m-a-d-e-l-e-i-n-e · 2 years ago
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Anyone else have that one band you used to love SO MUCH? You’d listen to them pretty much every day, always watched interviews/videos with the members, knew so many of their songs by heart, even learned a couple of their songs on an instrument or two. You still appreciate/like them and wish the best for them, but they’ve just gone in such a different musical direction for the past few years that it seems like they’ve pretty much forgotten their roots and you just can’t really get into it anymore. This post is about Waterparks
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deerlino · 5 months ago
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Hey hey hey
Can i please request producer!grumpy! Chan x producer! Sunshine! Reader? Enemies-to-lovers?? Like chan has a bad first impression on reader and doesn't like her but like they get put together for work and he falls in love?? Can you make it really fluffy and domestic at the end (like they're in a r/s and like they kiss and cuddle alot????)
thawing the ice.
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bang chan x fem!reader / at first, chan really didn’t like you and had a bad first impression of you. but then, you got teamed up for a project. spending time together changed everything, and he found himself falling for you.
additional tags / grumpy producer chan x sunshine producer reader (i mean… i tried. 😭), fluff, domestic fluff, forced proximity, mutual pining, workplace romance, love confessions, love-hate relationship, dislike to lovers — 1.5k words in total.
content warnings / kisses, smooches, and cuddles
authors notes @ anon / hey heyo anon <3, thanks for the awesome request! loved writing this. you asked for enemies to lovers, but the enemies part kinda fizzled out while i was writing—not my strongest trope, lol 😭 still, hope you enjoy it !! <3
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You glance at your watch, groaning internally. It’s barely eight in the morning and you’re already heading to the studio for another day of work. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that you were going to be working closely with Chan. Again.
It’s not that you dislike Chan. Honestly, how could you? He’s talented, driven, and ridiculously handsome. But from the moment you met him, he’s been nothing but cold and dismissive. It’s like he’s made it his mission to make your life difficult.
As you walk into the studio, you see him already there, his back to you as he fiddles with some equipment. You take a deep breath, plastering a smile on your face. “Morning, Chan!”
He doesn’t turn around. “Morning.”
You suppress a sigh. Another day, another brush-off.
You set your bag down and get to work, trying to ignore the icy atmosphere. The day drags on, the silence between you both filled with nothing but the hum of electronics and the occasional muttered curse from Chan.
Finally, after what feels like hours, you manage to get him to talk. “Hey, Chan, can you listen to this track? I think it needs something, but I can’t figure out what.”
He looks up, eyebrows raised. “You want my opinion?”
“Uh, yeah. You’re one of the best producers here,” you say, trying not to sound too sarcastic. He might be a jerk, but you still need his input.
He listens to the track, his expression unreadable. “It needs more bass. And the vocals are too soft. They need to be more upfront.”
You nod, making notes. “Got it. Thanks.”
The rest of the day goes by in much the same way, but you notice something strange. Every time you ask for his help, he gives it without complaint. And every now and then, you catch him watching you, a strange look in his eyes.
***
As the weeks go by, things start to change. It’s subtle at first. He starts offering his help without being asked. He brings you coffee in the mornings, saying it’s just because he’s getting one for himself anyway. He even starts making small talk.
One day, as you’re both working late, he surprises you. “Hey, do you want to grab some dinner after this?”
You blink, taken aback. “Uh, sure. That sounds great!”
You end up at a little diner, talking and laughing like old friends. It’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile, and it takes your breath away.
“You know,” he says, looking down at his plate, “I don’t actually hate you.”
You laugh, but it’s a little shaky. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He looks up, his eyes serious. “I’m... I’m not good at this. At feelings. I’ve liked you since the day we met, but I didn’t know how to act around you. I thought being distant would make it easier.”
Your heart skips a beat. “You like me?”
He nods, looking almost shy. “Yeah. A lot.”
You reach across the table, taking his hand. “I like you too, Chan. A lot.”
***
From that night on, things change even more. You’re not just coworkers anymore. You’re friends. And, slowly, you become something more.
There are late nights at the studio where he pulls you into his lap, kissing you softly as you work.
It’s nearly midnight, and you and Chan are the only ones left in the studio. The room is dimly lit, the glow from the computer screens casting a soft light over everything. You’re both exhausted, but there’s still work to be done. You’re hunched over your laptop, tweaking some last-minute details on a track, when you feel his presence behind you.
“Hey, take a break,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky from hours of talking and singing.
“I just need to finish this part,” you reply, not looking up. “Almost done.”
He sighs, but there’s a smile in his voice. “Alright, Miss Perfectionist.”
You hear him move around, and then suddenly, you’re being lifted out of your chair. “Chan!” you yelp, but he just laughs, pulling you into his lap as he sits back down.
“Relax,” he says, his arms wrapping around you. “You’ve been working too hard.”
You lean back against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. “I just want everything to be perfect.”
“I know,” he says, his lips brushing against your ear. “But you need to take care of yourself too.”
You tilt your head, looking up at him. “And what about you? You’ve been working just as hard.”
He grins, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I’m taking care of myself right now.”
You smile, your heart fluttering. “Okay, fine. Five-minute break.”
“Good,” he says, his lips trailing down your neck. “Because I need more of this.”
You close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of his lips on your skin, the warmth of his arms around you. In that moment, all the stress and exhaustion melts away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.
Then, there are lazy Sundays spent cuddling on the couch, watching movies and stealing kisses.
It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, and you’re both sprawled on the couch, watching a movie. Chan’s arm is draped over your shoulders, and your head rests against his chest. The movie is some cheesy rom-com, but neither of you are really paying attention. You’re too busy stealing kisses and laughing at each other’s jokes.
“Hey, pay attention,” you say, swatting his hand away as he tries to tickle you. “This is the best part.”
“Oh, really?” he teases, his fingers brushing against your side again. “What happens?”
You laugh, trying to squirm away. “Stop! You’ll see.”
He grins, finally relenting. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.”
You settle back against him, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek. It’s moments like this that make everything worth it. The late nights, the long hours, all of it. Because at the end of the day, you have this. You have him.
“You know,” he says suddenly, his voice soft, “I could get used to this.”
You look up at him, surprised. “What, lazy Sundays?”
He shakes his head, his eyes serious. “No. Us. Being together like this.”
Your heart skips a beat. “Me too.”
He smiles, leaning down to kiss you. It’s slow and sweet, full of all the things he can’t put into words. And you know, without a doubt, that you feel the same way.
Then, there are also mornings where you wake up tangled together, his arms around you and his breath warm against your neck.
The first rays of sunlight are just starting to filter through the curtains when you wake up. You’re tangled in the sheets, Chan’s arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against your neck. You can feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, his body a comforting weight against yours.
You turn your head slightly, just enough to see his face. He looks so peaceful, so different from the grumpy, guarded man you met months ago. You reach up, brushing a strand of hair away from his face, and he stirs, his eyes slowly opening.
“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.
“Morning,” you reply, smiling. “Sleep well?”
He nods, pulling you closer. “Always do when you’re here.”
You feel your heart swell at his words. “You’re sweet, you know that?”
He chuckles, his lips brushing against your shoulder. “Only for you.”
You laugh, rolling over to face him. “Lucky me.”
“Yeah,” he says, his eyes soft as they meet yours. “Lucky me.”
You lean in, kissing him softly. It’s a slow, lingering kiss, the kind that makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest.
“I love you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.
You smile, your heart feeling like it might burst. “I love you too.”
And as you lie there, wrapped up in each other, you know that this is where you’re meant to be. With him. Always.
***
One evening, as you’re sitting on a bench at the park together, he turns to you, his expression serious. “You know, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. You make me want to be better. For you.”
You smile, your heart swelling. “You already are, Chan. You always have been.”
He kisses you, and it’s slow and sweet, full of all the things he’s never been able to say. And you know, without a doubt, that he loves you.
As the months go by, you can see the change in him. He’s still grumpy and a little rough around the edges, but there’s a softness to him now, a warmth that wasn’t there before. And you know that, no matter what, you’ll always have each other.
One night, as you’re both lying in bed, you turn to him, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “Hey, Chan?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we ended up working together. Even if you were a jerk at first.”
He chuckles, pulling you closer. “Me too. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For being a jerk.”
You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You’re forgiven. Just... keep being you. That’s all I need.”
And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you know that you’ve found something special. Something real. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
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© deerlino (est. 090624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3
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chuuyasheaven · 1 year ago
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bsd men as tits ass or thighs pls :3?? (specifically meursault boys)
“Tits, Ass or Thighs— What do they prefer?”
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“—Everybody’s got certain preferences, don’t they? So, what are theirs?”
Tags: Dazai Osamu, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Chuuya Nakahara, Sigma / afab! Reader, Nipple play?, ooc! Sigma, praising kink, degrading kink, overstimulation, pet names?, hdc format ig, thigh riding?, hickeys, mentioned lingerie?, spanking, mild brat taming, atp everyone may be ooc, face sitting, oral sex (afab! and m! recieving), titty job, messes of their milk, might contain grammar errors, this is a lot holy shit, etc.
Notes: Maybe u just meant Dazai, Fyodor and Chuuya but I added Nikolai and Sigma for funsies— hope this is okay tho!! And I never wrote for Sigma before so sorry if he’s so ooc. . Maybe he’s gonna be added to my list lol.
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Dazai Osamu ;
💙 Thighs 💙
💙 I just know that he loves your thighs!! In my opinion, DAZAI lives for seeing you in thigh highs, especially if you have thick thighs. What do you mean you don’t wanna crush him with them??? What else are they made for then— oh, right, hickeys. It’s obvious that he’ll leave some marks here and there for fun, but another thing he lives about them is face sitting. This is literally the best way to die?!!? But also he lives to grab your thighs when he eats you out!!!
💙 Scenario;
He’s been at it for too long, you don’t even remember how many times you came already. . “Dazai, p–please. . S–sensitive!”, you tried to beg, but Dazai was way into this— Once you sit on this mans face, he won’t let go until your too sensitive, Dazai also always leave hickeys while he’s at it. Chanting how he would love to die this way, being crushed by your massive thighs. “—Why should I? You’re still talking properly, I won’t stop until you’re only able to moan my name. Now be a good girl, alright, ‘donna?”
Fyodor Dostoevsky ;
💙 Thighs 💙
💙 In all honesty, this man is a mystery for me– but if I would have to chose, thighs. FYODOR is kinda religious and stuff, meaning he’s definitely gonna be kinda traditional. (i do not know wtf I’m talking abt.) Fyodor doesn’t know what it is, but something about you in white lingerie and white thigh highs sets him off completely. Looking all innocent but being the complete opposite? Yes, absolute approval from him. But being the busy man he is, he’ll let you sit on his lap while he caresses your thighs!! :3
💙 Scenario ;
Seriously, how desperate are you? Walking up to Fyodor in white lingerie and white thigh highs while he’s obviously working? He finds it quite amusing how you think he’ll stop immediately to fuck you, no he won’t, yet. Fyodor just commands you to sit on his lap, now you’re getting off on his own thighs. But you’re still wearing panties, though he doesn’t care, you wanted this, didn’t you? As you keep grinding against it, he slapped your pussy through the fabric multiple times before. The small whines and whimpers are cute, but won’t change his mind to take you right now. “—I don’t really know what you expected me to do. . Well, actually, i did. It’s quite adorable how you think just because you’re desperate I’ll feed into your desires. Anyway, you seem to be getting off pretty easily, slut.”
Nikolai Gogol ;
💙 Tits 💙
Come on, this is so NIKOLAI, seriously. He's so silly, he would literally call them his personal stressballs. (Do not even try to deny it, it's canon.) Nonetheless, he likes to cum on them, Nikolai will make a mess out of them every time whenever you're giving him head. Another thing their useful for, in his opinion, is tit fucking!! It's a nice feeling for him when his dick's inside of your tits. Not to forget, your nipples are pretty fun to play with, but there's one last thing about them. .
💙 Scenario ;
There are many reasons why Nikolai adores you riding him! He loves how he barely has to do anything, hearing the adorable sounds leaving your mouth while you get off on his cock and most importantly, the way your tits bounce with you. All he's doing is laying back and enjoying the view of your tits almost bouncing out of your bra, he would love if they were to actually jump out. “—Hm, would you look at that! Your tits are seconds away to spill out of your bra, dove. I wouldn't mind if they did, maybe you just need to ride my dick faster. . Just like the needy whore you are.”
Sigma ;
💙 Tits 💙
I’m not really sure if it’s accurate, but running an casino ain’t easy. So what’s better than having you and your comfort. .—able tits? SIGMA would never admit it, but he loves them, dearly at that. If he ever needs an break, his head would probably rest on them. On the spicy side, he loves a good tit job. You mentioned this once and Sigma wasn’t against it, sure he was blushing over your suggestion but after he tried it, he loved it!!!
💙 Scenario ;
It felt good, really, Sigma loved your suggestion! He never thought of something like this, he never thought about recieving a tit job, but it felt heavenly. Just the way your tits were rubbing against his cock so good, it felt unreal. . The most beautiful whimpers left his lips, with his flushed expression on his face too, you assumed Sigma was enjoying himself, very. Soon he reached his climax, letting his cum leak on your tits. “—F–fuck. . You did s–so good, darling. Now, lay back and let me return the favor, yeah?”
Chuuya Nakahara ;
💙 Ass 💙
Ah, yes. CHUUYA is, in my opinion, an ass man. I saw a few people say that, and I agree. Like, he’s literally proud of that. He would slap your ass unexpected, respectfully though. He wouldn’t care if you’re carrying a bakery or not, he still slapping it!! Chuuya loves to spend money on matching bras and panties for you, but on your in general. Sometimes it gets to your head or something and you start to act out, which our ginger won’t let slide.
💙 Scenario ;
Lately, you’ve gotten on Chuuya’s nerves. Yeah, he loves to spend money on you and you, but he won’t stand you being bratty. As to right now, he’s ‘punishing’ you for it. The reference for ‘punishing’ is quite just fucking you until it’s stuck in your pretty little brain not to act out again. This time though, Chuuya added something to your punishment. . “Ch–chuuya. . ‘m sorry, I–i didn’t mean to—”, you tried to apologize, only to be silenced by another spank. “—Really? Too bad, you’re gonna take this if you want me to fuck you, baby. Just keep on taking f’me and I’ll fuck you soon enough, m‘kay?”
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OH EM GEE YOU GUYS IT TOOK ME THREE DAYS TO FINISH
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edenavari · 9 months ago
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On the Matter of Mirrors
Eddie is still trying to convince Steve he and Nancy are made for each other. It comes up, like, everytime they hang out, which is all the time, because Steve couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he also wishes Eddie would quit trying to set him up with someone else. 
‘Cause, like, here’s the thing. Steve likes girls. He also, he realized sometime after Robin came out to him, quite likes boys. He likes Eddie. Like… Really likes him. Practices pick-up lines in front of the mirror kind of like. Wears a little more black and tousles his hair just right to give himself a subversive edge he never used to have, just the right amount to trigger a subconscious response without appearing to be tweaking his fashion sense at all. Has mastered the art of wearing eyeliner without looking like he’s wearing it, and it took him a fucking while to work up the nerve to go out like that, not that anyone but Robin noticed. 
But Eddie just will not drop the Nancy case, no matter how many times Steve tries to stir the conversation away from her, and between his budding crush and the crushing fear that it’s never gonna be anything but one-sided, between the slightest of sore spots Steve still sports about the way things with Nancy ended in the first place and the bitter edge of never managing for something to start with Eddie after weeks of efforts, it’s beginning to grate, right? 
“So what’s the problem?” Eddie insists, bounding circles around Steve like an eager puppy, and something in Steve’s ribcage snaps. 
They’re in Steve’s room studying when it comes up once a-fucking-gain. Eddie is taking accelerated summer classes so he can finally graduate by September, and by some inexplicable fuckery of fate, despite Steve’s own dirt poor records, he’s turning out to be a decent tutor. Something about Eddie managing to focus in a way a classroom environment never allowed him to. Maybe because most teachers and over half the student body were openly hostile at worst and aggressively ignoring Eddie at best, all because of his last name or his tattoos or his loud brassy cheek.
All the same, Eddie does get distracted fairly easily, and an hour in, he’s bounced off the bed and started rattling reasons Nancy Wheeler is definitely Steve Harrington’s soulmate. Steve groans noncommittally, gets up to grab his water from the desk and takes a long swallow as Eddie keeps needling him. 
“You’re the problem, Eddie,” he all but snarls, when he really meant it to come out exasperated at worst.
He snarls, though, and Eddie stiffens, his eyes going cold and hurt and the corner of his mouth turned down in anger. 
“Right,” he says, and it sounds so casual Steve thinks he won’t make a big deal of his tone after all. Fool’s hope. “I’ll get out of your perfect hair, then,” Eddie spits out as he makes for the door, only Steve stands in his way, hands up in surrender. 
“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts. 
“No, you’re right, it’s none of my business,” Eddie interrupts, but he steps back, gesturing wildly as he speaks. “It’s not like we’re even friends, you just got saddled with me because of Dustin. We saved the world together? Big deal! My involvement was incidental, really, more of an inconvenience than any kind of help. Why would you want my opinion, of all people’s, right? Even by this point. Get out of my way, I’ll quit stepping on your toes. Go on!”
“I don’t want you to go, Eddie,” Steve tries again. 
“Just want me to shut up, is that it? Not really my strong suit, you might have noticed.”
Steve can’t help smiling. “I have noticed.”
It only seems to rile Eddie up even more, throwing his hands out and making to step around Steve again. “Man, what do you want from me?”
“Is this allowed?” he breathes out, extending the last word beyond its scope. 
Which puts him within reaching distance of Steve, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses him, careful not to jostle him too bad but firm enough to counter his manic strength, against the wall. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just presses a touch too close, lets himself imagine that he’s going to close the distance entirely, cocks his head and licks his lips and hangs there in a way he hopes spells it out for Eddie without inducing any kind of panic. 
Eddie, hands still up at shoulder height, lets out a little huff close to a whimper when his back hits the wall, bracing himself for a hit that would never come, and maybe some part of him knows this, because he doesn’t look scared or angry anymore, just kind of confused with a side of grief, and it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start to look intrigued, maybe even, if Steve allows himself a little optimism, interested. 
His lips part on a sharp inhale, and they’re close enough to smell each other’s skin, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, a little watery and out of focus, edging forward in a way that could just be a twitch, just a consequence of holding his breath the way he is, plausibly deniable, subconscious no doubt, only when Steve mirrors the movement, he does it again, gaze moving up and down from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back and back again without blinking, until twitch by twitch their noses graze and their mouths connect and Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on maintaining that seal over Eddie’s plush, pliable pout, because if he didn’t focus, he’d be way, way overeager for a first kiss. 
He moves back after several seconds with a shaky exhale, swallows as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. His blood is thrumming in his fingertips, somehow he feels both cold between his shoulder blades and warm down to his toes, and if Eddie looks at all put out he thinks he might never manage another mirror in his life. 
The look on Eddie’s face is pure disbelief. 
Steve shrugs, not quite settled on the matter of mirrors. “I thought you made a point of breaking the rules?”
A glint starts to wake in Eddie’s eye that’s looking more delighted by the minute. 
“Just as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“We’re in the clear, then,” Steve whispers, leaning in, just a smidge. 
Both of Eddie’s hands sink into his hair as he pulls him into another, much steamier, kiss. Steve lets his fists fall from Eddie’s lapels and knot over his back instead, lets his mouth drop slightly open, an invitation Eddie wastes not a second to follow through on, teeth scraping and back arching like he wants to sink all the way into Steve, and by the time they’re parting, breathless, cheeks flushed, mouths stinging, Steve’s one hand is braced against the wall, holding himself up, knees too weak to do the job on their own. 
“I thought you could barely stand me,” Eddie heaves.
“I can’t,” Steve admits. “You drive me nuts. Just not how you thought.”
Eddie frowns, suddenly serious. 
“You should forget all about Nancy.”
Steve frowns too. “That so?”
“Hm-mm. She’s taken, man. And not all that. You need to move on.”
“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Am I being desperate?”
“Pathetic,” Eddie nods, barely a whisper against Steve’s lips, and they break into smiles in tandem. “Forget all about her,” Eddie repeats. 
“Who?” Is the last word Steve gets out. Then he’s busy enough he really does forget. 
When he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, he walks away with a wink.
Give us a kudos, if ye dare x
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amirasainz · 2 months ago
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Hey love the leclerc sister ❤️ can you do maybe that we won in monza her reaction and the family reaction please ?
Hiii guys. I hope you enjoy reading this and thank you soo much for all the support. I promise, I'll try to write the other requests as soon as possible. However, I currently find it easier to write Leclerc!sister stories. So if you have some ideas, my requests are open for them. (they are open for all ideas.
Btw, I'm so happy that Charles won. He is literally my favourite driver. However, I'm very unhappy with the way Lando is currently acting (it's just my opinion, please respect that)
Enjoy reading!!!
-XoXo
He won in Monaco, he wins in Monza
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One of the interviewers, addressing Charles who was seated alongside Lewis and Nico in the media room, asked, “A question for Charles. I hope I’m not being disrespectful with this question, but it is about your little sister. Why is Monza her first race appearance and not Monaco, and why did it take so long for her to attend a race weekend?”
It was Thursday, and the only topic on everyone’s lips was the attendance of YN Caroline Pascale Florence Leclerc. When the Leclerc family entered the paddock today, the sight of the young Monegasque girl walking between her older brothers not only surprised the fans but also caught the media’s attention, as it was her first-ever Formula 1 appearance.
Charles responded to the first part of the question with a smile, "Ah, yes. I’ve been asked that a lot today. Well, it’s actually quite simple. My sister wasn’t in Monaco to see the race in person because she was at home with our grandmother, watching the race together. Since the start of my Formula 1 career, my sister and grandmother have always watched the races together at my grandmother’s home. There are a couple of reasons for this tradition: 1. My sister was too young to attend the paddock a few years ago. With all the media and fans, it would have been quite overwhelming for her. 2. My grandmother isn’t very healthy anymore, so it’s easier for her to stay at home, where it’s cooler, and she can relax in peace. So, this has become their Monaco Race tradition, and I wouldn’t want to ruin that just because people are wondering where YN is."
Before Charles could address the second part of the question, Lewis interjected, preventing the reporters from probing further. “That is a really sweet tradition. And Charles is right. Why should he ruin a family tradition, or in this case, a grandmother-granddaughter tradition, just because the fans and media think YN must attend the Grand Prix in person? From the sounds of it, all parties seem happy with how things are.”
Nico, who had been listening intently, nodded in agreement and added, “Absolutely. Family traditions are important, and it’s heartwarming to hear about the bond between your sister and grandmother. It’s not always about being physically present at the races; it’s about the shared experience and the memories they create together.”
Charles smiled thankfully at Lewis and Nico before agreeing with them. “Yeah, everyone is happy with how things are, and it doesn’t matter because, in the end, we always have a nice big family dinner with everyone. For the second part of your question about why it took so long for my sister to make an appearance, there is also a simple answer. My sister recently turned 18 years old, meaning she now counts as an adult. However, when I started in Formula 1, she was only 12 years old, meaning she was a little girl. My family and I had a long talk about this when I first started racing, and none of us felt comfortable with the thought of her getting swarmed by the media or fans at such a young age. We wanted her to be able to go to school or meet up with friends without getting photographed all the time. As some of you might have seen, I only posted pictures of my sister where her face was covered up just for privacy. But now she is 18 years old, she made the decision to attend this weekend, so I’ll respect that. However, I still ask everybody to not swarm her and leave her as much privacy as possible. She is here to watch the race and not to be the new art piece for social media."
With the strong words from the Ferrari driver, the media stopped asking questions about the youngest Leclerc, making her brother's life a bit easier this weekend.
_______________________________________________
The next few days passed quickly and YN enjoyed every minute with it. Not only was the young girl able to see her brothers all of the time, but everybody was also so nice to her. AT the Ferrari garage, the mechanics always greeted her and answered all her questions. The other team members were always quick to inform YN about the newest paddock Gossip over some watermelon and strawberry gelato. Carlos, her brothers team mate, told her all of Charles embarrassing stories, making her laugh till she cried. And the best part for her was, that her family was always there as well. And before she could even blink, it was finally race day.
The air was electric at the Autodromo Nazionale Monza, where the excitement of the Formula 1 race filled the atmosphere with palpable energy. YN, a bright-eyed girl with a heart full of enthusiasm, stood between her two older brothers, Arthur and Lorenzo. The three of them wore matching Ferrari shirts, their faces painted with the iconic red logo.
“Can you believe we’re finally here?” YN exclaimed, her eyes sparkling as she took in the sprawling racetrack and the roaring engines.
“I know! It’s incredible!” Arthur replied, grinning broadly. He ruffled her hair affectionately. “You’re going to love this, YN. Just wait until the race starts!”
Lorenzo leaned in closer, his voice a mix of excitement and pride. “And just think, you’re going to see Charles out there racing! This is his second home track!”
YN's eyes widened with joy. “I can’t wait! I’ve watched him on TV, but seeing him in person is going to be amazing!”
As the cars lined up on the starting grid, the atmosphere thickened with anticipation. The siblings exchanged glances, feeling the thrill of the moment. Suddenly, the crowd erupted into cheers as the drivers took their positions, and YN jumped up and down.
“Look! There he is!” YN pointed excitedly as Charles, her older brother, appeared on the screen, adjusting his helmet and climbing into his Ferrari.
“Go, Charles!” Arthur shouted, pumping his fist in the air. Lorenzo joined in, his voice booming, “You’ve got this, Charles! Show them what you’re made of!”
With the race about to begin, YN felt a flutter of nerves mixed with excitement. “What if he sees us?” she asked, her voice a mixture of hope and anxiety.
“He will! He always looks for us,” Lorenzo assured her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “And he’ll be so happy to see you here for your first race!”
The lights turned green, and the cars shot off the line, the sound of engines roaring like a symphony of speed. YN’s eyes were glued to the track, her heart racing in rhythm with the cars as they sped by. “This is so fast! Look at them go!” she shouted, her excitement contagious.
As the laps progressed, the tension in the air grew. YN cheered for Charles, her small voice echoing through the grandstands. “Come on, Charles! You can do it!”
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the race came to an end, and Charles crossed the finish line in a spectacular first place. The crowd erupted in applause, and YN jumped up, beaming. “He did it! He did it!”
Arthur and Lorenzo hugged her tightly. “He’s amazing!” Lorenzo exclaimed, his voice barely able to contain his excitement. “I’m so proud of him!”
As the drivers began to celebrate, YN spotted Charles climbing out of his car, his face lit up with joy. He scanned the crowd, and when his eyes landed on his family, his smile widened even more. “I see them!” he shouted, pointing towards them.
“Charles!” YN screamed, waving her arms wildly.
Charles jogged over to the barrier, his heart swelling with happiness as he spotted his little sister. “YN! Did you enjoy the race?” he called out, leaning over the fence to get a better look at her.
“Of course I did! I loved it! You were amazing!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Did you really? I’m so glad you’re here!” Charles leaned closer, his eyes shining with pride. “You were cheering so loud! I could hear you!”
“Really?” YN’s eyes widened in disbelief, and she giggled. “I was so nervous! But it was the best day ever!”
Arthur chimed in, “You should’ve seen her, Charles. She was a little ball of energy the whole time!”
“YN, you’re my lucky charm!” Charles laughed, ruffling her hair. “I need you at every race now!”
“I will! I promise!” she giggled back, feeling like the happiest girl in the world.
Lorenzo grinned at his brothers. “You should be proud. You raced well, Charles. You’re amazing out there!”
“Thanks, man. It means a lot,” Charles replied, his voice filled with gratitude. “But the real highlight was seeing YN here. I can’t believe it’s her first time!”
Just then, the crowd roared with applause as Charles’s fellow drivers approached, congratulating him. He turned back to YN, “Let’s take a picture! I want to remember this moment!”
“Yes! Let’s do it!” YN squealed, and the three brothers gathered around her, arms wrapped tightly.
With the sun setting behind them, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, they posed for a picture. Charles held YN close, a protective arm around her shoulders, while Arthur and Lorenzo beamed with pride.
“Say Ferrari!” Charles instructed, and they all shouted in unison, “Ferrari!”
As they snapped the picture, YN felt a warmth in her heart, knowing that this day would be etched in her memory forever. “I can’t wait for the next race!” she declared, looking up at her brothers.
“Neither can we,” Arthur said, pulling her in for another hug. “We’ll make sure you’re at every race!”
“Absolutely,” Lorenzo added, a grin plastered on his face. “You’re part of the team now, YN!”
Charles smiled down at his little sister, feeling grateful for the love and support of his family. “I’m so lucky to have you all here. This was the best race ever.”
As the excitement of the race began to settle, YN, Arthur, and Lorenzo found a cozy spot near the track where they could watch the celebration unfold. The atmosphere was alive with the sounds of laughter, cheers, and the roar of the fans.
“Look at them!” YN pointed to Charles, who was now surrounded by teammates and fans. He was smiling from ear to ear, clearly reveling in the joy of the moment. “He looks so happy!”
“He is happy,” Arthur replied, leaning back against the railing. “It’s not just about the race; it’s about sharing it with the people you love.”
“Yeah, and he knows we’re here cheering him on,” Lorenzo added, a proud grin on his face. “He’s always been a family guy.”
YN beamed, her heart swelling with pride. “I can’t believe I got to see him race in person. It was so cool!“
As the celebrations continued, YN’s attention was suddenly caught by a group of fans waving banners and holding up signs. “Look over there! They have a sign for Charles!” she exclaimed, pointing excitedly.
“Let’s go check it out!” Arthur suggested, and they made their way through the crowd, YN leading the charge.
When they reached the group, they encountered a colorful banner that read, “Charles Leclerc, our champion!” YN’s eyes sparkled with admiration.
“Can I hold it?” she asked, her voice filled with eagerness.
“Of course! Here you go!” one of the fans replied, handing the banner to her. YN beamed with joy as she held it high above her head.
“Charles! Over here!” she shouted, waving the banner enthusiastically.
Charles turned, catching sight of his little sister holding the sign, and his heart swelled with affection. “YN! That’s amazing!” he called back, flashing her a thumbs-up.
“Look, he sees us!” Lorenzo said, his excitement contagious.
“Let’s take another picture!” Arthur suggested, pulling out his phone.
As they posed with the banner, YN felt a surge of happiness. This was a moment she would cherish forever. After snapping a few pictures, they decided to head back to the main area where the podium ceremony was about to take place.
“YN, you’re going to love this part!” Lorenzo said, guiding her through the crowd. “This is where the drivers get their trophies.”
As they settled into a spot with a great view of the podium, YN couldn’t contain her excitement. “I can’t wait to see Charles get his trophy!”
When the drivers were finally called up to the podium, the crowd erupted into cheers. Charles stood proudly on the first-place step, his trophy gleaming in the sunlight. YN clapped and cheered along with her older brothers.
Charles looked down at his family, and his smile only grew wider. He raised the trophy high above his head, and the crowd roared in response.
After the ceremony, Charles made his way through the crowd toward his family, still clutching the trophy. “You guys are the best! Thank you for being here!” he exclaimed, enveloping YN in a warm embrace.
“I’m so proud of you, Charles!” YN squeaked, her face lighting up with adoration. “You were so fast!”
“Thanks, little sis! It means the world to me that you came to support me,” he replied, tousling her hair again. “I hope you enjoyed it.”
“I loved it!” she said, her eyes glistening. “Can we come to every race now?”
“Absolutely! We’ll make it a tradition,” Charles promised, exchanging a knowing glance with Arthur and Lorenzo, who nodded in agreement.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, the siblings gathered for one last photograph together. Charles held the trophy aloft, with YN standing proudly beside him, a huge grin plastered on her face.
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nereidprinc3ss · 8 months ago
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okay i know this is kind of a specific request but can you do something with professor Spence and uni reader where they get into a spat and argue bc she did something stupid and he gets mad and she’s like “noooo pls don’t be mad i hate when you’re mad at me I’m sorry🥺” bc she literally cannot function knowing she let him down (me with everybody) but he’s like super stubborn and goes all closed up and quiet so that he doesn’t like blow up on her until she finally says like “pls talk to me” and he’s all pissed and like “hell na bitch u crazy!🗣️‼️” but then later he’s like “it’s ok i love u but neva do that shit again ho” then they make up and it’s good again 🎀 ok i explained that so poorly (and comedically if i may) but i hope u get it and pls make it SO DRAMATIC bc I live for drama! like she steals test answers or something or does something that could like get her kicked out of school OR him lose his job 🤔 sigh … idk I’m leaving now. Also i LOOPOOOCE ORRKGOOVI love your fics. Luv em
hey girl (gender neutral) this made me laugh bc genuinely sometimes i write spencer so ooc that is what he sounds like. and i'm not sorry! anyway this is potentially a vyvanse fueled nightmare but i wrote it and i'm posting it MY BLOG MY RULES BITCHESSSS!!!! but genuinely read the content warning LMAO this one got a lil kick to it
warnings/tags: ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, fem!reader, spencer and r get into a for real argument like they're mean to each other, spencer is a lil toxic but its resolved, emotionally neglects reader just for a teeensy second but then he's really nice and sweet again, discussion of his past addic+ion, gets fluffy because i'm not EVIL, gets suggestive at the end bc i am secretly evil.......
a/n: i don't know whats happening. this confuses me just as much as it confuses you. its 3 am in the morning. im gonna post nice happy things soon. Gootbye
“I cannot believe you right now. I don’t even—I don’t even know what to say.” 
“Spencer, you don’t have to say anything. It has nothing to do with you, and I’m not looking for your approval.” 
He looks up from where he’d been rubbing his temples, like you’re a headache, eyebrows raised and lips parted in indignant disbelief. 
“Oh! You’re not looking for my approval? Well thank god for that, because if you were one of my students I would recommend expulsion to the board.” 
“Are you fucking kidding me? I just said I don’t care about your opinion on this, much less your hypothetical opinion from some alternate universe where you have any authority over my education whatsoever.” 
“You distributed an answer key to half of your class! Objectively this is the kind of thing that gets people expelled. I don’t understand how someone so smart could do something so fucking stupid.” 
The words bite more than you were prepared for—but what hurts even more is how much he seems to mean them. In arguments past you’d both said things you didn’t mean, and then would immediately melt into I’m so sorry’s and the fight would resolve itself. Spencer’s clenched jaw and inability to make eye contact with you do not lend themselves to tender apologies. They cannot be attributed to miscommunication. 
You take a step closer to where he’s bracing himself against the countertop, arms crossed defensively in front of your chest. 
“Spencer, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. People cheat in college all the time.” 
Still no reply. His head shakes so minutely you wonder if you’re imagining it. Panic wells in your chest. 
“Please talk to me. I really hate when you ice me out. I’m sorry, okay? Just... please say something.” 
Finally, his eyes slide to you. They lack the fiery anger of moments ago but there’s not much softness there either. His normally warm gaze now feels too abrasive, too cold and sharp on your bare skin. You're exposed, much too soft for that grating look, and it feels like he can see everything that’s wrong with you. 
“Believe me when I tell you this. I am doing us both a favor by not speaking to you right now.” 
And then he’s leaving the kitchen—nothing but a breeze against your cheek and the sound of a door slamming to prove he was ever there. 
The apartment is silent. You stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. Spencer very, very rarely gets angry at you to the point of neglect, and you know he’s doing his best with what was modelled for him as a child and his tendency to feel things so deeply it’s nearly disabling; but that doesn’t make it hurt much less. It doesn’t make you feel less abandoned or alone.  
You’re sad, and you’re still pissed, and maybe you’re in just a bit of shock as you robotically move back to your nest of blankets on the couch and resume your schoolwork. What else is there to do? Unless Spencer is right—unless you really are about to get expelled after getting the answer key for an upcoming test from a friend, who then gave it to another friend, and so on. But is that really your fault?  
It’s a struggle to stay focused as your mind keeps drifting back to Spencer in the other room, those cruel words and that cold steely look in his eye that isn’t supposed to ever be aimed at you. It’s not a secret that side of him exists, but it doesn’t belong in this apartment. It’s not something he needs to use against you. He’s supposed to be on your side. But instead, he’d said you should be expelled and essentially called you stupid. And now you’re doing homework for a class at a school you may not even be a student of come Monday. 
---------------------------------------------------
The sound of the office door opening forty-five minutes later spikes your blood pressure and simultaneously makes your heart flutter, because no matter how mad at him you might be, Spencer is still Spencer.  
He comes to stand behind the couch quietly, but you don’t acknowledge him. Maybe your typing gets a bit more aggressive, but aside from that you flat out reject his presence. 
“Can we talk?” 
You let him sweat for a minute as you finish your paragraph. 
“I don’t know, Spencer. Can we? Or are you not done with your temper tantrum?” 
“That is... well deserved,” he sighs, rounding the couch and tapping the bottom of your foot, signaling that he wants you to move your legs. You despise how automatically you comply, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid touching him as he sits next to you. There’s a long moment of silence, in which you resume typing. Spencer scoffs, leaning in slightly to peer at your screen. “Are you doing homework right now? I’m a complete asshole to you and you just... do your homework?"
“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” you almost-yell, slamming your laptop shut and blinking away potential tears. “The only person I wanted to talk to called me stupid and fucking left!” 
The tears realize their potential once you admit the blunt truth. 
Spencer carefully moves your laptop and pulls you into his arms—and you just let him. There’s not much fight left in you. There wasn’t a lot to begin with. 
“I am so sorry, angel. You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have said what I said, I shouldn’t have walked away. I overreacted.” 
“Yeah, you really did,” you cry, allowing him to run his hand over your hair. “Why did you do that? Why were you so fucking mean?” 
His voice shakes slightly as he responds, betraying his own anxieties, and a new, unwelcome sense of trepidation slithers through your veins. 
“I was wondering that, too. Even as I was saying it, I knew—I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to be saying. And then I was in the other room and I wanted to be out here, and I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t. But I think I was just scared. Which—I know, doesn’t really make sense, but... I think about when Ethan dropped out of the academy, and ended up doing heroin in New Orleans for three years, and I think about when I almost left the BAU because I was so convinced I’d never get clean that I didn’t even want to anymore, and—and the idea of you losing your education and your direction like that terrified me, probably unreasonably, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.” 
“But I’m not like you or Ethan. You don’t have to worry about that. Even if I... even I do get in some sort of disciplinary trouble. That’s a road you don’t have to worry about me going down, ever.” 
He fixes some unseen wrinkle on your shirt.  
“Yeah, but, remember... I used to not be like me or Ethan either. Do you think twelve-year-old Spencer would have ever even considered that of the infinite realities and universes which exist, he was living in one where someday he’d be shooting up in the bathroom at work?” 
“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head and burying your face in Spencer’s shoulder. The sound is more of a plea for him to be less descriptive than an answer to his rhetorical question. It’s still much easier for him to talk about that part of his life than it is for you to have to actually imagine it. You didn’t know him then, but you’ve seen pictures, and you know Spencer now, and it’s... it’s just too much. Too sad. 
“Okay,” he agrees soothingly, still playing with your hair. “I digress. My point is that literally anything is possible, and while it’s not necessarily likely, I more than anyone know that anxiety even over the most improbable of things is never completely unfounded.”  
You sniffle in response, too emotionally and physically exhausted to contribute much to the conversation by this point. Thankfully, Spencer can talk for two. An idiosyncrasy which you love and comes in handy every once in a while. He can play his own devil’s advocate; in this case, you. 
“But that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you. Ever. I truly, truly, sincerely apologize for that. I never want to hurt you.” 
You let the apology sink into your skin like a salve, soothing every abrasion those earlier words had left in their violent wake. 
After a few minutes, you find the energy to ask a question that might best remain unanswered. 
“Are you still mad at me?” 
He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly contemplative as his fingers trace abstract patterns in a language all his own on your arm. 
“I’m not thrilled. But you were right earlier. It’s not my place to be mad at you for something like that.” 
“Mm... it’s a little bit your place. You’re an actual professor.” 
He chuckles. 
“At an entirely different university.” 
“Thank god,” you laugh. “You and me at the same school would be such an HR clusterfuck.”
While it’s almost a serious matter, the smile in his voice is evident. 
“Yeah... I, uh... try not to think about it.” 
“Okay, but seriously. In your professional opinion. Am I fucked? Like, do I need to prepare an appeal and character witnesses or whatever?” 
Spencer sighs. 
“It was incredibly reckless and irresponsible. You should be ready for disciplinary pushback from the schoolboard if you get caught. That being said... because over sixty of you got a hold of the answer key, I doubt anyone is getting expelled, and even if they did, it would likely only be the TA and the student he gave the key to. It’s my tentative, professional opinion that you’ll probably be fine.” 
You relax slightly, allowing a tension you didn’t realize was there to shed like an old skin. 
“I’m not gonna cheat again,” you promise on an exhale. It’s simply too much risk for too little reward.
Spencer’s response is quiet, and comes much faster than you’d expected. 
“Oh, I know you aren’t. Because if you do, you’re going to have to worry about disciplinary action from me. And I’m not nearly as nice as the dean of your school, darling girl.” 
But something about the way he says it—a thinly veiled threat/promise contrasted by a sweet kiss to your forehead—doesn’t exactly make academic honesty look all that exciting.
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astrologuzzy · 1 year ago
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✿ MORE ASTRO OBSERVASHUNS ✿
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I’m back to spill more astrology observations, lessgetit!!! ˃̵ᴗ˂̵
Also, quick reminder that these are just MY observations and opinions I’ve gathered, so take what resonates and leave what doesn’t! mwahhh 😽💋
☆ 𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 seem to really like physical displays of affection very much. Every Gemini I knew always loved giving hugs specifically lol. They may enjoy physical touch as a love language.
★ I often notice how 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 aren’t scared to give their opinions no matter how controversial they may be. They don’t care if people agree, if they truly believe in it then they will share it and whoever disagrees can kiss their own ass. Which can seem intimidating to many especially with how much intensity and passion Scorpio brings to the table.
☆ I find it so easy to spot someone with 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒. You guys give a very mellow and grounded energy that is very specific to Earth signs. Y’all have that signature down to earth presence or a very firm/calm tone of voice that I recognize instantly even thru text lol.
★ Everyone wants to call Leos the most “cocky” sign but have y’all seen 𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈? They’re the real culprit here lol. These guys are number one fans of themselves (do I even need to make examples lol) and I respect it tbh.
☆ Speaking of 𝐋𝐄𝐎, they love to just disappear for like days or weeks straight out of absolutely nowhere and then come back like nothing happened and resume from where they left off. Like sir, are you not gonna explain why you just ghosted everybody? Lol like are you gonna explain where you was? (double points if that Leo has Sagittarius or Aquarius influences in chart cos they’re even more prone to going mia).
★ When people have 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 in their big 6 or heavy Mars influence in the chart I notice that they tend to sound/come across way ruder than they’re actually being lol. They can be very dominant and intimidating in conversations. You’d think they’re angry or being mean but they’re just asking you to pass them the water bottle lmao. Often I think they don’t even realize that themselves since they’re just built that way.
☆ People with 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐎 & 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 in their big 3 together kinda scare me lol (in a good way). They usually are very into occult stuff and/or are strongly religious and showcase it very openly and firmly. Sometimes they just have a very intimidating aura/demeanor to them. I notice how they frequently tend to be very into dark colors and themes/styles too. They don’t f*ck around at all. Love y’all 💚
★ People with a 𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐒𝐔𝐍 usually have their Moon sign qualities be more noticeable. With Geminis I tend to catch onto their Moon sign behavior before I realize that they’re a Gemini. Could be a mutable thing where they’re versatile enough that their Moon qualities shine more than their sun sign qualities. Very frequently when I try to guess a Gemini’s sun sign I actually guess their Moon sign. They tend to act like their Moon more than other zodiac signs in my experience. They may not even notice it either.
☆ I hope I don’t offend anyone for this one but people with a 𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 (frequently more moon) mother tend to have veryyyy chaotic childhood stories about her. Somehow these moms tend to often be pretty emotionally unhinged people (no offense but in my experience so many of my friends have a mom with a Pisces sun and/or Pisces moon and they all always tell me how their moms have crazy mood swings or a very erratic behavior). I’m honestly so sorry for anyone who had, or still has to deal with such an environment. 🫂💚
★ 𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 & 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒 are the best opposite sign duo in astrology imo. I’ve never seen many Geminis or Sags that say they dislike or don’t get that along with one another. We really click well and even I personally can testify that lol. These two always besties.
☆ Also 𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 loooove anything to do with 2D characters or just fictional stuff in general. They love their ffs, romance books, making fan arts or edits. Every Pisces I knew had some kind of obsession with multiple fictional characters or shows and each one of them had accounts dedicated to making art or edits about said characters/shows lol. No matter if it’s a manga, an anime, a video game, a song, a movie or a cartoon, a Pisces placement will most probably romanticize a character or wtv it is they feel resonates with them in some way. I know lotta people do that but Pisces are usually more prone to be very frequent and indulgent with it in my experience. Not judging anyone, just pointing it out lol.
That’s all for todayyy ☀︎
Also please don’t copy or claim my content without credit or consent ♡
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writingwithfolklore · 4 months ago
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Relationships and Closeness
              There’s two kinds of relationships in a story—the bond your characters have with each other, and the bond the reader has with your characters. Try to push the relationship to levels of vulnerability too fast, too soon and both types will come off as forced or stiff.
              Luckily, there’s a helpful tool for categorizing what ‘stage’ of closeness people have with each other from communications theory, but I think could also be used for writing. It’s called (and stick with me here), the social penetration theory. (Cue that Pitch Perfect gif)
              The stages (generally) go as follows:
1. Orientation
This stage is basic, safe information you might initially share with a stranger. Name, age, maybe pronouns, where you’re from, where you go to school or work, etc.
2. Exploratory affective
This is likes and dislikes, some preferences, and other safe opinions. You’re probably not getting into politics too much yet, but you might share which class is your favourite, what you think about where you live, etc. Typically opinions you’d think are unlikely to offend the other person.
3. Affective
This stage sounds like it is—an increase in affection! This can look like making jokes or goofing around together, sharing goals and aspirations, and generally being a bit more familiar. Typically your work friends or peers get to this stage, and unless you hang out with them outside of work/school, (in my experience) they stay at this stage too.
4. Stable
You start to get more comfortable and share more personal details. Religious/political affiliation, sexuality, sometimes family details and other things about your inner life are shared here.
5. Depenetration (ew)
This stage is the last and the most vulnerable. This is where you share deeply held fears, fantasies, traumas, mental health, and other deeply personal details. Can include your own concept of self, or conversations that go into that depth of individual humanity—what makes you, you on a fundamental level?
              Some relationships stop at an earlier level than others, but that doesn’t make them less strong. Have you ever met someone where you don’t really know all that much about them, but you’d still stick up for them against anything? Versus someone you’ve known forever and you’ve shared all your insecurities with, but you still might prefer to hang out with someone else on your birthday.
              These stages are a guideline, not a rule, to how people tend to interact and the order of which they tend to share with each other. That doesn’t mean that people won’t jump to one stage before another—just that it can sometimes be unreciprocated, or feel a bit uncomfortable. It all depends on the situation and the people within it.
              However, it can be helpful to use these guidelines as a guide to what to share and when in your writing. Right away, you’d probably tell readers your main character’s name before their deepest trauma—or maybe not, maybe you’d establish your character with that openness to the reader right off the bat. What’s important is that you determine what level your character is at with others, and with the reader, and move through them with intention.
              I hope this makes sense!
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doraminatook · 3 months ago
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We're About To Get Playfully Blasphemous Here (or...The Metaphorical Death and Resurrection of Me)
2023 was the year I turned 33, and in case you didn’t know, many religious scholars cite that as the age Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead.  Now, within literature there’s a trope called the Christ-like figure in which a character sacrifices themself and from that death, something happens in order to advance the plot.  Usually that something is either the “dead” character rising from the ashes and obtaining new powers (think Gandalf the Grey battling the Balrog and then coming back as Gandalf the White) or the protagonist being so moved by the death of this secondary character that they are reborn in some way (think Red Badge of Courage’s Jim Conklin (JC…get it?) whose death changes Henry’s opinion on war.)
Because I’m a storyteller and have a dark sense of humor, I began to wonder if I would somehow have a Christ-like-figure-moment within my thirty-third year of life.  (Not long after my birthday, I told my mom that I just had to make it to 34 and then I would have “beaten” Jesus; being a good Lutheran woman, she did not appreciate this joke.)
Now, I may be reaching or forcing figurative imagery into the literal world (isn’t that what artists do?), but I think I did have a “death” and consequential “resurrection”.  
I’m at a strange place in my writing career in that I am not famous (by any means) but I’m also not considered emerging.  Recently, I was told by a theater that I should “sit this contest out” and give someone else a chance but at the same time my work has not been produced enough to catch an agent’s eye.  (It doesn’t help that theatre companies have an intense fixation on world premieres.  They want to be the first one to do the show, apparently assuming that as soon as a piece gets produced once, that means it’s finished.  But that’s a rant for another day.) 
Currently I live in Milwaukee and for a long time I thought (or at least hoped) that I could maybe just make it work here; it is technically a theater town.  Add to that the fact that my whole family lives in Wisconsin, my financial situation was not ideal, and my best friend (platonic soulmate) had made it fairly clear to me that she did not wish to move away from Milwaukee.  When I was honest with myself, I knew that I wanted to get out, but there were so many things holding me back from making the jump.  
As soon as the thought of moving away entered my head, Anxiety would perk up.  Always eager to be the backseat driver, it would shout things like, “Isn’t life here good enough for you?  You’ve got a roof over your head, a job that allows you to pursue your passion, and you’re perfectly healthy.  Be grateful for what you have and stop expecting something more!” 
I attended a workshop for other playwrights from the area and, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I didn’t have a lot in common with many of them.  Discussions and questions whirled around about how we find time to write, where we get inspiration, and how we format a script properly.  Some of the writers present had never even finished a full script.  I certainly am not bringing this up in order to shame anyone, but it was an eye-opening experience for me.  Was I a proverbial big fish in a little pond?
My anxiety had an opinion for that, too.  
“Wow!  Way to be egotistical, D!  You think you’re so much better than everyone here?  Get over yourself!  You’re not special.  You’re just another ‘artist’ who thinks they’ve got something special to say!”
A few weeks later I was at my cousin’s wedding and after the ceremony, he approached me to offer congratulations for all the success I’ve had…only to then immediately cut me off guard with the question, “So when are you moving to New York?”  As the groom, he was quickly called away for photographs and I never really got to answer his question.  
If this moment had been in a play, the spotlight would have hit me right then and there and I would have begun some contemplative soliloquy where I openly pondered, “New York, eh?  Maybe I should go to New York!”
Obviously, as a theatre person, the idea of moving to New York had crossed my mind; it’s the theatre capital of the US for obvious reasons.  But, at the same time, New York just didn’t feel like me.  (I have a lot of opinions on NYC, especially when it comes to the outrageous ticket prices.  When it costs a small fortune to see a Broadway show, art becomes a luxury rather than a necessity.  But that’s a rant for another day.)  It certainly seemed daunting, and every good dream should be at least a little daunting.  But New York was daunting without being exciting.  It felt like something I should do…something that was expected of me.
LA didn’t do it for me, either.  Nor Seattle.  I considered many locations, but nothing really made me sit up and take notice.  I wasn’t about to dive headfirst into debt and throw away a good thing unless it was something that truly excited me…something that was enticing enough to spark a change.  
Again, Anxiety spoke up, “Calm the fuck down, D!  New York?  Even if that is what you wanted, they’d eat you alive there!  You’re a soft midwestern girl who can’t take criticism and cries at the drop of a hat!  You really think you could handle New York or LA?  Also, the cost of living in any of those places is way more than you will ever hope to make!  Stick with Submission Helper.  Stick with the contests and the festivals.  Go back to dreaming only as big as The Milwaukee Repertory Theatre.  Sit down and shut up!”
It may have gone on like this…if not for the summer of 2023.
Close your eyes and picture it: WGA strike, Barbenheimer, The Eras Tour, OceanGate, the Grimace Birthday shake…and in the midst of it all, I was having an epiphany.  
A favorite television show of mine dropped its latest season and I eagerly pulled out the Chardonnay and the popcorn to binge it all.  The vast majority of the show takes place in London and features several actors whom I admire greatly.  Between the giggles, sobs, and various twists and turns of the emotional rollercoaster that was Season 2, something all at once occurred to me.
This is what I want.  
That’s where I want to be.  
I want to move to the United Kingdom.
Was it daunting?  Hell yeah, it was daunting.  
And it was exciting.  
It was a dream that excited me.  
It burned inside me.  
It raged.
It burned so hot that I didn’t know what to do with it.  I paced around my tiny apartment, simply stunned by the prospect of it all.  
Anxiety was in the process of drinking a quad shot espresso con panna and promptly did a spit take upon hearing this new idea.  In a frenzied panic, it bellowed, “Are you nuts?  What the hell do you think you’re doing?  YOU can’t move to the UK!  It would be so difficult!  You’d need to apply for a Visa…or something like that!  Do you even know how to apply for a Visa!”  
“No,” I metaphorically replied, “but I could learn.”
“I bet it’s super difficult!” Anxiety shot back, trembling in fear, “I bet it’s expensive and complicated and you’ll never figure it out!  I bet your sense of humor wouldn’t translate!  I bet you’d end up broke and living under a bridge and crying because you threw away this good thing you had!”
For a split second, Anxiety almost won…but somehow, prompted by the promise of this new dream, I dared to ask, “But what if it worked out?  What if I could figure it out?  What if I somehow scraped up the money and did the research and filed the paperwork and just made it work?”
If it were a play, I would have been standing center stage, staring out into the audience like some kind of dramatic hero and whispering hopefully, “Yes…what if…?”  
It has been a long road to get here, but, despite what Anxiety likes to tell me, I did figure it out.  The process has been stressful enough to induce atypical Shingles and a few anxiety attacks, but it’s happening.  It’s actually happening!
This October I’m going to grad school at the University of Essex where I’ll pursue my masters degree in Scriptwriting.  I’ll hone my skills as a playwright while learning the ins and out of writing for film, television, and radio.  I’ll take the train into London on the weekends and see every show I can at the National Theatre.  I’ll get new life experiences.  I’ll do my best to explore every inch of that beautiful island.  I’m going to do something new because it’s scary and, most importantly, it’s exciting.  
(To add to the awesomeness of this new adventure, my best friend (platonic soul mate) is moving with me and pursuing her own dreams of studying acting…also at the University of Essex.)
My “death” was not as dramatic or world-changing as Jesus’s, but it gave way to a new life for me.  The power of storytelling combined with a newfound confidence was enough to catapult me into something new, something different.    
And I know you’re wondering what show I was watching that prompted this sudden change; if you know anything about me, you’ve probably guessed it already.  
Along with seeing as much theatre as I can on my visits to London, I also plan to have surreptitious meetings at The Bandstand, feed ducks some frozen peas at St. James’s Park, and maybe help avert an apocalypse (or two).  My birthday is in January and it just so happens that Season 3 is scheduled to begin filming around that time; perhaps on my winter holiday, I’ll put myself onto a train and take myself up to Edinburgh.  I have so many thoughts on what could possibly happen next to my favorite angel and demon…but that’s a rant for another day.
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(Fun fact: I say this line at least once a week...if only to myself.)
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its-time-to-write · 1 year ago
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hello! First thing first, I want to say how much of a good writer you are, I hope you know this 💕 second I have this idea of reader and Jamie dating, but nobody knows. One day reader is in the coaches room and starts yawning and Roy is like what's that 🤨 (something similar to that scene with beard after he gets back with jane) and reader answers with "you have been waking me up everyday at 4 am" or smt like that and this is how everyone finds out. I know you have already written something like this but I thought it was cute, so feel free to ignore
this was cute. you were right.
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coffee at midnight
Neither you nor Jamie exactly decided to keep your relationship a secret.
“It’s not a secret, it’s private, babe,” Jamie insists. You just roll your eyes.
But like, it is private.
That means no instagram posts, no public dates, and no unasked opinions. It also means that Jamie gets a Polaroid camera (“so we don’t get hacked, babe,”), plans dates in his giant house, and keeps fans’ noses out of your relationship.
It also, also means that Roy Kent doesn’t know you’re in Jamie’s bed every morning when he knocks on the door loud enough to wake the dead.
You’re a week into these shenanigans, and you’re not sure how much longer you can handle it. You’ve barely been at Nelson Road for an hour, but you’ve yawned more than you’ve spoken. Jamie’s been sending you apologetic looks every time he passes you in the hall, but now the entire team is in the weight room as you bring the coaches their coffee.
You place Roy’s in front of him and he asks, “The fuck’s wrong with you?”
You glare. “Nothing. That’s rude to ask, anyway. I’m-” you pause to yawn- “fine.”
Ted looks between you and Roy. “Normally I’d side with the lady on this one, but you look dead on your feet. You been sleepin’ okay?”
“Yes,” you reply shortly. “I’ve been sleeping fine. I just don’t get a lot of it these days.”
“That sounds decidedly un-sexy,” Trent calls from his desk.
You snarl, “It isn’t,” then realize that Trent is undeserving of your anger. “I’m sorry. I’ve been getting like five hours of sleep every night this whole week. Me and my boyfriend just moved in together and we both talk like way too much. So we usually don’t fall asleep until late.”
The room fills with whistles and hoots from Ted, Beard, and Trent. Roy is stoic as always.
“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Ted grins. “What’s his name?”
You hesitate. You’re pretty sure Jamie would be okay if you told Ted, but you’re not sure you really want to. You let the silence stretch on for a beat too long, and Trent’s on you like a vulture.
“It’s someone here, isn’t it?” he asks.
“No,” you reply, but it’s not convincing. It’s hard for you to lie when you’re this tired.
Jamie and Sam choose this exact moment to come into the locker room to grab water bottles. Jamie glances at you and you make the mistake of glancing back. It’s just for a second but Trent catches it with his stupid eagle-eyes.
“Oh shit,” he says.
You round on him. Maybe he does deserve your anger. “Don’t say anything,” you warn.
He zips his lips as Roy says, “Why are you being so fucking weird? We know you’re fucking lying. Just say which of these little pricks you’re dating and get some sleep like a fucking normal adult.”
“I’d be able to get regular sleep, except you’ve been waking me up at fucking 4am!” you explode.
The room goes silent. 
“Fuuuck,” Roy whispers. “Fucking Tartt? You’re dating- fuck, you moved in with fucking Tartt?”
“Yes,” you groan, “We’ve been together for six months and it’s probably the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in, and I know how it sounds but we really like each other. Higgins already knows because of HR shit but other than that, it’s been private.”
Ted and Beard have matching open-mouthed smiles. It would be a little scary if you hadn’t known them for as long as you have.
“That’s the most adorable shit I’ve ever heard in my whole life,” Beard says.
“Hold on,” Trent interjects, “does this mean you and Jamie have been staying up late every night talking?”
“Yes,” you reply primly. “And then this prick bangs on our door at fuck-thirty in the morning and I’m awake for the rest of the day.”
Roy says, “Right,” very slowly. “Is that fucking why he wasn’t wearing fucking trousers?”
All eyes turn to you.
“I’m not answering that,” you say. “In fact, I think I hear Higgins calling me. I have to leave right now.” You back out of the room and down the hall before anyone can say anything else.
The coaches’ office is silent for a moment before they all clamor out of their seats to chase you down the hall. They have so many questions but first, they’re going to yell at Higgins for keeping it a secret.
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mysunshinetemptress · 11 months ago
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Meet me in the Hallway
Leah Williamson x Styles!reader
Disclaimer: i know leah wore the suit in 2022 but for this it’s 2021.
Y/n sighed running her hand down her dress nervously as her brother walked through the door fixing his cuffs “right cars going to be here in 10.” Y/n nodded looking as her phone lit up for the fifth time in two minutes “who in the hell keeps texting you.” Y/n looked at the vanity her stomach filling with butterflies before turning back to her brother “Sorry H, it’s the group chat talking about international break coming up.” Harry nodded understanding his younger sisters busy schedule “alright but please turn it just for tonight we barely ever get to do anything like this together.” Y/n looked back at her phone before nodding.
Sitting in the car Y/n couldn’t help herself as she tapped on the empty seat beside her as Harry looked at her quizzically “what’s wrong Y/n/n.” Y/n hummed turning to face him “nothing H.” Harry shook his head “I’ve seen you, play matches no problem for both England and United you don’t ever get this nervous, it’s just an award show.” Y/n nodded along to her brothers words “I know H, but I’m not used to this I’m scared of the judgement of standing on a red carpet let alone standing next to you.” Harry shook his head “hey your Y/n Styles an amazing football player who has helped her childhood club grow into the WSL, who will make the Great Britain roster this summer and the England roster next summer, yeah your my little sister but that’s not all you are or all you are worth trust and the only people that are allowed to have that opinion of you are the one who have your phone number ok.” Y/n nodded before turning to look back out the window as they pulled up to the red carpet.
Y/n and Harry stood for photos together and then some separately before splitting for a bit to do interviews “Y/n hi any chance of a quick interview.” Y/n nodded letting out a soft “of course making her way over. “Hi I’m Morgan.” Y/n shook Morgan’s hand before getting into the interview “what’s it like attending an award show with none other than Harry Styles.” Y/n couldn’t help but sigh internally knowing she shouldn’t have gotten her hopes about being asked questions about herself “I mean he’s my brother so it’s pretty normal he doesn’t act any different if that’s what your asking.” Morgan smiled nodding “and can you give us any clues is he going to be releasing any new music.” Y/n turned looking at the celebrities walking the carpet looking for either her brother or anyone really to get her out of this “ehm I’m not really sure, it’s not something I ask as I know it’s a process and one that takes time when he’s ready to share it with the world you will know.” Y/n turned to the carpet once more as Morgan began to ask her final question before Y/n caught eyes with Alex Scott who smiled brightly bounding over to the younger girl “oh my god hello gorgeous.” Y/n let out a laugh pulling Alex into a hug “hi Al.” Morgan cleared her throat before asking the question again “one final question Y/n and I let you get back to it, what is your favourite Harry Styles song.” Y/n looked at Alex “hum that’s hard Al have you got a favourite song of Harry.” Y/n couldn’t help her eyes drift to the figure behind Alex or the butterflies that erupted once more in her stomach the second the figure caught her staring. “Oh I’d have to say favourite song sign of the times Y/n, and favourite match performance of Y/n’s is probably her being the youngest start during the 2019 World Cup and she did not disappoint.” Alex wrapped her arms around you giving you a squeeze “and Y/n favourite song.” Morgan continued ignoring Alex’s last bit “Fine Line.” Morgan gave you both a quick thank you before you both turned to leave “I hate these.” Alex looked at you softly before turning at the sound of her name “you are so much more than his sister remember that.” Y/n nodded thanking Alex before her eyes drifted behind her again turning as she felt her cheeks heat up.
Harry sat at the table watching his sister who nervously played with the table cloth as she looked around the room “Y/n are you sure your ok.” Y/n nodded smiling at Chloe Kelly as she came running over “ahhh Y/n your here.” Y/n got up wrapping Chloe in a tight hug swaying back and forth “aww it’s so good to see you, I’ve missed you.” Chloe and Y/n began discussing the current season before Y/n remembered who she was here with “oh Chloe this is my older brother Harry, Harry this is one of the best forwards I’ve ever seen.” Harry stood up shaking Chloe’s hand as she looked at you surprised “holy shit Y/n.” Y/n laughed at her shocked expression “I’m sorry I know you guys are siblings but to actually see you guys together is mind blowing.” Y/n laughed sitting down as Chloe,herself and Harry began chatting.
Y/n sat holding Harry’s hand nerves shooting through the roof as they began calling out the nominees for British signal “and the winner is Harry Styles Watermelon Sugar.” Harry looked at you surprised as you pulled him into a hug “oh H go I’m so proud.” Harry stood kissing Y/ns cheek rushing up to get his award. Y/n knew she was supposed to be paying attention to her brother but she couldn’t help her eyes drifting to a certain figure sat two tables over straightening her dress as the nerves kicked in again.
Y/n was stood in an empty Hallway trying to turn her phone back on when she felt two hand wrap around her waist “ignoring me tonight my love.” Y/n sighed relaxing into her loves arms “no just wanted to be present for Harry and you make that extremely difficult when you light up my phone every five minutes.” Y/n smiled feeling the breath on her ear “I was simply telling you how sexy you where in that dress darling the silver really matches my green but it would suit my Hotel floor better.” Y/n sighed turning to look at the ocean blue eyes she so often gets lost in. “Oh really.” Y/n couldn’t help her eyes drop to the most kissable lips she had ever known “I found it really hard to just sit there and watch as Chloe came over they way she hugged you and wouldn’t let go of your arm had me wanting to shoot up out of my seat.” Y/n hummed once more wrapping her hands behind the older girls neck “you could have I wouldn’t have minded, maybe could have introduced you to my brother.” Y/n felt her self deflating at her girlfriends words “you could do that anyway you know I’d love to meet him maybe get him to tell me stories about you.” Y/n sighed “I mean as my girlfriend not as my friend.” Y/n pulled the blondes face towards her dying for a kiss “I like this though, our little bubble of privacy.” Y/n stopped her movements “this doesn’t feel like a private relationship to me, it feels like you want to keep me, us, our beautiful relationship hidden.” The Arsenal defender shook her head “I don’t I just don’t want unwanted opinions or attention on our relationship.” Y/n shook her head “so our families are unwanted opinions.” The taller girl sighed “can we please just drop this for now, I just want to kiss you and hold you and maybe even slip my hotel room card into you hand and tell you to meet me after.” Y/n sighed before nodding “ok yeah I’m sorry Le, I just..this, today would have been so much easier if I could do this with you instead of by myself or with H.” Leah hummed pulling her girlfriend into a searing kiss. “I promise soon ok.” Y/n nodded pulling Leah down into another kiss as they both relaxed into each others arms “I love you ok.” Y/n nodded “I love you too.”
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dyaz-stories · 6 months ago
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don't get cut on my edges || gojo satoru x reader
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synopsis: Gojo is easily bored, you're the latest enigma that's caught his interest. He sets off in trying to figure you out. Lucky for him, you're coming on the week-end trip Shoko's planned for the week-end.
“Was I off script?”
You look up at him.
“You’re always off script.”
word count: 5.4k
genre: college!AU, fluff, slice of life
cw: unresolved sexual and romantic tension, reader has anxiety and is socially awkward, she/her is used for the reader, a little suggestive, overall very sweet and fluffy
a/n: this was fun to write! any feedback is appreciated, and i hope you enjoy my writing here :)
soundtrack
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Gojo knows that people talk, knows that they talk shit, knows that there isn’t a soul on campus that doesn’t have an opinion on him. He can tell that eyes follow him around when he walks into a room, that his presence is enough to shift the atmosphere at a gathering, that some people roll their eyes at him while others try their best to catch his attention. It’s a lot to take in, for just one person.
Fortunately, he’s proved to be incredibly gifted in the art of not giving a fuck.
Then again, he’s incredibly gifted in most areas of life. Truth be told, he thinks people aren’t giving him enough credit for that. Sure, they tend to know that he’s a physics major, but that’s just tangential to what they know about the rest of him. He’s not just kinda good at physics, not some dude that goes to college mostly for the parties and then get a meaningless job at daddy’s company, no, he’s the fucking best, and he works fucking hard to be able to claim that title.
But that doesn’t really fit in with the rest of him, and at the end of the day, who cares? He certainly doesn’t.
With all that, it’s not statistically unlikely for him to catch people talking about him.
Well, he’d have to conduct a detailed study to calculate the exact odds, but with how much alcohol is in his blood at this very moment, it makes sense to him that it would happen.
Still, for people to be talking about him at a party he is at, in front of an open window, you’d think they would have some sense of shame. Not that he has any room to talk, because shame is not part of his vocabulary, but like. Come on.
“Gojo really can’t take not being in the spotlight for more than ten seconds, huh?”
That voice, he’s quick to identify, even if he can’t see her face from where’s he’s standing under the porch, belongs to Mei Mei. Aw. Bummer. They’d spent quite a lot of time around each other, have friends in common, slept— Wait, have they slept together? He can’t say for sure anymore. It seems to have slipped from his mind. Oops. Maybe that’s why he’s getting that treatment. Maybe he deserves it.
There’s a scoff, and really, the acoustic of this place are impressive. It feels like he’s straight in the room with those people.
“What else do you expect from someone who’s always had everything served to him on a silver platter?”
And that would be Noritoshi Kamo. Man. That was one of the few kids in the families his parents insisted on frequenting. They used to be sat next to each other at the kiddie table while the adults talked about the important stuff. They never had much in common — not then, not now. And, after all, maybe Noritoshi has a point, after all. His mother wasn’t a mistress, wasn’t turned into an outcast, and he’s never had to pretend he didn’t hear the loud whispers that tarnished her name. Yeah. Sounds like these two aren’t saying anything new after all. Not that he’s gonna change, y’know, but he already knows who he is, and he is all that.
“That seems like a very mean thing to say about a friend,” a quiet voice comments.
The world freezes.
A silhouette appears to go along with the voice, then a blurry face, then the picture becomes clearer. A figure sitting next to Shoko, giving him sweet, polite smiles when he approaches. Not chatty, kinda shy, pretty cute. Would get quiet when he was near, though, so he hadn’t paid a ton of attention. He’s used to giving it to people who asked for it, who wanted it.
You’d never asked.
But you’re… not wrong. He’s not sure why he hadn’t picked up on it himself. It is a mean thing to say.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Mei Mei protests, “I love Gojo, but you know I’m right about this.”
“Yeah, and I’ve known him my whole life,” Kamo adds. “It’s just a fact, we’re not talking shit.”
There’s a silence. Gojo’s invested now.
“I don’t know him that well,” you say. “Like I said. It’s just a mean thing to say about someone you hang out with every day.”
“Come on, don’t act like—”
“I think I’m going to go, actually,” you say. “This feels super shitty.”
“What the fuck was that?” Mei Mei laughs, just a second later — presumably after you’ve left the room.
“She wants to fuck him, I guess,” Kamo says.
Well, you’re making one hell of a headway then, because he’d do you so hard after that.
When he walks back in, you’re chatting with Shoko. You give him your usual, close-lipped smile, don’t quite make eye-contact. If you’re trying to get in his pants, you have a very original way of getting it done.
“Who was your friend again?” he asks Shoko, later that night. She answers without looking up from her phone.
“She doesn’t talk much when there are new people around,” she warns him. “Leave her alone.”
“When have I ever bothered anyone—”
She reaches to smack the back of his head, misses and gets the nape of his neck — that’s the downside about being so tall, there’s just a lot of him to hit.
“Don’t make her uncomfortable. That’s all I’m asking.”
He wasn’t planning on that. He’s just— curious. Intrigued.
It’s unlikely to last, though. He’s been known to get bored easily.
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You’re already in the car when he gets in. Well, okay, when he gets shoved inside by Todo, despite his protests that his legs are too long for the backseat. You’ve squeezed yourself in the middle seat, with Shoko on one side, and him on the other now. There’s a bag of snacks in your lap, yet you still try to shift yourself to give him a little more room. It doesn’t help at all, but in your defense, the only thing that could help would be to buy a new car.
“Is everyone ready?” Suguru asks as he adjusts the rearview mirror.
“Sure,” Shoko says.
“Let’s go!” Todo shouts.
“No,” Gojo whines.
“Yeah,” you say, completely drowned out under the rest.
“Good,” Suguru hums as he starts the engine.
Gojo pouts, but he doesn’t insist. Well, he doesn’t make any more of a scene than he already has. Truth be told, he could have taken Todo — dude might be all brute force, but Gojo has brains and brawns, thank you very much.
But he’s curious, still, and he hasn’t been given enough information to quite satiate his curiosity. Everything he’s gathered about you says that you mind your business and keep to your corner.
So why did you say that to Mei Mei and Kamo? It makes no sense, but Gojo’s never met an equation he couldn’t solve.
That’s an overstatement. Obviously there are equations he can’t solve. Yet. He’s sure he’d figure it out eventually. Like he’ll figure you out. See? That metaphor does make sense.
Suguru’s music is playing in the car. The sun is still low in the sky, the day is quickly getting warmer, and the phone says that they’ll be at the beach in two hours.
Satoru closes his eyes. Fun fact about him? He can fall asleep anywhere he wants to.
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He wakes up with his face smooshed against the window, a hand tapping his shoulder carefully.
“We’re here,” you say, giving him a smile and then shuffling to leave the car from the other side.
Todo’s already running towards the beach, while Suguru and Shoko are getting the bags out of the trunk. Somehow, Shoko manages to sling a bag over his shoulder, but he takes off before she can stuff the cool box containing all the drinks in his arms.
He then lies to Todo to get him back to the car, so that he can carry the damn thing. Shoko better thank him later for that.
He catches up with you, and he sees your eyes widen a little when he approaches, as you visibly search for something to say. He can’t resist the temptation to shoot you a grin. There’s a light breeze in the air, but he won’t be fooled that easily — with his skin, he’s going to need an insane amount of sunscreen, if he wants to survive the day. Which makes him think, actually—
“Wanna help me apply sunscreen?” he asks.
“Huh?” you say.
He leans towards you, looks into your eyes from over his sunglasses. You appear to be fully frozen in place, only swallowing once as he gets closer. His grin gets wider as he takes in all of you, and he’s once more fascinated by the idea that you had been able to say something to Mei Mei and Kamo but you can barely face him.
His gaze drops to your parted lips.
Then the bottle of sunscreen smashes against his cheek with impressive precision.
“Todo can help you put that on!” Shoko offers as Suguru starts setting up a parasol. “Right, Todo?”
“Of course I will, my brother,” Todo say as he appears, but by then, Satoru has already started running for his life.
“Just kick him in the balls if he pulls something like that again,” Shoko says.
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” you reply, shaking your head in mild horror. “I just— I don’t— know— how to react sometimes. But he doesn’t bother me.”
That statement has her raising an eyebrow at you, filled with doubt, but she doesn’t insist.
“Play nice,” she does warn Satoru once more, later on. “Don’t push it too much.”
“Aw, Shoko, are you saying you wouldn’t approve of me?”
“Do whatever you want to,” she replies, rolling her eyes, “but give her more space. She’s not used to you being… you.”
Satoru rests his chin on his knee. He’s taking refuge under the parasol for now, and you’re already in the waves with Todo and Suguru. You seem comfortable with Todo, laughing at something he said, less so with Suguru. It all looks like a lot of work, all to satiate his curiosity. He’s all about committing to the bit but— he doesn’t know about that one.
This, too, all this thinking and questioning, is a lot of work, though, so he ends up shrugging it off.
“Are we getting in or what?”
“Absolutely not. No— Gojo— Don’t you fucking dare— Gojo!”
Shoko’s full-on shrieking by the time he throws her in the water. You burst out laughing. She comes out screaming for revenge, and Gojo starts scampering around to try and avoid her.
The sun is high in the sky, there’s a light breeze.
The time is good.
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“Satoru!” Suguru calls when the watch on his wrist starts beeping, “it’s been two hours!”
It takes a second for the information to reach his brain, but the second he understands it, Gojo’s sprinting back towards the parasol at full speed. You look up, surprised, from the towel on which you’re lying with a book. Shoko doesn’t even bother with lifting an eyelid to see what’s going on.
“You okay?” you ask.
Ah, so she does speak.
“Yeah,” Gojo says, ruffling through a bag. “Just need to reapply some sunscreen. I’m not trying to look like a lobster.”
“Oh,” you say, “so, did you want me to help you with that?”
His fingers finally close around the bottle, and he stills to look at you. Shit. He’s curious again. Shoko’s words are swirling around in his mind, though, and he has no interest in forcing your hand.
“You didn’t look like you wanted to do that,” he says with uncharacteristic caution.
You roll your lips together, glance away from him, and your hand curls into a fist in the sand.
“No, it’s just— Um, I’m sorry about earlier. You— caught me off guard, I guess. I couldn’t figure out what to answer.”
“I usually just go with whatever appears through my head first,” he shrugs as he comes to crouch in front of you — you in the sun, him in the shade.
You laugh softly, but you avert your eyes, focusing on the sand as you trace patterns in it.
“Yeah, I think that’s the preferred method, but it— doesn’t— really work for me. So I have— I have a script, kind of, for interactions.”
“And I was off script?”
You glance back up at him.
“You’re always off script.”
For a moment, he just looks into your eyes, and you look back without any of that earlier nervousness. Then you shrink back into yourself, and the smile that so rarely leaves your lips reappears, like a shield that comes back up.
“Sorry. I know— I know how silly this sounds. I also wish I didn’t feel the need to do that, I just, um—”
“All good,” he replies with a shrug. “Sure. Help me with that.”
He throws you the bottle and you miss it, and he can feel you eyerolling at his back without needing to turn around, but when he shoots you a grin from over his shoulder, he can see how your breath catches in your throat.
Softly, your hand goes over his back, your touch gentle and cautious. It feels quite nice, actually, especially when your nails brush over his skin.
“It’s not too cold?” you ask.
“All good,” he repeats.
Shit. He’s invested again.
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“Okay, we have the tickets, we have the water bottles, we have the hats, we have flat shoes, we have Gojo, we have the car keys—”
“I’m sorry, why was I just in the middle of a list of belongings?”
“We have cellphones and portable batteries… I think we’re good,” Shoko concludes, fully ignoring him.
“You don’t think we’re just a touch overprepared?” Suguru asks.
“You can never overprepare, my brother,” Todo says, grabbing his shoulder firmly. “If you want to triumph in the face of adversity, you need to know everything about the enemy.”
Suguru opens his mouth, closes it again. He knows how to pick his battles.
Gojo doesn’t.
“We’re going to a festival, not trying to breech the Pentagon,” he deadpans, and then, from the corner of his eye, he tries to see if you’re laughing. He delights in how you lower your head and try to keep it discreet.
“You never know what—”
“If I have to hear a second more of this nonsense, I swear to God I’ll kill someone here,” Shoko announces cheerfully. “Let’s move.”
Finally, after a good fifteen minutes by the door of the Airbnb you’ve all spent the night in, you start moving.
The good news is that you don’t have to get in the car, in the smothering heat, to get on the overcrowded streets packed full with the cars of the other attendees. The bad news is that you have to walk there, in the smothering heat, near the streets packed full with the cars of the other attendees. Suguru’s in charge of the map, which everyone seems happy with. Gojo had offered to do it, too, and there’s not a shred of doubt that he’d be able to read it competently, but Shoko had insisted the risk of him taking everyone to the wrong place ‘just because it would be funny’ was too high.
She’d been right but like, that was still rude.
The march in the heat and the waiting in line, while painful and unpleasant, as Gojo makes sure everyone around him is well aware of, go pretty smooth. Everything is planned and accounted for. There’s a game plan once they make it into the festival, too, because of course there is, but that’s when things start going south. First, Todo tries to go rogue when he spots someone wearing Takada merch. She’s not performing here, but he’s heard rumors that there would be a stand for her, and he lurches towards the woman. He’d get lost in the crowd immediately if not for Gojo’s lightning fast reflexes.
Unfortunately, soon enough it’s Gojo’s turn to get distracted. What can he say, there’s the smell of sugar in the air, and he needs to know where it’s coming from. Suguru’s the one to get him back on track, as they all head towards the main stage. Because that’s what Shoko’s grand plan leads to: sweet, sweet, close-up spots to watch the Sorcerers, headliners for the festival and also unarguably greatest band of all times, with minimum wait before their show.
There are a couple other close calls, but the group manages to get close enough to the stage. There are people here already, but they’re here for other artists mostly, and they’ll no doubt move quite a bit before the start of the real show. From where they are, even you and Shoko will be able to— Wait a minute.
“Huh,” Gojo say. “Hey, Shoko, do you happen to see (y/n) around?”
“If you can’t see her from up there, why would you think I— Fuck.”
“A fallen soldier,” Todo sighs somberly. “Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for—"
“We should go get her,” Shoko interrupts him. She’s biting her lower lip, staring at her phone. She looks quite worried, Gojo notices as he stares at her.
“Why isn’t it enough to just text her?” Gojo asks. It’s not ideal, and it won’t be easy to find the group in the middle of this sea of people, but it’s not impossible.
“I just— I don’t know if she’ll want to deal with all that” she gestures at the crowd “alone. I’m afraid she’ll say she doesn’t mind and then she won’t have a good time.”
Gojo tilts his head. It wouldn’t cross his mind to say something he doesn’t mean. It’s an incredibly weird thought, actually. But Shoko’s better than him at, well, people, and she might have a point. He also doesn’t want you to have a bad time, after all. With one last glance at the stage, he nods at her.
“I’ll go get her.”
“Are you sure?” Suguru asks. “I can go, if you want me to. It’s your band.”
As if it isn’t his, too. But Gojo shrugs. His attention span is fleeting, and he’s got his sights on something else right now.
“Nah, don’t worry. I’ll make it back.”
“Thanks,” Shoko says sincerely.
He waves vaguely at her before making his way back through the crowd, earning his fair share of nasty glances. He still doesn’t care.
A few minutes later, he receives a text from Shoko with a screengrab where you say you’re getting something to eat. Sure enough, he has no trouble finding you waiting in line. You’re typing on your phone, not paying attention to your surroundings, and he’s grinning already. He lets himself half fall on you, arm wrapping around your body as he drops his chin onto your shoulder. You jump, glancing back bewildered, but you don’t stay tense long once you see it’s him.
Which makes him feel things, actually, but he’ll unpack that later.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, brow furrowing. “I thought you guys would be in front of the stage by now.”
“I came to rescue the princess, obviously,” he says, and you laugh. You laugh a lot when he talks, instead of rolling your eyes like people usually do.
Maybe you’re a bit too good of an audience.
“I don’t need rescuing, Gojo,” you answer, and it’s interesting how calm your voice is. “It’s packed too tight for me in here. I told Shoko but…” You shrug. “It’s not always easy to understand how it is. For me.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t get it at all.”
Your shoulder’s pretty comfortable, though. And you haven’t tried to get him off of you yet.
“Do you want to order something, too?” you ask, pointing at the food stand. They sell waffles, and just the smell has his mouth watering. “Strawberries and whipped cream, right?”
Gojo pauses.
“How do you know that?”
“You’ve mentioned it. A few times, actually.”
He’s sure he has, but—
“You were listening to that?”
You blink at him. He realizes how close your face is, with his head on your shoulder.
“Of course I was. You were talking.”
“Shoko didn’t tell you? It’s like, rule number one of being around me, don’t listen to the stuff I say. There’s a lot of dumb shit in there.”
You tilt your head, looking kind of confused.
“I still want to hear what you’re saying.”
Something inside him feels warm all of a sudden. Very warm.
“Yeah,” he says, but his throat is tight. “Strawberries and whipped cream.”
When you step forward to they can take your order, he begrudgingly gets off your shoulder, which allows him to swipe his card before you can get to it.
“I had that,” you protest while he bites into the insane amount of whipped cream in his waffle — he asked for more until the guy behind the counter looked like he was going to murder him.
“I had it first,” he says, and then he sticks his tongue out at you. He anticipates your laugh this time, finds himself waiting on it. When it comes, it sounds just like he wanted it to.
For a while, the two of you sit on a fence. You hand him a water bottle, say that he needs to stay hydrated. With no one else around, you don’t seem to have such a hard time speaking. You’re so quiet when everyone’s there and, well, him and Todo take up a lot of space, when it comes to conversation. Neither Suguru nor Shoko struggle with making their voices heard either, and in the middle of all that, you tend to stay silent. Apparently, that doesn’t stop you from listening.
“Shouldn’t you be going back?” you ask, after a while.
Gojo tilts his head as he thinks about it.
“Nah, I’m good. Let’s find some place where you can enjoy the show.”
“You don’t have to—”
A grin, and then he’s jumping from the fence to come stand in front of you. Even like that, he doesn’t have to look up to meet your eyes.
“And how d’you plan on stopping me?”
Your eyes go wide. He can almost hear your heart racing, and he thinks he’s starting to get a little too high on that feeling. It’s just so easy, so fun, so delicious.
“Okay,” you squeak, averting your eyes and jumping down after him, clearly trying to hide your reaction. “Okay, I’m coming.”
When you start walking by his side, grabbing your hand is just too easy not to do it.
“Wouldn’t want you to run away again,” is what he says as he intertwines his fingers with yours. “Now you’re stuck with me.”
You still refuse to look at him, but there is no actual discomfort in your reaction, just what he thinks is uncertainty about how you’re supposed to behave now.
“Have I gone off script again?” he practically purrs.
You glance up, a flash of amusement on your face. Lots of fondness, too, and this time he’s the one who gets caught up in it.
“You haven’t been on script once today.”
“Good,” he says, managing to pass off the emotion that just choked him for a second there as impatience. “Someone’s got to keep you on your toes.”
“I’m always on my toes,” you mumble behind him, but you can’t explain to him what anxiety feels like, so you just let him drag you away. His fingers are long, his hand engulfs yours easily. You like the feeling of it more than you should.
Your eyes are on Gojo’s broad back as he pulls you through the crowd, which parts effortlessly for him. You’re enjoying this.
You don’t think it’s going to last.
Gojo doesn’t think about that though, just like he rarely thinks about tomorrows. What he’s thinking about, as he keeps far, far away from the stage, is how to find a place with enough air around for the two of you. It’s easy for him to get a good look at the stage, and he earns his fair share of pissed off glares — “Seriously, it should be illegal to come to an open-air stage when you’re that tall” — but it takes more work to get the perfect space for you. Finally, his eagle eyes figure out some place that’s just perfect, and he beelines for it with you in tow.
“There,” he says, pulling you in front of him and putting his head on top of yours, just to check that the line of sight is good enough.
Ha. He nailed it.
“Thanks,” you say. There’s surprise in your tone.
“Is this a good spot for you?” he checks, but really, he just wants to hear you praise him?
“It is, but— I thought you said you didn’t get it? My—” You gesture vaguely. “—struggle. With all that stuff.”
Oh right. You actually listen to what he says. He needs to keep that in mind for the future.
“Does it matter?” he asks with a shrug.
You stare. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out, and then the crowd starts absolutely howling and you spin around to see the Sorcerersget on the stage. Whatever moment there was there, is forgotten right away. He sees you fish in your bag for your phone, then raise it over your head and tiptoe around, trying to get a good photo.
It’s cute, it’s adorable even, but it’s not very efficient.
“Do you want some help here?” he asks, leaning close to your ear so you can hear him over all the noise.
Your body shivers into him, and he files that away for later.
“Um, yeah,” you shout over the noise. “Here, could you—”
But he pays no attention to the way you offer him your cellphone, and instead he’s bending down, and ignoring your surprised protest as he pushes his head between your legs.
He bench presses a hell of a lot more than he looks like he does, for the record.
With a grunt, he manages to get you up on his shoulders, and some people behind him complain loudly, but whatever, they can wait for you to get the perfect picture. You struggle to stabilize yourself for a dangerous second, and then you stop moving around for a second. Your thighs are supple and warm under his hands and around his head.
One more thing to remember.
“I’m good, I’m good, get me down,” you say quickly, just as he’s storing the thought away.
You seem relieved when your feet get back on the ground, and Satoru lets his hands linger on your waist.
“Was it a nice pic?” he asks. He knows he’s all red in the face, but he’s grinning so wide it almost hurts, actually.
“Perfect,” you squeak. “Thank you. Again.”
Aw. He’s going to get used to that word real quick.
A familiar guitar riff comes from the stage, and you turn away from him once more, but his hands are still on your waist. He uses that to pull you against him and this time, you don’t hesitate to let yourself lean back against him as the two of you move in rhythm with the music.
The concert is a blur after that. There’s a lot of singing, a lot of screaming, basically no time to catch a breath, because the Sorcerers are fucking beasts that don’t let up, not even for a second. At some point, you tell him something, but he can’t really hear, so you crane your neck back and he lowers his head. Your lips brush against his neck, an accident really, but it sends such a jolt of electricity through him, he thinks he’ll go into full overdrive.
The only thing that stops him from chasing after your lips immediately after that is Shoko’s voice, going around in his mind. ‘Don’t push it.’ What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
You move away, and he still has no clue what you were saying. If after that, his hands hold your hips a little tighter, if he pulls you a little closer, he can’t be blamed. If, during one of the more sulfurous song of the show, as you’re swaying against him, humming along to the song, his lips find your neck, he doesn’t want to hear about it.
When he presses a kiss right by your jaw, you turn to look at him. You’re pretty. He’s always thought you were pretty.
Fuck Shoko, he thinks, and he’s ready to put his mouth on yours, to slide his tongue between your parted lips that have looked so inviting this entire week-end, when the riff of the band’s most popular song starts playing, and he loses you attention once more.
Cock-blocked by his favorite band. Fuck his life.
When the song ends, there’s movement in the crowd as the band gets off the stage and people start chanting for an encore. In Shoko’s fool proof, perfect plan, this is when you’re supposed to start leaving. Gojo doesn’t want to — how is he supposed to do anything about how much he wants his mouth on you once you’re back with the other — but this time you grab his hand and pull him away from the stage and he has even less of a clue of what he’s supposed to do about that.
You get to the meeting point before Shoko, Todo and Suguru, which makes sense, considering you were much further from the stage than them. It’s a specific pole that Shoko had pointed to as you were first getting in, and the urge to push you against it and to taste your lips is strong. Gojo isn’t typically one to ignore that kind of feeling. He just goes for it, doesn’t let his brain get in the way too much. He’s not sure what it is with you and your doe eyes and your sweet smile that makes him act different.
Whatever it is, it makes him ask “Did you have a good time?” instead of kissing you senseless behind the pole while watching to make sure Shoko doesn’t catch him in the act.
“It was amazing,” you say. “I don’t think— I don’t think I’d have gotten that close without you.”
“Did I force your hand?” he asks, frowning.
“No, no, that was great, actually.” And there it comes, his favorite words, and then he’ll kiss you. “Thank—”
“There you guys are!”
You have got to be kidding him. The Gods of timing are so set against him, he must have done something to piss them off badly in another life.
“Okay, we should start heading towards the exit,” Shoko announces.
“Nah, we ‘re staying until the end,” Gojo says, burying his hands, balled into fists, in his pockets. He’s being needlessly belligerent, but whatever, she deserves it, whether she knows it or not.
“Don’t be a dick,” she glares.
He smiles at her. And he doesn’t budge.
“We’ll run,” you say, stepping in. “I’m sure we can still beat the crowd if we run.”
She narrows her eyes at you, then at Gojo.
“You’re a bad influence, you know that?”
So many delicious thoughts coming to him, and he can’t do anything about it. Damn it all.
Of course, it ends with the five of you sprinting on the lawn and all the way back to the house. Of course, he doesn’t catch five seconds with you after that. Of course, your face is on his mind the whole night.
Of course, because it’s just his luck, isn’t it, in the morning, Shoko tells him you had to catch a flight early in the morning.
“I told you, don’t you remember? She’s going back to her family for the summer.”
Of course, he doesn’t.
Ah, whatever. It bothers him for a minute, but then the day continues unfolding, and the sun’s warm, it’s the peak of summer, and he only really knew you for a couple of days. He’ll see how he feels about it when college starts up again in the fall. He’s not known for sticking with things, anyway. He’ll probably forget; you probably won’t capture him again like you did; it was probably a fluke.
That, or these will become famous last words.
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sequel
thank you so much for reading! i had a ton of fun writing gojo's pov and i hope you enjoyed it too, even if i'm still finding his voice :) please reblog or comment if you've enjoyed this, i'd love to hear from you! getting readers' feedback on my writing is what keeps me motivated to write so if you'd like to read more from me, that's the way to do it!
tagging the people who expressed interest in this: @elidebrey @xstom @chosospookiebear @xmysticredx
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missrosegold · 6 months ago
Text
someone new
Synopsis: Post-war!AU. It’s the quite moments that Touya enjoys the most. Sometimes he still has a hard time believing they’re real. That you are real.
He has no problems allowing you to remind him of the latter.  
Word count: 16K
Paring: Dabi x Reader (fem!reader)
Warnings: Mentions of post surgical interventions, Touya has hints of survivors guilt and some suicidal idealization if you squint, Smut and additional warnings listed below and on A03 so Minors or Ageless Blogs please DNI. This is rated 18+
Playlist: Omar Apollo - Evergreen (You Didn't Deserve Me At All)
Authors notes: Written for @shibaraki Komorebi collab! Thanks for having me love! Hope you enjoy!
Title is from Someone New by Hozier
**You can read it on A03 here if the formatting on Tumblr is throwing you off! I cross-post all my works onto my A03 account!
Sometimes Touya wonders how he got here.
It’s a loaded question and he knows as much. He knows exactly where he is, and he’s painfully aware of the series of events that led him to this moment in time – but he often finds himself struggling to believe it.
A part of him doesn’t want to believe it – a gnarled, still-angry part of what remains of his soul is convinced that it’s all part of some elaborate dream – one that will fade away and leave him alone and bitter once more as soon as he opens his eyes.
He falls asleep again and again, trying to prove his theory, but every time he wakes back up, he’s still in the same place:
He wakes up in your sun-lit apartment, more often in your bed, with you – always close by, never too far away.
It’s where he is even now: nestled into the soft sheets of your—no, the bed you shared together, even though it’s pushing noon on a Tuesday. Despite his body screaming at him to move, he can’t bring himself to get up just yet.
It’s not like it matters if he stays in bed anyways, he doesn’t have anywhere to be. He doesn’t have his court mandated therapy appointment until Thursday, and it’s not like he has a nine to five job like most people do. Christ, he can’t even leave your apartment building without you or a Pro-hero escort with him. (Who, ninety-five percent of the time ends up being Shoto, since he’s about the only person who wants to deal with him these days aside from you, his mom, and sometimes Fuyumi and Natsuo.)
He rolls over slightly and listens for you, trying to hear the tell-tale tread of your footsteps echoing through the halls, or the sound of you humming a gentle melody under your breath as you do your menial chores around the apartment; before it finally occurs to him that it’s a weekday and you’re at work.
He stifles a groan as he finally pushes himself up, and makes his way towards the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, flicking on the light and shutting the door behind him.
That was his biggest problem these days: not wondering when his next meal would be. Not obsessing over ruining his father’s life as he had done his. Not charring himself past the point of no return as a means of exacting vengeance upon the world of Pro Hero’s that had long since turned their backs on him. No. That was all in the past.
For the first time in his life, it was boredom that was getting to him.
That was a joke if he ever fucking heard one.
Looking at himself now it’s hard to believe that he was once a homicidal serial killer, with a rap sheet several miles long.
He looks different now. He fights the urge to snort as he turns away from his reflection in your bathroom mirror while he goes about his business.
Like a snake that sheds it’s skin every couple of years, he’s changed his form once again; though this transformation wasn’t up to him. He had no choice in the matter; what happened to him after the war was decided for him. His opinions be damned. (Though, if he thinks about it, he didn’t really give All For One and his fucked up scientist permission to piece him back together after he incinerated himself up the first time. The irony almost makes him laugh.)
He forces himself to face his reflection in the mirror as he begins the painstaking task of his skincare routine – burning turquoise eyes staring a little too long at who looks back at him.
The worst of his burn scars are gone, though the shadow of them remains. His two-toned flesh has been concealed by pale, raised skin, but he can still see the lines in his face from his first Escharotomy – a reminder of Dabi; always lingering, never fully gone, even if he wears a different face.
The rest of his body is like that as well. No longer is he marred by wicked burn scars and surgical staples; he is one even skin tone now. He is complete by all accounts, even though he feels anything but whole. The skin grafts aren’t perfect – they’re textured and prone to drying out, and the skin around his eyes always looks bloodshot – but for the first time in years, when he looks in the mirror; the person staring back at him actually looks like Touya.
It's not a perfect visual, but it’s still closer than he ever thought possible.
Truth be told, he still has a difficult time looking at himself in the mirror. It’s jarring honestly. He’d gotten so used to seeing the horrific scarring on himself, that seeing his reflection without them makes him feel like he’s staring at someone new.
The skin grafts he received at some point after his barely responsive body was all but dragged off the battle field, still itch sometimes, but he knows it’s all in his head. He can’t feel anything. He hasn’t been able to feel anything since he was discharged from the hospital he been taken to after he collapsed.
His memories of that time are hazy – he had been doped up on heavy narcotics and other nerve blockers as he was subjected to surgery after surgery in a desperate attempt to fix his scorched body – so much so, that he doesn’t know how long he was out for, or how much time passed while he was in recovery.
He remembers Shoto coming to visit him shortly after waking up from the worst of his many surgeries, and explaining that while the doctors had been able to successfully graft new skin onto him, (how his mangled body had been able to withstand another set of skin grafts was beyond him), they hadn’t been able to fix his damaged nerve endings, and had opted to cauterize the few that still worked; leaving him completely numb to any and all feeling.
Truthfully, he hadn’t cared at the time, he hadn’t been able to feel much of anything for years before that, and the little he was still able to feel was nothing but chronic pain, so at the time he has seen the news as a blessing.
And then he met you.
Shortly after that, he found himself cursing the fact that he couldn’t feel anything at all.
-----
He remembers the first time he met you.
After he had been cleared to leave the hospital, he had been taken to a heavily fortified psychiatric ward, eerily similar to the med-bay in Tartarus: all sterile white walls and armed guards. His room hadn’t been much better: just a mid-sized white box with a cot and a small window for him to look out of, though there wasn’t much of a view outside. He had no idea where the fuck he was anyways.
There he had started his rehabilitation. 
It was hell. The first few months he spent there, he adamantly refused to speak to any of the doctors or physiatrists who came to work with him. Some were more persistent than others, poking their nose into his past (like he hadn’t just aired his dirty laundry out for all of Japan to witness), and those were the ones he got pissed off at the most.
In another life, Dabi would have had no qualms about turning the doctors to ash, just like he had done to everyone else who had annoyed him in the past, only; he wasn’t Dabi anymore. He wasn’t sure who he was now.
It didn’t help he had been hopped up on quirk blockers that canceled out his quirk, otherwise he probably still would’ve tried to incinerate them. But he couldn’t, and for the first time in his life, Touya Todoroki was fucking cold.
Turns out his quirk did a wonderful job of insulating him against the ice he kept hidden inside his chest all along.
He supposed he couldn’t blame them for rendering him quirkless while at the facility. Hell, he’d render himself quirkless if he was a staff member, having to deal with someone like him. Footage from the fight with his father and the all-out brawl with Shoto had been leaked to the public, showing his quirk’s true power in all of its devastating glory.
He had been told the aftermath of both fights had done irreversible damage to the surrounding areas, and no one was sure if they’d be able to fix the carnage he had created.
Good. The bitter, angry part of himself thought when he had been inadvertently told of the news. Suffer like I am.
He had been kept in isolation most of the time as the doctors tried to figure out what to do with him. His family hadn’t been allowed to visit him yet, and for that he was grateful – he hadn’t been particularly keen on seeing them after his recovery anyways. It was still too soon to face them, and he wasn’t ready to deal with the inevitable aftermath of what was to come. In the meantime, he still refused to respond to any of the medical staff who came to try and work with him, outside of sarcastic remarks and biting jabs that made the whitecoats squirm in their seats, much to his enjoyment.
Curiously, during one of the very few times he did speak to one of the doctors responsible for his treatment; he found himself asking about what happened to the rest of the League. Of course, no one would give him any answers aside from the fact they were alive and they were in custody.
He was more relieved than he thought he would be.
More time passed, and he still refused to open up to any of the staff who came to see him, though he had become more vocal with them – aggressively so – to the point he started to notice there was a continuous rotation of people now; it wasn’t just the same staff he was used to seeing when he first arrived at the facility.
Turns out, even the professionals were still scared of him – quirk or no quirk, his fiery reputation preceded him.
Eventually, the facility couldn’t keep cycling through their therapists, so they had switched tactics. Whether it was out of desperation, or the fact he made so many professionals break down after a session with him, he wasn’t sure, but he can’t say he regrets his actions, because in the end, he met you.
He remembers the day you met for the first time.
He had been forced out of his little cell and taken to one of the treatment rooms where he spent most of his time outside his own room. He had been shoved in there before he could make a snarky retort, and then… he saw you.
You had been sitting on the couch adjacent to the spot where he normally sat during his apptioments. He had been so stunned to see someone new, he’d been rendered silent. You’d looked up towards him, and for the first time since he arrived, you smiled at him.
“Hey.” You’d greeted him casually. He hadn’t responded, still unsure of who you were and what you were doing here instead of the usual staff.
You nodded to the couch across from you. “You wanna sit?”
He sat.
He fully expected you to introduce yourself, but you hadn’t. You’d just leaned back into the couch you were seated on and crossed your legs, giving him a content smile as you regarded him casually.
A few beats of silence passed. You didn’t speak and neither did he. A few minutes passed, then a half hour, and then an hour. Finally, one of the assistants came to bring him back to his room.
He stood up to go but you still didn’t say anything. He’d allowed himself to be taken back without a fuss but, he didn’t think anything more about it. The next day it was the same thing. He was taken out of his room back to the same treatment room, and surprisingly, you were already there waiting for him.
You gave him a little grin and nodded to the couch opposite you, and just like the last day, he sat.
Once again, you didn’t say anything, which was unusual, since all of the other doctors had always started off the conversation, but you sat in silence across from him – the gentle smile never leaving your face all the while.
A half hour of silence passed before he finally broke. “So, what exactly is this?” he remembers his voice sounding dry and scratchy after weeks of misuse. “This the part where you try and butter me so I’ll talk to you?”
You’d grinned at his remark. “No.”
“No? Then what the hell are you doing here? Is this some new technique the therapist’s showed you to try and get me to spill my guts to you? Reverse phycology or some shit?”
“Nope. None of that I can assure you. Actually, if I’m being honest, I’m not even a doctor.”
That caught his attention.
“The hell do you mean you’re not a doctor? How the are you in here then?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”
He remembers being completely caught off guard by your answers, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit intrigued by you. He remembers squinting at you carefully – taking you in – and for the first time, he saw you. Really saw you.
He could tell that you weren’t lying to him about not being a doctor. You were dressed casually, though you were still covering up a fair amount of skin – no doubt something they told you to do ahead of time. You looked more alive than the rest of the staff in this place as well.
He was loathed to admit it, but you were pretty.
He remembers you flashing him a knowing grin, clearly able to tell he’s been shamelessly checking you out, and it was enough to make him recede back into his shell; his walls going back up once more, as he rolled his eyes condescendingly at you.
“So what’s your angle then?” He’d asked you. “You’re not a doctor but you wouldn’t be in here with me if you didn’t want something from me.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I was simply here to talk?”
That had gotten a laugh out of him. A short breathless laugh, but it was the first one he’d uttered since he’d tried to incinerate himself along with his father. It felt weird leaving his throat, foreign even, and he’d cut himself off as soon as the sound exited his mouth. So, he settled for snickering instead.
“Really now? You want to talk to someone like me? Why do I not believe that?”
You had sighed, and leaned forward so your forearms were supported on your knees, fixing him with a stern gaze. The intensity of it had made him flinch before he remembered who he was. He returned the look best he could, but it hadn’t deterred you in the slightest. Instead, you sighed again.
“Look I’ll be honest with you: the staff here filled me in on your situation. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but from how it was explained to me; your family wants you back home with them. They’ve made a bunch of deals with the authorities about getting you out of here and not spending the rest of your life behind bars, but you have to successfully go through rehab first. The reason you’re here is so they can determine that you’re not a threat to society or to yourself, but the staff don’t seem to be having much luck getting through to you, and they’re desperate. They sent out a request to bring in outside help and I applied. They picked me because we’re the same age, and well… no one else really wanted to. Turns out most people are pretty scared of you.”
“Fucking figures. And you’re telling me you’re not?”
“Of you? No.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not. I’m a little nervous maybe, but I’m not scared.”
That had made him pause. He’d swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling like it was packed with cotton.
“Why’s that?” he’d finally asked you after a moment.
You had gone quiet, seemingly mulling over his question before you finally responded: “I think you have a lot to say. More than you already have, and more then what people think. To be honest, I want to hear it.”
He had laughed again, but this time it sounded forced, even to him.
“If you watched my broadcast then you know it all already.”
“Oh, trust me, I think the whole world saw your broadcast, not just Japan. No one would shut up about it for weeks. But I think there’s a lot more to you. I think a part of you wants to talk to someone else – none of that scripted bullshit – and I want to talk to you. Honestly, I think you’re pretty fascinating.”
He had been very tempted as ask you if you had a thing for villains, but he held off.
“You must be crazy if you find talking to me enjoyable. The other quacks can’t even stomach me, let alone stand to be in the same room as me for more than a few minutes. Just how fucked up are you really?”
You’d grinned and wiggled your eyebrows mischievously at him as you leaned back and spread your arms out along the back of the couch. “The only way you’re going to find that out is if you agree to talk to me. I don’t just give up all my secrets willingly you know.”
It was his turn to go quiet as he thought about your words over and over in his head, taunting him. He hadn’t been in any rush to leave the facility and go back to his old house, even if his mother and siblings were waiting for him. On the other hand, this was the most enjoyable conversation he’d had with anyone since coming to this white hellhole they called a hospital.
He figured maybe he would entertain you for a little while. If nothing else it would get you off his back.
You were lucky you were attractive.
The sound of your voice calling out his surname brought him back to the present.
“Mr. Todoroki?”
“… Fine.” He had finally relented. “We’ll see who you really are, and for fuck’s sake don’t call me that. I’m not my fucking father.”
“What do you want me to call you then?”
“D—” he stopped short. Was that his name any more? Did he get to call himself that after everything was said and done? It was the name he had given himself when Touya died all those years ago, but for some reason, saying it now just seemed wrong.
“…Touya.” He finally muttered. “Just Touya.”
You had smiled at him and for some stupid reason, it made his heartrate pick up. Just a little.
“Okay then. Touya it is. It’s nice to meet you.” You extended your left hand, and he had clumsily fumbled around for a moment before shaking your hand. As soon as your hands touched, and he felt the gentle pressure of your hand in his own, he was struck with the realization that this was the closest to human he’d felt in God knows how long. The other doctors that would come in and out of his cell treated him like he was some kind of feral animal, but you had extended your hand to him without any shred of fear or disgust. 
Once you’d both settled back into your respective couches, he’d shrugged.
“So, what now then?”
“Now we talk I guess.”
“About what?”
“I think that’s up to you. The people who brought me in here didn’t specify what we have to talk about, but I am supposed to tell you that I can’t talk to you about the UA students, politics, current or former hero’s, or the League.”
Fuck. It didn’t seem like he’d be getting any answers out of you regarding his former group either.
“…fine. Ask away, I guess.”
To his surprise, you shook your head. “Can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I’m the one doing all the asking, then we’re only going to talk about things from my perspective, which isn’t the point. The only way this is going to work is if you talk to me first.”
That’d had thrown him through a fucking loop. Ever since he had arrived at the ward, all the doctors had done is talk at him, hoping he’d respond eventually. You may not have been a doctor, but you made for a better conversation then any of them ever did.
“…Well… Where am I supposed to start?” he’d finally asked, feeling like an idiot. To his immense relief, you’d simply shrugged.
Wherever you want. From the beginning maybe? It might be easier that way.”
He remembered swallowing hard. “Alright… from the beginning then.”
He remembers pausing and looking up at you, taking you in. “What the hell is your name anyways?”
You told him with a smile, and that was how it started.
For the next year, you came to see him almost every day.
He was taken to the same room where you were always waiting for him without fail at the same time every day. Even though at that point, he’d rather choke than admit it; he began to look forward to your visits – finding that they gave him a reprieve from his mundane existence at the mental ward.
He knew the doctors were always listening and recording everything you talked about during the hour you were together, but he found he didn’t care as much as you managed to keep the meetings interesting.
True to your word, you wouldn’t talk to him about current political events, or any news related to heroes (he knew better then to ask anyways), but you were open to chatting with him about anything that he wished to talk about, even though conversations were often hard for him to start – but you were kind and patient with him, more so than anyone had ever been to him for the majority of his miserable life.
He found himself growing found of you, the little smiles you give him when he’d sit across from you, bringing a hidden grin to his own lips, though he was quick to push it down, never letting his passive façade drop for more the a few seconds, lest his supervising doctors notice and assume shit, as they tended to do.
You may not have been a licensed doctor, but you helped him more than any of the ones who worked at the medical ward did.
There was a gradual shift in your relationship as time passed. Around the six month mark he could feel it, and he was almost positive you could too.
Your conversations had become more fluid, more casual. You were relaxed as you could be around him, and he found himself opening up more and more to you without being prompted. Most times he liked to keep the conversation light, but every so often, he’d tell you bits and pieces about his childhood – before everything had gone to shit. He never bothered telling you about everything that happened after Sekoto; he didn’t want to tell you about the years he spent on the streets, or his time in All For One’s medical center with the other children turned Nomu’s, and to his immense relief, you never asked him to.
In return for his openness, you rewarded him with tidbits from your own life growing up. You didn’t name anyone specific (he couldn’t fault you on that one), but you’d tell him about your childhood and some of the adventures you’d had when you were young, well into your teen years.
He learned that you were born an only child to your parents, raised in a caring household. All the idealistic, quaint things that he had wished from his own family. He’d told you as much one day, prompting you to laugh softly.
“Not always.” You’d told him quietly. “I had my own pressure on me when I was growing up. My parents and I fought a lot. We rarely saw eye to eye – they didn’t agree with a lot of choices I made when I was younger, but it was okay aside from that.”
“Still sounds like your parents were better than mine.” He’d told you with a bitter smirk. “My dad’s an abusive asshole, and my mom—”
 It was then he realized that he struggled for words to properly describe her. Broken images from his fire fight with Endeavor had come back to him, and he remembered his mother’s fierce determination to try and cool him down – to save him – even as the heat was melting her flesh. She had thrown herself into the fray to try and stop him from ending it all without a second thought for her own safety. Up until very recently, he would’ve described his mother as weak and submissive, always bending to his father’s whims, even though he knew she didn’t have much of a choice back then, but now… that description didn’t seem to fit her anymore.
“—she used to be a doormat for dear old dad to walk over when I was a kid… but she’s changed. She’s a lot stronger than I remember her being.”
“I saw bits and pieces of your fight with… him.” You’d admitted quietly then. “I saw the aftermath. Your mom, your siblings… they all ran in to save you.”
He’d fallen quiet at that, not truly knowing what to say, but when he looked up again, you had offered him a gentle smile. “I’m sorry if this oversteps a boundary but… they never forgot about you Touya. Even if it felt like they did, they never stopped thinking about you.”
For once, he remembered being grateful that his tear ducts were permanently sealed shut, because he suddenly found himself in danger of crying. The tell-tale prickling behind his eyes caused his face to scrunch up as he pushed the thought of his mom and siblings down. He had quickly forced his expression to go back to neutral, and prayed that you hadn’t noticed the switch, but if you had, you didn’t comment on it – another thing he liked so much about you. 
Instead, you asked him something that caught him off guard.
“Have you seen them? Your family? Since you were placed here?”
“No. Didn’t think they were allowed to come here. Why?”
“I think… maybe you should let them come see you – your mom and siblings I mean. Not you know who. I don’t think you’d be doing yourself any favours.”
“Why?” He remembers pressing you. “Have you seen them?” You’d shook your head.
“No, I’ve never met them, but I think it might help if you sit down with them and actually talk to them one on one. You must be getting so bored just talking to me day in and day out.”
“No!” he remembers saying a little too quickly, causing another one of those knowing smirks to creep up your lips. “I—no, you’re fine. I like talking to you.”
“Do you not want to see them?” you had asked him seriously. “Is it too soon? I understand if you’re not ready. That’s a decision you have to make on your own. No one can make it for you.”
“… I’ll think about it.”
Because in truth: there were things he wanted to say to them, and conversations he wanted to have.
In the end, it was you who finally convinced him to let his family visit. They had been cleared to see him at the faculty a few months prior, but he had always declined a visit from them, not wanting to see them so soon, since the last time they were all together had resulted in him almost melting his mother, Fuyumi and Natsuo.
There had been strict rules set in place for his family’s visitations: only one person could see him at a time so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed. they weren’t allowed to talk about outside events with him, and finally, under no circumstance was Endeavor allowed anywhere near the faculty. He was fine with his mother and siblings coming to see him if they wished, but he didn’t want his father to be anywhere near him.
He wasn’t ready to see him again so soon. Even after his apologies. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to see his father again.
Thankfully the faculty had minimal difficulty honoring his last wish, as it seemed that Enji didn’t want to be around him either – or maybe he was purposefully keeping his distance. Either way, the old bastard wasn’t around him, and he figured it was for the best.
Once again you had been right; seeing his family again had been as cathartic as it had been terrifying.
There had been tears (from his family – he still was unable to cry), and there had been a lot of long, overdue heart-to-heart conversations with them of things that should’ve been said long ago.
It had been hard to sit down and listen to each of his family members without feeling the intense urge to get up and run when the guilt became almost unbearable, but he had forced himself to sit through it all for their sakes (and even his own), and soon he found himself scheduling more visits with his family, as well as seeing you for your daily interactions.  
You never prompted him to tell you how his now daily visits with his family went, but he’d told you anyways – not what was discussed, that would stay with him – but he had told you about his favourite visit. Hilariously, it had been with Shoto; something he never thought he’d ever say.
He’d told you about how Shoto had brought him lunch from the outside the day before. It wasn’t anything special; just piping hot udon noodles with vegetables in pork broth. They had sat down in silence and eaten together, sharing a meal for the first time in their lives. Nothing had been discussed, and yet everything had been said.
It had been nice. Comfortable, even.
He remembered telling you with a soft smile on his face, and you had pointed it out, causing him to scoff and wave you off.
“It’s better food then the shit they feed me in this prison. Seriously, that was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”
“Well, once you’re cleared to leave, I’m sure you’ll be able to eat all the udon you want with your brother.” You’d told him as you tucked your feet under you. He’d shrugged, brushing you off, but you were ever observant, and had called him out on it.
“Do you not want to go back to them once you’re able to leave this place?”
It was a simple question in theory, but it wasn’t easy to answer.
He’d shrugged again. “Don’t really know if I can. Not after everything. I won’t go back if he’s there.”
“I don’t think they’d push so hard for you to come back to them if he was.” You reasoned with him gently. “Where would you want to go, if not there?”
You and your questions. Most of the time they were harmless, but sometimes they really made him think. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had an answer for you at that point, and you had quickly switched the conversation topic.
At that point, he’d be lying if he said he was thinking about what he’d do once he was released. Truth be told he hadn’t thought about it much at all. To him, it felt like he’d be in the psychiatric ward for the foreseeable future. He had no real plans for what he’d do once he was out. Maybe he would go back to his old house with his family, or maybe he’d try staking out on his own since that was what he was used to, if he was even allowed to go off on his own. He wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do once he was let out – but he certainly wouldn’t be free, he knew that much.
Maybe he’d try and reconnect with the League – assuming that any of them were even allowed to be released from custody.
It still bothered him on some level that he had no idea about what happened to them after the dust had settled. He had been carted off the battle field before any of them, after his attempt at going nuclear failed, and had been in and out of the hospital and the physiatrist wing ever since.
When he had first arrived, he’d asked the staff about what had happened to the remainder of the League, but they hadn’t told him anything aside from the fact they were alive – but he wasn’t sure how much of that he believed.
The only one he’d really trusted in the whole building was you. He knew you weren’t allowed to talk to him about any villains or heroes, but maybe if he asked you discreetly, you’d be able to tell him something more than what the medical staff had. He didn’t want you to get in trouble, but the curiously was eating away at him. 
Finally, one day he risked it, and asked you if you knew anything about the fates of his former teammates.
You had paused after he’d voiced his question, and went quiet for a moment, seemingly debating on what you could say to him. For a moment you looked like you were almost about to tell him that you couldn’t say anything, but the look on his face must have been desperate enough that you cracked.
You had given the cameras in the room an unreadable look before sighing loudly. “I don’t know where they are exactly. I never looked into it, and it isn’t public knowledge anyways.” You told him gently. “What I do know is that they’re alive, and they’re in different treatment centers receiving help. I know they were beaten badly and some of your friends almost died – but as far as I know, they’re doing okay.”
You’d then sat straight back up on your chair and loudly proclaimed, “I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to say that much to him, right? Don’t take it out on him or me once we’re done here.”
It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but at least they were alive, and were in similar situations to him. It made him feel slightly less alone.
When the timer beeped shrilly, signaling that your hour was up, you had stood up to leave just as you always did, but before you could say goodbye to him, he’d quickly lunged forward and grabbed your hand, incasing it with his large cold one.
You’d stared at him in shock, as he’d never made a move to touch you once in the six months, you’d been visiting him, but before any of the guards could rush in and pull him off, he’d let your hand drop, but not before muttering a quiet “thank you” under his breath to you, before backing off and allowing the armed guard to escort you out of the room.
He distinctly remembers feeling the pressure of your small hand in his own, but he hadn’t been able to feel anything else aside from that. He hated it. He suddenly found himself hating that all of the nerves in his body had been severed, rendering him unable to feel anything. He couldn’t feel the texture of your skin against his own, or if your hands were cool or warm like his.
He was forced to admit to himself that for the first time since he’d left the hospital; he wanted to feel something again.
He wanted to feel you. But he couldn’t, and it aggravated him more than anything.
There was another thing he remembered distinctly about that day as you were leaving him behind: For the first time since you had started your daily interactions with him; you had looked back.
You had looked at him like you were seeing him in a different light.
He didn’t see you for a few weeks after that. When he had been pulled from his cell, and into the room where you usually met him, he was instead greeted by several doctors that had overseen his treatment when he first arrived.
He had asked them where you were, and when they refused to answer his question, he had immediately become hostile and threatening. The walls that were slowly starting to lower since he first met you went straight back up, and Touya turned into Dabi once more.
For the first time in roughly seven months, he lashed out (quirk be damned), and was immediately taken back to his room and put on lockdown. He wasn’t allowed visitors, and the only times he was allowed to leave his cell was to go back to the same room with the same doctors who poked and prodded him – asking him increasingly invasive questions, until he shut his mouth and refused to speak to them once more. One last act of defiance on his end since he still didn’t have use of his quirk.
When it had become apparent to the doctors and specialists that he refused to speak to any of them, they stopped taking him out altogether. He spent countless hours staring out the tiny window in his room, basking in the weak sunlight and taking in the menial views he could see from his window.
He had wondered where you had gone; if you had been forcefully sent away after he had asked about the League. He hoped that wasn’t the case – he liked you, probably more then he should if he was honest with himself – and you were just about the only person he could actually carry on a conversation with in this shitty place.
A few more weeks in solitary had him about to snap. He had reached a point where he was about to try and strike a deal with the overseeing doctors about bringing you back if he answered their shitty questions, when one of the armed guards opened up his door and guested for him to follow.
Once again, he had been taken back to the same observation room, but to his pleasant surprise; you were there waiting for him.
You had beamed at him and before he could think about what he was doing, he had crossed the room towards you in three long strides until he was standing directly in front of you. He had begun to lift his hand up towards you, only for his action to halted by a curt bark from the guard who was still standing at the door. You had shaken your head, motioning to the guard you were fine and sent him on his way. As soon as the door had closed, he rounded on you.
“You left.”
You had nodded, a small, sad smile on your lips. “I did, yes. Not really by choice though.”
“Why did you go?”
You’d barked out a laugh. “I’ll be honest, the supervisors weren’t too happy with me when I told you about the League. I broke one of their rules, so they told me I had to go for a bit.”
He’d narrowed his eyes, confused. “But now you’re back.”
You’d given him a slight smirk. You turned to sit down on your usual spot on the couch, but this time, instead of having him sit across from you, you’d gestured for him to sit beside you, which he’d done so embarrassingly fast.
“You’re very stubborn.” You’d told him with a light laugh. “From what I was told, you refused to talk to anyone after I left – heard you got downright nasty with some of the staff, and they put you on probation. They called me a few days ago almost begging me to come back. Guess they felt you made the most progress when you were talking to me.”
You’d given him a look that was hard for him to read. “Why did you snap at them?”
He figured there was no point in lying to you – you’d find out somehow. “Didn’t know where you went. Fuckers wouldn’t tell me, and they kept prying into my shit. Didn’t want to talk to them so they put me in solitary.”
He remembers you looking sad at his answer. “I heard you were in there for several weeks. I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to happen to you. Not on my account. I didn’t… I don’t want to be the reason your release got delayed.”
For some reason, it bothered him that you blamed yourself for what happened, and he reached out to gently take hold of your wrist. To his surprise, you hadn’t stopped him, or made any move to pull your hand away from his, so he allowed himself to rub circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, even though he couldn’t feel it.
“Not your fault. Don’t worry about when I’m getting out. It’s not like it really matters anyways.”
“Do you know why they were pushing you so much?” you’d asked quietly, still not making any more to remove yourself from his hold. He’d shook his head and you’d simply leaned into him, damn near making him freeze up in surprise at your boldness.
“They told me that they’re planning on releasing you soon – with restrictions of course – but they were thinking that you’d be able to leave here sooner than expected. That was before your outburst, but if you’re willing to just hear them out and answer their questions, it’ll help speed up the process.”
“They seriously think that I’m fit to send out into society again?” he remembers scoffing, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Pretty sure the majority of them think I’m an irredeemable sociopath.”
“They’ve seen the way you act around me and your interactions with your family. You’re not perfect, but you’re trying, and sometimes that’s all you can do.”
“You do realize I have killed people, right? I’ve maimed countless others. They’re… not exactly wrong about me.”
Surprisingly, you’d simply rolled your eyes at his statement, acting like he’d just told you the sky was blue. “Of course I know that Touya. I’m not overlooking what you did. But they—your family – are fighting hard to try and get you another chance, a fresh start. They think you deserve it, and they’re out there right now, day and night, trying to convince others that you deserve a second chance too.”
You had twisted your hand in his so your palms were kissing, fingers laced together, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears as you gave him that damn smile of yours.
“You’re right: the past never dies, but that doesn’t mean that it has to be your future as well.”
That simple statement had stunned him. For the first time in a long time, he hadn’t had anything to say in response to you.
He remembers fighting an internal battle in himself, trying to find something to say to rebuttal what you were telling him. A part of him understood why his family was fighting for his uncertain future outside the psychiatric ward, but on the other hand… he didn’t necessarily believe that he deserved it.
What kind of life would he be able to have even if he was allowed to be released? He had never planned on living this long, as morbid as that was. His original goal had been to go out in a fiery hell-blaze with his bastard of a father, but clearly that hadn’t happened. He was known a global terrorist, the right-hand to the symbol of fear. His quirk was legendary for all the wrong reasons. How could he possibly be allowed to live on the outside? There was no way the rest of Japan wanted him released, let alone wandering around. What kind of future could he possibly be allowed to dream about? Did he even dare to think about it? He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what he might do if he was ever allowed out of the ward from time to time, but now that his impending release seemed like more of a possibility; he was starting to think maybe it was better for everyone – and maybe even himself – if he stayed locked away.
Thankfully, you and your perspective nature had picked up his internal struggle. You’d leaned into him and taken his hand in both of your own, allowing him to breathe again.
“What do you want Touya?”
What did he want? Christ he wasn’t sure.
“I… don’t know. Honestly: I never planned on living this long from the get go. Everything has always been decided for me. I kinda figured that this would be the same.” He had admitted quietly, the gentle pressure of your hands on his own, grounding his rapid thoughts.
“Do you think you’re ready to leave soon?” You’d asked him gently, prompting him to laugh, a bitter, ugly thing, but you hadn’t flinched.
“No.” he’d admitted after a moment, scrunching up his nose. “Dunno if there’s much of a point. I’ll never be free. No matter where I go, I’ll always be a prisoner. What kind of life could I even have outside of here? I don’t know how to live any other way aside from how I’ve been living since I escaped that damn—” he’d cut himself off last minute, reminding himself that you didn’t know about All For One’s hellish medical facility he had woken up in, and he had no plans on telling you about that.
“I just…” he remembered breathing out hard through his nose as he tried to collect his thoughts, focusing on the faint heat he swore he could feel emanating off your hands and leaching into his cold skin. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if they decide to let me out. Dunno if I can go back to the old house after everything that happened, and I’m not sure if I could bring myself to live with my mom or my siblings after… well, you saw bits of what happened on TV already.”
He hadn’t needed to say it for you to know that he felt a tremendous amount of guilt towards his mother and siblings – especially Fuyumi and Natsuo – for nearly charring them in the heat of battle. He may have held onto so much resentment and anger towards his family for his mistreatment as a child, but he was also self-aware enough to know that it hadn’t been their faults, and they had tried to help him in the only ways they knew how.
You had been quiet as you let him vent to you. You hadn’t said anything for a while afterwards as you mulled over what he’d told you. Finally, you had nudged his shoulder with your own.
“I think that everything you just told me is proof enough that you deserve a chance to have a life outside of these walls.” You admitted. “What you said isn’t something an ‘irredeemable sociopath’ would say. That’s something a self-aware person says. You’re not perfect Touya, but Christ if you’re not trying. I can see it, your mom, sister and brothers see it, and I think a lot of your other doctors are starting to see it too. I think there’s a point, even if you don’t think there is.”
In that moment he’d been convinced that if he could cry, he would’ve been.
“Yeah? Well, thank you sweetheart.” He’d muttered into your hair, fighting hard with himself to try and keep his voice steady. “I have no fucking idea why you’re so nice to me, but it’s… yeah.”
“I think someone needs to treat you like a normal human being, because I don’t think anyone did for a long time.” You’d looked up at him pointedly, but he’d seen traces of something else in your eyes when you’d asked him, “Did they?”
A simple flat look from him had been answer enough for you, and prompted you to squeeze his hand. “Didn’t think so.”
You’d both lapsed into a comfortable silence aside from the steady ticking of the clock, and he’d known without looking up that your time with him was coming to an end. Now, he was dreading it more then he normally would’ve been. You’d spoken up again, but what came out of your mouth next, had shocked him.
“When you’re released… If you’re still unsure of where you want to go afterwards… I could… if you can clear it with the people overseeing your progress once you’re cleared to leave… Maybe… you could come stay with me.”
He remembered staring down at you, shocked. “Is that even allowed?”
You’d shrugged in response. “I’m not sure. I think you’re going to have to initially stay with your family for a while, but if you’re really having a difficult time staying there… maybe I could work something out with your family, as long as it’s approved. It’ll probably take a while, but I can try.”
He had a difficult time allowing what you were implying to sink in. How? How could you be so trusting? To even suggest the idea of someone like him staying with you? Forget if it was even possible or not, the fact you’d even offered in the first place was mind-blowing. Before he could think about what he was saying, he’d voiced his thoughts to you:
“I’m sure your parents would be thrilled, you bringing a villain back to your home.”
You’d simply given him a small smile. “I’m sure they wouldn’t like it… if they were around that is.”
“Oh. They not in the country, or—”
“We’ll go with that.”
Ah. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one with secrets. That was fair, you were allowed to have your own. He wouldn’t pry.
“Sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know.”
You’d both fallen back into the same silence from before. You were still leaning on him, his hand trapped in your smaller one, yet he’d made no move to remove it from your grasp. Honestly, he was shocked the guards from before hadn’t barged into the room and forced him away from you. The close proximity must have been violating a rule of some kind, and yet no one had made any move to separate the two of you, Maybe the medical staff really had been as desperate as you’d claimed, and were willing to let some things slide. Either way, he wasn’t complaining.
“You’re a lot colder than I thought you’d be… with your quirk being what it is and all.”
He’d glanced down at you, only to see you staring down at your intertwined hands. You’d squeezed the appendage again, prompting him to respond.
“It’s the quirk suppressors. Haven’t been able to use my quirk since before I got here. The quacks made it so I’m hopped up on suppressors around the clock, just in case. Turns out I’m pretty fucking cold without my flames. Must be from the ice side, but I can’t use that either.”
“Well, maybe if you keep being nice, you won’t have to be on them indefinitely.” You had tried to give him a hopeful smile, but he knew what the likelihood of that happening was, and you must have too, since you didn’t say anything else on the matter.
The timer had sounded then, signaling the visit was over. Before the guard could come to collect you, he’d quickly pulled his arm out of your grasp, and had wrapped it around you tightly, much to your initial surprise. He’d begrudgingly let you go so he could help you stand, sending the guard at the door a pointed look as he’d seen him casting an unsure look between himself and you. You hadn’t been the least bit bothered by the anxious glances the guard was trying to send you as you stood slowly and sent him one of your little smiles he’d come to expect from you.
“You’re coming back?” he’d blurted out before he could stop himself.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time.” You’d told him confidently as you’d turned to leave, brushing your knuckles against his. “Don’t worry Touya. I’m not going anywhere.”
For the first time since someone had promised him anything in a very long time, he’d believed you.
In the end, you’d kept your promise.
It had taken close to another year before he was allowed to leave the psychiatric facility (some minor setbacks had pushed his initial release date back), but you had come to see him almost every day at the same time.
Over that time, you’d grown exceptionally close to each other, even more so from when you’d first started visiting him initially. It was almost impossible for him not to grow attached to you – you were his constant source of company, his companion. You were the one person he could tell anything to and not have to worry about being scrutinized for his thoughts. You were his safe space – something he’d never thought he’d ever say about someone else – and once he’d worked out how he saw you; it had been game over. He’d fallen for you fast and hard before he’d realized it, and by the time he did, it’d had been too late. He was hopelessly and utterly drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.
Surprisingly, you’d felt the same as him.
You’d openly admitted it to him one day near the end of his stay at the ward – even at the cost of possibly being prevented from seeing him again, since both of you knew you were crossing boundaries you hadn’t been meant to cross. He’d warned you as such, heart pounding in his ears at your confession, but you’d told him that he’d deserved to know with a simple shrug.
“Besides; if you keep up the good behavior and don’t have any more outbursts, you’ll be out before the end of the year anyways. Even if they don’t let me back after this – you can find me on the outside.” You’d told him matter-of-factly, boldly taking his hand in your own, before sending a shit-eating grin to the cameras set up around the room – knowing the doctors were monitoring every move.
He'd been certain that he could’ve kissed you right there and then.
Surprisingly, the medical staff had allowed you to continue coming back, even though it was apparent both of you cared for each other in ways that crossed professional boundaries. As much as the doctors were against how close the two of you had become, they couldn’t deny how far he had progressed since meeting you. He had gone from being the bitter, angry husk of a man, to someone who was still, and would always be forever scorned by the past, but overall, in a better place mentally.
Not too long after he’d sorted out his own feelings for you, he’d made you a surprising request:
He wanted you to meet his mother and siblings.
The meet up had taken almost a month of careful planning on the medical staff’s end, and had initially been met with some hesitation on both sides, but eventually you had agreed to it, and you’d sat down with him and the members of his family who he kept in contact with.
His father hadn’t been invited for obvious reasons.
The medical staff had allowed him out of his normal room so he could meet with you and his mother and siblings in one of the spacious sitting rooms normally reserved for guests. A row of floor to ceiling windows lined the far wall, allowing him to get a view of the outside gardens. He remembered the outside weather was slightly overcast that day but warm rays of sunshine would occasionally stream through the gray clouds, as you and his family slowly met with one another under his watchful gaze.
His mother had taken to you almost immediately, as well as Natsuo – both seemingly happy he’d bonded with someone who was relatively normal – Fuyumi and Shoto had taken a little more convincing. Shoto was more curious of you, while Fuyumi had been downright distrustful. She’d asked you right off the bat what your intensions were with him, but he’d seen right through her: she was concerned that you were somehow affiliated with the now disbanded League, or maybe even the Paranormal Liberation Front.
Thankfully, you weren’t so easily put off by her upfront questioning. You had been calm, almost amused, as you answered her questions; reassuring her that you were in no way affiliated with any criminal organizations, and how you were someone who’d been presented with an opportunity to help with his rehabilitation, and had taken a leap of faith when no one else would.
“Why though?” he remembered his sister pressing you. “Why would you want to help him even after knowing everything he’s done?”
You and him had shared a look then, and he’d known what you were thinking before you said anything.
“I guess I wanted to understand why things went so wrong.” You’d told her honestly, your shoulder brushing with his as you spoke. “I wanted to get his side of the story – the unscripted one. When the chance to talk to him in person came up, I took it. Everyone deserves to have their story told, and I wanted to hear his.”
“You’re a lot closer than just a support person to him.” Fuyumi had countered, making him bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snapping at her to back off with her invasive questioning, knowing that he’d only land himself in trouble with the medical staff overseeing their visit if he had any outbursts.
To your credit, you’d simply shrugged, totally unbothered by her statement. “Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you see someone basically every day for over a year. Same time, same place. For as clueless as he is at normal relationships, your brother can be pretty charming when he wants to be.”
He’d been pretty sure the only reason you were outright lying to his sister was to try and make him look better in her eyes, but he almost hadn’t been able to stop the laugh that threatened to escape past his lips. Almost.
His sister had almost deflated then. Whether it was from disappointment in being unable to shake you, or relief, she’d simply nodded; finally accepting your answers.
“Well… if he’s happy… then that’s all any of us really need, I guess.”
The rest of the visitation had gone incredibly well, not that he was complaining. Plans for future meetings had been put in place, and from there, you and him had gotten into a semi-regular routine of seeing his mother and siblings, or whoever was available to come.
He never wanted to admit it to you, but the visitations you helped arrange with his family made his transition from the psychiatric hospital to his eventually moving into his mother’s new house after he’d been cleared for release, far smoother than he thought it would’ve been.
Eventually though, he was proven right about his earlier assumptions on living with his family – or rather – his mother and his siblings, again after so long:
He couldn’t do it. It felt almost wrong.
He’d felt like a ghost, wandering up and down the halls, looking at the pictures that lined the hallways of his mother’s house; comprised largely of his younger siblings. He’d watched as they had slowly grown up in each one, filling him with sense of melancholy.  
He’d missed the opportunity to watch them grow up. They’d done that without him. That was time he couldn’t get back – memories that weren’t there.
He’d felt isolated, and no amount of comfort or reassurance from his mother could change that deep-rooted feeling in him. Not even Natsuo’s constant presence in the home made him feel better, much to his younger brother’s disappointment, though thankfully he understood. 
He’d lasted two months before he’d finally cracked and called your number which you’d given him immediately after he was released. You’d both stayed in contact, texting every day (under strict monetization from police tech sectors), but you hadn’t been able to see him in person since he’d gotten out, as you’d both agreed that it would be better if he focused on trying to settle into his new home. He’d missed you terribly during that period – not used to not seeing you for such a long period of time.
He'd called you in the dead of night, and asked if your offer to have him come stay with you was still open. From there, you’d gotten in contact with the authorities in charge of his release to try and gain permission for him to come live with you, while he had the difficult task of trying to explain to his family why he couldn’t stay with them any longer than he’d already had.
As expected, you’d been met with resistance on both sides, but eventually his overseers had come to an agreement: he would be allowed to live with you, but he always had to have a tracking monitor on at all times, he had to be on constant quirk suppressors, he couldn’t leave your building without you and a Pro hero escort of some kind, and finally, he had to attend mandatory therapy sessions at least once a week, as well as call his probation officer weekly and give them updates about what he was doing. If he failed to meet any of the rules set out for him; he’d earn himself a one-way ticket to Tartarus, no questions asked.
As much as he’d wanted to argue some of what they wanted from him, he’d agreed to their stipulations, knowing full-well unless he agreed to their terms, he’d be stuck at his mother’s for the rest of his life, and while he didn’t hate living with her and his siblings, it was too awkward for him to try and face them every day, knowing his past atrocities towards the rest of the country and even them, would continue to haunt him for the rest of his days.
He couldn’t pretend that he was still the same person he was when he’d burned up at the tender age of thirteen. He was different, older, harder. Things would never be able to go back to what they’d once been, and honestly: he didn’t want them to. He couldn’t go back to living with them after such a long time apart, because he had no idea how to co-exist with them normally.
Thankfully, as much as he knew it hurt his mother to hear him express his innermost thoughts, she seemed to understand how he felt the most, and had simply told him that he was always welcome in her home, and she still wanted him to come stay with her from time to time.
“You’re my son Touya. No matter how old you get or no matter what you do, you’ll always be my baby.” She’d told him gently just before he’d left her house, wrapping him into a tight hug.
Sometimes he found himself grateful he couldn’t cry anymore. He’d just wished this side of his mother had been more prominent over ten years ago. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently if it had.
He’d seen you then for the first time in several months when you’d come to pick him up. He’d managed to keep himself calm while you spoke to his mother, but secretly he was elated to see you again after months apart. His excitement over seeing you again had probably shown on his face, since you’d made it a point to keep yourself close to him as his brothers had moved his important possessions into your car.
It was as you were talking to his mother; he’d learned that you had moved to a new apartment building some weeks ago, following the news that one of Japan’s former most wanted was coming to stay with you. Naturally, the people in your old building hadn’t been pleased, so you’d forced to switch buildings to an apartment located near several hero agencies, where the residents hadn’t been as concerned about an ex-super villain moving in, due to the multitude of patrolling heroes in the area. The change had been frustrating for you, but it was the only way he’d be able to stay with you without anyone kicking up too much of a fuss.
Eventually you’d both been on your way back to your apartment with Shoto in tow to help with moving his things into your apartment. Your new place wasn’t massive, but it had two bedrooms and a decently sized living room and kitchen. Shoto had helped him set his things up in the spare bedroom before departing, but not before giving you his number with instructions to call him if you ever needed help.
As soon as the door had shut, he’d been on you.
He’d slammed you up against the door, causing a started yelp to escape your lips, as he grinned down at you wolfishly.
“What’s the matter sweetheart? Nervous? It’s not like we haven’t been this close before.”
You’d turned beet red as you shyly traced your fingers up his chest. “No, but we certainly haven’t done this.”
He’d grinned as he dipped his head down so you and him were eye to eye. “Tell me no then. Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t feel the same as me.”
He’d listened to your breath hitch, watching with delight as the flush deepened on your cheeks. “You wanted me to talk right? To be open with you about how I’m feeling? Well, I want you, and I think you want me too.”  
You’d looked up at him through your lashes, reaching up to lace your hand around his neck. “I do.” You’d told him gently, and your simple admission had made up his mind.
“Fuck.” He’d muttered, just before he’d dipped down and captured your lips with his.
The effect had been instantiations. His lips molded with yours, breathing in your air, as his hand cupped your cheek, long fingers curling around the back of your neck to keep you close to him.
You’d slowly peeled yourself off the door and grabbed at the collar of his shirt, pulling him with you further into the apartment, and into your bedroom. You’d managed to slam your door shut, just before he’d pushed you onto your bed – his lips never leaving yours as he pressed you further into the mattress.
He couldn’t keep his hands off you as you helped him take your clothes off. He could touch you, really touch you the way he’d wanted to for so long now. Nothing was there to hold him back, no cameras, no guards, no medical staff dictating his every move. It was just you and him.
He’d almost froze when he’d seen you’d laid out bare beneath him, soft and glowing against the pale sunshine streaming in from your bedroom window, warming your frame. You’d beamed up at him, tracing your hands up his arms.
“You can touch me.” You’d told him gently. “I trust you. Just be gentle.”
Gentle. Now that was a word he was certain he didn’t have in his vocabulary – but for you, he’d try.
He’d traced your curves gently, listening intently as your breath hitched, or how a small moan would escape past your lips when he touched a particularly sensitive area. Finally, you’d reached up to tug at the hem of his shirt, but he’d grabbed at your hands, making you pause.
“It’s not… I’m not… the scars… aren’t much better under there.” He’d tried to warn you. You’d given him a gentle smile, cupping his cheeks with your hands.
“I don’t mind Touya. You know I don’t care about all that.” You’d smoothed your thumbs over the raised skin of his face. “I love you for you. Regardless of what you look like.”
Love. You… you loved him, didn’t you? Even after everything he’d done while he was an active criminal – you’d somehow grown to love him, while most of the world hated him.
He didn’t necessarily think he was deserving of your love, but hell if he was ever going to point that out to you. He’d almost been tempted to ask you if you were a little bit crazy yourself, but you’d even told him when you had first met that he’d have to find that out for himself.
Maybe you were – just a little bit – but that suited him fine.
A normal girl would never have been able to handle him anyways.
He’d allowed you to help him out of his clothes then, and to your credit, you hadn’t batted an eye at the less than perfect skin covering his body. He may not have been held together by surgical staples anymore, and his body may not have been a mess of burnt patchwork skin like it used to be, but the new skin grafts were raised and patchy – never fully settling properly. It wasn’t often that he got self-conscience about how he looked, but you were different.
You had run your hands up and down the length of his body and marveled him like he was some work of art. He didn’t think he was, but you clearly saw him differently. You’d kissed his marred skin, and if he’d been able to cry, he would have.
You had pulled him down onto your bed and climbed on top of him, much to his surprise. He’d tried to prop himself up, only for you to gently push him back down onto your mattress, giving him a knowing smile all the while.
“Let me take care of you.” You’d whispered to him softly. “We’ll go slow. Gentle. It’s just me and you now.”
It wasn’t like he’d never fucked someone before, but it had been a while, and it was just that: he’d fucked, never loved. He wasn’t sure if he knew any other way when it came to sex, but he knew that he didn’t want to be rough with you like he’d been with his past flings, and so he had relinquished control to you.
He had allowed himself to relax into the mattress as you’d hovered above him, lining him up with your entrance. He was already painfully hard, his body reacting to yours as soon as he’d kissed you. You’d bent down to kiss his throat, relishing how he’d let out a shuddering breath as you’d sunk down onto him. He’d cursed as your tight heat had enveloped him, leaving him boneless and shaking.
He’d brought your face down to his to kiss you as you started moving, moaning as you slowly moved up and down on his shaft. You’d knocked the breath out of his lungs as you whimpered against his lips, still moving your hips against his own.
“Shit.” He’d growled as he’d reached up to wrap an arm around your hips. “Fuck baby. You feel so good. You’re so good for me.”
“You feel so good.” You’d sobbed. “I want you – want to make you feel good.”
“You do. Fuck you do. I want you. I need you.” He’d grunted as he planted his feet into your bed, pistoning his hips up into your body.
“Fuck.” You’d cried out, as you continued to bounce on his cock. “Touya!”
“I’m here. Fuck I’m here, with you. I love you.”
He’d remembered your eyes blowing wide at his confession, just before your body had stiffened up, and your mouth had opened up into a silent scream, as your orgasm had ripped through you – your end triggering his own.
You’d both stayed there for a moment, trying to regain your breath, before you’d slowly separated yourself from him. He hadn’t let you go far – pulling you down to lay beside him, and wrapping himself around you as you nestled into the broad expanse of his chest.
“Stay.” He had rasped as he held you close to him, curling around your smaller frame protectively. He’d known what he was saying was nonsensical – he was in your apartment, you weren’t going anywhere, not really – but thankfully, you seemed to understand what he was trying to say without him outright telling you. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere Touya.” You’d breathed, placing a kiss on the side of his temple. “You’re home now. With me.”
That simple sentence had brought him more comfort than he’d experienced in recent memory. He’d passed out sometime after with you still nude and curled into him, sharing in his warmth.
That had been the best sleep he’d had in years.
After that, he’d fallen into a steady routine of normalcy with you. You’d go to work, while he’d keep himself entertained during the day. Normally, he’d open up the windows in your living room and perch himself on the couch near them, soaking up the feeling of gentle sunbeams on his face, and watching the outside world go by as he waited for you to return later in the evening. You had set up therapy appointments for him every Thursday, and either you or Shoto would take him depending on your schedules. Life settled down, and the outside world continued on around him, even though his world now consisted of your apartment and what he could see outside from your windows.
It wasn’t a coincidence that three pro heroes moved into the building roughly a month after he had moved the last of his menial things into your apartment.
He couldn’t say that he was surprised by the less then subtle way the newly reformed hero commission chose to keep an annoyingly close watch on him, but he was still allowed some freedoms with you, so he figured he could keep his jabs to himself for the time being. 
All and all, life with you was simple easy. For the first time in his life, he could say he was appreciating the little things he never could’ve before his life had turned into a living hell.
For the first time in a very long time, he had hope – something he’d never allowed himself to have before, because what had been the point? He had fully planned on taking himself out in the final fight against Endeavor… but life was strange, and it turned out that it had different plans for him.
While he couldn’t be sure what those plans were yet, they had brought you to him, and that was enough.
He had you, and in the end, that’s all that really mattered—
-----
The sound of one of his skin care products hitting the floor snaps him out of his reprieve. He blinks, and once again, he is standing in your bathroom with the sink running, halfway through the skin maintenance routine that you forced on him once he came to live with you. 
He swears under his breath as he bends down to retrieve the plastic tube with his right arm, only to freeze as he suddenly remembers:
His right arm is gone. He tore it clean off in the brawl against his dad.
He finds it surprising how often he forgets he doesn’t have both his hands anymore. Half the time he swears that his right arm is still intact because he can feel the damn thing, only to look down and see it’s still gone from mid bicep down. You once called it a ‘phantom limb’ and he thinks you might be onto something with how often he’ll go to do something with his right, only to remind himself the arm doesn’t exist anymore.
It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Natsuo had offered to set him up an appointment to get him fitted for a prosthetic, but he hadn’t made up his mind on it yet – finding most things pretty manageable even with the lack of his right arm – but he does have days where he wishes he had all of his limbs, and there are certain tasks were having two hands would be more useful than one.
His extensive skin care routine is one of those tasks.
Hilariously, it was one of the conditions of him coming to stay with you initially: for the first time in his life, he was being forced to look after himself.
He had protested initially when you had come back home one day with a plethora of different specialty products for sensitive skin – not seeing the point – but you had insisted that he use them to take care of the newer skin grafts, telling him that if he wanted to continue to stay with you, he’d have to start properly taking care of himself, or you would do it for him.
He had begrudgingly accepted, and he gradually incorporated it into his daily routine. Realistically, he knew he didn’t have much to complain about: he didn’t have many responsibilities as it was, and you had promised him if he kept up with it, you wouldn’t tell his parole officer that you weren’t forcing him take his quirk suppressor medication – one of the conditions of his release.
He grins inwardly to himself as he turns the sink off and pats his face dry. You hadn’t seen the need to enforce that particular rule, seeing how you were quite confident he wasn’t going to burn down your apartment building, and he didn’t have any plans to – lest he be forced to return back to his mother’s home.
Besides, after spending over a year feeling unnaturally cold without his quirk, he was in no rush to return to the weak, powerless state the psychiatric ward had left him in. Even if he couldn’t use his quirk to it’s full, destructive potential like he used to, just knowing that he still had use of his quirk intact was a comfort to him.
He makes his way out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind him and, pads over to his side of your shared closet, stripping out of his sleep clothes and pulling on a loose shirt and baggy sweats, before heading out into the small living room.
If his younger self could see how he lives now, he’s sure he would’ve turned his nose up in disgust before calling him a sell-out, and a gnarled part of him still thinks that to some level, however; when he thinks back to how he used to live on the streets for close to a decade, he’ll take the easy, comfy life-style you allow him to live in your home in a heart-beat.
He used to wonder about where he would get his next meal – now his biggest inconvenience is that he’s bored whenever you’re not at home. How the times change.
He turns on the T.V. and sets it to a low volume as he moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a few miscellaneous items and setting them on the counter, before getting to work on prepping the food.
He doesn’t eat much, even now his metabolism is still messed up from the years of cumulative damage his body sustained, but he found himself making food for you when he first moved into your apartment as a way to keep himself occupied while you were at work. Most of his cooking attempts consist of cup noodles, and whatever else was easy to make, but every once in a while, he’d put a bit more effort into what he made, so long as you had the ingredients for it.
He curses to himself as he painstakingly prepares an easy meal of miso soup and yaki, his lack of a right arm slowing down his progress. Eventually he finishes his meal prep and puts his creation away as he waits for you to come home, moving to his usual spot by the window on your living room couch, before sitting down and indulging in some mindless reality T.V. show.
He watches the show absentmindedly, barely paying attention to what’s playing on the screen as he basks in the warm sunlight streaming in from outside. He glances over to his left to see his reflection staring back at him from a hanging mirror across the room, and has to fight the urge to flinch at what’s staring back at him.
Even after all of the love and tenderness you allowed him to experience while living with you, he still looked rough, and there were days where he felt it more than others. He may not have been able to feel pain in the normal sense, but his body aches constantly and there are additional issues he deals with daily. 
He’s painfully aware that he probably doesn’t have a lot of time on the earth. He’s in his late twenties, too damn early to be faced with his own mortality, but he knows there’s no use in trying to dance around the subject. With his body being what it is, he’d be surprised if he made it to fifty, but he knows better than to voice that out loud. The one-time he had confessed his inner thoughts to you, you had damn near burst into tears, and he found that he couldn’t stand to see you like that, so he keeps his morbid thoughts to himself.
The sound of the apartment door opening snaps him out of his depressing reprieve. He looks up, only to see you closing the door to the apartment, hanging your keys up and kicking your shoes off.  He gets up off the couch and pads over to you, greeting you with a little smile.
“You’re home early.”
You turn around to face him, smiling. “Yeah, I finished early today. Figured I’d come back and see what you were up to.”
He snorts as he takes your bag from you, setting it down on the small bench you had set up near your front door. “Not much, you know that. S’not like I can leave the building without you or Shoto escorting me.”
You roll your eyes, gracing him with a teasing smile. “How is he anyways? You talked to your family at all recently?”
He shrugs. “Not really. You know my phone usage is heavily monitored anyways.”
“I told them that – your mom reached out to me recently – she was hoping to meet up with you for lunch soon, and she hadn’t heard from you in a bit.”
“Ah. I don’t look at my phone very often. Tell her that I’m down. I’ll reach out at some point.” He nods towards the kitchen. “I made dinner.”
You beam at him. “You didn’t have to do that.” You lean in to press a kiss to the rough skin of his cheek, and he feels his heart speed up in his chest. Even though the physical affection you gave him isn’t anything new, it’s still amazing how much of an effect you had on him.
The fire that he keeps buried in his chest flares to life as you turned away from him briefly, but he doesn’t let you go far. He snakes an arm around your middle, pulling you back to him, causing you to look up at him.
“I’ve missed you.” He mumbles quietly into your hair. You simply wrap your arms around his torso and snuggle into his chest.
“Missed you too.” You tell him quietly. He swallowed thickly, as he allowed his hand to splay further down your back.
“I really missed you; I mean.”
You smile up at him gently, wiggling your eyebrows. “Did you now?”
“Mmmm.”
His hummed response causes your grin to grow wider. “Wanna show me?”
He doesn’t humor you with a response – instead opting to take you by the hand and lead you towards your shared bedroom with teasing grin of his own. He allows you to kick the door closed behind you, before dipping down to bite on the skin of your neck, causing a giggle to escape your lips as his hands wander up and down your frame.
“Off.” He grunts, tugging on your clothes. You smirk at his demand, pulling at the hairs at the nape of his neck to get him to look at you.
“I think you could ask me a bit nicer, right?”
He rolls his eyes at you. “Please.”
“That’s better.” You smile sweetly at him, separating yourself from him long enough to shimmy out of your pants and strip out of your shirt, leaving you in your bra and panties before him.
He kisses the back of his teeth as he closes the distance between you, wrapping a muscular arm around you as he captures your lips with his rough ones. He feels you sigh into the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck.
It wasn’t often that he initiated physical contact like this – he not shy by any means, but he’s not used to having such close relations with another person. He’d been a loner for such a long time after escaping the hospital, and any physical contact he somehow managed to receive from woman he’d met in sketchy bars during those miserable years had never been meaningful or fulfilling. He wasn’t used to being wanted.
But you wanted him, and you weren’t shy about letting him know just that.
He had no problems letting you remind him of the latter.
He feels your hands travel down from around his neck to the bottom of his shirt, tugging on it. “Off please.” You murmur against his lips, and he separates from you long enough to yank his shirt off, before coming back to embrace your soft body with his own hot one.
He presses you back against the bed, gently pushing you down to lay on the mattress as he hovered above you. He dips back down to seal his lips with yours, as he feels your fingertips trail down the rough skin of his stomach until they reached the waistband of his sweats. He smirks as he feels you undo the drawstrings and push them down his slender hips, pushing them down low enough for his cock to spring free.
“Seems like you’re just as eager as me.” He sniggers as he sits up long enough to shuck them off, giving you a moment to unhook your bra and toss it across the room.
You don’t humor him with a response as you sit up to stroke his cock, causing him to hiss as your fingers wrap around his shaft. He lets you have your way for a moment before gently pushing you back down onto the mattress, causing you to look up at him quizzically as he shakes his head.
“Not today babe, let me do the work.”
He feels his heart pound in his ribcage, as a look of realization passes over your pretty features. A smile pulls at your lips as you open your arms and beckons him down to you, which he eagerly accepts. He nips and kisses the skin of your neck as he makes quick work of your panties, causing you to moan softly as he runs his fingers up the length of your dripping slit.
“God.” He groans as he attacks your lips again. “So, fucking wet for me. You want me, right?”
“Yes Touya.” You breathe against his lips, allowing your fingers to trace patterns into the scarred expanse of his back. “Always. Always you.”
He feels his destroyed tear ducts sting slightly at the sincerity of your confession. Even though you’ve assured him you only want him countless times before, it was something he never quite got used to hearing.
The entirety of his life before you was spent in fire and hardship. Kindness was something foreign to him, and being allowed to be vulnerable with another person was something he never even considered. He never thought he’d live long enough to be able to do so regardless – accepting that he destined to spend what was left of his life alone – and so the thought had never crossed his mind.
But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Not since you had unexpectedly come into his life.
He had you. Body, mind and soul, he belonged to you. He knew there was no way he would ever have the words to tell you that, so he hoped that he could convey his message clearly enough by showing you just how much you meant to him.
He taps your leg, getting you to wrap your legs around his lean waist, as he lines himself up with your opening. You thread your fingers through his soft white spikes as he slowly begins to push himself into your pussy, causing you to whimper as he begins to stretch your walls out.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” He growls as he bullies his way into your tight heat. “You’re perfect for me. Just you – you’re the only one I want.”
“Me too.” You gasp as you dig your nails into his shoulder to ground yourself. “I’m so glad I got to meet you. S-so glad you’re here with me—”
Your eyes open impossibly, as he suddenly snaps his hips forward and drives himself home deep inside your walls, causing you both to moan. He barely gives you any time to recover before he starts moving. He fists his hand in the sheets beside your head as he focuses his energy into keeping his thrusts deep and strong, just how he knows you like it.
He grins down at you almost sadistically, watching as your eyes roll back from the force of his thrusts. “S’matter? Don’t tell me you’re giving up already?”
“N-no.” you moan as he gives you a particularly hard thrust. “I just—oh, fuck!” you wail as you feel him hit a practically sensitive spot inside you, causing him to grin wickedly.
“Eyes on me gorgeous.”
“You’re mean.” You huff, but center your attention on him regardless, causing him to chuckle, and reward you with another harsh thrust.
“I know.” He practically purrs as he shifts his weight to his knees. He grabs the meat of your hip, and starts pounding you harder than before, making you keen and fist your hands into the sheets as his pelvis brushes up against your clit deliciously.
“Fuck, Touya! I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!” you cry out, warning him of your impending release, but it only makes him double down and fuck you harder, determined to see you climax before him.
“Yeah? Well, go ahead sweetheart: come on this cock. C’mon, c’mon; I know you’re going to, I can feel you squeezing me just right, so do it. Let go for me pretty girl, just let go.”
He feels your walls convulse around him and your back arches slightly off the bed as you climax with a desperate cry at his words. The sight of you coming undone beneath him is so hot it does him in a few strokes later, spilling deep inside your walls with a feral growl of his own.
You both stay like that for a few minutes, fighting to catch your breaths, before you unlock your legs from around his waist, allowing him to pull out of you. He pulls back to grin at the combination of your fluids that leak out from in between your legs, and you roll your eyes. He makes a move to the bathroom to grab you a towel, only for you to shake your head.
“Later.” You murmur, as you pat the spot on the bed next to you. “Come lie with me for a few minutes.”
He laughs quietly at your antics, but obliges your request, and climbs over you to collapse into the vacant space on the bed next to you, and you don’t hesitate to move over to him. 
“God, you can be relentless sometimes.” You pant as you curl up into his side. He simply snorts at your assessment as he drapes his arm around you protectively.
“Maybe. I am a villain after all sweetheart.”
“You were.” You manage to grumble as you make yourself comfortable, eventually settling on resting your head on his chest so you can hear his heartbeat. “You’re not now.”
“Yeah, well. Attitude never changed. Surprised you put up with me for as long as you did.”
“You weren’t so bad.” You murmur softly, tracing shapes into the rough skin of his stomach. “If I thought you were, I wouldn’t have come back after we first met.”
“Why did you come back after the first time anyways? I can’t remember if you ever told me.” He suddenly raises his head so he’s looking at you. You meet his blazing turquoise irises with a calm gaze of your own and wink at him teasingly.
“I’m crazy remember?”
“Must be, if you came to see one of Japan’s most wanted almost every day for damn near two years straight. But seriously, why?”
You’re quiet for a moment before you answer him. When you do, you shift your head slightly on his chest so you can see his face better.
“I suppose it’s because all your rage… all your anger towards the injustice of everything you’d gone through up until that point… it reminded me of myself, in a way.” You admit softly, causing him to quirk a snowy brow at your confession.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things you said on your initial broadcast—" you continue on before he can ask. “—like how there were a lot of shitty things about hero society you weren’t wrong about. Honestly, for a long time there, I felt just as pissed off with some of those so-called “Pro’s” as you. Some of them were only doing it for the money and fame, you could tell.” You exhale through your nose.
“But, on the other hand, there were so many good things happening to change those problems that you didn’t see because you were on the outsider.” You fall silent for a moment before adding:
“You just seemed so hurt, so raw with everything you were saying. I told myself there and then, if I ever got the opportunity to meet you, I’d show you not everything is as bad as it seemed. Never thought I’d get the chance honestly, and yet, one day, the opportunity to meet you face to face practically dropped into my lap. How could I not take the offer?”
“Was I what you’d thought I’d be?” he finds himself asking you, not completely sure if he wants to know the answer. You simply send him one of your glowing smiles that sends tingles down to his stomach.
“No, you were better.”
He snorts, shifting his arm so he’s tracing his warm fingertips up and down your nude body. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
“I’m serious. Even now, you’re doing so much better with handling everything then I thought you would. You’re resilient, and you adapt when you need to, but you’ve definitely changed… in a good way. You’re not as hateful anymore… you’re calmer, more accepting.”
“Yeah well, the shrinks have you to thank for that. Far as I’m concerned, they don’t do anything. I just see them so I can stay with you.” He grumbles, prompting you to giggle, before shifting you so you’re lying on your sides, facing each other.
He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, inwardly softening as he watches you lean into his warm touch, before dropping his hand back down in between your bodies.
“I know I’m not very good at these sorts of things, but… you know I love you, right?”
He’s hopeful that you understand. He doesn’t say it often to you, and he knows he probably should, but even after all the time he’s spent with you, that involves you showing him what a healthy relationship looks like, it’s still not an easy thing for him to say. Hell, he has a hard enough time saying it to his own mother, let alone anyone else.
He’ll probably always have a difficult time admitting it. Love is an emotion he’s never had a good understanding of, seeing how it was so sked for him a s a child. Even now, the concept is a foreign one for him to understand, but thankfully, you seem to be more aware of this than anyone else.
You find his hand with one of your own and lace your fingers together, squeezing it tightly.
“I know Touya. I’ve always known.”
FIN
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021894s · 6 months ago
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— 06 shopping spree [0.9k w]
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MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT
PAIRINGS: brothers bsf!sunghoon x reader
WARNINGS: mentions wearing white to a wedding? cussing
AUTHORS NOTE: hi my loves. i wrote this chap super quick before I go to bed so sorry if it doesn’t live up to your standards ehe. nonetheless I hope you enjoy🫶🏻
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You've been at the library for what feels like an eternity, textbooks and notes spread out like a fortress around you. The pressure of exams is weighing heavily on your shoulders, and you're determined to maintain your top of the class status. Your focus is so intense that you barely notice the fatigue creeping in, until your head starts to nod and your pen taps rhythmically against your notebook in a silent plea for rest.
Suddenly, a familiar figure weaves through the maze of bookshelves, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you. Sunghoon knows this is where you disappear to when you need to concentrate. He quietly approaches your table calling out your name in a whisper, a soft smile playing on his lips as he realizes you’d fallen asleep mid study session.
he lightly nudges you, startling you awake. "Good morning, sleepyhead," he teases gently. You blink up at him, a mix of confusion and embarrassment coloring your cheeks as you straighten up.
"I'm not sleeping, just... resting my eyes," you protest, but the smile he gives you is too knowing, too warm. He asks if you're okay, his concern genuine as he inquires about your studies and your well-being.
The conversation shifts to the upcoming trip to Japan, the fake dating scheme you've both agreed to, all in an effort to show your ex that you've moved on. Sunghoon leans in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "So, have you thought about what you're wearing to the wedding? I mean, we should probably match, right? To make the whole 'dating' thing more convincing."
You feel a flush rise to your cheeks, the idea of coordinating with him both thrilling and nerve-wracking. "I... haven't really thought about it," you admit, trying to keep your voice steady despite grogginess from your slumber just a couple minutes ago.
He grins, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, we've got to make a good impression. How about we go shopping together? Find something that screams 'power couple'?"
The suggestion sends your heart racing, the prospect of spending time together outside of ksana parties and group hangouts made you a bit nervous, but growing up with sunghoon it was hard not to enjoy his company.
“yeah that sounds like a good idea actually. do you have any place in mind?” you ask him. “we can try that new mall across from campus, maybe we’ll find something there?”
“oh i’ve been wanting to go there! saerom says that have really cute cafes and shops” he can’t help but smile at how passionate you become at the mention of shopping. “perfect then i’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon?” he asks you. “noon sounds great” you flash him a smile.
a moment of comfortable silence passes by. Then, he drops the invitation to the ksana party. with him and Heeseung being a part of a frat, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to be invited to parties every other weekend. You hesitate, the responsible part of your mind reminding you of the endless studying still ahead. With a resigned sigh, you decline, a small part of you longing to say yes, to let loose and have fun. But grades come first, and you're not one to let distractions get in the way of your goals.
As the next day comes, You glance at the clock and realize. Sunghoon will be here any minute to pick you up for your shopping trip. With a flutter of excitement, you grab your bag and check your reflection one last time. You've chosen an outfit that's comfortable yet cute. shopping sprees had always been your favorite for as long as you could remember. you blame heeseung because he always dragged you out of the house to give him your very honest (sometimes brutal) opinion.
A gentle knock on the door signals his arrival, and your heart skips a beat. "Ready to go?" Sunghoon asks with a smile as you open the door.
"Definitely," you reply, stepping out and closing the door behind you.
The drive is anything but awkward. you chat and laugh on the way to the mall, the atmosphere light and easy, like it’s always been between you two. Once there, you dive into a sea of stores, each one offering its own treasures.
"How about this one? imagine the look on everyone’s faces when you show up in this" Sunghoon chuckles, holding up a white dress that's definitely a big NO considering you’re attending a wedding.
"are you being serious? " you tease, taking the dress from him. "sunghoon it’s white. I’d probably be chased out the venue and get personally attacked by all the bridesmaids” you can't help but laugh at the thought.
“even more reason for you to get it” a smirk creeps up on his face. “oh so you’re praying on my downfall?” he gasps “ME?? i would never do such a thing” you roll your eyes and walk past him. both of you having smiles on your faces as you continue to look around the store.
You try on dresses and a few other items, each time coming out of the fitting room to Sunghoon's eager eyes. "What do you think?" you ask, doing a little twirl in a black floral slip dress.
Sunghoon's gaze lingers just a moment too long before he catches himself. "It looks great on you," he says, a hint of something more in his voice. "You should definitely get it."
The day continues with more laughter, shared opinions. it’s moments like these where you appreciate sunghoon’s friendship and the sibling dynamic between you two. it makes you less nervous about the whole fake dating scheme. your friendship would remain the same and everything will be ok in the end. or will it?
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hoshinoyozora · 2 years ago
Text
Poor, Unfortunate Soul(s)
🖤 Pairing: Yandere! Self-aware! Twisted Wonderland x Female! Reader
💛 Word Count: 1,3k+
❤ Warnings: -
[Edited]
Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission. Also, don’t ask for a sequel unless I like the story enough to write one. Please reblog so other people can see my stories!
***
Just a lil scenario about MC who ‘dismisses’ their existences aka me lmao.
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“They’re just a bunch of game characters, anyway. Why should I care so much about them?”
You laughed, unaware of the hearts that you broke within the screen. The thin yet sturdy piece of glass that separated you from the people who thought of you as their world. Their everything. Your friend chuckled, adding salt to the injury. Had she didn’t ask you why you hadn’t logged into the game for days, weeks even, maybe they wouldn’t be so humiliated and disappointed.
But did that mean they wouldn’t know your true opinion on them otherwise?
Maybe ignorance was bliss, because, then, they would’ve kept holding onto the hope for you to come back. To still want them the same way they wanted you. In this world of codes and numbers, you were the one real thing in their lives. You were human. Warm, fleshy, and expressive. And yet, you dismissed their existences so easily just because you both lived in two different worlds.
Did they really mean nothing for you? Were all of your reactions towards them merely a façade? Or a memory so insignificant you forgot about it in the next day?
“Maybe I should just delete the app. It feels like a chore to open it nowadays.”
The sky darkened, the ground trembled, and the thunder rumbled as the result of a certain dragon fae. Was this your true self? Then again, NRC was a school of villains. They shouldn’t be surprised if you, the Player, turned out to be the biggest villain of all. Not even Malleus Draconia could hold a candle to you. Your words alone had the ability to mold and break their spirits. Your touch alone could move them somewhere else and show them how beautiful Twisted Wonderland was with you by their side. And your presence alone gave them a reason to live.
If you were to disappear, wouldn’t that be comparable to death? A slow, painful death where everyone lost themselves in depression and rage, and ultimately, destroyed themselves. In a moment of morbid curiosity, they wondered if that was what you wanted all along. You toyed with their hearts, and when you got bored, you moved onto their lives.
“We… we can’t just let her leave!” A boyish voice, thick with desperation and an even desperate attempt to recompose, shattered the mournful silence. Everyone recognized him as Ace Trappola, one of Yuu’s enviable first friends and troublemakers from Heartslabyul. “We need to stop her! Come on, guys. Are we really going to stop now, after everything we’ve done to reach her?”
“But how?” Leona asked, sounding even more listless somehow. Despite his pride and consent, you’d taken a peek into his past and remained amicable with him. It didn’t matter that it was for the sake of the plot, your vessel, Yuu, still approached him and asked for his help during Octavinelle’s story. Didn’t that mean something for you? For him? “Just because we’ve managed to hack into her phone doesn’t mean we can drag her here. There’s only so much we can do to make her stay.”
Ace flinched, unprepared for the reality to slap him twice.
“I-I don’t know.” He turned to face the Diasomnia gang who, with the exception of the sniffling Sebek, looked as somber as a funeral guest. “Malleus-senpai, Lilia-senpai, you guys gotta know something about bringing someone from another world, right? You guys are the strongest of the strongest. I don’t care if it’s forbidden. There… there has to be a way!”
For a moment, they were silent as though reluctant to admit their lack of knowledge. Ace wilted, his buckling knees threatening to collapse once the severity of the situation settled in.
That is, until Lilia opened his mouth.
“… There is, actually.” he murmured. “But for every soul that moves here, another has to replace them.”
Some of the characters lit up, but the others remained skeptical.
“And I assume it’s for the sake of balance?” Vil mused, crossing his arms.
Lilia’s glance confirmed his suspicion.
“T-then, what are we waiting for?” In a burst of hope, Azul momentarily stopped sobbing. “Let’s sacrifice that person.”
“But who’s gonna be that person?” Jamil retorted.
Everyone fell quiet again, unwilling to be the lamb in the altar of your capricious existence.
“The NPCs ‘live’ when the story is moving.” Idia mumbled through the floating device. His shyness and reluctance for a face-to-face interaction was customary, but nobody could truly see the underworld his sanity was falling at a rapid pace. Still, it didn’t change the fact that he still wanted to see you living among them. Literally. “That means she has to play again if we want to sacrifice one of them.”
“I, for one, would be more than willing to help ‘convincing’ her, if that’s what it takes.” Jade simpered with his eyes closed and a hand over his chest.
“Oui! It’d be a splendid day to see her sublime face gracing us again. The sun would shine warmly, the flowers would grow tastefully, and the birds would chirp merrily!” Rook enthused, jabbing at Malleus’s inadvertent use of magic.
Riddle wiped his teary eyes with the sleeve of his uniform and straightened up.
“Seeing that our Player has slackened in her responsibility to watch over us, it is our duty to set her right.” he declared. “Heartslabyul students, I order you to find this person and bring him here!”
“I-I agree…!” Sebek piped up, still loud as always despite his trembling voice and runny nose. “I shall seize him and send him to that world at once!”
Ever the dutiful one, Silver gripped his baton and nodded. As long as it wasn’t murder without a cause, he’d gladly perform any task like a true knight would.
“Well, if Riddle ordered us like this, who are we to disobey him?” Cater laughed, trying to hide the shakiness of his voice.
Trey pushed his glasses, foggy from the upcoming tears.
“Indeed. But I won’t lie, this is something that I’m looking forward to carry out.”
“For once, you did something right, Ace!” Deuce beamed proudly.
“Oi!”
Jamil glanced at Kalim, who reluctantly nodded. He hated to see people throwing away their lives carelessly, after all the assassination attempts that he suffered through the story. But if it was for the sake of seeing you with them, who was he to stop them?
Floyd grinned happily, but the anger of being abandoned by you darkened his eyes.
“Once she gets here, I’ll be sure to give her a nice, long squeeze as a welcome~”
“Well, Leona-san?” Ruggie asked, crossing his hands behind his head. “Are we gonna boost their morale or something?”
Leona sighed, lacking the irritated exhaustion he usually had. Even he wasn’t immune to the hope that Lilia brought to them, no matter how annoying it was to trust him.
“You better not be disappointing us, Lilia.” he growled. “And you, too, Radish Sprout.”
“I don’t like this.” Jack murmured. “But if this is what it takes to make the Player fulfill her role again, then I’ll do my best to live up to the expectations!”
“I… I will join as well!” Epel stated, clenching his fists resolutely.
“Look, Brother!” Ortho chirped. “You managed to bring them all together. That’s so cool!”
Idia muttered something, but the younger boy was too engrossed in their touching cooperation to notice.
Sunlight finally dispersed the dark clouds, mirroring their spirit. Malleus took a step forward with his chin raised in determination.
“Then, I shall assist Lilia with the magic.”
You said you didn’t care about them?
Well, they would make you care.
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vodika-vibes · 3 months ago
Note
I don’t know if your AU requests are still open so please ignore if not. But I had a thought.
Regency AU with Wolffe. Him and the reader are seen together in a compromising position. Wolffe is going to do the honourable thing and marry her. But she doesn’t know that he actually loves her, so she just feels guilty and like it’s her fault that he’s stuck having to marry her and he has to reassure her That that’s not the case at all
The Next Right Thing
Summary: When you and Wolffe are caught in a compromising position, Wolffe lies to protect your virtue. Only now he’s honor-bound to marry you, and you’re pretty sure you’re ruining his life.
Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader
Word Count: 1034
Prompt: Regency AU
Warnings: Misunderstandings
Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly
A/N: So, technically, I'm not accepting anymore AU requests for my event, but this idea was so good that I had to write it anyway. So I'm just not going to label it as an Event fic. Because it's Wolffe and I'm so soft for Wolffe. Anyway, I hope you like it!
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“Well, that could have gone worse.”
Wolffe sounds positively cheerful about the situation he���s found himself in, and you kind of envy him for it, because you feel like there’s a lead weight in your stomach and it just won’t go away.
“It could have gone better too,” You point out, sounding numb to your own ears. However, you must sound normal enough, because Wolffe doesn’t look worried about you, just amused.
“I mean, dinner ended without anyone punching me or insulting you. I’ll take it as a win.” There’s laughter in his voice, “I guess the marriage proposal really did fix their opinions on me and the situation.”
You think you’re going to be sick.
You love Wolffe. You love his messy curls, his lop-sided smile, his mismatched eyes.
You love how you feel safe when you’re with him, even in scary situations. 
You love how he kisses you, his hands pressed against your cheeks to tilt your head back, his lips pressing against yours over and over and over. Until your lips are swollen and your legs are shaking and he’s replaced all of the air in your lungs with himself.
And you know, in the same way that you know that the sun will rise in the morning, that he doesn’t love you the same way. That he will never love you in the same way that you love him. 
But he’s going to marry you. Because you were stupid enough to get caught pressed against him in his family’s garden.
You’re going to ruin his life. And you know that he knows it too.
You watch him move around his home as you sink into a chair. Wolffe is a genuinely good man. His whole family is made up of good men who do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do.
And you realize, with startling clarity, that he deserves better than you.
You’re…petty and temperamental and inclined to be selfish. Blade to your throat, you’d be hard-pressed to come up with a single good trait about yourself.
And, suddenly, there’s a lump in your throat and tears pricking your eyes.
You can’t do this to him.
It’s not fair.
“Wolffe—” Your voice cracks with emotion, and his head snaps around to look at you. He looks at you, takes in your shaking hands, tear-filled eyes, and wobbling lower lip…and comes to the wrong conclusion.
He walks over to you and drops to his knee at your side, taking your shaking hands in his steady ones, “I know you’re not sure about marriage,” Wolffe says, in a tone that should be soothing, but just makes you want to sob, “But we’ll have a long engagement, I’ll insist on it—”
“You don’t have to marry me!” You blurt, your voice shaking. And, despite your best efforts, tears leak out of the corner of your eyes. And you know it’s only a matter of time before you collapse into tears. 
Hopefully, he won’t think poorly of you when it happens.
Wolffe pulls back slightly and scans your face. And then he reaches up with one hand and gently wipes a tear from your cheek. 
It only makes you cry harder, and you slam your hand over your mouth to silence your sob.
Something soft crosses Wolffe’s face and he shifts so that he’s sitting in the chair next to yours. His hands are so gentle as he coaxes you out of your chair and onto his lap, lightly pulling your face to his shoulder. You shudder as he slowly rubs your back and murmurs something softly into your ear.
It’s not really words, so much as soothing noises.
It is, surprisingly, comforting and you find yourself calming down a lot faster than you thought possible. 
“There we go,” He murmurs against your hair as your sobs settle into hiccups, and he lightly pushes you back so he’s able to see your face, “Oh, my cyare, what has upset you so much?” Wolffe’s hand is pressed against your cheek again, wiping away the tears with a gentle touch.
“You don’t have to marry me,” You repeat, sounding miserable.
Gently, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “So you said, I’m not sure why you said it though. No one is forcing me to marry you, cyare.”
“You deserve better than me. You can do better than me.”
“According to who?”
“Me. Everyone. I’m…I’m not a good person, I—”
“Hey, no. I’m going to stop you there,” He presses a finger against your lips, “You are a good person. Maybe not the nicest, but you are good.” Wolffe’s smile is small but genuine, “And that’s okay because I’m not that nice either.”
“But marrying me will probably ruin your life and—”
“How could it?” Wolffe asks, “I love you.”
You stop and blink at him, your arguments completely derailed due to those three simple words. “What.”
His smile grows, “I love you. Surely you knew?”
“You never said.” You admit after a moment, “I thought—” You trail off, not sure you want to admit what you thought.
Wolffe tilts his head, “You thought that I was kissing you like that, holding you like that, because…what? You were convenient?”
You won’t meet his gaze, and instead trace a golden leaf on his sleeve with a single finger, “I love you enough to take what you’ll give me.” You finally whisper, shame making your face burn.
Wolffe tilts your head so that your gaze meets his own, “Then let me reassure you. I love you. I want to marry you. I’ve been wanting to marry you for months now. I have no intention of ending this engagement, and if I had it my way this engagement would only be a couple of weeks.”
You stare at him, your lips slightly parted. 
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“So you won’t let these negative thoughts upset you to the point of tears anymore?” Wolffe asks.
“I won’t.”
“Good.” And then his lips are pressed against yours and his tongue is easing between your lips, and all of your worries and fears and concerns vanish as if they never existed in the first place.
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