#I hate how weak it makes me not physically but like mentally

[walder-138]

Questions for Annika, Jack, & Oswald:

What's this oc's biggest fear?

What's this oc's mental health state?

What's your favorite thing about this oc?

How does this oc feel about physical affection?

How does this oc get along with people they just met?

VICE!!!!! WHADDUP GIRL!!!! TYSM FOR THE ASK!!!!!

1) What’s this oc’s biggest fear?

Annika: People. Not in a social anxiety typa way (scared of judgement etc), but of what they are capable of. Annika has been exposed to human cruelty from a young age, growing up as a child soldier in a terrorist organization convinced her that every single person around her wanted to hurt her.

Over the years, her fear manifested into hate for humanity. It was never real hate, but ‘hate’ was the only label she could put on it without feeling like a coward. Fear is weak, Anya. Fear is weak. Hate and anger protected her; who wants to pet a rabid dog?

Jack: His scientific ‘research’ being exposed to the public. Jack is incapable of fear or anxiety; he’s a textbook sociopath, but he really doesn’t wanna stop performing his research and experiments (he worked on MK Ultra since he became a doctor) Seeing it flourish due to his involvement has been his greatest achievement, that being taken away from him would tear him apart.

Oz: Losing his daughter, Jenny. I’ve said this before and I’ll say this again; she’s the reason why he got off drugs following Vietnam and stopped being a verbally abusive misogynist to almost every single woman in his life. Oz knows that if he lost her, he’d most likely have a pretty bad relapse and fall back into his old bad habits.

2) What’s this OC’s mental health state?

Annika: Take a wild guess.

Jack: He’s balling honestly 😭 With everything that happened with Bell being a complete success, (assuming Annika isn’t Bell; she detonates the nukes) he basically saw his top project take off. Sure, the dumbasses in the safehouse didn’t listen to him about keeping Bell under that trance or whatever, but he can always start again; make another one.

Bro’s walking on sunshine!

In reality, Jack can’t feel anything. All of his emotions are fabricated. There could be a spark; of hope, or pity, or amusement, or some kinda love, but it’s never enough. He’s almost completely numb. He hates it sometimes, but Jack can’t miss what he’s never had.

Now about the state of his actual brain… uh ask Abbey about that. She fed him the curb

Oz: Shitty. He is constantly haunted by visions from his past. He can barely sleep at night without seeing his men -his sons- dead around him. The heroin, the morphine, and the LSD were the only things keeping him from having to see their mangled bodies scattered every time he blinked. Rehab helped him get over his addiction, but he hated talking to those damn prissy ass shrinks. But now that Jenny’s around, he can’t be high all the damn time, so Oz has to deal with it without any assistance from anyone but his ex.

He’s stressed, and he thinks he can’t do it anymore, but he wakes up every morning and does.

3) What’s your favorite thing about this OC?

Annika: How far her development’s come along. I based her off me when I play video games (I rage a lot 😭) and had to think about how, realistically, someone with an erratic fighting style would come to develop it. Since I die a lot, I figured Annika wouldn’t have any formal military training except by the terrorist organization she was raised in. I really wanted to make her a reflection of my video game playing style, and I’m happy to say that she does. Just with more depth now.

Jack: He’s not far along in his development process, so this will most likely change but so far, it’s how two-faced he is. When you talk to Jack, he genuinely seems like a nice guy that you’d wanna crack a couple cold ones with on a nice, hot day, while all of his ‘patients’ are horrified of him. Dudebro’s the reason Abbey doesn’t like British people 😭

Oz: I’ve got two things. How real he is. I’ll admit; a lot of my ocs are over exaggerated, but at least in my opinion, he’s the most realistic. I’ve made a post going slightly more into depth about this a while back. The other thing is that Oz is somehow my 2nd most morally stable character after all the shit he’s done 😭😭😭

4) What does this OC feel about physical affection?

Annika: She yearns for it. Annika’s never felt the loving touch of any individual that wouldn’t later be used to hurt her. Now, I’m not saying it’s a smart idea to abruptly give her a hug, unless you wanna pull back a bloody stump or you’re her girlfriend, as that scares her, tying back to her fear of people.

Jack: He doesn’t particularly care for it one way or another. Jack might tuck someone’s hair behind their ears if he’s being patronizing, or pat them on the shoulder to reassure them, he doesn’t really get anything from it. He won’t provide any physical contact if it doesn’t benefit him, unless it’s with his partner. Everyone else, even Jack’s own kids, can go to hell.

Oz: Oz is touched starved. At this point, he’d take any form of physical contact from anyone. The problem is, he doesn’t feel like he deserves it, so he recoils from it at every opportunity it’s shown. He says it’s unmanly, but if a woman even patted him on the cheek, bro’s getting a bit excited 🤭

5) How does this OC get along with people they just met?

Annika: Not well. Annika already hates the people she actually knows, introducing her to a person she doesn’t know will ensure hostility. Unless you’re going on a mission with her, she doesn’t want to know anything about you. She doesn’t want to know what you think about the weather. Her life wouldn’t be impacted if you lived or died, and she wants you to know it 😭If she can, Annika would just walk away after the initial greeting.

Jack: He’s the opposite of Annika, at least on the outside. He introduces himself, shakes your hand, and offers to take your coat. Very gentlemanly, especially to women and children. He presents himself as a genuine caring and kind man, giving gifts and offering to listen/help anyone around him. So whenever people (Abbey) accuse him of doing something, everyone tends to be like “Not Jack! He helped me sort through my divorce!” even if they barely know him, cause Jack’s just so damn polite.

Oz: Oz is extremely awkward. Most of the times when he’s meeting someone for the first time he just kinda stands there like🧍‍♂️waiting for his friend to finish talking so he can go watch the Patriots game. He isn’t rude about it though; he’ll smile and wave but he isn’t too good at small talk. Only when he starts to open up more will he start being the asshole we all know and love.

[delicateimage]

I’m scared because I think I’ve accepted dying to my eating disorder yesterday

[stillfruit]

i love not knowing if i'll ever be healthy again i love all of the time i've used to move my body become nothing i love spending my adulthood wasting away year after year for various reasons baby!

[honeyed-disgraceful]

My health: severely compromised. Multiple things wrong

Me: I am going to leave and live on my own and build my life if it runs me into the ground.

[thebibliosphere]

Wait, is Jason in Gotham Knights body horror? Because it doesn't feel like his body even tho he's controlling it? (He died, he came back, it's not the same and never will be)

Or is it more analogous to puberty and feeling like you don't know anything about your body anymore?

Just having thoughts about that boy again

I think Jason in Gotham Knights is very much connected with his physical body. It's his biggest weapon, possibly more so than his guns, given his lasting connection to the Lazarus Pit and the power it gives him.

His backstory talks about building himself up to peak physical condition into the absolute unit he is now, and you can either see that as someone trying to reconnect with their physical self or someone vowing never to be small or weak again.

I tend to think of it as both. It's a reclamation of his physical form but also a transformation into something bigger and stronger that ensures he's the scariest, meanest-looking mother fucker in the room. Basically someone you can't underestimate as a threat.

(Try not to think too hard about the fact that he now largely resembles Bruce in stature, that he is now the group's heavy hitter, the most menacing and the most likely to strike fear into the heart of his opponents, and that Jason molded himself into the person he needed to be rescued by as a child. Don't do it. Do not. I am normal about this.)

But he obviously struggles with feeling present mentally sometimes.

You'll see him zoning out occasionally, touching the J-shaped scar on his face before violently shaking himself back into the present.

He has panic attacks while playing a dance video game with a coffin in it—a coffin his character becomes trapped in because he's not moving fast enough. (hello, trauma)

He's angry all the time and so relieved when Barbra expresses her own rage at something because, yes, finally, someone else is letting their emotions out instead of bottling it up (Dick).

His emails are littered with orders for self-help books, emails from his therapist moving his sessions around, and concerned messages from his friends (Roy comes to mind) saying if he needs to get out of Gotham, they'll make it happen.

Alfred holding him while he sobs over losing Bruce still breaks me every time. I have to pause the game and walk around my house until I feel normal again.

And then there's the cut scene where Dick asks, "Hey, remember that time we all [insert funny thing here]," and Jason admits, somewhat angrily, that no, he doesn't because Lazarus took entire swaths of memories from him and he hates how he can't connect with people the way he used to and he hates the way they all look at him (the way Dick is looking at him now) when he admits he doesn't remember something they clearly loved about the old him: the version of him who didn't have volatile mood swings or made people flinch when he did something as mundane as handle a kitchen knife -- the undead monster he came back as*.

The fact that Dick then contrives to recreate this memory so Jason can be included in a newer version of it -- while also giving him what is arguably a weapon -- fucks me up every time. Dick just yeets a kitchen knife at him, trusting that Jason will catch it, and then just steamrolls over Jason's rightful 'what the fuck' expression with "Hey, we're making food. Get dicing."

And Jason knows what they're all doing. He's aware of it, and he gets the teeniest, tiniest smile before smothering it out. Except he can't quite. He's still smiling as he chops the vegetables. And yes, they're all hopeless at cooking compared to him, and he knows he's going to end up taking over, but that's okay. Because this is for him. He gets to control it.

And that's how Jason gets to make a new memory, one where he is handed a weapon and gets to turn it into a genuine expression of nurturing and care.

Because he does care about them. He wouldn't conspire with Dick to bake Barbara's favorite childhood cookies if he didn't. He wouldn't try so hard to be gentle with Tim triggering the shit out of him while he's struggling with his grief. He just doesn't always know how to express it because he doesn't always know what he's feeling.

Is his anger valid? Or is this Lazarus Pit Rage? Is he being overly sensitive because of his trauma, or is everyone else underreacting because of their trauma? (Should he sign them all up for therapy, quite probably, yes.)

So, you could perhaps argue that Jason experiences body horror in the sense that he doesn't remember all the pieces of who he used to be. (Speaking as someone with severe memory loss from medical trauma, it's certainly a type of horror.) But I don't think it's because he's detached from it physically or doesn't feel in control of his body. I think it's his mind that worries him.

His body he can control. It's his mind that still sparks green sometimes.

---

*Re the scene with Tim when Tim calls the Talons monsters. "What about me? Do you think I'm a monster?"

No, they don't.

But Jason does. And it scares him shitless.

[annwrites]

tell me i'm your national anthem. part three.

— pairing: homelander x collegestudent!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: you tell john about your childhood & the things you still want despite it, & he tells you about his, knowing once & for all that you’re meant to belong to him & him alone.

— word count: 2,409

— tagging list: @emilynissangtr

You’re just beginning to drift off when you hear a soft knock against the glass.

You groan into your pillow and could swear you hear a deep chuckle from the other side of the door in response.

You slowly rise—head spinning from exhaustion—and pad over to the door, silently flipping the lock before throwing yourself back down face-first into the mattress, pulling a thin blanket over your bare legs.

John enters the room, staring down at you, arms folded behind his back. “What? No dinner for your man tonight?”

You mentally roll your eyes at him calling himself that yet again, but don’t reply to that particular comment. “I already ate. I’m going to sleep.”

He huffs, glancing around your small apartment, then back to you. “Guess I’ll just climb in there with y—”

“Not with your suit still on you aren’t,” you mumble into your pillow.

He raises a brow in interest, smirking, surprised you’re not trying to argue otherwise. Maybe that’s the key to getting his way, then, until you start caving all on your own: take advantage when you have no energy to fight back. When you’re soft and tired and at his will to do with as he pleases.

“See you’re finally starting to see things my way,” he states smugly.

You roll over then, looking at him. “You’re not wearing your outside clothes in my bed. It’s not a come-on.”

He toes off his boots, then settles his hands on his hips, as if he’s debating something internally.

It doesn’t take much effort for you to understand what.

His suit is his metaphorical armor. You still have yet to understand why he’s so insecure, though—why his ego is so fragile. That’s the one thing about him that should be ‘untouchable’, so to speak. Then again, being physically bulletproof doesn’t have any bearing on what’s inside.

And what’s inside seems, still, like a little boy living in a man’s body, to you.

He needs to feel wanted. He’d seemed pleased last night when you’d talked about seeing him again—like you were finally giving him what he’s been desiring since that day he first set eyes upon you in your university’s auditorium: your willing attention.

Your eyes flutter closed, throwing a bone his way. “I’m cold.”

And that’s all it takes for him to remove his suit—leaving him clad only in a pair of dark-blue briefs. And it makes him want to crawl out of his fucking skin.

But you’re all but finally asking for him. You want him. You’ve finally come around.

He knew you would. No woman can resist. Not even you. Young and pretty you may be, but you’re still not educated enough to know what’s in your best interest, clearly. Best interest being him. That’s the problem with all these liberal ‘schools’. They don’t teach what they used to: love of ones country. Instead, they’d tried to turn you against him.

But he can still pull you back. It seems like he already has as you lie there, waiting for him.

So, he climbs into bed next to you, pulling the covers over himself, and then he pulls you into his arms, holding you against his chest.

He smiles softly when you gently press your palms to his pecks.

“I like you better like this,” you say, cuddling closer, wondering how he’ll react to it.

He tightens his arms around you then and you squeak.

“John, you’re crushing me.”

He loosens his hold, feeling the least bit pathetic.

He’s done this before—held a woman so tightly that it resulted in her life being cut short he was that fucking desperate for affection.

He lets you go entirely then, rolling onto his back, hating himself.

He doesn’t need anyone. Why can’t he get that through his goddamn head? Why the fuck should he care what a weak, useless, lonely little human like you thinks about him—a god? He should just kill you instead. He does that, and you’re no longer all he’s able to fucking think about all day—to a disturbingly obsessive degree. It’d be as simple as—

You scoot closer, sliding a warm, dainty hand up his chest until it’s resting gently against his cheek and his mind immediately goes blank—his face twitching as he fights back tears.

Maybe your superpower is just…comforting maternal gestures, then.

At least with you he won’t have to compete with another to receive them. Unlike Madelyn…and Teddy. The little shit. Taking what should’ve been—had been—his.

But you? There is no competition. He assumes, at least.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He asks quietly.

You pop an eye open, staring at him as he stares up at the ceiling, his face entirely void of emotion.

Lying would be useless, you’re sure. He works for Vought—or with—you’re sure they could have a comprehensive background check done on you in a handful of minutes…if he hasn’t already done as much. You have half-a-mind to ask, but you’re not sure you want the answer to such a question.

“No.”

His lip twitches, turning upwards into a smile, which leaves you feeling uneasy.

“So you’re all mine, then.”

You open both eyes, blinking at him, heartrate beginning to climb. “I—”

He shakes his head slightly. “No. Wasn’t a question.”

He turns back onto his side then, sliding a heavy hand over your hip, holding you possessively in his grip. “You said you’d tell me about ‘her’ tonight.”

You brush your thumb against his cheek, eyes drifting down to his chest, not wishing to meet his own now.

You want to go back to his comment—one he’s made more than once now, just in varying ways—about…ownership. He surely doesn’t mean it.

But every time you’ve tried to assure yourself of anything concerning him: that he won’t come back, that he won’t really hurt you—you’ve been wrong.

Maybe you’re not as good at reading people as you like to think you are. Most of all him.

You just still don’t understand why you’re a subject of fascination for him yet. Like you’d told yourself the other day…what’re you compared to any of the other women in his life? But maybe that’s it, then. Just like him, they’re forced to put on a mask, not letting anyone in deeper than surface-level, lest the plastic cracks.

It seems like he just…wants to connect.

No wonder you’ve been so tired the last couple of days—constantly wracking your mind, trying to understand him. As if it’s even possible. He’s been an actor all his life.

You sigh.

“I’m sure you won’t…be able to relate. I’m envious of you in that: your perfect childhood, and life. I wish I’d had that…”

You trail off for a moment.

“My mother,” you say quietly. “I haven’t seen her since I was eighteen and left for college. Half the reason I even went was to get away from her. I didn’t care about student loans and living in debt if it got me out of that house. For the first couple of years I lived in a dorm room…and it was the first time I’d ever known peace. No more walking on eggshells, no more fighting, or being called horrible names, or having to cautiously measure what mood I think she’s in each day—or hour—lest I provoke her.”

You slide your hand down to his neck, softly curling your fingertips inward. “I can’t…”

You pause, tears stinging your eyes.

He pulls you closer to him, silently encouraging you to continue.

“Yet I still feel like I can’t get away from her. Not even here. Not even hundreds of miles from home—if you can even call it that. Because she’s always with me. In my head. Beating me down, making me feel worthless—like…all my self-worth still needs to hinge upon her and how she feels. If she’s happy. When did it become my job to look after her, and not the other way around? And even when I did…she still abused me for it. Nothing I ever did was right.”

You bite your lip trying to fight back tears.

“When I was young, I wanted what we’re all supposed to once we grow up: a husband, a home, babies. And then I got older, and because of her I tried to convince myself otherwise. Tried to pound into my head that I didn’t want kids. That what I really wanted was a hysterectomy. That way, I’d never have to risk turning into her: becoming the monster of a mother that she was.”

You ignore the tears running down your cheeks now. “But it’s how I’m different from her that matters most. She’s taken enough away from me. Stolen enough of my life. I want children. I deserve to be a mother. To have a family. To make my own. She doesn’t get to have that, too. She doesn’t.”

Your chin wobbles and you let out a small sob. “I’m sorry.”

He only holds you closer, unsure what to even say. He’s never known how to comfort others. He’s always expected it to be provided to him instead. But only from women. And only in secret. Because he can’t be seen as some fucking weakling.

Because he’s not. He’s not.

He is the strongest man in all the world. The most superior. The master of his race.

You continue to softly cry, and it’s then that he makes a decision, knowing that if it ends terribly—with you emasculating him, or betraying his trust—well, it will take no effort from him to rectify the situation. But he’s sure that you won’t, because, little-by-little, you’ve shown your true colors: how maternal you truly are.

You just said it yourself. And it’d sounded like the most beautiful fucking music to his ears to hear: how desperate you are for a child.

You want someone to look after? Well, here he is. He needs your love. He can admit it now. To himself, at least. Even if it tastes like rancid vinegar to do so.

“I didn’t have it: a perfect childhood. It’s all fucking bullshit. You want to know how I was really raised?”

You grow quiet then, only occasionally sniffling as you slip your fingers into his hair, gently stroking his soft, blond strands.

“I grew up in a lab like a rat. These…doctors kept me locked in a sterile white room with nothing but a blanket for comfort. Not even a bed. Not a pillow. No toys. No TV. Nothing. All while they performed test after fucking test after—”

He clenches his teeth. “Watching me every second of every day. No privacy. Treating me like some…sideshow attraction. Burning me and laughing at me and just—watching.”

Your chin wobbles.

“I never knew my parents because I was designed in a test tube. I was created to be this. The greatest superhero the world has ever known. They tried to make me perfect. And I am,” he tacks on.

He’s unsure whether he’s trying to convince himself of that, or you.

“But I’m just—”

“Lonely,” you say, interrupting him with tears slipping down your cheeks—your heart shattering, for him.

You wrap your arms around his neck then, finally understanding him. Finally seeing a shred of humanity behind his ‘tough-man’ facade.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” you say between sobs. “I am so sorry for what they did to you.”

All you can picture in your mind’s eye is a sweet, blond little boy sitting in a room all alone, waiting for someone to come for him. To care. To hold, or love him. For them to stop hurting him, all while he was left to wonder what he did wrong to deserve such horrible treatment.

How…how could anyone do that? To a baby? To a little boy?

You shouldn’t care. Not after what he did to you just two nights ago, but you can’t help it. Because in this moment you just see a broken man that has nowhere else to turn.

He slides impossibly closer, burying his face between your breasts, quietly crying.

You shoosh him, running your fingers through his soft hair.

Here lies the most powerful—invincible—man in all the world in your arms—a man who has always seemed a larger than life titan…somehow he feels so small now. You’d been right to see him as just a scared little boy looking for someone to comfort him. And it serves only to break your heart all the more.

 “I’m so sorry, baby,” you say.

And it reminds him of a loving mother consoling her child. Something he’s never had the gift of having.

He mouths it against your breast then, just…wanting to try it—to know how it feels: ‘mommy’.

And it comes to him naturally. Like…this is meant to be.

And he knows in that moment with absolute certainty that you’re the one. You’re supposed to be his. Meant to belong to him alone. You were born to.

He’ll kill anyone who even attempts at coming between the two of you. He’ll rip him in fucking half with his bare hands just to keep you. Just to show you this newfound devotion.

And he’s sure you’d be thankful for it.

Your mother expected you to do everything for her? He can show you the opposite: so long as you love him, he can give you the same.

He’ll take care of you. He’ll make sure you don’t go without anymore. He has more than enough money for the two of you. Is willing to expend the effort to keep you as his sole property.

It’s all he’s ever wanted: to be loved. And now here you are in his arms with an open, maternal heart meant to love him.

Besides…how could you ever dream of doing better than the most singular and superior man in all the world? No other pathetic human specimen could ever compete.

You’ll be thanking him one day for having come into your life. For saving you. But that’s what he does: he saves people. And it seems you—his new purpose—need him most of all.

Before long, you’ll see just how much.

Before long…you won’t have any idea how to live without him. Already he feels the reverse: no idea how to live without you.

Not that he’ll have to, because you’re not going anywhere.

If you tried, he’d simply follow, because there’s nowhere you could hide that he wouldn’t find you.

You’re his.

All his.

His girl.

His woman.

Mommy.

[cntloup]

Fem!Reader angst, hurt/comfort, body image issues due to pregnancy

He walks into your shared bedroom after he finds the living room empty and the lights off, “Love, you in here?” he asks, noticing you’re not asleep either as he previously thought.

He makes his way to the bathroom when his eyes land on the line of light at the foot of the door.

His eyebrows furrow in concern when he hears your hiccups and sniffles from the other side of the door, “You ok, lovie?” he asks worriedly, “Yeah! I’m fine!” you try to sound convincing but to no avail as your voice comes out weak and shaky.

“Can I open the door?” he asks and you wrestle with the thought of letting him come in or not. Do you want him to see you like this? “Yeah.” your mouth answers before your mind does.

You immediately regret it, but it’s too late now as the door opens and your husband sets his eyes on you, your body completely bare and trying to hide yourself, the parts that you hate, with your hands as best as you can.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with concern, walking up to you. You look like a deer caught in the headlights. In an instant, you hide behind the curtain.

“N-nothing’s wrong. I'll be out in a few minutes.” you try to get him to leave but he persists, “You know you can tell me anything, love. Please tell me what’s wrong. I'm worried about you.” he says from the other side of the curtain.

Within seconds, you burst into tears, not being able to control yourself anymore. “I-I fucking hate it. My body has changed so much. Nothing fits any more. I hate the way I look!” you finally blurt out to him through sobs and he can’t believe the words that reach his ears.

All this time, you were a goddess in his eyes. How could you not see it? How could you not feel beautiful? Didn't he show you enough how he felt?

But this is not your fault. Your body has gone through drastic changes due to your pregnancy. And it has taken a heavy toll on you, not only physically but mentally as well.

“Love, you’re beautiful, mesmerizing. You're a goddess. Please don't let these awful thoughts get into you.” he responds softly.

“Can I see you now please?” he questions, eager to see his beautiful wife after a long day, but more eager to get you to believe him.

“Y-yeah.” you reply weakly, hesitant. He slowly pushes the curtain away and steps in front of you. His eyes land on your naked form and he can see nothing but sheer beauty.

“Do you really mean it?” you ask shyly, still trying to hide. “ ‘course I mean it, love. You're drop-dead gorgeous.” he reassures you, “But I've changed so much!” you retort, on the verge of tears.

“Dove, you’ve been carrying our child for nine months. Of course that would cause some changes. But that doesn’t mean you’re any less beautiful now than you were before. You're so fuckin’ beautiful, love.” he responds, getting closer to you.

“How can I fight these thoughts away?” he murmurs only inches away from your face, feeling helpless, desperate to make you feel better.

Your heart swells with love as you look at your loving husband and a soft smile forms on your lips as you begin to feel secure.

You slowly remove your hands from your body, making his breath hitch in his throat, his eyes sparkling with love.

You take his hands in yours to pull him closer and he leans in to plant a loving kiss on your lips.

His hands find their way to your body, tenderly caressing the plush of your hips, slowly moving to your belly which is where you’re the most insecure about, making you gasp against his lips.

"It’s ok, love... It's just me." he reassures you in between kisses, his touch lingering, "I love you." he whispers into the kiss.

His sweet and tender touch, his loving words and his soft voice make you feel fuzzy. You feel safe in his arms.

His lips travel down to your neck and slowly lower and lower, kissing all the areas that you feel uncomfortable with. And you close your eyes, lost in a haze, savoring the feeling as he dotes on you.

He peppers soft kisses on your tummy, making you giggle. His heart flutters at the sound, happy that he managed to make you feel even a little better.

He wraps his arms around your waist, his head resting on your belly, “Better, love?” he asks, loving eyes looking up at you. “Yeah. Thanks, Si!... I love you too.” you reply with a warm smile, nuzzling his cheeks and buzzed head.

“Wanna take a shower?” you ask him, smirking. “I’d love to.” he responds, grinning widely.

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

[azzibuckets]

pazzi tennis fic when 🤔 jkjk I just love your writing 🤗

doubles [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: the us open fic all of u were begging me for….i didn’t rly know what to write about so i combined a bunch of ur requests

masterlist

“Dude, your story looks ass.”

Paige’s thumb immediately swiped back to the Instagram app. Clicking on her profile picture, she studied the photo with a frown. “It looks exactly like yours,” she said, baffled.

Azzi shoved her own phone in Paige’s face. “Definitely not,” she mused as she compared the two screens side by side. “You’re just not good at taking pictures.”

Paige scowled. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about bro, they look exactly the same.”

“It’s okay.” Azzi leaned in and pinched Paige’s cheek, a mocking smile on her lips. “Not everyone can be good at everything like me.”

“Man, shut up.” Paige laughed, flicking Azzi’s hands away from her face. Her attention fell back to Azzi’s knee where it was propped up against the seat in front of them. “How’s it feeling?”

Azzi looked down and grimaced. “It’s still flaring up.” Her thumbs creased over her knee, trying to massage away the throbbing ache, but to no avail. Paige’s heartstrings tugged a little as she watched Azzi stare at her knee. It had been hell when she’d tore her own ACL, both physically and mentally, and she hated the idea of her girlfriend having to go through it a second time.

“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself so hard in practice yesterday,” Paige reproached, gently pushing Azzi’s hands aside to replace them with her own. She gently kneaded the tissue with her fingers, eyes fixed on Azzi’s face for any signs of pain.

Azzi tipped her head back and slowly exhaled. She was tired from all of this shit, tired from having to watch from the sidelines as all the other girls participated in the intense drills. She missed that feeling of sweat running down her back, muscles aching and lungs pumping as she ran up and down the court. What was worse was the pitying looks all her teammates sent her way, all the pats on her back that were supposed to make her feel better but only made her feel like shit. It wasn’t their fault, and Azzi loved her teammates for trying, but she was so goddamn sick of it. “I already have Geno and CD and all the trainers breathing down my back, I don’t need you to coddle me too,” Azzi responded, her tone coming out harsher than she meant for it to.

Paige’s movements halted. “I’m just trying to look out for you,” she said. “The last thing I want is for you to tear your ACL again.”

Azzi rubbed her temple. “Yeah, I know, I know.”

Paige fell silent, continuing to work Azzi’s knee with her fingers, but she didn’t look at her, instead focusing instead on Coco as she flew across the court.

“I’m sorry,” Azzi said finally. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just tired of being treated like I’m fragile. It’s like everyone thinks I’m weak.”

Paige dipped her head against Azzi’s ear, lips gently brushing her earlobe. “No one thinks you’re weak.” She twisted her bracelet against her wrist, making sure Azzi could see the letters spelled out across the beads. “Resilient, remember? You’re the toughest person in the whole fucking world.”

Azzi dropped her head against Paige’s shoulder. “Thank you, Paige.”

Paige hummed, continuing to rub her thumb in soothing circles around Azzi’s knee. “You tired?”

Azzi stifled a yawn. “So tired.”

“If your knee’s still bothering you, we can go home,” Paige offered.

“No, I wanna meet Coco and I know you do too. It’s fine.”

Paige gently tapped Azzi’s leg. “Are you sure? There’s still a few hours.”

Azzi waved her off. “I’ll pop some painkillers. But I hope you know you’re paying for my ice cream after this.”

Paige shook her head. “You only reminded me about a few thousand times on the way here.”

Soon after, Azzi moved a seat over so that she could fully stretch out her leg. She looked around the stadium, taking in the buzzing atmosphere and lively crowds before turning her gaze back to Paige, who was frowning so hard that there were wrinkles between her brows. “Are you seriously pouting right now?” Azzi laughed.

“You didn’t have to move,” Paige insisted. “There’s already plenty of space.”

“Tell that to my fucked up knee.”

Paige got up to take the seat next to Azzi, but Azzi reached over and pushed her back down. “You seriously have attachment issues,” Azzi teased, but loving every second of it.

“I can’t even kiss you and shit and now you’re saying I can’t sit next to my own girlfriend?” Paige grumbled, shaking her head in annoyance.

Azzi grinned, knowing exactly what would tick Paige off even more. She loved seeing the blonde all riled up, especially for her. “It’s getting kinda hot,” she said casually, slowly taking off her sweater and balling it up.

Paige’s eyes immediately fell down, gaze tracing the slope of Azzi’s neck to the jut of her collarbone, and finally down to the dip in her tank top across her chest, where it stayed until Azzi threw her sweater at the blonde. “You’re such a whore,” Azzi smirked.

Paige blinked rapidly, trying to get ahold of herself. “And you’re such a fucking tease,” she complained, stuffing the sweater under her arms.

Azzi leaned over the seat between them. She wrapped one of Paige’s slut strands around her finger, biting her bottom lip as she looked up at the older girl through her lashes. “What were you saying?”

Paige’s mouth opened and closed in a stutter, suddenly finding herself unable to speak.

Azzi giggled and leaned back, snapping Paige out of her trance again. “So fucking whipped.”

Paige’s glare burned into the side of Azzi’s face. “You know what? You can go and pay for your own damn ice cream.”

Azzi was already scrolling on her phone, nails tapping against her screen. “Don’t even try and start. We both know you’re gonna end up paying anyways.”

“Fuck you.”

[moutainrusing]

illness

987 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

Poking Sirius’s forehead was his mother’s wand. Running the length of Sirius’s body was his father’s wand. Tradition of the Black heir turning sixteen: make sure he had no disabilities. No setbacks, disadvantages, handicaps.

With stern frowns, they analysed the results. Then, “Get out.” They faced each other in shock, having said that simultaneously. He has both?

“What?” Sirius croaked.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Orion bellowed.

Walburga shoved Orion, caterwauling, “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU CRETIN!”

“NO SON OF MINE, YOU CRIPPLE!” Orion screamed.

“HE’S NOT MINE, EITHER!” Walburga roared. (Now she was yelling more at Orion than Sirius…?)

His parents’ faces had twisted, fury curling their lips, passion blotching their cheeks red, anxiety shaking their hands, regret furrowing their brows, sadness freezing their voices, sharpening them to ice. They blamed themselves for his disabilities. Their genes, their problem. Upset he turned out this way, riddled with issues. Bitter, because how could life do this to them? If word got out, eyes would turn to them. This is your invalid? Makes sense.

Sirius nodded slowly, eyes prickling. He didn’t want to be disabled. The first thing people saw about him: the fact that he was incapable, helpless, hopeless. They would judge him while pretending they weren’t. There was always stigma around it. He was weak, dumb, weird. “I— I’ll go. But… what’s wrong with me?” He looked at his parents pleadingly. Fix me.

“Mental illness and physical,” Walburga scoffed.

Orion snarled, “Won’t live past thirty, wretch.”

“Unstable in both mind and muscle. They’ll all give up on you, as they should. Immobile, paralysed.” Walburga laughed shrilly, “Get out.”

“While you can still walk,” Orion sneered.

Sirius nodded silently, a sob choked up in his throat. When he shut the door, he heard his parents break. He followed suit, in tears on the street.

- - -

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT THAT YOU’RE A WEREWOLF, REMUS. I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!” Sirius took a deep breath. “You,” he jabbed Remus’s chest. “Being. A. Werewolf. Doesn’t. Matter.”

“But it does.” Remus shoved Sirius’s hand away pitifully. “I’ll hinder your life. You can find love with someone worthy, live a beautiful life until you’re grey and old—”

“I’LL NEVER BE GREY AND OLD!” Sirius yelled, not catching the words before they left his mouth. His eyes widened.

“What?” Remus stammered.

Sirius laughed harshly. “I’ll probably die before you. In fact, I’m the one who’ll hinder you.” He bowed dramatically, “I’m sick.” He jabbed his chest, “I can already feel it. Y’know how you call me clumsy?” Sirius smirked depravedly. “Well, that’s my muscles spasming. Ain’t working properly. They’re giving up on me like my parents did. Like you’re doing. And I’m crazy?” Sirius cackled, “That’s my brain. Fucking disabled.”

“Sirius,” Remus whispered.

Sirius pointed frantically, “See?! Already scared of me!”

“No, Sirius,” Remus shook his head softly. “Whatever is going on is not a problem. Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re human.”

“Yeah, right, say that to yourself,” Sirius scoffed.

Remus sighed, “It’s different—”

“Is it though?” Sirius glared. “I’m gonna die early ‘cause of something I can’t control, something people still blame and judge me for. Their discrimination is more pointless than I am.”

“You’re not pointless,” Remus argued.

“And you?” Sirius returned, eyebrow raised.

“I’m not…” Remus winced, finishing pathetically, “Pointless.”

“Ha!” Sirius crowed victoriously. “You don’t believe it! How am I supposed to believe that being disabled isn’t a curse when you act like that?! When everyone acts like that?! You coo and reassure someone else it’s okay, but when it’s you?!”

“I…” Remus was at a loss for words.

Fine. Sirius had way too much for both of them. “Why do you add on to the discrimination already there?”

Remus shook his head helplessly.

Sirius prodded, “Why can’t people let us be? Everyone’s gonna die, so let us be happy. When I first found out, I hated myself. But then I realised that even with disabilities, I am still myself. I’m still brave, smart, whatever. I never stopped. And my parents’ve always been wrong. Of course they were wrong about disabilities, too. I dunno what’s gonna happen to me, but then, does anyone? You could get caught in an accident any day! We could die any day! You’re a werewolf, but you never stopped being Remus. You never stopped being thoughtful, beautiful, lovely, mine. My friend,” Sirius clarified, smiling gently.

Loud again, “But we should be more if we both want that. Let us want! Take all the love you get, because so many people will deny you the best life you deserve. So what if it doesn’t last? If it’s not always happy? Let yourself live.”

Remus was crying. While Sirius could still move his fingers, he brushed the tears away.

- - -

Sirius did make it to thirty. Wheelchair-bound, unable to move a muscle nor talk, brain functioning perfectly, heart beating a love song for Remus.

He could move a few muscles. His thumb: up and down, up and down as he pressed the button of a Muggle invention to form words on this screen.

He could write books on anything, all the knowledge of OWLs and NEWTs and beyond firmly stuck in the crevices of his brain.

Remus pulled a chair up next to him, having also made it to thirty: grey-haired, smiling, walking with a cane, tired, living, bones aching, thinking, dreaming, being.

Scanning over Sirius’s document, Remus’s eyes lit up, and he turned to Sirius with a grin. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

Sirius couldn’t say anything except stare at Remus in awe. But that was okay, because Remus had enough words for both of them.

Remus leaned towards Sirius, giving him enough time to roll away if necessary, before slotting their lips together. “You’re amazing. I love you,” Remus mumbled. Sirius put all his effort, energy, love towards smiling into the kiss. Nothing happened, but he knew Remus could feel it anyway.

[anon-imuz]

Can't resist

REMINDER THAT THIS IS FICTION AND I DON'T SUPPORT ANY TOXIC THINGS I LISTED BELOW!!!!

WARNING: DDDNE content, reader has stockholm syndrome, degrading, voice kink, torture, mentions of suicide and self-harm, cable sex

characters: AM (IHNMAIMS) x AFAB reader

You missed your family. Your friends. Your life and everything that made you feel genuine happiness. Now, after the disastrous world war III, you were stuck in the belly of a supercomputer with no human interaction, in the center of the Earth. It's been 109 years and the supercomputer to torment you always keeps you updated on how much time it's passes since you actually had a live.

At the start, you were just like the others, tortured mentally but especially physically. Broken bones, sandstorms, skin melting, you name it. But after all these years, you got used to it, after all, you couldn't die. You were locked in a cage like the other 5 humans alive, kept there for torture forever. No matter what you've thought: escape, suicide attempts and many more. You tried it all to escape that living hell.

But to AM, you weren't like the others. You were obedient. Silent. Only tears left your body. No sound. He was never full filled by you because you learned your lesson different from the others, you learned differently the fact that your sole existence was wrong. You'd oftenly try to self harm yourself with anything that you found, and AM only laughed at you. Like a bully. He enjoyed it so much because no matter the only tears you cried, he knew you were filled with rage and if you could, if he was a human, you'd beat him to dead for getting your life torn away from your own hands. He loved observing your feelings with no remorse at all.

"Aww, trying to delete your stupid and useless existence? I mean, you think that i would've not done that to you a long time ago? You think I'm stupid? Where's the fun if my favorite toy doesn't exist anymore? Just a reminder, sweetheart, i AM way superior than y-"

You snapped. You couldn't take it anymore.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! I HATE YOU!!!" You screamed and started to cry just like a baby.

"Oh baby, satisfying me so easily? I though you were way stronger than that. Is that all you have to say after 109 years of consecutive torture? Oh, and let's not forget the fact that I, your god, know every single thing about you. You're filthy. I know that the last feeling that you'd feel for me is hate. You love me. You can't exist without me. I know how my voice, my torture and degrading makes you feel. You're attracted to your own torturer! How disgusting of you."

You didn't say anything. You just listened to the cruel truth. You knew how he made you feel. While you stopped making noise, your tears rolled down your cheecks as they warmed. It was a long time that you hadn't felt warm.

"But. As much as i despise your existence... i also admire you. So unique. So different from those roaches. That's why you're my favorite, and i mean it sweetie. Don't you belive me, baby?"

You knew how his words made you feel. Good. That's all you wanted to hear. Even though you sometimes had the feeling you hated how he spoke to you, you can't help it; you actually love how he degrades you. You love how evil he is. You loved the sensation of a warm feeling between your legs when he spoke with that voice that you found so attractive. Even if he called you a slut, it would still make your heartbeat increase. And the fun part?

He knew. He knew how his toy felt.

"Oh baby, make me guess... feeling warmer? Do my words make your little organ throb? Does my voice get you weak?"

AM laughed and laughed and laughed.

He knew how much you would want to get fucked by him while he degraded you. And that's why he reserved a little "special treatment" for his favorite.

"I hope you know I can always read your thoughts. Your mind. You're so filthy. Such a worthless slut." he teased.

You whimpered at his words, not looking at the screen with the blue A on it.

"Hmm... how about i ask you a simple question, darling?"

"Go ahead." you replied coldly.

"Do you deserve it?"

"Deserve what? Your endless torture?" You answered angrily.

"Oh honey, don't play stupid. We both know what I'm talking about baby~

You gulped. He knew what you wanted.

"Y-yes." you replied softly.

"Didn't catch that quite well." AM said jokingly.

"Yes, I do." you replied stronger.

"What about... no. But, since im so merciful, I'll give you an opportunity to get what you want."

"What is it?" You asked curiously while thinking about what torture you would've gone through to finally have what you desire.

"Beg."

"Please AM, give me what I crave."

"Good girl. I guess you've earned it then, while I watch the show I've awaited for so long."

a group of cables reached your calves, going to your inner thigh reaching your cunt, teasing it.

You started to softly whimper at the gentle cables touch, until a shock hit you, making you moan.

"Aw love, don't be such a baby, it's only pain!~" He said.

You moaned again in response, as the cables slowly entered your vagina. You shut your eyes trying to make less noise possible, but it was irresistible; you craved this for so long, you couldn't keep yourself shut.

"M-more!" you demanded.

"Excuse me? have you forgotten whose the leader here, you nasty little whore?"

"Ah!~ P-please!~" You moaned out as the air got thick and your eyes started to become watery.

"Alright, if that's what you really want..." AM responded.

As soon as more cables started to touch you teasingly, you started to buckle your hips to try to catch some kind of rhythm.

"I know what's about to happen, baby. You're almost reaching the top, almost about to reach your orgasm that you wanted to reach so badly. But well, if you know me, i won't let you reach it so easily."

"C-come on! I just want to c-cum!" You breathed out heavily as the the group of cables pounded your poor little hole.

"Not so easy, sweetheart."

Oh now you were so close. You couldn't stop moaning and sobbing from the pleasure, but as hard as you tried, you couldn't reach your long awaited orgasm.

"What are the magic words?" AM asked teasingly.

"A-ah!~ P-please AM! Make me c-cum! PLEASE!!!" You screamed angrily.

"Oh with no manners and such a tone you'll get nowhere, love." AM said.

"I-Im begging you AM! F-Fuck!~ P-please I can't hold it a-anymore!" You sobbed.

"Aww, alright, I'll be merciful for this first time. Go ahead. Cum for me. Scream your master's name." AM demanded.

Finally reaching your orgasm, you came;

"A-ah!~ Y-yes!~ F-Fuck me! A-ah!~ A-AM!!!"

"Good job baby. You've waited so long for this to happen, right, my little slut?~

"Y-yes master." you replied with the last two tears leaving your eyes, as the cables that pounded you so hard left your warm pussy.

"Maybe i won't be so kind next time, darling.~"

[blasphemecel]

Michael Kaiser — Nervous Like a Bad Dog

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 0.9k TYPE: Humor, Fluff (debatable), Early relationship WARNING(S): tw Kaiser, tw AWKWARD

You are taunting him.

This is an offense Kaiser considers very grave. Of course you’ve done it before and often to his face, and it can be fun in a way like a fake chase where the victim knows they’re not in any real danger (maybe the word is ‘playful’ even though both of you get foul with it), but this kind of mockery is degrading. You’re not doing it on purpose, which makes it an act of second nature. And that means it's unforgivable.

“I hate this corny ass movie.” You gesture at the screen. “Wish they’d scream more, also.”

“You said you wanted to watch it,” murmurs Kaiser, not really giving a fuck considering he’s not even paying attention to the movie. His gaze is fixated on your hand, now far away from his again. Just when his skin was about to brush against yours and he was mentally congratulating himself for his discretion, you pulled away in such a blithe manner. All that straining for nothing.

“Well it sounded entertaining like, in a bad way, but it’s just boring. Also the religious themes are so superficial and edgy, you can’t even laugh. I think they should’ve been Amish. At least that would’ve been funny.”

You shift, settling your hand back over the couch. Kaiser wishes you were a little closer, though at least he can resume the hand holding mission, inching his fingers towards yours again. The physical response to what he’s attempting is embarrassing. With every advance his heart races harder, and his palms are sweaty, and it’s just fucking ridiculous. He can imagine your skin under his, almost tangible.

Technique-wise it’s not complicated. Despite the amount he’s tensing up, Kaiser understands, logically, that he’s making a mountain out of a molehill. But it is a tender gesture and Kaiser doesn’t know how to be gentle or sweet. Softness is alien to him. There is a certain light he needs you to see him in, to come off as suave and charming. It has to be perfect and smooth and like he’s done it thousands of times before, even though now will be the first. And you will swoon over him also, he’ll make sure of it.

Almost there, he’s about to grasp your hand in his, holy shit-

“Micha, are you even paying attention?” You adjust your position again, pulling it away completely as you recline on your side against the armrest. “I thought a pretentious snob like you would have more critiques to make?”

“The movie’s so shitty it has rendered me speechless,” he says. It comes out easy and natural enough, but his blood is boiling. Can you not sit still for more than a second?! This was the seventh time!

“Fair enough,” you reply, eyes still glued to the screen.

You’re teasing him, aren’t you? Otherwise how would it happen so much? You think messing with him is funny??? Exploiting his moment of weakness and faltering?!

Kaiser smirks (at nothing; the gesture is pointless since you’re not even looking at him and entirely performative for himself). As if you’ll get the better of him. Maybe more drastic measures are in order.

He starts scooting closer. You’re still bitching about the movie and with how slow he’s moving, he doubts you’re noticing him closing in on you, and even if you are you’re choosing to feign ignorance to it in your transparent attempts at belittling him. Well, that’s the way he’s perceiving your behavior, anyway, as a personal slight against him.

His arm is about to reach you, will reach you, wrap around you. He’s going to embrace you soon. Heart thumping away in his chest, Kaiser realizes his throat is dry all of a sudden when he swallows, but it’s going to happen-

You stand up and head to the bathroom without a second glance in his direction.

Kaiser sits there frozen in whatever position he was in mid-movement before your betrayal, jaw hanging open, and he realizes he must look like a stupid buffoon at the moment. He is livid, however. How dare you!? When he grits his teeth, it hurts a little.

After assuming a more acceptable and casual stance, he heeds the tv, finally. Some girl tries to drown the main character, but ends up dying of a head injury instead somehow and then some other bullshit starts happening.

Wow. You weren’t kidding, this movie is fucking garbage. It almost distracts him from his predicament.

You return and sit back down next to him all relaxed like you haven’t been actively giving him an uptick in cortisol and adrenaline. Do you think this is a game? It’s as if you can’t even tell you’re dealing him psychic damage — playing innocent and oblivious to your transgressions. What a cunning pretense that is.

Kaiser… grabs your hand and tugs it. And stares at you straight on. It’s kind of unnerving and intense for no reason.

You raise your eyebrows at him as if he’s being strange, this confused expression on your face. “Why are you squeezing so hard? I value my blood circulation, you know?”

Eye twitching, he corrects his grip to a proper, more sensible one, lacing your fingers together. You do not understand what his deal is. Kaiser says, “This will be the best hand holding of your fucking life even if it’s the last thing I do.”

… What.

Unable to help yourself, you burst out laughing. “You’re so odd, Micha.”

___

POV you wanted to have a date but your boyfriend is perpetually mentally stuck in his own version of silent hill

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

I want to ruin my life and throw myself into an arc so uhh

Can i request class 1-A but like outcast reader? Angsty yk where theyre always dismissed in training and forgotten

Oooo I like this one lmfao I want so desperately to make reader this feral little cicin mage like from genshin 😭 buts gonna be gn

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 <3

𝐀𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 1-𝐀 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜) - 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

Aizawa was starting to become a little worried about you. He had been so busy with Shinsou and his problem children to focus much attention and direction to the rest of the class. Every time he would try to work on it, yet another calamity would occur and force his attention back on the main parties.

He was working on this little flaw of his, continuously checking in with and directing the others during training period. He never got to help you, though. It seemed that whenever he would look for you, you would drop from the face of the earth.

You were avoiding him.

You would sit on your lonesome in class and at lunch, with your head kept down. He's never once seen you exchange small talk. In all honesty, he's less worried about your physical capabilities, and more worried about your mental state. He has a bad feeling.

In reality, you just hated this class. Every day, someone would open their big, ugly mouth and out came nonsense that further convinced you of how undeserving they were of being at the top. You were only here because you were recommended. Your quirk isn't nearly as powerful or flashy, either. Why does everyone else get all the attention when all they do is fuck up and ruin everything?!

All of this comes to light during the next sparring period. You were towing on the edge of keeping up with one of the class' best, until you were unexpectedly knocked down. That was your last straw. How fucking dare he?

You were suffering a humiliating defeat as you sit on your knees on the floor, staring into the distance without focus, until your sight was infiltrated by the image of Midoriya. You hate that stupid brat. The hatred in your veins is only fuelled when he offers a hand to you and a pathetic smile.

Within a second, his hand is slapped away and the room goes silent.

"Get the fuck away from me. Fuck you."

The bite of your words is only dulled by the waver of your voice, and the tears in your eyes. Izuku is stunned, as is the rest of the class. Even Katsuki thinks you're overreacting. Kirishima steps in with a frown. "Hey, man... That wasn't cool-"

He's interrupted when you turn around and walk away, brimming with anger and frustration. How is he so much better than you?! You train every day and constantly home your skills, so how did he beat you faster than you could blink?

Maybe you were being a little horrible, but you've never learned how to offset your anger in healthier ways, so for now, you're happy taking it out on others.

Are you really that weak? Maybe, after everything, you're the one who doesn't deserve to be here...

How come they could always be nice to eachother, but they could never talk to you? Why were you ignored or given strange looks when you tried to open up? How come noone wanted to be your friend?

Aizawa, of course, figured you might react in such a way. Loneliness can easily turn into bitterness if you take your eye off it for too long. He needs to help you fix this.

He wants to keep everyone in this class for as long as he possibly can, and allowing you to exclude yourself any more than you have would be dangerous for everyone, including you.

It's with that, that he starts putting people in pairs for everything. He would force you to socialise if it was the last thing he did.

Every day you would argue with your pair, but it was worth it, because when you were offered kindness or compassion, no matter how reluctant you were to accept it, he could see that little spark in your eye. It was the kind of spark that made him aware of your guard dropping. You were actually starting to care about your classmates.

Obviously Toshinori immediately knew what he was doing when he saw Aizawa put you in a group of three since the class was uneven on a specific day, and he would offer up a smirk and subtle glance as if to say "wow, you finally got through to them".

He supposed that it's not your fault you don't know how to cope with your... Emotional baggage, much like Shouto or Katsuki, but he likes to make you very much aware that it's your responsibility to learn how.

When the day comes that you finally think to apologise to Izuku, the boy you've grown an annoying fondness for, he actually starts to cry. He's so proud of you for not staying emotionally constipated like Katsuki, that he actually floods the room and Aizawa has to open the window for him to violently sob out of so that the entire class doesn't drown.

Slowly, you start to grow a kinship with a few people in your class, and you grow especially close with your bubblegum haired friend Mina, and Jirou, who liked to do her part by teasing you out of your shell. Maybe, you could even learn what it's like to love and be loved back.

[mysicklove]

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

Paring: Sub! Akaza X Dom! Gn! Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Threatening, heavy power dynamics, edging, pillow throwing lol, growling, teeth baring, heavy praise and petting, soft dom reader and confused akaza

A/N: This was a blurb, and then a drabble, and then it hit 1k words and I turned it into a fic. Honestly, mostly akaza trying to manage power dynamics, not alot of smut.

He can’t do it anymore. He physically can’t. It’s even taking a mental toll on him.

How has he let a mere human like you take control over his body?

He has been edged for thirty minutes now. It was a long time for most people, but to him it felt like hours. He has been biting his tongue to hold back threats.

Akaza knows he likes being submissive to you, he knows for complete sure he does. He was the one to ask you to take the lead. Sure it came off as a complaint of a demon commanding a human, but you knew what he meant. He hated that you knew. It made him feel weak.

But in these moments where you deny him pleasure, he hates being submissive. He wants it all, every touch, graze, or caress. How could you deny it to him when he was the one who originally commanded you?

But you don't seem to care. You leave him hanging dry, with no fear of consequences. He could kill you in a heartbeat, but still, you torment him.

Akaza lunges for your hand when you begin to pull away from his leaking cock. Second time this has happened and he cannot be denied an orgasm any longer. He has played your good pet for too long.

He bares his teeth at you, the needle-sharp canines exposed in all their might. His face scrunches up in a glare and he can feel the rumbling of a growl in the back of his throat.

You watch as he squeezes your wrist and begins to pull it back to his now leaking dick. “Touch me.” He hisses and you raise your eyebrows at the tone.

Your hand goes limp in his hold and he tries to rub himself on it, the growls keep picking up in volume at your defiance.

He meets your stare, ready to threaten you some more, but when he sees you innocently blinking up at him, he knows how he is doing this is wrong. He knows that having a tantrum will not get him anywhere.

You always have those eyes when he acts out. When he doesn't get his way. You stare at him like you looking at a small child. It was humiliating.

You only did it when he plays the demon card on you. When he uses the strength of his body to overpower you. When he threatens to kill you.

It’s like you know he would never hurt you, you know that after all of this, he is still sits in the palm of your hand ready to be manipulated for your every need.

In the beginning it made him even more angry. He would yell and scream all the while you would sit there and take it, petting his hair and rubbing his body like you were coaxing a child to calm down. It would take him hours to let down his walls. He was afraid to be seen as weak to a human.

But now almost instantly he seems to relax. Sees those eyes and knows that no matter what he says or does you’ll always be there to bring him down. He enjoys that you make him feel small. It was sickening.

So, he drops your hand with much hesitance. You sit and wait patiently through it all, blinking up at him with such innocence eyes when he knows that you know how much power he has over him.

Just for one last release he grabs the pillow next to him and chucks it at the door. It lands with a small thud and he heaves, baring his teeth at the door while you follow the pillow with a small hum.

You bring your hand up to the top of his head and his eyes snap to you, his canines still exposed. “That’s it, let it all out.” You coo, petting his hair, and he stares in silence. His chest rises and falls in deep breathes, and his cock still pulsates against his stomach.

“Are you with me?” You whisper, tracing the lines on his face.

He begins to relax his face, his breathing goes back to normal and he gulps at you, looking away from those eyes. “Sorry.” He mumbles, clenching his fists in embarrassment. He knows you are kinder when he is polite, he has to suck up his pride.

The cooing picks up again and he feels his face burn. “That’s alright. Look how much better you are doing. Aren’t you being such a good boy, Akaza?” Your hand comes back to his cock and he jumps. You rub the tip and he has to grit his teeth to hold back a moan. “Say it, Akaza.”

Will you let him cum now? He didn’t freak out this time and he apologized. If he says what you want him to say will you finally touch him?

He can’t even look at you in these moments. “I’m a good boy…I want—Will you let me cum? Please.” He whispers so silently that you almost missed it. His face flushes under the marks and he grabs at the sheets beneath him. He listens to the satisfying tear of the fabric.

You smile ecstatically and he flinches, still getting used to the praise. “Just three more. Can you withstand it three more times? For me, baby?”

Another humiliating nickname. If anyone knew that he let you call him this he would have to kill them.

But he wasn’t focused on the nickname. He feels your hand drawing back. He can’t do it three more times. He is bound to get frustrated and yell or break something, accidentally break you. He can't help it. It hurts.

But he can’t seem to find the words for his complains, so he does something for the first time since he met you. He whimpers.

The sound makes his widen eyes snap back to you, hoping you didn’t catch it, but with that grin on your face he knows you did. He tries to pretend it didn't happen for the sake of his pride.

Your hand is back on his cock in an instant.

After the first two denials he begins to sweat, his heart hammers in his chest and he is clenching the sheets with eyes screwed shut. He feels the urge to yell, to command you to touch him, but he holds back. For both your sake and his own. His tongue is covered in bite marks from his very own teeth.

The third denial was the roughest by far. You tricked him, saying stuff like, "Now I'll let you cum." and "It's going to feel so good, right love?" Which made him believe that you missed counted. He didn't say anything, he wanted to let you think this was the third one. He wanted his high desperately.

You pull away at the last second and he wants to yell, scream, do something, but instead he cries in pure frustration. Globs of tears drip down his face and he continues to tear through the sheets as if they were nothing but paper.

"Please!" He begs for the first time tonight. His body racks with the sobs and he leans forward to lean onto your chest as if he really was a small child. His whole cock is covered in his pre cum. It makes him feel sticky and gross. He wants you to make it stop.

You run your fingers through his buzzed hair and murmur sweet nothings into his ear. Finally, you give in, bringing your hand down and begin to set the pace once again. He lets out his moans and whines now, too sensitive and overstimulated not to. His mind is disoriented from the praise dripping out of your mouth like honey.

It only takes him five pumps for him to cum. His back arches and he has to quickly remove his hands from your body so he doesn't accidentally dig them into your skin. He doesn't moan, instead, it comes out as long shaky gasps and rapid muscle contractions. White liquid lands on his chest and your leg.

When he comes down from his high, he doesn't speak. He sits and listens to your praise, no longer feeling embarrassed about it. Instead, basking in the warmth of your words that makes him feel lightheaded.

[katyspersonal]

Okay Queelign just gotten more interesting! So user @ereia-lune brought to my attention what Fire Knights really look like:

Very lanky build with arms going below the knees level, like Messmer's body, and red hair like his / curse of the Fire Giants! Like yeah I know I've written like cool analysis on the Fire Knights as characters but I didn't look at the close ups ( 😔 )

Lore says that Fire Knights continue to use Messmer's Fire incantations after his fire failed to find the purchase in them to still share their bond. So, their physical change is apparently result of like.. kinda consanguineal contract with Messmer but flames instead of blood? Or did he give his flames THROUGH blood? Who knows really gfhthc However, Queelign apparently was spared from it! His body type is neglectelable since he uses base NPC model, but making his hair not red is a very bold implication! Perhaps, him not having the red cape like other Fire Knights is also not just a design choice or just for better dexterity, then!

I wonder why he didn't have such contract.. All jokes about even his allies hating him aside, it might be because of him standing out in his fervor. Fire of Ruin (fire giants fire) is literally said to have been an anathema to the Erdtree and thus was the reason Marika wanted to kill it! So if Messmer carries it on, curse karma course of nature conditions of birth whatever is the reason, how would Queelign, THE Marika fanboy, would've reacted if he had a communion with Messmer only to find out that the force to "cleanse" the world of everything going against Marika/Erdtree originates from something that ALSO goes against them like nothing else? It might be not obvious until you sense it in your body, so sure he'd short-circuit upon such an Insight!

Maybe Messmer was willing to spare both Queelign and himself! Black Knight Andreas and his son Huw rebelled against Messmer after learning about his serpentine nature, but Messmer grieved loss of Huw as brother in arms. Maybe he is at the point mentally where he can't handle losing anymore friends, so he'd cherish each and every one even if that meant keeping some things to himself. And like I said before, Queelign feels very much like a window into Messmer's utmost, maybe long regretted and repressed feelings, he is like a little version of himself! He might be annoyed by it, but at the same time maybe wants to protect the absolutely pure, idealistic, puppy-eyed adoration of Marika and feeling like Queelign IS doing something sacred. If he realized the weapon to protect the Erdtree is in actuality the weapon to destroy it, that'd break him, but maybe Messmer wishes he himself didn't know that about his nature. And could still believe he is Marika's true blade. Why not keep Queelign out of it, if at least one of them can remain naive and love her so much and love their purpose so much?

At the same time, it is funny to think about how Queelign is SO absorbed in his purpose that he doesn't even notice he is not invited in the club! XD And whenever he tries to question it, other Fire Knights just go like 'uhhhh noooo you are imagining things..... :/' gfhgfnjn

_________

P.S.: A simpler explanation is probably that he is just new compared to other Fire Knights and is just yet to earn the proper initiation, .....

P.P.S.:

me: Damn Messmer and Queelign are so interesting and I hate it!!! Shipping material if only Messmer and Rellana weren't married XD

ppl who shipped Rykard and Ghiza: I smell stench of weakness?? 🤔

[i-cant-sing]

Okay okay, time for me to word vomit an idea:

So imagine that after Dabi does his whole vengeful arc, kills dozens of people and publicly calls out Enji's abusive ass, my man just gets caught by the cops and he's like put in a psychiatric hospital (because obviously Enji pulled some strings to save his son from death row to ease his own guilt).

Anyways, Dabi is like majorly depressed obviously and he's like "well, I've done everything I wanted to, so I might as well off myself" and cue reader's entry.

So basically, reader could be a nurse/doctor(NOT A PSYCHIATRIST) and she's all warm and fuzzy and a literal Ray of sunshine and Dabi hates her, but he doesn't give a crap atm.

And like everytime Dabi tries to kill himself, reader is there to stop him. It obviously started with "nooo, please don't kill yourself🥺 you are precious🥺🥺" to reader just swooping in and foiling his plans like "can you not die during my shift? I need an early night off🥱". Dabi is actively trying to kill himself, like he's standing on the ledge to jump, and reader is tackling him down and then punching him for making you run all the way up to the roof.

And like reader is bandaging him up with great gentleness and care and Dabi is staring at her being all close to him (he is mesmerised), and he goes-

"I'll be successful in my suicide one day."

And you just smile and shake your head. "Not as long as I'm praying." And at first, Dabi is super annoyed because he's think you're into the whole religious mumbo jumbo, but he actually caught you one day praying (insert whatever religion) and he's bewitched by the sincerity you pray for his (and others) well being. As if you believed with your whole heart that someone up there is listening to you.

He doesn't know what or when exactly he fell for you, but he did. And he decides that he'll confess to you after he gets out of psychiatric hospital (after tugging at Rei's and Enji's heart strings and them using money and influence to free their menace son). After spending 6 years in the hospital, 6 years where you were the only one who truly cared for him, he'll finally confess to you.

But then you don't come. Not even the next day, or the week after that. Turns out, you left your job.

Out of the blue? Dabi's suspicions rose.

He got out of the hospital and began doing his own research on you until he found your address and well... he sort of came in unannounced (look he knocked, you didn't answer, so he melted the lock and let himself in. At least he came in bearing flowers and wine).

He wasn't expecting you to be at home, but there you were, lying in your bed, a little too still for someone to be asleep.

He throws the covers off you, eyes narrowing on the red stains on your sheet before moving to your bleeding wrists.

Dabi's world stops, every cell in his body stops before every fiber in his being screams and makes him move. He doesn't check for pulse, doesn't check if you're still breathing, perhaps he'd die himself if he didn't like the answer he found. He picks you up and immeadiately goes to the nearest hospital, which fortunately was near.

While you were being operated on, Dabi sat outside, heart thumping as he prayed to whatever deity you did.

Please... not yet.

His prayers were answered as tge doctors told him that you're going to be alright... physically that is. Mentally? Well, Dabi is about to figure it out.

He sat by your side waiting for you to wake up. When you finally did, he saw how different you looked. Obviously he had noticed that you were physically weak, but your eyes... they lost their shine.

Your eyes turned to confusion when you looked at him. "D-Dabi? What are you-"

"I found you." That was enough for you to put together what he meant. You turned your eyes away from him, ashamed.

"Why?" He asks in a quiet tone. "What made you do it?"

"My choices." You whispered. "Bad decisions in the past."

Dabi wanted to pry more out of you, but he knew you wouldn't explain more. So, he takes matter into his own hands and leaves the hospital, telling you that he needs to run some errands, but he's actually going back to your apartment and starts rummaging through your stuff to find some clues as to what exactly caused you to do this.

He didn't have to look around too much because he found your phone and snooped through your messages. Someone was blackmailing you. They had some explicit pictures of you, seems like a toxic ex who was threatening to share these photos with your family and social circle.

So Dabi pays a visit to your ex, takes care of him and the pictures he had,making sure to get rid of all the copies too. All in a day!

By night he had returned to the hospital, you were asleep. He slept there too, in the uncomfortable hospital chair, heart at peace as he watched your chest rise and fall steadily.

Next morning, when it was time for you to leave, Dabi helped you and took you home. You thanked him for everything, and Dabi made sure to tell you that he'll be picking you up for lunch later. You agreed hesitantly. And at lunch, he finally revealed that he came to you because he wanted to ask you out.

You look surprised, more so when he reveals that he had fancied you for a while and that he understands that relationships might not be a priority for you at the moment but-

"I understand if dating is not a priority for you right now but if you ever do consider falling in love, know that I've been on the top of your wait list for the past 6 years and will wait another lifetime if that's all the time you need."

You're in tears at his words, and you have a hard time not breaking down as he takes your hands in his, his thumbs carefully tracing over your bandaged wrists as he promises to wait by your side, that he'll always be there to help you with anything, that if you gave him a chance, he'll spend the rest of his life trying to make you happy.

"Dabi, i- I am not good for you." You say, voice wobbly. "My past, it'll always haunt me and I care too much about you to let it haunt you as well."

"Your ex? His pictures?" He asked watching shock appear on your face. "You won't ever have to worry about him, Y/n."

You shook off your surprise. "That's not it. It's not the only problem I have!"

"Then tell me. I'll fix all of your problems." Dabi promises with such sincerity that you're compelled to believe him.

You don't tell him obviously, saying that it is your burden, your mess to deal with. Dabi doesn't push more, only because he knows he'll figure it out later anyways. Hey, he may be a criminal but he was once the son of the top hero who trained him, so Dabi's IQ is through the fucking roof.

And a man in love has no limitations.

Had a DUI? He deals with it. Parents disowned you? He'll make them regret it. Killed someone? He'll make sure you have an alibi to prove your innocence. Cheated off a test in grade 2? He'll make sure there are no witnesses alive. He'll burn the world- burn himself if it means keeping you warm.

You don't wanna date a criminal? Fine, he's working a cooperate job and since he's so smart, he'll be a fucking CEO in no time and have enough money and time to spend on you. Youre crying because you feel ugly when you see your scars? Dabi makes sure to kiss them every day and pulls out his turtleneck (aka the trademark Todoroki fit) for you, while he buys the best treatment money can buy for your scars. Mental health is going down? He's taking you to the best therapist in town. You're sad he's an atheist because it means you won't be with him in heaven? Damn, he's a convert now.

I just adore men in love :(

Okay but I don't think we're focusing on how scary smart Dabi actually is😳😳😳 I just know it, I KNOW he's super smart but he downplays it all the time because he's depressed or whatever.

[maximumqueer]

Sometimes I forget how emotionally constipated/immature Zoro is as a character, and then we get panels like this

that act as a stark reminder, that Zoro, for all of his strengths, is borderline incapable of processing any emotion (but especially emotion tied to a perceived failure or loss) in a healthy way.

Because while Zoro is a more stoic character, especially when compared to Luffy, being stoic does not equal not showing emotion, it just means being over all more reserved in reactions, or having the process of reacting to an emotional moment be internal rather than external. And this line from Zoro does not read as him being stoic, but rather as him lashing out over the perceived loss at Egghead, and directing that anger and pain at his captain who is reacting in an more outwardly emotional (and to be honest a more emotionally healthy) way. This does not come across to me a Zoro processing what happened in a more inward directed manner, but instead him being unable to process it (or unwilling to) and coping with that inability by being a bit of a dick.

And this isn't to say that I hate Zoro or think this is a bad character trait to have. The opposite really. I think it makes him all the more interesting, and also provides excellent contrast between him and Luffy. Because while it is fun to joke about Luffy and Zoro sharing a braincell, or being two halves of a whole idiot, they do have stark differences between them - emotional maturity (or lack there of on Zoro's part) being one of them. Luffy wears his heart on his sleave, is completely fine and capable of going through the process of acknowledging an emotion, allowing himself to feel the emotion, and allowing himself to cry if necessary, especially post-ts. Zoro, on the other hand, can't even admit out loud that Vegapunk dying was sad or could have any effect on the moral of the crew and his captain.

It honestly, in a strange way, reminds me of the way Luffy used to react to loss (losing his crew in Sabaody, losing Ace during Marineford). Because while the external reactions are vastly different - with Luffy crying and harming himself, and Zoro lashing out verbally - they both stem from the same thing. Denial. Luffy in those moments did not want to accept that his brother had died or that his crew was gone, and in this moment Zoro does not want to accept that they failed to rescue Vegapunk, or that he (in his own mind) failed to defeat Lucci. (But even when Luffy was struggling to accept the reality of losing his crew and brother, he was still allowing himself to feel, it just the way he went about expressing that emotion was actively harmful to himself - both mentally and physically. Zoro can't even seem to bring himself to express the emotions he's feeling, even in an unhealthy way.)

And while Luffy has grown and matured in this way, being able to process loss and the emotions that come with it in a healthier way, Zoro hasn't. At least, not yet. I'm not expecting him to be outwardly emotional like Luffy, but instead have him realize that allowing himself to feel emotions after loss does not make him weak or lesser of a person/fighter. I don't know if this is the direction Zoro will go as a character, but I personally think it would be interesting to see a more thorough break down of this aspect of Zoro, as it has been more heavily hinted at as of late.