#i miss talking about him but my brain refuses to make anything comprehensive

[fictionallyinparadise]

° I just like being on my own (with you)

° Welcome to my table, bring your hunger!

° And sip the sunlight from your eyes...

° How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

For viktor? (Hope these are okay to send to u/youre taking them too!)

AAA VIKTOR MY BABYGIRL!!!!!!! ALSO ITs more than okay to send these, thank you so much!!!

° I just like being on my own (with you): What's your favorite thing to do with your f/o, no matter how "silly" it sounds!

Getting ready for the day together like,,, getting dressed and stuff like that. Because like......ough there's a fuzz on your shoulder lemme get that for you. There's a strand of my hair out of place he gently fixes that. Your shirt got buttoned up wrong lemme get that......just the sweet little domestic moments 🥺😭

° Welcome to my table, bring your hunger!: What is something your f/o has said that sticks with you?

While I was tryna remember what exactly it would be I just kept thinking of that scene that's been edited a lot. The fucking "they're dangerous!" "...I'm from the Undercity" scene. Like fuck that hits me like a pound of bricks and I've heard the audio from t//kt//k so many times!!!!!!

Anyway anyway.

"I didn't have the benefits of a patron or a name. I simply believed in myself."

It's just....wahh 😭. I can't even put it into words it's just. Aaaaa.......

° And sip the sunlight from your eyes...: Describe your morning routine!

Oo!! Waking up at around the same time, he wants to get out and ready for the day and I wanna cuddle more so there's a playful argument about that. Then we do get up, get ready for the day. I make us breakfast, something that can be eaten in the go! Then we go on our different ways after many goodbye kisses!

° How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do: What is your favorite little known fact (headcanon or not) about your f/o? What is their favorite little known fact about you?

I still haven't finished the series funnily enough 😭 ANYWAY this is just a silly headcanon but he likes the petnames that you find on sites that are like "cute nicknames to call your boyfriend"? I hope that makes sense mZhhshf. Anyway, stuff like....Love bug, stallion, pork chop, etc. He thinks it's cute whenever I laugh at it or it becomes a thing for us!!!

As for me!! It sounds really goofy but,,,I can wink both eyes and do like. A seesaw with it! It's fun to do tbh. It's just one of the funny quirks that I can do, like roll my tongue or raise an eyebrow!! He thinks it's neat 👉👈

[t0wnspersonb]

Hot Springs (Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader)

Word Count: 2,570

Rated: Explicit

Warnings: SMUT, bad language, public, my shit writing, Ushijima being a beautiful man

Summary: You couldn’t remember the last time you and Ushijima got to spend proper time together, so when he suggests going to the hot springs for a date how could you refuse? Although, you two are doing a bit more than just enjoying the hot water. 

~~~~

GUYS! I know it’s been a fucking minute😫 I’m still trying to get my shit together for school lmao. BUT I’ve been working on this fic for a while tbh, I was just never motivated to finish it until recently. I apologize in advance if it’s trash😂 BUT, I do have a couple of things to go over. First of all, thank you guys so much for being patient with me the past couple of weeks, I’ve definitely missed putting content out to you guys, I’ve just been super busy with life and school. Second of all, I know I have requests sitting in my inbox, I will do them. Eventually. The only reason why I’m even posting something new is because this story was already in the works, so since it’s done I decided to post it (it’s probably garbage idk lol). Third of all, I love you guys so much  😘😘😘😘 it’s been such a joy writing for you all, and I hope I continue to put out content you guys enjoy! As always, this story is dedicated to @sunshinewitchz​ because she’s the biggest Wakatoshi simp I know, and I love her so much and her endless support. 

I hope you guys enjoy the story! Please let me know what you think of it😊😊

~~~~

“- Would you like to go?” Ushijima’s deep voice filtered through your ears; although you only heard the last part, you had no idea what he had said beforehand.

 “Hmm?” you finally looked up at him, the paint brush in your hand stilled.

 A soft frown coated his lips, sometimes you were far too engrossed in your art projects. Usually he didn’t mind, today was different though. It had been two weeks since the last time he had seen you, both of you far too busy to make time to spend together.

 Of course, he would want your undivided attention, he missed you. 

 “I’m sorry Toshi, what were you saying?” you smiled sheepishly at him, carefully setting down the paintbrush, your eyes focused on him completely now.

 “The hot springs. Do you want to go?” He asked again, his eyes flickering over your face.

 Your lips pursed, your brain wracking through the dates to make sure you didn’t already have a prior commitment. “When?”

 He let out another sigh, Ushijima loved you deeply, but when painting was involved… well, you were in a completely different world to the point that it was hard to hold a conversation with you.

 But he also loved your passion for it, he loved how talented you were, how confident you were in your skills. It was proven time and time again whenever you produced your master pieces.

 Although, all your artwork in his eyes were masterpieces.

 You were the best masterpiece of all. Ushijima could stare at you for hours, he could watch you paint for hours, but right now, he wanted to be your sole focus.

 “Do you want to go to the hot springs with me tomorrow?” he asked once more.

 “Okay.” You smiled brightly at him, you didn’t have anything to do tomorrow, except to drop off a painting. Any chance you got to spend with Ushijima you would take. 

 “Okay.” he repeated, a soft smile coating his lips. “Finish up, we’ll go get food once you’re done.”

 You definitely loved Ushijima.

 ***

 “Ushijima-senpai! Y/n-senpai!” Goshiki exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here!?”

 “Your grandma asked for a commission piece! I’m just dropping it off now.” You smiled widely. “I didn’t know you would be here today!”

 “I-I’m just visiting.” he stuttered out, his eyes awkwardly flickering over to Ushijima who paid him no mind, his eyes scanning the outer exterior of the house.

 “I need to collect the money; do you know where she is?” You asked sweetly.

 “She’s out in the garden, please come in.” He said awkwardly, stepping aside. 

 “I won’t be long Toshi!” You said cheerfully, pardoning yourself before you entered the home, leaving Goshiki and Ushijima standing at the entrance.

 “This is nice wood, is it oak?” Ushijima asked suddenly, his eyes tracing over the large door.

 “I don’t know Senpai…”

 Silence once again surrounded them, but like you had said, the exchange didn’t take too long as you came walking up to the volleyball players cheerfully.

 “All set Toshi! Let’s head out yeah?” you smiled up at him.

 He nodded before taking your hand into his and waving goodbye at the male.

 “Bye Goshiki! See you around!” you called out behind your shoulder.

 Sometimes it was a wonder how you and Ushijima ended up together. The concept of “opposites attract” seemed to be in play for this. 

 Your bright and bubbly personality contrasted greatly with his. Ushijima’s blunt and rough exterior was the complete opposite of your gentle and easygoing one. 

 However, you guys shared one trait, and that was the undeniable confidence you guys had in your skills. Ushijima with volleyball, and you with art.

 But despite the contrasting personalities, your relationship worked, the love and respect you guys had for one another was always present.

 “That was really nice of that lady to give us our own spring. I didn’t even know that a place like this could have private ones!” You said happily as you guys walked towards the changing rooms.

 “Yeah.” Ushijima nodded briefly, “see you in a bit.”

 You grinned at him widely before skipping off into your own changing room. 

 You bummed softly to yourself as you began undressing. The showers felt incredible against your skin and you couldn’t help but sigh in content, a trip to the hot springs was something that you definitely needed after working so hard on your commissions.

 You carefully wrapped yourself in the towel and started heading towards the spring. The change in temperature caused a shiver to run through your body, shuddering gently as the steam curled around your damp shoulders. You breathed in the soft scent of earth, sighing softly as your body relaxed in the hot springs air. 

 Your eyes scanned over the area, before pausing on a figure that left your heart racing and your stomach flipping.

 Ushijima paid no attention to his surroundings; his stare was focused on the scenery before him. But that gave you plenty of time to drink in the tall male before you.

 He was truly the most beautiful person you’ve ever met before. His broad shoulders and rippling back muscles were completely exposed to your greedy eyes. 

 How you ended up with such a beautiful man was beyond your comprehension. 

 “What are you waiting for?” His deep voice filtered through the air, your gaze met his olive eyes and you felt your face flush immediately.

 “Just appreciating the view.” You said cheekily before dropping your towel and settling yourself down into the water.

 A long sigh escaped your lips as you submerged yourself completely. This was heaven; you couldn’t remember the last time you had been to the hot springs, and the fact that you got to spend it with the man you loved the most, it was definitely pure heaven.

 “The scenery is very nice here.” he agreed, eyes scanning over the area once more.

 You laughed softly at his statement, your hand gently pressing into the bulging muscle of his bicep. “I wasn’t talking about the scenery. I was talking about you Toshi.” 

 Ushijima felt his expression soften considerably as he looked down at you. You were resting your head against his arm, your eyes closed in absolute bliss.

 This time Ushijima decided  to scan over you, and fuck… you were the best thing he’s ever seen.

 His eyes drank in every inch of your beautiful face, his gaze trailing over the strands of wet hair clinging to your face, wrapping around your collarbone and then your shoulders and…

 Oh.

 He shamelessly stared at your exposed breasts. He could feel his heart rate beginning to pick up as he started to register in his mind that you… no both of you were extremely bare to one another.

 Ushijima couldn’t understand this sudden shyness that began to bubble up in his gut. He had seen you bare so many times before, he’s touched you so many times before, he’s had you in every way that he could think of; and yet… What was this sudden rush of arousal spiking through his blood right now?

 Your eyes fluttered open and met intense olive colored ones staring right back. You felt your mouth go dry, your stomach twisting in a way that was all too familiar.

 The only times Ushijima has ever looked at you like that was when…

 “What is it, Wakatoshi?” You teased slightly, the flush in your face was something that you could blame on the hot water, not the fact that your hunk of a boyfriend was blatantly staring at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

 “You’re beautiful.” he said simply, reaching out to tug on a strand of your wet hair. His strong, thick fingers gently began trailing against the skin of your throat, skimming across your collarbone. Despite the hot water, you couldn’t help but shiver at his gentle touch. 

 “I meant… is there something that you want Wakatoshi?” You asked, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you stared at him through your lashes.

 “You. Always you.” he answered simply; his large hand curving gently around your jaw, cupping your face carefully.

 Your stomach twisted pleasantly, an all too familiar burn bubbling deep within your gut, but also... your heart. Once again you were in awe of the man before you, the amount of love you held for him was far too much for your heart to contain, bubbling up and spilling over the longer you looked at him.

 “You have me.” you said quietly, carefully pressing yourself closer to him, your hands rested gently against the bare skin of his chest, strong and oh so broad.

 “Then kiss me.” he demanded, olive eyes burning into yours. Love and passion could clearly be seen in them.

 So, you did. Your hands grabbing at his strong jaw, forcing him to stoop down to your level so you could properly kiss him.

 Kissing Ushijima was possibly the best thing on the planet, his lips were full and strong as they moved against yours, unhurried, but incredibly needy and forceful. 

 His tongue licked against your mouth, hot and wet and deliciously perfect. You eagerly pressed yourself against his large body, melting against him completely. You were too hot, your body overheating immediately.

 It was from the hot springs, right? Not from the hunk of a man that was currently grabbing at your bare waist and yanking you tighter against him, right? 

 Your head spun dizzily, pleasure rippling through your body, a soft whimper tearing through your throat as you felt his growing member press tight against your thigh.

 Ushijima heard you, his grip on your body tightened slightly as he continued to devour your mouth. He began moving you, carefully backing you up further away from the deep end of the hot spring, and then your body was being lifted up until you were no longer in the hot water, rather, you were now sitting on the ledge of the hot springs.

 Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your nipples hardening into pebbles under Ushijima’s watchful eyes.

 From your perched position on the rocks you could easily kiss Ushijima and he could easily…

 “W-What are you doing?” you whimpered out, the back of your hand coming up to cover your mouth, your heart was racing, faced flush, as you stared at the tall male.

 His large hands were gripping your thighs, carefully moving them apart, his eyes gazing hungrily at your weeping cunt.

 “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked slowly, and then he was stooping down until his face was between your legs… a hot, fat, tongue sliding up your slit.

 You gasped loudly, eyes fluttering shut, as you leaned back on one of your elbows, your hand covering your mouth shot out and tangled into his damp hair.

 Ushijima hummed slightly, tongue gently flickering against your throbbing clit. 

 He wanted to do this here? Now?

 A thick finger slid easily into your wet entrance, causing your thighs to tremble at the sudden intrusion.

 Apparently yes. Yes, he did.

 When you finally opened up your eyes, the scene before you was absolutely sinful. Your swollen lips parted in awe as you made eye contact with Ushijima.

 His pupils were dilated, the soft olive color completely gone. His wet hair clung to his face, you could see his tongue flickering in and out of his mouth as he continued to eat you out.

 How was he so fucking perfect?

 “Toshi… please.” you begged, pressure beginning to build up, you were so close, but you wanted him. You wanted his thick cock to stretch you out completely right now.

 “Is there something you want?” he asked, voice deep and thick with arousal. His plush lips were wet, coated in your slick.

 Oh fuck.

 How did he look so fucking good between your legs?

 “You. Please. No more foreplay, I want you inside me already, please.” you trembled, watching as he stood to full height.

 Your eyes greedily ran down his naked body. He was just so… so fucking big, in so many ways.

 The strong muscles of his arms, his chest, his stomach, stood proudly on display for you. But as your eyes traveled lower; you could almost drool over the sight of his erect cock, standing proud and ready to be engulfed in your tight heat.

 His fist enclosed over his hard member, pumping up and down his shaft a couple of times before he finally stepped between your trembling legs. Carefully rubbing the head of his cock against your soaked folds, your eyes fluttered at the touch.

 But then with a quick snap of his hips he entered you, bottoming out immediately. 

 His lips slammed down against yours, muffling the loud moan that was about to escape your lips.

 Fuck, you were so full. No matter how many times Ushijima had you, you could never quite get used to his large size. 

 It was almost too much. But he knew that, which was why he waited for a moment, allowing you the time to get used to thick intrusion.

 One of his large hands grabbed at your hip, the other was resting near your head against the ground.

 After a few moments, your legs wrapped around his thick waist, a silent invitation that he could start moving.

 Ushijima didn’t even hesitate, his hips snapping forward, his cock pressing into the deepest part of your tight heat.

 The pace of his thrusts was unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to fuck you, despite the fact that you guys were at a hot spring.

 “Do you hear that?” he murmured; soft squelching could be heard from your lower region. You were absolutely soaked, drenching his thick cock as he slid in and out of you perfectly. 

 You gripped at his broad shoulders helplessly, soft whimpers escaping your lips as you trembled under his large body.

 It was too much… the hot springs, his body, his kisses, the grunts that were coming from his lips, the fact that your boyfriend was fucking you in a public place…

 “I’m close.” you squeaked out, nails digging into his skin. The familiar burn, the ache for release; was coming up quickly.

 His deep thrusts began to speed up, his hips hammering into you.

 “Then cum.” he demanded, his hand reaching down to rub harshly at your swollen clit. 

 So, you did, gushing around him easily, your slick coating his hard member. He grunted loudly, immediately pulling himself out of you, his fist once again enclosing around his member as he hurriedly pumped himself, searching for release.

 Thick ropes of his warmth shot onto your lower belly, hot and heavy against your skin. 

 You watched tiredly as he brushed the wet hair away from his forehead, his eyes trailing over your bare body, a soft expression easily covering his face now. Carefully he pulled you back into the water, situating you on his lap easily as you rested your head against his strong chest.

 You sighed in content as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

 “I love you Wakatoshi.” you said quietly, you peered up at him, a sweet smile coating your lips.

 “I love you too.” he said eyes flickering down at you, a small smile appearing on his face.

 A trip to the hot springs was definitely a good idea. 

[hugespace]

Therapy helps rhett realize that all of those "I'm dead" UFC moves were actually just a way to fulfill his need for physical intimacy at a time in his life where he didn't feel it was acceptable to ask for it, especially from another man. Now that they're both adults and completely different people than they were in college, rhett decides it's time to explain it all to link and let him know that he actually misses that physical contact with him.

It took me a really long while, but I finally finished this one! I really loved that prompt, so thank you so much for giving it to me, lovely Anon. I was initially going to write it as a platonic/romantic friendship kinda story, but it seems I'm determined to write a hundred different first kiss + feelings realisation scenarios, I simply enjoy those way too much.

*** 2,5K ***

Let me hold you

He’s done it again.

Not so long ago, Rhett promised himself not to bring it up in front of cameras or a microphone unless he talks it out with Link, privately.

Especially not as a joke.

And he’s failed already, he scolds himself short after the Ear Biscuits episode is recorded and they’re both out of the room, heading back towards their office.

He thinks he could have just omitted it, shouldn’t have mentioned anything. It simply wasn’t necessary to mull over it again, even with the topic of the episode revolving around their college experience. It wasn’t a big deal, he said it himself, countless times. Every time they talked about it on the show.

So, every time.

There’s never been a conversation in private about that incident or anything that preluded it, never in the absence of people to entertain, never not around at least one recording device. Because why would there be? It wasn’t a big deal. A funny story, s’all.

He’s also never been able to just let things go, though, and thanks to that inability, the lore of wrestling and the “I’m dead” move had to live on. It was an innocent story, a funny albeit embarrassing one – their unofficial brand after all, an easy misunderstanding and a fun little anecdote, not his carefully curated version of what happened, nor a watered-down one, not just a part of the entire story devoid of any feelings associated with it, not a big deal-! And most of all, not… true. Not true.

Rhett isn’t sure if Link has been consciously going along with that wordlessly agreed upon version of what their UFC phase looked like, repressing the truth behind it, or… simply never realised what it meant for Rhett and genuinely thought of it as a humorous yet insignificant part of their friendship in the past.

Most likely the third option, he has to assume. After all, why would Link attach any meaning to it? It’s not like anything actually ever happened, not outside of Rhett’s mind at least. Frankly, he himself went decades without understanding his own motivations, more than once confused by why the memories of wrestling with his friend and laying on top of him felt both shameful and deeply comforting. Why even long after they grew up, stopped being kids, and as a result retired all their UFC moves, the only way he could describe what he felt thinking about that time was longing.

Until therapy happened.

Just like with many different things in his life:

There was something in the darkness, and then therapy shone a light on it.

It was like there were countless situations he navigated solely on instinct, without paying much thought to the reasons behind why he acted a certain way, and once therapy equipped him with the ability to do so, he unearthed an entire deep layer of feelings and emotions that were always there. Just hidden, even from himself.

The wrestling being one of those things.

So, he thinks Link doesn’t know.

And he’s finally determined to change that.

Why now, when he’s had so many chances to talk to Link over the years ever since he started being more in touch with himself? He doesn’t really have an answer; it’s just that after talking about it with such levity again, after repeatedly making a joke out of it, it feels like he might explode if he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t confess to Link what it was really like. And most of all, it feels like the yearning has become stronger lately, and the conversation yet again playing it all off as them being young and silly only ignited it, made the flame inside of Rhett burn brighter, threatening to make his heart combust.

“I need to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind.” Rhett says easily once they’re in the office. It’s not an unsure statement or a nervous plea with words tumbling out of his mouth before he can lose his cool and change his mind. It would have been all that and more a couple of years ago, sure.

But he’s a different man now. He’s not afraid to tell the person who’s been with him for almost the entirety of his life what he feels.

Link, however. He does look unsure, a bit alarmed even, when he looks at Rhett and responds.

“Sure-? What is it? Do you wanna talk now?”

It’s just like him to worry. Run a hundred different scenarios in his head, most of them negative, trying to prepare himself for every possible outcome of a serious conversation before it even began. It’s an anxious survival instinct that makes Link resilient to even the worst that life has to offer and able to face it all head on. But right now, it’s nothing scary. Rhett doesn’t want his friend to be worried, so he quickly says as much.

“Don’t worry, s’not bad. Just something we talked about on the podcast today.” The blonde sits down on the couch and pats the cushion next to him, hoping he appears to be as calm as he truly feels inside and that it might dissolve some of Link’s concern, still written all over his face.

The other man takes his place on the sofa and looks at him expectingly.

“Right. So-“ Rhett’s calmness doesn’t completely evaporate once Link gives him his full attention, but it’s suddenly laced with some nerves. “About the wrestling. You know, in college. And before that. And- Especially about my ‘I’m dead’ move. I’ve been thinking about it, and-“

“Rhett, I swear, if you made me sit down for a talk only to tell me you’d like to make it a part of our conflict resolution again, then ha-ha. Very funny. I’d like to go get myself some coffee now.” Link cuts him off with an unamused look in his eyes and almost makes a move to stand up.

Rhett is quicker though and grabs the brunette’s arm before he can really move, effectively making him stay in place.

“What? No. That’s not what I’m saying. Like, at all. I-“ He realises he’s still holding onto Link’s arm and instinctively wants to retract his hand, but that same feeling that led him to initiating this conversation in the first place makes him reconsider. “I’ve been thinking about what it all meant and why I did that, especially when we fought or you were angry with me, and-“

“Because we were young.” Link quickly answers what wasn’t even a question. “We had too much energy and neither of us really wanted to hurt the other by punching him or- or fighting in earnest. What else would it mean.”

“Link can you let me talk? I’m trying to say something important.” Rhett squeezes Link’s forearm. “So, as I was saying. I mostly did it when you were angry or I was feeling unsure, and I didn’t realise it back then, but- But I know now, that I just… needed reassurance. You know, physical contact.” He explains, looking straight into Link’s eyes and trying to interpret his reaction before it comes.

When nothing happens, and the brunette just stares back at him with a furrowed brow, he feels compelled to continue and elaborate.

“Like when people… hug after an argument-?” His brain almost challenges him to make a different comparison, presenting a parallel between laying half-naked on top of your best friend and another activity people often partake in to make up after a fight. But that’s not- It’s not what he’s trying to say. It’s not like that.

The face in front of him frowns in confusion, blue eyes squinting and mouth opening and closing again, only letting out a puff of air and no sound at first.

When Link finally responds, his voice is unsure, like he suspects that he’s not understanding something right. “Are you trying to tell me you wanted to hug me when we bickered, so you pushed me to the floor and laid on me till I was even angrier, instead…?”

That’s not fully what Rhett meant, but it’s close enough, so he nods.

“What the crap, Rhett-? You're not making any sense.”

“Okay, listen…” He decides to go for a different approach. “We still don’t hug after arguments. We never hug hello. I think I could count on my fingers how many times we’ve actually hugged each other as adults, outside of the show!”

“Yeah! That’s just not what we do! We’ve never done those things, it’s just not a part of our relationship- I still don’t know what you wanna tell me here Rhett.” Link throws his hands in the air in a gesture of resignation.

“I want it to be a thing we do, okay?! I always did, but I was afraid to ask for it so I just took what you could give me without talking about it. Can’t have actual intimacy? Make up a UFC thing so I can be close to you! Can’t hold you when I’ve made you mad? Better lay on top of you till you give up and have no choice but stop!” Rhett pauses to finally take a breath.

“That time that guy saw us- I’m sure you remember I stormed off right after-? I panicked, it was like him seeing us and thinking there was something else happening almost made feel like it was something else, and since I started it, it also felt like I wanted it to be something else. I got so angry at myself for even trying and I never did it again. I’m sure you remember that, too!” Words flow out of Rhett in a hurried and increasingly loud cascade, while Link’s eyes grow bigger and comprehension dawns on his face.

“I know how stupid it sounds. But you know how I was. We were well into our thirties when I still refused to get close to you. And it’s not that I didn’t want to, it was the opposite – I wanted it a lot, man.”

„But I thought...?” Link seems to be turning a thought over in his head. “I thought you just never liked it. That the wrestling thing was about you… asserting dominance. That’s what it felt like at least. Like you trying to act like an older brother or somethin’.”

“No- It was me wanting to be close to you and not knowing how to ask for it. My very convoluted way of expressing love, you could call it. And I’m sorry it took me-“

“What changed-? I mean, what made you wanna talk about it?” There’s urgency in Link’s voice when he cuts Rhett off.

“I… I realised I miss it. I told you, we still don’t really hug or get intimate, however that sounds, and I’m not gonna just topple you and pin you to the ground again. We’re too old for that. For once, I don’t think either my back or your shoulders would survive if we started wrestling every time I wanted to be affectionate. But also- We’re over forty, Link. What does it say about me if I can’t just ask a person I love and have loved for almost four decades to hold me when I need it and would resort to, well, aggression-? That’s not how it should work.”

Link ponders Rhett’s words for a few beats before opening his mouth again, only to let three breathy words escape. “You love me-?”

It seems like the wrong thing to focus on, Rhett just opened up to say he not only craves physical intimacy now, but also struggled with that same need when they were younger so badly, he had to invent an entire intricate system allowing him to be closer, and Link questions the one thing he knows already. Because of course he knows, Rhett’s said as much dozens of times, of course he loves him. But it appears he has to say it anyway, judging from the weird look in Link’s eyes.

“I do, of course I lo-“ The blonde begins, yet he doesn’t get a chance to finish and ask whether Link heard the other part of his confession at all, because at once, his mouth isn’t free to keep talking and there’s no air left in his lungs as the man who was just sitting right next to him plunges forward and collides with him, lips first.

Oh. Rhett manages to form one more coherent thought despite being startled and entirely taken aback. Link misunderstood. That’s why he got hung up on the love confession. That’s not what Rhett meant, that’s not what he was trying to say, it’s not like that-

He feels like he should clear things up as quickly as possible. Logically, he should be panicking, racking his brain for a way to straighten things up, to explain to Link that it wasn’t what he was trying to say without making things worse, without ruining everything and making his best friend feel miserable and embarrassed, until…

Until Rhett realises his body went rogue and started responding without his conscious decision, his lips are moving against the other man’s, one of his hands is cupping Link’s face, while the other strayed away and is caressing his back. And it feels like his heart is trying to break out of the ribcage with how hard it’s pounding in his chest, along with his stomach doing wild summersaults. And he’s not panicking, not at all. And it’s not a misunderstanding, how could it, when he loves Link with his entire soul, with his whole being- And exactly like that, it hits him. Starting this conversation, he thought he already understood everything, but he didn’t– there was still that last puzzle piece missing.

They come up for air, panting from the intensity of that first kiss, foreheads flush with each other. Rhett finishes the sentence he began before Link’s move changed everything. “Of course I love you.” He means it now, he means it exactly like Link took it and can’t comprehend how he didn’t think of it before, but it’s perfectly obvious now.

So he hugs Link. He encircles the man’s body with his long arms, squeezes, and holds him, feels his friend snuggle into him, nuzzle his face into the crook of his neck and breathe deeply, holding Rhett's larger body in return.

All he needed was ask for the closeness.

He asked, and he got it.

He got all he wanted and so much more.

So, so much.

[ofhouseadama]

Thoughts don't come to completion in my brain very well, but maybe when Lorraine first finds out she's pregnant? How happy but also scared she is (cause you know she's gotta be) and then her telling ed and how happy and scared he is as well? 😅😅

Like I said idk how to form complete thoughts about a lot of things 😅😅

In hindsight, she knew the moment she conceived. Laying there in the darkness, she felt the moment a piece of Ed joined with a piece of her. It wasn’t even that she didn’t recognize it for what it was, but that she couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. In the eight years they have been married, her cycle had never been so much as a day late, arriving like clockwork every twenty-eight days. Textbook, really.

When it didn’t come, she held her breath. After eight years, she’s become a master at refusing to get her hopes up. She remembers the ambivalence she felt, the morning she realized she had gotten her monthly courses after their honeymoon and she was back at her parents’ house and Ed, back on a ship in the Pacific. She’d been relieved then.

In the years that followed, after buying a four bedroom home they’d hoped to fill up with babies, relief had turned to confusion, then to frustration, then to grief. And it became tolerable, with time and prayer and faith, but oh how she yearned, and yearned, and yearned.

And learned to fill up the space that she wanted to fill with her and Ed’s children with ghosts.

Lorraine Warren finds herself bouncing her leg on the linoleum floor of the doctor’s office on her lunch break, two weeks after the first missed period of her life. And she knows, some heady mixture of mother’s intuition and all her other gifts from God. She knows with a painful kind of clarity that she carries a life inside her. She wonders if Ed’s noticed that she never drew her little red dots on the calendar, hasn’t complained about cramps and bloating, hasn’t brought home a box of Motrin and menstrual products. He rarely misses anything about her, but it’s just been Christmas and they’ve just had a case, a real one. The kind that drives him to distraction.

She pees in a cup and the nurse, in her starch white uniform and impeccably clean shoes, tells her that the results will take at least three days and possibly up to a week to come back, that it will depend on how busy the lab is. The nurse smiles conspiratorially, like she’s gotten a tidbit of insider trade knowledge, and tells her that she thinks she’ll know by New Year’s Eve whether or not she’s going to be a mother.

Lorraine vomits in a bush on her way back to her car.

---

New Year's Eve is a Sunday, in 1961, and Lorraine’s last day of work before the holiday is that Friday, when the nurse from the doctor’s office calls her desk. It is almost, exactly to the hour, four days since her appointment.

Somewhere between, “Congratulations, Mrs. Warren,” and “we’ll need to schedule you for a follow-up appointment in the next four to six weeks,” her vision blurs, and her legs drop out from under her. Clumsily, she manages to catch herself on the edge of her desk, lowering herself gently down onto her chair.

“Yes, yes, I can make the week of January 29th work,” she says, furiously wiping away tears as she flips through her planner, frantically reaching for a pencil. “Yes. One in the afternoon is fine. Thank you.”

Slowly, she hangs up the phone.

Lorraine makes it another twenty minutes at her desk, thumbing through the Diocese of Bridgeport finances, mindlessly sorting purchase orders and invoices. Before slowly, then all at once, it hits her. Pressing the back of her hand against her mouth, she swallows down a sob.

They’re going to be parents.

---

They had just given up. Because of course they had.

But God had other plans.

---

She drives home in a daze, glad that it’s the middle of the afternoon. She’s not sure how she would have made it from Bridgeport to Monroe if she had waited until five o’clock. It feels as though she’s experiencing the world from underwater, from the inside of an upturned snowglobe.

You’re expecting, Mrs. Warren. The test came back positive.

How is she going to tell Ed? She never thought this far. Not since they were newlyweds and she was dreaming of the little clothes she had sewn for her trousseau. She had plans back then, of cooking him dinner and sitting him down over candlelight and a nice meal, and telling him with a silver rattle tucked into tissue paper in a box, or with a silver spoon, a baby’s hair brush. Now she has half a mind to just drive straight for where she knows he’s teaching art classes at the VA, march inside, and drag him into his office like a madwoman and tell him straightaway.

Damn ceremony, they’ve waited long enough.

Pulling into the driveway, she turns off the engine and sits there for a long moment, fighting back tears. She’s going to walk into their home, and she’s going to know which room they’re going to clear out to turn into a nursery.

She’s known which room they were going to turn into a nursery since the first time they walked into the house with the realtor.

After a moment, the tears win.

---

In the end, it goes like this:

Lorraine makes lasagna, because it’s hard to screw up and she’s having trouble concentrating on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. She knows how to make sauce, cook noodles, and assemble layers. Ed likes lasagna. Ed does not like lasagna so much that he will be immediately suspicious when he comes home to find her making lasagna. She’s usually home before him anyway on Thursdays, the only day of the week he has a four o’clock class.

Ed comes home a little before six, his forearms speckled with paint.

He talks enough for the both of them, and if he notices anything’s off about her, he’s kind enough to wait until after dinner to bring it up. Kissing her cheek sweetly, he loops his arms around her waist and pulls her close.

“I missed you today.”

Then he’s pulling away again, taking down plates and cups from the cabinet and pulling out silverware to lay the table.

Then, despite all the ways she’s been practicing all afternoon, Lorraine turns from the stove to look at him folding napkins at the kitchen table and feels such a warm burst of affection in her chest that she can’t not say it.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, holding onto the counter for support. “The doctor’s office confirmed it today. I’m -- I’m pregnant. Like really, really pregnant. And I’m a little terrified, because it doesn’t feel real, but it apparently is real.”

The red napkin he’s been folding into a triangle falls from his fingertips, face freezing with shock.

“Wait--”

“We’re having a baby,” she says, realizing that she’s rambling, but unable to stop herself.

His brow furrows, confused. “Lorraine? Are you telling me--”

Biting her lip, she nods. “Yes.”

“Really?”

Crossing the room to her, she can see comprehension dawning on his features. This isn’t a dream. They’re both awake. It’s not a joke. Lorraine wonders if she should have driven by the doctor’s office to get a physical copy of the test results. Ed’s always liked being able to see things on paper.

“Really,” she says, as a smile splits his face and he reaches her, sweeping her up into his arms and lifting her off her feet, spinning her. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

She’s so happy, she’s lightheaded.

And she wants to kiss him, so she does, framing his dear face with her hands.

“I love you,” he murmurs against her lips.

---

With a look of reverence on his face that drives her back to tears, Ed drops to his knees right there in the kitchen, pushing up the hem of her blouse.

“Hi,” he says, pressing his lips to her stomach. “Hi baby.”

Wiping the tears from Ed’s face, Lorraine thinks she might never stop laughing, might never stop crying.

---

In the end, they eat their lasagna on the kitchen floor, right out of the pan. She’s half in his lap, and there’s not a candle in sight.

It’s perfect.

[carothepoet]

Perspectives

If anyone had asked, Jack would have said that he fell in love first. Somewhere in the murky middle of fiery blue eyes daring him to dismiss her capabilities, the comforting squeeze of her hand when an alien device pinned him to a wall, her uncanny ability to manipulate the laws of physics to save his ass over and over again, and the moment on a Goa’uld vessel with an energy field separating them and death staring them in the face, Samantha Carter had gotten possession of his heart and soul and taken up permanent residence there. That last instance was when he had known it for sure—looking into her panicked eyes and realizing he had two choices: leave her or die with her. Knowing also that there was no choice to be made, because there was no version of him in any reality that could go on living in a world without Carter.

Sir, just go!

NO.

It was a staggering revelation, and it complicated things a whole hell of a lot. He kept it to himself until it was forced out of him, and then he and Carter looked into each other’s eyes, counted the cost, and vowed to never speak of it again. The fate of the galaxy was too important. But no amount of pretending could change the reality, which was that he still loved her beyond all comprehension. He went about the days as normally as possible, leading his team and fighting the endless alien wars, trying not to think about the possibilities of someday, when it was unlikely either of them would stay alive that long. He hoped, at least, that he would go first. There is only so much loss a man can take.

Four years later, after he had saved the planet countless times and nearly died in every single instance, he was offered a position at the Pentagon. He jumped at it. Maybe now. Maybe? It seemed too much to hope.

He told Carter. You once asked me what might have been if things had been different. Well, now they’re different. Still interested in finding out?

He’d never forget the light that flooded her eyes, her smile out-dazzling the sun, as she practically launched herself at him and smothered him with a kiss eight years in the making. He’d kissed her once before, when the SGC had been trapped in a time loop. But this was better. This was real. She was kissing him, and she would remember it this time.

And with any luck, there’d be many more kisses to follow.

*

If anyone had asked, Sam would have said that she fell in love first. Even on the day they met, when Jack been a condescending ass and acted like she wasn’t worth his time, he’d changed his attitude the second she stood up to him. And then he’d insulted Samuels just to get a reaction out of her and she’d smiled before she knew what she was doing. I shouldn’t encourage him, she’d thought to herself, and he must have read her mind and considered it a personal challenge, because he’d had her choking back laughter and smothering smiles ever since.  

It was unprofessional, of course, these forbidden feelings for her commanding officer. But she couldn’t help it, any more than she could help laughing at his stupid jokes. She thought, sometimes, that maybe he felt it too—there was a certain tenderness in his eyes when he smiled at her, and he often sought her out in her lab when she was buried in experiments.

Watcha doing? he would ask. She would explain. He would pretend to be too dumb to understand, say something absurd, and she would laugh. Get some rest, Carter. That’s an order.

He said her name like an endearment, and she held on to those moments and savored them. Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe he didn’t love her. But she loved him, and she would follow him to the ends of the universe and save his ass as many times as he needed her to.

It ended up being a lot of times.

She went through hell and back trying to keep him safe, and she couldn’t decide if the revelation that he loved her back made it better or worse. Some days it was definitely worse.

She held on to hope until she couldn’t anymore, and then proceeded to almost make the biggest mistake of her life--nearly marrying Pete Shanahan. But when her father was dying, it was not Pete who stayed with her, who wrapped his arm around her and promised to be there for her, always. Sam looked into Jack’s steadfast brown eyes and saw the rest of her life.

By the time Jack was promoted to the Pentagon, she’d made up her mind. If he didn’t bring it up, then she was going to. She was damned if she would wait another single second when they both knew.

In the end, he brought it up. He’d barely gotten the words out of his mouth before she found herself kissing him, and the amazing thing was how familiar it felt, as if her lips had belonged on his since the beginning. His arms were home and his lips were both lazy Saturdays and off-world adventure, and every bit of pain and struggle and longing had been worth this perfect moment.

Stay with me, Carter?

Always, Sir. Always.

*

If anyone had asked, Teal’c and Daniel would have said that they knew Jack and Sam were in love long before those two idiots were aware of it, and that they had an ongoing debate on how long Jack and Sam could hold out before the unresolved sexual tension became too much to bear. Teal’c, for his part, maintained that both of them were far too professional to ever let their feelings get in the way of missions. Daniel wished they’d just get a room already and to hell with the consequences.

But it went on. And on. And on. For eight years. Eight years Daniel and Teal’c had to witness the yearning and the pining and the noble self-sacrifice; had to watch them fall apart with fear whenever one of them went missing; had to watch them try not to fall apart with relief when the other one finally turned up again.

Oh, you have returned! I worried about you a completely normal amount. I definitely did not push my health to the very brink of functioning in an attempt to rescue you. I missed you so much I couldn’t breathe, but, like, platonically. Of course.

It was exhausting.

No one was more relieved than Daniel when, on the same day that Jack accepted his position in DC, he came to Daniel’s house with the news that he and Carter were officially A Thing, but they did not want a big deal made out of it; and furthermore—

Fucking finally, said Daniel.

Jack grinned wickedly. Couldn’t have said it better myself.

*

If anyone had asked, General Hammond would have categorically denied knowing anything about it. Not that he didn’t see things. He saw pretty much everything that happened at his facility. He saw, for instance, the way Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter sat just slightly too close together at the briefing table; her knee brushing up against O’Neill’s arm as it rested on the armrest. He saw the looks they exchanged with each other; the way they could communicate paragraphs with a single glance, with a subtle lift of the eyebrows. He saw how O’Neill’s eyes softened when Carter entered the room; how Carter’s whole body lit up with suppressed mirth when O’Neill uttered whatever absurdity had made it past the brain-to-mouth filter.

He saw Carter’s desperation when O’Neill was stranded on Edora, and O’Neill’s despair when Carter’s brain was taken over by an alien entity.

I know Major Carter means a great deal to you.

She’s a very valuable member of my team, Sir.

Even with Carter’s likely and imminent death staring him in the face, O’Neill would not accept comfort from his trusted commanding officer if there was even the slightest risk it might damage her reputation. But he sat at her bedside and refused to leave it until she came back to herself.

Hammond often questioned whether their obvious attachment made them an asset or a liability. But time and again, SG-1 came through and saved the world, and he knew the effectiveness of that team came down, in large part, to the deep bond between O’Neill and Carter. Splitting them up could put the whole planet in jeopardy.

So, officially speaking, he saw nothing. And privately, unofficially, he was rooting for them. Because, damn it, the both of them had been through their own kinds of hell and they deserved to be happy.

He retired and left the facility to O’Neill. He was taking a final farewell look around his office when O’Neill swaggered in.

Hammond smiled. Are you ready for this?

Oh, absolutely, Sir. Not the slightest bit of…trepidation. O’Neill’s face belied his words, and Hammond reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

There is no one better for this job than you.

I will do my best to fill your shoes, Sir.

Hammond turned to go, hesitated, and faced O’Neill one last time. Jack, may I give you a piece of advice? As a friend.

O’Neill’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he gave a quick nod. Sure.

I have been a military man for most of my life. But I am also a family man. And while I would never advise you to break regulations—

General—

No, hear me out. Hammond put both hands on O’Neill’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. If you love her, find a way to make it work. You won’t ever regret it.

O’Neill blinked, perhaps in shock, and then his eyes began to twinkle. I don’t know what you’re talking about, General.

Of course you don’t. Hammond gave him an understanding clap on the shoulder and walked out.

Eighteen months later, when the wedding invitation arrived in the mail, he knew he should have been surprised but he wasn’t. On the back of the invitation, in Jack O’Neill’s distinctive scrawl, were two words:

No regrets.

Hammond threw back his head and laughed.

It was about damn time.

[pekiacyunn]

I need to write this to refute some recent analysis of Pomegranate and Dark Choco.

Unfortunately, what you think about them have some incomprehensible points which made me think you were trying to exonerate Pome (and belittle Choco) without reading the stories carefully. It’s okay to find good excuses for the characters you like, but basically don’t mess with other characters if you don’t like them. So I’m standing out to prove how you described Dark Choco is out of character as a fan of him, at the same time, I’ll point out how you misunderstood Pomegranate.

I’m not here to argue and welcome discussions anytime.

It was finally made clear that Dark Choco is referred to as “he/him” since like years ago in Ovenbreak and always referred to as male in Kingdom story. I don’t think it very well if one try to explain official stories with personal headcanons, or if you know the fact that he is referred to as a male but totally ignore it while writing your things, alright then.

If you know someone is going to be triggered by something and you still do that thing, I think this can be called abusing. And Pome forced Dark Choco to recall what makes him uncomfortable(I think he has some ptsd symptoms), when he almost cried out she was just being aside watching him suffer. Since this word means to “especially regularly or repeatedly” which you disagree, maltreatment might also apply. Gladly Pome doesn’t seem do harms to Choco very often and what the Dark Mode stories showed only happened for once currently. Of course it doesn’t fully represent “abuse” but she is doing bad and if she wishes to do more she can.

Once again: She shows Dark Choco those visions because she knows those could make him feel bad. Most Cookies of darkness(Pome, Licor and Enchantress) know Dark Choco did some awful things to his homeland and are all mentioning it in a casual way even if they know Choco said he doesn’t want to listen to it.

No one here says Dark Choco is fully innocent from what he does. But he could just.. he just doesn’t mean to even do anything bad from the very beginning. He could be very good (anyway who would refuse a kind boy traveling around to offer help? would you?) if he haven’t ever been touched by the darkness. And there’re still possibilities that he destroyed the kingdom under the control of Strawberry Jam. Villains Wiki doesn’t include “villains” if they do evil while being brainwashed or possessed and maybe so shouldn’t you. Let’s say he will possibly do evil out of his own will in the future but such a change basically didn’t have to happen to him, that’s why many of us want to protect him.

And also, it’s very clear that he didn’t mean to hurt his father. But he was holding Strawberry Jam so.. you know, things are likely to, happen without his purpose and Cacao’s attention.

I don’t know how you get the conclusion that he is denying he has done anything wrong. He shows regret 24 hours a day when talking to player and even his soulstone reads it’s full of remorse. He only denied when he’s arguing with Pome and according to me he’s trying to make himself less suffering from the strong feel of guilty that Pome is giving him. At least, he’s always seeing himself as a criminal, he knows he has done barely forgivable things and as a result he blames himself a real lot. Don’t say he’s an ass only because he denied in front of Pome.

Dark Choco didn’t fully wish to do dark deeds because he.. Pome is right, he didn’t accept his fate. He wasn’t thinking he’d do more evil,and somehow still dreamed of dragging himself out of the gang of darkness. For quite a while, he didn’t want to join and pay effort. What Pome does is to convince himself he is so awful that no bright space welcomes him back instead of forcing him to confess guilt. Utterly, Pome sees Dark Enchantress’ orders first, since her business of darkness would require a corrupted hero, Pome would does everything to make sure she can completely master one. DONT EVER THINK POMEGRANATE IS DOING SOMETHING FOR HERSELF INSTEAD OF FOR DARK ENCHANTRESS. If you do so, go back and read her description. And Pome is annoyed because Dark Choco didn’t do what he��s told to (to help with the spread of darkness) and turned happy when she see him finally agreed he’s a minion of darkness. Not for he “denying his mistakes”. Who th cares if he admits it. Pome only cares about if Dark Choco is obedient.

Don’t say those who understand the stories in a different way and thus dislike the character you like are gross.

Thanks for reading something written to clarify some facts for Dark Choco. He’s just such a tangled Cookie. And Pome is attractive for being loyal to the darkness. Currently what Dark Choco has done is not convincing enough to make him on Villains Wiki, but what Pome has done can(at least she destroyed her own village out of her will) and it’s no fun to exonerate a fictional character who actually do bad things. I define myself as a bizarre and sometimes toxic fan of Dark Choco because my brain is sometimes filled with “I want to see him wanted for crime of being a hazard to national security”, and comprehension and love about a character can be shown in this way, for I clearly know what he actually had done but cherishes him for his fate could just not be like this. Honestly I don’t like Pome because she treated Dark Choco badly but you see, I’m not going to curse those who like her, and I try my best not to miss facts about her, either.

Once again thanks for reading. If any of you want to know more about my unique understanding of Dark Choco, asks and discussions are welcomed.

[just-a-quirkless-loser]

How Could You Love Me🥺🐬

Gang Orca x Reader

I’ve never seen any fanfiction for this character and I think he deserves it🥺hope you enjoy it.

—————————————————————

It was no secret that Gang Orca was a scary looking figure. Hell, his fanged teeth often hung over the sides of his mouth and his hands had pointed fingers, making his look more like a monster than anything else. He had dealt his whole life with coming to terms that the public would always see him as a monster.

However, no one knows what type of person he really is. No one knew that his real name was Kugo Sakamata or that he can’t stand to eat certain seafood or that his heart fills with sadness whenever people tremor with terror when they see him. No, the public knew him as this savage beast.

Luckily for him, whenever he enters his favorite bakery, all his anger and sadness leaves. All because he sees you, a lovely woman with bright eyes and a full smile. You sit behind the counter and greet him the same way as you have dozens of times before.

“Haiii, Sakamata. I saw you save a bunch of kids from that fire yesterday. Are you okay? I know heat really bothers you. I made some special tea cakes for you today anddddd they have little orca decorations. Get it? Cause you’re an orca? It might not be the most original thing ever but I just thought it was cute,” you hush to him as he enters. At the beginning of your daily encounters, he couldn’t believe how friendly you would be. He hadn’t been expecting friendship when he entered the shop for a quick snack run.

“I think it’s nice how passionate you are. And, I’ve told you to call me Kugo. We’re friends,” he grinned as he looked at the tiny cakes on the counter. “And, I think those cakes are perfect. They’re all for me?”

“Yep yep. I wanted you to have something special this morning,” you started putting the cakes into their container. “You didn’t answer my other question though. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You know, I can tell when you don’t tell the full truth. The left side of your mouth twitches up,” you wipe your hands on your apron as you hold out the box for him to grab.

“Well, I’m doing as well as I can be.”

“Did it happen again?” You were referring to the reactions the hero would get whenever he saved someone. Even if he’s a pro hero risking his life, people still chose to scorn him and his looks.

“I can’t really blame people for how they act. I’d be scared too,” he held out the bills for the cakes. You pushed the bills back towards his body, refusing to make the man pay after all he does for you. He even does extra patrols around your shop to scare off and villains. “Let me pay you.”

“No, I pay you with delicious sweets. And, if it’s any consolation, I think people are fools for what they’re doing to you. I’d never be scared of you,” you smile. Unknown to him, your feelings had been growing for the man. You loved his dedication to his work and his steady positive attitude. If it were up to you, you would have him return your feelings. However, you’re a chicken.

“I’ll be back later. I’ve got more work to do,” and he was gone just as quick as he came. While he had come into the shop with a small frown, he left with a large smile which seemed to scared civilians enough to part for him as he passed on the street.

He munched on his cakes, wondering if you tasted the same way. His mind often wandered to what it would be like to be with you without having to pay you visits at your shop. How would it feel to kiss you and worship you? Would you shy away from his? Were you as vocal as you normally are as you’re being held down and pleasured beyond your comprehension?

‘I need to stop this thinking. It only hurts more knowing I can’t have her,’ and it hurts even more for you to watch him leave your shop every day, taking a bit of your heart with him

Gang Orca walked through the town for the day, patrolling for any crime and appreciating the fact that it was a slow crime day. He only had to stop a few purse snatchers which wasn’t hard given they ran away as soon as he appeared.

He walked back to your shop, an extra pep to his step as he thought about seeing you. You’d most likely be closing up with a few strangling costumers, flour dusting your delicate cheeks, your shirt sleeves rolled up to your elbows as you cleaned up the rest of the sweets that weren’t sold.

“Oooops sorry, Kugo,” he walked in only to be ran into by your smaller body. You had been carrying around (well, more like dragging) a table. “Would you mind help?”

“I’d be honored to help. And, you should pay more attention. What if I was a robber?” He picked up the table from your grasp. You continued to smile up at him, rocking from side to side as you jumped from excitement. He briefly wonders why you’re so happy.

“Then, I’d be getting robbed for money that they’d have to pull from my cold, dead hands,” he sputtered. How the fuck can you say things so casually?

“No one is getting robbed. You’re missing the point, Y/N. You need to be more cautious,” he chided you with a gentle chop on the head. You pouted but nodded your head in agreement anyway.

“Yes, dadddddy,” it was meant to be a joke but, your words made him growl lowly. You cocked your head at the sound, wetness slowly pooling.

“Uh, sorry,” he looks away from you and you swear you see a ghost of red across his smooth skin.

“Yeh it’s-it’s cool,” you waddle away to go get three bottles of water. It’s become routine for you and him to share drinks so he can replenish his strength. A few of your costumers are still at their tables, some frozen with apprehension of the hero.

“Mommy, is he a villain?” Kugo can hear a hound boy ask his mother. They sit right behind him, right behind is large frame that shrinks to make the boy feel more at ease. “Mommy, I’m scared.”

“He is kinda scary but, it’s okay. He’s a hero. Let’s just leave in case he isn’t friendly though,” you come from the back just in time for the woman to be caught trying to rush out.

“Umm, you have to pay,” you push the water bottles into his chest and turn to the mother with hands on your hips. “You didn’t just sit here and eat all those fucking bonbons just to steal them. And, in front of a hero nonetheless.”

“We we’re going to pay. Just...tomorrow,” the woman shuffles from side to side, throwing anxious glances at Sakamata.

“Why when you could pay now? I should make you cough everything up so you can eat it tomorrow then,” it’s moments like these Kugo is reminded you’re not always as sweet as your aura suggests. He’s learned that you’re not a pushover when someone pisses you off.

“My son is afraid?”

“Of what?!?! There’s a literal fucking hero here. I know you saw him; he’s impossible to miss.”

“No, you misunderstand. He’s afraid of the hero,” there’s a pregnant pause before she speaks again. “See, I knew you’d underst-“

“Get the fuck out of my shop and never come back,” you say it with such venom it surprises him. You look at her with fury as you close into her space. “You think you get to encourage your son judging him without consequences? People like you make me sick. You should be teaching him to appreciate people, no matter what they look like,” you angrily shove her shoulder backwards, making Kugo step in to pull you into his chest.

“Calm yourself, little one. Don’t get yourself worked up over me,” he whispered into your ear. You sank into his body, allowing him to calm you.

“Did he just threaten you? Do you need me to call someone?” She just had to say something. Self-restraint has never really been your thing anyway.

“He just saved your ignorant ass. I already told you to get out of here. If you aren’t gone in the next moment, I’m going to slam your face into the wall behind you and make your your child watch as I pull your hair from your scalp. Then, he’ll see that anyone can be a fucked person, no matter how sweet they may look,” you had a dark look in your eye. You sound more like a villain than he looks (and that’s saying something). The woman scurries out, followed by some of your costumers that had heard the incident. Something tells you they won’t be back any time soon.

“I never knew you could be that scary, little one,” with your costumers gone, the large bakery felt hot and heavy. Sakamata seemed to dominate the air with few words, making your inner submissive mewl in his presence.

“She pissed me off. It’s because of people like here that kids grow up to fear you; discrimination is taught,” you sighed as he pulled you even closer, his hips pressed into your back.

“You can’t put the blame solely on her.”

“So, that just gives people the right to mistreat you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then, what did you mean?” You pushed away from him so you could turn around to face him. Why can’t he just accept that this isn’t his fault?

“I hate when you look like that,” he was closer than ever before. Your breaths came out in puffs that mingled with his.

“Like what?” You looked like a picture out of a magazine with your lips slightly parted, your pink tongue farting across your lips, silently challenging him to lean in to taste your essence.

“Like you’re anything other than happy,” he settles for resting his forehead on your own. You could only wonder what the two of you looked like right then; the large man hunched over to meet your small frame.

“How can I be happy when you talk down on yourself? Why can’t you see what I see?” tears flowed as your fists beat on his chest to ecentuate your words. If only you had stopped to feel how hard his heart was beating for you. “Why can’t you just love yourself like I love you?”

Your confession stuck in his brain, hanging around to his every thought. Knowing you felt the same have him a faint hope however, he crushed it just as quickly as it came. Women like you don’t fall in love with men like him.

What type of life would you have if the two of you started to date? He couldn’t take you on normal dates, he wouldn’t be able to show you off as normal people do, you’d miss so many things as you bound yourself to him. How could he possibly do that to you.

“How could you love me,” he pulls himself away. He knows his next words will hurt you but, he’s convinced himself that this is what needs to be done. “When I don’t love you?” And he left you there in your shop, broken to the realization that men like him don’t belong with women like you. Words haven’t been created to describe the pain you feat and the sense of defeat that crossed into you.

It was your fault for falling in too deep. You fell for a man that you had only know from stopping to your shop; a man that you can admit you barely knew. Maybe, you persuaded yourself that your infatuation was something beyond the mere encounters, that your infatuation was blossoming love. Yes, it was your fault.

He stopped coming to your shop and, eventually, you closed your bakery. You couldn’t stand being in the place that you met your first and last love; everywhere you looked, you saw him. You saw him moving tables and chairs, you saw him pouring cream hearts into lattes, you saw him rubbing his worker fingers on your face. If only it was real.

You opened another shop but, instead of working there like the last time, you hired workers. You didn’t have the will to put yourself in that situation again, knowing that he, not only shattered your heart but, stole your smile as well. All you wanted to do was lay in bed and watch t.v., not really paying attention.

“GANG ORCA, found wounded from latest fight with villain. He was rushed to the nearest hospital within-“ that got your attention. You were up and getting dressed. You started to narrow down the possible locations he could have been taken to fill you landed on the one (this being one of the only times your analytical quirk came in hand). You rushed to the hospital in your car, pretty sure you broke all the traffic laws.

Running in to the hospital, you were fearful of how you’d see the man you were still in love with. You knew he’d be bandaged but, you hoped that it wasn’t too severe (although, you knew you’d love him despite what he looked like). An inkling of hesitation was in your mind, not knowing how he would greet you if he was conscious. You can only hope for a good reunion.

“I need to know where Sakamata Kugo is,” you must look delusional with your hair barely combed and your half dressed appearance. You’re pretty sure you didn’t even put on pants. You look down to confirm you indeed only have on a very large sweatshirt (no doubt from the hero you come to visit).

“We can’t just let anyone up to his room,” you knew that what you were asking was selfish but, you had to see him. “Family can wait in the waiting room.”

You were led to a dreary room with tan walls and white stripes. You see his mother (it’s not hard to spot the only other Orca in the room).

“This young lady is here for your son as well,” you blush abashedly. His mother looks similar to him, a few differences in shades between them. Her teeth are still sharp but dull compared to his. While his eyes are bright red, hers are blue pools of pigment.

You sit there with her, rubbing her arm in the only normal way you can think. You wish you could hug her but, that seems too personal. She leans into your side but keeps enough of her weight off of you not to crush you.

“I assume you’re L/N Y/N?” you look like road kill in head lights as you look up at her. “He talks about you a lot. Well, not as much recently. He likes you. I can also assume that you feel the same way?”

“It’s complicated,” you look away from her to stifle a few tears that threaten to pool. Even after months of trying to move on, it still hurts. “I thought he felt the same way but, it was probably just me imaging things.”

“Hmm,” she sighs and places her hand on top of yours. “He’s not the best with emotions but, I can tell that he truly loves you. He’d never speak of you to me if he didn’t. Please don’t give up on my son.”

‘He gave up on me,’ you wanted to spout the bitter words but, you didn’t have it in your heart so, you resolved to nodding your head. You probably wouldn’t even see her again after you saw that he was fine.

“Sakamata Kugo,” a doctor comes from the back. The two of you raise to see him, both of you clenching each other tightly. “He’s fine. The blood made the wounds seem worse than what they were. He’s expected to make a full recovery within the next three months. I suggest that you see him one at a time though.”

“Thank you, sir,” he bids you farewell and you turn to grab your things so that you can leave. You found out what you came for. “Where do you think you’re going?”

‘Well, now I can see where he got his intimidation factor,’ you shiver as her eyes narrow.

“I just wanted to know if he would be alright. Now that I know, I can leave,” you’re pushed down into the seat behind you. She looms over you, she dares you wordlessly to defy her.

“You’re going to see him. I’m going to go in and tell him you’re here and then you both will squash whatever disagreement the two of you are having. And, then, you’ll come back tomorrow so I can get to know you more,” she walks off without waiting for your response. “If you leave, just know, I know your name and your face. I can find you if I really look hard enough.”

‘What the fuck just happened?’ You just sat there waiting, the time ticking by slowly. You really wanted to run but, you couldn’t risk her tracking you down. You can just imagine her dragging you from your home and into the hospital.

“He’s ready to see you now,” his mother pulls you from your seat and pushes you towards his door. You stand in front of it, hand on the knob as you still debate whether or not you should try to make a run for it. You doubt you’d get far but, it could still work.

“I know you’re there, Y/N. Come in,” you gulp at his voice. It still has its deep baritone that makes your panties flood. You peep your head in to see Kugo propped up in bed, his leg and right shoulder bandaged up. His red eyes glowed possessively, beckoning you to come closer. “My mother said you were here.”

“Uh yeah, I just wanted to check on you. I saw what happened on the news. We can just sit here for a few seconds so your mom thinks we talked,” you waddles from side to side.

“What makes you think I don’t want to talk?” His way eyes narrow just like his mothers did. Gulping, you try to look away but, he speaks again to get your attention. “Sit down so we can talk.”

“I just thought you wouldn’t want to after, you know,” you place your care keys and phone beside you as you take a seat next to his side. You lean against the bed to give yourself some comfort.

“I needed time to think. I came back to the bakery though,” why does it feel like you’re suddenly in trouble? “Funny thing though, the bakery wasn’t there. Any idea why?”

“We moved locations.”

“And, you never thought to tell me that?”

“It’s not your business.”

“You are my business,” he pulls you into the bed with him, laying you flat against his chest so that you can sit in his lap. “I never said I didn’t want to see you again. I just had to think.”

“It doesn’t really matter now. You made it very clear you don’t want me,” you sniffle.

“I never said that. I said some things that I didn’t mean. I was just scared of being with you. I mean, look at me, what kind of life could you possibly have with me? What would people think of you?”

“WHY CANT YOU UNDERSTAND I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT PEOPLE THINK OF ME?” You want to punch him for the unnecessary torment he caused you. “You always think you have to spare me from something that’s not even fucking there. Why can’t you just admit you love me? Is it so hard not to give a fuck about other people’s opinions?”

“I love you.”

“Too fucking late.”

“It’s not too late if you came to visit me,” he sounds smug.

“You’re going to make this up to me.”

“I expect nothing less from you. I could start now,” his hands start to travel down your body.

“Uh uh. You gots boo boos. There’s plenty of time for that,” you giggle and flick his hands away.

“We’ll see about that.”

——————————————————————————

Tag List💕

@sakurashortstack @sinclairsamess

[vs-redemption]

Crime is Common. Logic is Rare (Ch.27)

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Tension (HawksxGN!Reader)

Plot summary: As a quirk geneticist, you never really imagined yourself getting involved in hero work. Of course, you never imagined catching the eye of a pro hero either. What starts as a great career opportunity turns into a relationship built upon mutual secrets and trust.

Warnings:

⚠️This story contains spoilers from the manga.

⚠️Some events and plot points have been altered from the original manga

Tag List: @gayforkeigo @marshmallow-witch @redflannel @toyo-shiro @elsasshole @astronomyturtle @iambashfulperson @omiwashere

Next Chapter : Chapter Guide

Considering everything you and Hawks had to cope with as a new couple, the relationship itself had gone quite smoothly as far as you were concerned. There was a lot of pressure due to the secretive and dangerous nature of your jobs at present, but disagreements were few and far between, and you were both flexible enough to resolve issues quickly without much heartache. However, the time had finally come for you to butt heads in earnest, and as far as first fights went, you had to believe you both deserved awards for the amount of self-control exercised from both parties.

Neither one of you were allowed to raise your voice, not even on accident in the heat of the moment. Actually, neither of you were allowed to speak at all. You could only scribble back and forth aggressively to convey your feelings because the subject you were arguing over was something neither one of you should have a reason to be discussing in the first place.

That unfortunate topic was Dabi.

You had refused to accept the fire villain’s request for you to spy on your boyfriend, and Hawks was quite adamant that doing so had been the wrong decision. Obviously you understood his concerns about crossing someone as dangerous as Dabi, but as long as Shigaraki’s wellbeing was in your hands, you were fairly certain the villains would leave you basically unharmed. Besides, Hawks was the one who had been against you getting involved any deeper with the League in the first place.

‘He threatened you,’ Hawks scratches down on the paper you were using to have the conversation. This method of communication was becoming frustrating for the both of you, especially since finding time to be together was hard enough as it was without having to waste precious moments of it writing everything you needed to tell each other by hand.

Your eyes slide across the words and the tension that you’d being fighting back ever since the encounter with Dabi began nagging you more persistently in the back of your mind. You do your best to lock the feelings back down and then meet Hawks’ eyes while shrugging off his concern. Certainly, Dabi had threatened you, but your life had already been in danger from the moment Dr. Garaki showed you that he could synthesize Nomu DNA. It wasn’t easy living with that fear, but as long as you had the knowledge inside your brain of what the villains were doing, there would be the chance of them deciding to silence you by taking your life. Adding Dabi into the equation didn’t make that any more or less true.

‘Tell the doctor you’ve reconsidered the offer,’ Hawks aggressively adds a period at the end as if it would turn his words into more of a demand than a suggestion.

It didn’t matter whether he wanted you to do this for your own safety or because he really thought it was the best course of action. You still shake your head even though you hated to see the look of disappointment in his eyes over your answer. You just couldn’t bring yourself to risk it. The villains were already suspicious of your relationship with Hawks. Both Shigaraki and Dabi had brought up the strangeness of dating a hero while helping out the villains. They’d be stupid not to even consider the possibility that you knew about Hawks’ involvement with the league or that one, if not both, of you were playing the role of double agent.

‘Changing my mind now will only make things more complicated.’ You write down the words despite knowing Hawks was smart enough to have already thought of them himself. It was just like the times when you’d mysteriously passed out in Garaki’s lab and encountered Shigaraki for the very first time. Backing out or changing your mind at the wrong moment would send a message to the doctor and the villains. They would wonder who you’d been talking to, or what had transpired after the fact that had made you think twice and go back on things you’d said in the past. It was better to stick to your guns and continue playing the role of morally ambiguous scientist.

‘Not if the information you give them is valuable,’ Hawks counters with a serious look on his handsome face. He looks over at the news reporter rambling from your TV, probably jealous that they were able to talk so freely while he was reduced to passing notes with someone he cared about. He looks back down at the paper and adds, ‘You can give them my real name.’

Upon reading the words, something inside you suddenly snapped, and you fight off the urge to ball up the paper and chuck it at your boyfriend’s head. When you’d first asked him about his name, he’d insisted that ‘Hawks’ was his real name. He’d never explicitly told you that he’d lied back then, but he’d dropped plenty of not-so-subtle hints for you to figure it out on your own. So, it wasn’t so much the reveal that rubbed you the wrong way as it was the timing of it. You pull the paper towards you and pick up the pen.

‘Absolutely not!’ You write and then underline it twice before throwing the pen back down. Hawks looked shocked at your little outburst and slides the paper closer to himself to simply draw a question mark.

A sigh escapes your lips as you study the confusion in his golden eyes. Perhaps it had been a bit of an overreaction. Both you and Hawks had been so careful and logical about everything for so long that there was a certain intimacy missing in the relationship. You had been trying to cope with that fact as best you can, but something about learning his name this way hit you a little differently.

‘Sorry.’ You write the words slowly. ‘I don’t like the idea of finally learning your name just so that I can hand it over to Dabi.’ It made you feel vulnerable to make such a confession because it wasn’t like you to let your personal feelings affect your behavior so strongly. You wanted to be honest with him though, so that the lines of communication between you could be as open as possible.

Hawks reads over your words, features morphing from surprise into sadness as comprehension dawns on him. He meets your gaze before reaching out and pulling you firmly against him. You weren’t sure what to make of the reaction but you wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his chest.

“I never thought of it that way,” Hawks mumbles awkwardly and refuses to let you go for a moment. “You’re right though. It’s not fair.”

You push away from him to look at his face, feeling surprised that he’d even risk saying that out loud. It could probably be passed off as a comment about whatever the news reporter was still ranting about, but you put a finger to his lips to silence him anyway.

“Sorry,” he whispers against your skin.

“Shh!” You reprimand him before taking your finger away and replacing it with your lips, pressing a kiss to his mouth to show him everything was all right and that you weren’t upset with him. He relaxes right away and warps his arms more tightly around you to hold you closer. You had to pull away after a moment though because your time together was limited, and you’d yet to agree on a solution to your problem.

“I love you,” he tells you with a longing in his eyes that told you he hated the current situation just as much as you did.

“I love you too, bird-kun.” You smile while taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. He glances back down at the paper on the table and picks up the pen begrudgingly.

‘I’ll think of something else for you to tell him.’ He meets your eyes to see how you’d respond and is once again disappointed when you shake your head.

‘I won’t be the one to give him anything he can use against you.’ You write your reply.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” he smiles sadly before jotting down his response.

‘If you don’t cooperate, your life will be in danger once Shigaraki wakes up.’

Seeing the truth once again so plainly spelled out gave you pause, but you were determined to stick to the original plan the two of you had agreed to along with the Hero Commission.

‘That’s why we’re going to make sure to end this before that even happens.’ You scribble down the reply before clicking the pen closed. Hawks understood then that you weren’t going to be changing your mind. He sighs quietly and puts his hands up in surrender.

“Ok,” he tells you while glancing at the TV again to check the time. “I have to get back to my patrol soon.”

“I know,” you lean in and kiss him again on the cheek. “I wish we had more time.”

“Can I stop by after you get back from the lab?” he asks although he already knew your schedule.

“Sorry,” you frown. “I’ll be there late tonight. It would be better if you stop by in the morning.”

Hawks grimaced at the thought of you spending so many hours watching over Shigaraki’s unconscious body, but it was at least a little better than being involved with a fully awake Dabi. It was going to be so important for the Heroes to find a way to stop the villains before Shigaraki woke up. More lives than just your own would be in danger if they failed. You trusted Hawks though, and knew he and the commission would do everything they could to prevent the worst case scenario.

“You bet,” Hawks stands up from the couch and stretches his arms and wings as much as he could to prepare himself for his patrol. “Send me a text when you’re awake and I’ll bring coffee.”

“That would be much appreciated,” you smile as you watch him go to the door and pull on his boots and flight jacket. He gives you another quick peck on the lips, says his goodbyes, and before you know it he’s taking off into the sky.

[skvaderarts]

Apocrypha Chapter Thirty Four: Homeostasis

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Thirty Four: Homeostasis

Note: That moment when you wrote this chapter as a stand alone prologue back on April 8th, 2019 because it took literally a year to start this series, and my fic Sorting was the precursor to this! I suppose I should throw that into a series list of some sort. Anyway, I’m going to just rewrite some parts of it since they don’t quite line up with this story, and I can’t overlook them. That’s how massive plot holes happen. Feel free to check that one out if you’d like to see how this whole concept got started. It’s still one of my most popular fics. Like 800 reads on a one chapter fic. Just omg wow!

 (-~-)

 Two weeks later…

As the end of august drew closer and closer with each passing moment, so too did the changing of the trees and the atmosphere around the city. What little grass covered the bare areas of the county began to turn slightly yellow, losing its once vivid green hue, and replacing itself, with a soft shade of yellowish brown that resembled mature wheat or straw more than anything else. The last of the summer heat was dissipating and a cold chill bit at anyone foolish enough to go out without some sort of long sleeve to protect them from the unusually early seasonal transition. It was normal for things to fluctuate slightly from year to year, but for the weather to undergo such a drastic change compared to the year before? Madness. But at the end of the day, the environment was going to do as it pleased, and fall coming about three weeks early wasn’t going to turn too many heads in a year where so many people genuinely thought that the world was about to end.

While opinion was divided as to whether or not celebrating Halloween was appropriate considering the sheer number of demonic attacks earlier that year, and the destruction of Redgrave City, no one seemed to make much of a fuss about the concept of decorating for the season. Stores and shops were already starting to hang autumn decorations, and seasonal treats were starting to hit shelves and shops alike. Despite the actual edibility of some of the offerings available, everyone had started to add pumpkin spice to everything because why not? The year had been literally hellish. At the end of the day, everyone needed something to look forward to, and at least the dreary weather that had refused to relent in the past month or so now had a valid reason to exist.

But while everyone else was adjusting to minute changes in the weather, and enjoying the colorful atmosphere, food, and decor that came with the rest of the season, V had additional matters to contend with. It had only been about five days since Magnolia had declared that V was finally in the proper condition to finally leave her watchful gaze, and for the first time in a very long time, V didn’t feel perpetually exhausted. While he’d never truly been energetic, his improved wellbeing and the prospect of transferring himself and his meager belongings into a more permanent dwelling was actually somewhat enthralling to him.

Or at least that had been the case before V had actually attempted to do so.

Despite the fact that the young summoner owned practically nothing, his insistence that he be allowed to move the majority of his belongings by himself had been his downfall, cursing him to an extended period of breathlessness and a general feeling of discomfort. There was a part of this situation that made him wonder how he’d managed to become this awful at physical activity, but then he remembered that he had basically no experience with such matters and decided to just go back to trying to stand up. 

And failing miserably at it.

“This is why I told you to just let me move the boxes for you.” Nero said as he walked past, plopping down one of the final boxes next to the winded summoner. His humorous tone hid an understandable level of genuine concern as she caught sight of his out of breath sibling, berating himself for ever allowing V to carry all those boxes into the house by himself in the first place. Since Vergil wasn’t there to be the voice of reason in this particular situation, and V was too distracted to think that clearly, Nero was going to have to do.

V shrugged in defeat, a pleasant smirk spread across his face as he sat on the floor of his new living room, sprawled out across the space where the couch had presumably once been, and completely in the way of any meaningful progress that Nero was trying to achieve. He’d been in that spot for the last ten minutes, and despite the fact that his breathing and heart rate had leveled out some time ago, he simply couldn’t will himself to get up off of the floor. It was as though his limbs were glued down, and no amount of insistence from his cerebral cortex was going to change that fact. He’d simply lost the ability to get up and do anything, and part of him was okay with just staying there until Nero inevitably decided to just entomb him with his own boxes.

“And normally I would have allowed that, but it seems that a combination of overzealous mismanagement and hubristic foolishness have gotten the best of me.” V said quietly, managing to lift a single leg and nothing else. Good, that was progress. Now if he could just make the second leg obey him, he might be able to actually do something.” The fool who persists in his folly will become wise.”

Nero glanced over at him and shook his head for a moment, tempted to just offer to help him up. But he knew better than to try that. V wasn’t going to go for that at this particular juncture, and he knew it. The white haired demon slayer was simply too elated to care. 

“And here I thought you’d finally stopped quoting that damn book, V.” Nero said as he stacked two of the larger boxes, lamenting the sheer number of them. How much stuff had he managed to keep in that tiny guest room?” If these are all books I swear…”

It took a moment, but V finally managed to clamber to his feet, brushing off the small layer of dust that had accumulated on his clothing while he’d been sitting on the floor. The house needed a good dusting, and he’d spent much for the day before letting it air out and attempting to get a head start on the process of making it livable. There were no appliances in the kitchen, and he didn’t really have any plans as to how he was going to work all of the expenses for furniture out just yet, but at least he wasn’t drowning in bills like Dante and he actually owned a plate. Probably. He wasn’t sure if he could find it just yet.

“To be honest, I’m somewhat surprised that you recognized that verse.” An almost smug smirk spread across his face, a knowing look in his eyes as he faced Nero, folding his arms lightly around himself. There was a draft coming in from the open door, and the chilly weather wasn’t helping any.” But then again, I suppose you did read my book cover to cover, so it only makes sense.”

For a moment, a slightly confused look crossed Nero’s face as he attempted to remember the point in which he’d admitted that to V. In all honesty, he couldn’t recall that conversation, but one thing was for sure: he remembered telling Vergil about two weeks prior. His brain stalled for a moment as he realized that his ability to poke fun at his older sibling was now compromised, and he had no high ground to speak of.

“... Vergil told you, didn’t he?” Nero exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassed discomfort. It was more of a statement than it was a question, the younger of the two positive that he knew exactly how his older sibling had found out. It was an interesting revelation to be sure. Nero had assumed many things about his father, that much was certain. But he’d never taken him as the sort to gossip. Regardless, he found it as entertaining as he did embarrassing. Was V going to try to talk poetry with him now that he knew he had some level of comprehension towards the subject matter?

The longer haired devil hunter gave a brief nod, blinking slowly as he chuckled quietly to himself. If only Nero could see the face was making. Pure gold was an understatement. As far as V was concerned, this was probably the most embarrassed Nero had ever looked in front of him, and that was saying something considering the number of times Nico had absolutely destroyed him in front of his three young children.

His mind wandered for a moment as the thought of the little ones crossed his mind. They lived back on the island with his brother, Kyrie, and Nico, and now he resided in this place. But in a strange turn of events, for the first time in his life, he wondered how he would cope with that reality. V had been alone his entire life, only having himself to rely on when things took a turn for the worst. And while he still had Griffon and Shadow, he found himself wondering how the silence within his new dwelling would sit with him. He’d become so accustomed to the sound of children laughing, and the constant but friendly bickering between Nero, not to mention the commotion from the kitchen whenever someone (normally Kyrie) was cooking, or the absolute pleasure that was the chaotic dinners that he’d had the pleasure of participating in. The very concept of missing out on these events actually lowered his spirits a bit when he considered them, because despite the fact that he’d generally been a silent observer, simply partaking in the ambience of domestic bliss, he’d felt… safe there. Wanted.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what he thought about being alone.

When he’d made the decision to move away from everyone else, it had been an idea born of a desire to both acquire his own space, and to keep any possible danger that he might attract away from those he cared about. There was no guarantee that this cult was completely wiped out, and V knew that he would never forgive himself if he allowed those that he’d come to value to dearly become embroiled in whatever this mess was that he now found himself in. For once, he had something to lose. And he rather enjoy the view from afar and pine fruitlessly for times that had long since passed than be the catalyst that sent their happy world crashing down in a pillar of flames. Metaphorically, of course.

“You just told me. But yes, he did as well.” V stepped past him, ignoring the flabbergasted look on Nero’s face and heading back towards the van to check and see if there were any remaining boxes. The feeling of the cool air hitting him as he walked out onto the tree lined street helped ease the growing sensation of discontent that he felt in the pit of his stomach. It was like a knot that grew tighter in his throat and his abdomen all at once, not physically inhibiting him in any way, but making him uncomfortable nonetheless. How was it that his own insecurities and anxieties about things that had yet to pass always seemed to steal away what could otherwise be pleasant memories? V had a habitual habit of assuming the very worst, and rarely hoping for the best. After all, he couldn’t be let down if his expectations were low. And yet, in moments like these, he wished for nothing more than to be the type of person who could quietly sweep his worries under the rug and drop his inhibitions, simply reveling in the beauty and wonder of the world he lived in. 

He could count the number of times he’d had reason to feel that way on one hand, not a single thing standing out in his life for positive reasons. And yet, there was a part of him that just wanted him to feel as though he’d accomplished something by making it this far, but cutting himself a break seemed to be out of his realm of ability.

“In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.” V spoke quietly under his breath, his words barely a whisper in the crisp late summer air. He was not aware of the fact that Nero was standing behind him, taking in the change in mood between them.

The younger of the two could tell that something in V’s demeanor had changed in the last few minutes, and he had some idea as to what might be on his mind. From the moment that V had announced his intentions to move out, everyone had been excited for him. But as the actual day that he had chosen to move out approached, the house seemed to grow ever more silent. There was a certain stillness between everyone as they considered what it would be like to walk past his room and know what he wasn’t there. Everyone had grown so accustomed to their little arrangement, and had come to enjoy the company of everyone else present. Even though he’d been given an opportunity to experience something uniquely wonderful, none of them could shake the sadness that came with his departure, V included. And although none of them spoke of this, they all felt it deep down.

Even though everyone knew that he was a ferry ride and a short drive away, it felt like an ocean had sprang up between them. And distance between them was like an impassable wall and, as crazy as it might have seemed, V couldn’t help but feel like he was being selfish for doing something that he hoped would bring them all more safety and security in the long run. Perhaps it was worse having had something and then lost it than it was to live without it. V couldn’t say yet. But one thing he could say was that he hoped he could find some way to preserve that feeling of closeness he felt with the rest of his friends and family, even with an ocean between them. Dante’s office and Magnolia’s shop were close by, not more than a half hour in either direction unless traffic was taken into account. And in an ironic twist of fate, V was not too far from what remained of Redgrave City, his new dwelling closer to it than any of the other residences. This provided him with an interesting possible venture in the future, but he wasn’t entirely sure what he would do if he went there. Visit all the locations he’d nearly been killed in? Go and try to locate more books? Did he even have more books? There had to be about fifteen large boxes stacked on the floor in the living room, and the large majority of them were filled with books, most of which he hadn’t taken the time to read.

Maybe that was a good place to start.

During his momentary lapse of focus, Nero had nabbed the final box and closed the van door, finally drawing V’s attention. They shared a quiet glance at one another for a moment before V simply opted to follow Nero into the house. He took a moment to close the front door behind them and then went up the stairs in the front entrance, feeling the need to find a quiet place to collect his thoughts for a moment. Through no sentient intent of his own, he eventually made it to the second story balcony. V leaned against the second story balcony, closing his eyes for a moment as he considered his next steps and simply took in the cool air. It was a beautiful day, and the weather was perfect. Perhaps he should simply breath and allow himself to just enjoy himself for a moment. Was that truly so difficult for him?

Shortly after his arrival, Nero peaked his head around the corner. He’d noticed that V had disappeared, and had a feeling that he’d gone to some other part of the house. His first guess would have been the backyard, but the second story overlook made just as much sense. One way or another, he was outside.

“I hope it’s not too unlike me to say thank you… for everything. I…” He trailed off for a moment, aware that Nero was there, but unable to find the proper words to express what he was feeling at that moment. He couldn’t even make himself look at Nero as the younger devil hunter approached him, standing at his side in an attempt to see the world as he saw it at that moment. It was a beautiful view.” … Would it be possible for you to thank Kyrie for me? I truly do appreciate… both of you.” A slight tightness gripped Nero’s chest as he took in the sadness in V’s voice. He understood what the problem was now. The idea of V being homesick when he’d barely even left yet was as heartbreaking as it was sweet, and he couldn’t help but feel a similar way about the prospect of him leaving. No, the fact that he was leaving. They’d already brought the last box in. But that didn’t have to be the end of it. “You know that you can just tell her yourself, right? Because when you come over for dinner; and you don’t have a choice but to come over sometime, you can just tell her then.” Nero carefully raised his hand and placed it on V’s shoulder, somewhat surprised but relieved when the older descendant of Sparda didn’t pull away or give him a funny look. “I could tell her, but it wouldn’t be the same. She’s always going to have a spot for you if you decide to drop in, ya know?”

Something that Nero wasn’t accustomed to seeing happened in that moment. Something rare and genuine. What was meant to be a soft smirk became an actual smile, lingering longer than V probably initially intended, and spreading to the rest of his face in a way that none of his clever smirks ever had. There was a certain light that he’d never seen in his eyes before; a glimmer of something foreign to the younger man that he’d never thought was possible. The bittersweet happiness in his face was genuinely touching, and Nero couldn’t think of a moment when he’d ever seen V share so much emotion with such a small gesture. And internally, Nero was happy that he’d played some part in causing him to react in such a way. He knew that he’d never truly understand what it took for V to open up to someone and be vulnerable around them, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t know that it took an awful lot for him to do so.

“I suppose the children will need someone to read them to sleep as well. What will they do without me?” There was a certain tone to V’s voice when he spoke those words that resonated with Nero, the younger of the two considering for a moment if he could actually get away with what he was thinking of doing. After all, the only other person he’d ever seen attempt to do so was Carlo, and V had nearly died of shock when he’d done so. But then again, there was only one way to actually find out.

“You know, you don’t make any sense half of the time. But that’s okay because I know I probably don’t either, and I’m okay with that.” Nero stared at V intently, slightly distracted by all the different thoughts that were colliding within his wayward mind. Much like V, he wasn’t entirely sure how to articulate what he was trying to put into words.” Maybe I’m just glad you still put up with my bullshit, V.” Once again, it was V’s turn to look at Nero funny, although this time he was slightly concerned that his younger brother had come down with some kind of illness. “Likewise. But you need not worry. You've done nothing that I needed to tolerate in the first place.” He turned his body in the same direction as Nero’s, intent on facing him, but his eyes traveled downward slightly, never meeting his gaze. At the end of the day, V was still awful at eye contact. Some things never changed.”...  You never gave up on me. I’m aware of the fact that I can be… difficult. But you’ve persevered regardless. I think what I’m trying to say is… Thank you, Nero.”

Any further consideration that Nero had been giving towards whether or not his idea was a good idea totally went out of the window in that moment when he saw the genuinely touched look on V’s face. It was a fleeting thing, but the young devil hunter was almost positive that there had never been a better time to try and illustrate to V that he actually did care. Truly he did. Nero knew what it was like to feel alone and unwanted. Before he’d met Kyrie and her family, he’d been adrift in a sea of unfriendly faces and bad intentions. She’d been the anchor that grounded him in that storm. But V had never had than until recently, and the idea that he’s spent around twice as long suffering that kind of fate, and still managed to turn out as well as he had was simply soul crushing to Nero. Astounding and a testament to their shared willpower in the face of adversity, but soul crushing nonetheless.

Throwing caution to the wind, Nero did something that he was almost certain he’d regret later and cautiously stepped forward, carefully throwing his arms around V and pulling him into a tight hug. He wasn’t trying to harm him in any way, shape, or form, and he hoped that V wouldn’t recoil in sheer confused terror, but that wasn’t going to stop him this time. There had been some many times that he’d considered doing so and chosen not to out of the fear that he’d upset him in some way. But this time he was done with that. Just this once, he needed V to truly understand that he did in fact care. As touch starved as V was, he hoped it would have a positive effect on him. 

Hell, maybe something as simple as a hug could have gone a long way between their uncle and father. Nero was confident that they'd probably never hugged on another in their entire lives, and he didn’t want to keep that tradition going. There was so much long standing suffering in their family, and he desperately wanted to do something about that, but he had no idea how. All he could do was hope that he hadn’t given V a brain aneurysm for the confusion he was probably feeling at that moment in time.

V wasn’t entirely sure at first how to process what was happening to him. He obviously knew and understood what a hug was, but aside from the one he’d received from Carlo about a month ago, V had never actually experienced such a thing for himself, at least not that he could remember. Perhaps when he had been little, someone had seen fit to show him such a basic level of compassion, but somehow he doubted it. The people at that dreaded place that he’d been forced to call home had never cared about him, of that he was certain. And despite that, he’d persevered. The best revenge in that case had been to do the very thing they didn’t want him to succeed in doing: to live his life and never give them what they wanted most. He refused to simply surrender to the crushing loneliness that he’d once felt and give them that kind of satisfaction. To live and be loved by others was his ultimate insult to the legacy of pain they’d forced him to endure, and although he knew that, he didn’t honestly care. In that particular moment, nothing else really mattered to him but forcing his brain to process what was going on and to respond accordingly.

It took V a little longer than was comfortable with to register that he’d been holding his breath. In one simultaneous moment, he closed his eyes, exhaled, and returned the gesture. Although somewhat clumsy, his intentions had been pure. And despite the fact that neither of them were looking at one another, they both knew that.

Much to Nero’s simultaneous surprise and relief, V hadn't recoiled in horror and stepped away like he’d assumed he would. In that moment, the demon hunter was more glad than ever that he’d gone with his gut and done what he thought was right. And he was even more glad that Vergil and Dante were out of town at the moment “wrapping up some loose ends” so that they couldn’t find some creative way to ruin this touching moment between them.

After a moment, they let one another go, and Nero took a step back, reaching behind the still open doors for something. V watched him, a strange rush of emotions overtaking him as he realized that he had no idea how to react or what to do now that it was over. What a strange thing it was, not knowing how to achieve homeostasis after something as basic as a hug. He really was a mess, wasn’t he? 

Before he could say or do anything, his shock and bewilderment intensified and Nero stepped back towards him and extended his hand to give him something that he’d long since written of as a lost cause. He extended his hand slightly, his fingers brushing almost hesitantly across the surface of the cane he’d genuinely thought that he’d lost forever, trying his hardest to quantify what the revelation that Nero had returned it to him meant to him.

Nero cleared his throat, somewhat worried that he’d broken the entire logical center of V’s brain. Maybe he should have wanted a bit longer to reveal the fact that they’d found the cane to him? No, he didn’t want to worry about him going back and forth up and down the stairs while he was back in Fortuna. This was the best housewarming present he could think of because he knew that it had been significant to V. And now he had it back. This had been the right thing to do.

“Nico said she made some sort of modification to it and that she’d explain the next time she saw you. We found it the day we brought back all of those books.” Nero used his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, shrugging in discomfort. He was clearly somewhat flustered. Why was this so difficult?” We thought it might be the time to give it back to you after that cult almost killed you. Can’t have you falling down the stairs in your own house, V. I won’t be here to catch you. But you can always just call, ya know?”

V gave an absent minded nod, turning the cane around in his grasp as the dim evening light. Yes, there was something different about the cane, but he couldn’t place what it was. Had it been lighter before? Regardless, he was just happy to have it back, and the fact that they’d found it and made sure it was returned to him was strangely relieving. Maybe there was just a certain sense of security that came with having it back in his possession. It was difficult to say.

“Thank you. Truly. This is… I don’t know what to say.” V gave Nero a thoughtful look as he glanced in the direction of the door that led inside of the house. He suddenly felt the desire to go and sit down. The last few minutes had been unreasonably taxing, and moving into a new house was a marathon, not a sprint. He gestured for Nero to follow him, the younger man obliging him wordlessly.” Care to join me?”

Nero shrugged. “Fine by me. What are we doing?”

V stopped for a moment, not entirely sure himself. “Honestly, nothing. I just want to go inside.”

The younger of the two shook his head and let out a small sound somewhere between a chuckle and a laugh. V could be so hard to understand at times. There was never a dull moment between them, was there? “Sounds good to me. I’m right behind you.”

(-~-)

Well, this chapter turned out to be way more wholesome than I’d anticipated! I've been waiting to redo this scene for literally a year XD check out the original fic Sorting for a comparison. I literally might just fuck around and build V’s house in the sims just because I feel like it LOL! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I had a blast writing it all night when I should have been sleeping. Take care and I’ll see you all on Friday. Hopefully today goes well since I’m going back to work right after this goes up! Wish me luck everyone!

Additional Note: I won’t spoil anything, but the ex taunt and end cutscenes for SE literally made me laugh to death. I’m dead now, but hell has pretty good wifi. Thank you.

[hoodoo12]

Chapter 11/15 NSFW

Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

@turtlepated, @anyamercury @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice

Beetlejuice didn’t see her for several days.

He heard her, of course. He had nothing else to do but listen, and it was sad how reliant he became on trying to pinpoint where she was and imagining what she may be doing for entertainment. The house was old and everything creaked: the floors and the doors. Lisette had gone into the attic again for some reason, puttering around up above his head. He heard her in the kitchen, and now occasionally he heard the television, and of course he heard her go to her bedroom down the hallway. 

She had to be aware that the house itself advertised where she was, but did she know that her bedsprings also let him know when she was masturbating?

He’d been sitting alone in this room for days, and now it was night again. As he sat and stewed over how this fucking breather had tricked him again by already knowing that holy water didn’t work on him, by lying and forcing him to show his hand about what he might be willing to do to get the fuck out of this prison, Beetlejuice heard the soft, telltale movements of bedsprings under her. They were subtle, and her moans were too, because he had to strain to pick them up. 

Was she doing this on purpose? Was she getting herself off to tease him?! She was baiting him, the little slut--

The same sharper cry that had caught his attention while she was in the bath and that his brain obsessed a little bit over came from her bedroom, and Beetlejuice’s hand went into his trousers. 

Was she naked, he wondered, or did she just push her hand under the elastic of her panties to finger herself? Was she playing with her nipples; did she use two hands on her pussy again like he’d seen in the tub? He fantastized all that and more. 

Like before, he stroked himself in time with her moans. Once again his thoughts drifted to a more active role between the two of them. He wondered how her pussy would taste. He grinned at the thought of her making those sounds with his tongue lapping at her. He imagined the hot wet heat of her mouth on his cock, and how different the hot wet tight heat of her pussy would be. He groaned and instantly checked himself; did Lisette hear that? Did she know he was jerking off listening to her do herself?

He paused his hand and strained to listen again. The soft noises from her bedroom didn’t abate.

With a smile, Beetlejuice let himself work back to an accompanying pace. He couldn’t stop all the moans from passing his lips, but kept them quieter. 

When the sounds from Lisette came to an abrupt halt with a longer gasp, he knew she was done. To feel her come on his cock, her pussy pulsing around him, her back arching, her hands grabbing at his hips to keep him close--fuck, that’d be divine--

Beetlejuice muzzled another groan to keep it quiet and came too. This time he cupped all his release in his hand, then when he returned to his senses he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Well, he was damned anyway, so eventually he rubbed his hand on the floor, leaving a streak of come on it. 

If that residue was going to bind him to this fucking house, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t been suffering through before. 

The house settled into that silence that meant everything under its roof was sleeping. Or dead. Beetlejuice drifted towards a doze, when he was ambushed by a thought:

She knew he’d been splashed by the water when she’d taken a bath. She’d admitted as much when she told him he hadn’t been affected by it, and then only way she could have known that was that she saw him get splashed. 

She’d seen him!

She’d seen him beside the tub, she’d seen that his pant legs and feet had gotten moderately wet when she sloshed water onto the floor! That meant . . . that meant . . .

She’d seen him above her, jerking off.

If it was possible, Beetlejuice got colder with the realization Lisette had been seeing him for he didn’t know how long. Had she seen him from the start? He tried to wrap his head around this new comprehension. It took him aback. It made him wonder what else he missed, thinking that he was superior to breathers and they were easy to manipulate. And truthfully, a teeny bit of respect for her nosed its way into him.

She had some explaining to do, for sure. But Beetlejuice couldn’t help but grin lopsidely; despite the circumstances, despite the fact he should still be fuming because of her treatment of him, he couldn’t deny he liked her a little bit.

⁂

Lisette came by his room the next morning, bright and early. It was just to look in on him; she didn’t enter the room. Beetlejuice picked up his head and glared at her, but when she turned on her heel to leave again, in the face of another monotonous day he dropped the glare and called, 

“Lisette! Lis! Hey! Come back!”

She hesitated, then complied. This was the first time he’d said her name, and her surprise was written on her face. The only thing she said, however, was, 

“Lonely?” in a sarcastic tone.

“I’ve been lonely more than my life than not,” Beetlejuice replied quietly.

His unexpected sincerity and the sad truth in his voice disarmed her, because she uncrossed her arms and stepped further into the room.

“I’ve spent more time with you since you put me in this circle than I have with any other breather for I don’t know how long,” he continued. 

She eyed him suspiciously. “What is this, some kind of Stockholm syndrome thing?”

“I don’t think the people with Stockholm syndrome admit it.”

“Touché, I guess? So what is it that you wanted?”

“I wanted to know . . .” He paused and figured he had nothing to lose. “. . . I wanted to know how long you’ve seen me.”

Lisette considered his request, then gave a half shrug. “I saw you hanging out in the bedroom when the realtor brought me through.”

Son of a bitch! 

“You looked disheveled and exhausted. As you started following me around, though, there were times you looked livelier. I couldn’t make heads or tails of what you were. I mean, what you are, and man, that’s annoying.”

“Why didn’t you react to me?” he asked, both genuinely curious and a little bit annoyed that he’d had so little affect on someone, when his pride and joy was wrecking havoc.

She shrugged again. “I told you. I didn’t know what you were, so I didn’t know what I needed to do. My job is to get you out of here, but without some kind of information, I didn’t know how to do it. I crossed some things off my list, however, even if I still don’t have an answer.”

It was slightly odd, having a real conversation with her. He kind of enjoyed it. “And what did you cross off?”

Lisette sat down and got comfortable before she answered. She began ticking things off her fingers. “You’re not a ghoul because you’re definitely spectral. I’m still a little confused about the whole ‘shoggoth’ thing, but you’re not anything created by the Elder Gods, because you haven’t reacted to any of the Elder Signs more strongly than anything else written on the floor.”

Beetlejuice glanced at the chalk and could now see the twig-like sigils. She was right; he hadn’t payed them any attention.

Lisette had continued. “You’re not a physical manifestation of a Catholic demon. You’re not a poltergeist. You’re not a soul that just hasn’t moved on because of unfinished business, because you haven’t just ignored me. You’re not an incubus--”

“Hey! How do you know that? I could be an incubus!” he interjected.

She rolled her eyes before locking her gaze with his. “Because you watched me in the bathtub, and you didn’t come down to fuck me.”

So she had seen him with his dick out! If he had the capacity to be embarrassed, he’d have flushed red from his neck to the tips of his hair. Instead, he refused to let her get the upper hand in this exchange. He asked her directly,

“So you were watching me while I was watching you?” 

“Yep.”

He’d already tried to intimidate her with a nightmarish monster, and that didn’t work. He had other tactics to try, however, and maybe they would.

Beetlejuice’s voice dropped to a gravelly seductive tone. “And did it do anything for you, baby?”

Clearly caught by surprise, Lisette actually giggled and, interestingly, she blushed. “Well . . .”

“Well what, baby?”

“It was . . . hot. And . . . impressive,” she admitted, and the glance she gave to his crotch made it clear what she was talking about. 

Beetlejuice grinned. She wasn’t scandalized. She hadn’t immediately left the room. Which meant she must be a little bit turned on, and obviously more open sexually than she wanted to admit since she let a specter wank off to her masturbating. He pushed himself from a seated position to all fours, and crawled across the floor until he was as close as he could be, hindered by the invisible barrier. 

“Mmm-hmm. I liked watching you too, baby. Were you thinking about me last night too?”

Her eyes widened. Maybe she knew he’d watched her in the tub, and maybe she liked it, but she hadn’t known he could hear her last night. 

He pressed on. “I thought about you last night while I stroked myself. Hearing you moan made me so hard! I thought about how fun it would be, you and me. I bet I’d rock your world, baby, and I know you’d rock mine.”

Lisette’s breath had become more shallow, and her lips had parted a little. The blush hadn’t left her cheeks, and Beetlejuice could see that her pupils were a bit more dilated than they should be in this light. He bet that if he was able to touch her right now, her pulse would be quick and strong, and between her legs would be wet--

“What do you say, baby? I might not be an incubus, but that just means I don’t take and take and take. I give as good as I get. I’ve been around long enough to have learned some really naughty things that I’d love to share with you. Wanna go for a ride?” he asked, and deliberately adjusted himself through the front of his trousers. He watched her watch his hand. 

He used the same hand to reach out imploringly to her. He hadn’t been completely untruthful; he’d welcome the opportunity to fuck her, but getting out of this goddamn circle was paramount.

But as aroused as Lisette was--and there was no way for her to deny it--she didn’t take his hand.

Flustered, she pushed herself up until she was standing and said, “I, uh . . . no, I can’t, Beetlejuice.”

Hearing his name, coupled with actually seeing her mouth form it, gave him a pleasurable shiver. 

“That was beautiful, sweetheart,” he moaned, and wasn’t lying. He wondered if his eyes were as dark with arousal as hers were, as he looked up at her from his knees, still holding a hand out, palm up, beseeching. “Gimme another. Gimme two more, and I promise I’ll treat you like you’re my goddess.”

Lisette licked her lips.

His name spoken three times in a row had the power to break this incantation circle. He could feel it.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “Please?”

Her lips pressed together, the start of the first sound in his name. Beetlejuice waited, filled with a buzz of anticipation. 

“I can’t,” she whispered back, breaking the tension. She backed out of the room quickly, even as he called after her desperately. 

Beetlejuice groaned and dropped his hand and head to the floor. He felt weak and didn’t know what to think.

tbc

[frywen-babbles]

Sounds of Silence pt5

A/N: TW: mentions of assault and violence, stalking

They stood awkwardly in the aisle, watching Oichi find her way through the clothing racks, picking up clothes here and there. After what felt like hours (but was probably no more than 20 minutes) Oichi wandered back to them with a huge pile of clothes in her arms and took her arm to lead her towards the fitting rooms. She looked helplessly at Mitsunari while being dragged away and Mitsunari couldn't help but follow.

Almost as soon as the door to the fitting room closed after her, Mitsunari felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

<cant u do smthng abt miss Oichi>    <I don't think anything can save us from her anymore.> <ths is way 2 much> <cant affrd it>

Mitsunari glanced at Oichi who looked like she was eagerly waiting for her to come out of the fitting room.

   <Just roll with it and maybe we’ll make it back alive.> <ur tlkng like ths is a battle or smthng lol> <fine> <shes been so nice 2 me i dnt evn know hw 2 repay>

Several pairs of pants and skirts later Oichi handed her a sleeveless dress a wide smile on her lips.

“I’m sure it’ll look amazing on you. Go on, try it on!” Oichi ushered her back to the fitting room, but it took way longer than it should have for her to come out.

<i cant>    <It can’t look that bad.>

Slowly she opened the door and stepped out. The dress looked good on her, but it wasn't what drew his attention. There were faint finger marks on her neck and bruises on her arms.

Neither he or Oichi said anything. She turned her head away from them, hugging herself, but just when she was about to step back into the fitting room Oichi reached for her.

"It's a little cold for sleeveless clothes yet, don't you think?" Oichi draped a cardigan over her shoulders and offered her a smile. A smile she returned after a few seconds before bowing at her gratefully.

"I'm sorry," she said to him, "I didn't mean for you to see this..." She bowed to him as well, but he shook his head annoyed.

"It's not your fault what he did to you. Don't apologize."

"Sorry..."

"What did I just say?"

A silent laugh lit her face up. "Sorry, sorry!" she said again before she turned to Oichi and mouthed 'thank you'. "The dress really is nice, isn't it?" she asked, turning around in front of the mirror. All he could do was nod.

Somehow, Oichi managed to get bags filled with clothes for her, the poor bodyguards rendered to shopping assistants, their arms filled with shopping bags.

They were heading outside when he noticed she wasn't following them anymore. His heart made an uncomfortable thump before he spotted her at the electronics department, fingering large headphones excitement clear on her face.

He touched her shoulder to get her attention and she jumped a little bit, a sheepish smile replacing her surprise.

"People leave me alone when they know I can't hear them," she explained and was about to say something else when her eyes fell on a display a bit further down the aisle. "No way! They have the kitty ear headphones! I've wanted them as soon as I saw them!"

"Kitty headphones? Those are so cute! Do you want them?" Mitsunari was startled when he heard Oichi's voice next to him. He had been so mesmerized by her excitement he had completely missed Oichi’s arrival.

"Ahaha, I see this is the department I should have brought you for some stress relief shopping!"

The blush colouring her cheeks was so cute Mitsunari wished he could watch it all day. And the unguarded joy in her eyes when she finally held the headphones in her hands and tried them on was something that made him smile like an idiot.

***

The apartment she managed to find was already furnished. Something Mitsunari was sure Oichi had her fingers in but thought better of telling her about it. She felt bad enough already about all the things Oichi had done for her despite the fact it hadn't even been Oichi's idea to have her stay at the Oda residence.

The more she seemed to get her life back together, the lonelier Mitsunari felt. She had dragged him here and there to do some shopping, to her apartment to help her settle in, but now that everything was finished she mostly focused on working as much as possible.

His phone buzzed in his pocket in the middle of a lecture. He glanced at it to see who the message was from.

<can u pick me up frm wrk>    <I'm at a lecture now. See you at my place in 3 hours?>

He didn't usually message anyone back but it was unusual for her to message him during the day.

<no> <now> <hes here>

He nearly dropped his phone in his haste to get up. The whole class turned to look at him when he collected his stuff and rushed out of the lecture hall.

The wait for the bus seemed like forever. And the trip didn't go any faster, the minutes ticked slowly by until he finally reached the bus stop closest to the store she worked at and ran inside.

When he found her, she was with a coworker, her face red from crying. As soon as she saw him she stood up and hugged him, burying her face on his shoulder. His first instinct was to crush her to his chest and hold her tight, but somehow that turned out as an awkward pat on her back.

Her coworker motioned he needed to get back to work and slipped out of the break room. Mitsunari pushed her away from him to get a good look at her face.

"Tell me what happened?"

"He..." she started but her hands stopped as soon as she had started. She looked at him searching his face for something.

"You can tell me," he tried to encourage her to speak.

"He has been waiting for me outside. Every now and then. For three weeks now."

"Three weeks?! And you didn't think to tell me?" Mitsunari closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down. Now really wasn't time to lose his temper.

"I didn't want to worry you!" she tried to explain, biting her lip.

"This is exactly why I worry. You never tell me anything!" He ran his hand through his hair irritated before he continued. "So, what was different about today?"

"He came inside. He..." Her hands begun to tremble, but still, she continued. "He cornered me when I was alone. He asked 'did you think I wouldn't find you'. Here, I recorded it."

Mitsunari took her phone but looked at her sceptically.

"It translates speech into text." She held a small break before she continued. "I didn't want to read it."

He put the phone to his ear.

"-you, I know where you work. I have been very patient with you and given you plenty of time to return home now. How long do you plan to make me wait? Don't even think you can disappear. You know I'll find you no matter what, don't you? Hm, no, there's no problem, I was just talking to my wife. See you at home, darling!..." At the end of the recording, Mitsunari heard what he assumed to be her coworker's voice, asking her if she was okay.

It was clearly a threat. A threat his brain should have focused on. Instead, the words 'my wife' played in his head over and over again like an error code you couldn't get rid of no matter how hard you tried.

A touch on his arm rebooted him out of his momentary blue screen of death.

"Can you take me home?"

"No. We need to go to the police."

She shook her head, "No police. Just take me home."

Mitsunari closed the door behind him when they reached her apartment. She flopped on her bed face first and let out a deep sigh. Mitsunari sat next to her and tapped her shoulder.

"I think we need to talk," he said when she finally turned to look at him.

"Yeah..." she covered her face for a moment before she continued, "I've been meaning to ask. How did you find out my address?"

"I asked the librarians."

"And they gave it to you? Just like that?"

"No, they needed some convincing. But I told them I needed to return a book to you."

"That's like the lamest excuse ever." She sat up and crossed her legs before she continued. "Thank you for coming for me. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You're married." It came out more like an accusation rather than a question like he had meant it to be. She stared at him her face blank.

"How did you know?" she finally asked.

"He called you his wife."

"I see." She stood up and turned her back at him. He stood up and tapped her shoulder to get her attention.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But-"

"I'd like you to leave now." She walked to the door and held it open for him.

"What-" Mitsunari started baffled by this turn of events.

"Leave. Now." She pointed at the door and turned her eyes away from him.

Why was she being so difficult? Did she think this would change something between them? Sure, he was surprised by her being married, but nothing he'd done warranted such a cold behaviour towards him. The door slammed shut behind him leaving him alone in the hallway.

When he returned that night tired from training at the university dojo, he fell down on his bed. Maybe it would be good to retire early from time to time.

Except when he closed his eyes sleep refused to come. After an hour of twisting and turning in bed, he went to knock on Hideyoshi's door.

"Hideyoshi, can you talk?"

"Uh... sure... what is it?" Hideyoshi opened his door rubbing his eyes, a red pencil impression on his cheek. "Is this about her?"

Mitsunari didn't need to guess which 'her' Hideyoshi was referring to.

"Yes. She's married."

"She's what now?"

"I didn't realise your hearing comprehension was so terrible. She's married. To the man, she claimed to be her boyfriend."

"Uh... yeah... okay... Just... give me a moment."  Hideyoshi rubbed his eyes again and yawned, "So she's married. What's the problem?"

"Why didn't she tell me?"

"Did you ask her?"

"... No."

"Well, there you have it. It really isn't that surprising considering her situation. She might be worried people try to push her to get back together with him."

Mitsunari stared at Hideyoshi in shock. Somebody would actually do something like that? Hideyoshi let out another big yawn.

"Look, if that was it, I really need to get some sleep. Good night, Mitsunari." he closed his door and after a few minutes, Mitsunari could hear soft snores.

Two days later he was at the library, trying to concentrate on reading. But his thoughts kept going to her again and again until he picked his phone up.

   <I don't care if you're married.>

He stared at the message for a while before he pressed send. Her reply came after a few minutes.

<I know ur lying>    <I’m not. I just want to know why you were lying about it.> <i rly dnt wnt 2 tlk abt ths> <i lost my job>    <What?> <the mngr dnt wnt 2 get into trbl> <dnt wrry i found a nw 1> <and they paid me a mnth slry>    <How can they just fire you?> <mde me resgn. didnt wnt mre trble>    <I'm so sorry.>

He cringed as soon as he sent the message. How did apologies sound so bad in text.

<naaah s cool> <knew it wld happen evntually> <wanna grab some coffee tmrrw> <at tht european coffee dwnstrs>    <Yes. What time?>

He was so relieved she still wanted to see him. He hadn't even realised how worried he had been until he felt the tension leave his body.

***

The next day he hurried to the cafe after his lectures were over. She was already sitting there, headphones on her ears, her nose in a book.

He was only relieved Oichi's annoying friend and his fellow student wasn't on shift today. He didn't need her "encouragement" on his... non-date. Definitely not a date. Just two friends meeting over a cup of coffee.

He sat his cup down on the table and tapped her shoulder gently. She jumped a little bit and put her book down. Only then he noticed she had put some lip colour and his eyes were drawn to her lips. To her beautiful and very kissable lips.

"Sorry, I didn't see you at all. I was just getting at a good part." She took her headphones off and put them on the table.

"It's okay. How was your day?"

"Boring." Her phone on the table buzzed with a new message. "Except for that."

"What's 'that'?" he felt his brows furrow and he looked at her phone which buzzed with a new message.

"I ran into one of my friends and gave her my new number. Now she and my other friends keep messaging me."

"It's... nice they want to be in touch." Did that mean she didn’t need him anymore? Was that why she hadn’t been in touch for the last few days?

“I wish...” She unlocked her phone and pushed it towards him. The screen was filled with messages.

<he misses you so much how can you do this to him>

<do you have any idea how this will affect his career???>

<stop telling lies about him you cunt>

<ungrateful bitch>

His mouth felt dry as he read the hateful messages that seemed to go on forever.

“How long... how long have you received messages like this?”

She poked at her cake with a fork and sighed.

“About two weeks now. Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal.” The way she pursed her lips and the angry poke her cake received told him it was a big deal. To be betrayed by the people you thought you could trust the must hurt. Did hurt.

@masamunesmistress @you-mass-effect-my-dragon-age @han-pan @dreamfar628

[hope-can-be-your-sword]

Hope is a Four Letter Word

Read on AO3

Prompt: Trope (Presumed Dead)

Peter had no idea how long he had been alone in the small room. The floor was hard and cold, and wasn’t even big enough to be considered a closet. But it was all he had, the one safe place at the base.

He had scratched lines onto the wall, a mess of lines and circles. It was the only thing to focus his mind on, the only way to keep the grief from crashing onto him. It was held back by a dam that was ready to break. His ragged nails and the crescent moon scars he re-etched onto his skin every morning were the only outlets he allowed himself. He forced the crashing waves back with all his strength. The moment he let go, he knew he would drown. And he couldn’t do that.

It was supposed to have been an easy mission. The team had suited up to fight against a small faction of rebels who had similar technology and beliefs as HYDRA, but who were worse at staying under the radar.

Once at the base, they had split up. Clint and Natasha, Thor and Bruce, Rhodes and Carol, Steve and Sam, and Peter and Tony. They hadn’t really needed everyone, but they had decided it would be nice to have backup, just in case.

Clint and Natasha had snuck in, taking out the first line of defense before Steve and Sam were sent in. With their help, they were able to incapacitate some high level agents, stealing their swipe cards. Peter and Tony had joined next, the two of them heading straight for the labs. Peter had webbed up the bad guys before they could react, Tony blasting the data banks. They had already hacked in and downloaded the information, so he had no qualms about it. The data the organization had gathered shouldn’t be in the hands of people like them.

Carol and Rhodes took the ariel position, taking out the hostiles that tried to flee. Thor and Bruce went to save the few hostages in the building, all located on the lowest level, in cells that were too small.

There was one hostile, however, that managed to evade the Avengers, detonating a bomb near the labs. It was a defense mechanism, to destroy evidence and to incapacitate anyone who tried to infiltrate them. The bomb would release a colorless, odorless gas that would alter the chemicals in ones brain. It would make it look like their worst fear came true.

The hostile grinned to himself as he heard the explosion go off, sending most of the Avengers flying out of the building, where Carol and Rhodes tried to catch them.

Steve hauled himself to his feet, groaning at the pounding in his head. Meeting Carol’s eyes, the captains turned to the figures around them, trying to account for their teammates. Thor, Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Sam and Rhodes, while all battered, bruised and bleeding, were alive and breathing.

“Where are Tony and Peter?” Steve asked, muscles tensing as he looked at the ruined building.

Carol immediately took to the air, flying over the ruins looking for their two missing teammates. Her eyes scanned the rubble quickly, and as she spotted the familiar red and gold suit, she landed.

The suit was damaged beyond comprehension, the chest plate torn away to reveal the barely glowing reactor. It was faint, but it was there. Carol carefully pulled Tony into her arms, taking to the skies. She deposited him in front of Rhodes, confident that Tony’s best friend would look after him. “Get him help,” she ordered. “I’m going back to look for Peter.” Before anyone could argue, she shot them a look.

She didn’t watch them leave. Even if they didn’t like it, they knew she was right. They would look after Tony, while she searched for their youngest.

Peter had been halfway through his warning when it happened.

A blast shook the room, the beakers and test-tubes exploding, sending their contents and the broken glass flying across the room.

He let out a strangled scream as he felt his ribs crack under the impact. Emptiness threatened to wash over him, but Peter fought against it. He called out for Tony, wanting to ensure he was okay, but there was no answer. As he worked himself into a panic, everything around him went dark.

When Peter came to, there was blood everywhere. His hands were dripping with it, and his hair matted. He pushed himself up, panic growing as he noticed a body on the other side of the room, unmoving.

A man, dressed in exactly what Tony had been wearing under the suit. His face was tilted away, half covered by debris and papers destroyed during the fight. The suit was in shatters around him. His abdomen was a bloody mess, the knife that appeared to have done the damage right beside Peter.

“No, no, no,” Peter’s breathing picked up as he tried to stand up. His fingers scrambled to find purchase in the shelving unit behind him, but as soon as he attempted to lift himself up, the room started spinning and he went crashing to the ground, legs unable to keep him upright.

“Whoa, let’s get you out of here, hm?” an unknown voice broke through Peter’s desperate thoughts. The arms of the man reached down, stilling the teenager’s movements.

Peter immediately went into defensive mode, trying to get away from the unknown presence.

“Okay, we’re having none of that,” the man muttered.

It was the last thing Peter heard before he felt a needle go into his neck, and everything went black.

“He’s awake,” Rhodes voice came through the coms.

“How’s he doing?” Carol asked distractedly, sifting through the papers in front of her.

Rhodes sighed heavily. “He… I don’t think this is something he’s going to recover from, not emotionally. The first thing he said when he woke up was that… Peter’s gone. He begged me to tell him it wasn’t true, that Peter had to be alive.”

Carol squeezed her eyes shut. “I couldn’t find him. It’s like he disappeared. No traces. He can’t have… we got them all, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, we did.”

“I—” Carol stared at her hands. They were covered in ash and her fingers were nicked and bleeding from broken glass. She had dug through every pile of rubble she had come across. “I can’t believe it’s ending this way.”

“You should come back. Tony is going to need us, even if he refuses to admit it.”

“I’ll see you soon, then.” Once the coms switched off, Carol dropped her head. Her grief and rage were bottling up in her chest. She knew she shouldn’t keep it contained, that she needed to be in control when she made her way back to the compound. As much as they all loved Peter, Tony would be destroyed by the loss.

Standing up, Carol looked at the destruction, her fingers curling into fists. They glowed with energy as she opened her mouth, letting a heart-wrenching scream loose. The earth shook beneath her feet, and the nearby lake frothed. Dropping to her knees, Carol braced her hands against the ground.

“I’m so sorry, Peter.”

When he was alone, Peter tried to stay awake. He knew the nightmares would come if he drifted off, and he couldn’t face the reality. Not yet. He wanted to believe that Tony was fighting to find him, that in no time, the whole team would be alive, and together, at the compound, back in the common room for a movie night.

He held onto the dream more fiercely than anything. It was the one thing that gave him the willpower to stand his ground against his captor.

The man who was holding him hostage in the closet-like-cell was cruel, in a manipulative way. A voice at the back of Peter’s mind was screaming warnings at him, but the attention from the man was so like what he craved that Peter wanted to give in. He didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to be forgotten.

When he was let out of the room, he was alone with his captor. Peter would spend what he guessed to be about three hours in the sparsely decorated room with the man who would try and make conversation with him.

Peter refused to answer. For a while, at least five days if he had to guess, he held up against the quiet. It was on what Peter estimated was the eleven day, he began to crumble.

“I’m all you’ve got left,” the man shrugged. “The Avengers ain’t coming for you.”

“You’re wrong,” Peter shook his head desperately. “They’re looking for me. They’re going to find me.”

“You sure about that?” the man turned his phone screen so Peter could read it. On the screen was a news articled. “New York and the Avengers Mourn the Tragic Loss of Spider-Man: Simple Mission Gone Terribly Wrong.” “A little wordy for a title, in my opinion, but it does get the point across. They think you’re dead.”

“No, no, no.” Peter didn’t want to believe it. The only thing he had was the hope he would be home soon. He was desperate to see his friends, his aunt, his team.

“I’m afraid they do. It’s just you and me, now, bud.”

Peter collapsed, everything he had been holding back washing over him. Everyone he loved thought he was dead, or was dead. A mission that should have been simple with those who had gone had turned into his worst nightmare. Tony had died, and everyone else thought he was dead. He would be trapped for the rest of his life with his captor. It was his worst nightmare. All the sounds around him faded away as the tears spilled.

Peter didn’t notice the way his captor smiled, eyes crazed slightly. “Guess that gas really did work.”

Carol was the only one allowed in the lab, since Tony knew that even if he locked her out, she would be able to get in. The doors were warded against everyone else, even Rhodes and Pepper, but nothing would hold Carol back.

She didn’t say much to him. Instead, she stared blankly at the station that had been Peter’s, still covered in half finished projects and assorted tools. It had only been six days since the mission. Tony had gotten himself out of the medical bay quicker than any of them wanted, but they didn’t have the heart to keep him there. Instead of forcing him back, one of them had to be near him at all times, and at the moment, it was Carol’s job.

She didn’t push him to talk, but ensured that every bottle of alcohol on the premise mysteriously vanished. She laid him to rest on the cot in the back of the lab when his exhaustion overran him. She reported back to the rest of the team, all of whom were trying to process the loss in their own way.

It was Rhodes, who on day twelve, insisted Carol let him into the lab. She let him, watching silently as he accessed FRIDAY.

“Can you access the last recorded video from Karen?”

Certainly, Colonel Rhodes. The AI’s voice was softer than usual, as if she too, was feeling the loss of Peter.

Carol glanced over at Tony, who was knocked out on the cot, before turning back to the screen.

“I have to,” was Rhodes answer to her unasked question. “I have to make sure we’re not wrong. I have to believe….”

“Play it.”

The image was blurry for the first few seconds, before clarifying. They watched as the explosion wrecked the building, sending both Peter and Tony flying backwards in opposite directions. The camera was still for three minutes. And then Peter’s voice came over the speakers. “No, no, no.”

“He survived the blast,” Carol breathed, transfixed by the screen.

“Whoa, let’s get you out of here, hm?” an unknown voice replaced Peter’s. Peter began to kick at the unknown figure, before the man’s voice spoke again. “Okay, we’re having none of that.”

The screen went dark.

“He could still be alive,” Carol shook Rhodes' shoulder. “He survived the blast. That man might have him.”

“We can’t tell Tony. If we do, and we’re wrong…”

“This stays between us,” Carol decided. “Can you connect to Karen? Find schematics of the base, see if there’s anything we missed? I can go check it out.”

Logically, Rhodes knew it would be best to talk through all the options, but in the current situation, if they could find Peter, get some closure, he knew they had to act quickly. “Go. I’ll see what I can find and keep you updated.”

Carol nodded, turning to make her way out of the room. “We’ll find him. We’ll bring him back. Alive.”

“I hope so.”

Tony’s dreams were plagued of the last time he had seen Peter. After waking up after the blast, Tony had looked around the room he was in, searching for Peter.

What he saw made him want to pass out again.

Peter was lying on the ground, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. The Spider-Man mask had been ripped away. The rest of the suit was mostly intact, save for the rip where a metal pipe had pinned Peter to the ground.

“Kid,” Tony breathed. “No, no, you’re okay. You’re going to be alright. You have a decathlon meet this weekend. You and Ned have that new movie you want to see next week. I promised May I’d get you back unharmed.”

He tried to stand, but as soon as he managed to get himself up, the roar of his thoughts washed over him and everything went black.

The next time he woke up, he was in a hospital bed, his teammates, except for Carol and Peter, hovering anxiously around him.

“No,” Tony shook his head as the memories stilled in his mind. His worst nightmare had come true. “Peter…”

He couldn’t look at anyone. He stayed in his lab, ignoring anyone’s attempt to talk to him. Tony had lost a lot, suffered a lot. But nothing hurt more than the memory of Peter’s lifeless body laying in front of him.

Tony wanted to self-destruct, wanted to scream and cry. He had lost one of the only people that he loved more than anything. He wanted to drown his sorrows in vodka and rum. But Carol had thrown the bottles away, and the promise Tony made to Peter not to drink himself into oblivion, kept him from attempting to buy any more.

He worked himself to exhaustion. When he fell asleep, his mind was blissfully blank, too exhausted from his work.

On the twelfth day, before he crashed, he caught the tail end of Rhodes and Carol’s conversation, something about a recording.

Carol held Peter close to her as she made her way out of the ruins. Rhodes was inside, cuffing the man who had held Peter hostage.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Tony’s voice cut through. The faceplate was going down, the repulsers turning on. His movements were stiff, obviously still in pain. He wasn’t looking at her, instead focusing on the ground beneath him. “If there was any chance that—”

“Tony,” Carol stopped in front of him.

He looked up at her, before his attention dropped to the figure in her arms. Carol watched as the faceplate flew back up, Tony surging forward to make contact with the teenager in her arms. His fingers worked their way through Peter’s flattened curls, a sob breaking its way out.

Carefully, Carol lowered herself, and Tony, into a sitting position. As they waited for the paramedics and emergency response team, she rested Peter’s head in Tony’s lap, knowing he needed to reassure himself that Peter was really there. She sat next to them, shoulders tense in case a threat emerged.

Tony didn’t notice Rhodey leading the hostile out of the ruins. His focus was on the teenager draped across his and Carol’s laps. When he had woken up, three hours after Carol had left, and twenty-seven minutes after Rhodes had left, something had felt off. Tony had asked FRIDAY where they had gone, knowing fully well that they wouldn’t have left him alone unless something serious had come up.

When he heard that Peter could still be alive, Tony had ignored the searing pain in his limbs. He put on a suit, and made his way to the base where everything went wrong. He was ready to storm the base. When it came to Peter, he would do anything. Just as he had been about to charge in, Carol had walked out, bringing him the one thing that could ease the pain. A still-alive Peter Parker.

He didn’t notice anything going around him, too focused on the rising and falling of Peter’s chest. Tony was grateful for Carol and Rhodey for handling everything. Tony refused to take his eyes off the teenager, tracing the kid’s face as if memorizing him. He had though he lost him. Peter was thin, and Tony guessed he hadn’t eaten much, or anything, while captive. The teenager had small scars on the inside of his wrists, and his nails were ragged, but he was alive.

Tony knew, later, he would find out what had actually happened from Rhodey and Carol. They would make sure the man got what he deserved. Tony trusted them to make the right choices that he wouldn’t be able to make at the moment. Because all that mattered was that Peter was there, traumatized, but alive.

It was more than he could’ve hoped for.

[ohmytheon]

Karma in Retrograde (20)

title: Karma in Retrograde

summary: When Dabi is hit by a de-aging quirk, he’s turned back to a 16 year-old U.A. Gen Studies student with self-esteem and parent issues, a destructive quirk, and no memory of the last five years. To help the Dabi of the past, present, and future, he is placed with Class 1-A. There, they must all face the question of whether he can change or if his destiny is already set in stone.

– Chapter 20: Class 1-A decies to tackle the Aizawa Clothes problem with Ryouta.

Lanni notes: This is a long af post and I’m sorry to everyone on mobile! This chapter did not go through Misty's usual super heavy beta'ing, but she decided that my writing was "postable". lmao You all deserve a break from the angst. Seriously, you really do. I mean, there's never a full break from angst because Todorokis gonna Todoroki, but this is definitely one of the crackier chapters. Also it's ridiculously long, but there wasn't a good place to cut it in half. I wrote the first three-fourths and, judging by how much I wrote, you can tell that I had a blast. It honestly didn't feel like 12k. There was just something really great about writing Ryouta in this scenario and, while it seems really silly, I think it pushed his character forward a lot - both with himself and the class. Also, there is a scene at the end that might come off as particularly cracky, but, well, it's based off experiences that both Misty and I have done. I will say that my family made a night out of it. Maybe I loved this chapter so much because I related to it a lot. I don't know. I just hope you all enjoy reading it. Oh, one more thing: Uraraka is a goddamn hero.

We've also got some new art for the fic! (Bless ya'll!) mucha.rt somehow pulled an image of Ryouta and Dabi right out of my head. Here's an insanely awesome depiction of a scene from chapter two where Aizawa shows Ryouta a picture of Dabi by @wellthengetouttathesoupaisle, a hilarious pink-haired Bakugou from @calys-artsy-side, and the squad (aka Ryouta, Mina, and Kaminari) by @feferisushi! The song for this chapter - which is absolutely perfect and I demanded we use it when Misty brought it up as a joke - is "Thrift Shop" by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. If that gives you a hint about what this chapter is about.

Savin' my money and I'm hella happy that's a bargain, bitch I'm a take your grandpa's style, I'm a take your grandpa's style, No, for real. Ask your grandpa. Can I have his hand-me-downs? Thank you

To be honest, Ryouta didn’t having been cooped up in UA since being struck by the quirk. It didn’t feel like much of a prison sentence when he never really went out before. Staying in Heights Alliance or studying in the library was normal for him. Everything he could possibly need was on campus. Why bother going out? It wasn’t like he’d had close friends to do things with. He didn’t go hang out in the city on weekends. If asked, he couldn’t tell anyone the last time he’d gone to the mall or the movies. Those things didn’t matter. He hadn’t even done them often before high school.

As far as his memories were concerned, the only times he had left campus were to buy groceries and visit his siblings. Both trips were brief and done out of a sense of necessity. He didn’t have a ton of money since he refused to ask his father for more help and he couldn’t handle being at the Todoroki house for long. UA might not have been the best of places, but it wasn’t home and that had to count for something.

He did miss Fuyumi. He missed the way she would lecture him on his homework and help him tend to his burns as their mom had before. He missed Natsuo’s persistently bright nature and the way he would tease him and Fuyumi even if it wasn’t appropriate. He missed Shouto, who looked at him like he was good for something.

It still wasn’t enough to make him visit home more. He might’ve missed his siblings, but he was wary of crossing paths with his father more.

Five years and one de-aging quirk later, Ryouta didn’t have to worry about that. Not only was he in constant contact with Shouto, but Fuyumi and Natsuo had sought him out. He wasn’t alone anymore. Besides the confines of his dorm room, which he wouldn’t be surprised to find out was bugged, he couldn’t hide from people. It left him feeling entirely exposed. He didn’t like it, but he also knew it was what his family wanted. One fact stood between him and his ultimate prize: he was a villain.

Ryouta sighed as his thoughts once again distracted him from his notes. Maybe getting so worked up over the notes on the hero course was stupid (after all, it wasn’t like he was going to become a hero), but he had spent years trying to get here. Now that he was in it, he found himself floundering. He knew the most important basics of being a hero, but there was so much more than that. He had some training experience under his belt, but all the theoretical stuff was mind-numbing. There was so much to consider. He knew that being a hero wasn’t just fighting blindly, but working through multiple scenarios made him realize how much could go wrong.

“I think my brain is melting,” Ryouta grumbled. He set his pen down and rubbed his face tiredly. Everyone was so focused on the physical aspect of being a hero that they didn’t stop to consider how much thinking went into it as well. He had spent the better part of his morning reading and flipping through a booklet filled with different scenarios. It made him feel like he was doing a reading comprehension study guide. He was not a fan.

“You doing alright over there?” Midoriya asked from the other side of the table.

Ryouta dropped his forehead onto the booklet. “I think I’d rather fight Bakugou than do this.”

Midoriya smiled understandingly. “It’s a lot of tedious work.”

After lifting his head enough to fold his arms under him, Ryouta dropped his chin on his arms. “It wouldn’t be so difficult if there was one right answer, but there isn’t. There’s just so much to consider. You do one little thing and everything can go to hell.” Not to mention all the reading of old cases and villain takedowns, ones that ended well and ones that didn’t. “Makes me wonder if things ever end okay.”

“They do,” Midoriya insisted, “but it takes a lot of determination and effort.”

“And brains and muscle,” Ryouta added.

Midoriya chuckled. “That too.”

“I didn’t know pros had to do so much homework,” Ryouta said. “Like I don’t mind the extra work - not really. This is what I wanted to do. I wanted to be in the hero course. I wanted…”

He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to be the best. He wanted to be like his father.

(“He’s becoming more like Enji every day,” his mom cried on the phone one night when she thought he was in bed. “I don’t know what to do. He used to be so gentle.”)

When Ryouta realized that he’d drifted off mid-thought, he sat up and took a deep breath. No more slacking. It was time to get back to work. As long as he kept working, he couldn’t dwell on anything. Midoriya must have either been used to Shouto ending conversations abruptly or he was polite enough not to call him out on it.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Midoriya asked carefully, “why were you in General Studies?” Ryouta tried not to react, but he kept his gaze on the notes even though he wasn’t reading. “Not counting your fight against Bakugou, I’ve seen your quirk, uh, up close.” He really didn’t want to read into that, but he knew that meant Dabi had attacked him. “It’s definitely strong enough to warrant a position in the Hero Course. Did you not pass the exam?”

Ryouta twirled the pencil between his fingers as he thought about what to say. He had already explained to Shouto why he hadn’t been in it, but no one else in the class knew. He didn’t think it was any of their business. He knew he could tell Midoriya that he didn’t want to talk about it and the other boy wouldn’t push the matter any further. He was polite. Ryouta didn’t always trust people like that, thinking they were trying to get something from him, but Midoriya was genuinely kind.

It made it much more difficult to lie to him.

“I didn’t take it,” Ryouta answered. “I applied for General Studies, took the test, and got in.”

Midoriya shot up in surprise. “Why not? Your flames are hotter than your brother’s. With the right training, they probably would’ve been stronger than Endeavor’s.”

They were. That was the shameful part. His father had been ecstatic to find out that his oldest son’s fire quirk was even hotter and more powerful than his. Of course, he was stronger because of all the training, experience, and hard work that he’d put into controlling his quirk, but he had been so sure he’d be able to mold his son into a great successor. Ryouta could still remember how excited and happy he had felt upon making his father proud. It embarrassed him to think of it now.

“I had to prove I was worthy of it,” Ryouta explained. He knew he was being evasive, making Midoriya work for the truth, but this was hard for him. He had been sort of open with him before though. He could do it again. It was a process. He was learning.

“That’s what the exam is for,” Midoriya pointed out.

Ryouta shrugged his shoulders. “That wasn’t enough proof.”

His tone ended the conversation, but he had a feeling Midoriya didn’t need him to elaborate. He knew exactly who he was talking about. Shouto had a lot to prove with their father too, but while he was already halfway to the top of the mountain, Ryouta felt like he was stuck at the bottom with only a rope and no other climbing equipment. It wasn’t fair in the slightest and it didn’t matter. He’d fucked off elsewhere instead of conquering the mountain.

Couldn’t he have chosen something besides becoming a villain? It made him feel like his entire life was tied to Endeavor, like no matter what he did or where he went or who he became, his decisions would always go back to him. It was incredibly frustrating.

Shoving the papers away, Ryouta stood up. “I’m gonna take a break. Go for a walk or something. If I don’t, my head might actually explode without Bakugou’s help.”

“Probably a good idea.” Midoriya gave him a quick look over and bit his lip. Ryouta furrowed his brow. What the hell was that look for? “You, uh, gonna change or anything?”

“Why would I do that?” Ryouta asked. He looked down at himself and rolled his eyes. Midoriya was too polite. “Is it the outfit again?”

“No, no!” Midoriya was quick to reassure, waving his hands in front of himself. His pink cheeks betrayed his thoughts though. He could be nice and still lie if he thought it would make someone feel better. By now, Ryouta had learned that the three most honest people here were Iida, Asui, and Bakugou. At times, it was easier to deal with them than someone who was nice to the point of lying. Midoriya meant well though. “It’s a bit nippy out today, is all. You might want a jacket or hoodie. Did Aizawa give you any?”

“I’ll be fine.” A washed out old anime merch t-shirt and bright teal sweatpants with some slip-on shoes were good enough. Even if it was cold outside, it would help soothe the headache that had been building up over the past thirty minutes. Maybe he was allergic to honesty. That could explain why he always felt so sick when he opened up further.

“Of course.” The smile on Midoriya’s face was too tight to be honest. He wasn’t going to say outright he thought Ryouta’s outfit was butt ugly, but he didn’t have to. It mattered very little to Ryouta. He was going out for a walk around campus, not to a fancy restaurant. “Do you want any company?”

Ryouta’s first thought was that Midoriya wanted to keep an eye on him in case he did anything suspicious, but he struck that down almost immediately. No, he was genuinely asking if he wanted someone with him. Most people liked it when other people were there for them. Not Ryouta though. He wanted to be alone. There would probably be a teacher or someone hanging around to make sure everything was safe, but he could at least pretend. With his head hurting, he felt too close to saying something he’d regret.

“Nah, I’m good,” Ryouta told him.

Instead of asking again, Midoriya nodded. Yeah, he was definitely used to Shouto, although his brother was still more social than him at this point. Gathering his things into a neat stack, he went to pick them up, but Midoriya waved at him to leave his stuff there. He wasn’t going anywhere so his things would be safe. Not that anyone in Class 1-A would mess with it. He doubted even Bakugou would, although Kaminari might think it a fun prank to hide it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to be on the receiving end of one soon now that he had gotten involved in the prank circle.

Upon walking out of the dorms, a cool wind blew over him. It was indeed chilly as Midoriya had said, but that didn’t bother Ryouta. Being early spring, the days could still get cold. No doubt Iida would scold him if he caught him out here without a coat on so he didn’t stop walking. Fuyumi used to do the same thing, always reminding him to wear his jacket so he wouldn’t set a bad example for Shouto.

The cold wind reminded him of his mom’s quirk. Being a civilian, she couldn’t use it as freely as his dad, but she had used it at home. In the face of his father’s sheer power, it was easy to forget that her quirk was actually pretty strong. She didn’t use it for fighting like Shouto used the ice half of his quirk. Ryouta had always found it soothing and kind. When he had been younger and lacked any control over his quirk, it could burn right through him. She would hold him against her, using her quirk to cool him down or put her hands on his face whenever he struggled with a fever. That was what the wind made him think of now.

Ryouta was about halfway through his mindless walk around campus when he decided he wanted something to eat. It was close enough to lunchtime that he could probably get something from the Mess Hall. It wasn’t likely to be busy either, so he could grab a quick snack and go to a spot in the trees where no one would bother him.

However, his plan to eat was cut short when he opened the door and nearly walked right into one of his teachers. It was always strange to see his teachers outside of their hero costumes. Aizawa’s was so understated that it could pass off as his regular clothes. He slept in it enough. Besides finding out All Might’s true form, seeing Present Mic in civilian clothes with his hair down always threw Ryouta off guard. It was so weird.

Present Mic looked just as surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m hungry,” Ryouta immediately answered.

“Oh.” Present Mic scratched his chin. “That makes sense.” His eyes dropped from Ryouta’s face down to his feet, slowly widening as he did. The suspicion morphed into horror and his hand covered his mouth. “My god, what did Shouta do to you?”

“Um…” Ryouta wasn’t sure how to answer that since he didn’t know what Present Mic was talking about. At first, he had thought Present Mic had said his brother’s name, but then he realized that he’d misheard him. He had said “Shouta,” not “Shouto,” which then begged the question who that was. It clicked a few seconds later when he realized his teacher was gawking at his outfit. “You mean Aizawa?”

“Yes, I mean Aizawa!” Present Mic waved a hand at him. “That outfit has him written all over it!”

Ryouta sighed. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s a bright ass outfit that still somehow manages to convey ‘depression’,” Present Mic countered. The remark made Ryouta raise his eyebrows. Besides Bakugou, that was definitely the most forward someone had been about their thoughts concerning what he wore outside of class. The two teachers had known each other for a while though, hadn’t they? Both of them had been teaching at UA when he was here five years ago. Aizawa’s lack of a fashion sense must have been a problem for a while. “And you’re okay wearing that?”

“I mean, it’s not like I have anything else to wear besides my brother’s clothes,” Ryouta pointed out, frustration evident in his voice. It wasn’t like everyone else was the pinnacle of fashion. Most heroes’ costumes were tacky as hell, but he didn’t hear anyone commenting about that. “Plus, I don’t have any money to buy my own clothes. All I have are the funds the school set up for me so I can eat.”

Present Mic gave him a weird look. “The funds…” Realization dawned on his face, which confused Ryouta, but he didn’t question it. “Ah, of course, the funds - I remember now.” He put his hands on his hips and gave him a cheerful grin. It looked normal on him, but Ryouta wasn’t used to seeing that friendliness directed towards him. He was pretty sure that Present Mic neither liked nor trusted him. “Well, you’re in luck, kid, because I think they added more to it recently so you can buy some of your own things.”

“Really? I checked it this morning and I didn’t see anything added.” Ryouta knew that he wasn’t a careful person, but he ran a tight budget. Maybe he wasn’t that great in Present Mic’s English Lit class, but he was damn good at math. He had to be. Accepting any money from his father had been irritating enough, so he had to make sure it stretched for as long as possible and then some in between working odd jobs. He hadn’t known any other UA students that worked on the weekends, but he’d needed to pay for necessities somehow.

“It just happened,” Present Mic insisted. “You need your own shampoo and razors and stuff, right?”

“Yeah,” Ryouta admitted. He’d been using other people’s things, which was humiliating. Shouto kept telling him that he didn’t mind sharing, but all he could think about when he used his brother’s shampoo was that it was the name brand kind, the stuff they used at home. It had been such a stupid shock to switch to the cheaper than store brand toiletries, but he’d done it for over a year now. “I guess I can pull some money out and give it to Shouto to buy me stuff the next time he goes off campus.”

“Huh, that’s right. You haven’t left campus since being brought here, have you?” Present Mic kept his hands on his hips and examined him carefully, like a teacher would a difficult problem. It was a bit off-putting.

Ryouta did his best not to squirm. “I didn’t think it was allowed.”

“It’s true we haven’t considered it before,” Present Mic said, half to himself. He considered Ryouta, looking like he was now trying to solve that problem. Easier said than done. Ryouta knew he was essentially made up of a series of hurdles, each one harder to jump than the previous one. “This isn’t supposed to be a prison for you though.”

“I didn’t think of it that way,” Ryouta replied honestly. Since he hadn’t gone off campus much when he had been here the first time, not leaving felt normal. Although he hadn’t liked UA at times because of how much it reminded him that he was a failure, it was nothing compared to what home felt like. He’d spent years cut off from his quirk every night with the same quirk inhibitor braces that were used on criminals, walking on eggshells and coming up with plans to escape. Now that had been a prison.

The comment didn’t seem to please Present Mic, who still looked like he was trapped in the thought process. “You’ve been on your best behavior too.” Well, that was nice to hear. He had been trying to be good - maybe too hard - but he couldn’t afford for any of the UA staff to think he was planning on acting out or was taking the situation and how much they’d done for him lightly. No one had made any negative remarks about the prank on Bakugou, so he figured he was in the clear there. “I don’t see why you can’t go off campus at least once as long as there’s proper supervision. It’s not like anyone knows who you are.”

Right. No one outside of Class 1-A, the police, and a handful of heroes knew who he was. Any enemies he had made as Dabi, even the League of Villains, wouldn’t know he was anything more than a UA student. As long as he refrained from using his quirk, he should be fine. No one would know the difference.

Even though he had thought about how much he didn’t mind being confined to campus, Ryouta latched onto the idea of being able to get out. It would mean he had built up a sense of trust between him and UA, which was very important to him. No doubt they had kept the police up to date with his progress. Something like that would be necessary in order for UA to keep him here. They had to prove that what they were doing here was right and also that Ryouta wasn’t a menace to society. He had to be twice as good as everyone else in order to get anything.

It wasn’t the idea of going off campus that was such a big deal so much as the idea that they trusted him to do it. The last people to trust him had been his siblings and he had left them behind. There was a lot of making and catching up to do.

“I’ll be good,” Ryouta swore, too eager for his liking. He had to dial it down a notch, but he was excited. Going off campus would be another mark of him acting like a teenager again. Besides going to the store with Fuyumi or taking Natsuo and Shouto to the park, he’d never gone out and done things with friends, mostly because he either didn’t have the money or the friends. “I’ll even wear the quirk inhibitor braces that Aizawa got me. I can hide them under a hoodie. Whatever it takes.”

Something of a smile appeared on Present Mic’s face, which was odd considering Ryouta had never once seen him smile in his direction besides that obviously fake grin earlier. It was always that vague, uneasy look of suspicion. “I thought you didn’t mind staying on campus.”

“Well…” Ryouta shrugged his shoulders. “It’d be nice to see if anything’s changed. Being stuck here, even though so much is different, sometimes makes it feel not real since it’s the last thing I remember.”

Since he hadn’t been able to leave UA, it was sometimes hard for him to remember that the whole world had continued to spin while he had turned into a villain. It was only when he saw how technology like phones had changed or he overheard the other kids talking about media that he realized he had missed so much more than Shouto growing up, Natsuo going to college, or Fuyumi following her dreams.

The stray thought that this must be how his mother felt in the hospital crossed Ryouta’s mind. Her world stayed the same day in and day out while everything changed around her. What would it feel like to step outside? Would it be that much different? Would it be overwhelming or anticlimactic? He wouldn’t know until he left the routine and safety that UA provided. After having experienced a taste of what a normal life could be like with friends, dumb pranks, and the hero course, he was all too eager to have more.

“Let’s see what I can do. I think it’ll be good for you to get out of here.” Present Mic snorted and shook his head. “Besides, someone needs to save you from Shouta’s horrible fashion judgement. I’ve had to deal with him for years. I’m not letting him corrupt you too. This is cruel and unusual punishment. No one should be subjected to that.”

That seemed a little harsh, but Ryouta wasn’t going to argue with his teacher. He clearly took this matter very seriously. At least Present Mic was being honest. He could appreciate that. People being nice to him was good and all, but a little brutal honesty went a long way in this messed up situation. It was probably something he remember for himself.

*

It turned out Ryouta’s first experience off campus was a trip to the mall, which put him on edge. To be honest, he wasn’t a fan of malls, but Present Mic had thought it would be the best place for him to find some clothes of his own to wear. He didn’t care for the large crowds or the store employees popping out of nowhere to ask him if he needed any help. Even if he did, he wouldn’t ask them. Thrift shops were better so he could get in and out without anyone bothering him. No one asked questions there.

The trip also meant he had to find something to wear, which somehow devolved into Uraraka and Iida sifting through the clothes Aizawa gave him until they came up with an outfit that didn’t look like he had dressed in the dark. Shouto had sat back and watched with Deku, looking more amused than he had any right to be, as Uraraka struggled to keep a straight face with every article of clothing she found. Seriously, what was so bad about how he dressed?

After finding a pair of jeans, t-shirt, and plain hoodie, Ryouta was deemed to look decent. Were they embarrassed to be seen with him in public? Whatever.  He didn’t really care either way. He was ready to go. Despite the fact finals were next week, almost everyone was excited to go off campus for a few hours. Even Iida had decided a break was necessary. Ryouta had thought Kaminari was going to cry when he found out they had been given permission to leave. According to him, studying fried his brain worse than overdoing his quirk.

Honestly, Ryouta had expected Aizawa to be one of the teachers supervising the trip, seeing as how his quirk was best suited to subduing him if need be. After all, he knew how poorly of a fighter Ryouta was, so it wouldn’t be difficult to take him down if his quirk was out of the equation. He was surprised to find it was actually Present Mic and Midnight, both of whom were wearing regular clothes as well. If it was weird to see Present Mic in civilian clothes with his long hair down, it was jarring to see Midnight wearing modest clothes. He recognized her from the foreboding smile on her face, but everything else threw him off.

“Try to ignore us and have fun,” Midnight told him as the group made their way down the stairs of the nearest subway stop.

“Right, fun.” That was difficult to do for Ryouta, who knew the teachers were only coming because of him. With her quirk, Midnight could knock him out quickly. None of the other students paid their teachers any attention, all of them wrapped up in what stores they wanted to visit or when they should eat lunch. It was like they weren’t even there. Only Shouto seemed to take note of them, but only as a precaution. He knew what they were (watch guards to keep Ryouta in check) and he didn’t look pleased. There was no way he was going to argue with them though and neither was Ryouta. This was a stretch as it was. “I can do that.”

Apparently, there was an arcade in the mall that Kaminari and Sero were eager to hit up. That was new. The last time Ryouta had gone to the mall, there hadn’t been one. He liked video games well enough, but he wasn’t that great at them. It had taken years to convince their father to let them have a gaming system since he considered them a waste of time, but he’d found out it got his other kids out of his hair. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out. He’d only been to an arcade once years ago.

“And try to get some better clothes!” Present Mic added, all but shoving Ryouta and Midoriya onto the subway after it pulled in front of them.

Shouto sighed, far too dramatically. “That will be a challenge.”

“Oh, I can tell,” Present Mic said. He stayed near the doors, watching all the kids take their seats. Almost the entire class had decided to come on the trip. The unfortunate souls already on the subway car watched in woe as a mob of teenagers piled inside. “If he willingly wore the clothes Shouta gave him without complaint, we already have a problem. I can’t let there be another one. It’s my duty as a hero and teacher to ensure he doesn’t pass on his bad habits to students. Dealing with Shouta is bad enough.”

Midnight laughed as she walked to the back of the car so there was a teacher posted at both sliding doors. It was a good tactical decision. Ryouta sat near the middle in a seat next to Shouto, who looked at ease enough. Up until applying at UA, Ryouta had never been on the subway before. He’d hated it the first time he used it and he hated it now. There were so many people on it, especially on the weekend. At least he could space out. All he planned on doing when they got to the mall was find the cheapest store, snag the plainest clothes he could find, buy some necessities, and be done with it. Then he could follow the others around and relax.

Midoriya spun around in his seat next to Uraraka to look back at them. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Ryouta said, “just kinda anxious and relieved to get off campus.”

“I’m so excited!” Uraraka exclaimed. “I haven’t been in the mall in months. Not that I’m going to buy anything, but I like to look and try on things.” She rubbed her hands together. “Plus, all the free samples at the food court.”

“And you can buy your own stuff so you don’t have to rely on Aizawa’s, um, interesting personal taste,” Midoriya added.

Again, Ryouta didn’t think Aizawa had bought the clothes personally. Even if he had, they gave off a definite thrift store vibe, which was fine by him. After moving out, that was how he’d got a lot of his clothes. The main issue with having a fire quirk and trying to improve it was that most clothes weren’t fire retardant. He couldn’t have said how many t-shirts he had destroyed over the years. Why spend decent money or find things that looked good? That was partly why he didn’t mind how bright, ugly, or boring the clothes he’d been given were. There was a possibility they’d get ruined anyway.

Kaminari clapping him on the shoulder from behind nearly made Ryouta jump, but instead, he turned around to give the other boy a semi-alarmed look. “Our boy is gonna find some clothes that’ll catch all the ladies’ eyes.” He elbowed Sero playfully in the side. “It’ll suck to have more competition, but then you’ll be a proper pretty boy like your brother.”

Shouto’s furrowed brow and slight frown made him look so confused that Ryouta snorted. Even Uraraka giggled and Midoriya grinned. The idea of his little brother being labeled a pretty boy was almost as funny as Ryouta being competition for girls. One of the very last things on his mind was dating. He was pretty damn sure he had much more important things going on in his life than that. There was no way he was going to develop a crush on anyone when he had a life sentence hanging over his head in the form of his future self.

Truth be told, it had never been a big deal before. When his father had cut off his training and sent him to school with Fuyumi and Natsuo, he’d been too wounded and too hung up to develop close bonds or friendships, choosing to stick with his sister or by himself. By the time he reached high school, he simply didn’t care. There wasn’t time for anything like that and, well, he was kind of too absorbed in his own shit to notice anyone else.

Huh, wow. That made him sound like more of a bastard than usual.

“Do you know where you want to go first?” Midoriya asked.

“Erm, not really,” Ryouta admitted.

“We should formulate a plan before splitting off,” Iida said from his seat next to Yaoyorozu on the other side of the train car, “and make sure Present Mic and Midnight are aware of it.”

Ryouta held up his hands. “I don’t care where we go. I’ll follow you all.” If he acted like he didn’t care where they went, maybe they wouldn’t realize he didn’t know where to go. How many of the stores had changed since he’d last been there? He wouldn’t even know where to even begin. Maybe he could ask Uraraka once they got there. Wherever she got clothes would probably work for him.

Everyone seemed ready to split in a mad dash the second they got to the mall, but Iida forced them all to come up with a plan once they got off at the stop. That way their teachers would know where everyone was even if they were going to stick close to whatever group Ryouta found himself in. He figured that they could go to a few stores, but since he wasn’t picky, they wouldn’t take long. Also, even though he knew this whole trip was kind of for him, he didn’t want to be the focus, so he made sure to stress that he would go anywhere they wanted.

Despite the organized plan they had decided on, the moment they stepped foot into the mall, the class split up into groups and bolted in separate directions. Kaminari waved at him as he left with Sero, Kirishima, and Bakugou to the arcade. Uraraka even left them to go with Mina, Asui, Momo, and Hagakure, giving them a helpless shrug as she was dragged off. Others began to taper off until it was just Ryouta, Shouto, Iida, and Midoriya.

It looked like it was officially a boys’ day out shopping. Well, this wasn’t weird at all.

Sighing, Ryouta started forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

“It’ll be fun!” Midoriya told him.

Ryouta looked at him sideways. “Should I put on a fashion show too of whatever clothes I pick out?”

Shouto hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe we should’ve sent him off with the girls.” Even though Ryouta shot him a glare, his younger brother looked dead serious.

Instead of being offended, Midoriya bit his lip as he tried not to smile too much. “Then they really would’ve made him try on everything they picked out so they could see what he looked like. They’d have him wearing whatever clothes they like.” He started to laugh, putting a hand over his mouth to muffle it. “Don’t be so mean, Todoroki!”

“We won’t steer you wrong,” Iida reassured him. He stopped in front of what looked like a nice store and walked inside. The other three boys followed him without complaint. “Just pick whatever you want. These are your clothes, after all.”

If given the option of what clothes he could wear, Ryouta knew it wouldn’t be as bad as what Aizawa had given him. The knowing look on Shouto’s face suggested he thought differently. It wasn’t Ryouta’s fault he couldn’t afford to be picky about what he wore. Even when he had lived at home, buying fancy clothes hadn’t made sense to him. It wasn’t like their dad took him out anywhere. He spent most of his time either at home or school, so whatever Fuyumi bought him for his birthday was what he wore.

Although Ryouta had been certain he wouldn’t be able to miss Present Mic and Midnight watching over him, once he started to wander through the store looking at all the clothes, he forgot about them. He was much more focused on trying to find something the other boys thought looked fine. However, when he did finally pick something out, he balked when he looked at the price tag. He had known this store was probably going to be out of his budget, but he hadn’t realized it was that off.

“What’s wrong?” Iida asked when Ryouta started to put clothes back.

“They, uh, aren’t my size,” Ryouta replied edgily.

“Really?” Iida glanced around. “Let me see if I can find an employee. They might have different sizes in the back. They’re very polite and helpful here whenever I shop here.”

Ah, that explained the prices. Over the past few weeks, Ryouta had become more familiar with the kids he had attacked as Dabi. One of the biggest things about Iida was that he came from a family of heroes as well. Everyone in his family shared similar speed quirks and were in the pro hero business. He was even carrying on the pro hero name Ingenium of his older brother, who could no longer be a hero. It was very inspiring and a huge contrast to what the Todoroki household had been like, except for one thing.

Iida had money. The stores he shopped in were very different from the ones Ryouta had learned to frequent in the past year.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Ryouta insisted quickly before Iida could leave. “I can just look somewhere else.”

Even though he frowned a little, Iida nodded. “If you want. I don’t have need of anything today.”

Ryouta looked around a rack of shirts to find Midoriya and Shouto looking at ties. Shouto was shaking his head, a smile on his face, as Midoriya compared two different ones. Seeing as how it was obvious to Ryouta that Midoriya didn’t know how to tie a tie, it was probably a useless thought. He might not have been able to dress stylishly, but Ryouta’s school tie was always the proper length.

“Hey, Midoriya!” Ryouta called out.

The green-haired boy turned around to face him. “Oh, hey, which one do you think looks better? I need a new tie for any formal outfits.”

“The blue one,” Ryouta told him. Shouto immediately plucked the blue tie out of Midoriya’s hand and put it back on the rack. He hesitated and then put the other one back for good measure. Well, that was rude. Ryouta narrowed his eyes briefly before getting over it. Whatever. “What stores do you usually shop in?”

“Oh, um, not this one,” Midoriya responded. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a little out of my price range.” Yes, good, now they were talking. “I get a lot of my clothes in a store further in near the food court. They’ve got pretty good deals and they’re comfortable.”

“Cool, let’s go there,” Ryouta said, already walking out of the store. “Maybe you can find something too.”

“No shirt shirts,” Shouta jumped in, a little too firmly if Ryouta was being honest. Midoriya smiled awkwardly and zipped up his jacket further to hide the evidence. Maybe the real reason why he never outright commented on Ryouta’s clothes was that he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on either. As long as the clothes were comfortable, what was the big deal clothes weren’t that great?

Just as Ryouta had hoped, the store Midoriya took them to was indeed the more or less right place. It had sale written all over it like it was going out of business. Actually, maybe it was going out of business considering how many sale signs were up. It wasn’t like March was a big time for shopping. Here at least, Ryouta could grab clothes at random without having to worry about breaking the bank. He didn’t look at anything he picked for long, just enough to decide he’d wear it without complaint. He needed clothes he could wear as it got warmer what with spring upon them.

After picking out an armful, Ryouta rechecked to make sure they were the right size and on sale. With that taken care of, he made his way to check out, but Shouto stopped him cold by laying a hand on his arm and asking, “Aren’t you going to try them on?”

“I don’t see the point,” Ryouta said. “They’ll fit.”

Shouto sighed and pulled his hand away. “Let me see them.”

Ryouta jerked his arms and the clothes back. “They’re fine, you little shit.”

“You picked them at random,” Shouto retorted. “I watched you go through the store and just grab things when you figured out they were your size.” He shook his head. “Don’t you care in the slightest?”

“Not really,” Ryouta said.

“Why?”

Ryouta opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out and he closed it. Why did he not care? Why was it such a big deal to care about something as basic as his appearance? To be honest, he’d never put much thought into it before. The clothes would get destroyed. What did it matter? When he started attending public school, Fuyumi had edited what he wore, sometimes his mother. While he didn’t understand why they were so particular about it, he didn’t fight them either. Shouldn’t he have cared at least a little? Shouldn’t it have irritated him that he either wore what other people wanted him to wear or he wore whatever he found on the ground? He remembered his mother wrestling him into nice clothes for family portraits, but besides that, he simply...didn’t care.

No, maybe that wasn’t completely it. He remembered finding some of Fuyumi’s horrified reactions funny. Ryouta hadn’t been put together at all. He was a disaster. He could also remember their father forcing him back inside to change. Usually he did, but the times he refused meant he had to stay home alone. Those had been some of the quietest days of his life once the explosive arguing was over.

No, he didn’t care what clothes he wore, but he did care what he looked like. There was a difference.

“Will you even try?” Shouto asked.

Clenching his jaw, Ryouta looked down at the bundle of clothes in his arms. He really didn’t think they looked bad, but, if he thought about it, he knew they would only be a step above what he had now. If he took the time, he could be fully aware of what he was wearing. Objectively, he knew the clothes he wore outside of his school uniform looked bad and he had a shit sense of fashion, but he didn’t care about them. He could wear anything, no matter how stupid or ridiculous as it was, as long as he didn’t look like his dad. That was fine. It was partly why he settled on wearing such plain clothes at home.

Ryouta sighed. “Okay, fine.”

The first thing they did was go through everything he’d picked out before even trying them out. While Iida and Midoriya walked through the store in an attempt to find some formal wear the latter could afford, Shouto tore through Ryouta’s selection without any forgiveness. He frowned, furrowed his brow, and almost cringed with every article of clothing he produced until finally the only clothes that were left was a button up shirt, a dark pair of jeans, and a jacket.

“Seriously?” Ryouta scoffed. “Nothing else was good?” Shouto gave him a judgemental look that said he wasn’t even going to grace him with a response. “Can I be honest?”

“Yes, please,” Shouto said.

Waving a hand at the three articles of clothing left, Ryouta admitted, “I don’t even like these.”

“Then why did you pick them out?” Shouto demanded, the first hints of frustration evident in his voice.

“Because they were super cheap when combined with other clothes for the store deals,” Ryouta shot back, also frustrated. Shouto gawked at him. There might not have been much of a change in his facial expression, but he could tell just how much in shock his brother was right now.

It was understandable. Ryouta had seen his dorm room, after all. As much as he’d gone through with their father, Shouto wasn’t above spending Endeavor’s money either. That was fine. If Ryouta had access to his dad’s credit card right now, he’d probably go wild after the past few weeks had been dumped on him, but it had become important to him not to rely on his help. His pity. He’d given Ryouta the bare amount of funds to take care of himself, just enough that didn’t make him look bad, and that was that. Ryouta had found out the hard way that, despite how much his home life had sucked at times, he’d had it made too. It was a mortifying realization.

“I don’t see why you won’t let me buy this stuff for you,” Shouto finally said.

“Because it’s not your money!” Ryouta exclaimed. He cringed at the volume of his voice, hunkering his shoulders so he could hide behind a coat rack, and then rubbed his temple. “I appreciate the gesture - I do - but I did everything I could to not rely on our dad. I went by a different name. I never mentioned him at school. I didn’t ask for help. It was… It is important to me that I still don’t.”

The shock on Shouto’s face was gone, replaced by something softer that looked more like understanding. There was a moment where they stared at each other and it felt like another piece of the puzzle had fallen in between them. So much of living with Shouto now and going to school with him meant figuring each other out all over again. Luckily he’d had practice doing that with Fuyumi after their father had decided to end his training, but it didn’t make it fun or less painful, just easier.

“Find anything?” Midoriya asked, a bag filled with purchased items in one hand. Iida looked...tired. Apparently, his attempts at convincing his friend out of his poor taste in fashion hadn’t gone as well as Shouto’s.

Ryouta shook his head. “Nope, I’m still a hopeless cause.”

Iida picked at the clothes that Shouto had discarded. “Why?”

“Look, I just don’t care, alright?” Ryouta sighed. “I never have. Whatever is given to me, whatever fits, whatever doesn’t have too many burn holes in it, I’ll wear it. Seriously, it’s that simple.”

“Surely you have a preference though, right?” Iida queried.

“I-” Ryouta’s shoulders dropped. If he had to choose something - if he had to pick a style - he knew what he would wear, but he didn’t want to wear that right now. Looking at these clothes now and thinking about the obnoxiously bright-colored clothes that Aizawa had given him, it had been an easy choice to make when the other option made him think of the person staring him in the face. His future.

“He looks like the walking dead.” Yeah, but he’d liked that jacket a lot. Ryouta had spent too many nights thinking about that stupid photo of Dabi that had thrown his world upside down not to face that errant thought. It was frustrating. As if his quirk wasn’t a bad enough reminder or his mere presence. He didn’t need to do anything else that would make them compare him to Dabi.

Before Ryouta could finish that thought or anyone prompt him to continue, Midoriya perked up and waved at someone coming up behind them. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

“It’s close to when Iida proposed we meet up at the food court.”

Ryouta turned around, spotting Tokoyami and Shoji stopping in front of them. They had gone off separately with Jirou, who turned out to be behind Shoji. He was large enough to block her from sight before she stepped around him to look at the clothes Ryouta was no longer buying. With one earbud plugged into her ear, she could bop her head to the loud music and still listen in on the conversation. She had the right idea. When she looked at the clothes and raised her eyebrow, he fought the urge to throw his hands up and walk out of the store. Granted, out of everyone here, she did have the best style.

“Ah, you’re right,” Iida said when he looked at his watch. “I suppose we should head that way.”

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” Tokoyami asked, his sharp eyes moving from Midoriya holding his purchases to Ryouta holding nothing.

“Uh, not exactly…” Ryouta gave a sheepish smile. “Maybe another time, yeah?”

The three newcomers looked at each other, a moment of silent communication passing between them that could only come from having been around each other nearly every day for a full year. While Jirou typically wore a near constant bored expression that made her hard to read, it was even more difficult with Tokoyami, who had an actual bird’s head, and Shoji, who wore a mask over half his face.

The first one to break was Jirou, who huffed and said, “We’ve gotta do it.”

“It is not our job,” Tokoyami responded.

“Yeah, but…” Jirou waved a hand at Ryouta, which made him stiffen. “Dude, come on. You know it too.”

“She has a point,” Shoji added.

Tokoyami closed his eyes, folded his arms, and sighed deeply. It was incredibly dramatic, which made Ryouta unsure of how to react, leaving him to stand mutely and eye them all. They were communicating on a level he wasn’t privy to, even though he knew he was somehow a part of their conversation.

“Listen, not to interrupt you all or anything, but what the hell are you talking about?” Ryouta blurted.

When Tokoyami opened his eyes, he turned his focus onto Ryouta and said in a voice that was both very serious and mysterious, “This is not your store.”

Ryouta looked around like the store might actually provide him with an answer to that statement, but no help came. He had no fucking clue what Tokoyami was talking about right now. This was one of the first times he’d been involved with any of these three. How could they possibly know anything about him? They had friends in the class, but he’d noticed they either stuck with themselves or flittered between groups. Not everyone had a set core of friends like Midoriya or Bakugou.

“Just follow us,” Jirou told him.

He knew they were being helpful, but it sounded kind of ominous. His feet didn’t move. “Why?”

“Do you actually like any of the clothes here or are you just grabbing whatever?” Shoji asked, his voice somewhat muffled behind his face mask. Having been called out by someone that barely knew him and had maybe said all of three words to him was unsettling. His face must have given them the answer because he nodded his head. Even Tokoyami and Jirou looked like they’d had their suspicions confirmed.

“I thought this might be the case,” Tokoyami said in a tone that was much too solemn for the situation.

“Seriously,” Ryouta demanded, “what are you talking about?”

Jirou playfully punched him in the shoulder. “You’re one of us, man.” She turned to Shouto. “Mind if we take him for a bit? You all can go on to the food court. I think we know somewhere he can find some clothes he likes and won’t look like he dressed in the dark.” She smirked. “On second thought…”

Shouto turned to face him, an almost defeated expression on his face. “Are you okay going with them?”

“Going where?” Ryouta questioned. “No offense, but you all are being stupidly cryptic.”

“A place where you belong,” Tokoyami said dramatically.

“Somewhere you’ll fit in,” Jirou added cheekily.

“We’re just helping you get clothes you’ll actually like,” Shoji finished. When he rolled his eyes, it was so emphatic Ryouta couldn’t help but nod. It was the most emotion he’d seen from him so far. He had thought that Jirou was pretty level-headed, but considering she hung out with Bakugou’s group half the time, he should’ve known better.

When Ryouta glanced at his brother, Shouto only sighed. “Just go with them.”

“You sure?” Ryouta asked.

“They’re better equipped to help you,” Shouto told him.

What the hell did that mean? Ryouta let Jirou throw an arm over his shoulders and guide him out of the store. It was an intimate move, but somehow gave off the vibe they weren’t that close. He wasn’t sure how she did it, but it was impressive. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly at his brother before they made a left turn and was out of each other’s sight.

“So, uh, where are we going?” Ryouta asked in his best good-natured voice. He sounded like a boy scout. It was terrible.

Jirou grinned up at him. “You’ll see.”

This time, Ryouta was the one to roll his eyes. “You don’t have to be so-”

“Here!”

He rolled his eyes right onto the store. “Oh.”

Even though it was dumb, his cheeks turned red. This was the one place in the mall he’d been avoiding. He knew it would still be here as this style never died. Looking at the three Class 1-A kids with him now, he should have immediately known where they were taking him. There was too much black clothing between the three for any one of them to not shop at a store like this. He could point out the cool band t-shirts or nerd merch all he wanted to justify coming here. It would only make the fact he’d shopped at this place that more obvious.

“How did you know?” Ryouta asked quietly.

Tokoyami was almost scathing in his honesty when he said, “I remember your clothes from the Training Camp.”

It was a blow to the ego, although Ryouta knew he hadn’t meant it that way. Five years was a long time, but at the same time, it wasn’t. His style probably hadn’t changed that much in between him dropping out of UA and him joining the League. It hadn’t gotten much better, but it hadn’t gotten worse either. That jacket had been cool, along with the boots. As much as he hated it, he could stand here right now and admit that to himself. He’d worn a lot of dark, drab colors growing up. They fit him well.

But he hadn’t wanted to do that now. He didn’t want anyone at UA to look at him and see Dabi, which he knew those clothes would do. Maybe the bright colors had been a shield.

“It’s okay,” Shoji told him.

Jirou pulled her arm away. “Yeah, you’re in good company.”

“I just…” Ryouta sighed. “I don’t want you to think I’m him.”

Tokoyami shook his head. “The clothes don’t make the person. They don’t make the villain or the hero either.”

Ryouta ran his fingers through his hair, stopping to rest his hand on the back of his head. “I guess I was being kind of stupid. I know I don’t dress for shit, but it was always easier sticking to black or neutral colors.” Plus, burns and soot were harder to spot on black clothes. “You’re still probably gonna have to help me.”

“Finally,” Jirou said smugly, “a makeover I can get behind.”

It wasn’t any less weird picking out clothes and having people edit him, but he was definitely more comfortable in this store. The prices were a little higher than he would’ve liked, but that was a price he would have to pay if he wanted to wear clothes that ticked every box. Just going for comfort and a low price wasn’t always a good thing, if only because they weren’t a decent quality either. Caring about his appearance wouldn’t make him a bad person. Neither would dressing in the same colors and style as Dabi. It annoyed him, but if they didn’t think it was awful, then maybe he was overthinking things.

For some reason, it made him think of the horrific scars on Dabi’s body. He must have cared an awful lot about what (and who) he looked like to let himself get that damaged. What had he been thinking? Had he wanted to erase every last remnant of who he was - or where he came from? He’d inherited his mother’s build, but he’d grown up looking like his father, the only child born with both his signature red hair and eyes. He’d dyed his hair and either burned himself or let his quirk burn him beyond recognition - and then continued to wear either shitty or neutral black clothes.

With their assistance, combined with Ryouta’s need to get this over with, they gathered an armful of clothes he could try on. He was content with trusting their gut and simply buying it, but Jirou had insisted he try them just in case to check the fit and if he liked them on him.

“Remember,” Jirou said on the other side of the changing room door, “it’s okay to be picky sometimes.”

“Yeah, but what’s the point?” Ryouta asked as he tugged a t-shirt over his head. “If it fits, is comfortable, and doesn’t look like shit, then it should be fine.”

“It’s a confidence thing,” Jirou told him. “When you look good and actually like what you’re wearing, you’ll feel better. Trust me, there’s something awesome about putting on the right pair of boots.”

Was he that obvious about his fluctuating confidence issues? Ryouta couldn’t deny he had them in spades - after what he’d gone through with his father, there was no sense in it - but he also knew he was clever and strong. As much as he hated his quirk and the way it took control, he liked it at the same time too. It was hard to explain. He’d made it and continued to do so despite everything thrown at him. Of course, that didn’t mean he was handling things well. Maybe she had a point though. He’d never really thought of his appearance that way.

“So?” Shoji prompted.

“I…” Ryouta stared at his reflection. “I don’t really care for this one?”

“Toss it over, man, and try on the next one,” Jirou immediately replied. She didn’t sound offended at all that he didn’t like a shirt she’d picked out. He pulled it over his head and did as he was told, throwing it over the door and then grabbing the next shirt.

After that, it went by a lot faster. In the end, only that shirt and a pair of jeans that were far too skinny for his comfort were put back on the racks. Everything else fit perfectly, was affordable, and, as Jirou had suggested, he did like them and felt a little more confident.

Before he could go up to pay, Jirou rushed back with a black leather jacket in her hands. “You have to get this.”

Ryouta immediately reached out for it, already liking the look of it, but then hesitated. “Uh, isn’t it a little…too on the nose?” It wasn’t a long jacket like the one he’d seen Dabi wearing in that picture and lacked the stitching and metal braces, but it did make him think of it, which meant others would think the same.

“We can match,” Jirou said in an attempt to make him feel better. “Besides, it’s cold outside. You need one jacket.”

When Ryouta took the jacket from her, Jirou smiled in triumph and Tokoyami nodded his head like some wise sage. Hell, maybe he was. Over half the clothes Ryouta ended up buying had been picked by him. He had planned on putting them up when they got back to the dorms, but Shoji suggested he go ahead and change into some of his new clothes in the bathroom. It was a little awkward, especially with a random stranger complaining that he was taking too long, but once he stepped out, a funny thing happened. The guy took one look at him and shut up.

It was ridiculous how much a simple change of clothes could, well, change things.

The moment he walked out of the bathroom, Jirou high-fived both Tokoyami and Shoji. “Success!”

“Much better,” Shoji told him.

At first, Ryouta thought Tokoyomi would say something cryptic like, “You are now one with the darkness,” or equally strange that he seemed fond to do, but he didn’t say anything. However, he looked like he approved. Again, it was hard to tell with his bird features, but he didn’t look horrified.

“Thanks,” Ryouta said. “Shouto will probably still think I look ridiculous, but…”

“He’s got that rich kid pretty boy style going for him,” Jirou said, rolling her eyes. That made Ryouta grin. Yeah, he kind of did now that he thought about it. Natsuo had more of a jock style too while Fuyumi had always gone for modest and slightly girly. “You’ve got this.”

Shoji waved for them to follow him to the food court where everyone else would no doubt be waiting for them. Now that the shopping was out of the way, Ryouta felt a lot more eager about being off campus. Hopefully, they’d have some time left over to go to the arcade later. He wanted to do something fun. Shopping certainly didn’t count. It had been easier with these three, but he was glad it was over. He’d never liked shopping before and he didn’t now.

As soon as they entered the food court, Ryouta’s first thought was that it was large and then it was overwhelming. The number of choices didn’t bother him so much as the number of people. If he wasn’t picky about what he wore, he was even less picky about what he ate. Growing up, half the time anything he ate came up anyway, so it didn’t matter if he ate something heavy, light, delicious, crappy, sweet, or salty. It had always been more about quantity over quality for him. If the training wasn’t enough, his quirk alone burned through him quick, leaving him skinny no matter how much food he shoveled in his mouth.

Spotting the Class 1-A group was easy. They were all crowded in a handful of tables in the middle of the food court with Iida seemingly herding them. Uraraka caught sight of them first, waving to catch their attention. A huge smile lit up her face when she spotted Ryouta, which put him at ease. Okay, so it wasn’t just these three. He had done a good job. Well, they had done a good job and he’d rolled with it. Before getting in line for food, Ryouta made his way over there so he could drop his bags off.

“Oh, you look so good!” Uraraka burst when he set the bags in the chair next to her. “So edgy and cool.”

Ryouta snorted. “Stop.”

Shouto eyed him for a moment before deciding, “It’s better than I remembered. There’s actual style.”

“Glad to receive your approval,” Ryouta retorted dryly.

Iida finally took his seat at the table. “I understand your hesitance about your choice in clothing, but you should have said something earlier.” He didn’t have to be straightforward for Ryouta to hear the implication: We’re not going to think you’re a villain because you want to wear a black leather jacket.

Thinking back on it now made him feel foolish, but he was doing so much to distance himself from Dabi, especially in their eyes. Anything that came off as threatening was something he did not do. It was why he’d been so passive over the past few weeks. While he wasn’t confident like Shouto or arrogant like Bakugou, he wasn’t a doormat either. He’d struggled and fought too much to be one. After that confrontation with Monoma, talking with all three of his siblings, and the prank on Bakugou, he didn’t feel like acting like one either. It wasn’t him.

“I’ll be right back,” Ryouta told them. He walked in the direction of the nearest food station, weaving his way through the crowd. He didn’t even know what it was until he got in line and looked at the sign. Jirou’s voice piped up in his head reminding him he could be picky about some things, but he shook it away. This was fine.

“Oh my god, I love your jacket!” a girl exclaimed. Ryouta blinked and turned to the side, only to lean back when he realized how close she was. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh, um, the store by the coffee shop,” Ryouta answered, pointing vaguely in that direction. It was the first time he’d spoken with a civilian after being de-aged since the others had dealt with any employees. It shouldn’t have made his heart race, but it did. This person not only had no idea who he was, but she wasn’t even involved in heroics. She would take his answer and run with it, not thinking anything of it or him.

“It looks really cool,” the girl told him, a bright smile on her face. “You look great in it.”

He’d beat himself over the head for it later, but Ryouta actually blushed. “Um, thanks?”

It was like dealing with Mina’s forwardness all over again when she’d told him to call him by her given name. This girl looked to be around his age with long black hair and dark brown eyes. She was pretty, but things like that had always been objective, errant thoughts he didn’t have time for. He definitely didn’t have time for them now.

“I’ll have to check out that store,” the girl replied teasingly. “Ta ta!”

And then she was gone, all but disappearing in the crowd. Had that just happened? Ryouta stood there awkwardly until he heard the food employee behind the counter call for him a second time. Oh, it was his turn. He hastily ordered his food and handed over the cash. Still somewhat dazed, he carried his food back to the table where he’d put his clothes, not really paying attention to where he was going.

“It’s happening already!” Kaminari wailed dramatically from the table next to them.

“What’s happening?” Mina asked as she munched on her meal.

Kaminari pointed an accusing finger at Ryouta. “The girls are already going after him. Did you see that hot chick walk up and hit on him? You know the hottest girls hang out in malls.” Mina shrugged her shoulders as if to say he wasn’t wrong. “I knew this was going to happen. Our chances with girls decrease with every Todoroki apparently.”

“Don’t worry,” Ryouta told him, his cheeks still warm with embarrassment. “I’m not going to steal girls from you.”

“You don’t have to,” Kaminari sighed, plopping onto the bench. “They’ll come flocking to you, leaving the rest of us poor souls behind.”

“Because girls like edgy bastards?” Bakugou drawled.

Kaminari knowingly pointed a chopstick at him. “Just because you’re too much of a hothead for girls to like you-”

“Would you shut up?” Bakugou snapped.

A grin found its way onto Kaminari’s face, one that Ryouta immediately recognized as a bad idea. “I thought for sure the hair change would mellow you out in girls’ eyes.”

The mini-explosions that rattled from Bakugou’s palms made the couple next to them jump and their table shake, but Kaminari only laughed and leaned out of his reach. It didn’t even make Mina, Kirishima, or Sero blink. They all kept eating and watching with amusement on their faces. They weren’t scared of him at all. Granted, the hot pink hair did do wonders for making him look less threatening. He seemed to know it too, which made him simmer even more.

As usual, Ryouta took lunch as an opportunity to keep to himself while everyone else conversed. They were happy about getting the chance to take a break from studying for finals. It wasn’t until they were finished that he noticed Midoriya looking at him in thought.

“Uh, something wrong?” Ryouta prompted.

“Oh, I was just wondering…” Midoriya said, sounding like he might be talking to himself. “You aren’t familiar with any of the stores at the mall. If you didn’t come here to shop, where did you get clothes and stuff?”

“Ah, right.” Ryouta no longer felt hungry, despite the few bites left on his plate. He pushed them aside with his chopsticks until he finally set them down. Shouto was watching him too. He must have been thinking the same thing. Ryouta tried not to sigh. He would’ve had to face this truth eventually. Their curiosity would’ve grown too much eventually, particularly Uraraka’s, who he could tell was trying her best to act like she wasn’t listening. Well, he had to own up to his methods at some point. “I usually go to a thrift shop around the corner.”

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Iida asked, sounding genuinely distraught.

“I didn’t think you all would want to go there,” Ryouta replied. It was the truth, but it wasn’t the entire truth. No, there was something far more embarrassing than a thrift shop. Shouto looked troubled. He’d probably never been to a thrift shop before, seeing as how Ryouta had never been to one until he moved out. When he had stressed about how little money he had, his brother hadn’t realized how bad it was.

He had no idea.

“Why don’t we go there?” Iida suggested. “You can probably get cheaper things like pajamas and such there.”

“Oh, no, we don’t have to do that,” Ryouta said quickly. “That stuff can wait.”

“I’d like to go,” Shouto cut in.

Ryouta tried not to wince. Out of everyone to speak, he knew he would cave immediately if Shouto wanted to go. When he looked around, he realized everyone at the table looked done eating and interested in leaving. Well, it was now or never. The moment he stood up, a handful of others did as well, taking it as a signal. At least most of the class was staying behind. He’d only have to suffer humiliation from a few people then.

When he glanced around, he caught sight of Present Mic and Midnight for the first time since walking into the mall. They’d done an amazing job blending in. He could tell they were curious about what was going on. Ryouta kind of hoped they would put a stop to this - maybe say they had to stay at the mall or go back to UA - but no, they stood up and threw away their trash too.

This was happening. They were really doing this. He thought he might puke as they walked out of the mall in the direction of the thrift shop. That pretty girl from the food court wouldn’t think he looked so cool if she saw where he was going now. How embarrassing.

Ryouta tried to ignore the feeling of self-consciousness prickling at his skin. Unfortunately, it only seemed to increase with every step he took. I could have lied, he errantly thought. Guilt immediately welled up inside him. It wasn’t enough to make the notion any less painfully tempting. He could have just taken them to the thrift store. Instead, they were about to learn the truth of how he lived.

He had to hold back a grimace as he glanced over his shoulder. Shouto was quietly discussing something with Yaoyorozu, whose caution and excitement seemed to be growing in equal parts, while Uraraka was happily chattering with Midoriya and Iida, as they moved deeper into the “shady” part of the shopping district.

They were all going to think he was a fucking garbage person.

There was only one more corner to turn before they reached their destination. Shoving his feelings down, Ryouta forced himself to quicken his pace, only to falter once the store was actually in plain view. His last step before coming to a halt hit the pavement a little harder than usual, generating an echo. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around and look at the expressions of his companions. Instead, his gaze was locked on the large, glittering thrift shop, promising to provide cheap goods and ask no questions.

Confusion flickered in the undercurrents of Shouto’s voice. “Is this it…?”

Before Ryouta could feel too much like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole, Uraraka happily exclaimed, “I’ve come here before!”

The statement prompted Ryouta to risk a cautious glance over his shoulder. None of the others were actually looking at him. Uraraka was staring intensely at the store, rocking forward onto the balls of her feet and counting something off on her fingers. Meanwhile, Shouto, Midoriya, and Iida had all turned their attention to Yaoyorozu, who was starting to speak. “It’s kind of like that store we went to, isn’t it?” Her lips were pressed in a small smile while her eyes glimmered with excitement. It looked like there might have been something else there as well, maybe nostalgia, or maybe something rawer, but this wasn’t the time to try to look into it.

For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a reason why Yaoyorozu Momo would go to a thrift shop (or his brother for that matter), but the knowledge that she had done so was something of a relief. It didn’t put him completely at ease by any means, but some of the tension drained out of his shoulders and allowed him to start moving again. “Not quite. Actually… “ Actually, as much as he wanted to say something that would immediately make them understand that he wasn’t some sort of disgusting freak, such a thing was impossible. Ryouta signed in resignation. “Just follow me.”

So much for overcoming his shame. Not only was it back, but he could feel it intensifying with every step he took. It was only sheer willpower and the knowledge that turning back would make him look suspicious that made him keep moving. As promised, he didn’t lead them inside the store. Instead, he began to walk around it into the alley leading to the area behind the store. Murmurs just a little too quiet to make out emitted from the group behind him as they went further into the darkness.

Forget being gross. I’ll be lucky if they don’t think I’m going to murder them. A corner of his lips twitched in dark, unhappy amusement.

A de-aged villain leads a group of naive students into a dark alleyway. It didn’t take a comedy genius to figure out how that joke ended.

After a walk that felt much longer than it really was, Ryouta came to a stop. The others falling silent didn’t come as much of a relief, as he had lead them directly over to a trio of dumpsters. He pursed his lips and lifted his chin a little despite the heat he could feel building in his face. “This is it,” he announced. In different circumstances, he might have been proud of himself for keeping his voice from wavering when his every nerve was on edge with anticipation for their response. Right now, telling his younger brother and his friends that he frequently did his “shopping” in other people’s trash, already well aware of what they thought of his fashion sense, he just felt uncomfortable, darkly amused, and bitterly accepting. This was it: one of the most embarrassing situations he had ever willingly walked into.

Although he couldn’t bring himself to turn around, he did plant his hands on his hips, as if he was not only unashamed, but proud of his overly thrifty ways.

He thought he heard Shouto begin to say something or, more accurately, make a surprised, confused, and probably horrified noise. Before it could form into words or grow loud enough for him to confirm that it really was his brother, Uraraka spoke up and saved his hide once again. “Oh! I’ve always wanted to try this!” She strode forward, entering Ryouta’s line of sight and stopping only inches away from the dumpsters. “Which one are we gonna climb in?”

Ryouta rubbed at his arm, more than a little dumbstruck. “Last time I was here, the one on the right was used for actual trash,” he hesitantly offered, “but the other two…”

Uraraka nodded decisively. “Right!” As if entirely without shame, she closed the distance between herself on the middle dumpster, braced her hands against the side of its open top, and vaulted in. He couldn’t help but find the sight oddly admirable. It wasn’t as hard as he had expected to push the anxiety out of his expression before turning around.

Shouto looked absolutely gobsmacked. That much he had expected. It was news to him that his brother had ever been inside a thrift shop. Dumpster diving had to be a completely alien and ridiculous notion to him. The self-conscious that it would have sent flooding through him was paused by the expressions everyone else wore. There was obvious curiosity intermingled with Iida’s confusion. Midoriya looked like he had a better idea of what was going on and was fidgeting in what might be nervousness or excitement, maybe both. The most surprising was probably Yaoyorozu, who displayed a layer of hesitance, but was clearly excited beneath it, maybe even eager. Finally, Midnight and Present Mic leaned against a wall a short distance away, engrossed in a hushed conversation. Occasionally, one of them would shoot a glance at the students, but they didn’t look like they were going to stop them.

If the students all seemed to have a hint of repressed melancholia seeping through everything else, he refused to let himself acknowledge it. For the most part, they didn’t look disgusted or upset to be there. That was good enough for him.

Ryouta took a moment to make sure he wasn’t fidgeting before speaking. “I know this looks weird, but they throw out a lot of-” Nice? No, it might be different if it was just Midoriya, but he couldn’t call the stuff he would get from here “nice” when he was speaking to Iida, Yaoyorozu, and Shouto as well. He didn’t need them to start wondering what “bad” was by his standards. “Usable stuff here. As long as you don’t go in the one on the right, it’s pretty clean too.”

After several long seconds in which the only sound came from Uraraka rooting around in the dumpster behind him, Midoriya asked, “What kind of stuff?”

“All sorts!” Ryouta immediately restrained a wince, caught off guard by how loud he was. Loud by his standards, at least. It wasn’t enough to qualify as a shout, but it did bring him close to sounding excited. That wasn’t quite the case. Someone starting a conversation was just such a relief. It meant that they were getting on with it, which brought him one step closer to this moment being over. That the immediate reaction wasn’t one of revulsion made it even better. Even so, he toned his voice down and fought down the warmth threatening to creep up his neck as he continued. “They’ll take pretty much anything, but they get enough donations that they throw away anything flawed. Not just broken stuff. Things with a little tear or dent get tossed as well.”

Iida began to look a little more intrigued, only for it to be overshadowed by a fresh wave of concern. He warily eyed the dumpsters for a moment before speaking up. “Ryouta, are you certain this is legal? I mean no offense by the question, of course!”

“I have it on good authority that it isn’t illegal,” Midnight chimed in. Normally, that particular teacher jumping into a conversation with a devious glimmer in her eyes would make his stomach twist in anxiety. This time, her interruption provided a welcomed distraction from the much more painful sensation of his entire being threatening to tie itself into knots over the legality of his actions being questioned.

With a stiff nod, Ryouta confirmed, “It isn’t.”

“Don’t remind me,” Present Mic grumbled. It earned him a gentle elbow from Midnight and an odd look from Ryouta, but before anyone could ask what he meant, Iida began speaking again.

“If our teachers are alright with it and you’re certain it’s safe, then so am I.” Iida pursed his lips and clasped his hands together, the innocent action managing to increase the discomfort of the situation. Maybe it was the absence of his usual arm movements that was doing it. “I would like to reiterate that I did not mean to insult, offend, or insinuate anything with my question. I understand how it may have come across, although the realization came too late, but that is no excuse!” His hands unclasped, as if it were physically impossible for them to remain still for too long when so much nervous energy was coursing through him. It didn’t bring any relief, considering what he was saying. “I assure you that I would have asked anyone else the same question and-”

Ryouta raised a hand to cut him off before the tirade could take on a life of its own and achieve sentience. “Iida, it’s fine.” He doubted that his fake smile was particularly convincing, but he had to do something. Aside from Uraraka, who may not have heard any of it because of how engrossed in the dumpster she seemed, everyone else looked at least a little, if not very, uncomfortable. Like himself, they were probably all (except Shouto, if he was being honest with himself) well aware of how asking a de-aged criminal if he was breaking the law looked without anyone pointing it out. He didn’t blame Iida anyway. Regardless of Ryouta’s status, it was a reasonable enough question and he knew that he didn’t mean anything by it. All of the stuff that came afterward was just…unnecessary.

A heavy silence fell over the group. It was broken by the dull thud of something hitting the concrete. Ryouta whirled around to see Uraraka scrambling out of the dumpster, where a large, black, malformed bag now laid in front of. “I think there’s a beanbag in there!” she cried. “It felt like everything in there’s soft, too.”

It was like a spell had been broken and everyone suddenly remembered why they were there. While Uraraka got to work opening the trash bag, Midoriya gave a decisive nod before stepping forward and declaring, “I’ll try too.”

That prompted Shouto to make a half-strangled sound before, “Midoriya.”

Midoriya shot him a sheepish grin. “It looks like fun,” he defended, “and if I find something nice…”

Despite knowing that his younger brother definitely didn’t approve of his preferred method of “shopping” method and feeling much more aware of Present Mic and Midnight’s presence than he had been only moments ago, he had to admit that there was something funny about watching the color drain out of Shouto’s face. Ryouta waved an arm at the dumpsters as Midoriya began to walk forward. “Go ahead. You don’t need to wait for my permission. I’m not the keeper of the dumpsters.” Once Midoriya had passed him, Ryouta shot Shouto a smirk that said he was absolutely the keeper of the dumpsters.

His brother looked somewhat pained. “This is…how you got your belongings?” he slowly asked.

Ryouta fought to keep his shame pushed down. It was made easier by the sound of Midoriya climbing into the dumpster and Uraraka squealing excitedly. Apparently, she had found her bean bag. “A lot of them, yes.” He shrugged in an attempt to look casual and decided not to tell him it was also how he planned to get most of his stuff going forward. “It doesn’t cost anything and, as you can see, it pays off.”

As if on cue, Midoriya gleefully exclaimed, “Posters!” His immediate silence afterward suggested that he regretted his nerdy outburst. Even so, Ryouta pointedly raised an eyebrow.

Shouto furrowed his brows. “I know why you don’t want to borrow money, but…” He glanced uncertainly between Ryouta and the dumpsters. He didn’t know if Shouto noticed him pursing his lips slightly or just decided to change tactics, but instead of continuing his previous sentence, he asked, “What if there are rats?”

“Most of them stay with the actual garbage.” Not only did his brother look unconvinced, but the faint widening of his eyes suggested that he was horrified that there might be rats at all. Ryouta snorted. “If you find one, just give it a little nudge and it’ll go away.”

A discomfort not dissimilar to Shouto’s fell over Iida’s face. However, for whatever reason, that was when Yaoyorozu decided to step forward. The nervousness in her expression was largely overpowered by resolve. “I would like to try as well.” Her statement earned her a surprised look from Iida and a partially worried, partially betrayed one from Shouto. The latter’s jaw began to loosen as if he was about to say something, only for him to firmly close it again seconds later.

“Are you sure?” Iida asked, careless or unaware of whatever had held Shouto back. Probably the latter, knowing him. “If a rat bites you, it would mandate a visit to the hospital.”

Yaoyorozu wavered, only to steel herself with a sharp nod. “I’m wearing tall boots. I’ll be fine.”

Ryouta grinned for real. That wasn’t something he had expected, but it was definitely a pleasant surprise. Yaoyorozu returned his expression as she walked past him. Her smile was small and hesitant, but warm and encouraging in a way that didn’t feel condescending. It made him think he was silly to worry about what Shouto would think of his dumpster-diving. He was a rich boy who, although his childhood was incredibly flawed, had never lived anything other than an expensive lifestyle and, from what he remembered, wasn’t the sort of child to be drawn in by “gross” things. Of course he would be put off by dumpster diving. He also knew next to nothing about practical living. If he had never lived with the sort of circumstances that would drive someone to consider it, he would probably think it was gross as well.

That meant that Shouto’s squeamishness was relevant in regards to one thing and one thing alone: mockery.

Ryouta turned on his heels to stride over to the dumpsters. Since Yaoyorozu and Midoriya were both already in the middle dumpster, Midoriya carefully placing what looked like All Might posters in a pile on top of a relatively flat garbage bag while Yaoyorozu poked at something, he moved toward the one on the left. As he walked past her, Uraraka stopped sorting through the pile of tattered Beanie Babies that had been in the bag alongside a sickly-green beanbag chair to shoot him a smile and wink. It almost made him pause. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that she took that bag out when she did.

He quickly brushed that thought aside. There was every chance that he was just overthinking things again.

It was just as easy to climb into the dumpster as he remembered. Once he found his footing atop the pile of bags within, he looked over his shoulder and, in a somewhat stiff and haughty voice, called, “A hero can’t be scared of rats. They’re just a part of life.”

Shouto wrinkled his nose. Victory.

Meanwhile, Iida frowned and, apparently failing to get the joke, said, “There’s a difference between being too scared to do something and not wanting to take an unnecessary risk. You may do as you wish, but we will content ourselves with watching.”

When his classmate finished speaking, Shouto simply said, “Not the life I choose to live.”

Ryouta narrowed his eyes. “The prissy life,” he teased.

Getting an accurate read of Shouto was still a difficult task, but as he watched, he was pretty sure he saw a myriad of subtle changes flicker across his expression. First was amusement, then seriousness, something that could have been uncertainty or worry, and finally, that neutral mask snapped back into position. It remained as Shouto shook his head slowly. “I’m not going to respond to that.”

All thoughts related to whatever his brother might be thinking were forcibly pushed to the back of his mind. Instead, Ryouta not only gave in to but embraced the impulsive urge to say, “You just did.”

Wisely, Shouto didn’t say anything this time.

Spirit bolstered, Ryouta moved to give Iida an amused smirk before finally turning his attention to the contents of the dumpster. He wasn’t even able to finish the first task before the sound of crinkling plastic distracted him. His gaze moved from the class president to Midnight and Present Mic. While the former was still leaning against the wall, an amused look on her face, the latter was kneeling down and rifling through one of the shopping bags. The remainder of how they had essentially foisted their shopping upon the teachers during the walk over made him feel a twinge of guilt, which was promptly overshadowed by confusion when the teacher retrieved what looked like a wad of clothing and stood back up with a triumphant sound.

By that point, everyone else had noticed he was doing something and watched with keen eyes. It also looked like Present Mic couldn’t care less. He strode confidently over to the dumpsters, seemingly unbothered by the curious stares and the gentle thwack Midnight gave his arm as he passed her. As he got closer, Ryouta squinted at the mass he was carrying, only to squint a little harder when he was able to make out what it was.

“Are those…the clothes I wore here?” he asked.

Present Mic didn’t answer at first. He stopped in front of the dumpster on the right, made a face at what Ryouta assumed was the scent of garbage, and dropped the clothes in the dumpster in a motion that managed to feel careless and ceremonial at the same time. Solemnly, he said, “It’s where they belong.” The effect was ruined by him promptly scrambling away from the dumpster and the odor surrounding it. “Let’s just hope Shouta doesn’t find them again.”

Ryouta blinked slowly. Was he really implying what he thought he was implying? With what he knew of Aizawa, it would make sense, yet the prospect that it might be true felt entirely alien. It was enough to make him disregard the waste of clothes for the time being. He cast a searching look at Shouto and Iida, who, much like him, looked like they were cautiously dancing on the brink of a revelation.

There was a faint rustling from the dumpster next to him as Midoriya, who had practically disappeared inside of it in his search for nerd memorabilia and other items of interest, resurfaced. Slowly, he asked, “Are you saying that Mr. Aizawa also…?”

Midnight’s laughter cut through the conversation. “He used to bring us here when we were your age,” she gleefully confirmed.

Present Mic let out an agitated huff. “Don’t remind me.” He pointed a finger at Ryouta and cried out, “Now you know what I’m trying to protect you from! He’s trying to make a miniature version of himself!”

Shouto’s gaze drifted over to Ryouta, thoughtful enough that he could almost feel it. “You do seem to have a lot in common,” he remarked. It didn’t sound like an insult.

Ryouta caught a glimpse of Present Mic rolling his eyes as he walked back over to Midnight. More importantly, he also heard him mutter, “Bet he won’t even turn back into Dabi. The quirk’ll wear off and he’ll just be a second Shouta.” Based off of how they tensed up, so did Shouto and Iida, an awkward tension falling over the group and stilling everyone in its wake.

He understood the concern. It probably wasn’t something Present Mic meant for anyone to overhear besides maybe Midnight - the result of a hero with a voice quirk accidentally speaking a little too loudly - and had the potential to upset him. Ryouta himself was surprised to find that he wasn’t. Maybe it left him feeling a little awkward, especially since the others were looking at him askance, but the muttered jab didn’t bother him. It’d be nice if he didn’t turn back to Dabi, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. Like everyone else, all he could do was hope he would be different when the quirk did wear off with these new and better experiences in his head.

It would be nice if he were a little better at hoping.

With everyone uncomfortably waiting for someone to break the silence, Ryouta took the opportunity to change the subject. The least he could do was put them out of their misery. Honestly, everyone acting like they were stepping on eggshells around him got a bit tiresome. “We should probably get going soon.” It was as much of a valid point as it was a distraction. The sun had already begun to set. He glanced down at the dumpster.

“I think we can afford ten more minutes,” Midnight said.

After making himself meet the hero’s eyes to give her an appreciative look, Ryouta started to sift through the dumpster. As he searched, it occurred to him that, for all of his apprehensiveness, nothing had gone wrong today. Everything had worked out alright. By the standards of people who’d had normal childhoods and to whom socialization wasn’t such a massive task, it might even be considered uneventful. It was…nice. He had enjoyed it.

It was nice to have an uneventful day for once.

*

She shook off her disguise like a long-forgotten memory. Golden eyes gleamed with excitement over what she had learned from her little outing. Even though it wasn’t what or who they were looking for, it was still exciting. Or rather, it was exciting once she got past her initial disappointment.

The odds that Dabi would actually be in the mall she had decided to search were admittedly low. She had only gone because it was better than doing nothing and, until they found a solid lead, all they could do was keep looking and hope something popped up. Her hopes hadn’t even been that especially high after days with no luck.

However, when she caught a glimpse of a black leather jacket and corresponding dark attire out of the corner of her eye, her heart leapt into her throat. For a moment, she thought she had found him. It was enough that, even after she moved to get a closer look, for a few heartbeats, she could have sworn that his face was achingly familiar. If she imagined some scars and allowed her mind to wander away from reality...but no. That boy - with his red hair, unblemished skin, wrong age, and different group of friends - couldn’t have been Dabi.

Toga did think he was cute though. Cute and important. After all, it wasn’t every day a new face suddenly manifested amongst class 1-A. That alone was enough to make it worth lingering for a little while longer. At first, she had thought he was just a cute, dark boy with befittingly bloody hair who happened to be friends with one of students, but no, no, no. The way he behaved with the rest of the little heroes, the way they danced and changed and reached out to meet his presence said that, while new and uncomfortable, he was one of them. And a very special one of them, if the complaints of the loud electric boy were anything to go by.

There was a genuine spring in Toga’s step as she headed for the change of clothes she had stored in the alley behind a run-down gas station that was wedged in front of a questionable supermarket and behind a thrift shop. She may not have found Dabi, but she had found someone of interest, not only for herself, but for the League as a whole. Tomura was bound to be interested in the new boy. Perhaps it would even help him calm down a bit, or at least give him something else to think about. The entire League had been tense and stressed since they had realized Dabi was missing. It wasn’t that she wanted them to give up on finding him and write him off as lost - not by any means - but it would be better to keep themselves occupied than dwell on…

Again. If they didn’t find him, that would mean it was happening again. They had lost people during the attack on the training camp and the following raid, but Toga didn’t know them well or care for them. Shigaraki’s Sensei though, that was a hard blow, because while he didn’t mean anything to her, his loss hurt her leader so keenly she could almost taste it. It wasn’t a good taste. Magne - that one had hurt her directly. Her friend dead because she had tried to touch some miserable, stuck-up demon of a man. Tomura’s pain hadn’t tasted good, but Overhaul’s misery, the flavor of vengeance, was absolutely wonderful. It hadn’t brought Magne back though. It had been great, but it didn’t truly fix it. Kurogiri’s arrest was a horrible mixture of both. It had to weigh on Shigaraki, even if he was trying to act strong, and there was no one who she could take vengeance on yet. And now Dabi…

Dabi, who was distant and mysterious but had been there from the beginning, was suddenly gone and they had no idea what had happened. Had whoever had taken him painted him wonderfully red? Red wasn’t his color. He wasn’t someone she loved like that - wasn’t someone she wanted to make bleed - wasn’t someone she wanted to hurt. Wasn’t someone she wanted to - no - they shouldn’t have to lose anyone anymore. When she found them, she would have to return to favor, dye them in shades of red that had nothing to do with blood, make them scream and plead like Overhaul hadn’t in the hope it would taste that much sweeter.

She would. She would. She would. And if it was too late, if they couldn’t find him, if they never knew, then she... she…

She shouldn’t be thinking about this. The “if”s would only bring her down and Spinner had told her she acted “weird” when she was angry and vengeful the other day. Toga thought that was a little hypocritical coming from someone who was weird a lot of the time, but sometimes she thought she caught Shigaraki or Twice sending a worried look her way or that Twice might be trying to calm her down like she had for him once, so she supposed it may have some merit. It felt better to cling to something happy than let herself be swept away by darker feelings anyway.

Although her steps had faltered as her mind threatened to veer toward darker places, she managed to shake it off. By the time she reached the hideout, she had returned to her full, bubbly self. She swung the door open and called out a greeting, heedless of the night that had set in. Tomura wouldn’t be asleep anyway. She wished he would. “I’m baaaack! And I found something interesting!”

As expected, the rusty voice of Shigaraki Tomura rose up to greet her. “Is it important?”

Toga’s smile was unwavering, although it felt like the reminder of exactly what “important” meant right now should make her eyes shine a little less bright. “It’s not related to Dabi,” she said as she pranced out of the entryway and toward the voice, “but it does have to do with Class 1-A.” Fearlessly, she took a seat on the couch beside her bedraggled leader. It was hard to tell with the hand on his face, but sitting there, with pictures of the outside and inside of a warehouse spread out on a table in front of him, she thought he looked more tired than usual. Older, when if she had to guess, she would pin him closer to herself and the hero students than Compress or their teachers in age. The only other person in the room was Mr. Compress, who, despite his mask, she was sure was eyeing him just as closely.

Shigaraki heaved a frustrated snarl of a sigh. “There’s nothing here. All the footage after he started fires was destroyed or…” Stolen. By the heroes. He raised a hand to scratch restlessly at his neck before turning his obscured gaze to Toga.

That was all the cue she needed to start talking. “There’s a new student! He’s definitely with them, but I didn’t hear anything about anyone being replaced. And” - she raised a finger to pause Shigaraki when she saw that he was about to interrupt - “he’s a Todoroki.”

The quiet before Shigaraki spoke was exciting. She could see the interest spark in his red eyes. That made it that much more disappointing when it faltered and faded a second before he said, “We can look into it after we find Dabi.” It seemed that distractions, no matter how promising, were doomed to be tossed aside. Toga couldn’t help but think he was going to wear himself thin at this rate. That, as much as her dismissal, made her shoulders sagged and a faint, disappointed sigh passed her lips.

“You did good finding this!” Compress piped up. “We just have to prioritize right now.”

“Right,” Shigaraki confirmed. “Besides, I need the two of you for a stealth mission. If you get the loot, it could have a much better payoff than stalking the hero wannabes.”

Toga perked up at that. Although there was a graveness to his voice, she saw Tomura’s lips twitch into small smile.”We’ve narrowed the timeframe for Dabi’s disappearance down to his raid on the quirk supplies warehouse. And we know that the heroes didn’t drag him away. So…”

His pause felt like it was purely for dramatic effect. She appreciated it.

“I want you to get me information on everyone who works in the warehouse.”

@mistystarshine notes: We have reached chapter twenty of KiR. The song is 'Thrift Shop' by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. Sometimes, that's how the Crack treated Seriously cookie crumbles. But seriously, thank you so much for all the continued support! It means the world.

For this chapter specifically, I will note that it was a lot of fun writing Toga! I tossed aside a lot if the care I usually take to better convey her mental state and I think it paid off. Also... I hope nearly 20k of fluff (+ Toga) makes up for next chapter, which will, hopefully, demolish you. It won't be the League doing the demolishing! That plot won't move that quickly. But it will be... Explosive.

[altean-plance-au]

What was the moment Lance realized he had feelings for Pidge ?

Sorry for the very delayed answer. I figured it would be better if I wrote the thing. The previous chapters to the New Assignment arc and others can be found here.

~~~~~~

The situation was lose - win - win.

Lance wasn’t going to get to go to the Groggerian Gala. It was an opportunity missed to soak in the elegant party atmospheric and expand his ever growing social network. He would also miss seeing Allura, who would be looking even more radiant than usual. (Difficult because she was always beautiful.) He saw her most every day now thanks to being attached at the hip to Pidge, but still mentally slapped himself for thinking it wasn’t that big of a loss.

A win, in that he had the night off, as much as a personal bodyguard to a princess a guy could have. Pidge had been fighting a twenty varga bug and was in no shape to be attending social functions, even an important annual one.

Pidge was spending the night in her room under the careful watch of her mother, who had insisted on some treasured mother - daughter bonding. Colleen was a skilled medic, so Lance had no problem being outranked for that decision. If it had been just him, he probably would have been able to keep her fever down with his magic. Pidge likely would have insisted on it so he could keep practicing. Pidge was in better hands this way though, so he didn’t mind spending the evening in his own room. (Adjacent to Pidge’s as he was always on call.) This would be an evening of self care.

He also suspected Colleen hated fancy parties about as much as Pidge did. It wasn’t so much the dressing up that annoyed Pidge, but rather the socialization. There were a select few nobles who didn’t care for how close Sam and his family were to the Crown, and they were not above making Pidge’s life miserable in whatever petty way they could. Lance ran interference - distracting Pidge by engaging in whatever conversation he could think of. She seemed to brighten up usually at that, and her genuine smile was much prettier than her fake one.

Lance froze mid step, his brows furrowed at the use of the particular adjective. Yes, pretty was the right word. Pidge was objectively very pretty. Smiles were always pretty.

He felt his cheeks flush. It wasn’t from the long, hot bath he’d just emerged from. He shouldn’t be thinking such things. Pidge was his charge. His job was to protect her, that was it.

It was too late for that though, they were already friends. Had they met under non-professional circumstances, it was likely they would still be near inseparable.

Pidge was endlessly fascinated with his magic, a trait that allowed him to experiment with it more than he ever would have by himself. He in turn loved watching the beautiful displays she put on with her plants, making maneuvers and feats seem effortless while she insisted on still being a novice. Lance felt like he knew her immediate family near as well as his own, and even the uneventful days passed quickly with her company as they puzzled over the drone.

Reminded of his reason for getting out of his bath, Lance pushed the thoughts of Pidge to the back of his mind and snatched a tablet he had left on the end of his bed. He plopped down into the mass of pillows and blankets. Adjusting his gold trimmed blue nightgown, he opened a video call, a wide smile on his own face.

He would never give up a free opportunity to call home.

His mother picked up shortly, the tips of her own mouth growing outward upon seeing her son’s face. “Lance, what a wonderful surprise! I thought you would be working tonight.”

As one of many grocers to the Castle, she was home on the family farm to oversee the planting and harvest of the crops. Even though he would be able to see her regularly during the winter months, the summer still felt too long.

“Hi Mom, love you too,” he chuckled. One side of his mouth curled up, half happy to see his mother and half sad at the reason why. “Pidge is sick, so I’m free tonight.”

She frowned, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Is it the twenty varga bug? We took Veronica in to see the doctor yesterday. It’s been going around in town, and now it’s going around the house.”

Lance grimaced. “Is she okay?”

“Nearly back to full strength now,” his mother assured him. “Fluids and rest did wonders. I’m sure Pidge will be fine too by morning. You tell her hello for me.”

“I will Mom,” Lance recited lovingly. “She says ‘hi’ back from the last time we talked.”

“When are you bringing her to the house?”

Lance laughed. “Mom, I’m her bodyguard, not her date.”

His mother rolled her eyes. “Could have fooled me. She is all you ever talk about when you call.”

“Because that’s my job,” he explained, exasperated by the direction of the conversation.

“It is not part of your job to talk about the way she uses her magic, the morning skin routine you made for her - you talk about her more than yourself. She may as well be part of the family with how much I know about her.”

Lance felt the blush come back as his back slowly slid down from the headrest to the mattress. Quiznak what was he doing?

“Okay, I think I get the point. Pidge is a good friend, and I’m not ready for any serious romance.”

His mother regarded him with a pitying expression, though for what he didn’t dare ask her to clarify. “All the more reason to bring her out to the farm. She would have so much joy seeing everything we grow here.”

Lance smiled again. She was right. Pidge would have a field day with all the different fruits, vegetables, and grains his family grew. He wondered what her magic would make of them. “I’ll ask. No promises though. We’re both really busy.”

She gave him a kind and cherishing smile. “Of course.”

They proceeded in idle chat for the better part of the evening. How was the rest of the family? (All his siblings stopped to say hello.) His young niece and nephew both were up past their bedtime, and would not go back to bed until they had heard a story from life at the Castle. Lance told them how Pidge was going to control a whole forest one day, and that their dear uncle was well on his way to becoming the most famous knight on Altea.

Once bidding his family good night, he switched off his tablet and set it on the nightstand. He got up and arched his back with a grimace, he’d not been sitting well during the long call.

Lance knocked on the door between his room and Pidge’s. Colleen answered, and neither of them needed anything. Pidge was on the recovery. She might be a bit groggier than usual in the morning, but would likely be herself by the afternoon.

Lance nodded, told her good night and the obligatory ‘wake me if you need anything’. He left the door closed, but unlocked, and tucked himself into bed.

He dreamt of Pidge. And himself. Together. Romantically.

Lance awoke hours before sunrise, his mother’s words echoing in his mind as he lay under the covers. That pretty smile. Pidge’s was infectious. Just thinking about it filled his chest with a warmth normally reserved for the fondest of memories. He thought to all the times thrived on making her happy, to see that smile. He wondered if she would be happy sharing a kiss with him. He envisioned her confident smirk softening as they embraced, soft lips on his own -  

This was bad. Friendship was one thing, but romantic feelings was an entire can of miniature weblums Lance did not want to open. He hadn’t lied to his mother but… what if this was it? His soulmate? What if Pidge didn’t feel the same way? What if he was wrong? That would make their professional relationship more than awkward.

He had until the afternoon to figure out what to do about it.

~~~~

“I quit.” A tablet containing the necessary transfer request form fell onto the desk with a thud.

Shiro’s jaw dropped, which would have been the most amusing thing if Lance hadn’t been so serious.

“Denied,” the Captain said seriously once he’d gathered his wits. He placed the tablet off to the side and cupped his hands on the desk in front of him. “Why?”

Lance sputtered, the response not what he had expected. “You can’t refuse me when I quit.”

“I can if it’s out of nowhere for no reason. You’re still under my command. Why?” he repeated.

A fake answer wouldn’t work. Shiro would know. Lance sighed with a frown, but then straightened up at attention. “I think I have romantic feelings for the Princess, Sir.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “I think the whole Castle knows about your crush on Allura.”

Lance’s straight face faltered. “Pidge.”

“…Pidge,” Shiro repeated slowly, face showing slow comprehension. “You think you have romantic feelings for Pidge.”

“Yes,” Lance agreed earnestly. “I’d like to stay at the Castle, I just want a reassignment. I can’t be Pidge’s bodyguard like this.”

He was already breaking social etiquette by hiding his powers, he couldn’t break another taboo.

Shiro sat back in his chair and considered, his sharp eyes burrowing as far as they could into Lance’s soul.

“The answer is still no,” Shiro finally told him, turning his attention back to his desk work. He grabbed the tablet with the transfer request and officially signed off to reject it. “I’ll do you a favor and not tell anyone you tried to quit.”

Lance’s eyes bulged. “You can’t!” He begged passionately. “I can’t be objective. It will drive me insane if I can’t say anything.”

“Talk to Pidge about it.”

“Talk to - Shiro do you know what you’re saying? If I do say something, what - what if she doesn’t feel the same?” Lance asked incredulously. “That would make things really awkward.”

“Look, Lance,” Shiro sighed and once again lay the tablet aside. He stood up and walked over to face his subordinate. “You’ve made a friend in the guardian of the lake, I trust your judgement,” he said compassionately. “That’s part of why I gave you this assignment in the first place. Your heart often works over your brain,” he placed his prosthetic hand over his own heart and then pointed to his head, “and that’s something that Pidge needs. Someone who is flexible and lets her breathe by not always following code to the letter. I really hate to transfer you when things are going so well.”

Lance shifted nervously, not this uncomfortable since his first day at training. “I can’t stop thinking about it, Shiro. I’ve never felt this way before. This isn’t something bodyguards are supposed to do.”

Shiro gave him a wry grin. “There are no rules against bonds of this kind between nobles - yes I’ve read your file and I know - so just do what comes naturally. If it becomes awkward, well, then we can talk. Until then though, I’m not letting you quit ”

Lance dropped his unvoiced protest and slumped his shoulders. “It’s really okay?”

Shiro gave him an encouraging smile. “I knew there was a slight chance something like this might happen. I wouldn’t have paired the two of you if I didn’t think you wouldn’t at least become close friends.”

Receiving the blessing, Lance finally smiled. “Didn’t you go through a full regiment before putting me on the job?”

He was given a glare for his troubles. “Back to work, Lieutenant.”

~~~~~

“Urgh, this place is a mess! I can’t believe I did all this while I was sick!”

Lance sat with an amused grin, chin propped up by the palm of his hand as he watched Pidge magically move overgrown plants back to their respective homes within her room.

She focused her magic on a juniberry flower the size of a pillow, trying to revert it back to a normal size. Even as the volume of plants decreased in the room, leaves and petals fell off and remained scattered across the floor. “It looks like the forest itself is in here,” Pidge moaned.

She was even more cute when flustered, Lance regretted thinking. Pidge had no idea of his internal dilemma and Lance intended to keep it that way at least for now.

This was different from his previous infatuations. Pidge had been a friend first and foremost after being his boss. Before telling her anything he wanted to be absolutely certain his feelings were genuine. If he was not sincere, his job and friendship would be ruined simultaneously. Shiro thought he was doing a good job, he didn’t want to betray that trust out of a false alarm.

“They wouldn’t have grown if you didn’t want them to,” he told her with a smirk. “Your mother was not happy that you were practicing magic while sick.”

Pidge glared at him. She collected the now much smaller flower and replanted it in it’s previously tipped over pot. “What about you? Did you do your exercises last night like I told you to?”

“I had other things on my mind,” he said neutrally. “Mom says hi by the way.”

“Oh,” Pidge said, anger quickly deflating. “Next time I promise to say hi to her myself.”

“The offer to visit the farm is still on the table,” he said.

“Not without knowing who is behind the drone,” she said resolutely. “I don’t want to get your family involved in this.”

Lance let the statement hang and Pidge went back to work. She cared so much, so passionately, and always finished what she set her mind to. It was inspiring, even if he couldn’t follow her talk on a tech level. Thanks to her tutelage, he was beginning to on a magical level.

He had a feeling this was a bond that was going to be near impossible to break. The only way to know was to ask. He just needed to find the perfect moment.

“Hey, let me try and help,” he said as he stood. “I can put my magic prowess to the test.”

Pidge put her hands on her hips, intrigued but not convinced. “What are you going to do to clean this up with water and ice?”

Lance grinned and summoned his magical energy to the surface. He reached out to a teapot full of water, slightly more volume than what he had been used to working with. Thanks to the more consistent practice, he found it easier to connect with than a small amount in a glass cup.

He bade the water to spread across the surface of the floor, picking up stray leaves as it moved the length of the room. Reaching the end, Lance stuck his tongue out in concentration and mimicked some hand movements he’d watched Pidge perform hundreds of times now. He rolled his wrists counterclockwise to the pale blue ball of light centered between his palms and the water filled with leaves and stems responded in kind. It swirled up into a ball and he moved it closer to Pidge so she could see the feat in its fully glory.

Lance turned to Pidge with a smirk. “They are all yours, Princess. Where would you like them?”

Pidge blinked rapidly at his words, as if she had been in a trance. Lance swelled with pride that he had done something impressive. Perhaps this would be a good time to approach her regarding his newfound feelings for her, at least she would look on him more favorably than normal, hopefully leading to a more positive result.

He soon mirrored her sudden frown as Pidge summoned her magic in equal measure.

“I’ll take them from here,” she said, gaining a smirk, that confident smirk that made Lance’s heart skip a beat. A light green energy outlined each plant part and one by one they floated magically into a giant bag, ready to be taken out for decomposition.

Lance found it was his turn to gape. “How did you do that? Those are dead parts! I thought you had to ask plants for permission?”

Finished, Pidge regarded him with a smirk. “It takes more energy and concentration. You’ve seen me play with leaves before.”

“Yes, but - “

Lance didn’t get a chance to finish as he lost his own concentration, sending his sphere of warm water all over Pidge.

Pidge stood in astonishment, raising her arms stiffly in disbelief as the fabric of her dress clung closer to her and water dripped from her sleeves. She glared at him. “I hope you have the energy to pick all of that up.”

Lance bit his lip. The outward manifestation of his magic flickered to nothingness and he grinned at her sheepishly, twiddling his thumbs.

Perhaps this was not the right time to have a conversation about their relationship.

[richiebilleddie]

“Are you hurt?” stozier because this ship needs all the love and appreciation

an/ i had a lot of fun writing this, it’s cute. i hope you like it! also left vague for a reason (Certainly not because i’m too lazy to write a full fledged back story..cough) reblogs are always appreciated

if you want to be on my tag list, send an ask here

word count: 1510

summary: When Stan opens his eyes, his bed is cold and the sun is glittering in through the curtains. 

When Stan opens his eyes, his bed is cold and the sun is glittering in through the curtains. He throws his arm out in search of Richie’s warmth and instead finds the cool fabric of his sheets. The blanket was pulled back and the pillow rumpled, so he knew he hadn’t somehow conjured the night before up like a wistful dream.

    He sits up after a minute of lying still and blinking away the sleep. The sight of Richie’s phone still charging on his dresser and his shoes by the bedroom door causes an invisible pressure to lift from his shoulders, a sense of relief swamping his loose and now relaxed body.

    The events of the night before replayed in his mind, and Stan folded his arms around his knees and tucked his chin into his chest; his eyes clenching shut like the picture would come clearly to him. Even if he was urgently wishing for a comprehensible illusion, the small details were lost on him and the bigger picture was impossible to miss.

    Richie, an important person in his life, was irrefutably someone he couldn’t function without. Sure, he’d live if Richie were to leave Derry, but things wouldn’t be the same. Which is why when the said man came in without knocking in the middle of the night, crying like he had lost everything important to him, Stan was distressed and had rolled off his couch without a second thought. He’d be worried if any of his friends came to him in such a state. But Richie was different, different in a way that Stan didn’t like to think about but knew one day would need to be faced.

    Richie had stopped crying long enough to explain to Stan what happened. His entire body trembled while he retold his story, how Bowers and his gang had cornered him in the alley way he used often as a shortcut. Richie refused to go into explicit detail, and there was no need. Stan understood, even if in the back of his mind wonderment took over. Curiosity wasn’t his main suit but he couldn’t help the desire to know what Henry did that had Richie so shaken up. But his main concern was making sure Richie wasn’t internally bleeding or something akin.

    “Are you hurt?” he inquired, gaze flickering over Richie’s body in search of visible wounds. Richie’s split and bloodied lip seemed painful, and the way he held his arm against his chest suggested something was damaged.There were no extra perceptible lacerations that he could see, but that didn’t mean anything when it came to Henry Bowers.

While he searched, Stan moved to his bathroom to gather the first aid kit. In his haste to grab it, he knocked it over and the contents spilt out. “Shit,” he muttered to himself, carefully placing everything neatly back into the red carton with shaking hands. Being alone with Richie frightened him just a little. Having to focus only on one person rather than six, and the person being Richie, was beginning to force him to think about his feeling rather than ignore them. It wasn’t that he was scared of having a crush on Tozier, but being gay never seemed like an option to him. He forcibly pushed those thoughts away, refocusing on the task at hand.

    In the time it took for him to grab the kit, Richie stripped himself of his shirt and made himself home at the end of Stan’s bed. Even though he wasn’t shedding tears anymore, he still looked visibly upset. Something in Stan’s stomach was eating at him, and he wanted nothing more than to console his distressed friend.

“Are you hurt?” he repeated more urgently, dropping the first aid kit on the bed. He clumsily climbed on as well, sitting cross legged behind Richie, and tore through the contents, looking for bandages and ointment.

“Just sore.” Richie slurred, expression one of tiredness. He cast his eyes downward, avoiding Stan’s eyes like the plague. Stan took notice, but elected to ignore the hurt blooming like a flower in his chest. How he felt didn’t matter.

Now that Richie was shirtless and he was closer, Stan saw bruises and scrapes littering his back.

“Did he throw you to the ground, Rich?” Stan’s voice became considerably softer with empathy, and he lifted his fingertips to slowly run them down the rough patches of bloodied skin. Richie jerked his shoulder, hissing, and Stan pulled away, muttering a quick “sorry.”

“That, then he kicked me a few times with that- that damn steel toe boot.” he snorted listlessly, sounding strained. It was obvious to Stan that he was in more discomfort than he was letting on. Stan wondered if Richie had a broken rib.

The two of them sat in silence as Stan worked on bandaging Richie up. He winced in pain occasionally, but otherwise, the quiet was thundering. Stan barely thought about anything besides getting Henry back (somehow) and helping Richie. His stomach was in knots, and his jaw was clenched. But Stan knew trying to fight Henry of all people solved nothing. Actually, it created more problems for them all.

Still, he wished he could do something.

When he finished, he helped Richie into a clean, considerably less damaged shirt. “You’re staying here tonight, and tomorrow we go to the police.”

“No!” Richie became shrill and panic stricken. “I- I mean, I’ll stay here, but w-we can’t, okay? We can’t go to the police. Please, don’t ask me why.” he added hastily when Stan’s face changed into one of anger and confusion, and his words left a heavy feeling hanging over the room like a cloud.

“I don’t understand, Henry used you as a punching bag, and you don’t want to file a report?”

“No! Please- just, Stan, please. Don’t make me. ” Richie begged him. He’d never felt such an intense need to escape. He wouldn’t though, wouldn’t dream of running away from Stan. Out of all his friends, Stan was the one he walked to. Eddie’s house had been closer, and he could have easily gone there, but he wanted Stan. he hadn’t pursued the thought of going to another Loser’s house, instead making his way straight to Stan’s. Everything hurt so badly. Never in his life had he wanted to tell someone something so terribly, but his throat locked up and his vocal chords ceased to exist in his throat. The vulnerability of his situation didn’t escape either of them- Richie wanted the shirt he now wore to swallow him up.

Stan searched his face for something, anything to give away his motivation. He found nothing and averted his gaze, seemingly giving up the fight. “Okay, but we’re talking more about this tomorrow.”

Stan came back to the present. Richie was in his doorway, looking every bit as disheveled as he did the night before. He offered no words but a kind, albeit pained and crooked, smile.

“Thought you left.” Stan was the first to break the engulfing quietude, folding his fingers together nervously. Richie took notice and stepped further into the room, curly black hair falling forward in his face and making him look nervous. Stan thought that he looked adorably rumpled and messy, a thought which didn’t shock him but caused him to turn pink.

Richie lifted his leg and sat next to Stan, reaching over to take the other man’s hand in his own. Stan’s palm was warm and smooth, contrastingly opposite of his rough and calloused hand. “You should know by now I wouldn’t leave without saying something first. Especially after last night.”

Stan bit his cheek hard, heart rate ticking faster. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from his hand in Richie’s.

“I do.” Stan said absentmindedly and noncommittally, drifting away in his mind. A daydream about Richie formed, RichieRichieRichie, Richie this and Richie that. He longed for something, anything, from Richie.

A beat or two passed, during which Richie flew high with the immense feeling of want lodged in his chest. He found it suddenly hard to sit still, leg bouncing and fingers tapping on his knee cap. Kissing Stan seemed like a good idea, and consequences disappeared from his mind. He pulled his hand from Stan’s and used it to cup his face, leaning in without much thought. Their lips touched, softly and initially insecure. Stan pulled away first, but only for a second and only to take off Richie’s glasses. When they were safely folded and set on his night table, he leaned back into Richie’s arms and they kissed more desperately. Neither considered what they were doing, it just felt nice.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Richie breathed into Stan’s mouth, tugging him closer so their chests were touching. It stung his ribs, but Richie didn’t care.

Stan wasn’t thinking, and he was glad so. If he thought too hard, he might ruin the moment. Richie was kissing him, kissing him, and it was all his brain could process. They’d deal with everything else later.

tag list: @oureddiekaspbrak @prettyblossoms @god-tiering-sucks

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score Ch. 17 Little Lies

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above?

Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Oh oh, I don’t know…...

Well, I've been 'fraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder

Landslide - Fleetwood Mac

Groot was proving to be a much welcome distraction from the ongoing trouble with the Nova Corps. Thus far they had outmaneuvered two more convoys of ships, Peter rightly refusing to engage with them no matter how much Drax wanted to attack. They’d finally found a jump port bringing them to safety and despite Peter’s tries he had not been able to contact Nova Prime or Dey.

“Can you say slarg nut?” Gamora held the tiny nut between her fingers, just out of Groot’s reach. The flora giggles and strained his small arms,

“I am Groot!”

She listened intently, there is a difference, I just can’t tell what, she tried to think how the phrasing was any different from the previous words she’d asked him to say.

“One more time Groot, say slarg nut, slower this time.”

Groot pouted, pulling one foot out of the soil and reaching forward for the food.

“One more time, I’m trying to understand you, say slarg nut.”

“I AM GROOT!”

This time it at least sounded the same, though more inpatient.

“I’ll assume you said it,” Gamora popped the little nut into his waiting mouth and couldn’t help but smile down at him as he gobbled. “I’ll get it eventually, I promise!”

“I am Groot!”

“You want more?” She guessed, reaching into the bag and pulling out another nut.

“I am Groot!!”

That was definitely a ‘more’ It didn’t sound like a “more,” rather it was understood to be a “more.” From what little Gamora had picked up from the flora, it wasn’t the words he said that were different but the way they were said and the way they were understood, the way they felt. “To understand Groot” - she’d pulled up the info from a database of Asguardian lessons on languages across the Galaxy-was not to learn the words but to understand the context and the individual or group you were speaking with.” Very different from the Kree language Thanos had drilled into her, Kree was direct, clear, easy enough to understand once you knew the words.

“I am Groot!”

“Okay, but just one more or you’ll spoil your dinner.”

Gamora handed him another nut, beaming as the little wooden fingers curled around her own. Warm and rough and so fragile.

“Do you want more water?”

“I am Groot!”

She nodded, understanding that he said he had enough.

At least I accomplished something good today.

“Any luck?” She stood as Peter walked into the kitchen, brow furrowed.

“I’m trying to hack into the Nova coms system so I can reach Dey directly. Are those slarg nuts?”

Gamora handed him the bag, despite Groot’s whines for more.

“I’ll get it eventually,” he sighed. “I just hope I do it before they send another squad after us.”  Gamora nodded, the sense of danger and paranoia crashing over her once more.

“Any read on Rocket or Nebula?”

“Not yet.”

Peter ran a hand down his face, rubbing his eyes.

“I’ve looked at the radar for the escape pods and we haven’t lost them yet, we’re still headed in the right direction but there hasn’t been any signal or coordinates. Just visuals.”

“Better than nothing,” he shrugged, giving another nut to Groot who squealed in delight.

“You’re going to spoil his appetite,” Gamora admonished. “He still needs the second round of trellian grow.”

“Was it twice a day? Rocket didn’t leave me instructions.”

Of course he didn't!

“I am Groot?”

The little flora’s smile fell suddenly, looking with large brown eyes between the two of them.

“What’s that bud?” Peter asked.

“I...am..Groot?”

The human man looked at her for help but Gamora only looked at the baby, trying to read his tiny face.

“I AM GROOT?” He  cried, clearly frustrated. Sap began to fill his eyes.

“I think he wants Rocket,” she guessed. “Is that what you want? Rocket?” Though the name tasted like bitter ash in her mouth, she was not about to let Groot suffer for her own anger. The tree baby in question nodded through his cries, a new bubble of sap now running from his nose.

“Rocket went on a little trip, remember?” Peter tried. “He’ll be back soon.”

“I AM GROOT!!” Groot reached down, gathering fistfuls of dirt from his pot and throwing them at the two of them.

“Groot no! Stop!” Peter tried to be forceful.

“Will you quiet that irksome ficus?!”

Drax awoke from his routine nap and lumbered into the kitchen area.

“I’m trying!” Gamora watched Peter dodge another clump of soil, only for it to miss his face and land on his chest.

“You may be a good couple but you are both terrible adoptive parents. I hope you never procreate.”

Gamora waited for Groot to pick up more dirt and grabbed him, kicking and shrieking for Rocket. She held him against her shoulder, trying to steady him.

“Drax Peter and I aren’t a….” she glanced at Peter cautiously. In truth she didn’t know what they were. Something between friendship and something else. An unspoken thing, she supposed. Groot’s wail cut her off from finishing the thought.

“When will the puny animal return? He needs his father.”

Groot’s little fingers hit lamely against Gamora’s shoulder, drumming into her skin.

“Rocket isn’t his father,” Peter explained, the mention of Rocket's name only made Groot cry harder. Gamora rolled her eyes. “They aren’t biologically related. You know that right? It’s really important to me that you know that.”

“Give me those slarg nuts, I am famished.” The destroyer grabbed the bag from Peter, tipping his head back and inhaling the rest of the snacks. Then crossed over to Gamora, hands out. She gratefully relinquished the baby.

“Stop this at once,” Drax held Groot out at arms length. “Rocket will return but we do not know when. So you must be strong and behave until he comes back.”

Drax must’ve been some parent, Gamora exchanged a glance with Peter.

“If you continue this tantrum  you will not have any more snacks. But if you are good I will let you play with my ukillian knife. It is very dangerous and not for children but you enjoy dangerous things so I will concede. Do we have an agreement?”

Whether out of fear or comprehension Groot sniffled, nodding. Drax’s stern frown broke into a warm smile.

“Good. Now do not be dishonorable and break this….”

For whatever reason Groot burst into angry tears again.

“Well, I tried.” Drax shrugged, dropping Groot on the table.

Beep, beep...beep,  Gamora turned, looking down the hall towards the flight deck. Beep, beep, beep the nearly imperceptible noise sounded among Groot’s screaming.

“Guys,”

“Dude you can’t just drop a baby!”

“Why not! I was dropped countless times as a child and I turned out perfect.”

“Yeah, you sure did.”

“Peter! Drax!” Gamora snapped, even Groot sniffled and looked at her, “

“That’s the pods.”

She took off down the ship’s main corridor to the flight deck, running to the escape pod locator and examined the screen, looking at the planet that illuminated the screen and the coordinates leading there.

No…

“What planet is that?”

Gamora’s throat went dry, tongue heavy in her mouth.  A million thoughts flooding through her mind.

“It’s….Ha..Halfword,” her voice broke at the thought.

“What’s Halfworld?” Peter asked.  Gamora ignored him, that’s impossible. Rocket would never go to that place on his own volition. The people who stopped me, they must have captured him. Or...Nebula must have sold him to them. A shiver went through her, the cybernetics in her face and arms twinged. The device they had given her still sat in her quarters. We should leave Rocket there. It’s what he deserves for what he’s done. No! NO! I am not that evil. I am NOT. I refuse to be.  But she  built her whole existence around Thanos and his whims. A method of survival, conscious or not.  She had built her life around him and his voice, his desires still spoke to her. Her worse impulses stoked by his torture still surfaced. Maybe she was beginning to change but it would take time...time she could not spare now.

Drax’s large footfalls followed them, Groot on his shoulder.

“Groot,” Peter asked, turning to the little flora. “Do you know what Halfworld is?”

“How would Groot know where that is?” Gamora snapped, “he’s not the same Groot. We’ve known Rocket longer than he has.”

“Oh,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck with a cute, embarrassed grin. “Right, so uh, do you know what Halfworld is?”

“There are many horrors in the galaxy little one.” Thanos had said to her, after she watched him kill an innocent skrull. “The merciless storms of Evay, the battle slaves of the Kree, the corrupt politicians of Terra,  the fire dancers of Yrekret, the experiments of Halfworld. All are evil. That is why we must cleanse the galaxies.”

“It’s where Rocket was made,” she explained shortly. Please don’t let him ask anymore questions. She didn’t want to talk about origins anymore. Not her’s or Rocket’s.

“I recognize that place.”

Gamora turned to Drax who stood resigned, arms folded.

“What about it?” She asked tentatively, it’s alright. You can tell us...but you do not have to if you don’t want to, she did her best to tell him with her eyes.

“When I was seeking revenge, I traveled many places across the galaxy and hired my services in battle and mercenary work. I once came across a creature who was made in that place. She had cybernetics on her head and more wiring that I saw when I split her skull. She was a formidable foe.”

Gamora bit her tongue. How many creatures had been tortured there? And worst of all, what if Thanos had some part in it? His evil knew no bounds.

“Well,” Peter began slowly, “that’s disturbing.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” She implored, “anything about who that creature was? How they made her? Why they made her?”

“Oh, no. She only said she was from Halfworld. And that she was sold away from there to be a fighter. She was horrendous to look at.”

 Drax continued but she hardly listened, studying the image on the console. The other pod is on some unmarked keystone in the third sector.  Nebula must have either hitched a ride to Halfworld after selling him or she’s still on that rock. If Nova ships are patrolling looking for us they’ll find her and she’ll tell them anything.

“Gamora, Gamora?”

“What?” She looked up, surveying Drax, Groot and Peter. The three of them stared at her with confusion.

“What are we doing?” Peter asked. “We gotta go after them, or...one of them at least.”

“Nebula is trying to kill you,” Drax put in. “We should go after her and subdue…”

“We’re getting Rocket,” she decided, jaw set.

“But…” Peter began, looking at her with a mix of “are you sure,” and “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Gamora nodded, as much to confirm it with him as herself.

“We’re going after him.”

If I were brought back to Thanos, her skin prickled with the thought.

“What about Nebula?”

“Nebula can wait,” Gamora strode to the pilot seat and flipped on the navigation. “Where’s the nearest jump?’

“Twenty seven lengths away,” Peter instructed. The jump port he selected blinked on the screen and Gamora guided the ship forward.

“I am Groot!”

“Yes we’re going to get Rocket,” Gamora answered, thrusting the ship forward. Her hands tightened around the grips, curled knuckle white. Her rage mixed with a torpor of fear as they sailed through the keystone quadrant.

This is cruel, even for Nebula. Rocket should be punished for what he did, but not like this. NOT like this. She’d dealt him the blows he’d deserved and was nowhere near forgiving him, but Halfworld was different.

“I’m going to try to hack Nova coms again,” Peter stood up. She could tell by his footfalls but did not take her eyes from the sky.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’ll be fine...oh dammit Drax! You have to actually strap him into the seat with a seatbelt!”

“I am Groot!”

“I did try! That contraption is cumbersome. I could not get the belt to click!”

Gamora flew the ship but mustered a small laugh sparing a look over her shoulder at Peter futilely trying to secure the baby flora. Drax is wrong, he would make a good parent. He’s just as much a dad to Groot as any of us. Even more so than Rocket as of late.

“There, haha! I got it! Hell yeah! You stay there Groot!”

Peter triumphantly fist-bumped at the air and took off down the hall.

“I am Groot?”

“We’ll get there when we get there.” Gamora answered, there’s the jump point!  “Everyone hold on!” The Benatar surged upward through the narrow invisible space between a cluster of stars.

CRASSH!!

“OWWWW!”

“Peter I said hold on!”

“I’m okay!”

Gamora shook her head, holding her breath, bracing for the stomach dropping feeling of momentum. No matter how many times I go through a jump, I never get used to the feeling. She steadied the ship as it reached the other side. Nothing but stars and keystones all around them.

“Drax how close are we?”

“Not far,” he answered.

“Hello? Dey! Dey it’s Peter Quill!”

Gamora hit the autopilot, finally.

“Drax, call me when we get there, we’ll want to approach slowly.”

She raced down the steps to the communication controls. Leaning over Peter’s shoulder to look at the hologram of Denarian Dey.

“Listen Dey, my man, we gotta talk.”

The officer’s usually pleasant face frowned.

“I’ll say. I’ve been hearing reports for weeks.You’ve been accused of killing Nova officers and destroying ships! Do you know what I had to do to get your records expunged?”

“We…”

“I know you saved our planet, and we’re totally grateful for that, but murdering!” He sucked his breath in rage. Face nearly red.

“Dey,” Gamora leaned forward. “Dey, we know this is bad. It was a misunderstanding. It wasn’t us. We heard reports that there were Halfworlders around the Keystone quadrant, we were tracking them down but...it was too late. We saw the aftermath of the wrecked ships and the officers, Dey I’m so sorry.”

Even in the form of a hologram the Nova officer bit his lip, looking down at something out of their view.

Peter raised a brow with confusion,

“What are you doing?!” He whispered, panicked, “we can’t lie to the Nova Corps! They were probably transmitting all the auto from their ships and visuals, they’ll know it's us! Even if they didn’t, they aren’t gonna believe us! We have to come clea…”

“There have been reports of Halfworlders around, we’ve been unable to locate them.” Dey finally spoke, fingers rubbing his temples, Gamora read the exhaustion on his face plain as day.

“We picked up their radar too. They’re after one of our companions. That’s why we were tracking them. They probably knew you were after them too and didn’t take any chances.”

“Rekal,” Nova swallowed, refusing to look at them, “Officer Rekal he….he had this throat torn out...we found him shredded still in his seat on his ship.”

“Probably one of their crazy monsters,” Peter jumped in on the spot, a little too much of a giveaway for Gamora’s liking. “That’s what they did on that planet right? Illegal experimentation?”

Dey nodded, the lines on his face grave. A twinge of sympathy hit Gamora, it wasn’t his fault the corps wanted to keep tabs on them. Dey’s always been someone we can count on. It was his superiors who were after her.   If there’s any hope for forgiveness after the things I’ve done for my own superior...Thanos, I can’t blame Dey.

“Do you have any evidence?” He asked, composing himself. “Any discarded weapons or parts of their ship? Any tracers?”

The device they gave me, Gamora pictured it still lying on her cot.

“I’ll be right back.”

She fetched the device from her bed, holding it with apprehension and showed it to Dey.

“They left this,” she held it up carefully. The Nova officer nodded.

“Any chance you can send it our way?”

“We tried,” Gamora lied perfectly. “But it wouldn’t go through. We can send you scans though, we’ll get them to you soon.” Dey agreed, smiling good naturedly.

“Very well.”

“Now that this is all cleared up,” Peter began in earnest, “mind telling everyone what happened and calling off your guys?”

Gamora watched the man’s face decide, going back and forth with uncertainty finally breathing a sigh of relief when he grinned,

“I’ll let them know. We look forward to getting those scans and try not to get into any more trouble okay? I can only do so much.”

“Of course Dey. We are so sorry for your loss, please extend our condolences. If we come across them again we’ll bring them straight to you.”

Dey saluted them and clicked the comms off, hologram fuzzing out and then gone altogether. The tense silence hung over the lies she’d told. Peter ran his hands down his face, laughing wildly and leapt up, bringing her into a bear hug.

“Oh my god that was amazzzzing! You were so good! I’ve told likes before sure but that?! That was…! Wow you sure you never considered being a ravager?”  She threw her head back, laughing as Peter spun her around, dizzy, exhilarating.

“You learn how to lie well when you work for Thanos.”

Peter beamed, setting her down.

“I could...I could kiss you!”

Yes! No….no not….not yet...I...I can’t… the impulse was there but reason demanded otherwise. It wouldn’t be right to give him false hope. If she kissed him now it would only be for the thrill of the moment, with no meaning behind it. Instead she hugged him, head resting on his shoulder for a moment. Savoring his steady presence. A warm hand patted  the back of her shoulder,

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I can wait.”

“You might be waiting a long time,” she answered.

“I’m part ancient whosie whats it remember? That probably means I got some sweet life extending powers. I can wait a long, long time.” Gamora’s lips tugged into a smile but she forced herself out of his hold, nice as it was.

“Gamora! Quill!” Drax bellowed from above, “I see the place that is called Halfworld but there is something wrong.”

Gamora raced up to the flight deck, sword out and ready.

“What is it?!”

“This planet,” Drax gestured out the window, “it is not half of a world. It is an entirely round and complete planet.” Gamora followed where he pointed and sheathed her weapon. Halfworld loomed over them like a vast ominous creature. Half of the planet was covered in purple tinted forest, unbroken and almost fuzzy looking at this altitude. Millions and millions of trees. The other side, barren. A sickly grey, dotted with buildings of vast shapes and sizes, many of them dilapidated and in different stages of decay. Storehouses and bunkers and ships, all strewn to pieces.

“What happened here….?” Peter’s mouth hung open looking out the windows.

“I am Groot,” Groot piped up, face twisting up into fear. His large eyes watched transfixed as they descended. He let out a small whine, she looked down to see the little flora clinging to her leg, fingers trembling.

“Shhh Groot it’s okay,” she picked him up and he burrowed into her chest, crying. Maybe he does remember this place, she guessed. Even if it was some vestigial memory. He may not even know why he’s scared.  Gamora gently patted the baby’s back, swaying back and forth.

“Peter, get our weapons ready. Drax, be wary headed in.”

“This place is abandoned! I see no one to fight. This is quite disappointing.”

“We don’t know that,” Gamora hissed pushing the lever for the landing gear. They’d come in just on the line of the two halves of the planet. They continued to descend, the surface of the planet becoming more detailed.

Are those…? Gamora squinted, ….bodies. Some of them charred, others with bullet wounds, scratches, that one has it’s face peeled off. They’re all….decaying or just bones….

In her other arm Groot cried with mounting distress, his whole body shaking.

We should've come here….

The Benatar touched down forcefully, the walls rattling.  

No, we're here now. No turning back. Brace yourself. Breathe….in...out….good. This is not the realm of Thanos. This is not your nightmares. Breathe...for Groot...for Peter....for Rocket.

Gamora passed Groot gently to Peter and gathered her weapons.

“I got this too,” Peter held up the device the Halfworlders had given her. Gamora reached out, taking it with a sweating hand and looked at it with reproach.

It might come in handy.

She locked it into her belt next to her daggers and swords.

“We go in, we get Rocket, we leave. Got it?”

Drax and Peter nodded, Groot gave a soft sniffling whimper.

“I….I am G...Groot?”

Gamora shuttered, hair raising on her spine and pressed the release button for the exit ramp. This time she’d understood the quivering flora loud and clear.

“Yes Groot….they do hurt people here.”

They hurt lots of people everywhere.  Thanos whispered in the recesses of her mind. You must hurt them back.