#The claws and arm spikes were the closest I could find alas | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

project-ohagi · 4 years

Text

Rumi Usagiyama ღ Miruko x Reader

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Trigger Warning: PTSD.

----

What had enticed you so, that you deemed it necessary to abandon the security and warmth of your home?

Simple: food.

Your rations had depleted rather swiftly, despite you having a meagre appetite. It shouldn't have ever been such a bleak existence. This wasn't right, wasn't fair...but the normalcy was startling. It was a recent development, since you now couldn't fathom an idea as elementary as walking through the door. Shopping, bearing witness to the cruel humanity awaiting you just beyond that gut-wrenching wooden frame...

...You wouldn't ever do it again! You promised yourself. You promised yourself! But...how else were you supposed to reap the rewards of the harvest? Gods, you sounded so old-timey. It was unavoidable, really, considering your previous employment and family situation. You strained, but failed to remember a single instance in your childhood, or early adulthood, of you owning any kind of electronic. Everything you had access to was basic. Riches were never within your grasp, and both of your parents had insisted that you shadow them in their field. It had soon become an inescapable cycle of hoarding, rationing and pleading over the phone for someone to re-stock your supplies. You couldn't leave the confides of your home. You just couldn't!

Surely, they understood this, being war veterans themselves. Alas, their collective trauma was light - far lighter than yours. They could sleep soundly at night, without the relentless tears, without the thrashing and the screaming. They weren't plagued by insomnia, nor were they forced to consume ungodly amounts of coffee, in an effort to counter the hellish drowsiness. The night-terrors were agony and fright beyond human comprehension. You refused to submit to them ever again.

Your parents indulged the anxious thoughts swirling around your brain...for a while.

Now, there was no acknowledgement, only a blood-stained knife, stabbing at that horrendous, throbbing organ encased within your chest. Sometimes, you really loathed this life. Your parents complained - their burden of raising a child had long since passed. They wanted to converse with a responsible young woman, not a needy, whining baby.

So, it had come time to face the world.

Only...the world was just as disgusting as you recalled. Villains roaming the streets, with quirks allowing them to rival, if not surpass, the deadliest military personnel and weapons. You couldn't have possibly predicted this - you yourself weren't blessed with a special ability, and you had been in the field for so long, you managed to forget they even existed.

Except that one...the diabolical one, the one you were never supposed to encounter. To maintain a level ground, slaves to the army were chosen amongst the quirkless population. It was rare, but some families pledged their entire lineage to the higher-ups. This had been your case - none of your kin had ever developed powers. They were the unlucky few. It was of no actual consequence to your parents, but you were different. As such, you couldn't place your faith in the hands of heroes - or anyone! Your sense of trust had dwindled down to nothingness, especially following the abandonment by those who should have jumped to help you. It wasn't attention you wanted. You didn't need any of that!

You desired isolation, above everything, but you understood the importance of removing yourself from the depressive thoughts and views lingering in your mind...and in your heart. They displayed their aggression like a pack of wild animals, constantly trying to tear you apart. And, well...it was working. You let them succeed, for the effort required to banish them was far too great. You always hoped they would disappear, clear the path for some guiding light, some blinding illumination of hope...of courage. But that never happened. How could it? The rabbit-hole of distress and despondency was never-ending, and your heart fell ahead of your body. How could you find solace, when your entire being seemed to reject it so vehemently?

Was the question truly: Do saviours exist?

Or was it: Do I really deserve to be saved?

In spite of these overbearing thoughts, in spite of your spiking pulse and the beads of sweat ghosting down your forehead, you remained alert. You couldn't turn victim to another sneak attack. You couldn't be caught off-guard - not a second time. You avoided contact with everyone, even those with no direction. The terror mounted, slowly chipping away at your tear ducts, but there was only one more block. Your shopping list was concise. It was certain to be a short trip. Could your illness permit a moment's respite?

But time was of the essence.

The hourglass-sand was draining.

And then came the villain attack.

Even in your state of hyper-awareness, you failed to notice the warning signs. You didn't have foresight. This wasn't supposed to happen. History - your nauseating history - was repeating. It was repeating, and once again, you were rendered helpless, powerless, utterly useless. You couldn't save anyone, not your closest companions...not even yourself. Were you seeing static, or was it just the violent tremors manipulating your vision? By taking the initiative, by leaving your house...had you willing walked into a death trap? Were you going to die here?...Would you join those who perished in the field? What if they rejected you? You couldn't save them, and their blood had painted your skin...would they implore you to leave? The villain was nothing more than a blurred outline, but when you saw his quirk, your blood ran cold.

It was Reanimation. It was the same...the same...It was a curse, placed upon your friends all those moons ago. It was inescapable. It was a cage. You gripped your neck, an extreme feeling of suffocation making you keel over. This couldn't be happening. Not again! Not again! Not again! The villain was stabbing and slashing civilians left and right, then turning the corpses against the rest. People were dying. In a few seconds, you too would succumb to those glinting blades - the villain was heading toward you. But your muscles were frozen. Your breathing was laboured.

Perhaps death would release you from this dreadful panic? You didn't truly wish to find out. You wanted to live, and you wanted normalcy. You just...wanted a chance. A chance to prove your worth, to prove your benevolence.

But...the blood...

...it was clawing desperately at your shirt. It felt far too familiar. To whom did it belong? With all the chaos, you just couldn't tell. You could hear nothing over the incessant ringing and ragged breaths. You could see nothing beyond the crimson spots in your vision. You waited for death, for your early appointment with the Reaper. It never came. A sudden gust of wind rocked you, and a blurry figure ran past, kicking into the crowd. You couldn't see the flames of delight glossing over her eyes. You couldn't really tell that it was a woman - a hero. You were too busy panicking. The curtain closed on the corpse party rather soon, but you kept crying, kept shaking. This was your normal, your reaction. It was inescapable. It was hellish.

The hero beamed, showing off her victorious grin.

"And that's how you beat death!"

You weren't listening - you couldn't.

It seemed as though she planned to hop away. But her gaze travelled to you. It was a little confusing, since after an ordeal like this, regular civilians tended to thank her, ask for an autograph and then walk away. Sure, it could have been traumatising...but to such an extent? Something more was afoot. She wasn't really the comforting type, but there was no-one else around to help. The police would arrive shortly, though she doubted they would possess the expertise to deal with you, in this condition. Well, she was a pro for a reason, right? She could totally deal with this herself!

No biggie!

Crouching down beside you, she tried to rein in her loud, possibly brash voice. "Hey, what's up? Did that villain hurt ya?"

Your only response was more heavy breathing. A quick scan of your body revealed no injuries, just blood spatter. She was relieved, but you looked stressed and stricken with fear - enough to pass out. Now she wished a jacket was part of her costume, so she could wrap it around you, and hopefully provide some semblance of safety. Her strong hands found purchase on your back and arm, rubbing over the clothing, in an effort to calm you down. You felt her touch...her warmth. It was oddly soothing, and managed to slow your breaths. You wanted to speak. Well, to be honest, you wanted to scream. This woman...you sensed her strength, almost like it radiated off her. It was reassuring, but that couldn't compensate for everything you had just witnessed...everything you had heard and felt.

"So what triggered you? Was it the blood, or-" A whimper-yell slashed through her questions.

Okay, so blood wasn't to be mentioned.

Her grin didn't falter. "Good thing I was here! I beat the crap outta that villain, so now you should be fine, right? I'm Miruko!"

Pride rushed to her face.

You despised words of such hollow comfort, but she seemed to be genuinely trying. You supposed it was admirable. Your attacks were difficult not only for yourself, but also those nearby, after all. People usually took their leave pretty quickly. Not this one. As your panic-induced haze cleared, and the trembling slowed, your eyes met the most breath-taking woman imaginable. You had always considered yourself open to same-sex dating, but nobody had ever sparked your fancy. This woman didn't cause such a fleeting pang in your heart. No - she ignited your very soul. You clung to every echo of her voice, but you just couldn't agree with her. She was under the impression that heroes were essential, that they rescued and relieved. That child-like train of thought niggled the back of your mind.

"I get to kick so many villains' butts! It's a real adrenaline rush!" You understood that she was trying to push the incident from your mind.

Heroes were slaves to the system, to the government...exactly like soldiers. Screwing your eyes shut, you started to speak, praying that you wouldn't be interrupted by further, miserable cries or screams of agony.

"On the war-front, there are no heroes. Only pawns, manipulated into throwing their lives away for people who would save their own skins at any chance they got."

Were you whispering? Maybe yelling? It wasn't important, but the woman appeared stunned to silence. Despite your ears having been liberated from the harsh ringing of funeral bells, you could scarcely hear yourself. Were you purposefully blocking out these words? Was it because of their truth? You didn't know.

"Damn, someone did do a number on you, huh? You said 'war-front' - were you a soldier?"

You didn't notice your unrelenting grip, the nails that dug into her skin, begging for her attention. Maybe the past should remain buried? Her curiosity could be unsatiated. You would probably require some degree of medical assistance, but would your hold ever loosen? She likely neglected a number of villain attacks, while waiting with you, but...

...to her, it was worth every second.

[Word Count: 1867]

#bnha #my hero academia x reader #miruko #mirko x reader #bnha miruko #rumi usagiyama x reader #my hero academia imagines #romance #ptsd #angst #bnha x reader #miruko x female reader

104 notes · View notes