#I DO NOT HAVE THE STRENGTH TO TAG THE INDIVIDUAL PAIRINGS NO

[hershelwidget]

shapeshifters, guns, and guilt got me having the most insane thoughts ever. heres whatever these are

uhh i also have. *checks notes*

weed smoking girlfriends

the bottom half of that is true btw it’s all a scam. read it i dare you

and last but not least

weezer

[shibaraki]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: slow to heal and forced on sick leave, a lonely Todoroki Shouto decides to download the latest popular app, Enigmail, to cure his boredom. he finds you. the rest is… well. moderately disastrous.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, pen pal au, hero personal assistant reader, prohero shouto, strangers to friends to lovers, injury recovery, online friendship + eventual romance, feelings development, misunderstandings, identity reveal, pining, sexting, masturbation (male chara), making out + heavy petting, getting together, *slaps roof of fic* you can fit so much fluff in this thing

wc: 17K

It started unexpectedly—with a tremor.

Rather, it started with Oda Shuichi, the prolific villain known as Tremor. At the time of the incident his quirk had been unregistered, but doctors quickly found that it severely affected an individual's motor neurons. According to them the length of time that he has a five point touch hold on someone influences how long they will lose motor function—and how poorly their muscles atrophy.

Shouto spent three uninterrupted minutes trapped in his clutches.

“I promise I’ll come by and visit whenever we can. You’ll still get updates and reports through your work email,” Midoriya tried to assure him with that signature smile, brows drawn together into an almost pleading expression. “It’s just for a little while!”

“For a month,” Shouto pointed out petulantly. Nori, his elderly adopted cat, stirred from her place on his stomach while restless fingers combed over her short pale fur.

“A month,” Midoriya parrots. He offers an apologetic grimace and leans over where he lies horizontal, slumped and agitated, to fluff up the couch cushions behind him. The newly crowned Symbol of Peace obviously felt needlessly responsible for the situation at hand. Shouto had only allowed Tremor to grab him so Deku and Suneater could get the hostages out, after all.

“Taking a break isn’t so bad, Shouto. And Hawks told me you’ve yet to actually use any of your vacation days,” he continued. “Even Kacchan takes time off. Do you know how many hours you have to work to outdo Kacchan?”

“I’m sure you could tell me exact numbers”.

“Don’t be mean,” Midoriya said, dithering as he peers around the room, slightly unfamiliar now that the furniture has been temporarily moved around to make navigating the space easier. Thanks to an on-call specialist Shouto would still be able to walk in short bursts, but he’d have to gradually build up strength and stamina over the weeks to come.

A pleased sound reverberated in Midoriya’s throat as he finally discovered the TV remote, setting it beside Shouto’s phone on the arm of the chair. “Okay. There,” he hooked an ankle around the coffee table and dragged it a little closer. “If you need us to get you anything from the store just text us”.

Shouto grumbled. Midoriya sighed, fondly exasperated at the childish display. Before leaving he moved the nearby pair of crutches within reach, listing off all the things he can think of, “Hey, maybe you can catch up on Quirky Hearts now! Or read that series Iida said you’d enjoy. There’s that new app I heard about, too. Enigmail? That might be fun”.

The anonymous pen pal app, Enigmail, exploded in popularity after its release in the spring. Shouto barely knew a thing about it, only that you needed to be over eighteen and chatting partners were assigned at random. Nothing about that sounded tempting.

Midoriya’s suggestion hung over his head for the rest of that afternoon. Quirky Hearts droned on in the background. Halfway through the first episode Shouto had yet to retain any information. Nori hardly left her spot. Jaws stretched wide around a yawn, lips pulled back to display what remained of her teeth. He liked to think she sensed his inner turmoil, though realistically, she was likely too lazy to move.

Curiosity prevailed in the end. The logo featured a pink post mounted mailbox, the slot unhinged to receive a folded paper plane. Shouto opened the app onto a pretty basic interface that followed an almost pastel theme. The profiles are barebones. He supposed that was purposeful. It asked for pronouns and a nickname, offering the option to pick an icon from their default library, but nothing more.

From what he could discern skimming over the rules he would be assigned to a random chat room with another person in a speed dating style interaction. A timer would count down from two minutes and upon completion prompt the user to either switch partners or remain talking.

A simple concept. But anything had sounded better than sulking horizontally and staring dead eyed at reality television for the remainder of his night. And when was the last time he met somebody new?

Almost every username he could think up had been taken. Even his hero name was unavailable. In a last ditch effort he settled on a miraculously accepted Sooba and scrolled through the icons. “Hey, it looks like you,” he murmured, pleased by the regal white cat icon. She hadn’t heard him, but sunk her dull claws into the meat of his forearm as he turned the image to her, those dramatic yellow eyes dilating at his coo, “Don’t worry. You’re the only Nori in my life”.

Shouto clicked start.

The first few users are odd, and without tact. Others communicated in languages he couldn’t understand. He stuck around regardless—luckily the developers had thought to include a translation tool, and Shouto managed to befriend one or two people with innocuous pictures he’d taken on previous patrols alone.

Then there’s…

XpLoveGuest ▻ Hey sexy

By that point early evening had already flooded through his balcony doors and drenched everything in a gauzy orange glow. His nose wrinkled. “You have no idea what I look like,” he thought aloud, switching to his right hand to roll the ache from his left wrist

▻ ASL?

Shouto frowned in faint confusion. He minimised the app to search up the term. Results flowed in, and after a brief look over everything he discovered they all repeated the same description. It’s an old acronym.

His thumbs tapped across the keyboard in quick succession.

Sooba ▻ Age: 27 ▻ Location: Tokyo ▻ Sex: No thank you

The chat immediately disappeared. A loading symbol blinks in the centre of the screen. He snorted, and suddenly a new chat opened with a different username blinking at the top corner. It’s a bit on the nose.

‘InsertNameHere’.

You shared the same default cat icon, which he took as an immediate plus.

But a minute elapsed and nobody spoke. There was an unusual trepidation on your part. Shouto chewed his bottom lip. He contemplated starting the conversation when suddenly three dots skipped across the screen, indicating the other user was typing something.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re not going to send me a picture of your dick, are you? ▻ If you have one that is.

Shouto’s mouth parted in soft surprise, then pressing defensively thin, and he had glanced around his living room as though someone were there to witness this weirdness alongside him.

Sooba ▻ I have one.

InsertNameHere ▻ Ok. Well I don’t want to see it.

Sooba ▻ It sounds like you see a lot of dicks.

Not once taking his eyes away from the screen, Shouto felt for the TV remote and paused the show, brow arching at your next response.

InsertNameHere ▻ And it sounds like you’re new here.

Sooba ▻ I am. My friend recommended I try this to cure my boredom while I recover.

A few beats passed. He eyed the countdown looming over your shared interaction, conscious of how little time is left. You were the first interesting person he’s come across. Though he supposed that isn’t saying much.

InsertNameHere ▻ Recover? That sounds bad. Are you alright?

Sooba ▻ Injury at work. I’ll be fine in a few weeks.

Just as you were beginning to respond, the timer cut out. Shouto reflexively expelled his frustration and Nori lifted her head toward the abrupt movement of his chest, ears twitching. She blinked up at him in disapproval for shaking her. “Sorry sweet girl,” he murmured, wearing a small smile as he scratched under her chin. So temperamental.

A familiar pop up in the cartoonish shape of a postcard covered the chat. Your messages blurred into the background. It read: Do you wish to continue corresponding?

Shouto clicked ‘Yes’. And apparently you did too, because your contact pinned itself to his in-app mailbox.

A melodic chime pinged from his phone. Confetti burst across the off white background in pixelated blooms.

✎ CONGRATULATIONS! You have a new pen pal ✐

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess I can keep you company in the meantime. ▻ You’re the only sane person I’ve come across so far.

Shouto smiled, even as the muscles in his cheeks protested. It’s a stubborn reminder of his condition. He repositioned himself to lessen the strain on his wrists, chin tucked to his chest where his phone is propped, and said:

Sooba ▻ I’d like that. :)

The fortnight that followed is slow to pass. An endless cycle of wake, stretch, eat, lightly exercise as instructed by his physiotherapist, play with Nori, eat, watch Quirky Hearts, stretch. Midoriya stopped by, bringing Iida along with him. Jirou sent him playlists to listen to. Fuyumi called every evening and shared the phone with his mother, gentle in their fretting. He assures them all that he’s coping just fine from the Shouto-shaped depression in his couch cushions.

But there’s also you; the stream of consciousness keeping his seams together, lest he fall apart from the complete and utter boredom he’s been forced to endure. In the beginning he wasn’t sure of the rules. Talking online is not his forte and neither is making new friends. That entire first morning was spent ruminating whether or not texting you ‘good morning’ was strange, and estimating how many times was appropriate to message you before he violated some invisible social boundary.

Normal had been irrelevant until now. Normal, to Shouto, consisted of avoiding his father’s phone calls, sending the occasional concussive text message—indecipherable to even the greatest cryptanalysts—and giving Nori updates in the 1A Grad group chat.

Sometimes he’ll open the app to see you typing, pausing, typing. Imagining you, a faceless someone, equally uncertain about your footing pleases him a little. In the end he figured if you didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t respond. Evidenced by how you often saved him the trouble by messaging first, sometimes as early as five o'clock in the morning. Apparently you worked irregular hours in a rather unpredictable industry. Shouto weighs the possibility that you might be a fellow hero—or something close—more than he cared to admit.

Any trepidation he felt would always dwindle as soon as a notification lit up on the screen. He reads your username and his insides turn over.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve escaped to the break room. ▻ Do you ever think about how we don’t have muscles in our fingers? How fucked up is that?

Shouto smirks, pulled away from the conversation at hand. He unlocks the phone in his lap, beneath the kotatsu to remain hidden, an attempt at being inconspicuous as he replies.

Sooba ▻ I try not to think too much about anything.

You throw back a few laughing emoticons and satisfaction washes over him. “You’ve been texting a lot. Who’s got you smiling like that?” Natsuo asks slyly. He’s cross legged, tie tossed irreverently over his shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, having come straight from work. “A special someone?”

Shouto forces the muscles in his face to relax into feigned nonchalance. “Nobody. Nothing,” he says unconvincingly.

Rei enters the room with a modest tray of dango before Natsuo can open his big mouth. She’s wearing a bi-coloured hoodie. The sleeves slip as she sets the treats down on the table beside the green tea Fuyumi brewed earlier; another gift from Yaoyorozu’s family travels. Natsuo’s face twitches under Shouto’s unbroken stare, which is daring him to bring it up while their mother is here.

Then his phone vibrates and any possibility of peace is shattered.

His mother glances curiously at him, expression soft in the dewy afternoon light, and she smiles. “Are you speaking to one of your friends?” she asks. “Please tell Deku ‘thank you’ for sending me your new Shouto hoodie. It’s very warm”.

The words fill something cavernous inside him. Soothes the ache with gentle wonderment. She smiles down at his hero logo printed proudly across her chest, rubbing the hem between her finger and thumb. A younger Shouto could have only ever imagined it.

“I’m not so sure it’s a friend this time,” Natsuo teases, spoken with a playful, sing-song cadence. “Shouto wouldn’t text at the table and risk facing Fuyumi’s wrath just for a friend”.

Shouto does not pout. “I would risk anything for my friends,” he says, affronted; anything maybe except his older sister's well intentioned nagging. “…It’s a new friend, that’s all”.

Rei perks up, settling on her knees and laying the kotatsu blanket over her thighs. The quiet sound of plates and cups clinking together fade in from the kitchen. Natsuo hums, unconvinced, and hides a smile behind his mug. It's moments like this, when the people he loves are gathered in one place, and he can hear them in every corner of his home, that he’s glad for buying a smaller apartment.

“That’s wonderful, Shouto,” Rei murmurs as Fuyumi pads into the room, Nori not long behind her, threading through his elder sister's ankles. She too arrived right after work, donning a suit-skirt and blouse. “What’s their name?”

His thoughts stutter. Fuyumi’s nose wrinkles seeing the panic stark on his face. “Who are we talking about?”

“Beats me. Ask him,” Natsuo says, taking a stick of dango between his teeth as he tries not to grin when Shouto’s phone vibrates a second time. “I want to know who’s so eager to talk to my little brother”.

InsertNameHere ▻ Sooooobaaaaaaa ▻ I’m on my lunch keep me company

Shouto snatches up his phone to respond. He brings it closer to his face to allow Nori access to his lap. She monopolises the space instantly. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Shouto,” Fuyumi laments. “No phones during family time”.

“I know. I’m sorry, nee-san. I just need to…” his thumbs dance over the keyboard, head ducked in amalgamated shame and apology.

Sooba ▻ Question ▻ InsertNameHere ▻ What is your name?

InsertNameHere ▻ At the personal info stage already? You move fast. ▻ Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.

That stirs a faint unease in his gut and he understands better then. Anonymity is what gives people a sense of security and he isn’t exempt from that. In truth, right now he doesn’t want to know what might change if you knew who was on the other end yet.

Sooba ▻ You can call me whatever you want.

“Shouto”.

InsertNameHere ▻ That’s not even a line is it. ▻ Man. You’re dangerous.

Sooba ▻ ???

Shouto stares at the flickering dots by your username. You type, then stop. Type, then stop. As if you were deleting and starting over again. A habit of yours he’s quite endeared to. “Shouto!” Fuyumi huffs, poking a manicured finger into his side. Though short, the nail still causes him to flinch, and he’s quick to stretch his phone out of reach as her hand swipes through the air. “I mean it!”

Nori is jolted. She voices her immediate displeasure and Rei titters into her sleeve. The sleeve with his name stitched into the fabric. He breath catches, like it always does when his mother laughs. “Shouto doesn’t have to tell us anything until he’s ready,” she assured, offering him a gentle look—a look so sincere he feels awful for being evasive.

And his feeble resolve fractures.

“I don’t know,” he confesses bluntly. Natsuo and Fuyumi frown, at one another and then back at him, in unsettling synchrony cultivated through siblinghood. Shouto shrugs and pulls at a stray thread in his jeans cut loose under Nori’s claws, “I can’t tell you a name because I don’t know it”.

Natsuo appears mildly surprised. Fuyumi sinks into disbelief, feet curled beneath her body, going lax at his side. She drops her arm. “You… don’t know it?” she repeats.

“The app is anonymous,” he supplies hastily, attention flickering to his mother, far more worried about discerning her reaction. She’s unreadable. “My name isn’t on there either. We just talk about stuff”.

“Stuff?” his siblings' voices overlap, told apart only by the difference in tone. Natsuo’s shock has melted into some strange mix of pride and innuendo. “Is it that penpal thing everyone has been talking about? Enigma?”

“Enigmail,” he mutters. Natsuo lights up. Fuyumi does not share the sentiment.

“You’re a hero, Shouto! What if it’s someone with bad intentions?” she frets, brows drawn down and together, mouth pressed thin. “They could be tricking you. The internet is rife with predators, and—!”

“Nee-san. I’m a grown man. I understand the importance of internet safety,” Shouto interjects.

Natsuo slumps onto the table with a mawkish sigh, the sound steeped in fondness. “Let him have fun. You know he’s right, ‘Yumi, he’s an adult. It’s a wonder where all that time went,” he says. A few beats later he’s abruptly straightening his spine, “Gods, Fuyumi. You’re almost thirty five!”

Fuyumi glares from behind her glasses. She reaches across the kotatsu and swats lightly at his bicep, “Do you have to say it like that? You’re thirty one!”

“Please. Stop arguing,” Shouto says. He pets the unperturbed cat curled up on his thighs, “You might startle Nori”.

“Shouto. She’s deaf”.

Rei cuts their bickering short as she breathes, “When did you all get so big…” a serene smile hung on her lips, not a hint of grief to be seen. The answers surrounding your identity—or lack thereof—are lost to the nostalgia cloying in his throat.

They return to enjoying tea and dango after that. Shouto sets his phone face down on the floor and turns off vibrate. For now, he wants to ward off further interrogation.

His mother intuits this and steers the conversation in another direction, “Natsuo, how have things been at your new job? Are they treating you well?”

Things are good. Fuyumi’s class would soon be graduating, an award for Best Teacher polished and positioned on her desk. Natsuo had landed the job he always wanted—a medical welfare officer working closely with trauma survivors—and was already making waves. His mother, Rei, finally finished cultivating her traditional garden, weaving tales of lush foliage and water spouts. Touya too has been improving in his rehabilitation programme, according to his psychiatrist’s reports.

A tremor quakes through the tendons in Shouto’s forearm as he lifts his tea to sip the remaining dregs. Yaoyorozu outdid herself this time. If he hadn’t already known the price he would have discerned it from the refreshing, uniquely sweet taste. Thoughts of you cross his mind in these instances without warning. Would you like it? What’s your favourite tea?

Shouto scrunches his eyes shut as if it might wash those thoughts away. How is it that the stranger in his pocket possesses the ability to awaken such yearning in him; he feels mildly ashamed to have realised his loneliness with an audience.

The hour rolls into another. Shouto scrapes the last dango along the skewer with his teeth, jutting his chin to evade Nori’s curious sniffing. “This was lovely, Shouto. Thank you for having us over,” Fuyumi expressed as she carefully ran her hand along the feline's back.

Sensing the finality, Shouto motions to stand and sets Nori on the couch. Everyone protests it. He huffs, sliding a crutch over from where they lay nearby and letting it take his weight. A good decision, he thinks, inwardly grimacing as the blood rushes to his feet, prickling like violent white noise under his skin, and his knee almost gives out.

“I’m okay. The doctor told me I should be trying to move around more anyway,” he tells them, deigning to mention that he expended most of his energy tidying up this morning before their visit. “You’re my guests. I want to walk you to the door”.

Shouto tries not to bristle under their wary scrutiny. A cool hand slips around his arm then. His mother’s natural chill seeps through the sleeve of his shirt and allays the irritation. “We appreciate it, sweetheart,” she says.

“We do,” Fuyumi gently insists. “We’re happy to see you recovering well. Right, Natsu—?”

“Kiss tax!” Natsuo exclaims, oblivious to his surroundings. He scoops Nori up from the arm of the couch. She is comically tiny pressed against his chest. A continuous indignant drone rumbles in her throat as his brother peppers firm kisses to the top of her head.

“Put my baby down,” Shouto deadpanned.

“She isn’t your baby,” Natsuo slides one hand under Nori, the other carefully tucked into her armpits. He holds her close to Shouto’s face. Dramatic round eyes stare back; a flat expression emphasised by prominent cheekbones. Barely a hair's breadth between them, Nori begins to swipe her rough tongue against his scarred cheek. “See? You’re her baby”.

“Mine, too,” Rei rises to her tiptoes and scratches behind Nori’s ear, turning a smile toward Shouto. That same hand moved to cup his cheek. Though far taller than his mother, Shouto tips his head and finds himself feeling incredibly small as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Your hair is getting long again,” she adds as she pulls away.

“I can trim it if it’s bothering you,” Fuyumi nods, sidling up beside Rei to survey the growth together. She brushes back the wayward strands framing his face and Shouto blinks. “Though, I think I like this look on you. What’s it called? A wolfcut?”

“I’m not sure. This is how Mina cut it a few months ago,” he replies.

Natsuo interjects without Nori in his grasp, now notably covered in short cat hair. He claps Shouto on the back and pulls him into a firm side hug, “She did good. Our handsome little Shouto”.

Initiating physical affection with his family was still a weary affair after all this time, though patently one sided. Having them touch him so freely always left him a little stupefied.

After they depart, Shouto hobbles to find his phone with all the grace of a newborn fawn. It is face down under the kotatsu cover right where he left it. And as it blinks to life, he skips the notifications from the 1A group chat to find your screen name at the bottom.

InsertNameHere ▻ My boss has these awful little nicknames for everyone in the agency. Mine’s ‘Maestro’. Nerd and butterfingers, too, but mostly Maestro. ▻ To do with my quirk and role, I suppose. Good for morale etc. His creativity astounds me (๑ಕ̴ _̆ ಕ̴) ﾝ？ ▻ Not that I don’t appreciate it but. Well shit, what about my morale? Lol ▻ You there? ▻ Sorry if I scared you off by getting personal.

Shouto worries at his bottom lip. Maestro. Something new about you. A foreign feeling churned in his chest. Faint, barely there, but new enough for him to notice. He’s not sure how to pin it; whether your mention of working at an agency bothers him or the fact that others, people who are not Shouto, get to see you everyday, close enough to give you a personal nickname.

Sooba ▻ Sounds like you have a good relationship. I’ve got a close friend who sounds similar. People say it’s just his love language ha ▻ And you didn’t scare me off. I’m the one who asked. Some family came to check on me.

He barely thinks it over before adding:

▻ My mother said hi by the way.

Your reply isn’t immediate but it is quicker than he expects.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re right. I do like my boss sometimes. Maybe. And I love this job but I think it has aged me ten years. My ulcers have ulcers! ▻ Also—telling your family about me now too? We really are moving fast.

A soft huff of laughter jumps in his throat. There’s a distant clamoring near the kitchen. The sound of Nori’s bowl being pushed around the tile. Her absence clicks in place when he looks at the clock. He should feed her soon.

Sooba ▻ Technically it was only my mother, older sister and brother. ▻ But I can relate about the work stuff.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah? You mentioned being on leave because of an injury. Do you like your work?

That’s a question he has never asked himself, nor has he ever felt the need to. Heroism was the path life handed to him. The path he ultimately followed of his own volition. Shouto loves his family, his friends. He’s good at his job—enough to have made it into the top ten. And isn’t that all that matters?

Sometimes he would take a long, weary look out the revolving agency doors, recognise the heaviness in his bones and give the entire thing a second thought. But that never made any difference. Because people needed him. And he needed them too.

There’s a fleeting urge in that instance; a temptation to come clean, if only to sate his own curiosity. To compare the idealised image of what you looked like or how you sounded. He’s spent many a shameful night thinking up romanticised scenarios in his mind about what it would be like to meet you in real life. Shouto always squashes it. He doubts you’d believe him.

Ever perceptive to his moods, Nori chooses that moment to pad in from the kitchen and sit herself directly in his line of sight. She wails, demanding attention and lacking any volume control.

Right now he is not a hero but a man alone on two unsteady legs with a small living thing reliant upon him. He’s just Todoroki Shouto. He’s just—

Sooba ▻ As of right now my occupation is ‘Nori’s dad’. I like it pretty well.

Your reply is immediate.

InsertYourName ▻ Oh you have a kid?

Nori’s frustration grows. Her tail swishes back and forth, agitated. “It isn’t time to eat yet,” Shouto tells her, pulling up his phone camera and zooming in. On her next yowl the shutter goes off. The picture is perfect. Mouth wide open, large ears flat and nose wrinkled in displeasure, lips curled up to display her pink gums.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_0243] ▻ Something like that.

It’s a risk and he knows it. Though infrequently his team has posted Nori to his social media in the past at the delight of his fans—she was younger in those pictures, but if you were well acquainted with him there was the possibility of you putting the puzzle pieces together.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god sooba. She’s so cute. Give her everything she asks for, you monster. ▻ Hey. Are those Ingenium themed crutch pads?

Anxiety rockets through him. He pulls up the photo and sure enough, his crutches are in the corner of the frame, laid within reach beside the couch. Secured around the handles are Ingenium themed pads to cushion his palms.

Sooba ▻ They are.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is he your favourite hero?

He turns his phone over in his hands before he types, overcome by an abrupt restlessness.

Sooba ▻ One of them. ▻ Do you have a favourite hero?

Nori wanders off in his periphery and not long after he hears the telltale sound of cardboard being torn apart. You stop typing, replies coming to a halt. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

It becomes clear you’re offline. Shouto spends the evening imagining your answer—ducking sheepishly at the idea that you might say him, then cringing at his reaction—and reading through his work emails.

Partnering with Hawks hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. Despite his carefree demeanour and general lack of personal space Hawks was professional and meticulous when it came to his work. As promised, Shouto was CC’d into every important thread and forwarded every significant incident report each day. Apparently there’s a big fundraiser tonight that he is unable to attend.

Hawks suggests matching Endeavor’s donation in spirit. Shouto doubles it.

The night air barely touches him. Leaning against the balcony railing he surveys the cityscape. A kaleidoscope canvas. He stares until the pinpricks of light stretch and bend, streaking his vision, regaining shape when he blinks. Nori is curled around his calf, playfully kicking her back legs at his ankle. She’s careful to never break skin.

It’s nearing midnight when you get back to him. A disconcertingly vague reply of:

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve had enough of heroes.

Shouto waits for you to elaborate before presuming anything nefarious. He would hate for Fuyumi to be correct. She’d never let him forget it.

▻ Shit that made me sound bad, didn’t it? I promise I’m not a villain

He snorts, reclining himself into one of the chairs on his patio. Yaoyorozu insisted upon helping decorate the space. This piece in particular had been chosen by Uraraka, if only for its cocoon, egg-like shape. She always sat in it if she came over; Shouto can’t say he blames her, now curling up inside it himself, leaving one foot flat to the floor for Nori to cling to.

Sooba ▻ Only a little bit lol.

InsertNameHere ▻ I just mean for today! I’ve had enough for today! ▻ There’s… a whole lot of them at this work event I’m attending is all. ▻ See! ▻ [IMG_0589]

It’s the first picture you’ve ever sent to him that wasn’t a meme. Your legs are crossed, turned inward to show more of the showroom floor. There are people everywhere. You’ve overturned your lanyard in your lap, straps dotted with the charity logo, to display the back of your security pass. No identification. Just proof that you’re there—

Proof that you’re a real person, giving colour to the vague, shapeless figure in his head. The figure once outlined only by random tidbits, like your favourite food, the music you like, the movies you loved as a child. The figure now clad in tight fitting, seemingly pearlescent sheer material from the waist down.

—Shouto swallows dryly.

You have nice hands. He tries not to linger on that.

▻ That’s why I disappeared, btw. Sorry about that. ▻ I feel weirdly underdressed.

The logo on your lanyard has recognition prickling in the back of his mind. Hours earlier Midoriya had texted him two pictures from the ‘HEROKIND’ fundraiser Hawks mentioned. One being a selfie of him and an aggrieved Bakugo, each wearing their own fitted suit, and another of Uraraka in an evening gown stood behind the imposing silhouette that was his father, stealthily pointing her middle finger at his back.

He saved that one to his camera roll.

Sooba ▻ In that case I will close the HPSC anonymous tip line ▻ Sometimes people try too hard at those events and forget why they’re there. You look good from what I see.

InsertNameHere ▻ How very gracious (´・｀ ) ▻ Sounds like you have some experience with this kind of thing. My condolences lmao ▻ But thank you. I’m glad you think so.

Shouto entertains the idea of sending you something back. His eyes surreptitiously flicker around as though being watched. Nothing revealing who he is, but enough to maybe—

The camera captures a few of the modest flower beds and cat grass lining his balcony, Nori coiled around his bare ankle. He looks at his hand. Shuffles his hips further down to mirror your angle and flexes his fingers in his lap. Heat floods his body, guided by the shameless desire to inform the image you might have of him in your own head, too.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_288] ▻ At least you’re having more fun than I am.

You type for a long ten second interval. Then restart. A tedious minute elapses and just as regret creeps in, your messages come through.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’m not so sure about that. ▻ Actually it would probably be more bearable if you were here with me.

The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. So warm it’s like he’s standing under the sun. Shouto belatedly realises it’s just his quirk, as the steam blows out through his nose. Nori butts his ankle in complaint. He bends to take her into his arms, feeling ridiculous and somewhat bad at being a person.

Sooba ▻ Think so? ▻ Just so you know I have been called socially inept on numerous occasions.

InsertNameHere ▻ Then we can hide together in the corner, get tipsy and sneak bits of the fancy spread.

This—doesn’t happen to Shouto. “Nori. I have feelings for a person I’ve never seen,” he pushes his face into Nori’s fur, and she purrs, feeling the vibrations of his voice. Admitting it aloud only highlights the absurdity. He feels out of his depth. And he decides he’s glad for the anonymity. Grateful, even. Lest he publicly humiliate himself and set off every fire alarm in the vicinity.

Sooba ▻ That sounds perfect.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll hold you to that. There’s another one of these coming up in two weeks. ▻ Prepare yourself (ꈍᴗꈍ)

“You’re really not helping,” he continues. Nori rubs insistently under his chin. “Fine, fine. I get it,” She croaks as he presses into the touch, mimicking her movement and cradling her as he gets up.

Before retiring to bed he pulls up Yaoyorozu’s contact. He settles into a comfortable position in the covers, propping his phone on his stomach, and he types:

Shouto : 00:14

I think I need help.

Consciousness eases into him slowly. It’s a sleepy pastel morning. Dust dances in the soft spotlight cast through his curtains. Shouto’s jaw unhinged to release a long yawn, limbs stretching every which way under the covers as his joints click.

Shouto props up on his elbow, twisting in place to reach and unplug his phone. He blinks away the blurriness hemming his vision and squints at the stack of messages from Enigmail right at the top of his notifications.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh shit. Hero Shouto donated double the amount of what Endeavor gave and he couldn’t even be here tonight. That’s hilarious. Can that guy get any hotter ▻ I didn’t intend for that to be a pun. ▻ These cocktails are becoming suspiciously easy to drink. ▻ You’re probably sleeping like a good boy but I miss you. Wake up! ▻ Have you ever had feelings for someone you’ve never met

The loose tongued messages stop there, at around one o’clock in the morning. Then there’s a seven hour jump to only ten minutes ago.

▻ Oh my god. Please ignore all of that. And then kill me.

Hardly awake, sleepsand still crusty at the corners of his eyes, Shouto’s mind reels as he considers pinching himself. He doesn’t know which part to focus on. Your apparent—and unknowing—attraction to him as a public figure or the implication that you had feelings for Sooba.

But you’re obviously embarrassed. So he bites back a smile and starts with something simple.

Sooba ▻ Good morning to you too ▻ Remember to drink water and take some bufarin.

Sitting upright with legs hung over the bed, Shouto clicks out to his text app by way of distraction. There’s another photo from Midoriya. This time it’s just him. Speckled light glitters along his cheeks, expression beaming as the hero holds a piece of sashimi in front of his pink face. Shouto heart reacts to the text.

InsertNameHere ▻ Send more Nori

He chuckles, sleepy. That makes known Nori’s absence. Strange, he muses. She is usually the one to wake him. Rather than search he scrolls through his albums to find a photo you hadn’t seen yet. It was taken a few months ago. He’d slipped his camera under her chin and pressed the shutter when she looked down, looming over the viewer with a dumbfounded look.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_142]

After a few minutes with no response, assuming that you had accepted his bribe and sought out some painkillers, Shouto braced against his bedside table and stood, phone in hand. Every muscle in his body felt like wet sand, held together by too tight skin. This morning, though, the incessant ache that beat alongside his heart was gone.

Walking still felt as though he was wading through molasses but strength was steadily returning to his physique.

The floor is cool under the soles of his feet as they shuffle down the hallway. There’s a noise in the kitchen that gives Shouto pause. A voice, hushed yet high pitched voice, cooing like someone might to an infant.

He drops into an ungainly defensive stance, pyjama bottoms and all. Worst case scenario they at least hang low on his hips, loose around his legs, leaving room for flexible movement. He rounds the corner without a sound.

And relief beats like a drum in his chest.

Yaoyorozu meets his gaze from the kitchen island where one hand is petting a very happy Nori, sipping from a glass of water with the other. Her face is bare, shadows soft under her eyes, hair pulled haphazardly into a low ponytail as if she had just rolled out of bed and rushed here. Creati in a bleach stained hoodie and leggings. The press would have a field day.

The sight brings a small smile to his face. Their schedules have been misaligned for months. It’s good to see her—if only her expression had not then darkened. “Todoroki Shouto,” she says with all the authority of an older sibling, “What on earth was that text last night? You had me worried sick”.

“Text?” he parrots dumbly, looking to check his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Painkillers acquired. Thank you Nori ▻ I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.

“I let myself in with the key you gave me. I hope that was alright,” she continues, quiet and apologetic now. He skims over your reply and switches to check his text app. Sure enough the last thing he sent to her was an ambiguous plea for help.

“Of course it’s alright,” he replies, regarding her with a meaningful look to cover for how sheepish he truly feels. “I gave you the key because you’re always welcome here”.

Yaoyorozu smiles on the end of an exhale, idle hands smoothing down Nori’s cheeks. “Of course,” she echoes, examining his form closely now her anxiety is assuaged. Over him comes the muted awareness that he’s being judged. “How about we go on a short walk for once, since I’m here? The weather is quite pleasant”.

Shouto steps forward with mouth downturned, “Momo, I assure you I’m fine. You don’t need to walk me like a dog,” he says, wincing thereafter at his bluntness. She only hums.

“When was the last time you went anywhere?”

Very uselessly he replies, “I go places”.

Yaoyorozu’s potential to lead and assert had never escaped him, not even in his teenage years, and it was something he staunchly admired her for. But never has he resented his own affinity for compliance more than he does the moment she ignores his pouting and tells him to finish his morning gait training and get changed.

Dressed casually and statuesque in the centre of his living room, left leg lifted to mimic a flamingo, Shouto’s limbs shake far less than previous days. He can hold his phone while he balances now, too. You haven’t sent any new messages. Probably waiting for him to assure you that he isn’t upset, but even so he’s a smidge disappointed.

Sooba ▻ I’m here. A friend appeared in my kitchen. ▻ You don’t need to apologise for anything, I wasn’t uncomfortable. I've received worse drunk texts I assure you.

He switches to his right leg and chews the inside of his cheek. Facing villainy was far less daunting than navigating his feelings.

▻ I thought it was cute.

That’s about as brave as he felt today.

Yaoyorozu resurfaces from the coat closet with a jacket in hand and a pep in her step. There’s something else coiled around her wrist. Nori’s cat leash, red and attached to a blue harness, matching Shouto’s hero colours.

“Can we bring her along?” she asks, bouncing in place. Upon recognising the leash Nori makes her opinion known, releasing a drawn out yowl. “Oh please, Shouto”.

Nori didn’t regularly enjoy walking but she had been trained to do so from a young age. She was peculiar and picky, and Shouto trusted her to let him know if ever she wanted anything—something she never failed to do.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, bending to tap her nose. It wrinkles, a stray tooth flashing between her lips. “If you get tired I won’t carry you”.

Nori blinks. A lie and they both know it.

Shouto sighs, defeated. “Okay. She hasn’t wanted to in a while so I can’t really deny her”.

“Wonderful,” Yaoyorozu breathes, handing him his jacket before undoing the harness and crouching to slip Nori’s paws through one by one. “We can grab a warm drink to go from the cafe downstairs and talk”.

Shucking the jacket on and flattening the collar, Shouto dithers in the genkan with his crutches nearby. He tucks the wayward strands of hair into a knitted hat and loops his mask around his ears. The scar couldn’t be helped but atleast this way a majority of people would not think to look twice.

They leave the apartment together, all three. In the short time it takes to step out of the building's lobby you still haven’t replied. He shoves his free hand in his pocket, fingers clasped around his phone in case it vibrates.

The establishment across from Shouto’s home has been open for longer than he’s been alive. An elderly couple named Pierre-Louis and Tsutomu run the place. The two men moved back to Japan decades ago to care for Tsutomu’s sick mother, and with Pierre-Louis’ incredibly unusual coffee quirk ‘Bean Boost’, opening a cafe seemed the right route to take.

Since moving here they’ve endeared themselves to Shouto. If they see him on his way to work Tsutomu will often rush to offer him a takeout cup. This morning is no different.

“Mon petit chou!”

Tsutomu slides open the walk up window and calls his name, beckoning them closer. The breeze tousles the short grey curls around his ears. Shouto’s heart near stops when the older man leans out to greet Nori as she stretches upward and almost loses balance. “Tsutomu-san, please be careful,” he says.

“I am still rather spry, young man. Don’t worry about me,” he returns happily, gaze moving to Yaoyorozu when he rights himself. “Lovely to see you again, Momo-chan. Have you come to rescue our prince from his cave?”

Indignant, Shouto grumbles, “I wish you would all stop acting as though I’m a hermit. I haven’t been stuck indoors that long”.

The two level him with a look of doubt. Tsutomu gently pinches his cheek and rubs a thumb over the swell above the mask. “Your pallor betrays you, Shouto. Let the sun kiss you more, no? We worry”.

“Tout va bien?” another voice interjects. Pierre-Louis squeezes up next to his husband, ignoring his disgruntled noise, and brightens when he sees Shouto on the other side. “Mon chou, you’ve emerged! And with two beautiful girls at your side”.

Yaoyorozu muffled a laugh while Nori busied herself chewing on the nearby grass, leash never pulling too far. “Pierre-Louis,” Shouto murmurs, unable to keep the fond lilt out of his voice. “It’s good to see you both”.

“And you,” he beams. The wrinkles by his eyes deepen. Shouto never met his grandparents but he thinks perhaps this is the closest he’ll get. “Are you going anywhere special?”

“We’re just taking a walk, Pierre-Louis. I thought it might be nice to get a warm drink for the journey,” Yaoyorozu spoke warmly and nudged his side. “Where better than here?”

“Bien sûr! Will that be one earl grey and one green tea?”

Shouto nods at her questioning glance, “Loose leaves today, please”, he adds.

Pierre-Louis disappears to make their drinks, shortly returning with two takeout cups, steam pluming softly from the mouth. Shouto swaps his crutch to his right side and accepts the green tea with his left hand, heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.

“How much will it be—?”

“Nonsense,” Tsutomu interrupts with a sudden switch to English. He shakes his finger, silencing any protest, and his husband gives a resolute nod in support. “Take it, mon chou. Call it a family discount”.

Shouto bids them a dazed goodbye, leaving the walk up window; a lump in his throat that he tries to wash down with hot heat, tongue impervious to the temperature. “They’re very sweet. I’m glad you have them,” Yaoyorozu muses. “What is it they call you? ‘Chou’?”

“Mon petit chou,” he repeats clumsily, accent slightly gawky. “I asked Aoyama a while ago and he told me it means ‘my little cabbage’”.

Yaoyorozu pauses and Nori continues ahead, leaping up onto a nearby half wall with her tail hooked high. She pounces on a crack between the bricks, blissfully unaware of the nearby traffic, trying to eat a ladybug.

“My little cabbage?”

Shouto hums, squinting up at the early sun, rising in a blanket of pale blue and mottled grey clouds. The air is refreshingly cool. “Apparently it’s something French parents call their children,” he shrugs, as though he were not then warmed from the inside out at the reminder that they truly did see him as one of their own.

“That’s lovely,” she says, slowing to match his pace. He’s not tired so much as he is enjoying the morning dew. They follow a familiar path. Turning down a hidden narrow walkway that leads to a neighbourhood park. Nori’s chitters fill the spaces left by comfortable silence.

Yaoyorozu suggests sitting at one of the picnic tables. Tall trees flanked the area on either side, columns rising to create a weave of foliage that shrouded them in gold. The old wood is cold under his thighs. Nori hops up onto the bench, ears flat to her head, and hisses at a dog across the way which hasn’t even noticed her presence.

“So,” Shouto glances over toward Yaoyorozu as she speaks. Her arms are settled on the tabletop, fingers curled around the disposable cup and swirling the liquid inside. “Are you going to tell me what you were panicking about last night?”

He picks at the cardboard sleeve, twisting it, and supposes this was inevitable. Slipping down his mask, Shouto brings the tea to his lips in distraction, grasping for a way to articulate his situation without simply saying: “I have feelings for my anonymous online friend”.

In the end he realises there really isn’t any other way.

Yaoyorozu listens intently, as he expected she would. Of all his well intentioned friends Shouto knew she’d be the most open to his reasoning. Her expression visibly softens while he wrings his hands and rambles about the palpable connection that he first attributed to his own loneliness—

Rambles about you; you, the one now carried with him everywhere, the presence weaving his days into tapestry; you, accepting of his random thoughts, giving of your own; you, unintentional charm and bad jokes and sharp wit; you, faceless and voiceless, the one to receive first and last thought.

He expels his fears. Concerns of who you really are. Of what you might think upon learning his identity—if you wouldn’t like him anymore, or if his own feelings might change after meeting you offline, and if that makes him a terrible, shallow person.

Then he mentions the photo from the Herokind event and her head cocks in interest. “May I see?” she asks. Shouto murmurs his agreement and pulls his phone out from his pocket.

You’ve messaged him.

InsertNameHere ▻ Appeared? Like, teleported?? ▻ I’m glad we’re ok. I would miss you otherwise. ▻ But you can’t know I’m cute. You’ve never seen me lol

Shouto is typing back with unfounded confidence before he realises it.

Sooba ▻ I don’t need to see you to know that.

Then his eyes flicker to Nori, staring up at him clad in her Shouto themed harness, lip caught on her scraggle tooth. He takes a quick picture. Examining it before sending, he notices Yaoyorozu’s slender hands in the background, and wonders if you might be jealous.

He scoffs inwardly at his own childishness and sends the photo.

▻ Not teleported hah, just came in with a spare key. We are out walking now.

“Sorry—I just wanted to reply first,” Shouto clears his throat and presses his phone into her now proffered hand. Given without question.

Something flickers in her expression at your photo; it’s a brief shift that flies over her gaze like a shadow. Her thumbs pinch and part on the screen as she zooms in. “I was there for a few hours last night,” she says. “I recognise this outfit. Would it not be easier to check the list of attendants?”

“…That doesn’t feel fair,” he admits soberly. “I know that’s silly”.

“It’s not silly,” she affirms with a small smile, fingers now moving as she types. “You are aware of your position. You have the resources to find them and presumably they do not. Of course it seems unfair”.

It’s testament to their friendship that he feels no need to check what she’s doing. Her brows furrow slightly, then arch into her hairline, eyes brightening. Pleased, Yaoyorozu locks the device and hands it back.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t worry. I didn't do anything untoward,” she replies. “But I do know who you’re talking to now”.

Shouto’s fingers flex around his phone. “You do?” he breathes, incredulous. Just like that?

Yaoyorozu nods, lending her attention to Nori. “I don’t have a name. But if you want to find them I think you’ll want to speak to Bakugo-kun”.

“Bakugo…?” Shouto echoes.

“I believe your friend may work for him,” she clarifies. Ah. The clamouring in his head comes to a halt. In hindsight it’s clear. Your nicknames make sense now.

“I’ll think about it,” he swallows, bringing his tea to his face for another sip. He finds it tepid and warms it again with his quirk. Yaoyorozu doesn’t push.

They spend the hour catching up on the things Shouto has missed in the weeks he’s been absent, and the weeks prior. Midoriya’s claims of him being a workaholic become a reality he can’t outrun. Tea finished, Shouto takes both cups and disposes of them in the recycling bin. Yaoyorozu stands from the picnic table with Nori cradled to her breast—Nori stares back at him, smug—and they make their way back to his apartment.

“Shouto,” she coaxed, now standing outside the tall glass doors leading to the lobby. Nori’s claws sink into the collar of his jacket as she’s passed to him. He takes her leash from Yaoyorozu, bunching it up; and she covers his enclosed fist with her hand.

“Go for it,” she tells him, giving a firm squeeze. “I’m rooting for you. Just be safe”.

Stepping back into his apartment, his cheeks are warm and his limbs are trembling. You’ve buzzed inside his pocket three times.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god. How can such a perfect creature exist? And her harness! Shouto colours? ▻ I hope you’re having fun. <3 ▻ You know, you never answered my question from last night

“You don’t think I’m hopeless, do you Nori?” Shouto asks the thin air—Nori has already scrambled toward the nearby shoebox, bunny kicking at the corner as she chews. He sighs.

Yaoyorozu’s encouragement rings loud in his ears while he replies.

Sooba ▻ Yes. I think I’ve had feelings for a person I’ve never met.

And it feels like a confession.

Shouto sees the week come to an end before he finds enough strength, physically and mentally, to visit Bakugo’s agency.

Your conversations have evolved. They carry a flirty undertone now, the verbal toeing of the line that makes his heart pitter patter. You send pictures throughout the day. Always angled away from your face. Swathes of skin. A pen between your fingers. Stacked paperwork and an empty coffee cup. The burgeoning skies on your walk home. Comfortable at home, your legs crossed over the other, a fluffy slipper hanging at the end of your foot.

He never knew so much thought had to go into making a photo appear candid, effortless. At one point he purposefully shuffled his workout shorts lower on his hips and spent the remainder of the afternoon mortified with his head deep between the couch cushions.

Liking another person is humiliating. He feels exposed, like a flesh wound that you won’t stop prodding.

InsertNameHere ▻ [IMG_412] ▻ I hope you have a good day!

You’re sitting at your desk, presumably. A slide knot bracelet hangs loose around your wrist. Hand held out over the mouse and keyboard, you’ve pinched your thumb and finger—smudged with black in—together to make a heart shape. It’s cute. You’re cute. He files the pose away for any later run-ins with paparazzi. His PR has been getting on about trying harder when they photograph him for months.

Shouto’s body rocks with the train car as it careens down the tracks and readjusts his grip on his crutch. He smiles behind his mask, sinking into the confines of his hood which he has pulled over his cap. There are eyes on him today. It can’t be helped in such close quarters. But they’re uncertain—too afraid to bother him and be wrong about his identity.

Sooba ▻ You too :) ▻ Remember to take breaks. I read that you should spend five minutes away from your screen every hour.

InsertNameHere ▻ You have to stop making me smile at work. My coworkers think I have a secret husband or something.

Sooba ▻ I promise to send you off with a homemade bento tomorrow morning.

InsertNameHere ▻ And a kiss.

Shouto grabs the nearby pole as he is almost knocked on his feet. Passengers board, others depart, and his heart hammers in his throat like a fist.

Sooba ▻ A kiss?

You’re still typing a reply when Shouto hears the hesitant evocation of his name. It’s timid and hushed, belonging to a person trying to restrain their excitement. She covers her mouth with a gasp when he meets her eyes.

“It is you,” she bubbles. A metallic taste pervades the static air around her, short hair wiggling on end as if it were responding directly to her excitement; behaviour unbefitting of a typical reporter, he notes.

Your text box jumps onto the screen in his peripheral vision, bumping up the chat. He jolts and angles the phone away from her just to be safe.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah! A bento box and a kiss to get me through the day, obviously. As my husband.

There are three others a few feet away, huddled together beside a pillar and abuzz with energy. Mild dread churns in his stomach. Definitely not a reporter, then. “If you have a moment…” the young woman spares a glance over her shoulder and her friends excitedly encourage her forward. “Um. Would you maybe be interested in—”

“No,” Shouto replies. The young woman winces at his tone. Ah. She’s embarrassed now. He really should make a habit of lying in consideration for other people's feelings. Fuyumi did mention that, though not in as many words. Before her face can crumple further he continues, “I’m very sorry, that was rude of me. I’m in a bit of a hurry”.

Her relief is palpable, near contagious. Expression softened with understanding she folds her hands against her stomach and ducks into a slight bow. “Of course, I understand,” she says. Somehow it makes him feel worse. “And—I’m glad you’re well, Shouto-san. We’re all wishing you a complete recovery”.

Gratitude bubbles inside him. He smiles, pressing a finger over his mask, and her complexion turns a bright shade of pink. She nods in understanding, scurrying to her friends.

Shouto departs the train without disruption. The conductor takes stock of his gait and the crutch at his side, offering to lay out the ramp, but he politely refuses, stepping onto the platform with ease. He feels good; closer to his other self, the one before his muscles were run through a metaphorical centrifuge.

Sooba ▻ Obviously. ▻ I suppose I can add ‘house husband’ alongside ‘Nori’s dad’ on my list of occupations now.

Blast Zone isn’t far, a fact for which he’s grateful. Bakugo insisted on rooting himself in the centre of the city, right in the spot where all transport routes seemed to meet; there stood the symbol of victory’s headquarters, imposing in the skyline.

According to journalists at PowrStruct magazine The Blast Zone agency is an ode to modern architecture. A steel frame structure surrounded by reinforced concrete, an outer coating embossed with a texture that gives the award winning building the fragile appearance of having been meticulously glued back together while simultaneously being both blast proof and earthquake proof. Shouto cares not for design in general. He does, however, steal a mini Dynamite themed pen from the front desk while he’s waiting to be signed in.

There’s a thin chain attached to the cap with a Chibi Bakugo hung on the end. Sue him.

“He’ll see you now, Shouto-san,” the receptionist states, pupil-less eyes blinking back at him. Shouto tucks the pen into his sleeve, feeling foolish and somewhat nervous. “Head on up to the office on the twelfth floor. He knows you’re on your way”.

Shouto clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says, weakness in his knees that has nothing to do with his nerves. The Ingenium handle pads cushion his palm as he braces onto his crutches, supporting him toward the nearby lift. There are eyes on his back as he goes. They’re heavy, lingering like physical touch. Something in him spoils at the unnecessary pity.

The lift remains mercifully empty. He presses the twelfth floor button and it glows green. The ride up is smooth, and quick. Double doors slide open onto a sprawling office space flooded with natural light. No one bothered to glance in Shouto’s direction as he gawked. If he remembered correctly this area was specifically for employees that worked closest to Bakugo. They’re all so nonplussed and focused. No nonsense. He likes that.

“Loser,” Bakugo grunts. He appeared from thin air, standing aside with arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Shouto’s stiff form with suspicion. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re still on leave”.

Shouto makes a noncommittal noise, inwardly miffed. He straightens his posture and takes more of his own weight. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe I missed you,” he says. Bakugo’s expression suddenly soured, as though he swallowed a lemon, mouth thin against his teeth.

Amusing as it is, acknowledging the disconnect aloud makes him truly accept the distance he had put between himself and his friends; how he’d worked too hard, untied himself from the tangle of their lives and ended up isolated.

“Nori told me to say ‘hi’ by the way”.

Bakugo sweetens. “She like that cardboard house I sent you?”

“She already destroyed it,” Shouto admits. And Bakugo laughs, irritation split by a crooked grin.

“Atta girl,” he nods in approval, turning on his heel and starting toward a pair of towering doors. “Oi. You comin’? Or are you going to stand there all damn day?

Dynamite’s office is anything but corporate. Professional, yes, but it’s also so plainly personal in a way that screams Bakugo. A setup reconfigurable for days that he can’t sit still, a folding treadmill under his large mahogany desk to keep him moving. Bakugo works better on his feet, something Shouto knows well.

Built in shelves line the accent wall, filled with framed pictures of friends and family, newspaper clippings and awards. There are even fan creations—mostly from his debut era, when being favoured felt far more significant, but Shouto finds it sweet all the same.

Walking ahead of him, Shouto approaches the desk. Bakugo lingers for a beat to holler something out the door before returning to his desk.

Two consult chairs face the head office chair opposite. Lowering into one of them, Shouto props his crutch up and takes his phone out of his pocket. Ever hopeful, he unlocks it, opens Enigmail and refreshes the chat list. There are new messages from a few other people he added in the beginning, but nothing from you. He tries not to sigh too obviously.

“What’s got you all fuckin’ mopey?" Bakugo leaned over to look down at the phone. Shouto hastily locked it and the explosive hero narrowed his eyes at the impassive veil Shouto pulled over his face.

“Nothing. How did the first Herokind event go?” he asks, fiddling with his newly acquired Dynamite pen. “Midoriya always sugar coats things for me”.

“Went fine. You didn’t miss anything,” Bakugo waves off. The leather office chair creaks as he leans back. “Boring as all hell since it was just the kickstarter. Food mild enough for a toddler to eat and too much alcohol. The auction will be more interesting. That birdbrain partner of yours was hilarious, though”.

“Hawks?” Shouto’s mouth twitches, failing to conceal his mirth. “What did he do this time?”

“Spent the night antagonising your shitty old man,” Bakugo pauses for a brief moment and rescinds his words. “Or aggressively flirting. Can't tell the difference with him”.

Shouto keeps his thoughts to himself on that one.

“Ended with Endeavor triggering all the sprinklers at the after party though,” Bakugo ends, eyes crinkled under the weight of his wicked grin. Shouto pursed his lips tight. Amusement huffed through his nose. He imagines his father standing in the middle of the room, pathetically soaked through, wisps of smoke rising from his put-out embers, and he laughs.

Bakugo looks rather pleased by the reaction. But then his gaze flickers over Shouto’s shoulder and his brow arches expectantly. “Did’ya need something? I shouted for the Egghead because I thought you were on your break”.

Shouto’s laughter dwindles as he follows Bakugo’s line of sight. His breath catches. An employee stands in the doorway peeking around a tall box of paperwork. Wide eyed as they examine him.

Wrapped around their wrist is a familiar sliding knot bracelet.

“I just—uh…”

His head spins. There’s a smudge on your finger where your pen's ink leaked, just like in the photo. Could this be you? You are—

“What the hell has gotten into everybody today,” Bakugo tuts, pushing up from his desk and striding over to receive the box himself. Your shoulders slump when you are relieved of the weight. Bringing your hands to your chest and massaging the joints.

—still looking right at him. Cute. He cannot help but think how cute you are, tripping over your words, losing your footing.

“Oi, maestro,” Bakugo clicks his fingers in your face and startles you out of your stupor. “Get it together. I need you with a clear head when that sleepy bastard from the HPSC gets here”.

You glare at Bakugo, “Mera-san is the least of your problems, Dynamite. Worry about yourself and the six unanswered emails I forwarded to you from the claims manager”.

You’re beautiful. And your voice, it’s so—his lips part, and he tries to speak, to interrupt Bakugo’s incessant teasing, but words fail him.

“Whatever. Those insurance claims are bullshit and you know it,” Bakugo mutters. He turns and moves to shove the box of paperwork beside the desk. His mouth downturns into a smirk when he stands and notices your attention drawn to Shouto once again.

“Is that everything? I’d appreciate it if you stopped gawking,” Bakugo drawls, a dry rasp to his taunting that seems to embarrass you further. Shouto isn’t sure he’s breathing. You’re right there. You’re within reach and he’s rooted to his chair.

“You’re such a—! Y’know what, no, I’m leaving now,” replying harshly you start toward the open door where you come to an abrupt halt. Shouto feels the distance like the pull of a leash. You incline your head into a short bow, losing strength in your voice as you acknowledge him, “Have a good afternoon, Shouto-san”.

Then you’re gone. He stares after you dumbly. In all the years he has worked in the hero industry Shouto has never been more thankful for choosing to make his given name his brand than he is now.

Bakugou falls heavily in his chair and sighs.

Shouto swallows, “Who was—”

“Don’t,” Bakugo stresses the command, as though telling a dog to heel. Shouto can feel the heat behind his pointed glare. Undeterred, his eyes linger after you, stuck on the spot where you once stood, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing.

“I mean it, Halfie. Run off the only competent PA I’ve ever had with your pisspoor flirting and I will kill you,” Bakugo barrels on. There’s no true malice but it comes through gritted teeth, like he has resigned himself to the impending stupidity. Because Shouto is already looking back at him with that small, impish curl to his lips.

“I’m not that terrible at flirting,” he says.

“Making eye contact for three uninterrupted minutes is not flirting,” Bakugo scoffs.

Shouto hums. “And what is? Pulling their pigtails for ten years?”

“Watch it,” Bakugo grouses, bottom lip jutting. He kicks the leg of Shouto’s chair and he laughs; he’s missed this.

Hoping to get back on track then, Shouto asks, “Will you be attending the charity auction, then?”

The other man grunts an affirmative. “I’ve put some memorabilia and shit up to be sold. Sparky somehow convinced Eijirou to auction himself off for a date,” Bakugo snorts and gives an amused shake of his head. “I’m willing to bet he’ll rake in at least ten million yen. Minimum”.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Shouto agrees. Kirishima had grown a lot since graduation all those years ago. Pair a stocky build with a big hearted guy like him and everyone is tripping over themselves to get a piece. “Is he nervous that he won’t make much?”

Bakugo clicks his teeth, interlocking his hands across his midsection and getting comfortable. “He really hasn’t got a fucking clue. The HPSC schmuck I’ve got to talk to today has already suggested extra security in case certain high profile guests get resentful,” he says. Crimson peeks through narrowed eyes, considering, calculating. “Are you gonna go? You’re looking steady enough”.

The last Bakugo had seen of him was directly after the incident—crumpled into the fetal postion and involuntarily spasming with six second intervals. Unable to speak, to walk, to turn his head. Worst case scenario presented on scene was that he could lose the ability to function at all, and Shouto had been thrown into a pit of depression so oppressive that he withdrew from himself all together.

There’s an underlying relief in Bakugo’s question that comforts him in ways he wasn't aware he’d been seeking. Pleased, Shouto drags his crutch between his thighs and twists at the padding around the handle. “I’ll be in attendance. I plan on bidding on a few things. David Shield’s original design sketches maybe,” he admits. “…Will ‘maestro’ be there?”

Bakugo seems to parse the response carefully, as if it cracked open a hole into Shouto’s psyche. “Izuku is shooting for those, you know. I’m the one that’s gotta deal with him cryin’ if he loses”.

“I know,” Shouto’s mouth splits in a wry, intentional smile. “If I’m not outbid then I’m happy to give him whatever I win”.

“Shill bidding? Ha. Izuku never believes me when I tell him you’re secretly a dick,” Bakugo smirks. A thought visibly crosses his mind. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his palm and considering Shouto closely. “…My PA will be there for the auction. Working. So if you show me up—”

“I won’t,” Shouto interjects.

“—I will see you to the pearly gates myself,” Bakugo continues, unperturbed. There’s no true malice to his tone, moreso fond resignation, and Shouto’s chest bubbles with affection for his hard headed friend.

“That’s nice of you,” he says sincerely.

“Get fucked. You want an update on the cases we opened this week or did you seriously come here just to annoy me?”

“To annoy you, mostly,” Shouto ducks away from the hand that swiped at him. “Hawks forwarded me the arrest report. Tremor ended up going for a plea deal?”

“Yeah. Sold out the extras that helped him gather the hostages,” a forceful click of the keyboard; Bakugo slaps the spacebar to wake his monitor and makes clear his disapproval. “They went too fuckin’ easy on him,” he sneers. “Deserved a longer sentence”.

“As long as they’re off the streets,” Shouto muses. He isn’t one to hold a grudge against villains who’ve harmed him, but he can understand his friends' frustration. Had it been Bakugo or Midoriya, Shouto too wouldn’t be so quick to accept this outcome.

The gentle light flooding through the office windows recedes a fraction as a dense cloud covers the sun. His visit to the Blast Zone is but a blip of time, cut short by the foreboding ring from Bakugo’s emergency pager. He’s up and moving immediately, routine woven into him like muscle memory, and Shouto can’t help feeling jealous.

Under the door to his office, Bakugo clears his throat. He cocks his head toward the impending rain, “You need me to have someone drive you home?” And appears to regret it right away as Shouto smiles up at him, touched by the suggestion.

“No, thanks but I’ll be fine,” he waves off. Bakugo departs with a grunt, demanding he take an umbrella from the receptionist, because who doesn’t check the weather before they leave the house. The thud of his work boots reverberate off the walls as he disappears around a sharp corner, and Shouto shifts in the residual silence.

He takes out his phone as he pushes upright on his crutch; a habit rather than necessity. You haven’t messaged him since before your paths crossed—though you wouldn’t know that. He sighs. A niggling guilt has burrowed into his chest but it remains largely outweighed by his impatience.

Employees greet him on his short journey to the lift he arrived in. Bowing their heads, evoking his name with appreciation and awe while he’s scanning the space for signs of you. It’s a fruitless affair. Coming up short he steps inside, frown etched into his brow, and presses the ground floor button.

The speaker alerts him that the doors are about to close. He turns on his heel, leaning a hand on the support bar. Looking up from his shoes his eyes fall on your figure. You’ve stepped out from one of the closed off rooms, thumb tapping away at the phone in your hand. Shouto swallows, watching his own with trepidation.

Sensing a heavy gaze your eyes flicker to meet him at the last second, contact through the crack right as it shuts. He can hardly think. If this were a scene in Quirky Hearts he thinks he might just cast aside his dignity and sprint up the fire escape to confront you. The mere idea has heat simmering under his skin; it makes him want to fold himself into singularity. Shouto, a top five hero, a sword without ire.

Waiting dutifully, the receptionist hands him an umbrella from behind the staff desk. He squints at her name tag, muttering “Thank you, Akiyama-san” while he tucks the umbrella under his arm, deigning to mention the murky blueish blush that floods her skin, those pupil-less eyes shimmering. Shouto pulls his mask up over his nose, breath warming his cheeks, and takes a moment to observe the street.

Throngs of people scurry along the pavements to get away from the unforgiving chill. Raindrops can become a thousand paper cuts when the wind wills it. Afternoon starters amble into the lobby with wet shoulders. In his departure nobody so much as looks his way.

Sooba ▻ Hope you didn’t forget an umbrella today. Stay warm.

His thumb stopped mid-air, right above the “send” button. Sparing a lasting glance to the upper floors, Shouto quickly presses it, pockets his phone and opens up the umbrella. Stepping into the storm white noise fills his ears, tapping harshly on the PVC canopy over him.

Shouto tugs his jacket closer to his chest. The pavements are soaked, water fed into the uprooted cracks. He threads through the moving bodies back toward the station. With the streets overcast he feels better concealed.

A train is already waiting at the platform, decorated in yellow. The colour identifies it as a slow running train, taking the local stops route rather than the rapid one. He hides in his collar and stands in the corner of the carriage, umbrella collapsed and hooked over his wrist.

Six stops later—rather than three—and Shouto is closer to home. In the time it took to reach his street the rain had thinned out, now a sparse sun shower as the clouds pushed eastward.

Nori yells accusingly the very second his key slots into the door. He turns the lock and pushes it open, holding out his foot to keep her from rushing past. “I know, I know. I’m sorry sweet girl,” he scratched her head while bent to line up his shoes. “I missed you too. Bakugo said ‘hi’”.

She mewls and circles in place on her delicate paws, flicking her tail at him. Shouto takes it as forgiveness. “I think I met someone special today,” he recites to her, “The one I told you about…”

Stopping in the middle of his warm apartment, Shouto becomes unbearably aware of how damp his clothes are. He fishes his phone and wallet out from his pockets and sets them on the kitchen island before padding toward the bathroom.

A thorough rinse and long soak later, Shouto sprawls himself across his couch, phone laid on his chest and arm hung loosely over the edge while Nori plays with his fingers. She clings to his forearm as he cups her full belly, lazily dragging her back and forth across the floor.

He’s sipping on the mouth of his water bottle, mindlessly watching as Aki-or-something begs for Saeko-or-other to take him back after going on a date with another contestant, when your messages come through on Enigmail.

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess what happened today ▻ Saw Pro Hero Shouto at work. ▻ I think he might hate me? lol

Shouto inhales sharply, choking on his mouthful of water. Tears prickle behind his eyes as his diaphragm spasms, and he tries to catch his breath, fist thudding at his chest. Oscillating between mortification and delight—it really had been you.

Sooba ▻ Why would you think he hates you?

InsertNameHere ▻ I left an awful impression. And he looked at me like this (⊙＿⊙’) the whole time.

Heat burns at his nape; embarrassment spilling over into every crevice of his body. The air around him distorts and he exhales, steam curling from his lips. Nori watches on from the floor in fascination, sparing no sympathy. Maybe Bakugo had a point.

Sooba ▻ Maybe that’s just his face.

InsertNameHere ▻ Maybe… ▻ It is a pretty face though. Prettier in person.

Shouto feels all the air deflate from his body. He sinks into the couch, head lolling against his shoulder as he turns to press a grin into the cushions, gripped by a sudden rush of endorphins. It had been you. You’re real. More importantly, you are attainable.

Now did he want to do anything about it?

Sooba ▻ You think so??

The typing dots bounce along the chat room border as you reply.

InsertNameHere ▻ I know so. I was there. Beautiful even when he is staring right through me (￣ロ￣lll)

The memory of you speaking his name echoes like a broken record. He has yet to tire of it. Though he’s lightheaded and hazy, your features are still clear in his mind. The sure fire in your eyes, your sharp tongue and your pouty lips. A slow, warm tension trickles into his gut, swooping in anticipation and breathless longing as he imagines the face you might make if he touched you.

Sooba ▻ That’s presumptuous. He was staring at you. Why wouldn’t he be

InsertNameHere ▻ I. ▻ You’re so unfair you know that ▻ If you were here I would

His breathing picks up ever so slightly.

Sooba ▻ What would you do with me

InsertNameHere ▻ Are we veering into sexting territory right now

Sooba ▻ Unintentionally.

Shouto shifts his hips. The movement pulls his sweatpants tighter around his hips and a familiar tingling rushes below his waist. When was the last time he touched himself? He brings the phone to his forehead for a moment of clarity, peering up at the screen through his eyelashes.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is this the part where we come full circle and you actually send me a dick pic

He tucks his chin, a lazy smile playing on his lips. The gentle throb in his briefs pulses throughout his body and he answers, reaching to squeeze himself through the fabric, just for relief.

Nori sneezes. He falters, reminded of her presence and overcome by the urge to cover up. Proverbial tail between his legs, Shouto retreats to the privacy of his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Evening filters in through the windows, mauve and rosy. He kneels on the bed and it yields under his weight, frame silent while he crawls to the headboard and reclines back, phone in hand.

▻ Shit, sorry. I was joking you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to

The message goes over his head. He opens the front camera and stares back at his flushed, disheveled face before tilting the device, angling it toward his body.

Frosted fingertips trail up his stomach and it jumps, laying the hem of his shirt across his chest. Down again to the fine dark hair below his belly button, goosebumps rising across skin, blood rushing to the surface. Hooks his thumb suggestively into his waistband, hand splayed across his hip, and takes the photo.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_628] ▻ I want to

Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Abuzz with salacious apprehension he wonders what would it sound like above him? Under him? Breath knocked from your lungs, whining through the motions. He traces the outline of his clock. Covers his eyes with the crook of his arm and releases a shuddered breath, hips rising into the heel of his hand. A hand too big to be yours. Sweatpants pushed halfway down his thighs he pictured it anyway—you laid on your side, at his side, loose fist stroking him root to weeping tip.

Shouto thumbs at the head, smearing precum over his sensitive frenulum. Panting heavier, he squeezes his cock and wonders, would you tease him? Lick into his mouth and tell him not to be quiet?

The phone in his hand buzzes. Anticipation grips his heart. He almost drops it on his face when he squints up to read the screen.

InsertNameHere ▻ Fuck. You’re so gorgeous ▻ I can’t concentrate

Sooba ▻ You like it?

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll show you how much ▻ [IMG_447]

Heat races through him. You’re in a loose tank top, touching yourself over pale boyshorts. The dark straps have fallen around your shoulders in an almost demure manner, collar slipping forward to reveal the soft cleavage of your chest. You’ve mirrored his position, albeit a little higher, enough for your mouth to be in frame. Wet and rouge, if he thinks hard enough he can imagine he left them kiss bitten.

Sooba ▻ I want to touch you

He’s desperate to know what you like. The way you want to be touched, how you might yield under his wandering hands. Patterns dance behind his eyelids as he reaches to knead his pecs, pinching the pert nipple with a breathy moan. He smooths over his abdomen, corded muscle tensing beneath the added sensation, arousal coiling hot in his belly.

InsertNameHere ▻ Touch yourself for me instead, yeah? ▻ Gonna think about you too

“Fuck,” he chokes. Shouto loses his phone amongst the sheets. Feet planted flat to the mattress, his knees spread until the waistband protests. “Please. Please. I’m so close,” he whispers to the image in his mind. His pace stutters, feverish as he fucks his fist. Your lips brush soft along the column of his throat to feel him swallow. He turns into the pillow, mouth parted for heaving breath.

“That’s it Shouto. So beautiful for me,” you’ll murmur, so at home in the crook of his body. Amidst the desperation you’ll straddle his thigh, rhythm synchronized, chests rising. Your hand—his hand—slips further, fingers curled to press up behind his balls. He’s on fire. “Cum for me, baby. Let me see you cum”.

Shouto’s head tips back into the plush of his pillow, every muscle clenched. Pleasure rockets through him. His cock twitches in his grasp. He cums with a strung out moan, breaking into short, wet pants as he catches his breath.

Riding the gentle aftershocks, his arm falls heavily to the side and hits his bedsheets with a quiet thud. The smell of old petrichor blows into his room with the draft draws his attention to the darkened window. Streaks of gold sunlight peak between the buildings across the street where it settles under the horizon.

The stickiness between his fingers is difficult to ignore. Drying steadily on his chest. Reality returns to him slowly as he stares at his soiled hand. After cleaning himself up with the wipes in his bedside table, Shouto tugs up his sweatpants and rubs at the pink splotches leading up his throat. With clarity comes a vague haze of shame and he is loudly alone; something vibrates and he is anything but lonely. He lifts his head, rummaging through the sheets to find his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Want you to feel good ▻ You there baby? ▻ Sooba? ▻ Hm. That’s not the sexiest of names

Shouto laughed through his nose. Endeared by your awkward jump from flirting to nervously making up for a perceived misstep.

Sooba ▻ sorry can’t multitask ▻ shouldnt make fun of your house husbands name

Exiting his bedroom is uncomfortably close to a wall of shame. He drags his feet; gait unsteady for far nicer reasons than a near career ending injury. Nori has acquired his spot on the couch, retaining warmth in his absence. She observes him, all knowing.

InsertNameHere ▻ No capitalised letters? Punctuation? What have you done with my Sooba lol ▻ How are you feeling?

Sooba ▻ really good. sleepy

He wanders to the kitchen and dithers over his next message, leaning his forearms on the cool countertop. This fleeting, unintended conversation could change everything and that fact is starting to nag at him.

▻ what about you

InsertNameHere ▻ I feel really good. And sleepy <3

The implication is not lost on him. He chews his bottom lip, flustered at just how pleased that makes him.

The next burst of chat bubbles appear in an instant, one after another. Typed hastily as though to outrun your own apprehension.

▻ Can I ask you something?  ▻ Did you mean it when you said you’d come to the event with me? ▻ I have a plus one. I want to see you. But you don’t have to 

Shouto swallows. Tugged between elation and fear. You’ve become all he yearns for and you could be just that, his, yet he panics all the same. Heroism had consistently been his lacquered shield. An excuse for his self isolation that people had to begrudgingly accept. Working himself to the bone afforded the luxury of never having to dwell on it. 

Exhaustion aside he was content with the humdrum life he hid behind. Before you, Shouto rarely wanted for anything. He had his family, and good friends, and a job that felt rewarding; it didn’t seem worth it to lay himself bare and be dissected on the off chance that someone new might love him. 

Because hectic work and risks aside, he’s profoundly aware of the ghosts he has yet to conquer. That somewhere, there is something fundamentally different inside him that you might find disappointing. 

Unthinkingly, Shouto grapples with the courage in him existing on the fringes and replies in much the same way you had. 

Sooba ▻ I meant it. I want to see you too.  ▻ I’d like to go with you  ▻ Don’t worry about a plus one. I’ll meet you there 

InsertNameHere ▻ Wow, okay. That was easier than I thought. I’m so excited  ▻ And super nervous

As it turns out the impending date motivates Shouto like nothing before. Days pass without fault or interruption. The man-shaped dent in his couch rises without the constant weight. He sticks closely to the routine his physiotherapist drew up for him. Walks longer distances and soaks up the sun daily, to Tsutomu’s great delight. 

Too wrapped up in his own coalesced anxiety and elation, he realises he hadn’t found it remotely odd that you hadn’t questioned his ability to get into the auction. 

His train of thought is interrupted by a firm hand coming down on his shoulder. “Man of the hour!” A familiar sharp toothed grin blocks his vision. Shouto clenches under the sudden weight to keep himself upright as Kirishima gives him a shake, “We missed you around here. You’re looking good!”

The charity event is in full swing. An anticipatory lull permeates the atmosphere as the chosen guests, heroes and civilians alike, wait for the auction to finally begin. Shouto arrived fashionably late, as Mina called it, after spending nearly three hours on a group call with her, Yaoyorozu, and his sister. 

The applause upon his entry had not been expected. His palms are still clammy. 

Compared to Shouto's charcoal three piece suit, tailored to precision, Kirishima dons a charmingly loud burgundy blazer over a dark turtleneck, pulled together by a simple chain. The material is tight across his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Kirishima,” Shouto smiles. He looks him over, “You look good too”. 

That signature grin grows weary. “You really think so?” Kirishima lowers his voice into a hush, tugging at the loose hair framing his face. “I wasn’t so sure about tying my hair back. What if nobody bids for me? I’m dying inside just thinking about it”. 

Shouto turns away from the sea of vibrant clothing and chatter to pat his friend on the arm and level him with a serious look. “A lot of people are going to spend money on you tonight, Kirishima. But in the impossible event that they don’t I’ll bid on you myself,” he tells him. “We can go to Mythoscape and try that new rollercoaster”. 

“Bro…” Kirishima’s eyes are wide and glassy. While Shouto expects the firm hug, he is mildly surprised by the long, dramatic kiss to his cheek. His breath smells faintly of white wine. “You’re the best,” he continues as he sets Shouto back on his feet. “But is it really okay for you to do that?”

A flash goes off. Shouto frowns. He scans the crowd and rubs away the wet mark left behind. Yaoyorozu catches his attention with a delicate wave from her place beside Kendo and Uraraka. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, smiling back, yet distracted. You’re still nowhere to be found. 

“Well,” Kirishima draws breath through his teeth. “Bakugo kinda told me about your crush on his PA,” whatever he sees pass over Shouto’s expression has him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling to explain. “Nothing bad, man! You know he actually seemed pretty approving of it, in his own way”. 

The evermoving mass of bodies sharpens around a few other familiar faces. Midoriya is excitedly gesticulating as he rambles to a visibly overwhelmed HSPC shareholder. Bakugo watches the interaction with no intention of concealing his amusement. 

“I’m not sure about that,” Shouto rasps, narrowing his eyes at the man in question, like the pressure behind it might be enough to elicit his attention. Bakugo of all the people here would know where you are. The phone snug in his inside blazer pocket remains silent. A pout works its way onto his lips before he can stop it. “He said I’m bad at flirting”. 

Kirishima stifles a laugh and clears his throat when Shouto directs the petulant glare to him. “You are a little bad at it. But only when you’re actually trying! And even then that’s part of what makes it charming, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know”. 

“You’re the type to flirt without realising you’re doing it—or atleast people think you are, because you’re handsome and attentive and whatnot. But when you try it’s kinda obvious and bro, please stop looking at me like that,” Kirishima explains clumsily, tone pitching higher the longer he talks. 

Shouto’s lips thin as he tries to suppress a smirk. He rights himself as Kirishima nudges his side, catching a smile of his own, “What I meant is you have a chance. And Bakubro thinks so too. He wants you to be happy”. 

The sentiment warms him from the inside out. But it also makes apparent something trepid and cold in his gut. Regardless of his friends unfettered support there remains the real possibility that he will be rejected. That you will be disappointed or scared away by his status. That you could do as you please with the intimate parts of his life ‘Sooba’ gave you.

Scarier is the hope that you won’t.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Shouto announces, noticing Endeavor prowling around in his peripheral vision. Kirishima’s brow furrows, mouth parted in confusion, no doubt seeking to reassure him. “I’m okay, Kirishima. I just need something to do with my hands”. 

“Alright,” the taller man murmurs. Shouto finds himself at the end of a gentle smile once more. “Make sure to say ‘hi’ to Denks if you see him. He misses you too”.

“I will,” Shouto nods, ducking away from the inexpressible tenderness that has clung to him since stepping into the hall. People part to allow him through. His left leg has already begun to feel weak, not enough to worry but enough to notice, and he hopes he can later blame his gait on the alcohol. 

He reaches the bar and wrinkles his nose at the thick amalgamation of perfume, body odour and over-applied cologne. The bartender slides up to him. “Umeshu, please,” he says. “On the rocks”. 

Another body settles beside him. He shifts to accommodate them but doesn’t look; too distracted as he inhales deeply through his nose and exhales long out his mouth to allay his beating heart. Pulling his phone out from his inside pocket, the screen lights up and he finds it void of messages. 

After the… sexting, things had been fine. Better in a lot of ways. You both felt emboldened to truly act on your feelings. Sharing more pictures, secrets—though never your names—and laughter.  It is disconcerting that you would now go silent. 

The bartender sets his drink down and Shouto quietly gives his thanks, bringing it to his face, briefly caught in the soft glimmer, cubed ice submerged in liquid gold, tasting the sweet aroma at the back of his throat. He tips it back and drinks. 

As the glass hits the surface once more, the person next to him softly asks, “Are you waiting on anyone?” 

And his mouth goes dry. 

You’re bracing on crossed arms, watching him closely. Speckled in the warm low light reflected on the bar, you are more beautiful than he remembers, and just as nervous. There’s an air of uncertainty about you that shifts as your eyes meet, faint but palpable, encouraged by what he can imagine is the wonder on his own face. 

Shouto wets his lips. The plum taste lingers on his tongue. “…I might be,” he murmurs. You brighten at his reciprocation, a more charged kind of nervous—the kind that swoops low in your belly right before you take a leap. 

“If I’m wrong don’t laugh and don’t tell Dynamite,” you turn to face him and smooth your hands over your hips. This allows him a better look at your attire. Silken fabrics that form gentle lines around the waist, loose but elegantly so, not in a way that the clothes wear you. 

Your eyes dipped low, averted to avoid his stare. He cannot seem to direct it anywhere else. The auction has fallen away in its entirety. As far as Shouto is concerned there’s only you. 

“It’s me. And you’re…Sooba?” 

The tremble in your voice shrikes through him and it occurs to Shouto that you have always been the brave one.

He leans into your space, enjoying the way you quickly draw breath at his proximity, forced to meet his gaze. Rather than something remotely suave or cool, he dumbly asks, “You knew?”

Part of him wants to tuck his shoulders to his ears as you begin to laugh. They’re warm, undoubtedly red. Amusement is not at all what he prepared for. He thought this might all end up in his scrapbook memory, to be taken out and pined over now and then. 

“Shouto-san with all due respect, you came to my workplace with your very recognisable crutches and stared at me like a deer in headlights”. 

“Shouto,” he says. 

Your laughter simmers, “Hm?”

“Just call me Shouto,” he tells you, equal parts relieved and embarrassed. 

“Shouto,” you smile at him with a fondness that derails his thoughts. He has the vague urge to whine when it wanes. “I’m—I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. I swear I didn’t know until after you visited the agency. It all made sense after I looked up your socials and saw some old pictures of Nori”. 

“It’s alright. I knew and didn’t say anything either,” Shouto inclines his head, abashed. Then with a sudden sharp sort of clarity, he continues, “So then you knew, when you asked for a dick—?”

Words evade him under the warm press of your hand as you quickly cover his mouth. You glance around the room, closer than before, and you don’t seem to realise. Cautious, he touches your waist; he puckers his lips to kiss your palm; he feels your stomach jump under the silky fabrics. 

Your eyes darken, swallowed by pupil. “You’re a menace,” you simper, and reluctantly pull away. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere with less…cameras”. 

Umeshu abandoned, Shouto wraps an arm around your lower back and allows you to direct him through the crowd. You weave through the moving bodies like thread through a needle, at one point reaching behind to take his wrist, becoming his tether.

Bakugo meets his gaze from across the room. His eyes flit to you, widening in surprise. Shouto flashes a boyish grin before disappearing through the side door. 

The door you choose next opens to a private bathroom. Shouto surges forward, taking you by the hips and crowding you against the bathroom counter, overcome by the need to feel everything that you are pressing into everything that is him.

He kicks the door behind him and settles in the clutch of your thighs as you scramble to balance on the marble edge. Your hands slide over his shoulders, splaying over each cheek. You’re both breathing heavily despite having done nothing at all.

“I said talk,” you remind him with a tremulous smile. Shouto knows you’re being playful. He apologises anyway; rests his head in the crook of your neck, letting the moment simmer, and you comb through his hair with your fingers. A shiver rolls down his spine. 

“Did you know it was me? Before you came to the agency, I mean”. 

He reclines from his crook to look at you. Eye level, silhouetted by the cheap bathroom luminescence. “When I saw you in there—and put it together I was so scared,” you continued. 

“Scared?” he echoed with a frown, knuckles brushing your cheek. 

“Not like that. I was scared of what you might think,” you turn into his caress and his pinched expression falls away. He can’t stop touching you and he can’t bring himself to be sorry about it. “I mean, I looked terrible that day, and you appeared out of nowhere and I wasn’t mad it was you. I was just…”

You swallow thickly, emotion swelling in your eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners. “You’re so big and bright. I didn’t want you to be disappointed”.

You were unaware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. How even in anonymity, your incorporeal fingers always seemed to find it. Even now, as you echo his own fears. 

“Momo first mentioned you might work for Bakugo. I didn’t know before I saw you that day. I still wasn’t certain until tonight”. You peer at him through your lashes then, listening intently. He brings your foreheads together and tells you, “There is no way you could’ve disappointed me”. 

“Oh? I could’ve been a villain”.

“My oldest brother was a villain,” he monotoned, wandering hands squeezing intermittently at your waist as though to make sure you’re still there. “My capacity for love and forgiveness knows no bounds”. 

You snort. The sound is abrupt and the force knocks your skulls together. “Oh—ow,” he grins, insides melting. Together you dissolve into a warm fit of laughter. 

“Hey, Shouto?” 

He hums in acknowledgment, eyes fluttering as your thumb swipes over the red mark below his hairline. “I like you,” you murmur. “I like you so much it’s stupid”.  

Plunged into an ice cold realisation, Shouto freezes to process your words. “You—like me?” 

“Yeah?” you said it like he was dense, like it was clear all along. “I can’t help it when you’re so…yourself”

And isn’t that all he’s ever wanted? To be loved without pretense, without a winner. To be special to someone for no special reason. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “Me too. I like you. I want—” his fingers flex at your hips, grounding. He blinks. “I don’t know your name yet”. 

Affection colours your features. Shouto likes you best like this—sure of yourself, of his feelings for you. You recite your name. He repeats it endlessly in his mind and rolls it around his teeth. He calls to you even when you’re right in front of him. 

“Can I kiss you now?” 

“You were waiting?” you laugh, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s such a novel thing but it makes something monumental swell in his chest. “Kiss me. I want you to”. 

Given permission, Shouto traces the curve of your jaw with a bold shyness, from the sensitive skin below your ear to your chin. His finger hooks beneath. You’re lovely. He thinks he could spend an hour describing your demure half smile, how your lips yield under the light pressure of his thumb; your tongue darting out reflexively. 

He shakes at the desire that fills him. He’s not used to it—this wanting. It feels like a thousand insatiable butterflies in his chest. Dipping into your magnetism, his heart beat faster and faster with the simple brush of your lips. He kissed you, innocent and honest, and then he kissed you again, licking the seam of your mouth, arms coiling around your middle as you cling to him. 

You tip forward. Your thighs clench at his waist and drag him impossibly close. It brings you chest to chest. He tries to hold you steadfast as your hand wraps around his nape, softly scratching his scalp; he feels you smile against his lips when he shudders. 

You break for air. Arousal shoots through him at your half moan, the sound tapering into a happy hum the instant his lips trail down your neck, tasting your pulse before making his way down to your exposed collar. He peppers kiss after kiss on every swathe of skin he can reach, sinking teeth into every little reaction you give him. 

Big hands at your lower back arch your body into his. You yield, tension sapped from your limbs, grappling his shoulders to keep yourself from falling while you grind down on his lap. Shouto groans, grip slipping lower to cup your ass. 

“We’re getting carried away,” you gasp between kisses. That alone was obvious. His cock strains uselessly in his suit pants. But the light glints tantalisingly along your mouth, swollen and wet with saliva. Shouto kisses you again so you won’t have to tell him to attend to his responsibilities. 

A warm breath scores his cheek as you huff through your nose, nipping firmly at his lower lip. “I mean it. I am technically still at work,” you try again, voice lacking strength. “Dynamite will knock on every door in this building—don’t wrinkle your nose, you know I’m right”.

“Alright. I know,” he rasps, barely an exhale. It takes all his willpower to pull away. He steadies you on your feet, smoothing out the creases in your formal attire while you are quite pleased to simply watch on as he adjusts himself in his pants. “I’m glad my suffering is funny to you”. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” you murmur, pecking the corner of his mouth. “I'll hide with you in the corner like I promised I would. We can make up for lost time after the auction. You know. The one for charity”. 

Shouto hums and reaches for the door, knowing you’ve won. “Oh. I told Kirishima I’d bid for his date night,” he recalls as he turns the handle. “Would that bother you?” 

“Of course not baby,” you reply and take one last look at your reflection, less disheveled than before. The endearment ‘baby’ almost has him walking into the doorframe.

You straighten up. Shouto thinks he must look incredibly dumbstruck, if your concerned expression is any indication. “You okay?” you ask, proffering your hand. “You didn’t bring your crutches tonight, did you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he intertwines your fingers, dizzy as you squeeze around him. 

“It’s just a tremor”. 

[mitfloya]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

pairings. Rafayel x gn!reader

wc. 6.8K

synopsis. He believes that by isolating you, he can protect you from the outside world and ensure your happiness together. In his twisted mind, this is his way of creating a perfect and eternal bond, you’re his muse, his statue of beauty, his own aphrodite.

warnings. The following content contains elements of obsessive behavior, yandere thoughts, stalking, possessive behavior, and may include poorly written narratives. Reader is referred to as 'you'. Proceed with caution, as this writing may be unsettling or uncomfortable for some individuals.

a/n. Hiyaaa! Thank you so much for the people that have helped me make my post manage to slip through the timeline! I kid you not I had to break my spine with this issues I kept running into (the ori yandere Zayne post is gone, I’m sorry for the inconvenience), if any of you have any suggestions on how to make my post made it into the tags please tell them on the comments section. Get ready and have some snacks and hope you enjoy reading another hc I made

♡ Please reblog and comment on this post are much, much appreciated ♡

A manchild…? you love this guy? Me being a slander and simp at the same time

To put it simply, Rafayel is always the damsel in distress and YOU are his knight shining armor. He needs your attention and protection 24/7, you don’t want him to end up dead, do you? The whole universe will miss him. 

First of all, he loves you. Second of all, he hates you. 

You’re like a goldfish, how could you not remember the vows you both made when you were just a little kid?! The mere fact that you failed to recognize his face shattered his heart into pieces, for you hold immense significance in his life.

The weight of your indifference crashed upon him like a tidal wave, leaving his emotions in ruins. It was like a tornado tearing through his soul, causing a gut-wrenching ache that seemed to consume him from within.

It creates a twisted cycle of emotions that he struggles to contain. He yearns for the love you once shared, yet despises you for not remembering the bond you had. 

Perhaps he regrets not taking action in the past to ensure he could always locate you, to have left a distinctive mark upon you as a means of tracking your whereabouts.

You should’ve recognized him at first glance. Where have you been? He thought he lost you, he doesn’t even want to wish upon your death but you make it harder for him not to.

You’ve grown so much and so many changes but you’re still the same person he met at the beach, and it makes him feels so many emotions at once, it’s the first time he has managed to put a rein over his emotions, he could’ve coax you to come to his studio and locked you up, if you were to recognize him.

His heart longed to show much he misses you yet his mind tells him to seek revenge. It’s like his body and soul is splitting. Do you know how much damage you are causing him?

You must understand, my dear, that he is determined not to repeat past mistakes. It is time for him to take drastic measures, to make a promise that will bind you to him forever. He sees you as his ultimate protector, his unwavering shield. From this moment forward, you will never leave his sight again.

In his eyes, you have always belonged to each other, from the very beginning. Your destinies intertwined, your fates entangled. He craves the security of knowing that you are by his side, guarding his every step, his every breath. No longer will he allow even the smallest sliver of distance to separate you.

From the beginning you are his as much as he is yours.

His artistic talent is both his greatest strength and his greatest weapon. Through his art, he immortalizes his love and hatred for you, capturing the complexities of his emotions with every stroke of the brush. His creations serve as a constant reminder of his twisted desires. 

Initially consumed by hatred, he concealed his love, allowing it to resurface gradually, in subtle and tender ways. 

It’s the slowest burn you could ever imagine. Painstakingly slow.

As Rafayel's hatred gradually diminished, he began to express his feelings more openly, albeit subtly, leaving significant hints about the depth of his emotions towards you. Similar to a small forest fire that grows steadily, each progression was deliberate and methodical until it consumed the entire forest, an uncontrollable blaze that can’t be extuingish.

Say goodbye to freedom and welcome to his world, now that you’re his. He will be the center of your universe.

Clinginess is an inherent trait of Rafayel's nature. He craves your presence and attention, unable to bear the thought of being separated from you even for a moment. He will go to great lengths to ensure that you never leave his side.

You've grown accustomed to his playful nature and constant need for attention, but be prepared for an amplified version, as his demands intensify. Good luck dealing with your man ♡

He is a man of pride, he immortalizes you through his art, proudly showcasing pieces dedicated to you at his exhibitions. While abstract in form, this exclusivity serves to intrigue others, leaving them pondering what makes you so special in his eyes.

Unknown to you hidden away within his personal stash, there is a gallery dedicated solely to you. Every piece of artwork revolves around your existence, capturing his obsession with meticulous detail. The walls are adorned with portraits, each stroke of the brush reflecting his twisted love for you.

But at the very least, he showers you with lots of love and affection, no more holding back.

In relationships, he presents himself as a calm and romantic partner, radiating an aura of serenity akin to the sea. He enjoys spending quality time with you, whether it be casual outings or simply sharing space in silence. With him, you will never feel alone.

But do not be deceived by the calm waters, for they possess the ability to draw you into the depths of darkness, leaving you submerged and unable to resurface. His obsession remains unpredictable, much like the ever-changing tides of the sea. 

Oh, how you've stumbled into his clutches the moment you made that fateful vow. There is no turning back, my dear. You have fallen into the siren's trap, lured by his haunting charm. You are now forever entwined in his grasp, unable to break free. You should have thought twice before crossing paths with him if you weren't planning to stay.

He has two preferred methods of dealing with nuisances. He may choose to be smug and show off his superiority, rubbing his success in their faces. He revels in flaunting his success and talents, using them as a means to intimidate and belittle those who dare to steal you away.

However, if they persist, he is unafraid to resort to physical means, utilizing violence to eliminate them from your life. He goes to extreme lengths, even shedding blood and concealing the evidence of his actions, all in the name of safeguarding your well-being and maintaining his possessive hold over you.

His possessiveness knows no bounds, his desire to claim you as his own overpowering any sense of reason. He will go to great lengths to ensure that no one else can possess you, viewing you as his ultimate masterpiece.

When faced with difficulty or resistance from you, Rafayel won't hesitate to take drastic measures. He is willing to use any means necessary, including drugs, to put you to sleep and kidnap you. He will isolate you in his studio, ensuring that you will be together forever.

His studio, the place where he creates his art, becomes both a sanctuary and prison for you. Within its walls, he controls every aspect of your existence, dictating your every move and stifling your individuality. It is a place where his obsession can flourish unchecked.

You will forever remain under his possession, as he claims you and binds you eternally.

© 2024 mitfloya — all rights reserved. kindly refrain from altering, translating, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[scoonsalicious]

10.1 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language.

Word Count: 1.5k

Previously On...: You saw Bucky's strength full force for the first time.

A/N: At my nephew's 3rd Birthday Party today. Pray for me.

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You sighed in relief as Bucky waved a final goodbye and walked out the door. It wasn’t that you were happy to see him go… it was just that, well, you really couldn’t deal with the contents of this envelope with him there. You waited through the count of ten after he’d walked away before turning back to Zadie.

“The courier company, Zadie,” you said, your voice calmer now than it had been when you first walked out of your office. “I need to know which one it came from.”

Zadie bit her bottom lip in distress. “I’m… I’m sorry, Major,” she said. “I was checking in a group for a 1:30 session when it got dropped off. I wasn’t really paying attention. I’m sorry.”

You let out a frustrated breath of air. “It’s okay, Zadie,” you told her. “You didn’t know it would end up being important. And I’m sorry I yelled earlier. I just… well, I wasn’t expecting this and it’s thrown me for a loop.”

“Is everything okay?” Zadie asked, concern showing in her voice. “Is the business in any kind of trouble?”

You shook your head, wanting to relieve her of any worry that this had any impact on The WarZone. “No, no– everything’s fine on the business end. The stuff in the envelope is personal. I think I have an idea as to where it came from, but I need to be sure.”

“But you just told Sergeant Barnes it was business stuff,” Zadie insisted. 

“Yeah, yeah I did,” you conceded. “It concerns him, and I really don’t want him having to worry about it. At least until I have more facts.” You hated that you had lied to him about the contents of the envelope, but you would have hated the look on his face when he discovered what it was even more. 

Thanking Zadie and apologizing to her once more, you made your way back into your office. Once inside, you locked your door and dumped the contents of the envelope onto your desk. Dozens of reports and photos splashed across your workspace, each one depicting the horrific crimes of the Winter Solider in brutal detail. The final piece to fall from the envelope was a photo of Bucky, in full assassin gear, aiming a gun at the head of an unarmed older man, and in blocky all-caps lettering, the message to you: DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU’RE FUCKING?

You knew Bucky well enough by now to know how upset these documents would make him, how he would most likely pull away from you once he saw you knew the dirty details of his crimes, but you would never. You’d meant what you’d told him on your first real date– he was not the man responsible for these atrocities; and these anonymously sent pieces of paper wouldn’t change your mind.

However, there was someone out there who clearly thought they would. Someone who assumed you would be put off by the darkness in Bucky’s history. Someone who didn’t want you to see him anymore. Honestly, the pool of individuals who knew about your relationship with Bucky was so small, there weren’t many suspects. One, however, stood out more than the rest.

You moved around to your desk chair and sat down. Picking up your phone, you dialed Zadie at the front desk. 

“Hey, Zade,” you said when she answered. “Do me a favor and have Rand come see me when he gets back from lunch. I need to have a talk with him.”

*

You spent the next forty minutes trying to figure out where the documents came from, both in terms of what courier service delivered them and where the documents might have originated from. You were a bust on both fronts, unfortunately.

Your first step was to review the security cameras in the lobby for the time in question. You watched the courier enter the building and go to the reception desk, patiently wait for Zadie’s attention, then have her sign for the envelope. Unfortunately, there was no uniform or logo indicating what company the courier worked for. You knew you should have splurged to have cameras cover the outside front of the building, on off chance the courier had gotten into a marked vehicle, but you hadn’t thought the expense necessary at the time. 

As for the provenance of the documents themselves, well, that was also a dead end. Most of the files came from the archives of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division of the United States Government. You knew S.H.I.E.L.D. had suffered an intel leak back in 2014, and it appeared that everything that had been sent to you on the Winter Soldier’s crimes were a part of that leak or had appeared as evidence in Bucky’s trial, making all of it accessible to the public, if one cared enough to go digging and knew what they were looking for.

You squeezed your eyes shut and pinched the bridge of your nose, frustrated that you’d hit another brick wall. So much for finding proof. A knock on your door drew your attention and you checked your clock. Rand would have just gotten back from lunch a few minutes ago.

You stood up and walked to the door of your office, unlocking it. 

“Hey, Major,” Rand said a bit nervously. “Zadie said you wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, Rand, come in, please,” you said, motioning for him to enter and sit down. God, you really didn’t want to be having this conversation. He took the seat on the opposite side of your desk, and you sat down in your chair, folding your hands on the desk in front of you.

“I got your package,” you said, trying to keep your voice as neutral as possible.

Rand frowned in confusion. “What package?” So, he was going to play stupid.

“The envelope you had delivered to me this afternoon,” you said.

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about, Major. I didn’t have anything sent to you.” He seemed to consider something. “Fuck– should I have? Is it, like, your birthday or something?”

Wordlessly, you slid the envelope in question across the desk to him. He gave you a puzzled look and reached down, withdrawing the stack of papers within. You watched his eyes widen in shock and disgust as he flipped through them, one by one.

“You think I sent this to you?” he asked, affronted. “Seriously?”

You shrugged. “You’ve made your feelings about me seeing Bucky no secret,” you told him. “And you were downright rude to him when he came in earlier. I can’t think of anyone else who would be warning me about who I’m seeing.”

“Major.” Rand put the stack of papers down on top of your desk. “I may not like the guy, that’s true– but I respect the shit outta you. You’re a grown ass woman, capable of making your own decisions. I don’t necessarily agree with this one in particular, but it’s still your decision to make. Besides,” he leaned back in his chair, “in all the years we’ve known each other, when have I ever had a problem telling you you’re being a dumbass directly to your face?”

He was right– you’d known Rand for ages– you’d fought in the army together, and he’d never once shied away from giving you his opinions directly and frankly, no matter how blunt they might have been. An anonymous envelope and a cryptic warning were not the way he would go about doing it.

“Fuck,” you said, putting your head in your hands. “I’m sorry, Rand. You’re right. I just– shit. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he said, leaning across the desk and putting a hand on your elbow, “don’t be. I get why you would have thought it was me. I can’t say I disagree with whoever sent this, but doing it without putting their name on makes them a coward. If they have a problem with you and Barnes, they should come to you directly. None of this cloak and dagger bullshit.”

You didn’t want to think about there being multiple people out there who might have a problem with you and Bucky being together, but if it wasn’t Rand (and you now truly believed it wasn’t), you’d have to face that possibility. “Still,” you said, looking up at him, “I’m sorry for accusing you without any evidence.”

Rand shrugged. “Eh, I made myself look like a pretty good suspect,” he teased. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Major,” he said, standing up to go back to work. “If they can’t even be bothered to tell you their problem to your face, they’re not worth your worry. Hell, if you can’t be swayed by an old friend like me, I say don’t let this bother you at all.”

“Thanks, Rand,” you chuckled. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

Rand nodded as he made his way to the door. “If it’s any consolation,” he added before he walked out, “Barnes really does seem to like you a lot.”

You smiled to yourself as he left, vowing to not let the anonymous sender get to you. It was quite the consolation, actually.

Quite the consolation, indeed.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[itadores]

tōdō as a romantic partner headcanons

note: just some thoughts on the topic

pairing: tōdō aoi x gn!reader

word count: 1k

tags: gender neutral reader, tōdō aoi-centric, very fluffy and domestic

first thing’s first, tōdō is a good partner. a great one even. i know this in my bones.

one of his greatest attributes as a partner is that he loves you so loudly. he will never shy away from singing your praises or complimenting you. he’ll brag about you to anyone who will listen, whether they’re willing to lend an ear or not. (as much as his peers enjoy your company, they’ve grown sick of hearing tōdō ramble on and on about you. they normally phone or text you when this happens, begging for you to reach out to tōdō, so they’ll be granted a moment of reprieve.)

tōdō loves being yours as much as you’re his. when the opportunity presents itself, he loves being able to proudly boast to others, especially individuals who may take too much of an interest in you or him for that matter, that he’s your partner. he experiences a bit too much joy when he gets to witness in real time how their face crumbles and they scramble away in defeat. even if you admonish tōdō for this behavior, he can’t bring himself to ever feel too sorry. after all, they should have known better.

tōdō is so so so loyal to you. of course, loyalty in a relationship is the bare minimum, but tōdō’s loyalty to you borders on reverence. he worships you, loving you so wholly. so completely. other people could never compare to you, could never hold as much space in his mind as much as you do.

tōdō is not always aware of his own strength and size, but the longer you’re in a relationship, the more he tries to be conscious of it. if you want to rough house, he’ll hold back, never using his full-strength. if you’re lying down together and cuddling, he’s careful to not crush you beneath his weight. sometimes, he does forget how strong he is, often caught up in his excitement of seeing you or showing you something and will manhandle you, but never to the extent that he would hurt you. he would never.

he really appreciates when you express interest in the things he likes. he’s incredibly passionate about JPOP, especially takada-chan. he could go on for hours and hours about the industry and his favorite idol, and sometimes he will, too caught up in his passion. he’s used to one-sided conversations when it comes to his rambling, but his excitement always increases whenever you ask him questions about what he’s talking about. he’s especially touched when you present him with little gifts related to his interests or recall snippets of your conversations together. most people brush off what he says, and for the most part, it doesn’t bother him, but to be seen and heard by you fills him with a joy he never thought he would experience.

being with tōdō means you get scary dog privileges. tōdō’s physique combined with his personality means that others tend to give you both a wide berth. but if on the off chance, somebody happens to get too close or makes you uncomfortable with tōdō around, they’ll wish they didn’t. tōdō goes from zero to one hundred so quickly, transforming right before your eyes. the only reason he doesn’t greviously harm the person bothering you is because you rein him in, holding the leash to his collar in your hands.

he’s so gentle with you in a way that his peers thought him incapable of. tōdō’s whole demeanor just softens when you’re around or you’re mentioned that his peers couldn’t believe their eyes when they witnessed the change in his behavior the first time you were introduced to them. of course, tōdō is still tōdō, but he becomes more at ease when you’re beside him.

tōdō is a very tactile person. he always wants to be touching you in some way, whether it’s an arm slung around your waist, his hand in your back pocket, or his side pressed against yours. he’s a very big fan of pda, shameless in the way he loves you, so if you’re not as big as a fan, you’ll have to let him know to tone it down a bit. he abides by your wishes, but sometimes, he can’t restrain himself and is compelled to act out on his desires when he thinks you look much too attractive for your own good, which is more often than not.

tōdō definitely carries your picture around with him, so he can have a reminder of you wherever he goes. he bought one of those accordion plastic wallet insert that has multiple sleeves, so he can have multiple pictures of you in his wallet since just one would not suffice for him. he also buys a locket, nicer than the one that holds a picture of itadori and takada-chan, and puts his favorite picture of you inside of it.

he is so into buying matching things. he wants y’all to get matching slippers, matching mugs, matching outfits, etc etc. it’s cute to a certain degree, but some of his suggestions are questionable at best. you’ve had to divert his attention away from some atrocious matching shirts he suggested you both get before.

tōdō is a great person to consult when it comes to hygiene products. since he takes such good care of himself, he knows what works and what doesn’t. he’s more than eager to offer any assistance you may need! if you ask him what are some good skincare products, he’s already drafting a list of products that he thinks would work for your skin type. if you ask him what shampoo and conditioner combination seems better, he provides you with information on what each one does and lets you decide which one would work out better for you. once you’ve refined your skincare routine and shower routine, tōdō buys all of the products you like to keep at his place for when you come over (if y’all don’t live together at that point.)

at the end of the day, people think tōdō is just a meathead, and while that may be true to a certain extent, he is also a thoughtful and loving partner that treats you wonderfully and loves you with all of his being <3

[eternalblqze]

perfection.

synopsis: in which, he ponders on the idea of the perfect embrace.

pairing: blade x gn!reader

tags: established relationship. fluff. mostly in blade’s pov. not proofread.

note: i love him SO much but i fear i did not do him enough justice UGHGHHG anyways first post (sorta) lets go

There was certainly no such thing as "perfect" in this world.

One couldn't say things were without flaws, because there would always be something wrong.

Perfection was only an illusion. A concept based purely on unattainable desires and lies to give someone a sense of fulfillment. It simply does not exist.

Blade knew this. He believed in it. Not even he considered death the perfect end. If anything, it was merely...relief of the suffering he's endured for centuries. But it did not mean it was perfect. In truth, it was far from it—he craved the sweet solace of death, but it could never be what he’d consider a satisfying end. 

No, he lost that privilege when he began to endure the constant cycle of agony and death, each rebirth chipping away at his sanity and eroding his memories. Even as he chases death, life is quick to follow, following him like an obnoxious shadow. They say one should live their life to the fullest, but this life was not one he could claim to be proud of, and it never would be.

At least, that is what he believed until he met you. 

He couldn’t fathom the idea of someone loving him. He, who has become nothing but a weapon, forged in the flames of never-ending life and from the ashes of disaster. He has lived for centuries, wielding a blade that was just as broken as his immortal spirit.

Not once did he ever imagine he’d find an emotion as foreign as love to get a grasp on him.

Each and every time he saw you, he swore he could feel his heart grow tight in his chest. And, for once, he had no desire to die. Where he previously longed for his breath to cease, he finds himself craving you—for you have become his oxygen. You, the fresh air that cleansed the darkest recesses of his shattered mind, penetrating the density of the chaos that rages on behind his crimson eyes.

Your touch was rejuvenating, a sweet relief to his aching soul. Time and time again, he finds himself craving your presence time and time again; yearning for the way you wrap your arms around him, connecting with him in ways he never knew were possible.

He had never believed in perfection, but he was beginning to think he was mistaken. You were perfect to him in every way, so perfect that he began to wonder; how did someone as damaged and imperfect as him come to deserve you?

As time passed by, he began to unravel the mystery that was you—and came to realize that perhaps you are not as perfect as he once thought. You had your own flaws, your own troubles and your own weaknesses. And that drew him in even further, eager to solve the intricate network of individual threads that you were composed of.

He wondered if you felt the same way. With your presence in his life, he was confronted with questions he had never considered before. Thoughts and habits that were unheard of for the cold and merciless Stellaron Hunter surged into his mind, plaguing his thoughts. Perhaps he would go as far as to say it bothered him more than the mara did, even as it continued to ravage his senses.

When you’d comment on how beautiful he looked; and how you loved his ruby eyes, he caught himself looking upon his reflection more often. He fails to see what you see in them. He never gave them much thought—the deep colour of his irises were a reflection of his strength and ambitions, but also his lust for revenge and blood of those he had eradicated from the face of this world. And yet, you loved him all the same.

He was not a man of many words. Verbal affirmations from him were a rare occurrence—it’s difficult to put his thoughts into words, to manifest his love for you into sentences that would touch your heart. Oftentimes, he resorted to showing it through his actions, with the way he encases you in his arms in a tranquil silence.

Neither you nor he were perfect, yet he desired nothing but perfection for you. It is what you deserved, after all. For someone who did not believe in perfection, it certainly occupied most of his thoughts…how troublesome.

Now…it was only a mere idea at first. An arbitrary thought that would come to pass, as all thoughts did in his chaotic headspace. 

What would be considered a perfect embrace? A perfect touch, a perfect…expression of intimacy.

Would it be soft and tender? Would it be firm? Would it elicit an immense feeling of joy? Tranquility? Comfort? A sense of security? Your touch was always one he’d crave, but it made him wonder if his embrace was enough for you. 

Even as you hold him now, his head resting on your chest—listening to the soft and steady rhythm of your heartbeat; he wondered if you felt the same way when he held you. The way you made his heart rate quicken in his chest, and the way that your presence alone was capable of cleansing the darkened clouds of his mind.

Perhaps this was the perfect embrace. 

Or can anything truly be considered “perfect”? What even was perfect, anyways? 

Maybe…there would never be a definitive answer, for people had different ideas and experiences. Something perfect to him could be flawed for another.

He closes his eyes, burying himself into the comforting scent of you that he has grown to adore.

…Well, perfect or not, he knew one thing for certain—his favourite embraces would always be ones shared with you.

And that was perfect enough for him.

reblogs with comments are appreciated :>

[gffa]

saw someone say "dickbabs is bad cuz they're written as a stereotype of smart nerd/dumb jock which is a disservice to their characters" and its so weird cuz i cant think of any comics where they're written that way?? like the best comics of them are the ones where they're working on cases together combining both of their strengths and resources to solve crime and theres plenty of those.

also i've noticed so many dickbabs antis have a problem with barbara's intelligence in general which is odd to me. esp when dick himself is never intimidated nor threatoned by it and its sad. its like ppl claim to like girlboss/malewife couples but then when there's actually a couple that displays that dynamic in a way that matters and isnt just based on appearance or physical traits its too much and they back out!

I just wish certain Dickbabs antis would stop putting their "why this other pairing is so much better than DickBabs" stuff in the #dickbabs tag, like you are not helping me think better of your competing ship with that kind of behavior, it just comes off as so desperate to be mad that other people like something you wish they wouldn't like. Otherwise, I don't really wander into spaces that aren't into the things I'm into, because I'd much rather spend my time yelling about why I DO love the thing I love, so in that vein, LET ME TELL YOU WHY I LOVE DICKBABS SO MUCH. (To be clear, it's perfectly fine not to like the ship or like it in a different way, we'll still get along fine! It's not the sum total of EITHER character's role in the comics, there's plenty to talk about them without getting into this relationship! I'm just not here for those who need to go out of their way to shove it in my face that they don't like the ship, but disliking it and staying in your lane--as many, many lovely people do! the majority I would even say!--is of course fine.) (To further clarify, I don't know the context of the original post mentioned here, it's not part of anything I'm speaking of, this is purely about trying to shove it in others' faces, not about how other people interpret ships differently from me while staying in their own lanes. So I'm probably not speaking about the original post whatsoever here!) For me, I think the heart of their bigger relationship is built on their mutual support for each other, that they each have established themselves individually and have their own books and their own time in the spotlight, but they keep gravitating towards each other because they're better and stronger and more fun together. That each of them gladly takes their turn being the support for the other, because that's what relationships do! And they do it with such love, like-- I love them because they've known each other so long that they really get each other, they get that the other isn't perfect, and they've made the choice to be with that person even when their issues have thorns. Like, I loved everything about their conversation in Nightwing #96:

That is exactly what he needed to hear--she wasn't being cruel or dismissive of his issues, she wasn't even really being mean about the issues he picked up from Bruce, because she's right, Bruce does have some really shit traits that he passed on to his eldest. She's not saying that either he or Bruce are bad for it, she's just accepting that it's part of the man she loves and she'll cut through it with him because he's worth any effort it would take to be with him. I love that she laughs right in his face about breaking up, because that's not cruel or dismissive either, it's just Dick being ridiculous and sometimes it's part of his charm and they've always teased each other--the thing is, it's also always followed up with warmth and care, she asks him point blank, are you happy with me? Because you are allowed to be happy. I'm allowed to be happy and I'm happy with you, you're worth dying for, let's do this together. Or I love their earlier dynamic in the Batgirl comic as well, just after Bruce and Selina's failed marriage (this is before they got back together, like in the above):

I love SO MUCH that Babs isn't sure that she necessarily wants a marriage any time soon, she doesn't trust yet that it could last, but what she does want is someone who would be there if she needed them, that at this point in time she feels like moments are all any of them are allowed to have, so what she wants is someone who will always answer when she calls. At this point, she's afraid to commit because she doesn't feel like they get that kind of thing, she's afraid of her own feelings, that really gets hammered in during the Death Knight storyline where they're fighting against the end of the world, the collapsing of the multiverse, and Bruce is tired of their bickering, so he tells them to just "skip to the end", which is basically, Dick wants to symbolically marry her, but she's afraid because she doesn't want her feelings for him to get in her way, she's terrified of losing him again:

But he's there for her, he says that it's just for tonight, he can put it aside when they need to, and later he'll win her back. This is who Dick and Babs are to me--they dance around each other because their feelings are so intense and sometimes it feels like they're on different pages (Dick's a romantic who wants to get married someday and knows it, she isn't sure she wants marriage but something less defined), but then you dig into it a bit and realize they are on the same page, it's just that their costumed lives, the traumas they've both lived through, make them scared of that level of intensity. And that's why Babs being the one to say, once they're together, no, we're happy together, we're allowed to be happy together, is so important. It's why she refuses to not come along with when Dick is going to the founding of the Alfred Pennyworth Foundation and doesn't take his shit about trying to keep her safe in Nightwing #88.

Because they take turns supporting each other, they take turns being the one to say I love you so much that I would fight the world for you, that they make each other stronger and shore each other up. Even before they got back together, they supported each other and were always there to listen, to joke around to lighten the mood, to just be a friendly ear without expectations of anything else:

Plus, they are adorable when they're flirting:

DICK'S IDEA OF A HOT DATE IS A NIGHT ON THE SOFA IN SWEATPANTS, EATING POPCORN, AND WATCHING THEIR FAVORITE SHOW. HE UNDERSTANDS HER, OKAY.

Ultimately, I love them because sometimes she goes to him. Sometimes he goes to her. Sometimes she cuts through his bullshit with love. Sometimes he cuts through her bullshit with love. They're always there for each other, even when they're not together. They have a blast flirting with each other. They're both aware of the other being a hot mess sometimes, but they know that's part of the person they love and deal with it. They're partners.

[caepirii]

— HEART DESIRES !

Other than studying to reach your dreams as witchy student in saint spell , a little smear of love with certain individual wouldn't put hindrance if it means growing together.

pairing ; eris , simon , bugbear/reader ⌇ sslg

tags ; fluff , headcanon , established relationship , friends to lovers , slight gore/blood (bugbear) , sslg spoilers , slight suggestive(?)

Time spent, time used between slip of chances, ticking clock upon the wall count each second, minutes, and hours, new memories will be written, and past memories will be collected neatly or messily inside the book for remembrance.

Another timeline, another beginning and ends, watching everyone make their place in your heart as your desired.

— ERIS

Darling sweetheart, a sunflower upon the field, unlike other sunflowers facing the rising sun. His gaze filled with adoration for you only.

Eris's love language would be physical touch and quality time— he loves running towards you through the hallway and tackling you into a hug, enjoying the time you spent together inside the arena - fight upon fight in the arena that exhausts the body further. Yet, he can't find anything more rewarding than spending time with you doing mundane stuff together.

To have you by his side is nothing but a blessing after losing his friends in the past impacted him greatly, and to have you by his side through everything even though he can be a little bit too much for some people, he can't be grateful more for you love him.

Though I said his love language is physical touch and quality time, gift-giving is never out of the question! Every day he'll bring something new for you to show off, it ranges between trinkets, food, and cute little heart-shaped rocks he found on the ground. It's a good luck charm he'd say!

If you can bake, don't be surprised if there's some suddenly missing in a second before you can decorate them, little breadcrumb trails help you find the culprit hiding inside the drawer he slips in - giggling innocently as he offers you the half-eaten cookies he took.

cute aggression, maybe it starts with you or him it doesn't matter, there's always some playful fighting between the both of you, from the field into your dorm - tossing pillows and blankets in a fight at each other, watching who will raise the white flag of surrender, so far even result of cuddle fight where both of you fighting who hold who at night, it'll end with him always winning and you giving up under him, exhausted from the brutal strength he own.

Cuddle time? Cuddle time. Big spoon or small spoon doesn't matter after he held you, with his hands and tail, you find yourself trapped with his surprisingly strong grip, sometimes he invites you to his dorm for the cuddle sessions. One thing assured for sure, you missed some classes, but hey, free cuddles.

He enjoys biting you a lot, surprisingly. Don't be surprised when the both of you cuddling and he nuzzles his head against your neck innocently at the start, it'll end with him planting kisses against your exposed skin, gently nipping the skin, not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you feel feverish before he pulls back and looks at you innocently after his advance.

Because of his habit of biting and leaving a mark upon mark against the exposed skin, he could sink his teeth into the need to start clothes that were enough to cover the bruises he left.

He just stares lovingly at you across the class with his tail wagging happily like a puppy as you wear long clothing to hide them, and you feel like dying as some couple of stares are thrown at you as they watch Eris looking at you with heart in his eyes.

— SIMON

would it be wrong to say you adore the lovely man? Many people may think differently of him, but not you, it'll never be you, watching him grow and become the best version of himself, you're honored to be his anchor as he is to you.

Simon's love language would be act of service and quality time — he does his best to help you in any way possible, trying his hardest to work better to prove to you that all you did for him all worth it, please tell this baby to take a rest once awhile because he wants to impress you how far he had gone, tell him how much you're proud and love him, and watch him melt and become putty in your arm, face redder that possible even with his already natural red skin.

a date with him can vary between casual dates, where you spend the most time talking about anything on your mind and keep each other's company, or studying or general reading in the library.

You always watch how his fingernails thrum, fidgets, and scratch against the table, leaving scratch marks against the wood, it helps him focus on studying further, But unfortunately, it's not good for him as he always gets scolded for ruining the class property. So, to change that you bought him the fidget cube toy with tiny plastic buttons, gears, and a joystick, he's skeptical at the tiny cube-shaped toy you gave him at first but soon starts to love it, it helps him focus on studying, and no longer get scolded for destroying the class property.

Being in the same classes as he is, you had resorted your place to sit by his side, not that he minds. Rather he's glad that you're next to him during classes, sharing notes and offering help if others don't understand certain subjects, so it becomes a habit to whisper answers and questions.

Sometimes so far accidentally brushing lips against one another ears when getting too close than anticipated, which ends with both of you becoming a flustered and stuttering mess and being called out by the professors to keep it down and a couple of stares from other students.

the more he gets comfortable with you, the more he starts to open up - not that he's never opened up to you! In a way, you'll see bolder fiendish, that'll lazily wrap his hands around your waist, pressing kisses upon your lips almost every moment given.

watching his gaze softened, no longer shy away or stuttering when caught staring. His fingers would trace gently against your skin and brush against your hair, staring with so much love in his eyes as he held you, no words were uttered, but gazing at his eyes and stupid charming smile as he held you close, body molding with one another and just stay like that, feeling the thumping of your heart against his, it feels wonderful.

— BUGBEAR

Silly whimsy little nightmare fuel. will stay silly whimsy little nightmare fuel.

Bugbear's love language would be physical touch and gift giving. — dare you say he's attached to your hip, no matter how much you try to ignore his presence, you could feel eyes from the dark corner piercing behind your back, how the shadow around you embraces you like a longing lover before the familiar creature of nightmare would come to greet you by wrapping his arm around you in death grip, not allowing you to escape his grasp as he hold you.

Do you love your personal space? how unfortunate, Bugbear loves it too and wishes to annoy the living shit out of you. Good luck with that.

To say Bugbear is an enigma, and there's nothing to hide from the truth, one second, you'll be watching him shoving many ingredients and spice inside a still bloody pig and call it an offering, a prank more likely as he drags you to watch another student scream at the horrendous sight of a dead pig on their bed. The other time he'll cook a delicious well-cooked meal for your lunch while using his cute bear apron in the kitchen.

At night, almost every night, when everyone has fallen asleep and ventured into their dream world. Bugbear would always keep you awake, sending your heart fluttering from his playful tease, pinning you to your bed with the Cheshire grin you adore, soon your body is engulfed in his shadow magic and ends up in the ballroom with him. Dancing to both of your heart's content, once in a while just spending time on your or his bed wrapped in each other presence - leaving you breathless as he marks you with teeth sinking to your skin, sleep schedule be damned.

The more time you spend with him. the more you learn of his mischievous antics, it becomes easier to know when a shadow moves behind the corner of your vision before being tackled to the ground by the anima himself when you thought you were ready with his upcoming attack, he makes you think twice.

But it got him more excited as you get more aware of your surroundings. The sight of you being so anxious yet on guard of his presence in the shadow sends his heart fluttering with anticipation. Act more attentively, and get faster with your response, oh how much he loves riling you all up before teasing you again by appearing from the shadow lazily to disappoint you with the lack of tackle attacks. It's okay, it's worth the playful antics as he pecks your face with good morning kisses.

For a bad student who always ditches classes, is surprisingly smart, and able to help your failing classes, of course not being left with sarcastic remarks and playful tease.

"Oh, dear me, is my little doll can't understand some basic spells casting equations, who's fault is that for skipping classes just to meet little ol' me? Hehe, stupid. You miss me? desperate much~" (´∧ω∧｀✿)

countless times you'd freeze as he cornered you in his nightmare-fueled dream, claws covered in blood and carcasses of his meal scattered upon the ground, you're aware he had brought you to his nightmare land once more and he waited patiently until you're nothing but a fragile toy he used to play and cry your weary eyes out.

but it never came as you slowly start to get numb with his antics, to say your fingers would trail across his maw that wishes nothing but devour you whole yet, held back as you pull yourself to him, desperately clinging to him and wish his torment to end. Such a vulnerable toy, such an easy prey, so precious. not yet.

© CAEPIRII — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited

[note-boom]

Life and Death Parallels within the ADA

Someone in a tag said a while back to throw some of my tags of this post onto a post, and I meant to do it way back in February but kind of got lost to the timestream.

But I'm back and I really do have thoughts about the way the ADA is structured to really be, as Atsushi was told just before the Kamui revelation, a place where the members give the organisation unique strengths that cover each other's weaknesses. And I thought about how there's a sort of equal divide between the older generation (Ranpo, Yosano, Dazai, and Kunikida) and the younger generation (Kyouka, Kenji, Tanizaki, Atsushi) and how each of these characters have both a similar aged parallel to them in the agency as well as a minor-adult parallel.

I'll try to be as concise as possible (I failed), but hear me out...

We have Ranpo/Yosano, Dazai/Kunikida, Atsushi/Tanizaki, and Kyouka/Kenji as similar-aged parallel sets that pair a death-coded individual with a life-coded individual. On the the adult-minor side, you have Ranpo/Kenji, Yosano/Atsushi, Dazai/Kyouka, and Tanizaki/Kunikida as parallel sets in their story arcs rather than thematic ones.

So, to start with the first set.

Ranpo (life-coded) and Yosano (death-coded): I feel as if these two have sort of reached the most balanced level of thematic parallels than any of the other pairings. Ranpo's past was full of this enjoyment with life where his parents' occupations dealing with darker forces of the world were hidden from him. Meanwhile, Yosano's past was full of death and darkness that was not hidden from her. And in Yosano's backstory, she was called the angel of death; in Ranpo's Origins tale with Fukuzawa, he confronted an angel of death of a sort. Yosano was deteriorating into death while Ranpo was slowly thriving under Fukuzawa. And then they met...and Ranpo found someone to bring back to life, and a place in the ADA where he could use murders and death and the darkness of the world to spread light/life by literally shining light on the mysteries, while Yosano found a place where she could use death to bring life in the ADA.

Dazai (death-coded) and Kunikida (life-coded): I think this parallel of life/death manifests the most in their ideals...Dazai's ideal is sort of entrenched in death and trying to die a painless suicide while Kunikida is all about spreading life for himself and others no matter how much pain it brings him. What's so wrong with these two is that they also have inclinations towards their "opposite coding," so to speak. We constantly see people pointing out Kunikida's secret desire to die while we clearly see Dazai doing his uttermost to live a good life and carry on Oda's legacy. Life haunts Kunikida as much as death haunts Dazai, and yet death chases after Kunikida (all the people he's witnessed dying, RIP) as much as life comes after Dazai (all his failed suicide attempts, double RIP)

Atsushi (life-coded) and Tanizaki (death-coded): This is honestly pretty tricky because we barely know anything about Tanizaki. Even though Kunikida and Dazai's past-pasts are still pretty mysterious, we have a good grasp on their characters. But Tanizaki's personality dissonance and as-of-yet unknown past with his sister definitely contrasts with the way we're know Atsushi's past and values. Both, however, are incredibly protective, but the way Tanizaki and Atsushi approach it is pretty different; Tanizaki seems to have this mentality that he must kill the threat while Atsushi seems determined more to save the victim. (I also find that one throwaway about "wimp of the east (Tanizaki)/wimp of the west (Atsushi)" interesting because maybe it's just in western lit, but west denotes sunsets and death while east denotes sunrises and rising, except in Buddhism where the west is shown as a direction of enlightenment(info check?)...which provides another host of interesting parallels to Atsushi and his relation to the book but let's not go there). All in all, these two are a bit of a stretch, but it's interesting to see that Atsushi's mysteries lie more towards the future (usually associated with life) while Tanizaki's life more in the past.

Kenji (life-coded) and Kyouka (death-coded): This one's pretty straightforward, not just because they're the youngest members of the ADA. But you see their life philosophies and personalities lean towards what they're coded as, as well as their pasts (Kenji as a farmer, cultivating life, and Kyouka as an assassin, dealing death). And yet what drew each to the ADA....Kenji was drawn to the ADA after witnessing death after a lifetime of growing new life while Kyouka was drawn to the ADA after being given life after a long childhood of killing.

However, in the end, the Armed Detective Agency is a detective organisation devoted to saving people, and all of them end up choosing life for it. But the different ways they go about it just go to show that you can have any crazy skill and still spread some sort of life through it. All of them are haunted by death, anyway, and yet all of them choose to spread life regardless.

Now onto the second set, which I'll keep shorter by simply saying that the pairs - Ranpo/Kenji, Yosano/Atsushi, Dazai/Kyouka, and Tanizaki/Kunikida - just have similar story beats, in a sense.

Ranpo and Kenji raised fairly happy, rudely awakened by the world, and yet choosing to believe in continuing to keep up a positive attitude; I'd say, though, that Ranpo does it primarily through shutting his eyes to the world while unmasking it while Kenji does it through acknowledging its pain and refusing to let it bring him down.

Yosano and Atsushi both with honestly terrible childhoods spent witnessing some of the most cruel sides of human natures growing up to be champions of life, only Yosano has definitely developed more steel and walls while Atsushi's definitely softer and more open still (they're both crazy stubborn, though).

Then Dazai and Kyouka's past with the Port Mafia and a disillusionment in reality that was abruptly interrupted when they realised they had to do something about it as useless as it sounded; Dazai thanks to Oda dying and Kyouka thanks to Dazai telling her to save people anyway.

And again, Kunikida and Tanizaki's probably a stretch given we know nothing about their pasts, but I really really find it interesting that Kunikida was a former teacher and Atsushi first assumed Tanizaki and Naomi to be students; also, I've mentioned this in other posts but Kunikida and Tanizaki are paired together a lot and have...their moments. It's pretty interesting to perceive these two people with strong ideals that are almost the reversal of the other ("the world for one person" vs "myself (one person) for the world").

But yeah...that has been parallels within the ADA concerning themes of life and death and their character's narrative arcs.

Bonus? Fukuzawa and Naomi....a middle aged president and a teenaged clerk, both protective about the people they claim to be their own, smart in their own ways, with seemingly "support" roles.

[yukine-sakamoto]

More Shadows House: I’m near the end of the debut arc (ep. 7, 8, & 9). I suppose I should start tagging these for spoilers so: spoilers

I’m loving how Emilico helping everyone comes back to her in so many different ways, and how it disarms everyone and allows them to help and be helped as well. Honestly makes me feel a little bad for ever assuming the worst of someone. I’m glad we saw John panic over what he said to Kate, too. It was adorable and grounds his character, plus he did go a bit too far. We basically get confirmation that all shadows have soot powers but with different strengths, and that does seem to be part of the test. It was also interesting to see the interaction between shadows of different rankings. The third floor crew basically treat the other shadows as servants, not quite to the degree of living dolls but more than I would have expected. I suppose they need servants since their living dolls are… consumed, I guess. I did not expect that reveal at all. Kind of throws most of my theory out the window (unsurprisingly), but I still wonder what they do with all the soot, especially since it relates to negative feelings.

I definitely underestimated Rum. I mean I was rooting for her, but I’m so glad Emilico was able to support her and give her a little self-confidence, so she could really show her strengths. The moments of her figuring out the map and the maze and being reassured about Shirley, so good. More than that though, I think I underestimated Shirley. I had assumed she was shy like Rum, and that we never saw her produce soot because she was used to being on the sidelines. But knowing that Rum has never seen her make soot at all and that her room is always spotless makes me think there’s a lot under the surface. Even someone with weak soot powers would normally give off a little when they feel negative. Shirley must be content and likely confident/above-it-all in order to never make soot. I bet she’s super smart like Rum. She knows something the others don’t, or has figured something out. She’d rather observe and learn more than engage in posturing for the competition. (Also, very into the theory I saw that Shirley somehow created Rummy through soot powers, and has been talking to Rum this whole time.)

I really wish we heard what was said between each pair when Rum rescued Shirley and when Ricky rescued Patrick. It would’ve been very revealing for each of their characters, but especially since we haven’t heard a word from Shirley yet. I’m guessing they’ll show Rum/Shirley later though.

I’m glad they had the third floor crew talk about how strange this test is and how biased Edward clearly is. It’s a lot of what I was talking about in my last post, so it was satisfying. Still, they seem content to just be entertained and not worry to much about the validity of the test, which is expected but disappointing. Actually, they seem really eager to see someone, anyone fail and die. I think they probably care very little about the event as a test and focus on the spectacle. It was interesting to hear I think Ryan say something like “do we want a bunch of star bearers?” I was confused initially because I thought that was a title of honor and authority, but it was said with distain. It was during the conversation about dolls and individuality, though, and I saw someone guess that star bearers are shadow & doll pairs that can’t or won’t merge, which makes a lot of sense to me. I think due to Emilico’s influence none of this cohort will be willing to merge. They are all learning to be kinder and less competitive, which breaks down the walls separating master and servant. Certainly Kate and John wouldn’t. Louise might since she is clearly obsessed with Lou, but depending on their relationship she might actually prefer Lou to have a body.

But that being said I have to talk about Kate’s & Shirley’s prisons. There’s literally no way to properly free Kate except one random chance at the beginning. That’s not a test, it’s an execution. I mean I’m mad about the injustice of it, but it also would’ve been less of a show for third floor crew if things had gone to plan. I wish we had seen more about the intended solutions to the other prisons, too. Louise’s literally had instructions on it, clear bias and very stupid. John destroyed his, but I imagine it was similar to Patrick’s, which was very interesting to me. They kind of glossed over it, but I don’t think we’ve seen soot used that way before. I had assumed it would not be able to hold a shape on its own, or if it could, it would be too brittle to turn a lock. For Shirley’s, they explained how the soot mechanism that would kill her worked, but never said there was any kind of key or other mechanism. Kate was last in the ranking when this part started, so by Edward’s logic Shirley’s should be slightly easier than Kate’s. I think cutting through the plants was the only way, maybe that’s what the shears at the beginning were intended for.

Speaking of Louise and shears. I never thought Ricky had it in him to hurt Lou or Louise, and I mean that as a compliment, but I also don’t think he had a right to get mad at Shawn since he did think about it and it would be in line with his behavior thus far. Then again, being mad about it is also very in character for him. It was nice to see Lou show some initiative and give him the shears. (And very clever noticing the differences in the masters’ soot trails) I’m not necessarily on board with the little romance they seem to be teasing between the two though. There’s clearly something going on with Lou that needs to be addressed first. She’s growing, but she still seems like not all there at times, and it’s worrying.

Also John is a badass just punching that boulder to pieces. Is it bad that I was kind of into how excited Sophie got over “the volume of his soot”? *blush* Anyway, I’m always slightly frustrated by these boulder chase scenes because I feel like you could just lie flat in the corner and the boulder would pass over you. Or, he could hide in the turnstile. It’s metal, so part of me doubts the boulder would do more than dent it. Actually that whole exchange was silly. Once both pins are lifted, it looks like they won’t lock again until a full 180° turn. You could open it once and just pass back and forth freely without ever letting it lock again. I don’t know, maybe there’s more to the mechanism.

Also, back to Kate’s prison and the rescue. Kate and Emilico’s reunion conversation was so cute and yes wasted a bit of time but technically maybe worth it to calm down Kate and slow the soot mechanism. I did have trouble suspending my disbelief for the rescue sequence though. Emilico was very valiant running along the beam and jumping to save Kate, but the physics just don’t make sense to me. How could she leap forward over the lip, but somehow reach back far enough to grab Kate? And if the flower cart was there, did she need to catch Kate? I mean the flower cart felt a little convenient on its own, like, Emilico did not look before she leapt. But more than that, and it was hard to tell, but in certain shots the cage looked like it was over grass. It was definitely close to the edge, and it only looked about one story up. That’s a survivable fall. You couldn’t catch yourself if you fell with the cage, but if you hung on, as Kate did, you could just swing forward, land on the soft grass, and like tuck and roll. Very survivable. Still it was cute for them to land in the flowers together. Criminal that Emilico’s nickname was translated as sunshine instead of flower bed. So many good references to that name are missed.

Can’t wait to see how it all turns out.

(Also thank you to the person who reblogged my last one of these and said they wanted more. I don’t know if you’ll see this, but I’m new here, so that made my day.)

[something-tofightfor]

Men Who Are Fighting to Be Warm: The NSFW ABCs of Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (Just Too Good To Be Gone pairing), Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos, Joel x female OCs (past)

Word count: 11,822

Rating: NSFW / E - The title says it all. 

Warnings: This alludes to things that happen / are covered in TLOU 1 and 2, but doesn’t outright spoil anything at all.

Summary: Get to know Joel a little better in 26 different ways.

Author’s Note: Happy day after the TLOU HBO premiere, friends! This has been a LONG time coming - I think I’ve been jotting down ideas for some of these since winter 2021, but I never got around to compiling everything ... until now. 

This is specifically for Just Too Good To Be Gone Joel - so it makes references to things that have happened in that universe. Individual reference pieces are linked appropriately, and the overall masterlist (in chronological order) is linked here, too. 

Thanks for being patient here with me - this one is a LOT of fun. 

To get alerted when I post new chapters/stories, follow @somethingtofightfor-shares​ and turn on post notifications - you can also ask to be added to my tag list (link in bio or at the top of my taglist reblog)

Just Too Good To Be Gone Masterlist

Song Suggestion: “Shelter From The Storm” by Bob Dylan

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Joel got so used to not lingering after sex post-outbreak that it’s going to take some time for him to relax and let himself stay. This is true for both pre and post outbreak encounters, but now is much different than it used to be, and he knows it. 

This doesn’t mean that he immediately gets up and gets dressed and leaves the room - it just means that he’s not used to cuddling or getting intimate on an emotional level afterward. Conversation is one thing - personal pillow talk is another. 

Joel is always very focused on you, though. Where before and with other partners (for the most part), you’d both finish and lay there for a minute recovering before you got up and did what you needed to do to clean up, being in Jackson gives you a little respite from having to be so methodical about things - and he knows this too even if he needs some time to adjust to it.  

He’s always going to check in and make sure you’re alright and ask if you need anything. He’ll remind you where the bathroom is and that there’s water in the kitchen if you want it. He’ll ask if you want a new pair of socks to put on (the wooden floors in his house get cold) - and he’ll always remind you to get dressed before you fall asleep. (This is something that doesn’t ever change, even after years in Jackson. Sleeping naked is an absolute no-go for him, and he wants you to be ready just in case, too.)

The more he gets to know you, and the safer he feels in Jackson, the closer he wants to be as you come down and start to relax, even if he won’t compromise on the clothing thing. 

He does miss the nights when he could fall asleep tangled up with someone - skin on skin, but the hints that he gets of it - a hand under your shirt and pressed against your stomach, the fabric riding up so that his forearm is laying against bare skin, the way you sleep in less in the warmer months, meaning that there’s more skin for him to enjoy … it’s all new for him and he loves every second of it. 

Also, the first time Joel breaks his own rule and falls asleep without a shirt on after the two of you have caught your breath is one of your favorite memories with him in your time together (more on that later)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Joel’s favorite of his own body parts is something that might surprise you. 

He knows that part of it is due to his strength and stature, but he also knows that his survival is thanks to quick thinking and a heightened reaction time. He’s damn proud of his brain and the way it can assess and adapt to different situations when necessary.

And he likes your mouth - for a variety of reasons, really, but mostly because he can tell exactly what kind of mood you’re in when he sees the set of your lips. 

Amused? A tiny quirk of them to the right. 

Unsure? You chew on the inside of your bottom one a lot. 

Angry? He can see them pressed thin from a block away, and knows he - or whoever it is you’re interacting with - needs to tread carefully. 

Excited - the way you always look when you see him for the first time each day? They’re stretched into a large smile, and sometimes your teeth are biting down on the corner of your lower one, the sparkle in your eyes almost too bright. 

He also loves your mouth because of what it can do - and what it often does with various parts of his body. 

Your favorite part of Joel? 

His hands. And his arms. And his chest. You love how big he is everywhere, and how capable, and your favorite place to be is held tight by those hands and arms to that chest. It doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing, even after everything you’ve been through, a few moments in his arms is enough to make you forget it all for just a little while - and neither of you would have it any other way. 

Joel really likes it when you’re focused on something else and absently running your fingers over his - loves the way you linger on his knuckles, some of them permanently swollen from previous fights and being broken and then healing, loves the way you follow the tendons just beneath the skin on the back of his hand, tracing them down and to his wrist and then all the way to the band of his watch and then back up. 

He loves the way your hands fit into his, and even though he thought he’d found his match all those years ago with Nadine, he didn’t realize just how wrong he was until the very first time you took his hand and held it on purpose. 

… so maybe more than your mouth, Joel loves your hands just as much as you love his.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Joel loves the fact that he can safely finish inside of you - and that he doesn’t have to worry about pulling out. (Explanation here - but long story short, he had a vasectomy a couple years before the outbreak and it’s one of the best decisions he’s ever made for himself)

Joel loves seeing evidence of himself on your skin or his - the way he looks spread out over your belly or your fingers or on your thighs and chest, glistening in whatever light the two of you have to work with. 

He doesn’t ever expect you to swallow if you’re going down on him when he comes, but the act of watching (and feeling) it happen turns him on more than he thought it would. 

And when it comes to you and what your body does? 

He loves feeling how turned on your get for him. He loves running his fingers over and through you, feeling how well they glide along your skin, loves pulling his hand away and seeing that you’ve soaked it. He really loves how your body responds to him - words or touch, and he’s actually damn proud of the fact that he’s made you come just as hard with his fingers as he can when he’s inside of you. 

But one of Joel’s favorite things about you is the way you taste, coming hard over his tongue. He will never turn down an opportunity to go down on you, and he knows that once he’s gotten going, it doesn’t take much to pull you right over the edge, exactly how he wants to. 

He’ll take his time, sure - if you’ve got it to spare, but in a perfect scenario for him, Joel will pull a quick orgasm out of you with his mouth or fingers, admire his handiwork, and then go slow for the second - savoring the taste and feel of you all over him until you’re begging him to stop and telling him how much you need him - not his hands or his mouth, but all of him. 

And lucky for you, Joel’s always happy to oblige. 

 D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

We’re ignoring the elephant in the room for right now because we all know how he feels about THAT secret … so we’re going to go back to Teenage Joel for one of the two of these. 

1. When Nadine told Joel that she was pregnant, his first instinct was to call her a liar - and his second was ask whose it was. 

Was this shitty of him? Absolutely. But he was a scared 16/17 year old kid, and hadn’t ever dreamed that it could happen to him. (They were careful, and always used protection…but accidents happen, and while Joel had sometimes thought about what it would be like to have a family with Nadine, he never thought that it would happen so soon, before they could go to college and get jobs and all that).

 Tommy doesn’t even know that he doubted that Sarah was his at first, and although he prides himself on not lying to you, telling you this secret is something that he doesn’t ever plan on revealing - not because it doesn’t matter, but because the moment he laid eyes on his little girl for the first time, he knew.

And he already feels so guilty about everything else that he’s been through and done that he doesn’t need to add something else to the pile - especially something else that neither of you can do anything about.

2. When Joel was with Penny, he was thinking about Tess - both times. 

And he doesn’t know how to say that to you without making himself sound like an asshole, so he’s never told you that, either. And when you’ve told him that you’re upset that you couldn’t be his “first” experience in Jackson, he’s almost glad that you weren’t… because he doesn’t know if he would have been able to get the other woman’s face out of his head those first times, and there’s no way that he would have wanted to start things physically with you in that way. 

 He’s worried that if he tells you this, also, you’d be concerned that when he’s with you, he’s thinking of Tess. (He isn’t - and he never really has in the way he did with Penny) 

The exceptions are the times you’ve brought it up, or he has - like the first night in his kitchen, or the night when the two of you were out on an overnight patrol and you flat out asked him to tell you about her and what they’d had - and after the briefest hesitation, the woman’s face flashing in his mind - he’d done just that. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Joel had five sexual partners before the outbreak: Nadine and four others in the 10 years that she was gone. (This is for actual sex; other things happened in that time period. Joel made the most of the nights his parents looked after Sarah so that he could have a break - but he was always careful so that there wasn’t going to be another ‘oops’.) 

After the outbreak, the number increased by more than a couple - but after getting to Boston and meeting Tess, it dwindled … and then in the few years leading up to leaving the city, he was with Tess and Tess only because it was easier that way (and because that’s what he wanted even if he’d never admit it.) 

Arguably, he’s more experienced with things that aren’t actual sex. But he’s patient and understanding. Joel is willing to learn his partner and their needs - when given the chance. 

He’s really attentive, and because he’s spent so much time closely analyzing his surroundings, he has no issue staying focused and honing in on what you need and want from him - things he’s more than happy to give. 

You always finish, even if he has to supplement with his hands and mouth - the first time you were together is the exception to this, and he’s definitely made up for that in the time you’ve spent in bed since. 

You’ve never complained and never will about how well he does things. He’s overwhelming in bed like he is everywhere else, even when the two of you are taking it slow, but it’s nice to be with someone that has so much confidence in bed and isn’t afraid to test your limits and help you establish new ones … the same way you are with him. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

You on top, hands down. He loves looking at you and being able to put his hands wherever he wants. He doesn’t mind missionary or the positions when you’re on your back at all, but that hinders him from being able to touch your skin - he loves splaying his fingers out and over as much of it as he can - and he knows you like it a hell of a lot, too. You being on your back, or having your back pressed against something makes this a lot harder.  

He also really likes it when you’re both laying down and wrapped around each other. He can’t go as deep this way, but he can feel things - including your body - everywhere and against his and he loves it. 

He won’t admit this out loud to anyone, but wanting proximity and access to someone else in bed is one of his most closely guarded secrets. In his mind, it’s a weakness to want so much of someone - but when you figure this out - that he just wants as much of you as he can possibly get at all times - you make sure that it happens as often as possible. 

To be honest, you’re never going to turn down an opportunity to stare down at him, or lock eyes with him or watch the way his throat works when he’s gritting his teeth and trying to keep from crying out. 

And you will certainly never want to put yourself in a position where you’re not able to feel the way his hands and fingers linger against your skin, digging into it when he’s flexing his hips or pulling yours down so that your bodies are as close as they can be. 

You’ll take Joel any way you can have him - and he knows it, but won’t ever take advantage of you or your feelings just to get what he wants. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Joel’s demeanor changes in the leadup to - and during - sex. After so many years of it being a militaristic thing meant only for release and to act as a brief physical mood booster, it’s nice for him to be able to relax for a little while and not take things so seriously with you. 

It’s also nice to hear him crack a joke or smile, which he does more and more as he gets comfortable with you both in the bedroom and out of it. 

It’s really nice to have him wink up at you from between your legs, or use one of those stupid Texan phrases that make you laugh and snort, before your hands reach out to push him away playfully… or to pull him closer. 

Ellie might be the queen of lame jokes and puns, but Joel’s the king - specifically because of the deadpan way he delivers them on a moment’s notice, and the fact that he has the ultimate poker face. You sometimes can’t tell whether or not he’s being serious or trying to get you to laugh. (It’s usually the laughing.)

But this doesn’t mean that he doesn’t treat the actual sex seriously - because he does. 

While he tried to keep things casual after Nadine left, and then continued this after the outbreak, he let himself get a lot more involved with Tess than he intended… but he didn’t have many opportunities to joke around with her, or to let himself fully relax. 

Getting Tess to crack a smile was a feat for him, and he didn’t know what to expect when it came to you … but he was happy to find out that you were more than receptive to his sense of humor and personality, even when he was still figuring out whether or not it was worth it to let himself fall back into old habits. 

He understands that in Jackson, sex isn’t just about scratching an itch. It’s not meant to be a fleeting thing where he might never see the person he sleeps with again the way it was in Texas and Boston and all the places in between. He has to treat it - and the relationships he has with people like you and Maria and Ellie and the other residents of Jackson - like they mean something … and that means being himself and allowing things to get personal on some level.

But the moment he pulled you close under the blankets and let his beard scrape against your jaw, whispering one of his terrible jokes into your ear, you knew that even if he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself, he was already comfortable with you - and the relationship that you were building. 

What was the joke, you ask? 

What does a spy do when he gets cold? 

He goes undercover.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

For Joel, grooming starts and ends at general hygiene. On the road and in Boston, it meant that he kept himself clean and dry when he could. Now that he’s in Jackson, he has a little more of a routine - and a chance to go back to “old” habits and behaviors. He changes and washes his clothes more frequently, can keep them clean and tidy on a daily basis, and doesn’t have to worry so much about keeping things only because they’re multi-functional - including soap and shampoo - and toothpaste.

The reappearance of electric trimming tools was a godsend for Joel, and even though when he first used them he got rid of almost everything below the waist just for a fresh start, after it grew back, he’s kept it maintained … but not super short or shaved. The same is true for his beard and hair, for the most part. 

When he and Ellie first got back to Jackson, he had her trim his hair - and then shaved his beard completely off. It was the first time he’d been clean-shaven in almost a decade, and even though he probably won’t ever do it again, it was nice to see himself look younger and more put together than he had been as a Hunter and a Smuggler and while protecting Ellie and living on the road for months. It reminded him of the days before the outbreak and gave him a chance to say goodbye to that version of himself in a way that he’d never gotten to before. 

It was a nice sendoff - and a reminder that time has passed, and he’s not the same man he used to be. 

You’ve never complained about the way he grooms himself - because you understand that even though Jackson offers a lot of comforts and opportunities, it’s not before, and no one should expect it to be. However … you did tell him once that if he ever shaved his beard again, you wouldn’t be thrilled with the decision, to which he replied “I’m sure those thighs of yours would appreciate the break.” 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He doesn’t really believe it’s true, but Joel’s actually very romantic. (Even though Tess confirmed it, and you’ve done so on many occasions, too. 

Joel’s love languages (more here) say a lot about him and romance. And even though things are very different now than they used to be, this hasn’t really changed much for him. 

It’s not candles and flowers and chocolate and elaborate dates anymore; it’s Joel himself - and his behaviors that establish that intimacy. 

It’s the way he touches you. The way he looks at you. The way you know that he could have any of the women in Jackson, but he always makes you know that he only wants you - and it’s been that way for almost as long as he’s been in the city.

Intimacy with Joel involves talking to him and getting to know him - and Joel wanting to get to know you, too. 

It started out simple - him asking you things like what you like to do on days off, or what the best food in Jackson was, or where it was quietest. It evolved to him asking you to show him these things instead of telling him. But what really made you understand that Joel was trying to change your friendship to something more was when he started revealing things about himself, too. 

Because to know so much about people means it hurts more when they’re gone, or when you know they’re hurting, too. To trust someone with your past and your thoughts is to give them things to use against you. To reveal weaknesses - even as small as birthdays or favorites or past mistakes - means letting someone in enough that they could do damage. 

And in a world like yours and Joel’s, that’s even more intimate than going to bed with them. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

In the hard years - the nightmare years - the time right after the outbreak, the travels from Texas to Boston, and even in Boston for a short period of time, Joel used masturbation as a way to calm and soothe his body even if it didn’t do the same for his mind. Yes, the physical release helped to negate some of the stress he felt, and there were times when getting himself off was enough to trick his body into a more relaxed state … but it didn’t always happen like that. 

For Joel, the act wasn’t one of comfort or pleasure - it was just something he did to take the edge off when he needed to relieve some tension or take out some frustration. He’d just grit his teeth and go at it, conjuring up the memories of actresses that he couldn’t remember the names of as more time passed, or previous women that he’d slept with because it was easier to remember the sound of their voices or the way they’d touched him. 

But the more he did that, the more depressing it got - because he knew that it was likely that every single one of them hadn’t made it. So Joel switched to thinking of only pieces of women - the way their soft hands would feel on his skin, the brush of hair against his arm or chest, the plush press of their lips and the warmth of their tongues as they took him into their mouths. 

Sometimes, this was supplemented by images from magazines - but not all the time, and as it got later and later into the post-outbreak life he lived, he didn’t need to think about anyone or anything in particular - the strokes of his hand, or the use of something soft like a sheet or a shirt were enough to get him through the couple minutes it took him to get himself off. 

In Jackson, though, Joel’s thoughts drift more and more to typical male thoughts when he’s taking care of business. One of the things Tommy showed him when he and Ellie first arrived in Jackson - that you didn’t directly point out on your welcome tour - was the section in the back room of the library that had been filled with the “adult” materials from around town - magazines and movies, pictures and postcards - telling him that the room wasn’t monitored and that if he wanted anything from there, he could just take it, no questions asked. 

So he did - stopping by after a day of work on the wall a week or so after he’d slept with Penny, thumbing through a few of the magazines before slipping them - and a couple of compilation DVDs in to a bag and heading back to his house. 

He used the magazines first, flipping through the pages until one woman caught his eye, his other hand busy pulling himself free from his pajama pants. He watched a video for the first time late at night, palming himself through his sweatpants, and was surprised to find that he enjoyed it, a hiss escaping his lips as his eyes rolled back, fingers closing around his swollen head and squeezing. 

But after a month of slowly working his way back to finding pleasure in touching himself, Joel’s mind began to wander away from the perfectly posed models and the over-lit scenes that played out on screen while he was winding down. 

He started thinking about the sound of a laugh and the way eyes sparkled when someone smiled. He started thinking about innocent touches - a hand on his arm or a tap on his shoulder. He started thinking about the way his name sounded when spoken in greeting, teasing and excitement apparent in the tone that was used. 

But then those thoughts evolved into more - and he couldn’t stop thinking of the way your eyes glittered when you smiled at him, at the way you cocked your head to the side and wrinkled your nose while the two of you spoke - at the way that every time you laughed or hummed or smiled in his presence, it sent warmth cascading through his chest to settle into the lower part of his belly that he couldn’t push to the side by concentrating on Miss April 2013’s centerfold spread. 

And when he touched himself to the thought of only you for the first time, Joel’s eyes closed as his head rested against his pillow, his lips parted while he let himself get lost in thought. 

He came hard with a grunt that wasn’t your name but was close, his chest rising and falling rapidly for long moments after he’d finished … and though Joel knew that unless he told you what had happened, no one would ever know aside from him - and that one instance of getting himself off to someone he considered as close to as friend as he had in Jackson was acceptable, especially since he was still adjusting - that it couldn’t happen again.

But when it happened again - and again and again the more he got to know you and spent time with you, convincing himself very quickly moved out of the realm of possibility. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Competence: Joel likes people that are capable. And this doesn’t just mean someone that can take down a horde of infected, or someone that is extremely strong or fast - it means anyone that is capable of doing something well. 

Yeah, he’s turned on when he sees someone able to care for themselves and do what they need to do to survive - but it’s about more than that. And a big part of it is that when people can do things well, it means that he can take a backseat and just appreciate it - watch them, help if they need it, wait for instructions. 

It really turns him on when someone can do something well that he can’t - like the way Tess could talk herself out of 99% of the situations she got into before resorting to getting physical, or the way you can nock, aim and fire arrows faster than he could ever hope to. 

Praise: Joel likes giving praise almost as much as he likes receiving it, but the words coming from him is a much rarer occasion, and despite the fact that he likes doing it, it doesn’t happen very often. 

When he praises someone, he means it. He doesn’t waste words, and he isn’t going to placate someone when he’s unimpressed. That isn’t how you learn. He can be cruel about it sometimes, but he doesn’t do it on purpose, it’s just brutal honesty, which people come to expect from him … and that’s why when he praises you, you know he means it. 

But when someone praises Joel? He fucking loves it. He loves hearing that he’s good at things - especially when it’s the things that people don’t need to be good at in order to survive post-Cordyceps. 

Yeah, he knows he’s strong and quick on his feet, and can be trusted to keep people safe. And he appreciates hearing those things. 

But the real praise that he wants is for things like when you tell him how good he feels the first moments he’s buried in you, or when you hum in appreciation at the feeling of his lips on your skin, followed by his tongue. He needs to hear that you love the way he touches you, or when you compare the way he’s moving his fingers over your skin to the way he plays guitar. 

Once, you told him that he’d made you the best dinner you’d ever had in your life, and that offhanded comment got him through a three day patrol, the man coming back to Jackson and immediately seeking you out and pulling hours of praise from your kiss-swollen lips. 

Rope: As is evidenced by the night you spent together in the barn, Joel’s apparently got a rope kink that he had no idea about previously, and even though there aren’t a ton of opportunities to break out the rope safely in Jackson, it’s definitely something that the two of you explore more than that one time. 

And it’s a lot more than the rope itself - it’s the trust that comes with using rope and restraining someone. It’s the fact that when you let him tie you up - taking away most of your movement and your ability to react with anything but the arch of your back or the use of your mouth - or even the slight spread of your legs, Joel knows that it’s about more than sex. It’s about more than physically wanting him to do what he wants and needs - it’s about him being able to give you what you want and need, without hesitation, too. 

You are smart and you are capable, but you want to push those things to the side for a little while and indulge - and when you trust him to lead? When you trust him to wind the coils of rope or a belt (artwork here) around your wrists or ankles and knot it? When you trust him to keep you immobilized, even for short periods of time? It strokes his ego, and reminds him that even something as simple and necessary in the world that you live in like rope can be used for other - much more pleasurable - things. 

** All three of these kinks can be explored in more detail here - in parts 1 and 2 of “Lessons You Learn From a Past You Can’t Change”

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He does like the bed, just because it’s comfortable, but Joel will not pass up the opportunity to have you on the kitchen counter/island. The counter’s got less space - so usually things won’t progress past touching or Joel using his hand to get you off if you’ve hopped up there, but after that first night, when he kissed you senseless on the island while you were downstairs and taking a break, it became The Place when you couldn’t make it upstairs, or when the two of you just wanted a quickie. 

The marble stays cool in the summer, heats up very quickly with your body heat in the winter, and it’s the perfect height for him to pull you to the edge and urge you to wrap your legs around his waist, the drag of him against you hitting your core just right before he shifts your hips, fingers digging into the muscle there - and slides in.

And when you lean back, using your hands to brace yourself so that you can roll your hips and dig your heels into the backs of his thighs, letting him go deeper? He really likes that, too. 

One night, before you’d moved in, you were over to make dinner. He walked in on you chopping vegetables at the island, your sleeves rolled up and the radio in the corner playing some old CD that you were humming along to. 

Joel couldn’t stop himself from stepping behind you and pulling the knife from your hand as he nuzzled against your neck, using  two fingers to undo the button on your jeans and then slid his hand between them and your skin, fingertips slipping beneath the cotton of your underwear, too, while you pushed yourself back and against his body, both of your hands moving to grip the edge of the marbled surface. 

It was a risk - not because it was dangerous, but because Ellie was in her garage, and if you got too loud, there was a chance she’d come over to investigate even though he was almost certain that she knew better than to come in without knocking. 

“Gotta be quiet.” He sighed as he kissed the side of your neck, nose following the line of your jaw up and toward your ear while he slipped two fingers into you, your lips parting and a quiet gasp leaving them at the feeling. “Gotta be quick.” 

You nodded, tilting your head back and then turning it to the side so that you could kiss him as he began to thrust his fingers, the flex of his wrist timed to match the movements of his hips against the backs of your thighs. 

He kissed you to swallow the sound of your whimpers as he sped up and curled his fingers, your elbows locked to keep your back flush with his chest, and when he wrapped an arm around the front of your upper body, palm flat against the front of your shoulder to hold you in place, you widened the spread of your feet, making it easier for him. 

You came on his hand in only a few minutes, breath rushing from your lungs after you tore your mouth away from his and then gasped, your legs shaking as your head dropped forward, chin to your chest. 

He could feel your heart hammering beneath the heel of his palm, the man’s smile growing as he lowered his head and slowed the motion of his hand to almost nothing, savoring the feeling of you pulsing around him and the way you coated his fingers and palm, dripping down toward his wrist. “You doin’ alright?” 

He kept his voice low and you answered fast, shifting on both feet as you straightened up and let go of the countertop. “Yeah.” Fingers wrapping around his wrist, you tugged it up and pulled his hand out of your jeans, a quiet hum of approval audible as you turned to face him, still holding onto his arm. “But now I have a question for you, Joel.” Tilting his head to one side, he waited, wanting nothing more than to pull his hand free and raise it to his lips, getting a taste of you. “Can you be quick?” 

He liked the kitchen island - but you liked the overstuffed armchair in his bedroom, using the cushioned arms for leverage as you rode him… and that’s where you ended up that afternoon - knife and bell peppers forgotten on the counter for almost an hour. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Joel’s biggest turn on is someone that goes for what they want - and doesn’t play games. There’s no time for that bullshit, and when someone takes initiative instead of shrinking back into the background and letting everyone else make decisions for them, it makes him pay attention. 

Being intentionally vague is one thing - and something he understands well, but after everything that everyone has been through, cutting through the bullshit is essential to ensuring that people get what they want. 

He’s also turned on when you … not quite talk back to him, but when you don’t mince your words. He tells it how it is, and appreciates when someone else does the same - especially when he sees that subtle twitch of your lips before you have something to say, or when you stick your hand on your hip and tilt your head to the side - and it reminds him of the way he stands, too. He might not like everything you’re going to say, but damn if he doesn’t like watching you say it. 

Maturity is another turn on for Joel. He has no time or patience for anyone behaving like a child - he doesn’t want or need another kid to take care of, and doesn’t think that being difficult or bratty is an endearing trait for anyone to have.

So when you can hold a conversation with him, or you know more about something than him or have solutions or suggestions that show you’ve been paying attention and have figured things out … when you show him that you’re his equal in many ways … he’s thrilled. 

But on a purely physical level? Joel’s turned on by the stretch and curve of your neck - both when you turn your head to one side, or when you’re rolling it out to crack it - and especially when you’re pushing your head back against the pillow and the soft skin at your throat is on display right in front of his face. He’s not ever going to pass up a chance to press a kiss there or drag his teeth over it. 

He’s also turned on by eye contact - as are you. There’s nothing quite like looking into the eyes of someone you care about and seeing everything in them - fear and love and hope and desire and affection … you can hide things in your expression, but it’s really hard to keep things from him in your eyes. And nothing gets him going quite like looking at you and seeing how much you want him - always. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Joel won’t ever do anything hurt you or put you in danger. There are plenty of things in the world that are just waiting to cause you harm, and he won’t be another one. 

He won’t share you, either. And it’s not a macho thing - or because he needs to be the only one in your life and in your bed, but he wants to be the one to give you what you need and make sure you’re alright. He wants to go to sleep with you at night knowing that you choose to be with him for all the reasons that matter, and if he thought you needed or wanted someone else, it would hurt his pride a little (a lot). When Ellie says that everyone she’s ever cared about has disappeared from her life in some way, Joel understands the sentiment, too - and he doesn’t want that to happen with you after everyone and everything else he’s lost. 

However … if you ever told him that you were unhappy and you needed something or someone else instead? He would try his hardest to prove that he could be those things … but he wouldn’t ever try and force you to stay. 

Leaving marks is a turn off for him. He’s a 50 year old man, and has no need for these types of displays of ‘ownership’. Hickeys are for teenagers and for people insecure in their relationships that are trying to prove a point. If you bite him and it happens to bruise, that’s one thing, but purposely doing it so that there are visible marks specifically for others to see? He doesn’t like that.

Bruises from his/your hands are something else entirely, though, and even though he tries not to leave them - and knows you do, too - it happens sometimes. Both of you get carried away on occasion - hands grabbing each other’s bodies and holding tight - and there’s been more than one occasion when you’ve seen a bruise that you’ve left on him somewhere - a shoulder, his forearm, one of his thighs - and he kind of likes it when you find them, because it means you’re going to apologize and kiss them… and he won’t ever complain about that. 

The same goes for nail marks and scrapes. Things happen, and there’s been a time or two where things have gotten a little rough and he’s woken up with a red mark on his back or shoulders - or even on his chest, even though you’re careful of his scars. And even though the scrape on your cheek - and the small scar it left when it healed - that happened on the roof of the cabin made him much more aware of what he was doing when the two of you get carried away in a less-than comfortable location, sometimes it’s unavoidable. 

But both of you enjoy the minutes spent looking over each other’s bodies for visible injuries or evidence of things that you might need to explain if Ellie or Maria or Tommy see them - hands and eyes and mouths roaming over every inch of skin there is to assess, even long after you’ve already found everything you need to take notice of. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

His skills were a little rusty after so long of not having the opportunity… but he loves giving. He loves the way you taste and the way your body responds to him. He loves the way you smell and the sounds you make, and he can’t get enough of the way your thighs tremble for him when you finish, whether it’s the first orgasm of the night or your last. 

Joel is patient. He isn’t just trying to get you off as fast as possible. He thinks that if you’re going to take the time to go down on someone, you should do it right, and do it how they like it. 

He is very willing to practice, but he was also patient when it came to bringing it up with you in the first place - both because of how long it had been for him, (since the woman he’d been with before Tess) and because he didn’t want to ruin the moment by asking you if you’d be alright with it and then making it weird. 

The first time he tasted you, though, it happened naturally - and he got all the confirmation he needed that not only did you want him to do it, but that you’d been just as hesitant to bring it up in conversation as he had because you hadn’t wanted to seem needy, even though you’d already been more than generous with him. 

It had been about a month after sleeping with you for the first time - just before you went to the cabins to secure them for winter, and he’d finished on your stomach as a force of habit from before, the man rolling onto his back next to you as he caught his breath. 

He’d been on the verge of getting up to go and get you something to clean up with, but he’d seen you out of the corner of one eye, swirling your fingers through the mess that coated your skin before bringing them to your lips and sucking them clean. 

The sight caused him to pop up onto one elbow, his eyes wide as he watched you shrug your shoulders. “What? I like the way you taste, Joel.” And it had emboldened him, the man leaning in and kissing you hard before drawing in a deep breath and finally admitting that he didn’t think it was quite fair that you could say that to him when he couldn’t repeat the same to you. 

There’d been a pause and then you arched a brow, biting down on one side of your lip before you reached for him with your clean hand, running your knuckles against his stubblier-than-normal jaw. 

“No one’s stopping you from finding out.” 

— 

And from you? Joel will not ever turn you down, but he doesn’t expect anything from you. It’s not a “well I went down on you, so now you’ve gotta return the favor” thing, because truth be told, if that happened, he wouldn’t get to actually fuck you as much as he likes to. You might not be that much younger than him, but your body is still much more capable than his of a quick recovery between orgasms, and there’s nothing like coming while being buried in you - not even the way you look on your knees for him, one hand braced on his thigh, the other wrapped around the parts of him that you can’t fit between your lips. 

He is thankful and appreciative every time you use your mouth on him, but it’s not his go-to anymore (even though teenage and early 20’s Joel preferred being on the receiving end to actual sex)... things and people definitely do change. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This depends on how tired he is. You’d think from looking at him that he’d be rough and fast every time he takes you to bed, but he’s very thorough when he has the time to be and prolongs things whenever possible. Joel respects the need for instant gratification, but doesn’t prefer it, especially when he cares for the person he’s with. 

He’s making up for the first time the two of you were together (read about that here), even though you’ve told him over and over you don’t need him to do that. You understand how fast things can - and sometimes do - happen, and you’ve never held the speed at which he came the first time against him. It actually made you feel really good about himself, and you’ve reminded him of this, too - but part of Joel doesn’t believe you. 

He’s also making up for the period - the 20 years after the outbreak - when he didn’t give himself time to relax or really enjoy anything - when he had to live his life like there might only be minutes left in it. It’s a slow process, to get him to really relax and take his time, but it’s not as simple as getting his mind used to the idea - it’s getting his body accustomed to not constantly having to be in fight or flight self preservation mode. 

And there’s a difference between slow and sensual with Joel, too. There’s the slow, sleepy sex that the two of you have in bed when you spend the night, or when you fall asleep on the couch and wake up, one of you shifting and finding that Joel’s hard and wants you, both of you almost powerless to stop from acting on it, the man’s hips barely moving until you’ve both had your fill and can’t stand waiting anymore. 

And then there’s sensual - when you’re both wide awake and you choose to go slow - choose to move so that you can feel everything; every flexing muscle, every exhale, every curve of each other’s fingers against skin, every drag of lips, the way his hair feels as he rests his forehead against your cheek or throat or temple, the scrape of his beard over your jaw as he whispers into your ear that he wants you to feel it, or that you feel so goddamn good around him and he never wants it to end. 

You don’t mind when Joel takes things fast and rough with you - but you appreciate the soft and slow more, just because you know that he’s not like that with anyone else - it’s only for you and always will be. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Joel prefers to take his time, however … when necessary, he’ll take getting off fast over not getting off at all.  

Tess was a LOT of quickies. It kept things from getting too personal (even though they were both deluding themselves and they knew it) almost the entire time. 

All of the other women that he was with after 2013 were relatively quick, too - except for Hannah. He let himself relax a little with her, and didn’t rush… but it still wasn’t a difficult decision to leave Kentucky for New York. 

He can get himself off in a few minutes if necessary both via masturbation and actual penetrative sex - but for the most part, sex with Joel isn’t ever fast if he can get away with taking his time. 

One of the main reasons that Joel’s not as much a fan of quickies is that they tend to happen in less than desirable places where comfort isn’t always a priority - and he isn’t young anymore. His knees bother him and his back aches, and sex takes a lot out of him, especially on the road and when he’s focused on being efficient about it. He’ll never leave you unsatisfied, though, no matter how fast the time together is. 

Another reason that now that he’s in Jackson, he doesn’t want to rush? 

It reminds him of the previous years. It reminds him of having sex on old, torn and damp mattresses and on cold cement floors, nothing but a sleeping bag to cushion him. It reminds him of fucking someone like it could be the last time. It reminds him of not caring what happened when it was done because he’d likely never see the woman again … and if the whole point of living in Jackson is to not live like that? Well… the fewer the reminders, the better. 

But that’s not to say that you haven’t enticed him more than once to sneak off somewhere with you for a few minutes at a time, because you have … and there’s only been one or two times when quickies with you have reminded him entirely of quickies before, so maybe this is something he’s going to grow out of.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Joel’s always up for trying something risky as long as it doesn’t put anyone in real danger. And “danger” doesn’t mean the potential to get caught, he means honest to God danger. He tried the rope. He’s played around with wax with you. He’s let you blindfold him (and didn’t like that much at all) - he’s even let you coerce him (gently) into public sex (it was very dark, and you got him off with your hand while you watched a movie together in one of the warehouses that were used as gathering spaces for the town in the colder months. 

There were about fifteen other people in the room and the two of you were curled up together on a small loveseat that had been dragged out of storage, a blanket over your laps to ward off the chill of the high-ceilinged room … and you’d started something he had no intention of telling you not to finish. 

Joel likes experimenting, and if you’re on a roll, he’s not going to stop you unless he HAS to because of genuine disinterest or discomfort or fear. He wants to know what you like - and to find out what he likes - and what you enjoy together, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make the most out of being with you in every way he can. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Joel is a 50 year old man, and his body has limitations. He definitely can’t go as many rounds as you likely could - even though there’s only a few years between you. 

He does have his good days, though, and when he’s been in Jackson and off of patrol or scouting routes, and hasn’t had to be on a saddle or doing physical labor for a couple days in a row, there’s the possibility of three rounds within the same night - but it’s rare. And to be honest, you don’t really have time for that too often, so it’s not a big deal. 

Joel coming twice a night is more on par for him, but there’s usually plenty of time between rounds - maybe a quick break for something to eat or to talk or to take care of some sort of mundane chore around the house … and usually, when you go for round two, it’s you that comes first - because he can always make you come more than once, and even if it ends up that he doesn’t get off a second time? It’s not a big deal as long as you’re satisfied. 

Joel doesn’t immediately go for straight up sex, so it feels like it’s lasting much longer than it really does, because he wants to make you - and himself - feel good first. And when you’re taken care of, he really feels good, so he has no problem spending time getting you worked up before the actual act. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

If someone found batteries, and offered them to either of you, he wouldn’t waste batteries on toys, and you probably wouldn’t either. You need them for much more important things like flashlights and radios. But when he finds out that you do have a little something that isn’t battery operated, he’s intrigued - and turned on. 

You’d always been honest and open with him, even before the two of you were anything, but the subject of whether or not you owned any sex toys hadn’t ever come up… until he walked in on you using one of them. 

He’d come over to your apartment to fix something for you - a tree branch had come down during a storm and damaged a screen and a pane of glass in one of your front windows, and while he was fixing it, you’d excused yourself to “give him space” about fifteen minutes after he’d started the task. 

And when he’d finished - popping the screen in and then re-aligning the new window pane in the track, he’d wandered down the hallway toward your room, meaning to tell you that he was done and you could head over to Tommy and Maria’s with him for dinner. 

But when he peeked into your room, he found you laying on your bed, head pressed into your pillow, eyes closed with one hand pushing the material of your underwear to the side and the other working a silicone toy into yourself at a slow - but steady - pace. 

He immediately got hard, his mouth dropping open as you continued, and before he could speak to tell you that he was there, his name dropped from your lips, little more than a breathy moan. 

You bit down on your lip and widened the spread of your legs before arching your back just enough to give you a different angle and then you moaned again, releasing your lip before you pressed them together  to stifle the sound. “You don’t haveta pretend if you don’t want to. I’m right here.” 

He spoke and you reacted immediately - opening your eyes and gasping, the fingers wrapped around the base of the toy tightening, though you didn’t completely stop moving it. “I thought I…” You shuddered and hummed again, closing your eyes. “Thought I could finish before -” 

He stepped into the room, keeping his eyes on you as he moved closer to the bed. Joel realized that his hands were clenching into loose fists over and over, the front of his jeans tight as he watched you and the silicone, the surface of it glistening with your slick. “Before what?” 

“Before you were done with the window.” You swallowed hard, panting as you locked eyes with him. “I knew we had to leave soon, and watching you with those fucking tools got to me, Joel.” You shook your head. “I was fine until you rolled up your sleeves.” 

He laughed, the sound quiet as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to you. “Sorry ‘bout that.” Joel raised an eyebrow, tongue poking into his cheek. “You wanna finish with that thing, or do you want the real thing?” 

“I …” You sighed, lips curving up into a smile. “How about you help me finish with this?” He didn’t reply right away, and when, a few seconds later, he felt your fingers wrap around his wrist, tugging his hand between your legs, he groaned out your name, upper lip curling slightly. “You do that and I’ll have a hand free, Joel.” 

As soon as he touched the silicone you let go of his wrist, bringing your hand up and over his thigh, the weight of it coming to rest against the bulge beneath his zipper. You flexed your fingertips gently - though the pressure was enough to make him hiss as he adjusted his position and scooted closer to you. 

“Sounds like you like that idea.” You paused, turning your head to press your cheek against the pillow, and then looked up at him through your lashes. “Feels like it, too.”

Joel didn’t reply - but when he began to move the toy in and out of you slowly, you smiled again, closing your eyes and sighing before trailing your fingers up and grasping his zipper between them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to tease, but is incapable of holding out for too long, especially when it’s been a little while since the two of you have been together. He’s definitely down to have a little fun with it especially when he knows how much it’s going to rile you up, though.

A couple of the things that he does that you love? 

 - Walking up behind you and putting his hands on your waist before he leans forward to look over your shoulder at whatever it is you’re doing. 

- Leaning over and whispering into your ear, his hand on your knee or thigh and just barely squeezing. 

- Pulling away after a few minutes of kissing or touching, and making you reach for him, or attempt to follow the movement with your lips or body. 

- You like it when he draws attention to the stuff you’re doing to try and get his attention. (“Hey, you’re wearin’ that shirt you know I like. You must want somethin’” or “Hmm, makin’ all this food for dinner … you got somethin’ you’re trying to apologize for?” “Can’t believe you’re still sittin’ so close to me, we’ve been together all day/it’s real hot out etc) 

- You both like to tease each other, but Joel does it without even realizing it sometimes. Him simply existing and doing mundane things is a tease to you, and the first time you told him this, he didn’t believe you. 

Specifically, the way you freeze when he pushes his sleeves back or rolls them up. You love the way the material stretches over his forearm and the way the tendons in his fingers flex as he wraps them around his wrist. You can’t take your eyes off off him when you see that one or more of the buttons of his shirts have come undone, those little peeks of his tanned skin making you forget just about everything that you need to or should be doing. 

And you’ve also accused him of teasing when he hums or sings under his breath, guitar nowhere in sight. This didn’t happen much until a few months after he and Ellie arrived in Jackson, but the longer they’ve been there, the more common it gets. You love hearing the words from his lips and watching the way his tongue darts out to wet them while he’s working on some sort of project in the workshop or while he’s busy in the yard or around Jackson. 

But the thing about Joel teasing you is that he never leaves you hanging - it always leads somewhere - and that somewhere is a place that you both like very much. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Joel isn’t loud - but he’s vocal. There are lots of grunts and groans, and he’s not afraid to tell you what he wants you to do or when he likes something that you’re doing. 

He’s always been vocal - but it took him a long time to come to terms with the fact that he didn’t have to whisper anymore - that there was no need to be as quiet as possible because someone was in the next room, or something could burst into the room and kill both of you without warning. 

The longer Joel’s in Jackson, the louder he gets, and the more he says in bed - and it’s another way that both of you gauge his comfort level. 

But there are times when he’s almost completely silent - the only sounds he makes swallowed by your kiss or being uttered directly against your skin, more breaths than anything else. 

And there are also times when it’s not the volume of what he’s saying but the actual words he’s whispering into your ear or panting against your throat. It’s the way those words trail off into a broken groan or moan, the sound of your name coming out and confirming that the man is wrecked, barely holding it together. 

It’s a side of him that he kept hidden for twenty years - the confirmation that someone else could force that kind of reaction from him, the admission that you have that kind of effect on him - it’s dangerous and he knows it, but in those moments, he doesn’t care, because it feels good to let go, it feels good to let someone in - to let you know that you’re responsible for that reaction from him and those sounds and the emotion he can’t keep hidden. 

It’s not theatrics or screaming and yelling - it’s not even outright moaning, but you definitely get Joel to make some noises that he forgot he was capable of. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

The best sex that Joel ever had was before the outbreak and while he and Tommy were riding their motorcycles across the country, while Sarah spent a few weeks with her grandparents. 

He met a woman in a bar just outside of Nashville. They had a couple drinks before she beckoned him to follow her into the back hallway of the bar where they’d made out for almost fifteen minutes … and after he’d explained what was going on (that he and Tommy were staying in the same room so there’d be no privacy) she took him back to her apartment, took the lead, and they fucked until the sun came up. 

He was 24 - and she was a little older, but Joel appreciated her confidence and straightforward nature. Her name was Shannen, she had a bright red streak in her dark hair, and according to what he told Tommy a few days later while they stopped in Illinois on their way to Chicago, she’d done things to him that he hadn’t even known possible before that night.

They hadn’t exchanged phone numbers or anything, so he’d had no way of getting back into touch with her, but Joel thought about that woman for years after they said goodbye that morning, Shannen walking him to the door with nothing but a pair of underwear sitting low on her hips, her hair thrown back and up into a messy bun. 

And even though they only had that one night, Joel took what had happened with the woman and used it moving forward - taking cues from the way she’d approached him, propositioned him and then spoken to him in bed - and gave himself permission to let loose and enjoy being in the moment - and open - with the women that came after her in his life. 

It was the freest and happiest that Joel had been up and to that point in his life (at least when it came to being with a woman) and he carried the memory of Shannen with him for years - he even thought of her long after the outbreak. 

But it wasn’t until he was back in Jackson and he saw you letting loose with friends for the first time - you and Maria and some of the other women in town celebrating that a longtime resident had successfully (and safely) given birth to twins - that Joel thought of her again. 

It wasn’t that the situation reminded him of Shannen - but it was the way you caught his eye from across the bar, the happiness in them morphing in an instant to desire, the easygoing grin on your lips turning into something devastating in mere seconds. He’d known you for the better part of a year at that point, but in that single look, it was like he was seeing you for the first time all over again.

It had been him that crossed the room toward you, beckoning you from your seat with one large palm extended and an eyebrow cocked below the fringe of his messy hair. And you’d followed, Joel’s hand nearly swallowing yours while the two of you made your way down the hallway and toward the back exit before stopping and into the mostly empty office, you reaching behind you to pull the door shut. 

“What’s going on, Joel?” Back pressed against the wooden door, you stared at him. “I didn’t think you’d be here tonight, Maria said you and Tommy were -” 

“Come home with me.” He stepped forward, crowding you against the door. “I know you’re celebratin’ but -”

“Right now?” He felt your hands on his hips, fingers  sliding beneath the bottom of his sweatshirt and resting just under the hem of his t-shirt, against the skin. “It’s early, Joel. Maria worked out a deal with Seth, and we get to drink for free until -” 

“Doesn’t have to be right now, but …” He paused, taking a deep breath and raising his hands, both palms moving up and over your sides before they dropped again to settle at your hips. “No, you know what? Yeah. I want it to be now.” He wet his lips, still staring at you. “Come home with me right now. I’ve gotta go on guard duty in the mornin’ so I don’t have much … can’t be a late night.” 

“What’s gotten into you, Joel?” It was a question but he could hear in your voice that you were already convinced and just playing with him, drawing the moment out longer. “This isn’t… you’re never like this.” 

“I’m not.” One of Joel’s hands was running up and over your arm, his knuckles gliding over the thin material of your shirtsleeve. “Haven’t been in a long time, but tonight, I … wanted to try somethin’ new.” 

The words hung heavy between the two of you, Joel waiting to see what you’d decide - and when you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, a breath escaping through your nose - he was relieved to hear what you said next though it wasn’t a total surprise. 

“We should take advantage of it, then.” You pulled one hand back, lifting it to push your fingers through his hair, moving it away from his forehead. “I’ll go home with you, Joel, if that’s what you want. But…” Biting your lip, you leaned in, tilting your head to one side so that you could speak into his ear. “But we don’t have to go home yet, do we?” You paused, backing off so that you could look up at him. “The door locks, and…” 

That was all he needed to hear - and even though he knew you, and there was no possibility of you being a one night stand, he spent the next thirty minutes letting himself get lost in you … and in the thrill of doing something new.  

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Joel’s big but not massive. He’s well endowed to the point where you need to prep for him, and if you don’t you’re definitely sore the next day. Even if you do give yourself some time to get ready, you can still sometimes feel it later…  but he’s not leaving you sore every single time the two of you are together, especially if it’s slow, sleepy sex. 

You can’t fit all of him into your mouth, and you (and he) like when you use two hands - one to hold the base of him, the other to stroke along his length, or when you use your hand and your mouth at the same time, covering as much as possible. 

He curves slightly to the right. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Joel’s making up for lost time, so it’s pretty high, but it’s not unreasonably high, all things considered. 

As a 50 year old man that’s had multiple lifetimes worth of stress in a very short time, it takes a lot for him to truly let go. Sex is one of the times he just shuts his brain off - if he could physically do it, he’d have sex more often just for the break from being inside his own head, but he can’t. 

He likes intimacy - especially now that he’s not questioning it - and yearns for that more than he yearns for sex. But he’d never admit that to ANYONE - even you… at least at first.

It used to be backwards - he was using sex to fill in the void of loneliness, even though it only helped for a few minutes at a time. He’d be so focused on when and how he could reach that point again that it consumed him in the lead up to sex, but now … as much as he enjoys the way it feels when he comes, or when he can feel your chest heaving against his, or when your breaths are shallow and little more than panting or quiet gasps, it’s what comes after that he truly looks forward to. 

He wants to feel you in his arms. He wants to feel the warmth and comfort of the bed and the quiet darkness when it’s just the two of you, speaking in hushed voices and sharing random pieces of yourselves. 

He wants to feel the way your hand pushes underneath his shirt when you’re finally laying down and ready for sleep - your palm warm against the center of his chest, fingers splayed to touch as much of him as you can. 

Joel wants to relive the moments when you’re stroking over his beard or scraping your fingers through the tangled curls of his hair over and over again, the quiet hum of your agreement when he tells you that he likes it and then you reply “yeah, Joel, I do too.” 

More than yearning for sex and physicality, he yearns for as close to a normal life as he believes is possible, and with you - in Jackson - he thinks he might have finally found it against all odds. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

This depends on a few things, like how rambunctious the two of you were, or if it’s the first time in a night or a subsequent one. 

It also depends on how tired he was beforehand, or how sore his body is from the day to day work he’s responsible for. Usually, he likes to talk for a little while, but sometimes he’ll just pass out almost immediately after he’s caught his breath. While there’s no real rhyme or reason to when this happens, there are certain days when you can just feel that when you’re done and cleaned up and redressed, it’s going to be an early night, that there won’t be that much pillow talk or a long period of wakefulness.

It’s usually never more than 15 or 20 minutes, though. And on the rare occasion he does make it that long or longer, you’re usually the one nodding off first, which is perfectly fine for him because it helps to reaffirm that it is safe and you are safe and you feel safe with him in such a vulnerable state.

And on the nights when you’re asleep before him, he does what he did the night at the cabins for as long as he can keep himself awake for: watching you and trying to understand how and why he deserves someone like you in his life. 

But Joel also understands that even in the safety of Jackson, sleep - and sleeping well are luxuries, and he’s not going to waste the opportunity to get a few extra minutes of rest especially when he can doze off holding you tight against his chest - and wake up to the same.

--- 

tag list reblog coming soon! 

[jammofsammichflip]

- On the Themes of Love, Vulnerability and Blindfolds in Jujutsu Kaisen -

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TAGS/WARNINGS- Implied/Slight spoilers for the Jjk Anime and Manga.

THESE ARE THOUGHTS THAT I WAS HAVING THAT I STRUNG TOGETHER- please don't come at me about the working I already know it's horrible.

((if you want to add one your own takes or pick apart mine, please do so cuz I eat this shit up like food on thanksgiving (and tag me I wanna see what you come up with))

-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-!-

Love

Vulnerability

Blind love

Love is blind

Justice is blind

Love is not Justice and v.v.

(Justice and Love are two sides of the same coin but this is a conversation for another day)

-

Justice is impartial

"Lady Justice wears a blindfold to represent impartial justice and everyday people close their eyes to shield themselves from reality"

-

Gojo is not Justice

Gojo is Jusitce

Gojo is not impartial- he uses a blindfold to create a physical barrier between himself and others.

Gojo wears a blindfold to keep his memory of Geto in

Gojo wears a blindfold like a mask; a personally built facade to keep others out

Gojo harbours immense and infinite cursed energy

Gojo harbors immense and infinite love

Gojo's birth caused a boom in cursed energy/spirits to appear

Geto was born to mitigate (swallow) all of it

Geto was born to cancel out the effects of Gojo's birth

Geton was born to accept Gojo's love

-

Gojo's immense and infinite love/cursed energy was meant for someone who is no longer with us;

He uses it sparringly

Basically never•

Few and far between•

Taking off the blindfold means to be vulnerable

Gojo has his blindfold off when he runs into Kenjaku (in his pov, it was Geto)

Gojo is vulnerable around Geto.

-

Vulnerability is a weakness

-

'Curses that work together in groups are weak'

Groups are weak

To Sukuna, Yuji making friends practically wherever he goes is a sign of weakness

But Yuji is strong

He subdues Sukuna for the greater part of the entire story

-

Yuji and his friends are strong together

There is strength in numbers

-

It's lonely at the top

It's lonely being the strongest

-

Love means to be vulnerable and compromise strength in lieu of compassion and connection

Sukuna tries to 'connect' but is pushed away when his methods don't work

Sukuna uses extreme violence to play with and 'connect' to others

Most individuals don't want to connect that way

Sukuna doesn't use Yuji's methids of connection because that goes against everything he stands for

-

Love is the worst curse of them all

-

Who will teach Sukuna love?

Sukuna does not need to be taught love;

He has no use for it

___ will teach ___ (Sukuna) love

Sukuna is the strongest sorcerer in history

Sukuna is the King if Curses

Sukuna is the King of Love

-

Sacrifices

-

In order to make one, you need to sacrifice something

How much has Sukuna sacrificed to become the strongest?

-

Binding Vows

-

Love means to make sacrifieces

Love means to make sacrifices

Love means to be vulnerable

Gojo sacrificed Geto (and his love) for the greater good (and for other obvious reason)

Gojo loved Geto

Gojo cannot stand out when paired with Geto

-

Hidden Inventory Arc (anime) - Gojo's eyes seem duller and less illustrious than usual,

-

Gojo stands out when Geto is not around

Gojo is The Strongest

The Strongest isn't vulnerable

Gojo is vulnerable with Geto

-

Sukuna believes vulnerablility is weak

Yuji wears his heart on his sleeve

-

Gojo closed his heart.away after Geto died

Gojo never puts down infinity again (with minor exceptions)

Gojo wears a blindfold to keep others out

Taking off the blindfold means to be vulnerable

-

Vulnerability is a weakness

-

*The suffix -utl, "Something and nothing at once, polar opposites existing simultaneously."*

Love-utl

-

Sukuna does not love

Sukuna hates Yuji

Gojo can love, chooses not to

-

Love is sacrifice

Sukuna doesn't love anyone but himself

Sukuna rejected and sacrificed his previous (human) identity for his cursed one

Sukuna loves himself

Gojo loves loved Geto

Goji is immensely fond of others (his students/close friends)

Yuji loves (pretty much) everyone

-

Gojo/Sukuna/Yuji is the strongest

-

1. Love is sacrifice

- Gojo sacrificed Geto; his love

- Sukuna sacrificed everything else; his humanity

- Yuji sacrificed his previous peaceful life so he could save more people in his sorcerer life

2. Love is vulnerability

- Gojo swore to never be vulnerable again; his love came back to bite him again in his adult years and he payed the price for it; love is weakness

- Sukuna is not vulnerable; it is a weakness; the weak should die

- Yuji is vulnerable with his friends and is always ready to use his compassion for the best outcome; Yuji is open with his companions

3. Love is the worst curse of them all

- Love took the only person that could accept him; Gojo rarely uses love anymore

- Sukuna is the King of Curses, therefore the King of Love by proxy; Sukuna hates love; doesn't need to be taught it; Sukuna hates Yuji

- Yuji harbors the King of Curses

- Yuji defeated the King of Love

-

Love is the worst curse of them all

-

Love is not a curse

Love is strength

There is strength in numbers

Groups- together, connection, vulnerability, sacrifice- are strength

Yuji is/has all of these

Yuji is strong

Yuji defeated the King of Curses

Yuji harbors immense love

Sukuna hates love

Sukuna hates Yuji

Love is the worst curse of them all

Yuji is the worst curse of them all

Yuji is strong

Love is strength

Love is vulnerable

Yuji is both,

Love-utl,

Yuji is love

Yuji is The Strongest

--- Notes ---

*Please see (Tess of the Road, Rachel Hartman)

•"Basically never - few and far between":

I was making a reference to Gojo's infinity, how no one could ever get close to him. Fitting, no?

[bonezone44]

Feelin’ Faint

Joel Miller x afab!Reader

Word Count: 1333

Summary: It startles you when you see Joel’s feet for the first time. You give him a foot massage. D/s relationship implied. (Dom!Joel, sub!reader)

Tags: afab!reader. Boots. Feet. brief fantasy re: D/s, bondage, degradation. (no actual smut in this one)

Author’s Note: Yesterday in the group chat, I said that a group of foot photos “upset” me. Then I figured out why. God bless.

Story Masterlist - Main Masterlist

—------------------

It’s because you’re not used to it.

That’s all. 

You’re not used to seeing Joel’s feet.

Never even seen the contour of them in a pair of socks.

You’re not used to seeing men’s feet in general when you think about it. They were usually covered up by big round-toe work boots as they shuffled through the bar or trampled the dirt paths around Jackson or, in this particular case, stomped up and down the stairs. Some of the men wore cowboy boots made of fine, soft leather with pointed toes and chunky heels. Over time the material would curve to the shape of their arches and cup around their heels and the edge of their big toe.

‘Boots’ you could understand. 

‘Boots’ were a symbol of power.

And you could also appreciate the fine craftsmanship of a Doc Marten or a sturdy steel-toe or goddamn, some of those cowboy boots had such delicate embroidery along the shaft and down the vamp and around the toe.

You’re just not used to seeing Joel’s feet so when you finally do see them–stepping down his staircase, fresh from the shower, exposed beneath the hem of his jeans–you feel tightness in your chest and heat in your cheeks. It feels like a violation to look at them.

He sits on the couch after grabbing a glass of whiskey and props them up on the ottoman. He sighs and throws his head back on the cushion.

And.

Well.

When you think about…

They are just feet.

And if he is going to be so casual about them…

Then there’s really no harm in looking, right?

You peek from where you sit on your side of the couch, over the pages of your book.

They’re… nice. Nicer up close. Though watching the way they planted on each stair, gripping downward and pushing up–that was nice, too.

Balanced.

Strong.

Their form makes sense with the rest of his body. His toes are long and articulated. And you love that his big toe is much shorter than the one next to it. There’s a nice separation, shaped like a teardrop, between his big toe and the rest of the toes. 

You watch him rotate his right ankle along its axis and scrunch his toes to make the joints pop. 

And really, it’s because you’re a curious creature.

And it’s because you want to appreciate all of him.

There is nothing untoward about it.

The heat between your legs is just because it’s him. It’s Joel.

You make an offer.

“A foot massage?” He looks up at you, surprised, an upward curl in his lips. “Really?”

“You’ve been workin’ hard all day.” You shrug casually. “And maybe it’ll make your knees feel better.” You shrug again. "Gotta start with a good foundation 'n all."

“Well, alright.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “If you’re offerin’.” He turns as if expecting you to stay seated on the couch to do it–but you knew you would prefer a more descended view.

You push the ottoman aside and sit on the rug with your legs crossed. You grab his right foot and bring it into your lap. His left foot is flat on the floor and you can’t help but notice it in the edge of your vision. 

Now that you have your hands on it, you admire the feel of it–the strength you know is there moving him along every day. 

Your face is on fire and your hands are nervous and there’s fire somewhere in your abdomen, too, and you’re really not sure as to why, though.

You press into the ball of his foot with your thumbs, massaging the thick meaty pad through the surface of his callous. You glide your fingers between the bones you feel on his forefoot, using pressure to individuate the extension of his toes. 

Joel moans. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a foot massage before,” he says. He stares at the ceiling–you see his Adam's apple bob as he melts into his seat. 

Pride and pleasure float your chest and chin upward. Wetness between your legs pushes your pelvis down.

You press your thumbs along his arch, like deep little footsteps. You feel a knot in his muscle, about the size of a pea, and you grind into it with the hardest part of your finger. 

He groans and winces. "What the hell is that?"

You laugh. "I don't know. It's your foot. Not mine."

He grunts and adjusts in his seat. "Shit, darlin. I'm 'bout to hand 'em over to you to take care of if this is how you treat 'em."

Your face burns. The praise is overwhelming you. That’s probably why you’re so turned on–your whole body warm and buzzing. You continue to grind the knot until your thumb aches. You slot your fingers between each toe and rotate his foot around while keeping his heel in place. 

"How's that?" you ask.

He looks down at you with a smirk. "I don't know what you're doin but I am enjoyin every second of it."

You love loving on Joel. You love appreciating every little piece of him that holds you and grounds you and keeps you coming, again and again. You love this new part of his body that you get to nurture and soothe and relieve. 

You massage circles into his heel and along the outer edge of his midfoot–opposite his arch. He releases a long, heavy sigh. Your hands glide up and down his ankle.

“Next one, please,” you say.

He chuckles and sighs again–much lighter this time. “Alright.” His eyes and smile offer so much affection, it’s like he’s petting the very depth of your soul. 

His right foot retreats and he swings his left foot over to you.

You feel that pressure again in your chest and heat prickles your cheeks.

It was one thing to grab his foot and bring it to your lap–it’s another when he does the action himself.

You feel yourself getting wetter and growing warmer. You try to focus on massaging this foot the same as you did the other. But your thoughts start to wander and you clench your jaw.

You wonder what it would feel like–this foot—if it was stamped into your chest, pressing you deep into the floor beneath you. You wonder what it would feel like if he forced his toes into your mouth, flexing and splaying them, while your arms were tied behind your back. You wonder what it would feel like if he denied you his cock and used his toes to play with your clit and tried to see how many he could fit inside of you. 

“You doin okay?”

You look up with wide eyes and tight lips. Your skin crawls with embarrassment. “yeah,” you say with a quick breath.

He pulls his foot away from you and you stare at the floor. You hear the whiskey glass thud onto the side table. On the edge of your vision, you see him lean forward with his elbows on his knees.

“What are you thinkin about?” He tilts his head, studying you with a smirk on his face.

You shrug and glance to the side. “Nothin.”

“Look at me.”

You comply, but only with your eyes.

“Are you thinkin about my feet?” He asks with amusement.

“No,” you answer quickly and because you can’t fucking help yourself, you start staring at them–his feet.

He throws his head back laughing. He sits back upright and leans back into the couch cushions. With his legs spread wide, he rubs his thighs back and forth. “Oh yeah.” He nods. “That’s definitely somethin we can do.” He palms himself and looks over to his right. “Can’t right now–” He wears a shit-eating grin. “---but I think we got enough time for you to tell me what was going on in that–” He points. “--pretty lil head a’ yours.” 

Your heart is beating so fast you can barely hear yourself speak. “What?”

—

God bless you if you read this far ! 🙏🤠🥾

[leviathansshadycorner]

Hi! I just wanted to say that I love the Cato series!! It’s so good and I’m so exited for the next part! <33

Rope Him In ( Cato x District 10! Reader x slight! Marvel) Pt. 5

Summary: (Y/n) begins training.

A/n: Thank you for the support!!!! I love y'all!! Sorry for the wait lol life has been hard. Sorry for any typos or OOC moments. Again thank you so much for the support it means the world to me especially right now.

Pt.4 Pt.3 Pt.2 Pt.1

____________________________________

Chapter 5: Training pt. 1

“Do you think they’ll have us fight against each other?” Buckley’s voice interrupted your intense glaring to the careers waking up ahead to the training center. 

“Probably not, they’re already making us do that anyway.” You reminded him, scratching the back of your neck since the fabric of the training uniform had a tag that had not been cut off. 

All of the tributes were lined up in pairs. Peacekeepers decorated the walls of the building as they carefully observed the tributes making their way into the arena. The doors leading to the arena were that familiar steel material, and white futuristic lights lit the path towards the center. You could hear the careers boasting about how they couldn’t wait to get their hands on certain weapons, and how much they missed training. It was an odd thing to hear and the non-career districts were visibly confused with their behavior. 

Everyone was lined up in a semicircle, gathering around a lady with two pigtails. She introduced herself as the overseer of the training arena and began to explain the rules. She mentioned how tributes should not only focus on combat but survival skills as well. 

Buckley seemed notably irritated. You had no idea why. Was it something you had said? Deciding to dismiss it, you focused your attention up ahead. Unfortunately for you, all the tributes had to participate in mandatory stations. 

“What should we do?” Buckley asked, his eyes scanning the other tributes as they all dispersed around the training center. Some of the tribute pairs stayed together, following each other around and choosing to train as partners. The rest went on to train individually. It was clear that they either didn’t trust who they came in with, or cared less about them. The careers all huddled around lethal weapons. Quickly it was established that Cato was the leader of the pack. Even Marvel didn’t bother to fight over the role of the leader. 

It was like they had their own private island. All the other tributes steered clear of whichever section of the room they would move to. You and Buckley were still the only ones who hadn’t moved. It was obvious he was hoping to stick together but you couldn’t risk that. You were already a target in the eyes of the career. Not because of your strength, but because you had hurt their leader’s ego during the parade. You’d practically be leading Buckley to his death if he stayed close to you for too long. Then again, you weren’t going to let fear get in your way. 

“Why don’t we stick with each other? That way we can scope out who we have to watch out for.” He nodded, opening his mouth to say something but you cut him off, “Let's start with survival training.” 

There were a variety of stations on the leftmost side of the arena. It was dedicated to building shelters, starting fires, and memorizing edible food. The middle part of the training center was dedicated to more physical training. It was where capitol trainers engaged in hand-to-hand with tributes, reflex tests were, and where obstacles to climb and jump over were placed. The right side was where the careers had set residence. It held a display of weapons and training dummies. It was almost too overwhelming for you. The lights disoriented you and the sounds of clinking metal and forceful grunts overstimulated you a bit too much. The arena was cold. The uniform you had been forced to wear didn’t do as good of a job of keeping you warm. Then again, these were designed to fight against sweat, not the cold. As you attempted to tuck your hands in your arms for warmth, you decided to walk around. You needed to scope out the stations that would serve you use to practice. A couple caught your eye, the fire-making station, rope and knot stations, and the station showing how to properly cook prey. 

Needing to get out of the hecticness of it all, you and Buckley quickly beelined it towards the fire making station. The girl from 12 had previously been there, although she already seemed skilled at it. The two of you sat directly across from each other. The bundle of sticks in the middle had regenerated themselves. The heated ashy remains were now back to firm little twigs. 

“Do you remember what Dolly and Ramsey told us?” You didn’t even need to ask. Of course Buckley remembered.

“Yeah, they told us not to show our strengths.” He replied. “I’m pretty sure that’s what all mentors tell their tributes though.” 

“Well not all of them.” You added, eyes wandering to the spartan soldiers across the room. They weren’t holding back. Each hit they dealt whether it be a punch or a spear to a dummy was filled with pride. It was in fact their way of showing everyone else that they were the future victors. 

“What’s their deal anyways?” Buckley’s hands were rubbing the stick down on a rock to try to ignite it. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, trying to start your own fire now. 

“The careers. They look like they’re ready to kill you and the games haven’t even started.” His eyebrows furrowed out of confusion. 

You didn’t understand him. Surly he had met one of the career’s gazes at some point during your stay so far. “That’s how they look at everybody.” 

“No, it's different with you. It's like- They give you more attention then they do to other people.” He had managed to make the stick smoke. 

“Jealous that they don’t wanna kill you as much as they wanna kill me?” You briefly stopped to look at him with a sarcastic smile. His lips turned into a frown, and you realized he was concerned for you. 

“I think they’re mad I stole their spotlight.” You offered. 

“But that was like a second of time?” Buckley’s tone was in disbelief. “Plus the real star was the girl from 12. No offense.” He quickly put a hand on your shoulder. 

“None taken.” You patted his hand and redirected it back to his task.

“Is that really all? They must have really fragile egos.” He stopped what he was doing, curious as to why they were so petty.

“Well, Cato does. The rest of them are like sheep. They follow him around like that anyways.” You both turned to look at the careers. They were deeply focused. Eventually, they moved onto sparring with the trainers. 

“What are we going to do?” He wondered. He seemed lost. 

“Hope that Thresh takes him out at the start.” It was a morbid thing for you to say, but Cato was a major threat. Especially to you. 

The conversation died out to mundane talk. You both found yourselves homesick even though it hasn’t even been a week.  You wondered how Amaranto was doing. If your father was alright and not ill. If Clarabell was keeping their spirits up or at least trying to. You thought of the smell. Though it may seem unpleasant to the likes of the capitol, it was soothing for you. After years of living there, you’d gotten used to the earthy scent. The capitol smell was overwhelming at times. If it wasn’t sterile and metallic, it was floral and sickeningly sweet. 

As the day went on you and Buckley were getting the hang of things. It seemed like everyone was saving their skills for the arena. The survival section quickly filled up, causing you and a couple of others to switch to the weapons section. Every half hour the tributes would have to regroup and do a series of physical tests assigned by the trainers. The tributes would always go first, wanting to get back to training as soon as possible. It was clear they loved showing off. Even going beyond the one-time requirement and doing the task twice. 

The careers made it their job to criticize every tribute. They stood not at the sidelines- but directly in front of the stations, making it impossible for the tributes to have an ounce of confidence. Sometimes they’d look away, bored at the current subject. They’d give looks of disdain to the ones that showed their capabilities.  Worse of all they’d laugh at the tributes who showed weakness and weren’t capable of making it all the way through. 

It was hard to perform decently when you had eyes glued onto you. Buckley had gone by easily. He struggled a bit with hand to hand combat, but he practically breezed by. He didn’t overdo it however, lucky for him the career pack didn’t look too interested in him. At first they glared at him, probably expecting him to show off, their glares quickly faded and they soon showed no interest at all. When it was your turn you swear you could’ve heard some snarky comment come out of one of their mouths. 

You chose to pay no mind to it. Your palms were uncomfortably sweaty. Your vision was becoming blurred. The constant “Whenever you’re ready.” Weren’t helping. Taking a deep breath in, you went forth. You had to climb your way across some bars, easy in theory. You weren’t the tallest person here, not the shortest either, but the fall seemed detrimental. In fact there had been a previous accident. A boy with dark hair had fallen off the bars and injured his leg. You were concerned for him. Did the Capitol have the technology to cure a broken leg before the games?

The group training ended much to everyone’s pleasure. Buckley was examining the knives. You wondered if he’d give it a go. He was pretty skilled when it came to throwing them. You watched from afar. You yourself were at a station dealing with a fishing line. You’re not sure why it was there hence why you chose it. Buckley was swift with his movements. His fingers let go of the throwing knife and he watched as it glided to its target. The knife barely made it to the center of the dummy’s head, if anything it was lodged in the eye area rather than the forehead, but it was still impressive. 

“Amateur.” Clove insulted. It was loud enough for you to hear, but Buckley was too far to hear it himself. You watched as she resumed her training, Cato being the one to calm her down. She seemed insulted that Buckley was good at her favorite skill. 

Quickly you made your way to your fellow tribute. He seemed impressed by his own skills. “Did ya see that? Right in the eye.” He spoke, his voice proud. 

“Buckley, you’re amazing.” You reassured him. Now that you were next to him you could see how far away the dummy really was. If you were to try there was no guarantee that you’d make it. His strength and past experience with throwing really paid off. 

“Why aren’t you celebrating with me?” He asked playfully once your demeanor shifted from impressed to on survival mode. 

“Clove’s got an eye on you.” You warned him. 

“I can tell.” He processed what you had said. Looking at her direction he was met with her deadly side eye. 

“She seems unstable.” You spoke truthfully. 

“They all do. They are.” He added. “You know, I feel like someone needs to give them a reality check.” 

“What do you mean by that?” His words worried you. 

“I mean we need to show them they’re not the shit.” He said picking up another knife. 

“Buckley!” You grabbed his shoulder and leaned in to whisper and yell at him. “Our mentors specifically told us not to show off.” 

“(Y/n), don’t act like you haven't shown off.” His words hit you like a hurricane. He was right. “Worst they can do is kill us.” He joked as you stepped aside to let him prove himself. 

Your focus shifted from the careers to Buckley as he lifted the throwing knife to give it another shot. In a sense, Buckley was right. The careers really were on their high horse thinking of themselves as unstoppable. It was getting annoying, and you were starting to get fed up as well. Cato already had his eye on you. So clove’s would be next to nothing. 

The thump of wood being penetrated by a knife echoed in your ears as the world froze. The confidence you had a second ago was gone. Time seemed to go by slowly. As if on cue a huff of a laugh came from Marvel. His cheeks round as a smile formed. Buckley had hit a bullseye. 

“Nice job 10.” Marvel shouted from across the room. Sarcasm was in his voice, but you couldn’t tell if he meant it. 

“Done?” You asked Buckley, hoping he’d be finished causing a scene. Clove’s dark eyes filled with rage. It baffled you how seriously she took the whole situation. 

“Oh no, it's your turn now.” He said. Immediately you backed away. 

“I think you’re actually going insane. Do you need me to ask for some medication?” You were snapping back. 

“No. Come on. Try it.” He said, placing his hands on your back as he nudged you towards the table with knives. 

“I’m not good at this. Buckley, If I mess up, they’re going to think I’m weak.” You confided in him. 

“But if you do good they’ll think you're strong.” He countered. “Plus, wouldn’t you rather have them see you weak? Maybe then the meathead will leave you alone.” 

“Your logic makes no sense.” You were about to back out completely when you caught sight of the career pack waiting on your next move. Glimmer gave you a condescending smile. Clove was still focused on Buckley. Both Cato and Marvel were talking, all of them watching you, taunting you. 

“Fine.” You gave in. There was no way you’d give them the satisfaction of rejecting a challenge. You felt like a bull around a red cape around them. They made your blood boil just by existing. The careers had the best lives out of all the other tributes in the game, yet they always liked making people miserable. At times they felt like the enemy. Even though they got here under similar circumstances. 

Buckley smiled as you grabbed a small knife. It was the size of your palm, yet comfortable to hold. You weren’t sure what to do with it. It sat in your hand like a glob of honey as you anxiously looked around. 

“What am I supposed to do?” You asked him. 

He was quick to help you. “Stand upright,” He put a hand on your back to force a good posture. He then tapped your feet with his to give you the correct footing. “You’re gonna want to follow through. Don’t overthink it too much. The tall man stood next to you as he demonstrated what to do with your arms. You mimicked his movement the first time around, soon practicing it three more times. “Remember (Y/n), don’t overthink it.” 

You nodded as you prepared your throw. Taking a short breath you threw your arm backward and then forcefully forward, missing the dummy completely, but hitting the one behind it near its thigh. The knife didn’t stay in however, it fell after being stuck for about three seconds. 

Your eyes were teary. The warmth in your face grew and you suddenly wanted to be thrown into the games. You stood in place, afraid to move. How dare you embarrass yourself?

“That’s a start,” Buckley said kindly. You turned to look at the careers but Buckley spared you the pain and grabbed your shoulders to look at him. “Don’t worry about them.” 

“I. Told. You. I. Wasn’t. Good.” You spoke in pauses. You felt a mix of shame and anger. Shame for not being able to prove yourself, and anger towards Buckley for making you embarrass yourself. 

“(Y/n), I’m sorry. But hey its ok! Here lets try again.” Buckley held your arm. You wanted to leave, but you had about three more hours of training. You said nothing and instead looked off into the distance. You were really wasting time by not doing anything, but you were overwhelmed at this point. 

“Look I just thought since you work with knives back in 10 you’d be-” His apology was cutoff by a sudden thump of wood. Cato had stealthily moved next to the two of you. The career had thrown two knives at the training dummy. Effortlessly.  He turned to face the both of you. 

“Giving up already? What happened to the girl who rode a Capitol horse?” He taunted. He was arrogantly fiddling with a throwing knife. 

Buckley knew better than to start anything, but he wasn’t going to let you take it. “She just got started.” He came to your defense. 

Truthfully, you didn’t want to interact with Cato. You had learned to stay away from him. Everyone saw how he handled the situation with the tribute he thought to have stolen his knife. He was a ticking time bomb. Anything could set him off. You didn’t turn around. Instead you kept staring into the distance. This only seemed to aggravate him. Cato had walked in front of you, knife in his hand as he grabbed yours. He looked at you with intensity as he placed the knife in your palm. 

“Don’t wimp out now 10.” 

Buckley was preparing himself to end the interaction between you two, but he stopped in his tracks when a knife flew past him. It was a reckless throw, but it managed to actually go through the dummy. This time on it’s side. 

“Why don’t you turn around and try that again?” Cato questioned as he leaned against a metal table. 

It seemed like the spotlight was once again on you. People around were now tuning into the scene. Cato’s arms transformed as he uncrossed them, his muscles relaxing. You however were far from relaxed.

“What the fuck could you possibly want from me? Why are you here? Do you have nothing better to do?” You interrogated as you stepped closer to him. It was clear he had finally struck the last nerve. Buckley looked confused but pale as his concern for his fellow tribute grew. You weren’t yelling at him, but nobody dared to get within an inch from Cato. 

His eyes were void of emotion. “I’m just trying to help out the competition. If I’m going to win this, I want to win because I’m the strongest. Not because everyone else was weak and at a disadvantage.” He spoke back methodically. He didn’t move at all. The two of you seemed to be frozen in time- glaring at each other. 

It wasn’t long before he left. Leaving you fuming alongside Buckley.

____________________________________

Tags: @randomgurl2326

[emyn-arnens]

20 Questions for Writers

@hobbitwrangler @grey-gazania @runawaymun @echo-bleu tagged me to do this, so I guess I really should do it! I did this one recently on my main for all the fandoms I've written for, so I'll keep this limited to Tolkien fics here.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 82.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 128,198.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently mostly Tolkien, with the occasional dash of Timeless and Narnia.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

As the Hare Flees Before the Wolf (T, Celegorm & Eöl, 1.8k): Curufin is not the only son of Fëanor Eöl meets upon the plains of Himlad. Or, Eöl meets Celegorm while pursuing Aredhel and Maeglin, and things go very badly for him.

Here at Journey's End (G, Frodo & Legolas, 1.6k): They stay for those they love.

West, West Away (G, Sam & Thranduil, 3.6k): Sam meets an unlikely kindred spirit on the journey West.

and I will love with urgency, but not with haste (T, Aegnor/Andreth, 3.1k): A summer evening spent in a glade near the shores of the Aeluin.

with death on his brow like a crown (G, Aegnor & Finrod, ~600 words): Five times Finrod foresees Aegnor’s death, and one time he foresees his own.

5. Do you respond to comments? Yep! It may take a while depending on spoons, but I almost always do. The only exceptions are for comments that make no sense to me or demand me to write more for a pairing.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? There's a lot of contenders for this, but let's go with Like a Wave That Should Engulf the World (G, Faramir/Éowyn, ~700 words), in which Faramir foresees Éowyn's coming death.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? For Charity (Boromir, Faramir, Éomer, Lothíriel, and Éowyn, 2k), for sure. Two thousand words of pure ridiculousness.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not since ye olde days of posting on FFN.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Very rarely and very vanilla, with emotions and metaphor taking precedence over mechanics.

10. Do you write crossovers? Nope. Not much into reading or writing them.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Hope not!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nope.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? *looks at header, url, and blog title* I don't think I even need to say.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? For the sake of answering the question, my Glorfinwyn AU, but only because I'm not sure I have the skills to pull it off, and my perfectionism is a raging beast. But I do really want to finish it, even if it's three years from now because I'm the slowest writer I know.

16. What are your writing strengths? Characterization and description/scenery, although I've been struggling with the latter lately. Dialogue has finally been getting easier, though.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Plot, body language, and describing emotions.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I'll sprinkle in some individual words/pet names (all shamelessly ripped from RealElvish.net) here and there that should be guessable from context clues. I don't do full sentences very often both because I feel it isn't necessary most of the time (sorry JRRT), and because I know people don't enjoy having to scroll to the notes for translations. But I will admit to having a weakness for Elves lapsing into their native tongues during uh. heated moments with their partners.

19. First fandom you wrote for? LOTR, years ago. And here I am back again!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? This is so hard, but Over Seas of Starlight (G, Frodo & Gandalf, 3.6k) is near and dear to my heart. Sailing West, my beloved.

Tagging @sotwk @afaramir @halfelven @curufiin if you haven't done this already!

[linipik]

FAR OUT AT SEA

"Shiro is determined to know if the new human research base is a risk for his fellow merfolk with the help of a marine biologist and research intern Adam."

rating: T

pairing: Adam/Shiro

tags: Adam (Voltron) Shiro (Voltron), Keith for half a line but he is there, Merman Shiro, Everyone lives, First Meetings, plot-driven action, Alternate Universe Merpeople, Canon-Typical Violence

This fic is part of the Once Upon the Seashore PDF (get it for free on my Ko-fi)

Chapter 4 of 4

Deep under the waves, Shiro needed a very long time to put himself back together. He was not as naive anymore, he didn’t have the strength to defy the stormy skies and the furious currents of the ocean and venture deep inland among unsuspecting humans. For a time, he could not think about ships without shivering, he could not talk about the base and what happened there. How he put everything he held dear in danger by getting close to the edge of humanity and pretending he knew better.

It was quite a while before he wanted to talk to his fellow merfolk about the surface.

“As a species, humans are a threat, more occupied with power struggles between them than for each other,” he told to Keith one day after he pressed enough, “ among them, there are individuals worth meeting but keeping our distance is the best thing we can do, for all of us” 

Despite everything, Shiro’s mind wandered sometimes, wondering about the fate of that one person that was so worthy, their half smiles, and what they could have had with another set of circumstances. No matter how unfortunate the escape from the base had ended, it would have not been possible at all without Adam, who chose to stick with him the one time that mattered. Shiro owed him his life, yet he hadn’t even said a proper goodbye.

– o –

As time passed, Adam kept dedicating himself to marine life research, …and taking advantage of his increasingly better positions to destroy all information related to merfolk he came across. He considered it a way to ensure that not seeing Shiro again was for a reason. It was a just and good reason, right? Making sure that whenever Shiro crossed his mind it didn’t spiral into all the unsolved questions and the what-ifs… All the memories and hopes crashed down alongside his already little respect for military research. He found someone amazing and now was cursed to never see him again, unable to even speak about it.

One late afternoon, right when he sat down to review the draft of a paper by his lab assistant about microbial sea pipe life forms, there was a knock on his door.

“It’s not office hours,” Adam complained.

“That’s why I’m here.”

The familiarity of that voice crashed onto Adam’s brain like a tsunami wave. He scrambled to the door and found Shiro outside, dressed in a uniform from one of the institute’s suppliers. 

He looked different in all sorts of ways the scar now healed, another one on his forehead that turned that whole section of hair white… a missing arm. 

“What are you doing here?” Adam blurted after a few seconds, sounding a bit drier than he intended, “What if someone sees you? it’s not safe”

“Safe from what?” Shiro retorted, amused in spite of himself, “The sleep-deprived assistants?”

“I don’t know, just, you should not be here!”

“I wanted to see you.”

I wanted to see you.

“What for?” Adam hissed, looking out the corridor, wary of any passerby.

“you helped me, you really did, it could have been so much worse and I wanted… I should at least say thanks, or explain myself to you”

Adam pulled Shiro get into his office and locked the door. He himself had made sure nobody could link Shiro with the incident at the base, his own hands had destroyed all evidence and he knew there was nothing to worry about. And yet.

“Adam, I...” Shiro started.

“You don’t need to explain anything. You owe me nothing, I owe you nothing.” Adam interrupted him. “Officially nothing happened. I made sure of it”

They stood in front of each other, evaluating the silence. Should they pretend nothing ever happened? Or worse, that what happened was not important? Adam had sacrificed his life project, yet he still wondered. 

Shiro had undergone a truly traumatic experience, but he found himself here, looking for one human. They both had acted in the name of doing the right thing, in a situation way above their capabilities with the very real option of their lives being over, figuratively and literally, they almost did. 

And they both were looking at each other anyway, with the sun setting through the window, and the sound of waves crashing on the shore as they have done for eons. 

They both had survived. Adam had to smile and Shiro had to mirror him.

Maybe they could just pick up from where they left it, go to the nearest town to catch up with a friend, and let go of the strain of just surviving for what seemed years with something like… a date?

Yeah, a date sounded about right.

THE END

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Far Out at Sea is complete on PDF >> GET IT HERE <<