#and we have a living room shelf but everyones stiff is on it so i only had like three books there

[the-kneesbees]

my fave shelf on my new bookshelf <3

[glamourscat]

DELPHINIUM | FEM! KAISER X READER X FEM! NESS PT 4

epilogue | i cried while writing this lol | HAPPY BDAY NESS CUTIE | PT 1 | PT 2 | PT 3

SNAPSHOT #1

It’s been a while. Twenty years to be exact. I know, right? Life doesn’t feel real at times. Kaiser and Ness are 43, you are 41. Life is… mundane. Domestic. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s everything you three have always wanted.

Tonight, it’s quiet in the house. Rain falls gently against the window and the scent of herbal tea moves through the air. Ness hums softly as she flips through a book, curled up on the couch. Kaiser is in the kitchen, standing on her tiptoes to reach the mugs from the top shelf, grumbling about how the years have made her back stiff. You laugh, walking up behind her to grab them effortlessly, earning a playful shove and a fond roll of her eyes.

And that’s when it hits you.

This is your life. This is what forever looks like.

After Kaiser’s 23rd birthday, that damned Christmas morning, everything changed. Some for the better, some for the worse. Your bed was always occupied, but by your two beautiful girlfriends, something you would never trade for the world. Your clothes and makeup were constantly missing, but in exchange, you could borrow theirs. So, really, it was fair.

Not everyone understood this. Why three women chose to love each other, to stay together for decades, confused many. The idea that you could be just girlfriends from your twenties into your forties seemed absurd to some. But you never cared. People will talk no matter what. What mattered was that you three knew the truth. Marriage, legality, a piece of paper, it didn’t define you. You were already bound in every way that mattered.

With the three of you retired, life has slowed down. There are separate friends, different hobbies, individual moments. But what matters most is coming home. Your home. The warmth of their presence, the way Ness mumbles in her sleep, how Kaiser always forgets where she put her glasses. The way your bodies still find each other at night, a tangle of limbs, soft kisses, warmth that has never faded.

You watch Kaiser now as she hands you a mug, her fingers brushing against yours. Ness glances up from her book, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. And in this quiet moment, in the soft glow of your living room, you think…

Yeah, you wouldn’t mind an eternity of this.

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

SNAPSHOT #2

It feels cold. The herbal tea doesn’t taste the same anymore. It’s more like a colored, tasteless water, a ghost of the tea you once loved. Even its scent has faded, weaker, distant, as if time itself was erasing it from existence. The books have been laid untouched, unmoved since the last time Ness held them in her hands. The air in the house feels stale, thick with the weight of absence. Everything is so… still. So monochrome.

If you had asked a younger Kaiser if she expected this, she would have scoffed, saying, “Death is inevitable. We all become food for worms at some point.” But now, at 85 years old, she knows better. Or so she likes to think.

Yes, we all become food for worms, but not so damned soon. You left too soon. Barely sixty, when a drunk driver stole you away. Life wasn’t the same after that. Arguments became a daily occurrence between her and Ness, both drowning in grief but unable to reach each other. Ashamedly, they came close to breaking apart entirely. Your absence never left, even when they learned to live with it. The bed was still too cold, too empty, too big. No one spoke about how, despite all the space on the couch, your spot was still your spot. Your side of the closet remained untouched, your collection of trinkets standing still, frozen in time.

Then, it happened again. But if before she had Ness, if before, despite the fights, they had each other to hold onto, now she was alone. Alone with the weight of two losses. Two empty spots at the dinner table. Two empty spaces on the couch.

Kaiser picks up one of Ness’s old sweaters, pressing it to her face, but it doesn’t smell like her anymore. It’s just fabric now. The house is too quiet without your chatter, the silence pressing against her ears. Sometimes, she wonders if this is some sick, cruel game from the universe. A punishment for her indecisiveness, for her hesitations and treatment of you two before this love even began.

Her fingers tremble as she reaches for an old photograph, one of the three of you, laughing, younger and tangled together in a mess of limbs on the bed. She traces the edges, her vision blurring.

And all she knows, as she lays there in the dark once more, tears streaking her cheeks in silence, is that for the first time in decades, she doesn’t feel afraid.

Because she will see her lovers again soon enough.

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

SNAPSHOT #3

Going to second-hand shops wasn’t exactly what Charlotte considered a fun bonding activity with her two best friends. As a matter of fact, she didn’t even want to be here, she was dragged here. But she is a good friend and so she shall accompany them. After all, they did promise a trip to that new cat café that just opened, so the trade seemed fair.

Charlotte’s brown eyes wandered through the various objects in the shop. Right by the big display of books, there was a small section dedicated to journals and sketchbooks, and as an artist, she couldn't resist opening one. One in particular spoke to her. The cover was a bit worn out, and no wonder, considering it was about a decade old. How it hasn’t been destroyed already is beyond her.

As she opened the pink diary, she was met with very clear handwriting, the ink surprisingly unfaded, as if time had refused to take it away. The first pages are all about some sort of football training? She’s not quite sure, she skims through those. She stops, though, when her eyes catch a few recurring names. Kaiser. Y/N. The more she reads, the more those names appear and she starts putting the dots together. This was the diary of a girl writing about her relationship with her two girlfriends. The more she reads, the more she finds herself mesmerized by the lives of these strangers. Their antics, their dynamic, the way Ness describes them is so vivid, so full of life.

Every page is a declaration of love, not just as a feeling, but as a promise. A vow to be faithful to them and them only. To be by their side through thick and thin. Charlotte pauses, her fingers lightly brushing against the edges of the pages, as if she can feel the weight of every word. Ness wrote like someone who loved fiercely, who held onto this love like it was the most precious thing in the world. She can almost hear her voice in the ink, filled with adoration, frustration, laughter, like these emotions were too big to be contained in just memories alone.

Her eyes are unable to pull away, and before she knows it, she’s at the end. A story left in half, because the diary finishes and she has no idea what happened next. What happened after that fight? Did they make up? Did they grow old together? Did they love each other until their last breath?

Questions that, despite their vagueness and impossibility of ever getting an answer directly, the picture she finds tucked safely in the last page, give her some sort of answer. There are three pictures, photobooth strips. Each one is a recreation of the other, just years apart. In the first, they look younger, maybe at the start of their relationship. They look a bit stiff, but there’s a teasing nature in their eyes. In the second, they are slightly older, maybe late 30s, early 40s. Time marks their faces, but they look happier. Closer. And the last, presumably in their late 50s, has a writing behind it. “2 years without you. We miss you.”

Charlotte’s eyes suddenly feel a bit wet. She looks up from the photos, her gaze wandering around the shop, spotting the frames of her two best friends currently arguing over who gets to keep the silly cat figure they just found. And she can’t help but let out a small, quiet chuckle. Her eyes trail over their figures, the way their eyes are so filled with life, with love, with energy. The way they look in those matching coats they insisted all of them buy together. And she can’t help but blush.

She looks back at the journal, closing it and holding it to her chest before walking toward her best friends.

Maybe, this trip hasn’t been such a bad idea after all. Maybe, just maybe, she was meant to find this.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

TAGS: @newinhalerpls

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shun the Light - Ch 15 - The Bunker

Slow Burn | Refuge | Decision | Mend | Hunger | Thin Mints | The Garden | Philip | Moments | Full Moon pt 1 | Full Moon pt 2 | Tend | Absolution | The Talk | Scars |

Author's Notes: Consider....vampirism and lycanthropy as disability? If you take a less fantastical and more naturalistic look, both are changes to the mind and body that make existing in a society difficult. Just something I've been thinking about.

Some more bonding, some #justvampirethings, some full moon dread. Thanks to everyone who has read this far. <3

Content Warnings: werewolf whumpee, vampire whumpee + caretaker, not much else just some angst, dread, mentions of blood

----

Sometimes, when he wakes at dusk, Dante forgets that he isn't alone in the house.

Dante learned early on that being mostly-dead is pretty hard on the body. Many of the systems that keep people alive also keep them comfortable, and so he has built habits to deal with the discomforts.

His throat is always parched, so he keeps a little cup of blood by the bed to get moving. His body is stiff from sleeping very still, so he does stretches.

And then there's thermoregulation, or the lack thereof. On cold days his skin becomes tingling, oversensitive, even numb, and in the summer he frequently suffers from heat exhaustion. Both make hunting difficult, so on mild days he stocks up on blood for his fridge, and he keeps his bedroom at a consistent temperature year round.

After his stretches he exits his bedroom wearing Philip's old silk robe and slippers, grabs a jar of blood from the fridge - calling it a 'cup of Joe' like Mr. Townsend used to - and settles into his chair for an evening gameshow.

That is usually when he remembers he has a guest, in the form of Matteo sprawled on the couch with the remote control already in his hand.

Tonight he is there as expected...but something is off. Matteo is sitting at one corner of the couch with his arms around himself, staring straight ahead. When Dante greets him he barely reacts.

"Matteo?"

"Mm."

"What's wrong?"

"Just a few days left."

As if to prove his point, the waxing moon peeks out from behind a cloud. Dante pulls the curtain shut.

"It never gets easier," Matteo says softly. "I get so anxious that I can barely eat or sleep, which only makes things worse..."

It's been hard to shake the memory of seeing Matteo's violent transformation, he can't imagine living it.

"I can make you do both of those things," Dante offers, realizing too late how creepy it sounds.

Matteo only smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Thanks."

"Do you want to see the shelter? Maybe that will help."

"Yeah, sure. Why not."

-

It's a bit like opening a time capsule. The bunker hasn't been touched since the 1960s, everything exactly the way Mr. Townsend left it the last time he went down to check expiration dates.

Against one wall is a shelf stacked with supplies, books, canned food and water, a radio and a box of ammunition. Cot-style beds line the other two walls, one a bunk bed and the other a single.

"Only three beds?"

Dante shrugs. "They didn't like me and dad that much. So, what do you think?"

Matteo steps inside and looks around. "We should probably remove anything that isn't attached...the wolf will just wreck it all anyway. You'll find me covered in canned peaches in the morning."

"Those probably need to go anyway. Okay, we can do that. What else?"

"I guess that's all." he still seems uncertain.

"Matteo..." Dante joins him in the small room. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"No, it's not that. This is a good idea. I can't hurt anyone here. It's this or chain me out back like a dog."

The resignation in Matteo's voice is all too familiar. In his early days of vampirism Dante had tried to find ways to still be part of the world, spending time in bars and 24-hour diners, taking long drives at night, he even tried taking a night shift in a stockroom. But eventually fear won - fear of sunlight, fear of discovery, fear of hurting someone or being hurt. It drove him into the shadows, and there he has remained.

"I had a dog once. He slept at the end of my bed."

The new information pulls Matteo from the brink of despair.

"Yeah? What was his name?"

"Porco. It means pig. It started as an insult when we found him as a stray. He would eat anything and everything. But I got attached to him and dad was bad at saying no if something made me happy. He always said joy was in short supply and we should stock up whenever we could."

Matteo smiles in this warm, endearing way that Dante finds impossible to look away from. Sometimes he tries to smile back but it's as if the muscles of his face have forgotten how.

They get to work moving everything out of the bunker until only the beds and shelves, which are fixed to the concrete walls, remain.

When they're finished it looks much more like what it really is - a prison. But Matteo seems less apprehensive. Maybe just knowing what to expect is enough.

"Dante?" he says as they ascend the stairs back toward rooms with windows and light.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. You didn't have to do any of this."

They reach the first floor hallway. Dante pushes the door shut with his foot and turns to look at him.

"You saved my life, remember?"

Matteo huffs. "I think you made up for that a while ago. This is...more than I have any right to ask for. If there's anything I can do..."

"I really don't mind. You're - "

...can he call him a friend? An acquaintance? Is this thing between them just a series of favors, an exchange of small kindnesses the world has not been so quick to give? A rescue for a rescue. A warm bed for some company. A sip of blood for relief from pain.

"...you're nice to have around," he finishes carefully. It seems a safe enough statement. Neither coming on too strong nor dismissing just how big a change Matteo has brought to his dull life, if only for a little while.

There is that smile again - and then Matteo's arms are around his neck in a tight hug.

"I like being around," he says quickly, shyly.

It's over too soon and Dante is left with the lingering warmth, watching Matteo disappear into the living room and wishing he'd had the nerve to hug back.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night🌙10

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, angry Andy, hormones

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: Another update? Who is this bitch actually trying?

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The bus chugged down the city streets as you sat closer to the back. You stared out the window and watched the grey sky of Nelson hanging overhead, a cloudy backdrop to the smoking city. 

You sighed every now and then, trying to forget the beeping and when it stopped. You still felt Andy’s hand on your back and the suffocating silence of the drive home. The burden of the dead woman on your shoulders.

It was as if it had been years since you saw the slightly crooked pole that held the bright sign. The bus stop was as desolate as ever, the dirty bench marked with spray paint and the shelter glass cracked. You set off around the corner past the house. Each was familiar but not comforting.

Your hips hurt from the stiff ride and you rubbed your stomach. You wore one of Andy’s hoodies under your open jacket, the zipper of the latter no longer meeting. You stopped in front of your parents’ house. You hadn’t asked permission; not from your mother, your father, or Andy. There was no courtesy phone call so you hesitated, afraid you might be sent away.

It was noon. Your father would be in the garage. He always had some project going. That was his work. He was cheaper than any other mechanic in the city, he just did it all from home. He could recycle parts from the junkyard and charge half price. They usually did better than the newer parts sent away for down at the Jiffy.

You walked up the driveway, the garage door was only halfway open, the bite of the late autumn, rather the early winter, mingled with the warmth flowing under the metal. You tapped on it with your knuckles, “dad?” you called.

You stepped back as his oily hands gripped the bottom and he hauled it up entirely. He tilted his head at you but couldn’t hide his smile. He looked at your stomach and you dropped your hand. He drew you to him before you could react. He hugged you tight and rocked you.

“Your mother’s gonna be mad you didn’t call before you came,” he let go of you and looked you over again.

“Mad that I’m even here,” you remarked.

“No, she might act like it but…” he waved you into the garage and rolled over the little stool he sat on when he was working. He helped you sit and put his wrench on the plywood table against the wall, “she missed you. We both did.” he wiped his hands on his jeans, “you could have called us. You know how she is. She feels before she thinks.”

“She kicked me out,” you felt precarious on the little rolling stool, “you let her.”

“So why’d you come back?” he asked.

You hung your head and hugged your stomach, “well, I’m having your granddaughter. I didn’t want you to find out from anyone but me.”

“It’s a girl?” he grinned.

“Sorry, wish I could give you a boy to get all filthy in this place,” you shrugged.

“You never minded getting your hands dirty,” he neared and grasped your shoulder.

“Yeah, guess it doesn’t matter too much, she’ll be as curious as any kid,” you said.

You were quiet as you looked around. Your dad’s rolling chest of tools was dented and rusted, the same one he’d had your whole life. The place hadn’t changed, only the car sitting in it.

“That’s not the only reason you’re here,” he said. Your father was a simple man but he wasn’t dumb.

You frowned and felt a prick in your eyes. The hormones, you told yourself, they were getting to you.

“I need you guys,” you said quietly, “is that so bad?”

“I missed you, you’re mom did too, she’s just stubborn. Think that’s where you get it,” he turned his hand over and held it out to you, “but she won’t turn you away.”

“You sure?”

“I won’t let her. Not this time,” he bent and took your hand, “now come on.”

You let him help you to your feet and he led you through the side door into the house. You heard your mother’s old Patsy Cline CD droning from the box speakers on the shelf as she muttered to herself. 

Your dad kicked the dirty off his boots and you slipped your own off. You followed him and peeked over his shoulder as he went to the living room. Your mother was wiping down the framed picture from your high school graduation.

“I got a surprise for you,” he announced as he stepped aside and beckoned you in alongside him, “and she’s got a surprise for you.”

Your mother turned and froze. Her lips formed a straight line and her eyes pierced you. She didn’t say anything as he stared at you then tossed the dusting cloth onto the table beside the lamp. She looked down at your feet.

“You remembered to take your shoes off,” she said.

Your lips parted and your chest gripped. She was still mad.

“You remembered us,” she swept over to you so quickly, you flinched. She hugged you and her middle met yours. She let go and looked down at your stomach. Her eyes were sad but not angry, “I’m…” she lifted her head and met your gaze, “I’m not good at saying it but I’m sorry.”

You watched her for a minute. She was still her mother as nasty as she’d been. You could see her regret and it coupled with your own. It didn’t fix everything but for her, it was a lot.

“I’m sorry too,” you breathed, “it was… me being stupid started all of this. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“You gotta tell her,” your dad intoned.

You glanced at him then back to your mom. You gulped, “we found out yesterday, it’s a girl.”

“We? And where is… he?” your mother bristled.

“Working,” you said.

“We went to the diner, they said you quit. The café too,” your mom batted away lashes, “please, sit.” She touched your stomach, “you’re so big.”

“Five months, I think,” you said as you let her take you to the old floral sofa, “and the doctor recommended I take it easy so I had to… leave.”

“Oh? Is something wrong with the baby?” she picked up her cloth again and resumed her dusting. Your father quietly excused himself.

“No, just me,” you leaned against the arm, “but they said my blood pressure is getting better, just have to check it now and again.”

“And that man? The least I can say is at least he’s taking responsibility, even if he is married,” your mom hung the picture back on the nail.

“It was a mistake,” you said, “but you know, I think it’s taught me a lot. Not that it was worth it.”

“I don’t mean to rag on you, but… it’s just not how it should be,” she went to the television stand and focused on the edges.

“You think I don’t know that. Mom, I didn’t come here to argue my morality. I came here…” you paused as you felt your phone buzz. You slid it from your jacket pocket and checked the ID; Andy. You ignored it and dropped it back inside, “I just wanted to see if you had any interest in your granddaughter.”

She spun back and her face wrinkled with sadness. She twisted the cloth and retreated to the rocking chair and sat. She chewed her lip and looked at the floor. When she looked at you again, her brows crinkled.

“I’m trying,” she said, “but what you did, I don’t know if I can’t get over that. That man, everyone knows him, and when it comes out, with his wife still in a coma, you don’t think about what that does to us.”

“Well,” your throat constricted and you held back the hot tears bubbling behind your eyes, “she’s not anymore.”

“What?”

“She… she passed last night,” you sniffed, “and I’ll admit that I came here as much for me as you. I just needed… needed to get away. Just for a little.”

Your phone went off again and you grunted as you pulled it out and swiped away the second call from Andy. You kept the phone in your hand and rested it against your thigh.

“I just need time,” your mom leaned back heavily.

“Well, it’s quickly running out,” you replied, “she’s gonna be here soon enough.”

“I know,” she said grimly, “I know.”

There was another silence and your phone twitched. You turned it over and checked the message on the screen; ‘why don’t you invite your parents for dinner if you’re not gonna answer me?’ You let the phone slip between your legs and slowly raised your eyes. How did he know?

“I can go, if it’s too much,” you said, “I didn’t expect to get past the front door, honestly.”

“It’s not-- you’re still my daughter,” she uttered, “and even if it’s not the best situation, you got my granddaughter too.”

Your phone began to shake between your legs and you huffed, “sorry,” you stood with effort as you snatched the phone up, “just a second.”

You went into the dining room and answered. You hissed into the phone, “what do you want, Andy?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going there?” he asked sharply.

“How do you even know? You following me?” you kept your voice low.

“I know, that’s all,” he retorted, “it is… surprising.”

“They’re my parents,” you scowled at the tabletop as you leaned on a chair.

“Mine, too, right? Considering--”

“Andy,” you warned, “come on. Let’s cut this out--”

“Invite them for dinner. You’re right. Our kid will need her grandparents,” he interrupted, “I’ll get off early and help.”

“I don’t think--”

“Invite them,” he demanded, “and don’t take the bus back. I’ll send you the money for a cab.”

“Jesus, I can take care of myself--”

“No, you can’t, which is why you’re sleeping under my roof. And this isn’t about you, it’s about the baby,” he exhaled and you heard a squeak of metal, likely a chair, “Now I want you home by two. I’ll be there shortly after.”

He hung up before you could argue. You closed your eyes and forced down the angry bile in your chest. You shuttered and tucked the phone back in your jacket. How did he know you were there?

🌙

Your parents agreed to dinner. Your mother wasn’t subtle that she was curious to see Andy’s house. Her judgement was always her driving motivation and you were certain she could find something to hate, even in the suburban utopia. 

You took the bus out of defiance and brewed with anger as you got off just outside the cul-de-sac. You walked the single block to Andy’s and paced like an angry lioness inside.

He arrived at three, just after. Your anxiety boiled with anger and you stopped to face him as he entered. You watched him put down his briefcase and hang his long black coat. Your nostrils flared as you braced yourself for the onslaught ready to spill forth.

“So, you weren’t following me?” you challenged.

“I was working,” he said quietly, “to pay for all of this…” he pointed to the ceiling, “and that,” he pointed to your bump.

“No, Andy, you don’t get to do that every time,” you snarled, “how did you know?”

He didn’t answer and brushed by you. You followed him into the kitchen as he went to the coffee machine and pressed the buttons bluntly. You watched him from a foot away, your hand on the cold marble.

“You can’t just ignore me. How did you know I was there?”

“Because…” he grabbed a mug and filled it with water. He poured it into the machine and snapped the lid shut, “because you have my baby and I have a right to make sure you don’t take it from me.”

“That’s not an answer,” you sneered, “Andy, I have done everything you’ve wanted. I have stayed here, I have quit my jobs, I have kept this baby for you, and you… you’re what? Tracking me like a dog?” You reached into your back pocket and slammed your phone on the counter. You slid it over to him, “when did you do it?”

His jaw ticked as he put a pod into the machine and hit start. He tapped his fingers on the counter and let out a long breath through his nose. He turned to you and crossed his arms.

“After you stayed out that night. I couldn’t worry like that again. I had to know,” he said staunchly, “because I’ve had a wife go out and not come back. A child--”

“I’m not your wife and I won’t ever be. This child is all we have in common,” you rebuffed, “even after last night. What you did, that doesn’t change things.”

You nearly tripped as he marched towards you. He had you against the far wall, his hand planted on either side of your head as his anger rippled across his forehead and set his jaw square. You pressed yourself against the pure white wall and tried not to wither.

“I did that for you,” he breathed, “I’ve done everything for you. Don’t act like you’re the only one doing shit.”

“Andy, get away--”

“No,” he punched the wall and you gasped, “my wife is gone. Jacob is gone! This is all I have; you, my daughter…that’s everything and I will be damned if I’m going to let you take any of it away from me.”

“You’re scaring me,” you wisped, “Andy, please--”

“No, you shut up and you listen. This is the last time we have this conversation. Your parents are coming and you’re going to be good. You’re going to wear something nice, you’re going to cook something good, and you’re going to smile. You don’t let them see you crack, not once.”

“You can’t--”

“Enough!” he hit the wall again and you heard it crumple under the force, “if you don’t, they won’t be around. Ever. Do you understand me?” you gaped up at him and trembled, you shook your head in disbelief. He leaned in and spoke softly to you, “Understand that I will make sure you and no one else ever sees them again.”

“You… wouldn’t…”

“I could. I will. You’re fucking bitch of a mom deserves it,” he hissed, “so, honey,” he growled the second word, “what’s it gonna be?”

Your lip quivered and you searched his face. The rage had his blue eyes alight and his breath rasped out like animalistic snarls. You thought of Laurie, of how blank he’d been when they stopped the machines. And that smile, after. What was that?

“I’ll… be good,” you murmured, “I will.”

His lips twitched and he shoved himself away from you. He stomped over to the fridge and took out the light cream. He added it to his mug of fresh coffee and stirred. You stood straight shakily and looked up at the hole beside your head.

“Well,” he said, “better figure out what you’re making for dinner. Our guests won’t be long.”

[gloxiniaflower]

Request reader who is Poseidon daughter is like her papa but had more emotions and she has a crush on Thor but is shy to tell him.

HAVE MERCY ON ME WITH THIS ONE😭 some of it may not be accurate...I think I'll make a 2nd part to this tho

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Thor x reader

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Having a father who is a sleep-deprived god is troublesome, always irritated and never fun.

Y/n and Poseidon were sitting down and reading their books in nothing but silence, the whole place was quiet. Y/n didn't like it, it was too quiet for her liking.

"Whatever you are thinking, I want you to stop it."

Y/n froze, many scenarios went through her head of what would happen. She placed her book down on her lap, "whatever do you mean father?" She nervously smiled, he was terrifying to talk to even as his daughter.

"You haven't flipped a single page for the last 10 minutes, what is it you are thinking of." Poseidon put his book down and stared at his daughter, he didn't like it that his daughter was distracted.

"It's nothing important." She stood up and turned around, she was close to taking a step before a loud noise made her go stiff. Poseidon was standing up with his trident in his hand.

"If it is not important, then why did you stop reading." He demanded

"I was wondering when I would have my weapon." Y/n lied, telling Poseidon about her crush would create a whole day of arguing or fighting.

"Turn around and face me. I didn't teach you to be a coward." His cold tone was already making her tremble in fear, she turned around and faced him. "Repeat what you just said."

"I was wondering when I would have my weapon." She repeated herself, silently grateful that she didn't stutter.

"When you have completed your training then you'll have your weapon," he replied, feeling thankful for him falling for the lie.

"Now, go get ready. We are expecting guests this afternoon and you will escort them here." He told her and walked away, not bothering to tell her who was coming.

Y/n sighed of relief and immediately booked it out of the room, Poseidon was hard to talk to.

Running through the halls and empty rooms, no one else was in the palace except y/n and Poseidon. That God didn't need anyone else nor help, everything is clean and quiet. No interruptions, no laughing, just silence.

Y/n slowed down and took a breather, running up and down the stairs did do a toll on her stamina. "Hundreds of years... endless blood, sweat and tears AND I still can't run up and down stairs like it's nothing." She laughed, oh how funny it was, being Poseidon's daughter didn't mean she was exactly like him.

Sure! She had his hair and eye colour, but she had more personality than her father. Therefore... Higher expectations were on her, she had to be the best of the best and not the lowest.

Hours pass by and it was time for her to go up to the surface, y/n walked out of the castle and walked up the stone path. The water parted as she walked, as she got closer and closer she could see 4 figures. One was levitating off the ground in a bad posture, the second one...she could only see that they didn't have much hair? The third was quite tall and the fourth one seemed to have good posture.

When she stopped in front of the 3 who were Zeus, Hermes, Loki and Thor.

"My, my! Look at how grown up you look!" Zeus exclaimed, excited about seeing his niece. Y/n wanted to smile...but she couldn't, it would break her reputation as Poseidon's daughter. After all, a God does not falter.

"I will be escorting you to the palace, please follow me." Y/n politely said then turned around, Zeus happy-go-lucky-ass ran ahead of her and was out of sight in seconds. Y/n closed her eyes, she was supposed to have them ALL arrive at the same time!

She sighed and opened her eyes, she was greeted with a purple one. Y/n stumbled back and bumped into someone, "you can quit the act now~" Loki smiled, y/n whipped herself around and saw Hermes behind her smiling.

"I do agree with him," Hermes said, y/n was blushing from the embarrassment, Loki was an inch away from her face and she had bumped into Hermes.

"We should get going now, father doesn't like waiting long." She nervously smiled, she was going to get scolded later for that. She walked past Loki and continued to walk down, it got darker as they went deeper and deeper into the ocean. Loki accidentally flew into the water once it got darker and now he was soaked, everyone had stopped when they heard Loki yell.

"Why is it so dark down here?! How do you even see where you're walking!" He exclaimed, he slowly landed on the ground and reached for y/n and grabbed her hand. "I don't feel like walking into it again! So, I'm gonna hold your hand!" He shivered, the water was cold and he was wearing skin ass tight clothes.

Y/n smiled at the trickster's childish behaviour, "you still haven't answered my question!" Loki whined, already starting to feel uncomfortable by the way his clothes felt.

"I can see where everything is and I also live down here." She answered, she tried to keep everything short and she was 3 minutes late already!

When the castle came into view and see Zeus's figure waving at them and Poseidon was standing there with his trident. Y/n let go of Loki's hand and walked faster, the 3 doing the same.

Y/n stopped in front of Poseidon, "it shouldn't have taken you that long." His harsh tone made y/n clench her jaw, "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again, father." She quietly spoke. Poseidon didn't seem satisfied with her answer but decided to let it be, now he had to entertain his brother.

"Y/n, do you mind taking the others and show them around?" Zeus asked, y/n nodded her head and made a hand motion to follow her. The 3 followed her to the other side of the palace and went to the library, the first thing she did was flop onto the couch. "Question! Why are we in a library?" Loki asked as looked at the endless shelf of books, "would you want to sit in a room and stare at random fish? Cause I don't. " Y/n voice was muffled by the pillow.

Hermes was already on the second floor looking for a book, while Thor took a seat on another couch. Y/n quickly sat up on the couch when thor passed her, Loki sat beside y/n and brought his knees to his chest.

"what do you even do while you're here?"

"Train, sleep, cook, read...that's it," Y/n replied, Loki stared at her like she was some monster. "That's all? That is one boring life I say." He joked

"Y/n, do you have any books on deserts?" Hermes said out loud, this caught Loki's attention. He stared at y/n and decided to ask her, "are you allowed to bake here?" He asked, y/n turned to him and raised her eyebrow. "What kind of question is that? Of course, as long as I pick up my mess and make something for father." She happily said, she ran up the stairs to where Hermes.

She scanned the shelf and saw the book....classic, it was on a higher shelf. Y/n turned to Hermes and nervously smiled, "c-can you help me get the book?" She stuttered. Asking for help was something she has never done, rejection is what is holding her back from doing so.

Hermes reached for the book and gave it to her, y/n thanked him and ran back down, she took her seat beside Loki and opened the book. Loki was way too close in Thor's opinion, the trickster knew what he was doing and kept doing it to anger Thor.

And it worked.

Extra!!

"Loki..."

Loki turned to the side, "what?" He asked.

"I forgot to tell you that you have a piece of seaweed in your hair." Y/n pointed at the seaweed that blended quite well in Loki's hair.

"There is a WHAT IN MY HAIR!!"

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

I just had to add Hermes and Loki😗

Hope ya liked it

[nana-sanblog]

You are the only one who can visit Katsuki Bakugou's dorm room (Bakugou x Y/N)

The title, it is what it is.

Bakugou and you have been dating each other for three months now. In most of the time, y'all would just hangout in your dorm room instead of his.

Playing video games (Animal Crossing especially, Bakugou insisted), discussing homework and fighting styles, kissing, snuggling, taking naps together...… You name it.

Speaking of his room, you were curious about that too.

Correction: The rest of 2-A classmates ARE feeling the same way.

Like, what does his room look like? What kind of decoration his room is having? Does his room as emo as he?

No idea, but you gave up on that not long time ago. You thought that it isn't that important though, it's not like how his room look like will stop you from loving your awesome grenade boi.

What? Calling him boom boom boi? You did it before, but he dislikes it, saying that it is so stupid and childish.

For the one who named 'Dynamight' as his hero name, he is the one who talks.

Back to the topic.

The summer holiday arrives, everyone in 2-A Hero course went back to visit their family, except Bakugou and you.

Bakugou's parents went to Hawaii for n-th honeymoon vacation, right before the school holiday starts.

'It must be that old hag's plan, tch.' Bakugou said, but you found him isn't that angry though, hmmm you wonder why.

While your parents who both work as heroes are having a mission in another country, and you don't want to be alone in that big ass bungalow. So, you chose to stay in the dorm instead.

Due to this and due to that, both of you are now staying in your dorm room. Bakugou even brought all his study materials to your room, which now makes your room slightly messier.

'Bakugou monsieur excuse me, your room is just next to mine???' You cried.

'Yeah, so what?' He answered while doing Aizawa sensei's homework.

'Oh.My.God.'

✨The audacity✨

'Take some of your shits outta my room, this room is getting fully occupied.' You put your palm on forehead, sighed at the books and stuffs of Bakugou's that are using most of the walking space in your room.

Bakugou remained silent for a while, when you are thinking about bribing him with some extra hot&spicy ramens, he cut into your mind.

He said:' We are moving to my room then, let's go. 'at the same time, he starts to pack his stuffs, indicating that he was talking about the real shit.

Nani the fuck?

You realised something is going on, you asked him:' R-are we going to your room?' He never let anyone enters his room before though.

Is he okay with that, now you are worried that maybe you went too far, you shouldn't talked to him like that just now.

'Look Katsuki I'm very sorry for nagging at you, it is totally okay if we stay in my room alright? Please babe don't be sad-' You tried to comfort him with a very soft tone, close to a point that you would even use baby toy at him like ‘gugugaga don’t be sad’.

'What the fuck is wrong with you, I'm not, stop being an ass and take your shits to my room. You have 5 minutes.' He said as he left your room with his stuffs, leaving you alone by yourself.

'Hmmm......' Tons of thought are now flying across your mind.

Should you rush to the nearby convenience store to get some rubber?

You have to say, Bakugou is pretty minimalistic; his pillow and blanket are in dark blue color, sunlight in the morning shines through the clean white sheer curtain into the room, while the white wallpaper makes the overall room looks bright and simple.

'The fuck I am thinking about, calm down Y/N, just pack up any thing then go to his room.' You slapped yourself in the face.

Hmmm......

There is a set of dumbbells on the floor, it reminds you of his stiff muscles. As your sight rests on a wooden book shelf, you managed to see something that surprised you.

Romance manga??? You look at Bakugou again, he is still concentrating on his homework. You gulped.

‘Babe, can I read them? These look interesting.’ You asked carefully.

‘Yeah, go ahead.’ He answered with an eye contact with you.

You chuckle, throwing out random questions at him while you are choosing which to read: ‘I like to read manga too, especially romance and shoujo genre, how about you?’

‘I just read it.’ Straight to the point.

‘......’ Being speechless, you then proceed to the next question: ‘You never let anyone enter here though, may I know why?’

‘I hate having those extras in my room, they only cause a mess.’ He answered like there was no second thought.

You quickly proceed: ‘ Then why did you let me be here?’

Bakugou makes that confused grumpy face at you, ‘ Huh?’ he asked, as if you said something stupid just now.

‘You are my girlfriend duh, it is different than those extras.’

‘Which part of it is different though?’ At this point you aren’t asking questions anymore, it’s more like messing with your boyfriend.

‘You are going to be with me for the rest of our life, that’s the fucking difference dumbass, do you need a brain check?’ He yelled, he looks so pissed off, as if what he said is a common sense that everyone should be having.

You blushed, turning you face away from him so that he can’t see your face.

‘Damn, Bakugou.’ You whispered.

Grenade boi is surprisingly good at this, it’s probably thanks to these romance manga.

‘Oi dumbass, you took too long to choose, what’s the problem?’ Bakugou asked.

‘It’s nothing, have you watched the animated one of this manga?’ You show him the cover of a manga. The manga is beat-up, it looks like the owner has read it for many time.

Bakugou wake up from his bed, he look surprised at your suggestion: ‘It has animated?’ he exclaimed.

‘Uhh, yeah, and I bought it from Amazon too.’

‘......’

‘So you wanna watch it or nah?’

‘We are watching that in the living area.’ He looks so determined, as determined as to when he was fighting with villains.

So both of you spent the whole day binge watching that romance anime series while cuddling with each other. Although it’s just the third day of the holiday, you already take it as a splendid one. 

‘Hey Katsuki, I like you.’

‘No shit dumbass, I like you too.’

[viking-raider]

A Raw Heart - *Sensitive! READ THE WARNINGS!*

Summary: You tell Henry about the worst tragedy in your life.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 1,863

Rating: Mature -  Serious Angst, Tragedy, Anguish, Grief, Loss, Death, Hurt/Comfort, Possible triggers

Inspiration: I’ve thought about this story for a long time, and it’s a bit personal.

Author’s Note: Read the Warnings!

You and Henry had been seeing each other for several months, having met at the auditions for Night Hunter. It was the first time Henry had been in your place, over for a nice night in, you left him in your living room long enough to get you both some wine. While you did that, Henry looked around, peeking at stuff, but not invading your privacy, checking out the books you had on your shelves and the photos you had on display around.

He noticed a small Russian doll-like thing on one of your shelves and picked it up, admiring it.

“Henry.” You called, standing on the other side of the room from him, stiff as a board. “Put it down.” You almost hissed at him. “Don't touch it.” You told him, trembling and your voice unsteady. “Please.” You added, your throat tight and tears threatening.

“I'm sorry.” Henry squeaked, putting it back where it was on the shelf. “I was just admiring it. It's really beautiful.” He babbled, nervously. “Where did you get it?” He asked, looking over at you and was caught off guard by the tears dripping down your face.

“It's my son.” You mumbled, struggling to gulp down your tears and emotions.

Henry blinked and his whole body jerked, shocked by your words. “What?” He pushed out, his own throat tight.

“Oh god.” You mewled, realizing what you had said. “Please, leave.” You whimpered, then rushed down the hall to your room, slamming the door behind you and barreling into your bathroom, to drop to your knees in front of the toilet bowl, wrenching violently into it.

Henry carefully opened your bedroom door, hearing your dry heaves, and followed the sound of it. “Hey.” He whispered, kneeling beside you and rubbing your back, his face showing his deep concern for you.

“I as-asked you t-to leave.” You wheezed, panting into the bowl, your heavy tears dripping into it.

“I know you did.” Henry sighed, still rubbing your back in a reassuring way. “But, I can't just leave you like this.” He said, getting up and finding a wash cloth hanging on the towel rack and ran it under the sink faucet. “I never meant to upset you.” He whispered, gently wiping the cool cloth over your temples, forehead and cheeks, even pressing it to the back of your neck for a moment.

“You didn't know.” You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Only a few people know what that is.”

Henry gulped, a pit in his stomach and bit his lip for a moment. “You said...” He took a deep breath. “You said, it was your son.” He said, chewing his bottom lip to bits.

“I did.” You whimpered, sitting down and pressing your back to the side of the cold tub. “When I was twenty, I was dating a guy, but we broke it off. Two months later, I found out I was pregnant with his baby. I told him and he wanted nothing to do with me, or the baby. Shocker of the century.” You chuckled, but whined at how sore your throat was.

“What happened?” Henry frowned, resting back against the vanity, and drawing his knees up.

“Well, I had the usual three options.” You sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “Have the baby and give it up for adopting, keep him or the other option.” You said, glancing at him for a moment, to get the point across. “I wasn't going to the latter thing, wasn't something I could live with. So, over the next eight and a half months, I tossed back and forth between adoption or keeping him. I thought, just before labor happened, that I was going to put him up for adoption. I was twenty, still living at home and had a shit job. What life could I give him, a struggling mother and an absent father.”

You paused for a moment, lost in a memory.

“But, when I finally gave birth to him, and I saw him in all his bloody, messy and screaming glory, I was enamored by him. He was beautiful and perfect, but importantly, he was mine. My son. I made him.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “With a little help, I suppose. But, I made him, with my body, my blood and flesh, inside me for months. It was like, I already knew him and he already knew me.”

“Pals for the ages.”

You smiled and closed your eyes, tears dripping down your cheeks, as you recalled his little face, the warmth and weight of his teeny body in your arms, his smooth and downy skin against your chest. Hearing him coo at you, just before he latched onto your breast and fed, or how he squirmed as you bathed him. You would stay awake for hours, not caring how absolutely wrecked and exhausted you were from the day, to watch him sleep in the little cradle that attached you to the side of your bed. Remembering the first time he laughed, you blew a raspberry on his tummy as you changed his pamper and he became hysterical, filling your ears with that absolutely magical baby laugh, that no matter how horrible your day was going and how shitty you felt, you couldn't help but laugh along too; blowing more and more raspberries against his squirmy body and flailing arms and legs, his face bright with a face splitting grin.

“What happened?” Henry whispered, his voice weak and stomach clenching.

You choked suddenly as the horrible memory strangled you, like it had over the long years. “My boss made me work late one night, so I left him with my mother, she babysat him all the time, he was her first grand-baby and she was almost as wild about him as I was. I was a few hours into my shift, when my mom called, and I knew, instantly, something was wrong. She always called me before she put him to sleep, so I could talk to him and hear his little noises; and she had already done that.”

“Two hours before.”

“She had gone into check on him, and..” You froze, your breathing faltering and gripped the rug beneath you, tearing at it as your grief slammed into you. “He wasn't breathing and wouldn't respond. She called medical services, then called me, while they tried to save him.”

Henry's chin hit his chest, a tight bubble of grief in him. “I'm so sorry.” He whimpered, crushed for you, realizing what he had picked up was indeed your son, his urn. “I'm sorry.” He choked, moving over to you and hugging you against his body, letting you sob into his chest, soaking his shirt with your anguished tears, your heart splitting wails crushing him, like a factory of bricks.

“My boy.” You howled, clinging onto Henry, twisting your hands up in the back of his sweater. “My baby boy.”

“I know.” Henry choked and held you tight, tears dripping from his scruffy jaw and into your hair, rocking both of you. “I know, love. I know.”

“I miss him, Henry.” You sighed and sniffled, looking up at him. “I miss him, with every fiber of my soul and life.”

Henry smiled softly at you, brushing your hair out of your face. “I know you do, sweetheart. I know you do. But, he's still with you. He will always be with you, darling. In your heart and in your soul. Because you made him, with your body, your blood and your flesh, inside of you for months, and he's still in your body, blood and flesh, here and now, forever and always.” He told you, cupping your face in his shaking hands.

“Nothing and no one can ever take that, or him, from you. Even if he's not here with you, physically.”

You looked into Henry's baby blue, bloody shot and teary eyes, sucking your wobbling lip between your teeth, chin shaking as your body was wracked with a wave of new tears and emotions. No one had ever said something like that to you before. Everyone that knew about your son told you to move on, that the pain would pass and lessen, but it only grew worse over the years. Missing out on his first tooth coming in or losing one and sneaking money under his pillow for the tooth fairy, his first steps and word. His first day of school, his first crush on someone, watching him grow tall and do some many things you saw other kids doing. Your mother even suggested finding a guy and having another kid, but that thought horrified you, afraid that the same thing would happen all over again.

But, Henry's words had instilled something in your sore and cracked heart, like putting a plaster on it. He was right, your son might not be here physically anymore, but you had created him with your own body, nestled in your womb, his DNA was yours and it was still alive, so he was still alive, in that way.

“His name,” You said softly, letting go of your trembling lip. “was Julian.”

Henry smiled at you. “It's a beautiful name.” He replied, gently.

It was then, that it struck you, something you had only just realized as you shared a devastating, raw and such a personal moment that you have never shared with anyone else, or even talked about with the people that did, that you tried to avoid thinking about. You had freely given Henry the information about Julian, you had never told any of the guys you previously saw or dated, a few asked about the small, silver and blue urn, but you always changed the subject.

Why had you told Henry about him, so freely, letting down all the thick walls you had built around yourself over the years? You had known him for two months and been only four or five dates, but you felt safe with him; loved, understood and listened to.

Henry wrapped his arms around you and stood you both back up, guiding you back into the living room, sitting you down on the couch, then went into the kitchen, finding two glasses and two bottles of wine on the kitchen counter, obviously you had come into the living room as he picked up Julian's urn to ask which bottle he wanted. He just grabbed one, pulled the cork out of the neck and poured you both a glass, before bringing it out to you; sitting on the couch with you tucked into his warm and protective side. Neither of you said anything, sitting quietly on the couch, sipping your glasses of wine, in silence.

“Thank you.” You whispered, your voice still hoarse from all your crying. “I've been hanging onto that for so long.”

“Of course.” He whispered back, gently kissing your temple. “I'll always be here, if you need to talk it out, or cry it out.” He told you, giving you a tender expression, before hugging you snugly.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Some references to explicitness towards the end

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 16/16 (all chapters)

You were proud of your home.

You had painted the walls yourself, built cupboards and shelves and painted those too. You’d crocheted your own throw blanket and stuffed every single cushion you owned.

You had made room in one corner for a moses basket and built a wine rack for when you had adult guests over.

It was warm and cosy and you often found yourself dozing off on the couch.

Today, in fact, was such an occasion. You opened your eyes to soft light, snuggled up in the same position as when you returned from work. You had taken off your coat and shoes and set aside your purse, meaning to take a couple of minutes before getting up to make dinner.

Clearly, that had not gone according to plan. You sat up with a wince and rubbed the spots of your back that had grown stiff. How long had you been asleep?

You moved to get up from the chair but that was easier said than done. You were, after all, extremely pregnant and even if your center of gravity wasn’t completely displaced, navigating your swollen belly was getting increasingly difficult.

This was your last week at work before you left for maternity leave and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t glad. Your nesting instincts had hit you hard within the past month or so and you’d reshuffled the furniture more times than you could count.

Nezu had been more than accommodating when he brought staff members into the dorms on site. Your dormitories were more like apartment complexes than the shared halls the students lived in. Your apartment was built to very specific requirements, namely that it was sound proofed and made from two apartments merged into one larger one, with doors connecting them together. There was enough room for Hizashi to do his radio show, for a home office, a bedroom for Eri and, more recently, a nursery.

Eri had a room to the left of yours, specifically chosen for easy access when she had nightmares and needed reassurance. You chose the room on the right of yours for the baby. Eri had offered to share her room, though you got the feeling she didn’t understand much about babies in general, let alone night time feeds and diaper changes.

You could hear three sets of voices coming from the nursery and you waddled towards it, clasping one hand over your belly and the other on your hip for balance.

Hizashi, Shouta and Eri were in the middle of building a crib, Hizashi leaning over the half finished frame, Shouta holding out tools and Eri sitting cross legged in the nursing chair, squinting at an upside down set of instructions.

“Are you sure that’s the right screw?”

“Positive.”

“It’s just that...I need five of them. How many do you have there?”

“One.”

Hizashi was a lot better at DIY projects than Shouta, thanks in part to how much of his time he spent building sound rigs and fixing his equipment. You could have lingered in the doorway forever, just watching them, though your back and ankles were already beginning to protest.

“Having fun?”

Eri gasped in happiness at the sight of you standing there, launching herself out of the nursing chair and reaching for your hand.

“We’re building the baby’s bed,” she said, hopping on the spot as you lowered yourself into the chair. “They’re following my instructions!”

“So I see,” you said. “Looks like you’re being very helpful!”

“We couldn’t do it without ya, Eri,” said Hizashi, before turning back to Shouta. “How many do you have now?”

“ One .”

“That can’t be right.”

Hizashi sat up and shuffled across to Shouta, counting out the screws and other materials.

“One,” he said, turning the screw over in his hand. “Why would they only give us one ?"

“Probably so we’d have to go back and spend more money,” said Shouta.

You sat back in your chair and rubbed your hand over your belly, glancing round at the near complete nursery. Everyone had contributed something; all four of you (and several others) had made your mark on this room.

Hizashi had assembled just about everything, from the changing station to the bookcase to the nursing chair you were currently sitting in. The very same day you told him you were pregnant, he came home with an armful of toys, almost all of which were sound related and certainly far too advanced for a newborn, though he refused to hear it. He’d also bought a music player and specialised headphones so that he could play music or voice recordings through your belly. It had become his favourite thing to do ever since your bump got noticeable, mostly because it almost never failed to make the baby kick.

Eri (under supervision, of course) had painted rainbows, clouds and kitties on the walls, as well as a picture of her and the baby enjoying a basket of apples. She didn’t know much about babies, much less what this one would look like, so her painting looked a little like a potato. She’d been something of a bad influence on Shouta, too, who couldn’t refuse her at the best of times, much less when she was pointing out cute onesies.

Shouta supplied almost all of the stuffed animals in the room, as well as the mobile you planned to hang above the cot. You hadn’t realised just how many baby toys, clothes and equipment were cat themed until Shouta bought almost all of them.

Nemuri’s gift lurked in the corner; an enormous teddy bear with glass eyes and a tartan scarf. It was almost as tall as you were and possibly the most hideous thing you had ever seen, but she and Hizashi had both smiled so widely when she brought it over that you had had little choice but to put it next to the bookshelf.

Your colleagues at UA (with the exception of Shouta and Hizashi for obvious reasons) had gifted you a storybook, with buttons at the side. They had recorded themselves speaking the lines and sometimes, when you wanted a giggle, you pulled it off the shelf and pressed the buttons yourself.

You had overseen everything without picking up quite as many individual items, though in your defense you were contributing the baby.

“That reminds me,” you said aloud without meaning to, “just a second…”

You had done something a little special, something you had been working on for weeks and couldn’t wait to hand over.

You climbed up out of the chair and waddled into the bedroom, coming back with a box you’d gone so far as to wrap with a ribbon.

“What is it, doll?”

“I got the test results back a few weeks ago,” you said with a grin, holding the box out towards them. “I was wondering how to tell you...so I made this.”

Due to your somewhat unique circumstances, you had gone through much of your pregnancy without knowing the identity of the father. You knew it was either Shouta or Hizashi, but couldn’t put that on the birth certificate.

You’d sent samples of your blood and Hizashi and Shouta’s saliva to be tested, though as far as they knew, that was where the story ended.

Both of them eyed the box in your arms, knowing that whatever was inside it would change the course of your futures. One of them was about to become a father, biologically speaking.

Eri didn’t fully understand the situation, but she did understand the concept of presents.

“Can I see?” she cried out.

“Sure, sweetie, why don’t you open it?”

You handed the box to Eri and sat back down in your nursing chair, watching in anticipation as she unfastened the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Maybe it was the hormones, but you’d been thinking about Ego a lot lately. You remembered glasses shattering against the floor, remembered your heart shattering into just as many pieces.

“It’s a onesie,” Eri cried out, dragging the black fabric out of the box.

“Sure is, honeybun,” said Hizashi. “What else is in there?”

It had been years since that night at the bar that changed everything and up until then you hadn’t been the biggest believer in destiny.

“Look,” said Eri, dragging out a small, grey strip of fabric, “it’s a scarf! Oooh, and there’s goggles!”

“That’s right! It’s a hero costume.”

You remembered how long you had shivered inside of a toilet stall, scrubbing away a stranger’s cum. You’d panicked, the reality of what you had done sinking in. You had never been so happy as when you got your next period; you didn’t even complain about the breakout and hellish cramps that came along with it.

You planted a hand on your belly, unable to stroke your son’s hair and so settling for his general vicinity.

Needless to say, you were a believer now.

[daisylore-au]

The Revival — Day Three, Part Four

almost everyone except two people said to try to look around the room !! so here we go :)) get ready for the fun twist at the enddddd

warnings: body / eye horror, emotional distress

She can’t panic. She has to hold onto hope.

Taking a few shaky deep breaths, Daisy manages to ease one hand out of the vines to wipe her face and eyes, moving slowly and doing her very best to stay relaxed. It’s hard, especially in this circumstance, and quickly, the vines, sensing her movements, begin to tighten again, so she stops moving completely, eyes darting around the room instead.

It’s dark — really dark now. It had only been morning when she’d left the house, and she has no idea how it got dark so quickly, but time doesn’t really exist in this place, she supposes, so maybe the Not-George controls it all. In any case, purple moonlight shines in from the window a few feet from her bed, and the door to the other side is locked — no way out, Daisy thinks, feeling her fear begin to rise again.

And that’s when she sees something wiggle out of the corner of her eye. Heart racing, suddenly stiff as a statue, Daisy watches the shadow prowl closer, low to the ground and with dripping fangs. It gets to the end of her bed, and she can’t help but flinch back, closing her eyes—

The pressure of the vines wrapping round her ankles disappear.

“Meow,” comes a muffled, bored voice. “It’s me. The Cat.”

“I told you—” Someone splutters. “—to stop saying meow. You sound silly.”

Daisy’s heart rises in her chest. “Darian? Wilbur?” She whispers, as loud as she dares. When she opens her eyes, Wilbur leaps onto his stomach, beginning to bite carefully at the vines around her wrists and arms — the vines go limp almost instantly, and Daisy almost cries in relief. “You came. You came for me.”

“We couldn’t exactly leave you there,” Darian says, disgruntled, and spitting out another handful of petals, “you’re our friend. Well. You’re my friend. Uh—”

He awkwardly gestures to his eyes, which are blindfolded in the centre of the flower.

“Turns out the flowers are sort of evil. They’re watching us, which is why I’m covering my eyes. An’ it’s why Wilbur ate all the flowers in your room. It’s why we took so long actually helping you.”

Daisy sits up slowly with a wince, and turns her gaze incredulously to Wilbur. “You ate them?”

“I haven’t had a corporeal body in over five years,” Wilbur sniffs, haughtily, “let me have fun.”

With a flick of his tail, he jumps towards the door, pawing at it once. Daisy swings her legs out of bed, making her way to the door, followed by Darian, and feeling anxiety begin to eat away at her heart.

“How do we open it?” She whispers, placing her hand on the door. “It’s—”

The lock clicks open. Unsettled, Daisy stares at it, uncomprehendingly.

“This is your Void we’re in, Daisy.” Wilbur turns to face her, eyes glowing in the growing darkness. “These are your darkest fears and most twisted versions of memories. You can do a lot more than you think you can here. Remember that.”

“Thank you for being cryptic, Catbur,” Darian mumbles sarcastically, reaching forwards for him, and Wilbur sighs, but jumps into his arms, “we need to get out of here. Let’s try all the rooms.”

The first two they come to are locked. Frowning, Daisy peeks ahead at the third door, which is slightly ajar, gesturing for Darian to follow her through and linking hands with him to guide him blind. They close the door shut behind them, taking a deep breath — they have a feeling if they’re not careful, Not-George will appear, and that’s the last thing they want.

“Look for a key.” Wilbur climbs around Darian’s arms to settle on his shoulder, blinking down at Daisy, “the Void likes games. Look for keys to the other rooms — and you might find other things instead.”

RULES OF THIS PART

each vote can pick three places from the below list to look for a key !! each place has an item hiding in it — just not necessarily the item you want. if you pick a place with a Bad Item, daisy and darian lose a “life” in the game, and if you lose all three lives, Not-George finds them. if they find a Good Item, they gain a “life”, and if they find a Neutral Item, nothing happens, but new information is gained. i hope this makes sense !!

the three places with the top votes will be chosen. if none of those are the place with the key, then we’ll go again until you get it or lose all three lives!! ready?? good luck!!

UNDER THE DESK

ON THE DESK

ON THE SHELF

BEHIND THE CABINET

BOOKSHELF

UNDER THE LOOSE FLOORBOARD

IN THE CHEST

(pick up to three places ! you have fifteen minutes!)

[wiredlogan]

The Midnight Visit

11:59.

My weary, dry eyes stared in defeat at the red numbers portrayed on the alarm clock. The eerie glow reflected against the shelf it sat on. 

12:00.

Through my blurry vision, I could just see the numbers switch and PM shift to AM. 

I rolled over to face the ceiling. Sleep was just not in the near future for me, even though my eyelids felt heavy and my brain was foggy.

I was worried yet again, but this time, with good reason. 

My parents were gone for the weekend, and almost everyone else had hurried off to tend to an emergency, so we were alone because someone had to “guard the house.” 

Next to me, I could see the rhythmic undulations of two bodies breathing. 

I knew Onrenya would be sleeping by now-- sleeping was as natural to Onrenya as blinking. She could pass out anywhere, anytime. Zenna, though, I expected to be awake. She was usually so diligent and alert, but for some reason had thought it safe to let her guard down tonight. That should’ve put my mind at ease, but it only left me more on edge. 

In an attempt to calm my anxiety, I pulled myself upright. I met the gaze of the only other living soul awake-- Ivory. 

The fluffy, white cat blinked slowly at me, and I couldn’t help but notice her usually round, gentle eyes were now slitted, and her ears were pulled back.

Letting out a strained sigh, I swung my legs over the bed. I hesitated a bit when it creaked as it always did. My eyes flicked behind me. 

Zenna remained still, lying on her back, arms stiff and straight at her sides. Onrenya sprawled across half the bed, hair shooting in every direction, drool dripping from her lips.

I pulled myself from the blankets and silently slipped to my feet, hugging my chest. I slowly shifted towards the window. 

My reflection stared back at me in the glass. I just stood there for a moment, examining the green trees bathed in silver moonlight.

I jumped a bit when Ivory brushed her head against my leg. She let out a soft meow and jumped onto the window sill in front of me. I scratched her forehead and continued to watch, not really expecting to see anything. 

But I did see something.

At the base of the screened room, just on the outskirts of the treeline, something moved. 

My heart clenched. I spun around, snatched my glasses from the dresser, and again squinted out the window. Ivory must have noticed my urgency, because she leaped gracefully from the ledge and tucked herself behind my legs. 

My breath began to labor. I recognized the spikey black hair, shimmering with Nightmaresand. 

I leaped back to the bed and bent over Zenna to shake her. But as soon as my fingers touched her shoulder, her eyes popped open. 

Ivory leaped on top of Onrenya and frantically began to bat at her face. Onrenya groaned and rolled over, nearly throwing the cat off the bed. 

“Logan, what’s going on?” Zenna asked urgently. 

“Pitch is here!” I whispered through a pant. 

Zenna’s face suddenly darkened. She leaped from the bed. “We have to get out of here.”

“There’s no time.” I argued. “They’re right outside, and they’re probably all over the house.

Onrenya still refused to wake up, so Ivory unsheathed her claws and stuck them into the sleeping girl’s cheek. She shot up, mouth wide to scream, but Zenna clapped her hand over her face.

“Pitch is here,” I whispered.

Onrenya’s eyes flew wide, and she groaned against Zenna’s palm, “This guy doesn’t know when to give up.”

“Come on, we have to hide, now!” Zenna insisted, pulling Onrenya off the bed. 

I picked up Ivory, and we raced out the door, then hustled ourselves into the living room.

Zenna ushered Onrenya and me into the space behind the TV. We scrunched together in the corner, panting. 

The mass of wires coiled around our legs as we huddled close together. Zenna peered around the edge, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed.

“I have an idea,” she murmured. “It’s kinda risky, but it could work, and we don’t have many other options.”

Onrenya and I exchanged glances.

. . .

Pitch’s feet hit the rug with silent grace. He stepped through the window.

He scanned the room as Alvah and Omeg slipped inside behind him. Everything seemed empty, but there were a few tell-tale signs that the room had been recently inhabited. The sheets were strewn across the floor and tangled on the mattress. Upon his touch, the bed felt warm.

“They’re still here,” he murmured to his companions. “Be quiet.”

Alvah and Omeg nodded seriously, and Pitch led them down the steps.

In the foyer, Pitch waved his fingers. His sand swirled into the shape of a crossbow, arrow strung and ready to fly.

Suddenly, there was a crash from the kitchen.

Omeg jumped, and Alvah glared at him with a sneer. Jutting out his bottom jaw, Alvah paraded himself into the kitchen. 

Omeg’s hackles bristled, and he shared a glance with Pitch.

Alvah returned and held out a large metal bowl to Pitch. He took it, turning it over.

“It must have just fallen,” Alvah declared.

But Pitch’s brow furrowed deeply. “No. I know how these girls work by now. This was a distraction. I bet it reeks of their scent. Omeg, would you-”

Pitch’s sentence trailed to a halt. Omeg was gone.

“Omeg?” Pitch hissed. “Omeg!”

“Wait,” Alvah whispered. “Listen. Do you hear that?” His eyes flicked to Pitch’s feet. 

The tile below him budged a bit, and he had just enough time to connect eyes with Alvah before the floor disappeared from under him. 

Pitch plummeted into darkness. He just caught a glimpse of Alvah sliding down after him, and then the light of the foyer disappeared.

. . .

We followed Zenna’s plan step by step, just like she insisted. Everything had gone how we expected.

We had set up in the basement, right below the foyer, and when we finally heard footsteps above us, we went to work.

Onrenya and I yanked the tile from the foyer floor above us, and Omeg tumbled in. Zenna slapped tape over his mouth and covered every inch of him in rope. 

Now, he lay thrashing on the floor, with Ivory standing guard beside him. Onrenya maneuvered her ladder under Pitch’s tile.

It seemed that once again, Zenna’s wits had pulled through.

Onrenya screamed. 

The ladder tipped, and I just managed to catch her before her head slammed against the cement ground. The two of us collapsed together.

Pitch plunged through the hole, but after him followed Alvah. His brown eyes glittered malevolently as he hit the ground before us.

“I’ll get them,” Alvah growled to Pitch as he handed him a small wooden tube and a few darts.

“I’ll find Omeg,” Pitch replied.

Before I could see anymore, I scooped up Ivory and ran. Onrenya, Zenna, and I dashed for the exit.

Suddenly, Onrenya gasped.

I spun around. Horror filled me to see my friend collapsed on the ground with a tranquilizer dart jutting from the back of her neck.

“Onrenya!” I yelled, skidding to a halt.

“Get out!” Zenna demanded. “I’ll get her!”

I sprinted for the door, hurtled up the steps, and leaped out the door into the night air.

Zenna appeared next to me, holding unconscious Onrenya. She placed the girl gently in the grass, threw the basement doors shut, and barred the handles with a tree branch.

Alvah slammed into the other side, growling viciously. 

I set Ivory on the ground. “Dragon, Ivory!” I urged. “Quick!”

Ivory nodded, and I held out my hand towards her. I concentrated my thoughts, honing in on her composition. Her body began to change. Her fur flattened into scales, and her body broadened. 

Alvah burst through the doors, Omeg and Pitch by his side. His nostrils flared, and his eyes shone with venomous rage.

Before he could even raise the blow dart, Zenna tackled him with a long piece of broken branch.

My concentration broke, and Ivory shrank back into a cat. I grunted, forcing my eyes away from the scuffle. 

Behind me, Zenna whipped at Alvah with the branch. The blow dart tumbled from the man’s hand. Alvah roared and grabbed Zenna’s shoulders.

Omeg bent down and snatched the tranquilizer. He took aim as Alvah held Zenna against the ground. He shot the dart, but fortunately completely missed and instead jabbed Pitch in the leg. 

The Nightmare King had just a moment to glare before collapsing. 

Alvah scoffed, “Omeg, you worthless-”

His words abruptly cut off when Zenna’s knuckles slammed against his chin.

By now, Ivory had finally changed, and a white dragon was looming over me. 

I grabbed Onrenya by the arms and, with Ivory’s help, hauled her onto the dragon’s back. I called for Zenna and hopped on. Ivory took flight.

While Alvah nursed his bleeding mouth and Omeg attempted to shake Pitch awake, Zenna raced for the flying dragon and leaped.

She fell short only a few inches, but Ivory was able to snag her by the shirt and haul her up onto her shoulders. 

But Alvah wasn’t done yet. He raced after us and propelled himself into the air. His hand closed around Zenna’s ankle. 

Zenna jerked sideways. She just managed to catch herself, and Alvah dangled below.

Thinking quickly, I snatched the tranquilizer from Onrenya’s neck and stabbed it into Alvah’s hand. He gasped and, in shock, released Zenna. He plummeted. 

I stared in horror as he collided against the ground with a bone-breaking jerk. But his vicious, glaring eyes told me he was still alive.

Within a few wing beats, we were over the treetops, gliding away from the house and the danger.

Alvah chased us until finally, he disappeared beneath the undergrowth.

All that was below us now were tiny lights of homes and cars. 

I closed my eyes and leaned into Ivory’s neck, allowing my panting to calm. 

Soon, the peaceful surroundings soothed my wildly thumping heart. I lifted myself up. We were safe now. 

I felt the cool summer air whip through my hair. The sound of Ivory’s wings beating caressed my ears, and the feeling of her muscles rippling beneath my legs calmed me to numbness. For a moment, it all slipped away, like the battle had never taken place. 

Unfortunately, the repercussions still remained.

I caught a glimpse of Zenna. Across her upper back stretched an ugly, raw claw mark, bleeding into her shirt. 

“Zenna, oh my gosh!” I gasped. “Are you ok?”

Zenna winced. I could barely see her expression in the shadows cast by the moon and the hundreds of glimmering town lights below us.

“I’m alright,” she whispered in a hoarse voice. “I’m alright.”

I didn’t believe her. Her face was awfully pale, apparent even in the darkness. Her deep cuts had to be smarting.

I took one glance back and forth between her and Onrenya, then learned down to Ivory’s ear. “I think we’re gonna have to visit Aila.”

A rumble sounded deep within the dragon cat’s throat.

She shifted her wings, and we headed away from the lights of the town.

[skywalkerstyles]

Kissing Lessons pt5

Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Readee

Warnings: domestic violence, abuse, angst

A/N: not proofread

I hear voices.

“Officer, I know you’re just doing your job...But there’s no reason she needs to go into the system.”

“Are you sure ma’am?”

“Officer. I’ve raised this girl as if she were my own since she was six years old. She is family. She will stay with us.”

It sounds like Mitsuki.

“You may collect any items she may need from her home now, an officer is on standby there but you will have to be quick.”

“I’ll go.”

“I’ll go with you. I know what she’ll want to keep.” There’s shuffling, movement. I can’t open my eyes. I want to tell them no. Leave everything. Burn that house of hell to the ground.

“I need to call the office and tell them I’m not coming in. Katsuki you can go if you’d like. I’ll have your father send Mei after they are done at Y/N’s house.”

“Someone should stay with her….I’ll stay. I want to be here when she wakes up.”

Katsuki’s mom puts salve on my cut. Her hands are soft and gentle. She smiles at me kindly as she puts a bandaid over it.

“Be careful with those kids. I know you’re playing but you can get seriously hurt. They are a bit bigger than you dear.” I smile shyly at her, she kisses my cheek and I sprint back towards the back yard to play tag.

My fingers twitch. I flex them, I still feel locked inside my body, I can’t open my eyes, but I can feel again. Am I dead? I hear someone shift beside me. Who is that?

"Katsuki? Why don’t you go home? You don’t have to go to school. Just go home and rest.”

“I’m staying till she wakes up mom….Please.”

“She’s a good girl. She’ll be alright.”

“I hope so…”

“Tell me son. Why didn’t she come home last night?” Home? I did go home. “She never goes over to that place. Did something happen? Was there a fight or an argument?”

“Mom...I….There’s something I need to tell you-”

“H...Home…” my words are hoarse and thick as I manage to finally speak. Slowly I open my eyes, taking in the room around me.

It’s white, sparse, and smells heavily of antiseptics. I see Mitsuki standing at the edge of my bed, and Katsuki himself, sitting in a chair beside me. He’s holding my hand, I don’t think he notices my eyes flicker towards our intertwined fingers. He leans forward, closer to my face, eyes wide and filled with worry.

“Y/N?” Before he can say anything else his mother is by the other side of me, kneeling down.

“Oh sweetheart.” she says, she reaches out and touches my cheek, a dull throbbing starts in my abdomen, I inhale sharply and shift with discomfort. “Are you alright?” she asks, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“Wha...What happened?” I ask, everything is fuzzy, cloudy. Mitsuki is hesitant, she doesn’t want to tell me? Is it that bad? She clears her throat.

“Honey you….Your dad….” a strange sensation of dread washes over me. Memories come flooding back. My mother and father fighting. The gun. The blood. Knocking on the their front door.

My eyes become blurry with tears, I take my hand away from Katsuki, who released me with ease, and wipe my face.

“They’re dead aren't they.” I say flatly. “My parents are dead.” she doesn’t need to say anything. Her face confirms it. I sigh, trying to sit up, I’m tired of laying down.

“Easy.” Katsuki grabs my arm and slowly helps me sit up, while his mother places the pillows beneath my back. I groan as doing this causing the pain in my stomach to sharpen. I flinch, Katsuki doesn’t let go of me.

“Ouch” I moan, leaning back against the pillows. “So...What happens to me now?” I ask his mom, Katsuki’s hand slides down my arm to take my hand again, I let him.

“Well….I told the Officer we would take you. You pretty much live with us anyway so it wouldn’t be much of a change….You can come home.”

“Home?” I ask. She smiles.

“Yes. Our home is your home. It always has been.” I smile, tears falling down my cheeks. I can go home. To my real home.

“Thank you,” I reach out and she wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly. She kisses the side of my head.

“I need to go and call your father Katsuki, will you stay with her?” He nods as his mother gets up to leave. We sit in silence, he plays with my fingers absently.

“Katsu...I….” I don’t know what to say, there’s a lot I should say, but I can’t think.

“You really….You really scared us you know,” he says, looking up at me. His face is pale and there are dark circles under his eyes. “We thought we were gonna lose you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why did you go there after school? Why didn’t you come home?”

“Because….” I take a deep breath, pulling my hand from his, “Because I couldn’t stand the awkwardness.” I reach up, running my hand over my face. “You just pulled back and...I know it’s my fault. I did it to myself. But….” my voice cracks. “Katsuki you are one of my best friends. And I don’t want to lose you. I want things to be like they were. Before I asked you for kissing lessons, when we could just hang out….I don’t want to lose-” he cuts me off, pressing his lips to mine tenderly. My eyes slide shut, all the feelings I have for him bubble up, I’m so confused.

“You’ll always be my best friend Y/N. That’ll never change.” he says as he pulls away, a soft smile on his lips. “And you can always talk to me. About anything. We’re okay.” I sigh with relief and nudge his forehead with mine.

“I love you Katsuki."

“Tch. Of course you do.” our moment is interrupted by a knock on the door. I look up to see Ash, he’s standing awkwardly with a bouquet of white roses. Katsuki pulls away from me immediately. Ash smiles sheepishly, holding the flowers up.

“I heard what happened….Wanted to make sure you were alright.” Katsuki stands up stiff and rigid, he walks towards the door.

“I’ll go find a vase for these,” he takes the flowers from him. “Give you two a minute alone.” He smiles at me again, making my heart flutter, before leaving me alone with Ash. Ash takes Katsuki’s seat. He looks worried, upset.

“I’m so sorry about your parents,” I feel my jaw twitch. I take the hurt I feel and ball it up, shoving it to the pit of my stomach.

“I think it was going to happen one day….They weren’t good for each other,” I pause, “Or themselves.” Ash takes my hand in both of his, he runs his thumb over my knuckles.

“There’s still so much I don’t know about you. I wanna know. I wanna know everything….But I understand why you wouldn’t tell me about your home life.”

“It’s embarrassing,” I say with a smile. He chuckles.

“Yeah. I guess it would be.” He leans in and kisses me, pressing his lips to mine softly, I let my eyes slide closed and relax into it. “I was so scared.” he echoes Katsuki’s words from earlier. “But that fear made me decide something.”

“What?”

“Homecoming.” I look at him confused. “Homecoming is a month away….If you feel up to it, I’d like to take you.” my mouth falls open in shock and surprise. I was not expecting that, but he looks confident and sure of himself.

“Sure,” he grins, kissing me again. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me excitedly, I smile into it. “That sounds great.”

Katsuki knocks on the door, Ash pulls away from me as he walks in. He sets the flowers down by my bed. They really are beautiful. Ash stands.

“I should probably let you rest,” he says to me, the look of excitement on his face is endearing.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“Thank you for saying yes.” he turns on his heel, leaving the room with a pep to his step. He sits back down, he opens a bag of chips and holds it out to me. I take one.

“What’d you say yes to?” he asks curiously. I shrug.

“He asked me to Homecoming. I said I’d go.” He nods, we don’t speak again for a little bit. Quietly munching our chips and watching television.

“Y/N.” he says during a commerical break.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not going to say you shouldn’t go. It’s not my place….But I just...I get weird vibes from that guy. Be careful, please. We almost lost you once. We…I mean.....I don’t want to know what it feels like to actually lose you. Okay?” I don’t know where this is coming from, but his face is dead serious.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Someone needs to.” I chuckle. He faces the tv again and we sit in comfortable silence.

I am released from the hospital a week later. One of the Bakugou’s was with me at all times. I was asked about my parents by the police. They were cremated. They asked if I wanted the ashes. I said no. Katsuki helped me to the car when I was finally released. Going to their home, my home, was like entering a dream. One I’d been wishing for my whole life. A place where I belonged.

Nothing really changes. Mei and I always share a bed so they don’t blow up the air mattress, their dad gets another dresser for me to put my clothes and Mei cleans off her book shelf for my books. This is contentment. This is normalcy.

“I’m so glad you can come back to school. I was dying without you,” Mei says dramatically as I slam my locker shut. My stitches are healing well, as long as I take it easy I can go to school. No gym class though, I am not complaining.

“I’m sure you were just fine.” we make our way to the cafeteria for lunch.

“Really Y/N,” she smiles and nudges my shoulder. “I missed you.”we sit at our normal spot and wait for Kai and Ash to show up. Ash called me alot at home, and came by a few times. Everyone seems to really like him, except forKatsuki, I don’t know why, but his warning pops into my head every time I am alone with Ash.

“Hey beautiful.” Ash wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses me dramatically. I hear Mei make a gagging sound and flip her off teasingly as he pulls away. “How’s your day going?”

“It’s good.”

“Guess who’s having another party this weekend?” Kai says, pointing at himself. I roll my eyes, Mei does too.

“Really? You have a party almost every weekend.” I snicker when she says this. Ash takes my hand, holding it under the table.

“Well this one is gonna be big! Epic! I swear it.” he kisses her cheek and points at me and Ash. “You two gotta be there.” Ash looks to me, I hadn’t been out since the shooting.

“What do you say? It could be fun.” I nod, giving in.

------------------

“Mei!" Kai meets us at the door, throwing his arm around his girlfriend and shoving a beer into her hands. “What took you so long?”

“We got held up at home.” I said, Kai barely acknowledges me. Dick. “Is Ash here?” I ask. He nods, bringing his beer to his lips.

“Yeah, he’s upstairs I think.” I question it for a second and then think maybe he’s in the bathroom. I leave Mei and Kai in the foyer and make my way up the steps of Kai’s house. The base from the stereo vibrates through my body. The music is loud. Always loud.

I start knocking on doors and shouting Ash’s name through them. When I get to the door at the end of the hall I press my ear to it. I can hear shuffling. I knock tentatively and try the door handle. “Ash? Is that you?” I push the door open.

Ash looks up at me alarmed, a blonde girl, Tiffany, pulls away from him smugly, her arms still around his shoulders. I can feel my heart cracking in my chest.

“Y/N?” Ash stutters. “It’s not what it looks like-” I turn, sprinting down the steps, I can hear him following me.

“Leave me alone!” I shout as I burst out of the house and into the night air. I can hear him following me quickly, shouting my name, anger becoming more and more evident in his voice. Suddenly I feel his hand, not so gentle, not so kind, on my upper arm. He yanks me around to face him, grabbing my chin in his hand.

“When I tell you to stop, You fucking Stop!” I flinch, his voice sounding very much like my father’s, I feel my body tense up, my jaw is aching from how tightly he’s holding it. His breath smells like alcohol and his pupils are dilated.

“Ash.” I whimper, “Let me go.” He holds me tighter, digging his fingers into my elbow.

“If you ever fucking run from me like that again….”he warns. He doesn’t finish, he doesn’t need too. My head is spinning, he was such a nice guy, so nice to me, I don’t know who this monster in front of me is. He glares at me and lets go of me forcibly. I stumble back and he pulls out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a slow drag. I stand there, afraid if I move I’ll set him off again. We stand in the middle of the empty street, the noise of the party behind us. No one is outside. So no one saw.

Finally he shakes his head, flicking his cigarette away. He comes close to me again, I flinch when he caresses my cheek with the back of my hand, I feel sick.

“You look tired,” he sounds concerned. “You don’t need to be here. I’ll tell Mei you went home.” He kisses me, I don’t kiss him back, to stunned to move. “Go straight home. You go anywhere else...I’ll know.” he doesn’t look back as he leaves.

The kitchen light is on when I come home. I shut the door quietly and try to tip tioe to the room I now share with Mei .I’m shaken, I don’t know what to do, my mind is spinning. How could someone be so sweet and then turn into such a monster. My heart aches from finding him with that girl, and my mind is reeling from the threat he made.

“Y/N.” I stop in my tracks. Of course Katsuki’s still awake. He’s a night owl on the weekends. He comes into the hall, turning the light on. I turn my face away, trying to hide how shaken I am. “You’re early.” he says. I shrug.

“H...He wasn’t there. I decided to come home.” Katsuki reaches for me and I move away out of instinct, wrapping my arms around myself. I refuse to look at him.

“Hey,” he says, no doubt surprised by my reaction. “You okay?” before I can stop him his hands are on my face, they’re nothing like Ash’s. Katsuki’s hands are soft, and kind. He tilts my face up and I watch as anger washes over his features. He narrows his eyes, and when he drops his left hand, grazing my arm I flinch and hiss. Shit.

“Katsuki I-”

“What happened to your face?” He gently pushed my jacket off my shoulders and down my arm, I can see the purple bruise forming clearly. “What the fuck Y/N?” I pull away from him, my face to the ground and pull my jacket back up. “Ash was at that party wasn’t he?” I shake my head. His eyes are dangerous, his voice barely kept quiet as anger rolls off him.

“I fell. You know how clumsy I can be.”

“Y/N.”

“Katsuki stop. Please,” my voice is pleading, I need to be alone, I need to clear my head. “Please I’m tired….I just want to take a shower and go to sleep." Katsuki opens his mouth, ready to say something else but thinks better of it. He shakes his head, irritated but doesn’t press.

“Whatever you say Y/N.” tears burn my eyes as he walks back into the kitchen.

The water is warm, I let it was away all my anxiety. I examine myself in the mirror when I finish, there’s a few small bruises where Ash grabbed my face, my arm got the brunt of it. I make excuses for him in my mind and take a shaky breath. He had been drinking. Maybe he was really drunk, maybe that girl seduced him. Maybe he didn’t mean it. He didn’t know what he was doing.

Katsuki P.O.V

I ask Mei the next morning when she comes home if Ash was at that party. She tells me that he was. My blood is boiling. I know he put his hands on her. I know he did, but she won’t tell me. Y/N avoids me all day, I don’t take my eyes off of her. I want to protect her, I want to take care of her. She’s been through so much...I just wish she trusted me with this. I wish I had proven myself worthy of her trust.

I decide to keep an eye on her, and Ash. If I see him do anything….it won’t end well.

[dccomicsimagines]

Christmas Surprises - Barbara Gordon x Reader - Part Two

Part One

Requested by Anon -  Hey, I was wondering if you could do a sequel to the Barbara Gordon x Male Reader Christmas fic you did? Have it be a Christmas setting again and have it be where it takes place a couple years later and babs and reader having another Christmas party where they invited everyone and their kids are toddlers now and reader has been really busy fighting crime and babs worries that he won’t be there for Christmas and a miracle happens and reader happens to get there on time and it’s super fluff :)

***

“Higher, Daddy.” Mary screamed in delight as you held her above your head and spun her around. 

“Always the daredevil.” You laughed, blowing a raspberry into her cheek. 

Barbara walked into the living room with your suitcase in her hand. “Are you sure you have to go? It’s so close to Christmas.” You set Mary down. Mary ran over to the Christmas tree to look at the carefully wrapped presents. It was a habit of hers. 

“Sorry, sweetheart.” You pulled Barbara into your arms, kissing her passionately. She sighed, returning your kiss. Your voice dropped to a whisper. “Dick needs me on this one. He got into a big mess when he went undercover for Spiral.” 

Barbara snorted. “He’s always getting into messes. It’s the Grayson way.” She looked into your eyes. “You’ll call if you need help and you’ll be back in time for Christmas, right?” 

“Yes, boss.” You smirked, winking at her. “How can’t I come back to the most beautiful ladies in the world?” Mary ran back to you and hugged your leg, giggling. “And my beautiful little man too? Speaking of James, where is he?” 

Barbara shook her head. “He’s hiding. You know he hates it when you leave.” 

You kissed Barbara’s cheek. “I’ll talk to him quick.” Mary took your suitcase from Barbara and started to open it. “Stop her from ripping everything apart, Babs. I can’t miss the flight.” 

Barbara turned away, stopping Mary. You sighed and left to find your son. “James, where are you, bud?” You went upstairs. He had three hiding places upstairs. You checked under your and Barbara’s bed first. Nothing there except rolls of wrapping paper. Your heart ached at the sight. You were going to miss a lot this year.

Eventually, you found James in his closet, tucked into the top shelf. “Jameo, come out now. I want to say goodbye.” You pulled him out. He stayed stiff and curled up in your arms. 

“No.” James pushed at your chest. “I don’t want to say goodbye.” 

You sighed. James was the more emotional of the two. You knew that scared Barbara, afraid James would become more like her brother than her father. Honestly, it didn’t worry you. Dick was the same way when he was younger. You could see a lot of Dick in your son. “Honey, I know you don’t like me leaving, but I have to go work.” 

“You always work.” James hit your shoulder. You sat down on his bed, shaking your head.

“No hitting.” You kissed James’ cheek despite him wiggling away from you. “I know I work a lot, but adults have to work. Besides, I’ll be back for Christmas and we’ll have a big party with the family. You’ll get to see Grandpa Jim and Papa Bruce.” 

“But you’re not going to come back someday.” James burst into tears. He hid his face into your chest. You blinked, surprised by this sudden turn. Kids’ thoughts always amazed you. 

You held him tighter, kissing the top of his head. “I promise that I will always do my best to come home.” Tears burned in your eyes, but you held them back. You had to be strong, even if you wanted to burst into tears too. “Where did you get this idea?” 

“Bobby told me how his Daddy didn’t come home.” James looked up at you. Your breath was taken away. His eyes were so much like Barbara’s. “His daddy went to work and never came back.” 

You pursed your lips. Bobby’s father was a cop. “I know, sweetheart.” You touch your nose to James’, looking in the eye. “But his daddy helped people, just like I help people. I will always try to come home to you.” You weren’t sure what else to say.

“Daddy.” James wrapped his arms around your neck, hugging you with a death grip. You held him tighter. Burying your face into his hair, you breathed in the smell of his baby shampoo. You had given him and Mary a bath last night.

You looked up to find Barbara watching from the doorway with tears in her eyes. “I love you so much.” You kissed James’ head again. It took all you had to get to your feet. “Take care of your sister and your mama for me, okay?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” James let you go and allowed you to set him back down on his feet. He ran over to Barbara, hugging her leg. 

“It’s time. You better get going.” Barbara took your hand. You pressed a kiss to the back of it. 

“Thanks, Babs.” You moved past her and hurried downstairs. 

Mary ran to you. “Daddy, you have to take a cookie with you.” She handed you a Santa shaped sugar cookie that you had made yesterday. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You kissed her head, taking the cookie while picking up your suitcase. “Be good for your mother. I love you.” You flashed Barbara a charming smile. She frowned at you. 

“Just come home soon.” Barbara went to your side, kissing you sweetly. “And if you are not back for the Christmas party, I will kill you.” 

You laughed. “And there’s the Barbara I know.” Barbara pushed you out the door. You waved to the kids as you walked down the driveway to the waiting cab. The Gotham suburbs were quiet for this time of night. It made you miss the city.

Once you were in the cab, you took one last look at the house to see Barbara, Mary, and James waving from the front window. You smiled, heart shattering. One day, you wouldn’t have to leave them behind again.

***

“So (Y/N) is off to Bhutan to save his brother again?” Dinah asked, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. Barbara nodded with a sigh, stirring her hot chocolate absentmindedly. The two of them were in the kitchen at Barbara’s house. Mary and James were taking their naps. The house was too quiet.

“I know why he has to go. I mean it’s Dick.” Barbara bit his lip. “And I can’t say no, because I left to help you last month, but it is so close to Christmas.” She took a sip of her hot chocolate. “We haven’t even taken the kids to see Santa yet. Not to mention shopping.”

Dinah raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you wrapped presents yesterday.” 

“Only the ones we’re giving to other people. (Y/N) and I were waiting to go buy for the kids.” Barbara rubbed her temples. “It’s just hard not to have him here.” 

“I think you forgot about the Christmas party.” Dinah hid her smile behind her cup. 

“Oh and the Christmas party.” Barbara put her hands on her hips. “(Y/N)’s idea, of course, and now he’s not here to do any of the work for it. Typical Grayson behavior.” 

Dinah laughed out loud. Barbara glared at her. “Sorry Babs, but you said the same thing when you were going into labor too.” She changed her voice to sound like Barbara’s. “I’m going to have to push two humans out of me and all (Y/N) had to do was orgasm. Typical Grayson behavior.” 

“I did not say that.” Barbara blushed, even as she remembered shouting those words. The mixed expression of bewilderment and shock on your face when she said that was priceless. Dick had been in earshot and laughed until he collapsed onto the floor. 

“Sure, sure.” Dinah shook her head. “I’ll help you out if you want. Ollie is doing his brooding thing. I want to stay clear until he finally gets over himself.” 

Barbara raised an eyebrow. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when she heard little footsteps running down the stairs. “Oh no.” She closed her eyes when those footsteps were followed by a scream and a thump. “I swear Mary never learns to slow down.” Barbara left the room with Dinah in tow to check on her daughter. 

***

You pulled a photo out of your pocket. It was a recent one of Barbara and the twins. You took it on a beach trip you went on last summer. Your heart ached.

“We’re to the drop point you paid for, sir,” the pilot shouted over his shoulder. You were in a small biplane far above the ground. It wasn’t the best transportation, but you had to take what you could get. 

“Okay.” You tucked the photo back into your pocket securely and tightened the straps on your parachute. “Thanks.” 

“Just don’t die.” The pilot glanced back at you worriedly. “I don’t want blood splatter on my plane.” 

You laughed, smirking at him as you stood up. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty good at this sort of thing. It’s in the blood.” You jumped, somersaulting in the air.

The fall was great. You had a huge grin on the whole way down. Getting too into the fall, you waited a tad too long to pull the parachute. “If Barbara were here, she’d kill me,” you mumbled to yourself as the ground caught up to you quickly.  You released the parachute early and rolled into the landing.

Slamming into several rocks, you flipped to your feet just in time to stop yourself from rolling off a cliff. “Swell.” 

“Judging by that performance, you must be related to Agent 37.” You looked up to see a tall, muscular man with a keffiyeh on his head. He crossed his arms, looking annoyed. 

You smirked, recognizing that annoyed look from Dick’s descriptions of the guy. “Tony the Tiger, right?” 

He sneered at you. “I should kill you for that.” 

“Like you would.” Dick’s voice made you smirk even wider. “I know you love that nickname.”  

“Dickie boy, my brother, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” You ran to hug him once he stepped out from behind Tiger. “Look at you. Super spy.” You spun him around. Dick laughed, hugging you back and letting you manhandle him. “Getting into trouble like always.” 

You set him down. “Not too much trouble.” Dick smiled, drinking in the sight of you. He had been with Spiral for a year. You haven’t seen him in so long. “Thanks for coming, (Y/N). I know it’s a bad time of year for you to be gone.” 

“As long as you come home with me, we won’t have a problem.” You ruffled his long hair. “You need a haircut.” 

“Enough.” Tiger pushed himself between the two of you. “We have work to do.”

You raised an eyebrow. Dick shrugged. “I’ll explain it to you later,” Dick whispered, gesturing for you to follow him and Tiger. You sighed, wondering what you got yourself into.

***

“James, don’t run off.” Barbara jogged to catch up with her son. 

“But Mommy, Daddy would love this.” James bounced on his toes, pointing at the store display. Barbara sighed. Her heart was going to take a while to slow back down to a normal pace. 

Barbara tightened her hand around Mary’s. Mary was the runner. The one she always had to watch. You said she got that from Dick, who was ran off a lot as a little kid, but Barbara knew you were the real runner of the Grayson clan. “Jameo, why do you think Daddy would want a...” Barbara stared at the display. “A can opener?”

“Because Daddy is always opening cans.” James smiled proudly. Barbara bit her lip, giggling. She caved. Why did both kids have your smile? Her heart ached, wishing you were here for the hundredth time this hour. 

“Okay.” She picked one up with her free hand. “But now you hold Mary’s hand and no running off.” James obeyed and they headed to the front of the store. 

“Mommy, can I get Daddy that?” Mary said. Barbara stopped, turning to follow Mary’s gaze to see she was pointing at a piece of black lingerie.

It took everything Barbara had not to burst out laughing. Mary wouldn’t understand. “W..why would Daddy want that?” 

“Because it’s pretty.” Mary smiled sweetly. 

Barbara took a deep breath. She told herself not to imagine the look on your face when Mary gave you that. “Okay then.” She took one in her size, figuring she might as well. 

“Daddy is going to love our gifts.” Mary clapped her hands excitedly. Barbara made sure to grab her hand again. 

“I’m sure he will.” Barbara shook her head before leading the kids to find more gifts. 

***

You shook your head. “This is insane.” 

“Shut up.” Tiger smacked the back of your head. “Get in there and distract Talia al Ghul.” 

You shivered from the roof of the monastery. Talia was below, meditating. It was strange. You never knew her to meditate, but then again Damian did, so Talia must have taught him. “She knows me, you know. This won’t work.” 

“Use the hypos we gave you,” Dick said, pulling on a monk’s robe. “Tony and I need to end this once and for all.” 

“Barbara is going to kill me,” you muttered under your breath. You jumped, landing far away from Talia. Walking calmly, you acted like you were just strolling the monastery grounds. 

You stopped near Talia, studying a statue a few feet from her. She tensed, but relaxed after a moment. Her eyes stayed closed. “(Y/N) Grayson, so we meet again.” 

Cursing Dick and Tiger under your breath, you turned toward her. “Hello Talia, how are things?” The stupid hypos must not be working.

Talia opened her eyes and looked at you. “I didn’t know you worked for Spyral.”

“Oh so hypos is working?” You laughed, shaking your head. “Well, at least I didn’t mess that up.”

She clicked her tongue. “Are you here to stop my father?” 

You rubbed your chin, smiling when you realized she clicked her tongue like Damian did. “No, I’m just here to make sure my brother can come home.” 

“Brother? Richard is here?” Talia hopped to her feet.

“Maybe?” You pursed your lips, wondering if you should answer that. A sigh escaped you. You weren’t meant for this spy stuff. 

Talia grabbed your arm and dragged you inside the monastery. “He’s walking into a trap.” 

“Wait, what?” You allowed her to pull you along, heart skipping a beat. 

“My father wanted your brother here.” Talia led you deeper into the dark monastery. “We must move quickly to save him.”

“Dick, what have you gotten yourself into?” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head. 

***

“Grandpa Jim, can you help us make a snowman?” James asked, pulling at Jim’s arm as he tracked in snow from outside. 

“James, remember boots off before you come into the house,” Barbara sighed. She filled up Jim’s cup of coffee. Jim had stopped by the house for a visit. He and Barbara were sitting in the kitchen while the twins played outside. 

Jim ruffled James’ hair. “I’ll come out in a moment. Let me finish this coffee first.” James smiled.

“James, boots now.” Barbara pointed back toward the entryway. Jim laughed as James shuffled back to the entryway. “I swear neither of them ever remembers, but then again, neither does (Y/N).” Barbara shook her head with a sad smile.

“When is (Y/N) supposed to be home?” Jim studied his daughter over his cup of coffee. 

“Christmas Eve, hopefully in time for the party.” Barbara sighed. “I haven’t heard from him. I shouldn’t have let him chase after Dick.” 

Jim nodded. “Dick is running around with the circus again, huh?”

Barbara pursed her lips. Jim still didn’t know about her and your other lives. She hoped to keep it that way, especially since she and you weren’t going out as much. “Yeah, he’s always getting into trouble and (Y/N) has to bail him out.” She glanced out the window at Mary who was struggled to make a snowman. You would normally be out there helping her. Barbara’s heart ached. She missed you so bad. “(Y/N) is going to bring him home this time though.” 

Jim smiled sadly. “He’ll be here in time, Barbara. (Y/N) has never let you down.” 

She laughed. “No, he hasn’t.” She remembered how many times you showed up late, but always able to make up for anything you missed. That was a Grayson thing too. As just to prove her thought, James came in with a mop and tried to clean up the mess his boots made on the floor. 

Jim downed the rest of his coffee. “Look at him, just like his mother.” He got to his feet. “Come on, bud. Let’s go build a snowman.” 

“Really?” James cheered, grabbing Jim’s hand to pull him to the entry. Barbara caught the mop that James promptly dropped. She shook her head and finished cleaning up the mess. 

Once she was done, she went to the window to watch her father and her children build snowmen. She sighed. Slowly, she took a few pictures on her phone and sent them to you. You probably won’t get them until you were back in civilization. 

Barbara shook her head to stop herself from slipping down a slope of self pity. She should make the most of this moment. With a skip in her step, she put on her coat, boots, and gloves and went out to join her family.

***

“(Y/N)!” Dick screamed after you as you ran straight into the line of fire. Talia gasped when you slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. The bullets rained into the wall behind you. You wrapped your arms around her. 

“I’m not trying anything with you, I swear,” you laughed, amazingly calm despite the danger around you. You rolled Talia and yourself out of danger and behind cover. 

“I never thought much of you, (Y/N). Now I could see I was wrong.” Talia smiled at you, squeezing your bicep. 

You raised an eyebrow. “First of all, not the time as we are probably about to die. Second, yuck because you slept with Bruce, and third, I’m married to the smartest, most beautiful woman in the world.” Talia smirked. You shifted away from her, almost forgetting about the bullets showering around you. “Fourth, you’re Damian’s mom.” 

“What is your point?” Talia shifted closer to you.

“I mean no.” You rolled back out into the line of fire and somersaulted into the air. Within moments, the shooters were disarmed and unconscious. 

Dick ran to your side. “(Y/N), what the hell was that?!”

“Calm down, I’m fine. Talia is fine and coming onto me.” You turned back to where you left her. Your eyes widened. She was gone. “Well, not anymore, thank goodness.” 

Dick wrinkled his nose. “Well, Tony thinks you’re crazier than I am, and I didn’t think that was possible.” 

“Duh.” You wrapped an arm around Dick’s neck and gave him a noogie. Dick grunted, trying to escape. “I was the original, you know.” 

“Uh huh.” Dick escaped, glaring at you. “So I’ve officially resigned from Spyral. That was my deal with Tiger. I’ll help him with Ra’s and I’m free.” 

You sighed in relief. “Good, because it’s time to go home.” You wrapped your arm around Dick’s shoulders and pulled him toward the doors. “We got a party to crash.” 

“Can you crash a party when it’s at your house?” Dick teased, his arm settled around your waist. 

“You can if you’re late.” Dick and you came to a stop when you saw the mountains you needed to climb. 

A groan escaped you. “Did you forget to ask Tiger to give us a lift before he left?”

“Oops.” Dick blushed. You flicked him in the forehead, shaking your head.

“If Babs kills me, I hope you know it’s your fault.” You rolled your shoulders. Dick just laughed as you both started your journey back home.

***

Barbara vacuumed the living room. She glanced behind her to check on the twins. They were sitting at the dining room table, making paper chains to decorate for the party. Honestly, Barbara was quite proud of herself for thinking of something to keep them busy while she cleaned. 

She sighed. You had sent her a quick text, saying you would probably be late for the party, but you’d make it. She shook her head, feeling sick. 

“Mommy, look,” Mary shouted over the vacuum. Barbara turned it off to see Mary wrapping her paper chain around herself like a scarf. “Aren’t I fancy? Like Selina?” 

Barbara paled slightly. “Yes, like Selina.” She cursed Bruce for bringing Selina Kyle, aka Catwoman, to the twins’ last birthday party. Mary had fallen in love with her, thinking Selina was the fanciest woman in the world. It burned Barbara. You reassured Barbara that doesn’t mean Mary didn’t think she wasn’t the best, but it hurt to see her daughter look up to a hopefully former thief. 

Mary giggled, pleased with herself. Barbara sighed again, turning the vacuum back on. “He’s probably going to bring her tomorrow too,” she mumbled under her breath. Everything in her hoped you would be here in time anyway. Please let the Grayson magic work for you once again.

***

“Layovers suck,” you retorted as you walked through a market in Hong Kong. 

“At least now you have time to buy Babs and the kids presents.” Dick smiled guiltily at you. You felt a little bad for the guilt trip, but then you remembered how this was all Dick’s fault and suddenly you didn’t feel bad. 

“At least.” You stopped to look over a display of snack foods. It was a wide selection, but you picked up two boxes of Koala’s March cookies and two bags of Fujiya Milky candy. You bought the snacks and kept going. Dick trailed behind. “I’m not mad at you, Dick. I’m just scared I won’t make it back home in time.” 

Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I feel bad. I’m the reason you’re here instead of at home with your family.” 

You bumped his arm. “Hey now. I’m happy I get to finally bring you home after you spent a year with Spyral.” You stopped by a jewelry stall, gazing at the probably fake jade rings. “Think Barbara would like this?”

“She’ll know it fake,” Dick said, wincing when the stall owner glared at him. He gave them a sheepish wave. 

“True.” You moved on before Dick was murdered by the stall owner. “I can’t wait for you to see the kids. Mary runs around without looking like you did and James hides like you did.”

“Like I did? You are the one who runs,” Dick shook his head. 

You rolled your eyes. “I remember when you were two and you ran ahead and slid right into the elephant dung.” 

Dick blushed, groaning. “Why do you have to bring that up?” He smirked. “I remember when you ran so fast that you startled the elephants into a stampede and they took down the big tent. Mr. Haly was so mad, but somehow you talked him out of telling Mom and Dad.” 

Your eyes burned slightly. “Yeah, that was a good day, but not as good as you falling in the elephant crap.” A look at Dick told you he was getting emotional too. “Hey, let’s see if I can find something more than snacks for my family, huh?” You clapped a hand on his shoulder and led him on. Dick smiled and the two of you let the moment pass. 

***

“He’s not going to make it.” Barbara slammed down the plates. Alfred looked at her worriedly. 

“Master (Y/N) and Master Dick still have a few hours. They were on their last layover, weren’t they?” Alfred asked, taking the plates from Barbara. They were getting ready for the party. Alfred had offered to come early along with Cass to help set up. Cass was entertaining Mary and James to keep them out of the way. 

Barbara sighed. “I’m sorry. He’ll be here.” She smiled weakly, close to tears. Alfred rubbed her back. “It’s just been hard. This is his favorite time of year, especially with the kids.” She sank down to sit at the dining room table. Alfred moved to keep setting it up for the buffet dinner they were going to have. “I keep thinking, (Y/N) would love to be here for this or that.”

“You and Master (Y/N) have been gone before?” Alfred asked, knowing the answer, but trying to be kind. 

“Yes, but not over Christmas. This is as bad as being gone for the kids’ birthday.” Barbara shook her head again. “Sorry, I’ll get it together. He’ll get here, he always does.” 

Alfred smiled. “Yes, Master (Y/N) does have that Grayson knack of always making it work. Master Dick does the same thing.” 

Barbara laughed, changing the subject. “I can’t wait until he sees what the kids bought him.” She paused when she heard little feet running into the room. James appeared around the corner, jumping into Barbara’s arms. “What is it, sweetheart?” she soothed. 

“Daddy is not coming home.” James sobbed like his heart was broken. “They said the snow is too bad.” Barbara’s eyes widened. She jumped to her feet with James still in her arms. Hurrying to the living room, she felt like a bucket of ice water dropped over her. 

“All flights to and from Denver are canceled due to extreme winter weather conditions. This is a once in a lifetime storm.” The reporter said it calmly, like it didn’t ruin the Christmases of two kids and their mother. Cass was holding Mary, who didn’t seem to catch on it meant Daddy wasn’t coming home. “Moving on, here are some Christmas cocktails to add to your spirits this holiday season.” 

Barbara shook her head, holding James tighter. “(Y/N), please find a way.” She closed her eyes to hope.

***

You collapsed to your knees when the announcement had been made. “She’s gonna kill me.” You covered your face with your hands. Dick kicked your side.

“Stop being so overdramatic, we’ll be home by Christmas Day then.” Dick grabbed the scuff of your shirt and pulled you back into your seat at the airport lounge. 

“No, we’ll miss the party. The party I wanted to throw. The party that was my idea.” You shook your head. “Babs is going to be so pissed.” 

Dick snorted. “Yeah, she’ll be pissed about that.” 

“But like I said this is all your fault, having to go get yourself in trouble again, Dickie boy.” You got to your feet to pace. The lounge wasn’t too crowded since most people had already left to wait everything out. “There has to be something we can do. Batplane?”

“One, Bruce won’t let us. Two, it wouldn’t fly in this weather either.” Dick shivered, looking out the window at the swirling snow. “This is nuts.”

“Says the Dick.” You flicked his forehead. Dick smacked your hand away. Suddenly, you froze. A lightbulb flashed in your head. “That’s it. We’ll call Wally.” 

Dick shook his head. “I don’t think even he could run in a storm like this.”

You swore under your breath. “What about...Clark?” A smile pulled at your lips. “Oh he could do it.” 

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be comfortable for us.” Dick rolled his eyes. “Just give up already.” 

You pouted, elbowing Dick’s side. “I’ll find a way.” You got to your feet to grab your phone and make some calls.

***

Barbara was in a depressed mood throughout the party. The kids seemed to inherit her mood, becoming cranky and sullen. Everyone was enjoying themselves, but were aware of the dispositions of their hosts.

“Don’t let this get you down, Babs. I mean he’s (Y/N) Grayson. He’ll find a way,” Tim said, sitting down next to her on the couch. Mary had fallen asleep in his arms. 

“You need to stop hero worshiping the Grayson brothers.” Barbara let James crawl into her lap. “(Y/N) is not perfect.” 

“I didn’t say that, but he always makes it work.” Tim bit his lip. “He’ll get here.” Almost as if on cue, a shout and a thump came from the roof. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up. 

“Babs, were you expecting someone?” Jason teased, going outside to see. Mary woke up with a start.

“Santa!” She ran out after Jason with only her socks on.

“Mary!” Barbara followed quickly with James still in her arms. “Come back here until we know what that was!” 

Mary ignored her mother, running into the snow with her socks. Jason picked her up. “Is he here? Did he bring Daddy? I asked him real nicely.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jason said, eyeing the roof. Bruce came out with Tim  and Damian behind him. 

“What happened?” Bruce asked, going right to business. 

“Not sure.” Jason shrugged. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a deep voice sounded. “Ho, ho, ho.” 

“SANTA!!!!” Mary screamed. Jason winced. “SANTA, DID YOU BRING HOME DADDY?!?!”

“Mary, stop.” Barbara sent her a stern look. James shivered from the cold in her arms.

“TT, probably a lunatic of some sort.” Damian crossed his arms. He went to the side of the house to start climbing when he heard laughing followed by a shout and suddenly Dick Grayson fell from the roof. He twirled in the air and landed on his feet. Damian jumped back in surprise.

Barbara’s jaw dropped. Everyone else was speechless. Jason just laughed. “Where Daddy, Uncle Dickie?” Mary asked, reaching her arms out for him. Dick smiled charmingly. He took her and spun her around. 

“He’s coming. He just had to thank Santa for us.” Dick kissed her cheek. James whined, wanting attention too. Dick took him from Barbara, showering both kids with love. 

“Santa?” Barbara looked back up at the roof, confused. Suddenly, from behind the chimney, you stepped out with your suitcase and slid down the roof. With a grace that mirrored Dick’s, you landed on the ground easily. 

“Merry Christmas!” You bowed, holding your arms out. “I told you I would be back in time.” You only had to time to look up when Barbara ran to you with enough force to knock you over into the snow. She fell on you hard, but you found you didn’t care. 

Barbara kissed you, holding the sides of your face. You wrapped your arms around her, not caring about how numb the snow made your back. 

“Get a room,” Jason said teasingly. Barbara turned to glare at him. Suddenly, two balls of energy joined the dog pile.

“DADDY!” Mary screamed in delight. “Santa brought you like I asked.” 

“Daddy, we missed you,” James added quietly. You hugged all three of them, happy to be home.

***

Hours later, you were sipping some eggnog as the party died down. Bruce, Alfred, Tim, and Damian went home. Dick crashed on the couch. Jim had retired to the guest bedroom and the kids were asleep in their beds. Cass was getting ready to sleep on an air mattress in the laundry room. Jason passed out in an armchair.

“Well, I guess Jay will stay the night too,” Barbara whispered, covering Jason with a blanket. 

“Might as well.” You took a bigger sip of your eggnog, watching Barbara with love. Your heart warm and full.

Barbara hummed. She came over to take your hand and led you back to the kitchen. “So now you tell me how you got home? I heard the Denver airport had been shut down.” 

“Right, well I called Santa.” You smirked when she glared at you. “What? It’s true.” 

“No, you did not.” Barbara crossed her arms. “Come on, did you call Superman? Wally?”

You downed your eggnog and took her into your arms. “I told you. It was Santa. He stopped to pick us up and just dropped us off as he went by. He said Mary wished me home for Christmas.” 

“(Y/N).” She frowned. You kissed her lips, feeling the frown melt under your touch.

“Babs.” A thrill went through you as she melted, kissing you passionately. “Let’s go to bed.”

She sighed. “Fine, but only because you won’t tell me what you did.” You scooped her up in your arms. She giggled. “Why do you have to be so charming all the time?”

“It’s funny. I was wondering why you have to be so goddamn beautiful all the time?” You kissed her again. Maybe someday you would tell her you were telling the truth. Maybe you would explain how you called Zatanna who knew a guy who knew a guy who knew Santa Claus and you convinced him to stop by to pick you and Dick up. Maybe you would let her know that the ‘ho, ho, ho’ she heard was the real Santa Claus. You shook your head. She wouldn’t believe you anyway.

“I love you, (Y/N) Grayson, even though you drive me up the wall.” Barbara played with your hair. 

“I love you too, Mrs. Grayson, and I would love to drive you into a wall.” You smirked at her giggle and hurried to your bedroom with the love of your life in your arms.

***

Barbara bit the inside of her cheek as Mary handed you her present. “Daddy, you’re going to love it.” She bounced around excitedly. 

“I sure am.” You smiled, not knowing what was coming. It seemed like forever to Barbara, heart stopping as she waited for you to rip off the wrapping paper and open the box. Your jaw dropped, brow furrowed in bewilderment. She tasted blood in her mouth from how hard she was biting.

“See, isn’t it pretty, Daddy?” Mary asked innocently. You pulled out the black lingerie. Jason and Dick burst out laughing while Cass pressed her hand over her mouth in surprise. Jim shook his head, kicking both Jason and Dick in the shin. Mary looked confused.

“I love it, sweetheart.” You smiled smoothly, pulling Mary into your lap. “Why did you get me this?”

“Because you like pretty things.” Mary kissed your cheek. You met Barbara’s eye from across the room. She couldn’t help, but smirk back at you. You shook your head. She watched as you checked the tag, growing your own smirk when you saw it was in her size. 

You hugged Mary and attacked her with kisses. “You’re right, I love pretty things.” 

“Mine next, Daddy.” James ran up. You took his present like it was irreplaceable, showering James with attention too. 

Cass appeared at Barbara’s side. “Did you do that on purpose?” she whispered.

“No, that was all Mary, but the look on (Y/N)’s face was rich.” Barbara smiled. “I knew he would think it’s funny.”

Cass nodded. “(Y/N) loves you and your children very much.” 

Barbara wrapped an arm around Cass’ shoulders. “Yes, he does.” She kissed Cass’ cheek. Thank goodness to the Grayson magic, Barbara thought to herself as you acted like a can opener was the best thing in the world. 

[phantomrose96]

Origin of a Non-Hero

Pro Hero Deku is not that tall of a man… In a simple white t-shirt and khakis, he’s not imposing at all. His 14 year old son, though much scrawnier in frame, is only an inch or two shorter than him.

Pro Hero Deku is not a cruel man. To the contrary, he cares too much, about all things at all times, about everyone and everything he can save if only it could come within his reach. The family counselor knows this. The counselor is surprised that, of all the world’s burdens Deku carries, it would be his family that slipped through his grasp.

Pro Hero Deku’s arms are gnarled and scarred, endlessly broken and re-broken in his youth from trying too much, and caring too much, and fighting too much for the sake of others. So why do they seem so awkward, so unpracticed, so unused to being wrapped in a hug around his son? Why was this boy the last thing for Pro Hero Deku’s arms to reach?

The counselor asks. The raw hurt of the session starts anew.

(This fic is long, heed the Read More)

...

11 people shared the same rigid wooden bench as Shikinori Midoriya. From the glances he stole, all 11 of them were handcuffed. An equal number of armed guards stood at the ready, crowding a waiting area meant to accommodate no more than 10 people.  Shoulders rubbed shoulders. Sweat trickled from necks and hairlines. Dampness clung to skin and scales and fur and whatever other quirk-manifested coverings the 11 handcuffed men, and 11 guards, and Shiki bore.

A puttering fan spun in the corner, sad and wheezing and ineffective against the body heat of so many. Shiki kind of resented the fan for all the nothing it was accomplishing.

He leaned his weight into the sturdy bench arm to his left, opting to crush his guts into the furniture rather than lean on the man beside him, who was more knotted muscle and snake tattoos than he was man. Shiki looked again and concluded the man may even be more snake than man. Two sharp fangs stuck out from his mouth and tented his upper lip. His unmarked skin shimmered, a rippling repeated pattern of flesh-covered scales. His tongue shot out and licked the air, forked. Slit-pupiled eyes made momentary, awkward eye-contact with Shiki, and Shiki quickly pretended to be staring elsewhere.

The man seemed familiar. Some villain from some news headline. But Shiki couldn’t place a name, so he didn’t bother thinking about it more. He stared ahead, eyes drifting out of focus, hot. Uncomfortable and hot. Damp and stick-to-his-clothes-sweaty. Just…hot. Unnecessarily so. Maybe he shouldn’t be here. Maybe it wasn’t worth it. Maybe he’d been impulsive, and foolish, and should leave before he gets in any deeper.

The door beside Shiki creaked open. A wizened man with tiny, deep-set, watery eyes motioned him in. Shiki all but jumped to his feet. He tugged at the spots of his shirt that clung sweaty to his back, and he followed. The temperature dropped at least 20 degrees once he crossed the threshold into this new room. The door clicked shut behind Shiki. He startled, and felt a ripple of disquiet shiver down his spine, but Shiki chose not to dwell on it. He was more drawn to investigating the new room, which, he quickly discovered, came with its own kind of sensory-terrible-silence.

The waiting room had been terribly silent – chatterless and buffed with the sounds of breathing, wheezing, throat-clearing, shifting, shuffling, and the tinkering tangle of chains. This time it was an ambient buzz that blanketed the new room, thick and oppressive and syncopated, like a fly trapped in a jar. Shiki traced it to the fluorescent lights overhead. Under their pallor, the watery-eyed man looked half like death. He sat, and motioned for Shiki to sit too in the wooden chair directly across. A table separated them. On Shiki’s side, there was a set of iron cuffs drilled into the table-top, the sort where, if Shiki threaded his arms forward, he could be bolt-locked in place.

Shiki did not acknowledge the cuffs, and neither did the watery-eyed man. They made eye contact, and Shiki instantly understood: this man did not care about him. This man did not care about any of the other people in that waiting room. What gave it away was unclear – maybe the stiffness in his jaw, or the piercing deadness to his horrible ice-blue eyes, or the sterile too-large lab coat crumpling the man’s figure, or maybe none of that. Maybe it was pure human intuition, an instinct honed for survival, that one feels when encountering another human so bereft of empathy that it sticks along every individual neck-hair.

“Sit,” the man said. His tone was sharp, as though he’d been forced to repeat himself. That was somewhat true. He’d already motioned for Shiki to sit. Shiki had been too distracted by the cuffs on the table to comply. He was still distracted now, but he sat this time.

“I’m Dr. Matsuyama,” the man like death continued. He pulled a loose clipboard from the shelf just beneath his side of the table, and he dragged a slightly-trembling hand from his pocket, gray and liver-spotted, trailing an uncapped pen. His eyes became more like pits in this light, but Shiki could see a blue in them that was definitely inhuman. Which wasn’t saying much, since most of the population walked around in definitely inhuman ways. It was quirk-related, no doubt, but endlessly eerie to stare at.

There came a shuffle from the shadows, a shift in the back-left corner of the room that startled Shiki. He looked, and now locked eyes with a man dressed to the nines in an ill-fitting suit. The man pulled at his own lapel, straightening it, as though reading Shiki’s mind about the ill-fitting suit detail.

“Don’t mind Dr. Himura,” Matsuyama continued. “He’s leading the study, so he is observing. I’m conducting this session.” Matsuyama set pen to paper. “What is your name?”

“Shikinori Midoriya,” Shiki answered. “I go by Shiki, among friends.”

“Is there a reason for that?” Matsuyama’s voice had a papery tremble to it, like air whistling through the slit of a barely-cracked window. Listening to it was uncomfortable. Shiki could feel it like a shortness of breath in his own throat.

“Just preference.”

Matsuyama wrote something down.

“How old are you?”

“22.”

“Your quirk?”

“Gravity nullification.” Shiki raised his hands up, palms spread toward Matsuyama. “I can negate the gravity of anything I touch with my fingers, palms, or pads of my toes. Basically any part of my body that has this ridged skin.” He wiggled his wide-spread fingers. The weird fluorescent lighting threw the ridges into stark contrast, valleys of blackness ribbing his fingers, engulfed like Matsuyama’s eyes. “The quirk works on any sized object, but the time limit is shorter for bigger objects.”

Matsuyama let the silence linger as he wrote. His writings filled several lines this time, as Shiki had little else to do than watch the trail of the pen.

“Is your quirk patrilineal, matrilineal, or both?”

“Matrilineal.”

“How does it influence or impede your daily life?”

“It doesn’t much, really. I don’t need it. I don’t really use it. It’s forgettable.”

“What are the negatives to living with your quirk?”

Shiki shrugged. “None much, really, since I don’t use it.”

“Then what brings you here?”

“I mean, just that. I don’t need it. Does it have to be deeper than that?”

Matsuyama wrote. And he wrote for longer than before. Silence draped them again, and it amplified the buzzing from the lights. It was hot again, Shiki realized with agitation. His seat placed him right below the lights, a veritable stage light, targeting him to bake. His neck prickled with sweat. Buzzing. Like a fly in the jar. Fly in a jar, fly in a jar, that flies against the walls each which way and can’t get out, because there is no out, because the jar is sealed, and being unyielding to gravity is no help when the walls close on every side.

“…here?”

“Huh?” There’d been a question. Shiki had zoned out for--

“Did anyone offer you money to come here?”

“Not beyond the 1,500 yen per day,” Shiki responded, collecting himself. “You know, that you guys offered, that 1,500 yen, to cover transport and lunch. But nothing else. No.”

“Did anyone blackmail you to come here?”

“No.”

“Are there any extenuating circumstances to explain why you’re here?”

“None.”

Matsuyama stopped writing. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of Shiki’s neck, lost somewhere between his shoulder blades. He shifted, and rolled his shoulders a little, and edged his hands away from the wrist restraints on the table.

“Do you have any thoughts of self-harm?”

“No.”

“A history of violence?”

“No.”

“Do you consider yourself to be a danger to yourself or others?”

“No.”

“Any history of drug abuse?”

“No.”

“Alcoholism?”

“No.”

“Anxiety or depression?”

Shiki faltered. “I saw a therapist for a bit, a while ago, back when I was a teenager. But it wasn’t anything, like, extreme. You know? Just, stuff.”

“And how do you define ‘stuff’?”

“It—he was a family therapist. My parents are divorced so like, you know, I was a kid – well, a teenager – but that’s still a kid. I mean we saw the therapist when I was a teenager, but my parents divorced when I was 10 before I was a teenager so – the therapist – he was just for, you know, typical stuff. Typical divorced kid stuff.”

Matsuyama wrote, and wrote more, and at length, Shiki said nothing.

“How’s your relationship with your mother?”

“Fine.”

“How does she feel about your participation in this?”

“I dunno, really. I mentioned it to her like once but like, a while ago, before I decided on whether I wanted to do it but like… I dunno. That shouldn’t matter, right? I’m an adult.”

“How’s your relationship with your father?”

“You know, fine.”

“And how does he feel about your participation in this?”

“Like I said, does it matter?” Shiki pressed. He leaned forward, because he could feel his shirt sticking again in back. Under his arms, too. He was grateful for the dark color of his clothing, since Shiki knew from a glance to frumpy Himura that the harsh lighting was unforgiving on sweat stains.

“Is he against it?”

“He doesn’t know about it. Like, he’s busy. And I’m an adult. And it’s not like it’s his quirk or anything since I inherited it from my mom, and it’s my body so I think I should be the one who gets the final say in whether I do this or not don’t you think so?”

Matsuyama left the challenge unmet. It rung through the room around them and petered out to silence. Just an echo left dancing in Shiki’s head. Matsuyama wrote. He only wrote, and Shiki’s heart beat in his own ears.

“My job is to make sure you are of sound mind… uncoerced… unhindered by any self-destructive motivations...” Matsuyama’s pen did not break pace while he spoke, like an automaton. Like a puppet. Endlessly forward, unholy eyes shuffling along line by line. “The Quirk Ethics Board is strict. Dr. Himura has spent the better part of five years at odds with them to get this study off the ground. Be grateful to him, and be patient with me.” And his horrible eyes flickered up, pinning Shiki to the spot. “I can disqualify you, if I think you’re lying to me. So please, some patience, and some cooperation.”

Shiki’s whole body flushed with a shiver, and he realized that perhaps Himura was not the man he should be suspecting of a mind reading quirk.

He leaned back in his spotlight chair, and took a few deep breaths, and wondered how heated his cheeks were. Embarrassment always spiked a blush in them, and Shiki was ashamed to have let his composure slip.

“Your father… wouldn’t you like to tell him, first? There’s no reversing this. We encourage everyone who comes through this room to inform all family, all loved-ones first.”

“No. I don’t want to tell him. Because I know it’ll make him cry. And if I lose my nerve, and back out, I’ll probably never have this opportunity again. I need this decision to be my own.”

Shiki averted his eyes, away from Matsuyama, glancing left and finding himself staring back. A mirror spanned the length of the left wall. A few feet worth of cinderblock stretched from the floor-up, and the ceiling-down, meeting at a mirror that lobbed Shiki’s own reflection back at him. Freckles and green eyes and tousled chestnut hair and cheeks heated with shame and embarrassment.

A one-way mirror. Shiki wondered if there was anyone standing on the other side of it, watching, judging.

The silence lingered, heavier, denser somehow. It took Shiki a few moments to process what had changed.

The scratch of Matsuyama’s pen had vanished. He was not writing. He was staring, instead, at Shiki. Plain to see in the mirror. Waiting for Shiki to face him again. Reluctantly, Shiki looked.

“Your father… is a busy man, you said. He must be very very busy… Shikinori Midoriya.” Matsuyama shuffled his papers into place, and set the clipboard down on the interrogation desk. “If your name, and your appearance, and the leagues and leagues of advertisements, and news headlines, and television specials I see every day paint an accurate picture of who, I suspect, your father is.”

Shiki breathed out, jaw clenched, feeling that familiar dread settle in. He heard a noise from Himura, like a tiny pip, a single note of recognition that Shiki had become well attuned to: that sound of someone putting the dots together, the look in their eyes as they roved over Shiki’s face, as though suddenly giddy to understand his freckles and green eyes and curly hair.

“Midoriya?” Himura leaned forward, pushing himself off the back wall and shuffling a bit forward. His eyes were wide and probing, mutedly eager. “Oh I see – yeah – I see it – you look just like him – but – pardon my interruption, son, but –   why would you ever consider participating – here in my study – why I can’t dream of – I don’t think I could be responsible for -“

“Don’t,” Shiki shot back. He braced his back against the chair once more, letting the wave of dread pass. “Don’t… Don’t finish what you’re going to say.”

“The boy is right, Himura,” Matsuyama said, and he did not look at his colleague. “This is my interview. And you are only here to observe. You are out of line.”

“R-right,” Himura breathed, flushing red, yet still clearly riding out his confusion, his giddiness. He pulled a small kerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the sweat along his receding hairline. “My apologies, M-Mr. Midoriya.”

“Just call me Shiki…”

“Yes, Shiki, we should get back on track,” Matsuyama proceeded. He picked his clipboard up once more and flipped another page. Shiki tried counting the number of sheets that wrapped spiral-like over top. More than he had realized – 10 or maybe 12 pages thick, at this point. Matsuyama’s pen tip tapped to paper once more. “I want to be clear: you are entitled to have your own reason for following through with this. But you may not hide it from me and expect to participate. I am the deciding factor here. Do not lie.”

With that, Shiki felt the last of the vigor in his spine drain away. He slumped forward some, and avoided eye contact with Matsuyama, and Himura, and his own reflection in the mirror which he resented so strongly at this very moment.

“So tell me, boy,” Matsuyama paused to pull in a rattling breath, “why do you want us to erase your quirk?”

“It’s complicated,” Shiki muttered.

“I’m quite good at complicated,” Matsuyama countered.

“It’s… My dad… You figured it out already, right? Izuku Midoriya… He’s the #1 Hero.” The words felt plastic, leaving Shiki’s throat. Artificial. Manufactured. A thing repeated en-masse by television hosts and podcasts and commercials and fan events and—

Shiki breathed.

“He wasn’t always. …Well, duh, I guess, of course… That sounds obvious to say but I mean it as – as in that – back when I was born, Dad was the #361 Hero. At least in the one ranking suite that stretched all the way to the top 500 heroes. Most ranking organizations only did top-250 at best. And the National Rankings only do top-75. He was a still a sidekick then. So was my mom. She didn’t even appear in the top 500. And I think being pregnant with me, and me being born, and taking care of me – I think that set her back even more.”

Shiki leaned forward, elbows set to the table, eyes boring deep into the scratched and stained wood. There were deeper gouges near the sharp corners of the arm restraints.

“When I was old enough to start remembering things is around when I got my quirk, because most of my oldest memories are of my mom playing gravity games with me in our apartment. She’d make my toys float and I’d make them float too and she’d bop them, like with her head, bop them all around and I thought that was the funniest thing. I used to think everyone could cancel gravity because that was so much of my world, just me and my mom.”

Ochaco Midoriya was just barely 23, and her hair had grown long enough to wear in a bun every day. Her off-the-shoulder white shirt spelled out URAVITY in bubble letters across the front. A short release. Only 100 shirts sold, half of them to friends and family. Her son Shiki lay on the carpet, small pudgy hands grabbing at fistfuls of air above him, reaching for her, his footy-jammied feet kicking. His fingers were ridged. He’d have her quirk someday. She pulled out the stuffed frog from behind her back (FROPPY logo emblazoned on the tummy) and papped it gently forward. Into the air. Where it hung and spun, lazily adrift. Shiki let out a shriek of joy. Ochaco smiled, and cupped Shiki’s hands in hers, and kissed them.

“My dad… um… he was out most of the day, almost the whole day, on weekdays at least, when I was young. And I was proud of him for that especially when I got old enough to understand what heroes and villains were because like, that was my dad, out there every single day putting in more effort than anyone else, you know? It never even seemed that weird, to like, that I didn’t have him around. I had Mom, and Dad was a hero.”

The little leaguers were all 5 or 6 years old, adorned in fluorescent pinnies and tiny little soccer cleats. They ran the way little kids run – with too much force in every stilted step, no grace, all fierce concentration, feet slamming heavy into grass and balled fists swinging. The ball came above their knees, and they kicked by running into it full-force.

Tatsuya bodied the ball into the opposing goal, and he was met with a chorus of applause from his mother and father on the sidelines. It was the first time Shikinori Midoriya noticed – Tatsuya had a dad. He looked, and saw so many dads. And it was strange. Weren’t they heroes? Weren’t they busy?

Ochaco stood alone. She waved a big wide sweeping wave when she noticed Shiki looking. She whistled for him. The ball knocked into Shiki. He forgot to wave back.

“I remember… Most of my memories of him, from when I was little, were on weekends. But not always, I mean not all weekends. He patrolled through weekends too. But if we got a weekend off, then we’d do some activity with him. Me, Mom, all of us together. It was my favorite. But weekdays, I never saw him. He left before I woke up and came home after I was in bed. I stayed up sometimes, in secret, to listen for him at the door. But a lot of nights I fell asleep first, or some nights he never even came home. I actually, I think I started to see him more on television, from news reporters, than I did in person…”

A head-to-toe child’s onesie which was a flannel plushy mock-up of Pro Hero Deku’s uniform. Shiki wore it, bunny ears and all, sitting in his mother’s lap in front of the television. Ochaco sat with her back against the couch, on the floor. The sun had set around them. The news had trickled on to its fourth recap of Deku’s apartment arson rescue.

~”A civilian recording that is SURE to capture a nation’s heart! As Pro Hero Deku emerges from the blazing building with three tenants, mother father and child, slung across his back – look – there! Oh what a winning smile that boy’s got, hasn’t he? Saving people with a smile! It makes me nostalgic for the age of All Might, to our viewers old enough to remember the Symbol of Peace before his retirement. Maybe Deku is someone who can spark that hope back into the new generation, what do you think, folks?”~

“15 more minutes, Shikinori, then it’s time for bed,” Ochaco told Shiki, bouncing him on her leg.

“But I wanna stay up for Dad! I wanna tell him we watched him on the news!” Shiki pointed a stubby finger to the freeze-frame of his father on the television, all tousled hair and sweat, bearing the weight of three others on his back, a veritable Atlas, smiling. Smiling smiling. Shiki gave the same smile as his dad, beaming at his mom.

“You’ll see him tomorrow; you can tell him then.”

The smile dropped from Shiki’s face. He looked forward to the television again. “I’m not gonna see him tomorrow. Tomorrow’s Tuesday and I don’t ever see Dad on Tuesday.”

~”I hear we’ve got an interview with a civilian who was on-site during the disaster. We’re cutting to him now!”~

“…30 more minutes, okay then, Honey?” Ochaco said. “We’ll wait up 30 more minutes for Dad.”

Shiki’s hand twitched. His eyes were locked on the shackles, and slowly, experimentally, he rested his wrists in the cuffs. Could the table hold him down with his quirk?

“And by the time I was 7, he broke into the top-100 heroes. Within another three years, he was top-50. Newspapers called it mind-blowing to see someone like that jump the ranks so quickly.  He blew past Ground Zero and Ice Razer, who you know are like, #2 and #3 now. It was crazy. Like, he got way more attention for how quickly he was jumping than for his actual rank. The papers said he was working inhuman hours. That even heroes with time quirks and clone quirks couldn’t be as everywhere as he was… I have clippings saved. Or I did. I might have gotten rid of them when Mom and Dad divorced.”

Shiki clinked his wrists against the shackles, metal wrist watch ringing hollow against the cuffs.

“Which is, that was something I found out on my 10th birthday. They didn’t mean for me to know but I was staying up past my bed time to play the new Hero Smash game they got me – the one Dad was finally in -- and I heard them arguing just a bit too loud about something, and them arguing was kinda common at that point, so I paused the game to listen and… yeah… divorce… It was, you know, a pretty tame divorce, I think. Like, I can’t really complain about it, compared to some of the stuff other kids go through. Cuz Mom and Dad still acted friendly and tried to settle things on good terms but, you know, it showed. I’d go into Mom’s room and hold her, some nights, when I heard her crying. And she’d sob and say ‘I still love him’ and I never knew what to say back, but, I’m –that’s, anyway. Anyway.”

Ochaco Midoriya, 32 years old. She kept the last name. It would be easier, in terms of legal hassle, and it would be easier on her son, who she had full custody of.

Her empty bed had been the norm for years, now. Deku had gotten into the habit of working through the nights, stealing naps on his cot at the agency. But now it was the cold reminder, the knowledge, that he wasn’t ever coming back to this bed that stole Ochaco’s breath and made it short. Made her heart squeeze. Forced noises past her lips that she tried to keep in.

“Mom?” Shiki’s eyes, wide with concern, at the side of her bed. He held his hands together, ridged fingers, ridged palms, the little fingers she used to kiss.

He reached a hand out, and patted her shoulder, tip toes, leaning over the bed. He should be crying too.

Shiki pulled his hands back, rubbing at his wrists. His cheeks were flushed, embarrassment creeping through his system as his own words echoed back at him. Those things he’d rarely told anyone. “Am I… is this too much detail? I can dial it back. It’s just, um, I feel like the context is important for you to like… know why I’m—not write me off as—”

“This is fine, continue. If you say anything unnecessary, I can simply not write it down,” Matsuyama waved his free hand dismissively. The pen in his other hand danced, still, across the page.

Shiki cleared his throat. “Anyway, I lived with Mom after that. And when I was a little older she told me more about it and basically just. ‘He loves All Might more than he loves me,’ she said. Not the person, but the… idea. Like the concept of All Might. It’s who my Dad was so driven to be since the very beginning and… My mom couldn’t take being secondary anymore… And I realized then that, I was part of that too. I didn’t need saving, so I came second. My mom put her hero career on hold to raise me but he, um, he just couldn’t do that. Who he was as a person was so, unfixably tangled up in becoming that All Might in his mind that, he couldn’t sacrifice that. Not for me. Not for my mom.

“And when they finally divorced, and he moved out and into this just… terrible tiny unfurnished apartment, which I only saw twice – two years apart – and both times it looked the same. Nothing in there. Almost like no one was really living there. A futon and a closet and a rice cooker in the corner and boxes and All Might merch on the wall.”

Shiki was 11, sitting on a packed cardboard box against the red-brick wall of his dad’s apartment. Still-packed boxes lined most of the walls, like a misshapen and dull lego construction. Red brick, brown cardboard, All Might smiling from every wall. It was an apartment unlived-in, and that aspect was nearly unfathomable to Shiki. His dad had been moved out for over four months.

“Pretty great, huh?” Deku said, gloved finger pointing to the wall of All Mights. Deku’s smile was bright, his excitement genuine. “The one on the far left was a limited release from 50 years ago. One of my super-fans tracked it down for me and mailed it. Can you believe it?”

Shiki nodded. All the posters looked the same to him.

“But um, after the divorce is when he really skyrocketed. Everything before was child’s play. I was… dizzy. I was 11, and starting middle school, and had just lost my dad only to have him be everywhere but… not my dad. Not there for me. But everywhere, on billboards, in newspapers, on television. Kids at school would hear my last name and they’d ask ‘Midoriya – Like Izuku Midoriya? Like Deku?!’ and I’d have to just say yeah while they applauded or like, even smacked me on the back sometimes like I had any choice in that, and would ask questions about him that, I couldn’t answer, cuz he wasn’t my dad anymore. His fans in my class knew things about him that I didn’t. Sometimes little things like favorite color but sometimes big things, whole things from his childhood that I never heard about. They’d ask me things about him and that’s when I realized I didn’t know my dad at all.”

Shiki glanced up, and saw Himura look away in embarrassment.

“He’d been kidnapped, as a kid, had saved Ground Zero twice, took down a murderer with Ice Razer and Ingenium, had his mentor die during a rescue mission. I had to hear these things from people I didn’t know. And I felt just, selfish, every time I learned something new. Especially the things that happened after I was born. Because how do you sit and hear someone tell you a story about the time your dad saved their grandma from a collapsed bridge and just… how can you justify feeling resentful about that? How selfish do you have to be to think, ‘he should have been spending that night at home with me and my mom, and not saving your grandma.’ I hated it. I started to hate hearing about him.”

His hands were shaking now, slightly, Shiki realized. His breathing too came in too fast and too raspy. He set his wrists back in the open restraints, and breathed out.

“And just… by the time I was 12, Dad made Top 20. And then when I was 13, he was Top 10. …And I think at that point he really, truly didn’t feel like my dad anymore. Because he was just, some God to the world. Someone people fawned over by the millions and, just, that was better, actually. Because I could really just act like he wasn’t my dad, had nothing to do with me. Maybe I was at peace with that. I could do the 20-minute phone calls once a week and be courteous with him and answer questions about school and just, move on…”

Shiki walked the same street every day to school, the same route with the same turns, the same backpack slung over one shoulder. But the scenery changed. New advertisements. New billboards. New screens projecting, dancing, twirling, screening, screaming. Deku brand hand cream. Deku brand baby clothes. Deku brand clutch purses. Headlines with stills of Pro Hero Deku printed on the front page. Upcoming: interview with Pro Hero Deku! Everywhere. Growing like mushrooms. The likeness almost like the one in Shiki’s mirror every morning. The likeness of a man quickly fading from memory, quickly replaced by advertisements and stills over flesh and blood. Shiki felt eyes on him, every day, from people who saw the resemblance. Or maybe not. Maybe he imagined it. Maybe no one was looking at him at all.

The wrist restraints were cold.

“And I started to see Mom less and less, around that time. I was old enough to take care of myself mostly so she, she took up patrolling again. Started rising the ranks quickly too… Mostly because the tabloids loved her, and circulated her name as much as they could, as the ex-wife of Deku… They said horrible things that I—still I—even thinking about them just. Vile horrible things about her and Dad, and why Dad left her, and why she left Dad, and ‘Deku fans’ piling on her calling her trash and filth and whore and, insulted her for keeping his last name until, eventually, she did change it back and… I stopped reading those but… that’s how hero work works. Whatever gets your name out there, and gets you recognized, so that your rescues get camera time and screen time and … She at least got to make her own name, once she got recognized. Her own rescue efforts spoke for themselves. Saved over 75 people from the rubble of a collapsed building and, s-she broke top-100 that same year. I wanted to be happy for her. I wanted to… but the house was so empty.”

13 year old Shiki unlocked the front door. He flicked the lights, and they blazed through the pitch blackness beyond the foyer. There was a sterile cleanliness inside, the subtle sting of lemon in the back of his throat. Between his mom’s new notoriety and his dad’s hefty child support, they could afford a personal cleaner now. Twice a week. She must have come. The apartment was spotless.

Shiki turned on the television and rooted through the cabinet and emerged with a box of cereal. He didn’t bother with a bowl. He sat on the couch instead, scrolling his phone with one hand, grabbing fistfuls of cereal with the other. The news mentioned ‘Uravity’ and Shiki turned it up. He listened to the reporters until they spiraled into her failed marriage with Pro Hero Deku, and Shiki listened no further.

He focused on his phone instead, cereal crunching. Most of the forums he followed were Uravity forums. He paused on a particular cross-posting, shared by someone irate over the click-bait bottom-feeding publications that drew readership with manufactured drama. Shiki read the headline. ~”‘She took our son!’ Pro Hero Deku sobs in a raw tell-all about the woman who broke his heart and tore apart his family to launch her own career.”~

There was a boy pictured in the article. The boy wasn’t even Shiki.

“I was 13 still, and we were moving from the apartment into a nice house, because Mom’s salary and Dad’s child support were now more than enough for a proper place. A nice place. And I did most of the house cleaning and packing myself since Mom was now so so busy… And I found, in the attic, my old box of toys, the gravity ball toys the—the ones where—me and Mom used to bop them back and forth and I… think I just… I threw them away. And the old newspaper clippings I kept about Dad. Threw them all away. Never made it to the new house. I hated them. I hated them.”

Shiki pressed his back against the attic wall, suddenly short of breath, static suddenly in his legs and rippling down his spine. He slid down, slowly, streaking the layer of dust along the wall, just like his hands had streaked away the dust on the boxes, gray lint filling the ridges on his finger tips. He stared at the layer of yellowed newsprint, the top article boasting ~”No Longer Just A Side-Kick? ‘Deku’ Makes His Agency Debut!”~

It filled him with revulsion, with a choking hurt in the ways that modern news headlines didn’t. He had forgotten the feeling associated with these old headlines. That old forgotten excitement of knowing that news outlets had come to acknowledge his dad’s existence.

Not his dad anymore. Not his. Izuku Midoriya lived in newsprint now. The media owned him, had stolen him slowly. A superhuman. A god. Not a husband. Not a father. Not Shiki’s.

“He called on the phone once a week. Just once a week, to talk about nothing. Until I was 14, that is. Once I turned 14, suddenly Dad was eager to be on the phone with me. And he’d act like he was interested in talking to me about normal stuff, but it always came back to U.A. Always U.A. Asking if I wanted to. Asking if I’d thought about it. Asking if I had any questions that he or Mom could answer about the school.”

Shiki’s voice caught.

“…Still… still makes me angry. And he just didn’t realize. I realized he had no idea. At all. Whatsoever. That what he’d done was… might have been wrong. I realized and it blew my mind. That nothing he did was ever, ever malicious. He was, is, thought he was a good person. Working so hard to save everyone. Absolute strangers. As many, as much, as endlessly eternally as he could. And he… thought I idolized that. That I looked at him and Mom and wanted to… do them proud and follow in their footsteps. And I saw him through… his own eyes I guess… and he was the world’s hero and the next All Might and the rising Symbol of Peace and he didn’t think he’d abandoned me, or Mom, he thought he’d just left us to catch up… I think he talked my mom back into heroing. Because they stayed friends, or ‘friends’, whatever you call two people who get along great so long as they ignore all the hurt between them. And… he… wanted me to enroll in U.A… THAT… was when I finally snapped at him, and we got family counseling.”

Silently, Matsuyama set his pen down, and he slid across the table a box of tissues Shiki had not noticed him take out. And Shiki took one, shocked to pad it against the stream of tears he hadn’t noticed rolling down his cheek. He stole one more glance into the mirror, ashamed of the puffy-eyed and blotchy-cheeked reflection. His dad’s freckles. His mom’s chestnut hair. He was designed piece-meal from them. No part his own. No part himself. The buzzing, overhead. Fly in the jar. Uncaring of gravity. Eternally confined to the jar’s unseeable walls.

“I saw Dad in person, for the first time in 2 years, when we went to that counselor.” Shiki let out a strained laugh. “I had literally… misremembered things about him. I had remembered him being taller but, the media just loved to prop him up at certain angles that made him taller. In street clothes, in person, he almost didn’t look like Pro Hero Deku. …And even smaller, when he cried. Because he did cry, during counseling, like honestly cried. And he apologized. I’d never – I didn’t think I would ever get an apology from him. Or like I couldn’t ask for one, didn’t deserve one, because that would be selfish. But he owned up to it… Dad cared. Dad was sorry. Dad had no idea I was this hurt. Dad thought I idolized heroes too and that he was making me proud. And I thought it would work. I thought we would finally fix this all.”

Pro Hero Deku is not that tall of a man… In a simple white t-shirt and khakis, he’s not imposing at all. His 14 year old son, though much scrawnier in frame, is only an inch or two shorter than him.

Pro Hero Deku is not a cruel man. To the contrary, he cares too much, about all things at all times, about everyone and everything he can save if only it could come within his reach. The family counselor knows this. The counselor is surprised that, of all the world’s burdens Deku carries, it would be his family that slipped through his grasp.

Pro Hero Deku’s arms are gnarled and scarred, endlessly broken and re-broken in his youth from trying too much, and caring too much, and fighting too much for the sake of others. So why do they seem so awkward, so unpracticed, so unused to being wrapped in a hug around his son? Why was this boy the last thing for Pro Hero Deku’s arms to reach?

The counselor asks. The raw hurt of the session starts anew.

“I was finally able to tell him just, how invisible I felt to him. How selfish it made me feel. He listened. He cared. He stopped shilling for U.A. I went into a normal high school, one without a hero track. And the first weekend of the school year, Mom, me, and him went to an aquarium, and dinner at a fancy restaurant, and a play in the evening. I don’t like plays but, I liked that play. A lot.”

Shiki crumpled the used tissue in his hand, and then hid it beneath the table. It was wet and tainted and felt unclean in his hand, but there was no garbage can in sight, and he had nothing else he could do with it.

“And that was when Dad slipped a rank, that next month. From #7 to #8. It shouldn’t have mattered so much but, it did. He’d never fallen rank before… No actually, even worse, he’d never even stayed the same rank from one ranking release to the next. He was always climbing. For almost 20 straight years, always climbing, and this was the first time, the very first time he… Dad didn’t mention it. I didn’t mention it. But in my mind I’ve always blamed this as the like, as the turning point, toward turning back down. In reality I don’t know that for sure. Maybe our whole family was just, always destined to slip back on old habits, right from the start. It’s not like he or Mom ever went back on any promises or anything. But more like… Dad slowly stopped proposing weekend activities, and so did Mom. Until it was just me putting in that effort, and I couldn’t be the cause of him falling rank anymore. I couldn’t be the bad guy.”

Shikinori Midoriya’s blood ran cold. Red. The name, the arrow, downward-pointing, -1. Red. Red where there had only ever been green. “#8” in red, which bore no value and no merit beyond the unsightly embarrassment of being below #7.

There were sharks in the water.

Shiki knew it would be only hours until the most predatory, the most inflammatory think-piece writers pounced. Until hero forums buckled under every single anonymous layperson’s expert opinion on where, and how, and why Deku had stumbled. Was his rescue count down? Was his collateral coefficient up? Were merch sales dropping? Had his new figurine bombed? Had a hostage died? Had he yelled at a reporter? Was it the joint rescue with his money-grubbing ex-wife? His incident resolution was abnormally low two Saturdays back. Why? Where had he been? What was he thinking?

Shiki read the theories. He told himself to stop, but the scroll loaded endlessly. Some fans honed in on that weekend – the aquarium trip – fascinated by the dip in resolved incidents, circling like vultures, pecking, tearing, probing. They found an Instagram post from a fan spotting Deku in the crowd of the hammerhead exhibit, and the link got passed around like an electric current.

Had this happened a month ago, a year ago, Shiki might have just watched it unfold disaffected. Shiki’s chest ached now. He hurt for the man his mind had reconciled as his father, for the man who mimicked the guppies and pressed against the glass in the aquatic tunnel, cheeks puffed and scarred hands flapping by his ears. Shiki ached for the genuine laughter from his mother, who still loved this man and his guppy imitation. He ached for the reminder of what his family was, and what it wasn’t, and what it was punished for even trying to be.

“His agency and Mom’s started collaborating a lot. They were good together. Like really good. The two of them together, I saw a new story almost every week. Maybe I was even a little jealous but… it wasn’t something I wanted to be a part of, anyway. So I was fine with that. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t – and don’t – want to be a hero.

“I just kind of… tried to figure myself out as a person, by myself, during high school. I kept a low profile. Joined a math club. Only really talked to a few people most days. Had like, two people I sort of saw as friends. I started going by my mom’s name, Uraraka. Never told people who my parents were. And I think that was for the best, because I was still in school – I was 17 – when Dad claimed the #1 spot. …and I swear I would have had to transfer schools if my classmates knew I was Deku’s kid.”

“Front Page” did not begin to describe the explosion, the eruption, the maelstrom of obsession that gripped an entire nation’s heart and soul when Pro Hero Deku unseated the previous #1. The new report came just days after Deku performed his 10,000th recorded civilian rescue. In honor, dedicated fans had gone and compiled every drop of video coverage that ever graced Deku’s career. It was chronological, starting with grainy film 20 years’ outdated of a still-scrawny U.A. sidekick pulling a man out of rubble, and progressed like a time-lapse from there. A rescue counter sat super-imposed on the bottom-right, documenting the rescues as Deku grew taller, broader, more confident, more practiced, faster and stronger and beaming – always beaming – with a smile to instill hope in an entire nation. The whole montage was two hours in length, and it skyrocketed to the #1 trending.

A half-dozen other videos followed in its wake: a clip of Deku shaking hands with the President who pinned a simple, proper, dignified medal to the front of his costume. A shaking, trembling, sobbing hug with the skeletal and spindly public figure of Toshinori Yagi – previously known as All Might – who teared up along with Deku on stage. Chants of “Symbol”. Chants of “Peace”. Chants, louder than all others, of “Deku”.

Everywhere. Everywhere. Replaying. Tagged. Suggested. Trending. Featured. A kiss with Uravity, tender and subtle and full of passion. A handshake with Shota Aizawa, his first teacher, his long-time peer. Endless interviews with rescued victims. Tear-jerkers. A man named Kota recalling how Deku, at 15, saved him from a certain violent death. A woman named Eri detailing how Deku had taken her in his arms and rescued her from the depths of Hell.

Thousands others followed. Spine-tingling recounts from voices, with breath and warmth and life, who wouldn’t be alive without Deku. They heaped their praises on a man so endlessly driven, forward forward forward, that he could save 10,000 people, and 10,000 more, and everyone, and everything he could touch.

Shiki skipped school the whole next week. Hardly anyone noticed.

“So I got away. Far away. I figured out college all by myself, and got accepted to my top choice 1,000 kilometers away from Tokyo, and it was perfect for me, because maybe then I could figure myself out for a bit, away from everything. Mom asked me to reconsider when I finally saw her in person four days after I’d accepted. She’d been on a sting mission for two straight weeks. They saved fifty people. It earned her her spot as the #15 Hero. My dad had saved twice as many people in that time. Not that I heard it from him. I heard it on the news. I didn’t speak to him again until after I graduated.”

Shiki breathed. “College… was good. It was far away enough that I stopped being afraid of people recognizing me at a glance. I made real friends. I had real relationships. Got to know my professors. Took up tutoring and loved it. I… did things on the weekends, like with friends, went places, saw things, I was happy. Genuinely happy. All these things I never realized I was missing as a kid because I never realized I could have an identity outside of being just… Deku’s reject son. I stopped fearing that and started to be me. I traveled during school breaks. Took some pottery classes. Just… breathed.” Shiki’s hands fidgeted. “At least… until I graduated. And I realized there was a whole cliff I was standing over that I was just avoiding. I didn’t have a job lined up. I tried. For absolute certain. I lost count around the 75 application mark. Nothing. My college friends moved away. My funds were drying up. …I moved back home.”

One duffle bag, slung across his right shoulder, was all Shikinori Midoriya brought home with him. This big house from his teenage years was empty. Endless untouched rooms. Pristine duvets across the beds in all 5 bedrooms, including master. Empty dressers. Empty drawers. Not so much as fingerprints on the front doorknob. Only his mom lived here now, and Shiki fought with the blooming certainty he felt in his gut that she spent almost no time here at all.

Uravity was now the #7 hero. Her merch sales were particularly popular with girls ages 5-12. The money she raked it was enough to put her parents up permanently in a beach house in Hawaii. Money would likely never be a worry for her for as long as she lived. She likely never sold this home because it simply wasn’t worth the hassle.

Shiki set his bag down in his old room, bigger and cleaner and newer and nicer than his college apartment, and so much more a cage than it had ever been before.

Fly in a jar.

“Moving home was… a rough choice. I thought a lot, before that, about just asking Mom and Dad for money. They could definitely afford it. But I couldn’t… be that again, the reject son, some unwanted parasite, pilfering money. I just needed enough stability to get back into the job hunt and get back on my feet. I told Mom that much. I didn’t tell Dad. Didn’t even tell him I’d moved back home but, he found out from Mom. He wanted to see me. Wanted to talk to me. I’d ignored all his calls in college… I decided to bite the bullet and just, go into his office and see him. Let him lay eyes on his failure son. Get it over with. I told him about college, and about my job hunt, and just needing enough time to get back on my feet. And you know what he said?”

Matsuyama glanced up. His pen still trailed. “What did he say?”

“’I could use another accountant at the agency, even a receptionist, if you don’t want to deal with crunching numbers. Given some time and training… I could even use another side kick.’” Shiki looked up, locking eyes with Matsuyama, and blinked away the tears blurring his vision. “Math… was my best subject in school. I want… to be a math teacher. I’ve been sending out a hundred applications for teaching positions. Dad doesn’t know that. Dad… is still living in this world where everything is heroes. And of course he is! He’s lived there his whole life! He never left it! And he’s still waiting for me to join. Waiting for me to change my mind. Like time is the only factor. That world stole my parents and he… and he still thinks that, things can be fine, he can get his way. He thinks, I’ll do what my mom did, and play catch up to him. That I’ll come into my own. That I’ll join him in his hero world. Him and Mom both. That I would want anything to do with heroes. He won’t believe otherwise.”

Shiki struck an open palm against his chest. “Well he’s not getting that. He’s NOT getting this quirk! Not now! Not ever! I’m GETTING RID OF IT. I want to be part of Dr. Himura’s Quirk-Erasure study because, until I’m fully stripped of my Quirk, my Dad and my Mom won’t get it. I know – all those guys out in the waiting room? I know they’re all villains. Probably this whole study is villains, yeah?! They’re all people who’ve been offered reduced sentences if they willingly give up their quirk in this study. Maybe you have a few normal people with dangerous quirks who want to be rid of it but me. My quirk. I stand out, I know, I get it. Because gravity control is cool. And it’s harmless. So why would I want to get rid of it, permanently? This is why. Because everything I’ve spouted off, it, all that probably sounds like some villain-origin-story, yeah?? ‘My hero father never loved me so now he will pay.’ No. No heroes and no villains I’m sick of all of them. This ends here. This ends with me! No more heroes, no more villains. No more POWERS in the Midoriya blood line! This is a non-origin story. This is the origin of me! This is the start of me taking back what heroes took from me!”

Shiki’s breath caught in his throat. He felt the tears wetting his cheeks and knew he had no power to stop them this time, not with the mangled tightness in his chest, not with the hurt bubbling long-repressed to the surface. So he wiped hastily at his eyes, and he stared down at the desk below him.

“I’ve thought this through. I know what I want. I’m not being coerced. I’m of a sound mind and body. I just… want a normal, happy, powerless life. I want to be normal. And I need this final leap, to prove to my family once and for all they can’t have me. I need this control. I need this trump card. I need this final, unchangeable, irreversible option to make them get it. That they can accept me quirkless… or they can not accept me at all.” Shiki lowered himself, and set his eyes to his lap. “Please… Please, I’m begging you.”

Matsuyama let the pen clink to the table. Shiki could not get an accurate count, but at least 40 pages had been flipped over the clipboard’s spiraled top. Matsuyama unfurled these pages, and steadied their alignment, and tucked the board beneath his arm. His chair scraped back with an unholy shriek, and he stood.

“Thank you. We will let you know in due time about your candidacy in the study.”

Matsuyama motioned for the door.

“Wait…” Shiki swallowed. His mouth had gone dry. His ears were ringing slightly. “Can’t you tell me now?”

“The decisions have not been made. How can I tell you now?”

“What about just me then? Y-yes or no?”

“You will be informed in due time.”

“When? How soon?”

Matsuyama motioned again.

“Yes or no? Please. Can you let me be part of this or not?”

“The next patient is coming in, Shiki. See yourself out.”

…

Inko Midoriya’s apartment was small, and it was stayed, and it was comfortable. Her son had offered her time and time again to move her into a nicer place, but she always declined. This apartment was where she’d raised her family. These walls had memories. This was her home.

It felt almost like a memory, just now. Out of the corner of Inko’s eye, seeing the young man with curly hair and green eyes seated at her kitchen table was achingly familiar, the ghost of family dinners with her son.

10 minutes had passed since Inko pulled the rack of cookies from the oven, a warm miasma of buttery sweetness, and laid them out to cool. She grabbed one now, quick touches, experimentally, until the heat didn’t quite burn her fingers, and placed it on a plate. She did the same with a second cookie, and carried them like a server to the table where she took the seat opposite Shiki. He watched her, and accepted the cookie with a quiet ‘thank you’, and merely stared at it. He let the warmth wash across his face.  

“I’m happy to have you back around Tokyo, you know,” Inko said quietly. She looked down at her own cookie, smiling slightly, and picked it up. “Happy to have someone to bake for.”

“I’m happy to see you too, Grandma. It’s been a while.” Shiki bit into his cookie. It was warm, and soft, and achingly comforting. Shiki wasn’t used to the taste of homecooked anything. It squeezed something in his ribcage, made him hurt in a gentle way. “It’s delicious,” he whispered, and raised the heel of his palm to wipe the wetness there.

“You can… you know you can stay with me, Shiki. I’d be happy. I want you to. I know it’s not as big a place as Ochaco’s home, but, Izuku’s old room is still here. There’s still… You could still…”

Shiki shook his head. “If I stay with you, it’ll be so much harder to leave. I’m still job hunting. No guarantees I’ll end up anywhere near here.”

The silence spread between them. The warmth of Shiki’s cookie wafted away, sapping off, like steam curling from a lake.

“…You don’t want to end up living around here, do you, Shiki?”

“Not if I can help it,” Shiki answered.

Inko turned in her chair, and motioned her hand toward the rest of the cookies cooling on the rack. Quirk activated, she pulled them each closer, and let them each fall onto the empty plate that sat between her and Shiki. Still gooey, they seemed to melt into each other, taking form of those beneath them. Inko nudged the plate closer to Shiki, encouraging him to take another.

He did. He bit the cookie. Warm.

“…I’m sorry, Shiki, about the study. I know you had your heart set on it.”

Shiki shrugged. “Matsuyama said there weren’t enough slots. He said he needed to prioritize better candidates. People who would really benefit from losing their quirk.”

Silence, again.

“It wouldn’t have changed things, you know. If it makes you feel any better, Shiki. You having a quirk was never the problem."

Shiki paused mid-bite. The lump in his throat made it too hard to swallow.

“How do you deal with it, Grandma? You’ve been dealing with it so much longer, right? Because I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

Inko gave him a small smile that didn’t quite touch her eyes. “You’re right, but… I don’t think I have a good answer for you, Shiki. It’s lonely here. I miss him. I’m afraid for him. But maybe I’m just, maybe I’ve just gotten used to it. It’s been like this ever since he enrolled in U.A. Since he was little. It was what made him happy. I’m his mother, and I’m supposed to set aside my own feelings for my child.” Inko nudged the cookies toward Shiki again. “But you, that burden should never have been on you. Especially not as a child. I’m sorry, Shiki, I’m so sorry.”

“So he’s… always been like this, is what you’re saying, yeah? It wasn’t—it’s not just me he doesn’t want—”

“No. Not you. Definitely not you, Shiki,” Inko insisted. “It’s who he is. Who he’s always been. …Who he’ll always be, I think. Even when he was 3 or 4 years old, so small he fit in my lap… He’s… so incredibly kind, and so incredibly driven, and it’s a combination that breaks a mother’s heart. Because it meant he was always sacrificing himself for others in danger. Doing what All Might would do. But All Might doesn’t have a family; he doesn’t have children. I wonder, sometimes, who All Might left behind, to become who he was. If that’s who we are.”

Shiki put his cookie down. His hands curled in, and he looked at them, ridged fingertips, ridged palms, obligated to use them heroically or not at all. Marks he never asked for.

“But why did he have to be All Might? Why him? Why us? Ice Razer and Creati have a daughter. They dote on her. They love her so much it’s embarrassing. I’ve met her, once, at a reunion thing that Mom and Dad had. And I was angry at her. How much she smiled. How you can just see how proud Ice Razer is, in his eyes, every time he looks at her. Ice Razer was on track to be the #1 hero, ahead of Dad, and he’s said publicly that he no longer cares about his ranking if it means being there for his family, because his dad never was. Dad didn’t… Dad never… He was putting in 120 hour weeks, at the time Ice Razer’s daughter was born, when I was sitting home waiting up for him, because old news headlines estimated that All Might put in 119 hour weeks in his prime, and Dad had to be that. Ice Razer visits his mother! When was the last time Dad came to see you, Grandma?”

Inko Midoriya responded with only a sad smile. “It’s been a while.”

“Ground Zero and Red Riot. Their adopted son, I’ve met him too. You wouldn’t think Ground Zero of all people would be any kind of good father but… he is… apparently… And that’s… fuck, you know what? That’s all I want to be. A good dad. That’s all! I want to teach math, and I want to fall in love with a girl, and marry her, and I want to be there. Just be there. For my kid. I want to spend every weekend with my family. I want to be around for every dinner. I want to help with homework. And I want no one – no villains and no heroes – to ever know my name. Is that too much, Grandma? Is it selfish of me to want that… and to want Mom and Dad to still love me too?”

Shiki’s voice cracked. He hadn’t meant for it to. He hadn’t meant for his composure to slip, or for those final words to come out. He hadn’t meant to open up that hollow ache in his chest, where that fear sat deep and rotten.

His next words were wet. “Is it too selfish of me to just want them to be proud of me?”

“Oh, oh Shiki…” Inko shoved her chair back. Hands extended, she rounded the table, and she wrapped her arms around Shiki. Kind hands, kind like Shiki was not used to. His vision blurred, and he pulled a hand up to wrap around Inko’s arm, and he leaned into her.

“I told him, Grandma…” he muttered, voice still wet. “…I told Dad that I got accepted to Matsuyama’s study. I told him I already went through with it.”

“What?”

Shiki shook his head. “I know it was wrong. I just… I hoped. I don’t know. I just wanted him, maybe, for once… I don’t know…”

“What did he say?”

Shiki shrugged, his movement muted under Inko’s hug. “I don’t know. I hung up. I just hung up.”

…

The beach air was cold, and it was briny. Wind curled off the lapping waves, spritzing All Might’s face with a spray of ocean water that was not wholly unpleasant. It reminded him of a time long-since passed.

The sound of footsteps met his ears. He did not turn, not immediately. All Might breathed in the ocean air a little longer.

“How… how have you been?” The voice – the man beside him – asked.

“Oh, you know. Same old same old. I’ve got this pesky ache in my knee that’s catching up to me. Recovery Girl recommends I start doing some swimming exercises. I’ve been considering it. It might suit these old bones.”

“Oh! I know a few gyms nearby with pool facilities. I-I can get you into them, you know, for free. I’m sure I could—”

All Might held a hand up. “What, do you think I don’t still have connections of my own, Young Midoriya?”

“S-sorry.”

All Might turned properly now, catching sight of Izuku Midoriya, a man so accomplished in the public eye looking familiarly helpless at his side. This beach held memories. Izuku was hardly recognizable from the first day All Might had brought him here for training, and in other ways, he looked exactly the same.

“You called me here to talk about Shikinori, right?” All Might continued. He stared back out at the sea, dark and getting darker. The sun has set 10 minutes prior. “You said he lost his quirk.”

Izuku remained quiet.

“He… had it taken away. He chose to do it, he said.”

“Why?”

Again, silence settled between them. All Might looked back, scanning Izuku’s face, taking in a look mangled with confusion and concern, unsettled and helpless. Not the beaming face on television. Not the endless smile to instill fear in the hearts of villains.

“…I think it was because of me,” Izuku finally answered.

Waves, lapping to shore. All Might found himself watching them again. “A quirkless life is not so bad. These past 30 years have been peaceful for me.”

Static settled in the air around them. Rolling ocean. Gentle wind.

All Might let out a small sigh. “What advice are you looking for, from me, Young Midoriya?”

“I… need to know if this is okay with you. If my plan is okay with you,” Izuku answered.

“As your concerned mentor, I’ve found I don’t like most of your plans,” All Might answered. “What is your plan?”

“Shikinori lost his quirk because of me… I wasn’t there for him. I wasn’t… I wasn’t a good father to him, I think. I was waiting for him to come to me but. I messed up. I need to go to him now. I can think of only one way I have to make it up to him.” Izuku looked up. Conflict pulled at his pained expression, and his fist curled. “Maybe, if I give him One for All, I can fix this.”

Another spritz of ocean spray hit the shore. All Might could feel the salt crystalizing on his face.

“I was right. I don’t like your plan.” All Might turned, and took a step toward Izuku, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “No. That’s my answer. No, I do not approve.”

Izuku seemed to buckle, just a little. He curled one hand in and rested it on All Might’s, still on his shoulder. The shadows of nightfall hid his eyes, but not his mouth, pained and strained at the corners. “Then what can I do to fix this?”

“Why do you think that giving Shikinori One for All would fix this in the first place? Do you really believe that his quirk is the root of the problem? Do you?”

Izuku’s hand trailed down. He shook his head, slowly. The words that came out were pained. “Ochaco and I… are back together again. We’re making this work. We’re… we’re putting the pieces of our family back together. We just need Shikinori. I just want him back with us…”

“…I told you this 20 years ago, Young Midoriya, and I’ll tell you it again. And it will hurt worse now to hear it, because you didn’t follow my advice the first time--”

“I thought I could do both.”

“—You cannot be the Symbol of Peace and have a family. There aren’t enough hours in a lifetime. …I left people behind—”

“I know.”

“—people I cared about. People who cared about me. I hurt them, and I knew I hurt them—”

“I know.”

“And that was my choice. I made that decision. Because protecting the peace of the whole world… that was more important to me than the people I hurt. I carry the burden of that decision every day. …I told you, 20 years ago, that you had to make that decision too.”

“I know, I just thought maybe, with both Ochaco and me—”

“And you did. You did make that decision. You’re the Symbol of Peace, and I’m proud of you for that, …and you’ll have to carry that same burden, too, of that decision you made.”

Izuku’s hand was curled around All Might’s sleeve now. He was smaller now than the man who first arrived at the beach, and so, so much smaller than the Symbol of Peace lauded in headlines across the nation. His shoulders trembled. Tears dripped down the curvature of his nose, lost to the briny sand below.

All Might continued. “This is one piece of advice I can give you… Stop saddling Shiki with that same burden… Don’t give him that weight to bear. Don’t trap him in the world of heroes. Let him go.”

Izuku pulled in a shuddering breath, and he steadied his shoulders.

“…I failed him, didn’t I, All Might…?”

Another lap of waves at the shore, forging eternally onward. There was an ache in All Might’s knees, a rattle to his old bones, a pain that never ceased throbbing in his side. He wondered how long ago it had been, exactly, since he first made this decision himself. How many pulls of the tide since he last saw his mother. How many moons since the earth had reclaimed her. How many breaths of wind had passed since the very last time she thought of him.

He wondered, not for the first time, if it had been selfish of him to trade her, and everyone else away for the protection of all the people he’d never known or loved.

All Might reached down, and he pulled Izuku into a hug. Come daylight, Izuku would have to smile again, on every television and every billboard and every broadcast and every rescue. For now, All Might figured, it was fine to let him cry.

“…Yes. I’m sorry. I’m to blame for this too. I pulled you down this path. But… yes. You failed him.”

All Might ran a hand over Izuku’s hair as his cries grew louder. All Might wondered if Izuku had ever held Shiki like this. He wouldn’t know. All Might wasn’t a father. All Might had no son. Whether that was selfish or selfless, he still did not know.

The wind picked up to a howl, and it swept into shore, and it drowned Izuku’s cries beneath it.

By tomorrow, Izuku would be smiling on the news.

By tomorrow, Shiki would be on a train to an interview far north in Akita.

By tomorrow, Inko would be alone again.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Dilliam - Can’t Shake A Chill

Damien has a chill that he can’t shake while visiting the Manor.

William, who is secretly smitten for him, decides to do something about that.

(AKA Ash is cold and is inflicting it on Damien. Also, pre-dating scenario!)

Word Count: 1447

-

Typical. Absolutely typical.

Damien had a rare day off where he didn’t have to worry about answering to anyone or getting interrupted. And what happened?

“Damien! I need someone to help me make sure my audition is perfect for this afternoon. Please! It’s an emergency!”

Damien was never one to refuse for selfish reasons. As much as he would have preferred to stay home and enjoy his day off in peace, he begrudgingly made his way to the Manor where Mark and Celine lived at half past nine in the morning. He was tired and cold, which never are a good combination on any given day, and his cane was a helpful assist to aid his legs that felt as though they were turning stiff from the chilly spring breeze. Mark, to his credit, had a warm pot of tea freshly brewed, breakfast, and countless apologies for troubling Damien on what was supposed to be a day of relaxation. Damien, despite his initial reaction, was thankful he hadn’t refused. Mark was known for getting uptight and panicky before an audition. He had backed out of at least two that Damien could immediately recall in previous years. If he wanted to succeed as an actor, he needed the grounding to know that everything was okay, and that he could do it. That grounding came in the form of one of his oldest friends. If he got the part, it would be enough motivation to help spread his wings and fly!

The morning passed slowly as the pair worked through the required script extracts. Damien’s own training in diction and experience in public speaking allowed him to give a better insight than anyone else. The pair had an early lunch, and in more casual conversation, Mark revealed that his wife had been out from early to meet with friends of hers. He imagined that she would be home in the afternoon, and Damien was more than welcome to stay and take that well-deserved day off in the Manor instead of trudging home in the rain. 

Unfortunately, Mark’s departure only meant that Damien was reminded of the cold. The change in the weather had done little to lift the chill that had rooted deep in his bones. All he could do was distract himself with one of Mark’s books and a fancy couch throw that was far too thin to give any semblance of warmth.

This bundle of pity was how William found Damien half an hour later. As the manor’s handyman, he had spent most of the day in the bathroom, trying to fix a leak in the sink that had started when he accidentally dropped a board from the new mirror cabinet that he was installing on the faucet. He had been entirely unaware of Mark having visitors, let alone Damien! 

-

“Skipped out on nap time, Damien?” He teased, raising an eyebrow with a laugh. The good humoured tone fell flat. Even from across the room, William could see how the visitor rolled his eyes.

“I’m trying to keep warm,” said Damien, or at least, William thought that was the response. Damien was too wrapped in the flimsy material to be heard properly. Fortune favoured him as Damien lowered the couch throw enough to add, “There’s no warmth in this room. Can’t you feel how cold it is in here?” 

William’s response was to gesture to what he was wearing - a worn shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and slacks, with a heavy material work apron that carried his main tools.

“... Ah yes. You seem to lack the ability to feel the cold like normal people.” He retreated back into the warmth… Until it was suddenly tugged away. “What are you doing?!”

“Look at this thing. I can see you through it.” To prove as much, William held it at eye level, closing one eye to dramatically peer through the material. “This will never warm you up. Why didn’t you call someone to light a fire? Better yet, why don’t I? That armchair is in the perfect position to face it.” William rambled on as he unceremoniously dumped the throw on top of Damien and turned his attention to assembling the fire.

“I didn’t want -”

“If you finish that sentence with some form of ‘I don’t want to bother people because I’m too soft and polite for my own good even if it means I shiver’, I will personally use you as fuel for the fire.” A piece of wood was wagged in Damien’s direction as a light threat.

“Of course you’d say that. You’re the macho man of the group. Everyone else is fragile and tender in comparison.” Damien argued, pulling the throw around him again. “A man who won’t partake in any sort of fighting or extreme sport is likely seen as a failure in your eyes.”

“Damien…” With guilt in his voice, William adjusted himself so he could properly look at Damien. “You know as well as I do that isn’t true. You’re only saying that because you’re cold.”

“What has -”

“When you’re too cold, you’re more - impatient?” Whatever snap Damien had planned to give was forgotten at William’s interruption. “Did you never notice? You’re always easier to anger when you’re cold. I imagine Mark gave you some tea to warm up when you arrived to avoid that.” Damien’s eyes dropped, form slumping into the couch as he realised that William was right. Once he had warmed a little, his mood had improved. However, William didn’t seem to mind as he set to lighting the tinder under the carefully constructed fire stack with a content hum. “And… Viola! We have fire!”

“Voilà.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said ‘viola’. That’s a stringed instrument that’s a little larger than a violin.” A hint of a smile could be spotted on Damien’s face, and William had to quickly focus on the fire before he lost his composure and give Damien a look of adoration. At least the fire was the scapegoat for the blush on his face when he sprawled across the couch several minutes later.

“Hey… Colonel?” William lifted his head at his title. “Thank you.”

“Can’t say I’d say ‘no’ to relaxing by the fire while Mark’s out. I’ve earned a break anyway!” The men shared a laugh, content in knowing that both of them could finally relax for a while.

Casual chatter fell into a content silence as Damien resumed reading. It allowed William’s mind to wander. What would quiet evenings with Damien be like? Would they both curl up on the couch together, William becoming a personal heater to keep Damien warm? Would Damien be someone who even enjoyed cuddling, or might it be something he would gradually grow comfortable with? Either way, William could imagine it clearly - Damien curled up beside him with his head against William’s shoulder, completely immersed in his book. William would be half asleep, but he’d kiss Damien on the top of the head. Damien would give that content sigh and nestle in closer.

But reality had to take priority. He was in love with Damien, but maybe it was better to keep to himself. He reluctantly pulled himself out of the daydream and glanced over at Damien. To his surprise, the other had dozed off. Damien had pulled himself up to curl into the armchair and rest his head against the back cushion. The book had been closed and placed on his lap, so it was a conscious choice to nap. Ignoring the way his heart fluttered at the thought of Damien feeling comfortable enough to sleep around him, William rose to his feet and undid the ribbon on his back that held the work apron in place. Each tool that had helped assemble the shelf was carefully placed on the couch to not make too much noise. Then, he draped the apron over Damien to give him another layer of warmth.

He paused. He didn’t mean to, but it allowed him to take in the beauty that was Damien asleep. Before he could stop himself, he reached down to gently brush some loose strands of hair off Damien’s face. Even like this, William found himself gazing down upon beauty personified. He smiled affectionately as he turned back to the couch… Only to see Celine standing there, arms folded with a smirk.

“Just ask him out already,” she teased in a whisper. Instead of responding, William fled in the direction of the kitchen to ask Chef for the teapot so he could brew tea. She rolled her eyes with amusement. Were they both that oblivious to the fact the two men felt the same way?

--

I know authors normally would put something meaningful at the end. However, I am not that kind of person, and shall instead share something ridiculous that popped into my head while checking the ship tag while in work:

[alyssaallyrion]

How much of that did you hear? (Iruka x Kakashi)

Rating: T

Summary: In which Kakashi eavesdrops on a conversation and learns something he wasn't supposed to.

A/N: 

- Written for KakaIru Month ( hosted by @kakairu-fest ) Day 17 Prompts: Drunk Confessions.

- - Drunk confessions prompt combined with Bewitchedbysparkles's request for "KakaIru, with "How much of that did you hear?""

ao3 link

The soft click of the window latch brings a satisfied smile to Kakashi’s face - finally. Sliding the window open, Kakashi glances around before slipping into the darkness of Iruka’s apartment. Quickly now, before he gets back. 

It all started a few weeks ago, when Kakashi, a little too deep into his cups after a particularly difficult mission, decided to ask Guy for romantic advice, which, in hindsight, perhaps, was not his smartest decision.

“Guy,” Kakashi remembered saying, “If you were…interested in someone, how would you let them know?”

Guy looked up from his sake, suddenly serious, “Why, Kakashi? Has someone finally caught your eye?”

Yes,  he thought.

“I’m just asking,” Kakashi said nonchalantly, resting his chin on his palm.

“I’d simply tell them of my heart’s most sincere affections,” Guy smiled at Kakashi, “There’s nothing to fear when the power of youth is on your side.”

Kakashi sighed – if he could “simply talk” to Iruka, he’d never be in this position in the first place. But Kakashi had never been good with feelings – or with words when it came to talking about those feelings. As far as Kakashi was concerned, facing multiple S-rank criminals was less terrifying than the way his heart threatened to burst out of his chest any time Iruka smiled at him.

No, this won’t do.

Kakashi’s own list of ideas was running rather thin. It seemed Iruka hadn’t figured out that turning in terrible mission reports and sitting in a tree outside his classroom window reading Icha Icha were Kakashi’s ways of showing interest. Let’s see if Guy has any other thoughts.

“And if you couldn’t tell them, how would you make your feelings known?”

Guy was quiet for a moment, pondering, then a bright smile returned to his face, “I would get them a heartfelt gift – something I know they’d love - which would reveal the depth of my affections.”

A gift? That Kakashi could do.

Kakashi smiled – with Iruka’s birthday coming up next month, this was the perfect time. There was only one problem – he had no idea what kind of gift Iruka would want to receive.  That left Kakashi with a few choices, most obvious of which – at least to him – was to sneak into Iruka’s apartment and look around in hopes of finding clues to what Iruka liked.

Now, standing inside Iruka’s dark apartment, Kakashi glances around, studying his surroundings. The first thing Kakashi notices is just how cozy the space is – it’s clear Iruka put in a lot of effort into making his apartment a true home. There’s a scent of cinnamon in the air, warm and rich, matching quilts rest atop couch and armchairs in the living room, and the many potted plants standing upon the windowsills are clearly cared for very well. Unlike any plant that had the misfortune of finding itself in Kakashi’s own apartment. 

Kakashi notes the few paintings on the walls – all clearly drawn by a child, likely Naruto, and lovingly framed by Iruka. A tall bookshelf next to the couch catches Kakashi’s attention, and he walks over to it. The middle shelf is empty, save for two photographs - in the first one, a ten-year-old Iruka is standing between his parents, smiling brightly at the camera, and, in the second one, an already adult Iruka is standing with Naruto, whose happy smile rivals his own. Kakashi’s heart clenches as he feels familiar guilt uncoil in his chest.

Naruto was the son of his sensei, and Kakashi knows that he should have been taking care of him all those years, yet he cannot bring himself to get close to the boy – instead, he watches from a distance.

But with Iruka in his life, Naruto should be alright. 

Consumed by his thoughts, Kakashi doesn’t hear the voices outside the apartment door until it’s too late. The key turns in the lock, and Kakashi has only a split second to make a decision. Quickly, he returns the picture to the shelf, then glances around and darts to a door, which, as it turns out, leads to a tiny closet.

There isn’t enough space to stand comfortably between cleaning supplies and storage boxes, but Kakashi is hardly in any position to complain. He tries to stay as still as possible, conceals his chakra signature, and listens.  

The apartment door finally opens.

“Oh, new plants?” he hears Anko’s voice, “Good addition – I must say, they make the room look quite cozy.”

“Thank you,” Iruka replies, then adds, “Please, make yourself at home – I’ll go to the kitchen and get us something to drink. What would you like?”

“Something strong,” Anko chuckles, and Kakashi hears her plop down on the couch.

By their voices, Kakashi can tell that both Iruka and Anko are very drunk – which is to be expected, since Kakashi picked this particular night to break into Iruka’s apartment specifically because he knew that Iruka, Kotetsu, Izumo, Anko, Genma, and Raido were headed to the “Broken Kunai” to celebrate Kotetsu and Izumo’s engagement.

The sound of steps followed by glass clanking against wood notifies Kakashi that Iruka has returned.

“Oh,” Anko says excitedly, “That’s some good stuff. Though I’m a little surprised – never pegged you for the type to drink something like this.”

“Double shifts at the Mission Desk three days in a row would do that to a person,” Iruka laughs, and Kakashi hears the sound of liquid being poured into cups.

“I can only imagine,” Anko replies.

Silence falls upon them for a moment. Kakashi shifts uncomfortably, trying to make as little noise as possible – his legs already start to feel stiff from leaning over the boxes at his feet – and hopes that Anko and Iruka’s late-night drinking session will be over soon.

“So,” Anko starts slowly, “About that thing I asked you at the bar…”

“Do you have to bring it up again?” Iruka sighs.

“Oh, come on, Iruka,” Anko says, “Don’t be like this. I always tell you everything.”

“You don’t have to always tell me everything,” Iruka chuckles, not unkindly.

“We are friends,” Anko protests, “And that’s what friends do. So, it’s only natural for me to want to know what’s going on in my friend’s romantic life.”

Kakashi leans closer to the door, straining to catch every word.

“You don’t have to ask in front of everyone,” Iruka says after a pause.

“Well, luckily, now it’s just the two of us, and you have no excuse,” Kakashi can almost hear Anko smirk, “So tell me – is there something going on between you and Kakashi? I’ve seen the way he stares at you – and how you smile at him when you think no one’s looking.”

Kakashi’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Nothing’s going on,” Iruka replies, and almost palpable disappointment in his voice sends Kakashi’s heart racing in his chest.

“But you want it to,” Anko nudges him on, “I know you do – the blush on your face doesn’t lie.”

Iruka is silent for a moment. Kakashi holds his breath and feels his heart pound in his head, waiting for Iruka to respond.

“Yes,” he says finally.

It feels as though the room spins around him, and Kakashi has to hold on to the wall to still himself. He can hardly believe his ears - <em>Iruka likes him?</em>

“Aha, I knew it! I knew you liked him!” Anko exclaims victoriously, then adds after a pause, “Although, to be perfectly honest, I don’t know what you see in him.”

Kakashi smirks at Anko’s words – it was a mystery to him too why anyone would want to date her, and, yet, it seemed she never had a shortage of admirers.

“I…I can’t explain it,” Iruka says, “It’s just - he makes me <em>feel</em> things in a way that no one else does. Seeing him smile under his mask and blush makes me so weak – I immediately want to take him out on a nice date and do anything to make him happy…”

Kakashi feels heat rise to his cheeks, and he can barely contain a smile.

“Ah, that’s so sweet,” Anko says teasingly, but Iruka just chuckles.

“But then,” he continues, “Sometimes he just riles me up with that awful attitude – and even worse penmanship when it comes to his reports – and all I want to do is to drag him out of the Mission Room, get on top of him, wrap my hands around his throat and ride him all night long.”

Kakashi’s head spins and, suddenly, it feels unbearably hot in the small closet. Iruka wants to…what? Heat spreads through Kakashi’s body, pooling in his lower stomach, making it hard to think clearly. His mind races, and the world around him suddenly shrinks to just one thought – Iruka, on top of him, doing exactly what he just promised. Kakashi would be lying if he said he’d never imagined himself with Iruka that way – but never before were the images so vivid, and never before did the fantasy feel so real.

“Eww, how filthy,” Anko laughs.

“You’ve told me worse things,” Iruka replies, “Besides, I have a feeling you’ve gotten me drunk precisely to hear something like that.”

“Ah, you wound me,” Anko chuckles, “But you might be on to something. How else could I get the prim and proper Academy sensei to talk about his dirty fantasies involving a certain jonin?”

“You are evil,” Iruka laughs.

“And you love me for it,” Anko replies easily.

Suddenly, Kakashi can hear the window slide open, and someone else enters the apartment. Quiet whispers follow, but he doesn’t try to make out any words – his mind is still preoccupied with conjuring up images of him and Iruka together. His blush deepens, familiar heat courses through his veins, and for a moment, Kakashi’s almost scared that the resounding beat of his heart may betray his hiding spot.

“Well,” Anko says after a moment, “Looks like it’s time for me to head out. Sorry to cut the evening short, but duty calls.”

“We could always continue tomorrow,” Iruka offers lightly, “It’s not like I can drink all this by myself.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Anko replies, and Kakashi can hear her climbing out the window.

With Anko gone, Kakashi realizes that Iruka will likely go to sleep soon. Then he can get out of here and try to find another way to figure out what to give Iruka for his birthday…

Distracted by his thoughts, Kakashi doesn’t even notice that he’s leaning against one of the shelves – until he sends a box standing there crashing to the floor with a loud thud. Before he can figure out what to do, the door to the closet flings open, and he sees Iruka standing in front of him, holding kunai in one hand.

“Kakashi-san,” he breathes out, stunned, “What are you doing here?”

Kakashi knows he needs to say something, anything, but all he can do is stare. Drunk Iruka looks so delightfully disheveled with his tousled hair, his flushed cheeks, and his swollen lips that all Kakashi can think of for the moment is how much he’d like to ravage him right then and there.

The silence stretches as Kakashi desperately scrambles to retain some semblance of rational thinking.

“I…uh…was just passing by,” he offers weakly.

As soon as the words leave his lips, Kakashi wants nothing more than for the ground beneath his feet to open and swallow him whole. <em>That might be the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said.</em> It seems that even in his drunk state, Iruka knows that because a moment later, he bursts out laughing.

“That is the stupidest excuse I’ve ever received,” he manages to utter through his laughter.

Kakashi doesn’t argue.

Once Iruka’s done laughing, his face grows suddenly serious.

“I have to ask – how much of <em>that</em> did you hear?”

“Everything,” Kakashi says, resigned.

His heart drops in his chest – he knows Iruka has every right to be angry with him for eavesdropping on his private conversation. Did he just ruin everything? Iruka will probably never want to see him again after this… When Kakashi finally manages to meet Iruka’s gaze, he’s surprised – there is no anger in his eyes, only amusement.

“Oh my,” Iruka murmurs softly, and then a smile blooms on his lips, “Well, I suppose this makes it easier. So, what do you think – would you like to…”

Before Iruka could finish his sentence – before he could even think, Kakashi’s fingers reach for the zipper of his flak jacket. Kakashi’s face is aflame, and he’s never been more embarrassed and turned on in his life. He knows he shouldn’t – but after aching for Iruka’s touch for so long, he can hardly deny himself.

The confused expression on Iruka’s face makes Kakashi’s hand still.

“Huh?” Iruka says, lifting an eyebrow, “Kakashi-san, who do you take me for? I’m taking you on a date first.”

This man will be the death of him.

[yamalegacy]

OVERLOAD & BUNNY GIRL

[ prologue ]

SUMMARY: A new small group of villains is spreading chaos all over Japan and no hero agency seem to know what to do about them — they are perfectly organized, always manage to escape arrest, never cause any casualties and its members remain impossible to identify. All heroes can do is wait for them to strike again and hope that they will be able to capture them. Convinced that she can do a better job than everyone else, a rising Pro, Rabbit Hero: Mirko, dives in head first into an investigation and realizes too late that she might be biting more than she can chew.

mirko x villain!female!oc

   Of all the popular spots in the city, there were few that she found more despicable than the Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall. Unnecessarily vast, stores spreading endlessly under her gaze, bright colors ready to blind anyone who stared too intently or for too long. And loud. It was so goddamn loud, no matter what time of the day she visited that cursed mall, it was always filled to the brim with obnoxiously loud people — the hustle and bustle of life had never been much of a bother to her, but there, stuck in a crowd that she could barely escape when tucked away in a corner, everything was too much.

In spite of all that, in spite of her boss knowing exactly how much she hated that place, he still sent her there for his ridiculous scouting mission. There was absolutely no point in scouting the place when it was so easy to find a map with every store on it, was there?

She let out a deep sigh and rubbed a hand over her eyes. If it were not for this tenuous task, she could have been home, settled comfortably under a heavy blanket to watch videos of superheroes getting their ass kicked, or compilations of the most awkward superhero moments in superhero history, on her phone. But she was stuck there instead, leaning against a pillar, desperately trying to avoid any sort of physical contact with those who passed too close to her.

"You look so stiff your attitude screams super-villain. Relax and live a little, Overload."

The grating voice came suddenly from her earpiece, making her wince. She could not resist the urge to press a hand to her ear, even though she knew it was useless to chase the noise away.

"Don't call me that," she whispered, not bothering to try to hide her annoyance. She had never felt the need to have a Villain name — she was not one of those people who needed to show with their fancy Quirk and their fancy code-name that bore little to no meaning. Obnoxious.

"Then relax and start looking like you at least aren't here against your will." Her partner's tone was teasing, once again a reminder to live a little. "People are staring. But maybe that's 'cause you're super hot."

Her only response was a groan. It was always like that between the two of them. He tried to tell her to not be so stiff, she complained, he tried to flirt, she ignored him for three days in a row. He was far from being a terrible person, not a constant buzzing annoyance, and his playful flirting could be quite amusing at times (but that much she could not bring herself to say out loud, as it would merely encourage him further). He was no good person either, though. Neither of them was. But that was the whole point, was it not?

She looked up at the floor above her, easily spotting his large figure in the crowd. He was leaning over the railing, watching her with too intense eyes, and all she wanted was to show him her middle fingers. But that was impossible. It would only bring attention to their connection, something they could not afford right now. Discretion was the whole point of their mission today. Observing without being noticed — why their boss would send both their tallest male and female members for such a task was beyond her.

So annoying and entirely useless if you asked her.

"Second store on your left. Big one. Looks like there'd be loads of cameras. Check it out."

Even from down there, she could see that he looked pleased with his suggestion. No matter what that store sold, she already knew that she would hate it and want to burn it to the ground. But she did not speak her mind. She simply hummed, took out her phone to pretend to check something, and made her way to the store that Boomboom had indicated.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," she muttered under her breath at the terrible sight that spread under her eyes like an endless nightmare.

It did not take more than two seconds for a loud laugh to echo in her ear, Boomboom much too happy about her reaction to try to hide his — even though he knew that he needed to be discreet and not bring attention to himself, he was laughing like an idiot. Too pleased with himself and the fact that he had guided her to a superhero merchandise store.

She was surrounded by capes, costumes, mugs, figures, posters, and various decorations that were brightly colored and shaped like the Quirk users that the common folk admired more than they ought to. That store was hell on earth, but she could not afford to run away now that she had stepped inside. She needed to spot every camera in the store, that was her mission. A mission that she hated with a burning passion.

So, instead of fleeing the scene as she wished she could, and escaping that nightmare of a vision, she walked around, pretending to examine the contents of the rows of shelves, picking up a mug here and there only to put in back down. She had to dodge several too excited children screaming about All Might and Kamui Woods and whatever other Pro Hero kids liked nowadays.

It was only when she approached the counter at the back of the store that she found something that piqued her interest. Protected by glass panels, stood a little exhibit of figures, statues, pins, and other memorabilia that she could not help but admire. There was a banner that rested above the shelf, white letters on a beautiful shade of muted red; ‘Heroes Of Our Childhood’ it read.

She knelt in front of the display, her eyes moving from one side of the lowest shelf to the other.

“You like vintage heroes, uh?”

The voice belonged an employee she had spotted when nearing the back of the store. He was not particularly tall or handsome, he was not particularly anything, really. A very plain looking man that she would not have even looked at, had it not been for her mission. He had a kind smile, though — a man who seemed like he could be trusted. But she did not trust anyone.

With a deep breath, she brought a hand up to her earpiece and disconnected it, refusing to let Boomboom hear any part of the conversation that was bound to follow.

“Why aren’t Locked & Loaded together?” she inquired, still too entranced by the display to look at the man.

“You know Locked & Loaded?”

There was a tint of admiration and excitement in the man’s voice, and finally, she looked away from the shelf. The man’s eyes were wide open in surprise, apparently caught off guard by her knowledge.

“We’ve had this display up for a bit over a week now, and nobody has ever noticed that Locked & Loaded are on opposite sides of the shelf,” the employee explained, kneeling by her side. “I had this idea that I would sell them at a reduced price to whoever realized that they belonged in a set, since I never expected that someone would recognize them.”

He scratched at the back of his head, the gesture almost bashful.

“Are you interested in buying them?” he asked, his voice barely containing his excitement. “I can do two-for-one, for someone like you.”

He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering just a second too long on the sliver of skin that peaked between her jeans and crop top. Ah. No matter how kind and trustworthy that man looked, he was one of those guys. She could not point it, could not make a scene, had no desire to bring any attention to herself right now, in the middle of a mission, so she merely shook her head at the offer and tried her best to give him a small smile.

“Regular price, please. The names of heroes like Locked & Loaded shouldn’t be tainted by reduced prices.”

What was she even saying? She should not be refusing such a generous offer when she barely made any money, should not be spewing such chivalrous nonsense about long gone Pro Heroes, but there she was, unable to stop herself from talking. It was a good thing that she had had enough sense to cut the connection with Boomboom, or she would have never heard the end of it — the man loved to tease her more than enough as it was, and he definitely did not need more reasons to keep teasing her.

“Wait for me at the counter while I get Locked & Loaded ready for you!”

She stood up, knees cracking inelegantly as she did, and made her way to the counter as the employee disappeared behind a door. The counter was just as obnoxious as the rest of the store, bright young heroes, and their bright costumes; pins, patches, and other small objects that nobody could possibly have a use for. There were tiny figures standing on the counter as well, far from the high quality and details of the statues she was about to buy. Her eyes landed on one that only appeared taller than the others because of the white bunny ears sprouting from its little head. Tan skin, fluffy ears and a body suit that did not cover any of the taut muscles of the female hero.

"Interested in Mirko?" the employee asked as he came back from the concealed room, large box under his arm.

"A bunny girl?" She blinked, unable to look away from the unexpected hero. "Is this what Pro Heroes have come to?"

The man laughed, "we can’t choose our Quirks, right? She's a rising Pro Hero. Really popular lately, super strong legs. She kicks villain butts!"

She only hummed at the words and finally looked away from the small figure. Bunny hero was weirdly cute, in a way. As cute as extremely muscular heroes in a tight and revealing body suit can be (not all that much, all in all).

The employee reached over the register to grab the small figure and placed it in the bag he had prepared, on top of the box that contained the statues that she was about to waste her money on. Why was she even buying them? It would bring her any sort of joy, would it? She had no idea where in her apartment there even would be room for them. What would she do with a mini bunny girl?

Probably sensing her confusion at the gesture, he spoke up.

“It’s a gift. I’m a fan of Mirko, and I was always a fan of Locked & Loaded, so I hope that one day, you’ll look at Mirko the way you looked at these Locked & Loaded statues.”

The smile he directed at her was soft, kind, genuine, but she could only arc an eyebrow at his words.

“I highly doubt I will ever look at any hero the way I looked at them.”

His smile remained. Obnoxious.

“You never know!”

Definitely obnoxious. People who thought they knew better were insufferable and exhausting to talk to — which was why she always avoided conversations with her boss so carefully.

Her money wasted, credit card back in her pocket, she headed out of the store, not without casting a last glance around the place, making sure that she had spotted every camera there. It was what she had gone inside for, after all, not to buy some Pro Hero merchandise. 

“Yo!”

She jumped, every muscle in her body tensing as she readied herself to throw a punch, but Boomboom’s large silhouette was casting a shadow over her, protecting her from the overbearing sun that would have otherwise undoubtedly hurt her eyes.

“You know it’s not good for us to be spotted together, right?”

He only shrugged. Under her questioning gaze, he finally tapped his ear.

“You disconnected. And Bossman said we should head back to HQ.”

Her lips formed a surprised little ‘o’ shape. She had turned off her earpiece to make sure that Boomboom would not hear her talk about superheroes to the employee of that stupid store.

When Boomboom’s eyes fell on the bag clasped in her hand, her grip on it only tightened, and she moved it behind her back, out of his sight, as if it would actually quench his curiosity.

“Whatcha got in there? Don’t you hate Pros more than Bossman does?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I bought something so I wouldn’t look too suspicious after looking around for so long. It’s nothing interesting.”

Boomboom’s grin showed too many of his too white teeth. 

“Show me!”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Show me or I’ll show myself.”

Boomboom was now frowning, and while she knew that he rarely was grumpy, she was too aware of his insatiably curious personality. She had never minded that particular trait of his; it made him cautious in general and a very good partner for missions, as he never hesitated to do research before going anywhere. But Boomboom also was much taller and had a lot more raw physical strength than she could ever dream to have. If he really wanted to take the bag from her, it would barely take him a minute.

“I’ll show you one thing?” her tone was unsure as she tried negotiation, but Boomboom still smiled, and she knew that it would be enough.

She fished the small bunny girl — no, Pro Hero — figure from the plastic bag and placed it in his large hand. He brought it closer to his face, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head to take a better look at it.

“Mirko the Rabbit Hero?” he questioned, seemingly confused, though he had clearly gotten the name right.

“Yes, bunny girl.”

Finally, he looked away from the small figure to look back at her.

“I didn’t expect her to be your type,” he said, almost too calmly, “but it makes sense. You do seem like you’d like them with abs and big biceps.”

“I look like I would like Pros with abs and big biceps?” It was her turn to be confused.

Boomboom shook his head. “Women. Not Pros.”

She gathered all the patience in her body to let out a sigh instead of unleashing her Quirk at full power in his face. Rather than give him the honor of reacting to his attempt at teasing her, she merely grabbed his arm and started to head for the exit of the cursed mall she had already spent too many hours in. At least it did not feel so bad with him right by her side — no matter how pleased with himself he looked. Boomboom was safe, he felt like home.