need to tell me immediately. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I caused you pain without any pleasure. I like to play rough but not at the expense of the other person, or in this case, people’s enjoyment.” He sighed. “But essentially, that’s all for me.” He looked at each of you earnestly as he summarised. “Ok so no inflicting pain, no degradation and no anal for noona. All of that should be easy enough to work around.”

Baekhyun raised his hand. You choked back a laugh as Xiumin raised one brow at him. “Yes Baek?”

“I still have questions.” He said.

“Of course you do.” Xiumin sighed. “Go ahead and ask then.” Baekhyun’s eyes lit up but before he could utter a word Xiumin added on with some exasperation. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Baek shook his head. “It’s nothing strange, just how will this work? Are we going with the flow or are you telling us what to do? If you’re telling us what to do, can we also make suggestions? Are we fucking her at the same time, one after the other, is there anything that’s off the table for you? Is -” He stopped speaking when Xiumin held up a hand.

“Ok that’s all the questions you get to ask. What was that, seven in like 5 seconds? I was getting to all of this you impatient fuck.” He shook his head, trust Baek to always find a way to test his patience. “To answer pretty much all of it, I like being in control so I’ll tell you what to do in a broad sense, and you’ll do that until I give further instructions. You can make suggestions but I reserve the right to deny said requests.” Baek nodded, remembering at the last second to verbalise his understanding. Xiumin acknowledged him then turned his head and locked eyes with you. “Any questions before we begin?”

“No.” You replied.

He stared at you, as if he was waiting for you to say something else, but for the life of you, you couldn’t think of what that was. He shook his head ever so slightly then spoke. “No?”

You paused. You’d forgotten something, but what was it? He wanted you to speak in response to him rather than rely on non verbal cues. You’d done that, so what else was there? You could feel his eyes on you as he waited for you to reply again. You glanced at Baek, hoping he would provide insight into what you’d missed but all he did was give you a little salute. Weird. Why would he be saluting you? There was no context for that, and even as strange as his gestures could be at times, they always fitted in contextually with what was going on. Oh. OH. You realised 5 seconds later than it should have taken you to. Xiumin told you to refer to him in specific ways tonight. You returned your eyes to his expectant gaze. “No sir.”

It seemed to do the trick, as you saw him let out a breath that you weren’t aware he’d been holding. “That’s more like it.” He licked his lips, his eyes flitting between yours and your lips. The desire he was holding back was evident, but as the three of you stood on the precipice of beginning this thing, you could see the fire building in him. This was his fantasy, and he was about to make it a reality. After months and months of build up, and weeks of him fearing he’d be rejected for even suggesting it, it was happening, he just had to take the final step over the precipice and set everything in motion. You couldn’t help but smile at him as you waited for him to give the first instruction, knowing he was having one final internal debate about the entire thing, and probably on some level fretting about the cleanup afterwards.

You didn’t want to be disobedient but if he took too long to get things going you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him. It had been too long since you’d felt his lips on yours. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and took the leap. “Baek, I want you to move up to the other end of the bed and sit against the headboard.”

“Ok hyung.” He replied eagerly. “Clothes on or off at this stage?”

“Leave them on for now.” He replied. Baek obeyed, pushed himself to the other end of the bed and leant against the headboard as instructed. He looked comfortable, but the desire in his eyes told you he was desperate to touch you, or himself. He spread his legs and smirked at you, your joke about his manspreading replaying in your mind. You failed to keep the small laugh in. Xiumin looked at you then at Baek and sighed. “What?” He asked.

A look of apprehension appeared on his face and you wanted to squash any growing doubts immediately. Of course you laughed at the worst time, right as he decided to start his rewards. Naturally he now thought the two of you were mocking him, which was absolutely not the case. “I once made an observation about Baek’s chronic manspreading. His reply was that there was a lot of room for activities between his thighs.” You explained. Relief and annoyance flooded him.

Baek scoffed. “That particular observation was made via text, in a room full of staff and you guys on the day of a concert.”

Xiumin sighed to himself. “Oh my god, you are both such brats.” He reached forward and grabbed your hand gently, tugging you toward the bed. “Baby, go sit between his legs, with your back facing him.”

You placed a chaste kiss on his hand as you stood. “Can I offer a suggestion hyung?” Baek asked as you moved on the bed towards him.

“Go ahead.” He replied.

You felt Baek’s chest against your back as you leant back against him. “She should place her legs over mine, leaving you sufficient room,” He smirked. “For activities.”

Xiumin shook his head as a laugh escaped him. “You know what, terrible joke aside, that’s a good idea.” He nodded at you. “Baby, do as Baek suggested.” You couldn’t help the blush as you did as you were told. You felt exposed, even though you were still fully clothed. Xiumin sat back and looked at the two of you, taking in the sight before him, his eyes practically shining as he did so. Baek hadn’t touched you since Xiumin had entered the room. He was behaving and doing as he was told, a rare sight to behold. His eyes travelled down your body, satisfied with how you were spread open for him, unable to close your legs when he got closer.

Xiumin swallowed thickly as he crawled up the bed towards the two of you. He made his way into the space left for him between your legs. Once there he hooked a finger under your chin as he guided your face closer to his. He absentmindedly parted his lips the closer you got to him. You licked yours in response. You heard Baek suck in a breath when Xiumin leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft but sure kiss. You felt your body relax at the familiar feeling of his lips on yours. You sighed into it, your hands moving up to cup behind Xiumin’s neck and pull him forward, closer to you. He allowed you to control the kiss for a moment before pushing you as far back as he could without losing his balance. You could feel Baekhyun breathing erratically behind you, unable to do anything but watch as you and Xiumin made out. The kiss had started soft as the two of you got reacquainted with each other but it was rapidly growing more passionate as your tongues collided with each other.

“Fuck.” You heard Baek murmur from behind you. You felt an unmistakable hardness forming against the small of your back as the kiss grew more heated. You moaned into Xiumin’s mouth as he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth and bit. He pulled back to survey his work, taking in your dilated pupils and flushed face.

“That gone after one kiss?” He remarked, though not entirely faring much better himself. “How wrecked are you going to look after Baek has his turn?” You tried to respond but all of the pent up desire from the day chose to flood your system. All you could feel was your desire for each of them and the fact that at that exact moment, no one was touching you. A whimper escaped you, making Xiumin chuckle. “You want Baek to kiss you baby?”

“Please.” You sounded far more desperate than you wanted to, but you needed it. It was difficult to describe the feelings you were experiencing but the overwhelming desire was clouding everything in its path. Logic and reason were locked away for the night, and you were going to indulge in Xiumin’s fantasy and love every moment of it. As long as someone touched you, right away. Otherwise you felt like you might implode. “Xiu please,”

“Go on Baek, give her what she wants.” He instructed, his eyes never leaving yours. Baek didn’t need to be told twice. You felt the soft press of his lips on your neck which made your eyes flutter as you gasped. You felt Baek smile against your skin as he continued peppering kisses along your neck and jaw before his hand turned your face towards his so he could capture your lips in a searing kiss. His other hand held you firmly against him as the two of you made out. Xiumin took advantage of your neck being bared to him and, not to be outdone by Baek, began peppering it with kisses. You let out a soft moan, and it was as if the tension in the room snapped, taking everyone’s restraint with it. You felt Baekhyun pressing against you as his body sought out any friction he could get, at the same time Xiumin’s soft kisses to your neck became deeper. Every time you felt the scrape of his teeth on your neck you moaned, each one louder than the last.

Baekhyun noticed what his hyung was doing and took the opportunity to short circuit your brain by doing the exact same thing as Xiumin was. The feeling of having your neck ravished by both men was making you light headed. You were pretty sure that Baek was leaving marks all over the expanse of your neck. The previous marks he’d left had only just faded, not that you cared one bit in that moment. It was nothing an oversized scarf and hoodie couldn’t cover.

Both men managed to detach themselves from you long enough for Xiumin to utter “Help me strip her.” Baek removed all the clothing on your upper body while he removed your pants, leaving you in just your panties while they were still fully clothed.

Xiumin scowled at the dark hickey on your hip - the one that had yet to fade, asking who left that mark on you. “That would be me hyung.” Baek replied, “I couldn’t help myself.” He shrugged. He might not have noticed the way Xiumin’s jaw clenched as he stared at the mark, but you sure had, even through the haze of lust clouding your mind. He wasn’t the jealous type but something about them was making him tense. It was on your hip, hidden by clothing but for anyone who got you undressed enough to see it, it was left as a clear reminder of who had been there before them. Of who had claimed you as theirs.

You moved your hand up to cup his jaw softly. His sharp eyes, darkened with lust and something else, something carnal, lifted to yours, and stared at you. “Xiumin, are you jealous that he left marks there?” His gaze swirled with something dangerous, but not dangerous enough to deter you.

“Careful.” He murmured. His piercing gaze made you feel like prey about to be devoured. Something you were absolutely not against. You steeled your resolve, wanting to make him let loose like you knew he could. If you pushed him just the right amount, he’d forget every insecurity he had about this reward and lose himself to dominating everyone's pleasure. You’d never regretted it in the past so you figured giving him that little push now would result in you getting fucked within an inch of your life before the night was over.

You leant forward, until your mouth ghosted his ear as you whispered. “Would you like to leave your own marks on me Sir?” You heard the hitch in his breath as you spoke. “I’d love it if you left your mark on me. Every time I see it I’d be reminded of exactly what you did to me.” You pulled back, kissing the corner of his lips as you settled back against Baekhyun’s body. From deep within his throat, it sounded like Xiumin growled.

“Hold her hands behind her back. Both of you are going to sit there and watch,” He rasped. “And you,” he said as his eyes locked back onto yours. “Will not cum until I allow you to.”

“Yes, Sir.” You replied as Baekhyun pulled your hands behind your back and held them in place.

Xiumin kissed you harshly, the force of him pushing you further back into Baekhyun. You had to arch your back slightly to remain as comfortable as you could in his hold. He broke the kiss and began his descent down your body. He took your request to heart, nipping and sucking your flesh as he moved from your mouth, to your neck, your chest, and stomach before settling between your thighs. Your head was becoming fuzzy from the stimulation, and your body was responding in kind. You could feel the heat running from your neck, down through your chest and settling in your stomach. You weren’t going to be able to look in a mirror and not think of Xiumin for weeks at this rate.

Your body felt like a live wire. If no one touched you properly soon, you might just cry from how turned on you were. Xiumin’s eyes connected with Baekhyun’s as he clamped his jaw onto your upper thigh, and sucked hard. Baekhyun’s breath hitched and you felt him roll his hips against your lower back, his now hard length grazing your hands. You moaned loudly at the sensation. These two were going to be the death of you tonight, you were this far gone and you’d barely even begun.

“Look at you, soaking through your panties. We haven’t even touched you properly yet.” He licked his lips as he hooked your legs back over Baekhyun’s, spreading you wide for him. You whimpered, so turned on and desperate for one of them to touch you where you needed it. Xiumin was an excruciatingly patient man though, you knew this as a fact. He would touch you when he was good and ready, and not a moment before that. He probably wanted to get you so worked up that you cried when he finally did give you what you wanted. “Does noona want me to touch her?” He asked condescendingly. Without waiting for your answer he pressed a finger over your clothed pussy, rubbing the digit over the wet spot of your soaked panties. You gasped at the feeling, your hands grasping behind your back, not realising until he whimpered in your ear that you’d palmed Baek’s hard length. Xiumin smirked up at both of you. “I honestly can’t tell if I’m about to ruin both of you or if you’re about to ruin me.”

“Hyung.” Baekhyun sounded breathless as he stared down at Xiumin between your legs, the elder toying with your panties as he drew out whines from you. Unbeknownst to him, every time he drew a whine from you, your hand clenched around Baekhyun’s cock. Baekhyun’s eyes were beginning to glaze over with want. He was doing everything in his power to not run his mouth or rut up into your hands. “Hyung please, god, please touch her.”

Xiumin gave him a shit eating grin as he continued playing with your clothed pussy, the fabric now completely soaked through as it all but stuck to you. “I thought I was touching her.” He leant forward and licked a stripe up your ruined panties, making you moan desperately. “See how responsive she is to my touches?”

“Please,” You all but sobbed. “Please, I need more.” Your chest heaved as you tried to regulate your breathing. You felt trapped between their two bodies, your own screaming with desire. “Sir, please.”

Apparently your near broken plea coupled with calling him Sir was all it took for Xiumin to crack. His control wavered, his patience almost lost as he ripped your panties off of you. You barely even registered the fabric tearing. His eyes floated down, taking in the soaking mess in between your legs. “You’re so fucking wet noona, just for us.” He licked his lips, that devilish smile back. You didn’t have time to breathe before he moved forward, his tongue licking a thick stripe through your folds. His voice deepened with a moan. “You taste so fucking good.” His hot breath joined in the sensational overload as his tongue ran over your clit, brushing little strokes of varying pressure and sending little shocks through your core and up your spine. “You always taste so fucking good.” He murmured against you, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through you. “Could eat you out all day, shit.”

Words failed you when he addressed Baek. “Doesn’t she taste divine?” His face still buried in your folds, teasing you with his skillful tongue.

Baekhyun hummed as he rolled his hips into your hand, unable to stop himself from seeking the friction. “Always hyung.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Xiumin all but making out with your pussy. “Makes it hard to stop eating her out.” He groaned as you flattened your palm against the head of his cock. It wasn’t enough, the layers of clothing separating you from him prevented the pleasure from feeling anything but teasing. Still it was better than nothing.

“You’re not wrong. I could stay here for hours.” Xiumin replied. You cried out as his tongue entered your needy hole, lapping at your juices, and you clenched around the muscle. He ate you out like a man starved. He latched onto your clit and sucked while his skilled tongue flicked over it with desperate movements. You knew it wouldn’t take you long to reach your peak, not with all the anticipation and teasing that had led to this point. You felt your legs tremble as your orgasm built inside you. But you weren’t allowed to cum yet, Xiumin hadn’t said you could. You didn’t know how you could possibly stop yourself from teetering over the edge but you tried your best to last as long as you could for him. You didn’t want to disobey him today, you wanted to be good for him.

The two of you had dabbled in having him be a brat tamer before, and whilst that was a very very fond memory, it was not fitting for today. His low voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Are you ok baby?” The pressure within you was mounting and your body shook from every flick of his tongue over your clit. You couldn’t speak, as much as you wanted to, all you could do was let out broken moans as Xiumin brought you closer and closer to your peak. A peak you didn’t want to cross without being given permission to.

Baek answered for you. “I think she wants to cum hyung. She’s practically vibrating against me.” He was enthralled with watching you fall apart on another man’s tongue, a sight he didn’t think he’d ever erase from his memory, but he wanted to keep things moving as he grew more and more desperate to be actively involved. “She’s done so well for us so far, and I can’t lie hyung. I think it’ll be really fucking hot to watch her cum all over your face.”

Xiumin had to pause at Baekhyun’s brazenness. He’d expected the dirty talk to extend to you but was rapidly finding out that the filthy exchanges they were having were only turning him on more. “Well, when you put it like that, how could I resist?” He replied. He gave you no notice as he closed his mouth over your clit, taking it between his teeth and sucked hard, the pressure that had been building exploded as your orgasm slammed into you. The force of it knocked the air from you, a loud and desperate moan left your lips, your legs shook from the intensity of it. He massaged your legs, gently lapping at your pussy while you came down. Your body twitched with the residual aftershocks he continued to draw from you with every swipe of his tongue.

As you recovered from your intense high you felt the soft press of Baekhyun’s lips on your neck. You shivered at the sensation, coupled with Xiumin rubbing his hands over your thighs, up to your waist and back down in a soothing motion. Your breathing was still laboured as you opened your eyes only to find Xiumin staring up at you, his mouth and chin glistening with your juices as he stopped overstimulating you. His gaze was still intense as he watched Baekhyun continue to leave little butterfly kisses along your neck, causing your body to shiver with need.

Your movement did not go unnoticed by Xiumin, who chuckled. “You still need more huh? Nearly passed out from your first orgasm but you already want more don’t you?”

Baekhyun smirked against your neck. “Noona, so needy for us. Was hyungs mouth not enough to fully satisfy you? Do you need something to fill you up?” He brought his hands to your breasts and tweaked your nipples as he sucked another mark into your neck.

You cried out. “God, yes. Please.” There was no denying that the orgasm Xiumin had just coaxed from you was mind blowing. Despite that, you could feel your pussy clenching around nothing. You needed more, needed something inside you.

“All in good time, can’t have you being selfish and getting all the pleasure now can we?” Xiumin said. “I think it’s time you did something for us.” He continued, as he stood from the bed and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his toned torso to you. “To show that you deserve what we can give you.” He crooked his fingers and beckoned you to come to him. You leant forward and crawled towards him, removing yourself from Baek’s reach. Behind you Baekhyun bit his bottom lip as he watched your naked form move away from him.

You popped the button on his jeans and slowly unzipped his pants, his bulge tenting his underwear. He let out a soft grunt as you let your hand roam over his underwear. “Do not fucking tease me right now. You know better than that baby.” You smiled to yourself as memories flooded you, the times you had pushed his patience over the edge, of how roughly he took you, not letting you cum until you were a mess of tears, begging him for your release. But tonight, you were going to do as you were told, even though it was becoming evident that your bratty side wanted to play. You were doing your best to keep her in check. You pulled his pants and underwear down, letting them pool at his ankles, his cock slapped against his stomach as it was finally freed from the confines of his clothing, your mouth watered at the sight. You looked up at him and he raised a brow at you. “Why don’t you show our Baekhyun how well you suck cock?” You said. Heat flooded you at the thought of being watched while you had another man’s cock in your mouth.

He lifted his head and made eye contact with the younger, very horny man behind you. “And Baek, be a good boy and strip. You’re only allowed to watch now, no touching yourself.” You heard Baekhyun whine behind you, the poor guy was needy. He’d been rutting his hips into your lower back and hands for friction just moments ago and now he had to sit and watch, and wasn’t even allowed to relieve some of the tension he was clearly feeling.

“Do not make me wait noona.” Xiumin’s commanding tone brought you back to the present. He was hard, very hard. You didn’t want to tease but you also didn’t want to rush this so you slowly spread the precum over his cock, running your fingers up his shaft, around the head, and down again. Xiumin opened his mouth to scold you for teasing him but his words were replaced by a groan of pleasure as you wrapped your fingers around his length and started moving your hand up and down, varying the pressure as you pumped his cock. “Fuck,” He all but whispered.

He was always so responsive to your touches, so much so that it only spurred you on. You wanted, no needed to taste him. Part of you also wanted to ruin Baekhyun by making him such a horny mess that he might just cum untouched from watching you and Xiumin. You licked the tip of his swollen cock before bringing your lips to it and sucking softly. Xiumin let out a gasp, his hips bucking involuntarily as you finally took him into your mouth. You moved slowly, relishing in the feel of him in your mouth, filling it up. You blinked your eyes slowly as you gazed up at him as your mouth enveloped his cock. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead as he stared back at you through heavily lidded eyes.

He praised with a rough voice, as his fingers gripped your hair. “That’s right, baby, just like that. You look so good with my cock stuffed in your mouth.” You didn’t break eye contact as you moved down his length, curling one hand around his base as you bobbed your head, taking more of him in each time you made your descent. You flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock and felt his hands hold your head in a vice grip as his resolve started to wane, a deep groan emitting from his throat. He let his head roll back, his breathing growing erratic as short pants mixed with small groans flow out of his mouth.

He held your head in place as he rolled his hips into you, fucking into your mouth. His first strokes were slow and languid, letting you get used to the fullness in you, but he soon began pushing further and further. His cock started hitting the back of your throat, and on one deep thrust he had your nose pressed up against him as he bottomed out. He held it there for a few seconds. “Fucking hell. Look at you, taking me all the way. You love this don’t you? Choking on my cock in front of another man.” You shivered, as you felt your arousal leak from you. You hadn’t expected to be this turned on from just sucking his cock but you felt light you were on fire with need. You wanted to be used by them so thoroughly that you couldn’t move at the end of the night.

You let yourself relax around him, trusting yourself in his hands, after all Xiumin had never once hurt you. He’d been the one you’d played the roughest with but he’d always taken care of you. When he felt you relax he began thrusting again, this time his strokes were getting faster, but still just as deep. “Love fucking your face noona, you, shit, you feel so good.” You struggled to hold yourself up as he used you, his hand in your hair the only anchor holding you up as you became a puppet for his use.

You knew he was approaching his climax when he began to move with less concern for the wellbeing of your throat, gagging you with his cock every few thrusts. You did your best to keep your jaw slack, as your throat was being rubbed raw, drool and precum fell down your chin in streams. “So messy, fuck, look at you. I’m almost there baby, you can take a bit more.” You moved your spare hand to massage his balls, rolling them in your palm as he thrusted into your mouth. Your action makes him groan louder than before, needier too. Your thighs clenched together, desperate in your need for friction. But you were being good, you didn’t touch or move. You choked a few times, tears falling down your cheeks to mix with the other fluids on your chin as he came. “Such a good girl for me, took me so well, let me use you to get off.” He stroked your face gently, wiping the tears away as he smiled down at you. “Wasn’t she such a good girl Baek?” He asked.

“Fuck, yes hyung, she was.” Baekhyun’s reply was strained with desire.

“Did you touch yourself Baek?” He asked bluntly. You turned to look at him and felt a jolt through your core at just how wrecked he looked. He was breathing heavily, his chest flushed as his hands had a death grip on the sheets to stop him from touching himself. He looked so painfully hard, his rigid cock practically weeping with pre cum, twitching with need, it was so messy, and you knew how he loved it messy.

Baekhyun shook his head. “N-no. Fuck if you could see how much wetter she got from you throat fucking her hyung, my god. Please, let her touch me or let me touch myself I’m fucking dying over here.” You felt heat wash over you as you clenched around nothing. You should have felt some type of shame about how lewdly they were talking about you but you didn’t. You trusted these two men with your entire being and knew that they would never speak ill of you. Plus you were a little too fucked out to care.

Xiumin caught you staring at Baekhyun and smiled. “Baby, why don’t you treat him to your filthy mouth?” He gave you a little push to set you in motion as you crawled between Baekhyun’s legs. “Holy fuck, you weren’t wrong Baek. She is so fucking wet.” You turned your head to look back at Xiumin, who was now kneeling on the bed as he stared between your legs. His eyes flicked up to yours understanding what you wanted. “If you’re good I’ll give you what you want.” He gave your ass a light tap to direct your attention back to Baek.

“Please don’t tease me noona.” Baekhyun whimpered as you slowly grasped his length in your hand.

“You don’t want me to take my time with you?” You asked playfully. Baekhyun was always putty in your hands when it came to having his cock in your mouth. He got too eager, enjoyed it too much and never lasted that long. You guessed tonight would be no different especially since he’d had to watch you and not relieve himself while doing so.

“Fuck. No. I’m just too fucking horny to endure it.” You heard the need in his voice, the normally even tone pitching up slightly as he tried to hold himself together. “I’m doing my best to not grab your head and shove my cock in your mouth right now. Watching you with hyung, holy fuck it was so hot, I don’t know if I’m going to last very long after watching him rail your throat.” He panted.

“I’ll make you feel good Baek, I promise.” You said. He let his head fall back against the headboard as you took the head of his cock into your mouth and sucked gently. He moaned loudly at finally being touched, his eyes wide with pleasure.

“Hyung, can - fuck - can I touch her?” He sounded so broken as he tried to speak, his breath hitching every time you moved your tongue around his swollen head.

You felt Xiumin shift on the bed until he was kneeling behind you. He rubbed his hand down your spine as you took Baekhyun into your mouth once more. “You may.” Baekhyun gripped your hair as he watched his cock disappear into your mouth. You shuddered when you felt Xiumin’s fingers drag through your slick folds. “Noona, you are so fucking wet. Does it turn you on this much to be with two men?”

You lifted your head from Baekhyun’s cock, much to his disdain. “Yes, fuck” you rasped, your throat raw from the abuse Xiumin had inflicted upon it. “Sir, please touch me.”

“Why should I?” He teased as one finger circled your clit.

You moaned loudly. “I’ve been so good.”

“Do you want your noona to suck your cock Baekhyun?” Xiumin said as you lowered yourself back towards his cock. You stared into his fucked out eyes and waited for him to respond. He nodded and you shifted down, placing a kitten lick to the tip of his leaking cock, causing him to whimper at the feeling. You don’t break eye contact with him as Xiumin spoke again. “You want your noona to suck your thick cock and make you fall apart while your hyung stuffs noona with his fingers?”

Baekhyun’s eyes almost rolled in the back of his head as Xiumin spoke, his hips bucking up towards you with need. “Jesusfuckingchrist hyung, holy shit, yes. Yes I want that. Please.”

Xiumin waited for you to take Baekhyun back into your mouth before he plunged two fingers into your aching pussy. You moaned around Baekhyun’s cock at the feeling, finally being touched and having your mouth filled at the same time. You swirled your tongue on the underside of his cock as you took more of him in, finding your rhythm so you could rock back onto Xiumin’s fingers and forward onto Baekhyun’s cock.

You ran your nails down his thighs as you let your jaw relax, allowing Baekhyun to begin thrusting up into it. “Holy shit this is hot, you should see yourself noona, gonna make you choke on my cock while hyung makes you cum on his fingers.”

“You liked that didn’t you?” Xiumin remarked. “I felt you clench around me, you needy little thing. If you want to cum then you’d better hold still and let us use you.” Your eyes widened as you clenched around his fingers again.

Baekhyun began to fuck your throat as you held yourself in position, your hands gripping his thighs. You moaned around his cock as you felt Xiumin's hand match the pace Baekhyun was setting. They were both entering you at the same time, you’d never felt so full. The pressure was building within you at an alarming pace and you knew you’d snap if they kept up this momentum. Baekhyun’s moans became higher pitched and more frequent as he started to really enjoy the feeling of your throat sucking him in every time he fucked into it. The vibrations from your moans were only adding to the pleasure he was feeling. “Fuck, I’m close.” He panted.

Xiumin removed his fingers from you. You whined at the loss only to let out a strangled cry as he began to vigorously circle and tap your clit. “Then cum. Both of you.” Both of you came undone at his words, your orgasm slamming into you as Baekhyun thrusted once more and held himself in your throat as he came while you writhed against Xiumin’s relentless fingers, tears streaming down your face at the combination of choking on Baekhyun’s cock and being overstimulated by Xiumin.

You pulled off Baekhyun as you tried to get away from Xiumin’s relentless fingers. “Xiu please, I need a minute. Too sensitive.” You whined. He acquiesced and released you from his wandering hands.

Baekhyun was immobile, his chest heaving as he recovered from his own high. He somehow looked even more fucked out than he had before. “Holy shit.” He said to himself.

Xiumin pulled him from his daze by telling him to move to the chair at the end of the bed and watch. Baekhyun stood on slightly wobbly legs, walked over and threw himself down on the comfy chair facing the bed, leant back and got as comfortable as a naked man could in a hotel chair, as his eyes roamed over the bed as they sought you out. “I know this is your reward hyung but I feel like we’re all reaping this reward.” He grinned.

He had a moment where the facade cracked and you saw the excitement in Xiumin’s eyes as he took a beat to take in that he was actually experiencing one of his largest fantasies right now. Not only that, but it was going well. He only let that slip last for a second before he was back, moving to sit in the position Baekhyun had been in on the bed. You stared at him as you waited for him to tell you where he wanted you. He was lazily stroking his hard length as he let his eyes roam over your body. “Come here noona.” You made your way over to him, and climbed onto his lap.

“Are you enjoying your reward Xiu?” You asked softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He let his forehead fall forward and press against yours. “It is everything I imagined and more. Thank you for helping make it happen.” He smiled genuinely at you, that beautiful gummy smile that you adored, before he kissed you. He let his hands run over your shoulders, ghosting past your breasts, running down the sides of your waist so gently it made you shiver, before coming to rest on your hips, kneading the skin there as he deepened the kiss. He sighed into you, pressing his lips down harder, hungrier. You gasped into his mouth as he pulled your hips against his cock. “Turn around. Want you to ride me while facing him. Make him watch you fuck yourself on my cock. You’ll ruin him, and I’ll get to watch your ass bounce on my cock so we both win.” Xiumin gave you another one of his annoying little smirks.

You gave him one more heat filled kiss before you turned in his lap. Baekhyun’s eyes widened as he figured out what was happening, his hands gripping his thighs in anticipation. You didn’t have much time to focus on the look on his face because Xiumin suddenly dipped his finger into your sopping entrance, using your juices to coat his cock. You let out a shaky moan as he moved you into position and waited for you to begin. He let you know you were taking too long by delivering a swift smack to you ass, which caught you by surprise as you cried out.

Slowly you lifted yourself up, aligned his cock with your core and sunk down to the hilt. You both moaned out at the feeling of your wet, hot walls moulding around him and pulling him in. You stayed like that for a second, head thrown back and nails digging into his thighs as you got used to the stretch. “Fuuuuck, that’s hot.” You heard Baekhyun groan. You locked eyes with him as you started to move, setting a steady pace to begin with as you relished in the feel of Xiumin’s cock hitting you in all the right places from this angle. Xiumin’s hands rubbed up and down your sides as he helped guide you up and down on his length. He threw his head back in pleasure at how deep you were taking him.

Baekhyun couldn’t help himself any more as he was hard again. The sight of you bouncing on Xiumin’s cock, your tits bouncing, the sounds you were making, all of it was too much. He wrapped his fingers around himself and squeezed hard. He bit back a moan, as his head tipped back as the relief of his own touch spread through his body and pre cum leaked from his tip. You moaned at the sight of him touching himself as you fucked yourself on Xiumin’s cock, quickening your pace. You heard Xiumin moaning and cursing behind you as your pace became increasingly desperate.

“Hyung,” Baekhyun’s voice was strained with need.

“Wh-fuck, what?” He grunted.

“How does she feel?”

“She feels amazing, fucking herself on me so good.” He moaned as you changed the angle of your pelvis, desperate to feel him hit that specific spot inside you. “Our baby is desperate to get off aren’t you?”

“I can’t, Xiu-” You cried out.

“Baek, get up and kneel in front of her.” He said as he pushed you off his cock, moving you onto all fours. “Baby, think you can take both of us at the same time? One fucking this pretty pussy and one using that skilled mouth of yours?”

You whimpered at his question, too overwhelmed with the prospect of being filled so wonderfully by them that you forgot to answer. “All you need to do is say yes, baby.” He said. “But I will not do anything until you tell me how much you want it.” He slowly dragged his cock through your folds.

“Yes, oh god, yes, please sir, I need it.” When he didn’t move a muscle you tried again. “Xiumin, please.”

“Sorry baby, I was just savouring my fantasy. Trust me, we want nothing more than to give you exactly what you need.” He entered you in one thrust, bottoming out with a grunt. Your hands grasped onto Baekhyun’’s arm for dear life as your body went rigid. A loud moan and gasp left your lips and when Baekhyun grabbed your jaw and brought his cock to your lips an honest to god whine came out. You were completely lost to their ministrations, theirs to use as they saw fit. As long as you came you didn’t care what they did. Baekhyun pressed his length into your mouth and began to thrust into your mouth at the same pace that Xiumin pounded into you from behind. You had never felt so full in your life.

"Look so good with our cocks inside you, noona," Baekhyun praised, his voice huskier than you’d ever heard it before, which made you clench around Xiumin, who let out a loud moan.

"Fuck, yeah," he breathed, as he snapped his hips into you even harder, working himself in and out of your pussy. "Keep talking to her like that, Baek," he grunted the younger man, "Her sweet little pussy's tightening up so fucking perfectly."

"You like when I talk dirty to you don’t you noona?" He teased as he fisted your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he matched Xiumin’s new pace. “Noona is just greedy and cock-hungry for us aren’t you? You like having hyung and I inside those needy holes of yours don’t you?" You could barely think straight as one cock entered you the other pulled back, alternating their thrusts to ensure there was never not a cock filling you.

You moaned in agreement around his cock as you let them stuff you full, telling you exactly how you felt around them and how good you’re being for them. Xiumin’s cock brushed against that spot inside you that made you cry out in pleasure, the sound muffled by Baekhyun’s cock filling your mouth. Your thighs shook as Xiumin brought you to another climax. You felt Baekhyun pull out of your mouth as he watched you fall apart on Xiumin’s cock. He kept thrusting into you as he chased his own high, his pace somehow becoming harder and faster. “Fuck noona, you’re sucking me back in. Your tight pussy is taking me so well. FUCK.” He snapped his hips into you at a brutal pace, his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

“You’re gonna let Baek fuck you as soon as I’m done with you. He’s been so patient, waiting to fucking ruin you on his cock.” He groaned as his pace grew erratic, a clear sign that he was going to cum soon.

“Yes Xiu, I’ll let him fuck me. He can fuck your cum back into me.” You moaned, the overstimulation beginning to turn into pleasure once more. “Please Xiu, want you to cum inside, want you to fill me up.” He growled as he thrusted into you once more as he came inside you. He held himself in you as he panted, trying to catch his breath and come back down from his dizzying high.

“Baek, your turn.” He said as he pulled out of you and flipped you on your back. His hair was stuck to his face from the exertion of fucking you. He looked spent as he moved to your side and leant down to kiss you passionately. “You look so fucking hot noona, being so good for us.” He whispered in between kisses.

Baekhyun moved so that he was between your legs and groaned at the sight before him. “Oh baby, you have no idea how much I want to wreck you now.” His first thrust was deep and slow, moving with purpose as he enjoyed the feel of being inside you. “You look so filthy with hyung’s cum dripping out of you. You wanted me to fuck it back into you?” The next thrust had more force behind it and you felt him. Your head fell back as he fucked you, his grunts and moans increasing in volume.

His hair stuck to his forehead from the exertion, his eyes alternating their focus from your face to watching his cock disappear into your pussy. He leant forward, effectively folding you in half as he sped up, his thrusts becoming more erratic. “Fuck, how are you this hot? I am not going to last long baby.”

“Shit, me either Baek.” You moaned as Xiumin moved from kissing your lips to your neck, down your chest until his mouth attached to your nipple. He used his hands to massage your breasts as his tongue laved at your nipples. He watched you intently as you cried out for them both to keep touching and fucking you. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna, Baek, I’m gonna cum.”

Baekhyun picked up his pace, slamming into you with vigour as you clamped down on his cock, milking him for all he was worth, your final orgasm of the night hitting you so hard that you almost blacked out. You felt utterly spent, in the best way, but you could do very little as the two men praised you, Baekhyun carrying you to the bathroom to clean you both up while Xiumin went to his room to steal the sheets from the bed. It didn’t matter how spent he was, he’d rather die before sleeping on cum stained sheets. When they’d finished cleaning you up all three of you fell into your bed together, a tangled mess of limbs. You had one man on either side of you. The two that had started this whole thing.

“Well that was better than my drunk texts.” You murmured. Both men burst into laughter on either side of you.

Silence settled over the room again as you all began to give in to the call of sleep, comfy, clean and warm. Baekhyun hummed. “I wish you’d had that cheerleader outfit with you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You replied with a laugh.

“No, he’s onto something there.” Minseok reasoned as he giggled. “That outfit was really hot. Do you still own it?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at them, even though you wanted to sound pissed off. “I hate both of you, and if my legs worked I’d get up and leave this room right now.”

“Hyung high five, we broke her.” Baekhyun continued laughing.

“Shut up!” Both you and Minseok yelled happily.

You let your laughs die down as you snuggled into each other, exhausted both physically and mentally. You realised now that all the rewards had been completed. You’d think on what that meant moving forward later. Right now you just wanted to pass out, and maybe wake up to some continued fun, but you’d understand if Minseok considered the threesome request completed now.

Minseok chose that moment to speak up. “Thank you both for this. It’s uh, it’s weird to thank you for it but you know, it feels necessary. But I’m glad it was the two of you.” Minseok was doing his best to stay awake long enough to thank you both, something he really didn't need to do.

“Talk later, sleep now.” You mumbled as you felt yourself succumb to post coital exhaustion.

A/N: Um so yeah, that happened. Did the smut get away from me? Yes. Are we ok? Can I hand out fans and refreshments to any of you? Real talk, thank you for reading and sticking with me over the insanely long time it's taken to write this fic. I'd love to hear who you want her to end up with, I've got 3 endings penned and I'm still picking which one feels right so your feedback would help :)

Masterpost | Chapter 46 | Chapter 48 (coming soon)

40 notes · View notes