#reader knows how to fight

[crystalflygeo]

Safeword. ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: a bit of anxiety/panic attack, bit of dirty talk but it's all praise, bit of nipple play and fingering, safeword use, bondage (tied arms, blindfold) hurt/comfort, aftercare, just reader in general dealing with negative feelings but being comforted PLEASE BE WARNED IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. READ THE TAGS.

notes: I literally just woke up and wrote this in a rush in my phone lmao what. Listen my mood jumps between depressed and horny and I've always loved safeword use and aftercare done right, it is very important and intimate. Also who doesn't want Zhongli softly soothing and kissing them? I almost made this gender neutral reader but I ended up being self indulgent so sorry.

Everything felt hot, too hot, but not in a good way. It was... sticky, ah, uncomfortable.

You squirm a little, shifting on your legs until you feel Zhongli's hands slowly caress your skin, making you shiver. His breath fans your neck "Good girl.” He mumbles at your shoulder, and kisses there.

Yes, this was fine. This is what you wanted, to just let go and release that pent up energy.

Right?

"Hmm... you've been so stressed lately, darling, haven't you?" His strong hands start massaging and kneading at your shoulders and you groan, it feels pretty good.

Until one of his palms lowers to your chest and starts playing with one of your nipples and you hiss. It hardens under his attention, sure, but feels... odd, it kind of hurts.

You shift again awkwardly, and the rope holding your wrists together digs into your skin.

You don't know what's wrong but something is. You don't feel the same lightheadedness as usual, in fact you're hyperaware, parted lips panting but the pressure is not on your lower belly, it’s at your chest instead. It feels cold, empty, oppressive.

Your hands clench into fists and you whimper.

Zhongli kisses around your chest down to your navel and that feels good too, tender, loving. His voice soothes you, even though you feel oddly disconnected.

"You look so beautiful my dear, laid out like this."

Did you really? The anxiety starts gnawing at you, body tense. Your mind is far away, going over some dumb mistake you made some days ago, some stupid thing you said last week...

You've been so frustrated lately, feeling sad, and angry, and disappointed and-

Zhongli's thumb circles over your clit and you gasp and keen, hips jerking on reflex.

Oh. That felt good, but-

But then why did you feel so wrong?

"Z-Zhongli." You hiccup. Voice wobbly, you feel your eyes start to water. What is wrong with you? You're suffocating. Choked up. Sweaty and awkward and-

His fingers dip inside you and you clench on them, crying out.

"Fuck... Y/N you're so tight." He rasps.

It's too much, you can't, you can't-

"Hng r-red. Red!"

In an instant you feel the mattress dip and shift with his weight as Zhongli quickly takes off your blindfold, and just like that the damn breaks. You start crying and hyperventilating as he curses and immediately frees your hands.

"Y/N, my love, are you alright? I'm so sorry." He starts, and though his voice is leveled as ever you can feel the slight stutter of panic. "It's alright, everything is okay, I'm sorry."

You shake your head, crying into your hands, you want to tell him it's not him. It's never him. But words fail you, you breath stutters.

You know he won't touch you without explicit permission, so you lean into him, your smaller frame trembling as you press closer to his chest. You need this. You need him.

"May I embrace you darling?" You nod frantically and feel his arms curl around you just so slightly, as to not make you feel trapped. One of his hands sweeps your hair over your shoulder and starts rubbing circles on your back, soft. "Is this alright?" He asks.

You nod and try to find your voice again "S-sorry. Sorry... don't k-know... wh-what's wrong."

Zhongli shushes you gently. "Please my love breathe, focus on calming down, slowly. It's ok. Just breathe. I'm so glad you used your safeword. You did well."

You placed a hand at your chest feeling your fast paced heartbeat and trying to calm down a little, regulating your breathing, leaning onto his comfortable touch and words.

You made Zhongli worry, you panicked out of nowhere and still don't know why, you feel dumb, needy, annoying. "S-sorry I'm-" You sob. "Don't know what's wrong...” You repeat unable to find words to express that creeping cold numb feeling that took hold you. “Please d-don't be upset." You add quietly.

You hear him sigh, his hand never stopping tracing soft shapes on your skin. "May I kiss you?" He asked instead and you gave a weak nod. Zhongli planted a soft kiss on your hair, on your forehead. "My dear, I would never be upset. I love you. I'd never wish to make you uncomfortable, I'm sorry I didn't notice in time." Zhongli sighs again, heavy. "But right now, I need you to calm down, you don't have to explain or apologize at all, what matters is that you're safe, and I'm here for you for anything you need."

Your eyes flutter close and minutes pass by while he holds you, whispering sweet nothings, your breathing calming down to a steady rhythm. You place a small fleeting kiss against his shoulder and he replied by nuzzling at the top of your head. After a while, you shift and look up at him, red puffy eyes staring at his beautiful cor lapis ones.

"Better?" He asks, swiping his thumb over your cheek tenderly. You nod. "Would you like to eat something? Or I can prepare a bath for you?"

Oh he's so doting, your heart flutters. "Zhongli I'm- I'm sorry I didn't want to make you worry." You can see he's holding back from objecting again but lets you continue. "It's just... I've been so stressed lately and I thought, if we... played... I could let out all that. I-It did feel good! But then it was just... too much. I don't know." You avert your gaze. “It wasn’t you I promise, I just got overwhelmed and everything felt… wrong.”

Zhongli caresses your cheek with his knuckles softly "As I said, you have nothing to apologize for dear, and I'm glad you spoke up. I'd be happy to offer you whatever support you want and take care of you. You're beautiful, hardworking, strong, kind, and I love you."

You feel your cheeks heat slightly and let out a small smile. You're truly literally blessed to have him. "C-Can I... take you up on that bath offer?"

He chuckles, and it's so refreshing. "Of course." He kisses you again and you nuzzle into his touch this time.

"I love you too, Zhongli. Thank you."

[naffeclipse]

*Turns Y/N into a naga and turns to the Serpent Den bois*

Come get y’all juice!

Oh no, not Y/N's legs again! Anyways—

They would fall to the ground and feel their lower half twist and twine in confusion. How do they use this thing? It's so long and scaley! They're panicking! Every naga within the jungle is booking it to Y/N's location. They are screaming in confusion, and every snake suitor intends to save* them from this predicament!

*save is subject to each naga's personal desires

[thatuselesshuman]

For motivation's sake...

Imma do one of those posts like "for every # of notes I'll do ____" but for writing

10 notes — 100 words in my WIP

25 notes — a new chapter posted in Bloody Hands Are Kind

50 notes — 2000 words in a work of my choosing

100 notes — 4000 words in a work of my choosing

150 notes — 2 back to back chapters of Bloody Hands are Kind (back to back: 2 chapters in 2 days)

200 notes — finish first chapter of my WIP

If this gets anymore notes (it probably won't) I'll reblog with higher "rewards"

Spam allowed if you have the time, comments reblogs and likes all count

All "reward" things will be posted under the tag "writer note challenge" for proof

[hiimawarish]

laws of attraction

s. alhaitham has solved many enigmas, except you. cw. mutual pining? kind of? fluff. a lil romantic tension. implied academic rivals. tw. none. not proofread. wc. 0.69k a/n. i was getting ready for bed, the first sentence popped up in my mind, and here we are. i have no excuse. credits. dividers by @/cafekitsune.

There were not many things Alhaitham struggled to understand.

From his focus on linguistics and ancient languages to his almost obsessive pursuit of knowledge in other areas such as physics, he had discovered from a young age that his mind was gifted. No book was too advanced for him. No lecture too complicated or dense. Alhaitham’s life had been overcome with a thirst for knowledge that he had never quite quenched, or perhaps he had never been truly interested in satiating it. 

Whatever the reason, the truth remained that Alhaitham had found fewer challenges the more he studied. Be it Kaveh’s emotional outbursts or the inefficiency of his classmates, Alhaitham was unfazed. Keeping to himself was more a second nature than a habit by now—as natural as breathing, as reading.

It allowed him fewer failures. Not that they were ever abundant.

Unless it came to you, that is.

“Struggling?” His voice left him in his usual stoic manner, and yet the flash of anger in your eyes did not go unnoticed. Although subtle, if one were to pay close attention to his face, they’d notice the slight curve on his lips—a smile. “Which book?”

“Shut up.”

An amused chuckle left him at your words whispered in anger. The heat gathered in your cheeks at the sound, shame spreading to your ears and down into your neck and cleavage, hidden from his eyes under the Akademiya’s uniform. His laughter, though short, seemed to anger you even more—Alhaitham had discovered, quite quickly, that any sound coming from him seemed to have that effect. Even when he was merely offering his help to reach the book that you not-so-gracefully had been trying to get for the past ten minutes.

In spite of your mumbled, aggressive words, Alhaitham stretched his arm. His fingers traced the spine of a few books—linguistics in context, a comparison in-depth of language evolution around Teyvat, a compilation of ancient runes—until he finally got to the one he was sure you needed. He plucked it out from the shelf, admiring the familiar cover for a few seconds, before handing it to you.

“I never said I needed this.” You replied stubbornly. 

You were always too fast to refuse his help. That was his fault, according to Kaveh, but Alhaitham disagreed. Giving you fake praise on that draft you presented him on your first day of class would have been a disservice to you, and yet you had been far too prideful. Now you avoided his help—him—like the plague. 

Alhaitham glanced once toward the table you had been sitting at, an arrangement of old textbooks, reports, and scribbled notes surrounding your space. He turned his eyes to you, a questioning look that told you the answer was obvious. You did need it. You did need the comparative essay on how language had shaped Sumeru’s two faces. 

You were, still, too prideful, it seemed.

“You do, actually.” He placed the book on your table, dismissively. “It’s a primary source, shouldn’t you know that?”

A stubborn silence on your part is all he received. 

Alhaitham sighed. “It seems I overestimated your common sense. Or lack-there-of.”

He should leave. He knew that—his rationality screamed at him to stop bothering, to take your words at face value, and just leave you alone. But he couldn’t. Whether he relished in provoking you or simply saw you as an enigma that he needed to understand, he couldn’t tell. 

“See? You’re an idiot.” You nudged him angrily, ineffectual fists hitting his chest. Some other students had stopped, looking curiously at your exchange—usually, the attention would bother him, but he was too focused on you. On your scrunched-up nose, your furrowed brows, your lips pressed together in a thin, tempting line. “If you’re here just to make fun of me, leave. I’m sure you have far better and more important things to do.”

He sighed, though his lips curved in a subtle smile—he was familiar with facts, concrete information, but you seemed to be too abstract for him to grasp. The only thing Alhaitham knew for sure was that you were a magnet.

And he understood the laws of attraction too well to fight.

more works.

©2023 hiimawarish do not translate, repost, copy, modify

[striving-artist]

Turns out one of the most incredibly gifted fic authors I have ever had the pleasure of reading deleted because they were getting hate and vitriol.

so first off, don't do that. Ever. There is nothing a person can do to a character in a fictional story that justifies you being cruel to the Actual Human Being who wrote it. There is no parallel you can draw, no straw man argument, and no purity checklist that justifies a witch hunt against a creator of fiction.

Second, and much more importantly: Since you're reading this. How's about we all go leave some kind comments on beloved fics. New fics, old fics, whatever you love. Especially if it isn't super famous or beloved because the content is niche. Even if you've commented before. Even if you've commented on every chapter before. The author will love to see that you came back. They will love that you cared and that you valued what they made.

Go on. Go to Ao3 or their blog or wherever they post, and go say nice things to them, because as incredible as fic writers are, and as much as we joke about 'sorry the chapter posted late, cthullu interrupted my wedding this morning' fic writers remain people, with emotions, who can be hurt. Go show them some love that they can remember when hurtful people try to tear them down.

[ghost-proofbaby]

I would love a Getting to Know Eddie with your coffee shop blues Eddie. (I’ll let Abi ask for Maroon). 😘

(oh i don’t think i could tell abi much more about maroon eddie than i already have. the space under my desk when im writing maroon literally has her name on it <3)

alright. so. COFFEE SHOP BLUES EDDIE. first and foremost, that eddie is from my purely self indulgent barista!au for those of you who don’t know. for legal reasons, it’s totally not based on true experiences or a very real company. totally not. for legal reasons. but, the entire premise is this eddie entirely untouched from the upside down — non-canon compliance so we can be happy for once baby ! — and just playing around with who he is without all that. he gets the job as a barista, he’s a damn pessimist, and- well, i liked to play around with what would happen if he was the grumpiest barista to ever exist and got reality checked by a sunshine-incarnate barista. and, spoiler alert, the boy would probably melt. he does melt.

my inspiration is drawn entirely from uh… well… can i have a lawyer if i admit this? nah im just kidding he’s based on my own experiences! and contrary to what plenty of people have said to me (if i had a nickel every time said they imagine me as reader i’d be far richer than i am which makes me so 😭), eddie is the character based around me. i think he’d react very similarly to how i do most of the time at work. being grumpy, being so easily inconvenienced by every small thing, always huffing and puffing and wanting to be better. and i think reader is what i’d like to be. at the end of the day, it’s just a nice way to romanticize life, i guess. <3

my favorite headcanon that i’ve never shared in the story is that everyone actually finds that he’s very good at his job. it’s emphasized he isn’t necessarily friends with the other baristas, and there’s a whole lot of him internally comparing himself to the people he thinks do the job better (*cough* reader *cough*), but that whole “i can do better. i have to do better” mentality has led him to being quite good at the job actually. he puts himself down, says he isn’t that good, etc. but he is. customers like that feline grumpiness (the girls that come in regularly for frappucinos in the afternoon are always secretly hoping he’s there, definitely living their ‘i can fix him’ fantasy despite reader already having set sail on that boat), his coworkers admire him albeit they get a lil scared of him due to resting bitch face, and all that. he makes a mean fucking cappuccino. his drinks always just taste better. he’s just good. he’ll never admit it, but damn is he good at his job.

on a casual day, this man is living in comfy clothes. big band tees, plaid pajama pants or sweats. the only time he puts on jeans these days is when he works. which, i mean, listen — he works often. he lives his days by what shift he has, not by days of the week. weekends are nonexistent to him. he’s earned some damn comfort when he’s just at home, ya know? (also, most of his clothes that aren’t graphic tees or comfy pants just stink of coffee these days. ugh.)

his favorite food is probably the cake pops at work. he’s a sweet tooth fiend with them. someone accidentally breaks one when opening the packages? oh no !! he’ll take that off their hands. all of his free food mark outs? 50% cake pops. he’s on food? he’s definitely accidentally bagging and slipping one or two off to the side for himself. sometimes coworkers will try to convince him when he’s on the food position to slip them a free cake pop as well, and every time, he’s flipping them the bird and a quick “steal on your own time, bud”. (unless it’s reader. unless it’s sunshine. then, he’s caving, handing over the birthday cake pop he just marked out for himself without second thought. even if he rolls his eyes as he does it — he’d give her the world if she just asked).

his family situation is pretty close to canon — wayne. and obviously he has hellfire, he has corroded coffin, but all of those are just… small things. he’s finally graduated in this universe, so hellfire doesn’t meet as often. corroded coffin’s members are still in their senior year, so sometimes studying for a calculus test is overriding band practice for them. which i mean, was a bummer and led to him needing a distraction like a part time job (also — money) but it’s all good now, cause he gets to bug Sunshine on his days off when he’s bored. they’ve definitely exchanged numbers, and they’re definitely sending each other an obligatory dumb meme a day. sorry, i don’t make the rules.

he likes pop music. don’t ever ask him about it, he denies it, but Sunshine got him into all those radio hits. he’ll find himself humming along to the radio at work constantly too. and, the one time he and Sunshine worked a very rare, LITERALLY only happened once close together, they definitely were belting out britney spears’ “hit me baby one more time”, dancing around the closed stores and eddie using the mop as a mic while Sunshine tried to stock up all the cups. the shift on duty was unamused, to say the least.

he’s pretty pessimistic in all avenues, but there’s something deep inside of him that’s just a bit hopeless romantic. especially after meeting Sunshine. he listens to her prattle about her romance books all day, and he hates the fact that he finds himself smiling at some of those different scenarios she’s gushing about. but it’s cute, okay? besides, it’s only giving him more ideas about how to wow his favorite barista. sex, on the other hand, he’s still pretty bland on. he’s had one or two one night stands, names he’s forgotten at the Hideout after shows, and he’s not really got the energy to be some sex-crazed fuckboy. listening to his coworkers’ hookup stories and relationship problems work pretty well to remind him he could be doing far worse (but if anyone were to ask him what he thought of Sunshine in that context? oh. oh the poor boy. the scary dog facade fades, and his ears have never been pinker as he’s stuttering about having to grab something from the back that he just stocked. he’s just grateful she never seems to have her own escapades to talk about — he probably wouldn’t survive the world-ending jealousy that would cloud his vision.)

pessimistic. so so pessimistic.

a couple months ago, he would have said his room. alone. or practicing with cc, on his guitar. or behind his dm screens, watching as his little sheep panicked over the latest twist he’s revealed for his current campaign.

but now? maybe he’s just gone soft, but the first place he thinks of is a rainy afternoon in the back of his van, his head in Sunshine’s lap as they listen to the slight drizzle bounce off the roof. he swears if he closes his eyes, he can still feel her fingers against his scalp.

---

JO. JO. I DON'T HAVE THE ORIGINAL POST FOR THIS. I DON'T KNOW WHAT PARAGRAPH IS ANSWERING WHAT PROMPTS. but honestly, even now that i'm free of the siren, i wanna post this. i love prattling on about our little grumpy barista. i luv him.

[aroacehanzawa]

whats ur beef?

My favourite manga lost the plot so now i cope by being a hater 👍

[fatuismooches]

ahaha back with another fragile reader brain rot :))

this one’s a lot more fluffy than last time so some way, somehow, fragile reader has been cured of their illness

but yk, I don’t have the brain power or rot to explain how so we’re gonna talk about what they do after being cured

let’s say that after the celebration of being cured has died down a bit, they decide to see what kind of work their partner does and what better way to do so, then to become their secretary!

woohoo! secretary x boss trope - very original ik /j

but now we venture to Dottore territory because he and reader already have such a close bond so it’ll be so confusing to onlookers for his subordinate - though unbeknownst to them: lover - to give him sass

“And the body?”

“No body no crime. Nothing was found. Just like your social skills.”

(insert petrified recruits here)

It would also be confusing to fellow harbingers as well; who in teyvat is this secretary? where did they come from? why is dottore just letting this slide?

“so, dottore. care to explain your choice of… secretary?”

“No.”

dropped by from: 🧸 anon

UGH YES... Reader getting back to their rightful place at Dottore's side as they should 🤭 They would be so elated to finally truly redeem their role of assistant once again! The only thing is that you don't have a complete grasp on what he does nowadays since you were so preoccupied with your illness... (Don't worry, he has a lot of paperwork for you to do, his #1 secretary... you get your own desk at least [you definitely have photos of him on your desk and he scoffs every time but is secretly happy] 😅)

Ahh i do love to imagine everyone's reaction to your unfiltered and not scared of the consequences at all comments... as soon as you say something the agents instantly freeze and prepare themselves to haul out another dead body but nope. Dottore doesn't even look phased or affected. Just another regular day for the two of you. You know as soon as the two of you are gone the gossip is going DOWN.

Pantalone would be so up in his business like he wants to know all the details 😭 Bro will not get discouraged even though Dottore is giving him the driest answers known to man 💀 (You will probably end up cornered by him eventually as he sits you down for tea and thoroughly tries to interrogate you)

[delicateartisantrash]

Excerpt: Soundwave's Puppy Eyes

I can't stop laughing at this scene in a fanfic I'm writing, every time I come across it doing re-reads and editing passes.

Just. I lost it when I first saw that scene of Soundwave flashing 'Prime a smiley face emoji.

Imagine trying to convince the big bad Decepticon you're gonna do a thing regardless of his logic on the matter

and then he nails you with just literal #SadFace

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Not me projecting my love of space and it’s infinite capacity for having somewhere one really truly belongs, no matter how far away it might be or how impossible to reach, onto the space au. Nope. Could never be me. Absolutely not

[ssigmas]

Ramattra had once hoped that omnics and humans could live in harmony with one another. Too, he had once convinced himself that he'd seen enough brutality and death to last him several lifetimes, and shed his cloak of war. He now understood how foolish his ideals were. As long as humanity scorned omnics, as long as his kind were slaughtered and decimated, Ramattra would see to it that omnics would prevail, even if it meant the only solution was the annihilation of humanity.

 Even then. ...However, there existed one glowing spark on the blight that was humanity, one such human that made him, if just for a moment, almost hopeful again. The electronic door of his quarters whooshed shut as he stepped inside. Your sleepy expression emerged from the bundle of cushions and blankets he kept on the floor for his meditations, lips curving into a soft, warm smile as he approached. These days, there weren't many aspects of humanity he found worthy of salvation. Very little about humans appealed to him, and yet he made exceptions for you. How could he feel anything else but fondness when he cupped your face and you nuzzled into his palm? How could he think that you  were deserving of anything else but his protection when you sought him out after battles, worried hands finding every nick in his metal and fault in his wiring? You possessed a uniquely caring and compassionate heart for your kind, and were one of the few humans he knew to be sympathetic to his cause. Even now as he knelt beside you in the bed of blankets, you reached for him, fingertips mapping and re-mapping the ridges and angles of his body you knew so well. You were so sweet to fret over him when it was you with the vulnerable, fleshy body. It would take no effort at all for him to crush every bone in your hand, and yet you held his with infinite tenderness, flexing each silicone tendon as if checking for damage. Ramattra soothed away your concerns and instead welcomed you into his embrace, guiding you to sit between his folded legs. Back-to-chest, he faintly sensed your heartbeat as it pulsed regularly beneath your skin. Such an odd, unfamiliar thing to an omnic whose body thrummed with constant energy, but he found it a comfort. It meant you were alive, after all. You stretched to press your lips against the edge of his faceplate in a 'kiss' as you settled against him. There was little he could do to reciprocate your affections except to rest his head atop yours, curving himself around you to cocoon you against his front. He had neither the need for a heart nor a pair of lungs. Even still, he focused on the rhythm of your breathing as each exhale warmed the metal of his chassis, drawing his world smaller and smaller until it was the only sensation he registered. He had always wanted a brighter future for his people. As Ramattra sunk into his meditations, he understood with a startling realization that he wanted the future to include you at his side.

[naffeclipse]

So Raindear yn.

They don't strike me as the jealous type, more so the type who's very confident in their relationship.

However, if someone dears to even think of trying to steal Eclipse from them, they will receive a death glare unmatched by anything even imaginable.

Then when Eclipse comes back like "Dear I just had a wired Encounter"

And yn is just like "I know" holding his face and giving him a kiss on the forehead. No one's going to steal their lovely Oreo.

Reindeer Y/N is very confident in their relationship! They and Eclipse are rock solid. Nothing can shake their love (and Reindeer Y/N is aware of how obsessed Eclipse is with them.)

To have a rival pursuing Eclipse would be interesting. Y/N wouldn't become angry or threatening, they would watch it unfold as they know the outcome. It's only a question of how Eclipse will handle it.

He handles it as he does everything else: overbearingly clear in what he wants, and it's not this rival.

Reindeer Y/N would deadpan joke of it after Eclipse chases away the would-be-suitor, saying something along the lines of "Looks like I have to be on the lookout—make sure no one steals my mate."

"Oh, are you afraid of losing me? Jealous? Hm? Tell me more, my dear."

*dryly* "Very." *kisses him*

[levmada]

levi with stretchmarks levi with stretchmarks levi with stretchmarks levi with stretchmarks levi with stretchmarks levi with stretc

[sashimiyas]

listen i know the burden of being was sad but—

reader and osamu’s first fight after rekindling involves reader harshly saying, “you don’t even know how much i’ve loved you.”

and osamu stands there stunned with silent tears falling down his cheeks.

they already regret it but what he whispers hurts even more.

“i wish i did.”

[kangaracha]

daffodil + chan

a song

the prompt: daffodil (a god bows before a mortal)

read it on ao3

---

"You have no power over me."

running through his hands like water, and suddenly the earth is not his to control. The skies do not turn with the twist of his head, lightning does not fork in the air when his eyes, dark as night and yet still lit by some unearthly light, fall upon you, his mouth wide as if to gasp for a breath he cannot take-

And yet, still, it shivers down your spine; the magic that draws you here even as you rip it apart, the prize of your conquest to rip the world into two.

"Take it back," he hisses through his teeth, the ground trembling with every syllable that slides down his tongue. You watch his mouth as it forms the words, the flash of teeth behind thin lips reminding you of the way that the swordsman you'd fought through to get here had smiled at you - the last of his seven challenges, the last of his demons, or angels, or citizens of the sprawling, damned city he claimed as his kingdom.

And here you stood, at the pinnacle of the eighth, and stared him in the eye without cringing away because now you knew the truth. Now you knew that what he whispered in the dark was a lie and what you saw with your eyes wasn't always true, and though he may be a god and a king amongst beings that you could never hope to rival, a god can only hold as much power as you give him. A god can only claim dominion over a beast that bowed to his dogma. 

You see now that you are no beast. You are no believer in any lie he utters to the darkness.

"Take it back," he says again, the note of his voice changing. He pleads, his brow furrowing and his shoulders curling in as if waiting for the final blow. "Take it back now, before it's too late."

"I can't," you tell him, and you watch him fall to his knees, and you know that it's wrong and your heart pounds in your chest and it

like the ground does at the impact of his knees, crumbling into the pieces it was in when you first took his hand, alone on the side of the road with only one thing to call your own. And what was that thing, the little warmth you'd held to your chest in the dark and the cold? What had you traded away for the comfort of the house that crumbled around you now? Why had you destroyed him to get it back, where was it now, why did it not appear within his hands at this, the hour of his reckoning?

"Please," he spits into the cold ground, the dirt and the leaves and the curl of ivy that grows up the walls around you, old and ancient and not yet sprouted from its roots all at the same time. His hands curl in the dirt like he can reach down and pull the earth to him, like he can stop the wane of his power if he just tries to hold on a little bit tighter. "I know what you want, and I don't have it. I can't lose-"

Broken, fragile thing. Small god of limited earth, crouched at your feet like he might worship you instead. You'd thought him all-powerful once, and then you'd thought him severe and his servants and beasts and playthings petty, and then you'd thought him

because he'd smiled at you in the garden that bloomed from his own hands when you expressed your desire for a flower to tuck in the braid of your dark hair, and his hand had been soft in yours, and when he looked out across his kingdom and the clamouring faces of the people he'd brought to live there, he'd looked at them the same way that he'd looked at you.

Beneath your foot, the ground cracks, fracturing outwards like a spiderweb. It's your heart, you realise morosely, sinking from your chest and into the depths of the earth, disappearing with whatever he'd taken from you; and it was a wretched thing and it had betrayed you a hundred times over, but you still mourn at the loss of it and all the dreams it had carried with it. It blooms in your flowers in the corners of the room, embeds itself into the land and sings along with the song of his power, a thing you can hear but cannot touch, a beast once born that now does not belong to you.

"I'm sorry," he says, his breath like mist in the cold air, and even without your heart, you can't bear to see him so cold.

Your hands reach for him without permission, your body kneeling in the dirt before you can stand your feet firm upon the earth and refuse to move. He flinches away, but your fingers are soft upon his chin and the curve of his jaw, gentle when they brush the soft dip of his neck. "I only wanted to know what it was," you tell him with a voice that cannot hold itself steady. "I thought if you loved me, you would give it back." It's the only voice you have - you are not like him, or like Felix, speaking with many tongues. You don't have any power of your own.

"It's because I love you that I can't give it back." His voice is hoarse, every word a knife that he swallows without ever once flinching. "It's because I love you that I couldn't tell you what it was."

"But didn't I deserve to know?" you question. "Doesn't my life belong to me?"

Finally, his eyes rise, looking up at you with a fire that belies the cold of his skin. "Of course it does," he gasps, and his hand reaches up, dirt-stained fingers dragging at your cheek. "That's why I gave it to you, and I never asked for anything else."

"But you wouldn't give back what you took in the first place."

The sudden violence of his voice crumbles the walls and fractures the sky, the clouds blooming te dark colours of a bruise. The absence of his hand on your cheek stings in the cold; his face turns away, screwed up in regret and a pain he won't allow you to feel. You lurch forward before he can disappear, drawing him into your arms; stiff shoulders, spine of beaten steel, slow beat of a heart you once held in your hands. 

He'd stood so tall and unmoving in the morning light, when you'd first walked down this path, and now in the dark of the setting sun and the ending of the earth, his weight slumps into your grasp, his resolve melting into the warmth of your body. "I didn't want you to suffer again," he says to the soft cotton of your shirt and the curve of your collarbone, his breath a whisper against your skin. "I couldn't watch that, when you asked me to make sure it would never happen again."

Surprise comes in the pause of your breath and the still of your arms, the jump of a heart you're not sure you still possess. "I asked you to make me forget?" you question the world behind his back, and into your neck, he sighs.

"You couldn't forget," he murmurs. "She was dead before I found you, and when I took her from your arms - you couldn't forget. There was nothing I could do to fix what had been broken. And then you begged me to let you forget, so I remembered her for you." He pauses, his throat hitching like he's swallowing something down. A sob maybe, or the tears he will never let fall. "I can't give her back though. She's not here anymore."

You push him upright, your hands on his shoulders, his neck, his face. Brushing away the hair that falls in his eyes, wiping at the blood that drips from the cut on his cheek. "Why didn't you tell me?" you ask, because the answer is incomprehensible. "Why did you let me go this far?"

"Because I was scared," he admits, and his teeth clench and his spine stiffens against the urge to hide away from you again. "Because I'm a wretched, evil, stupid thing who thinks they can-"

His words die in your throat; vile, wretched things that you store away to spit out later, into the ground where they belong. He is none of that; he is soft, and hesitant, until your fingers find the sharp curve of his hip and the lines of his back, dragging him closer and his lips open like there is nothing in the world to devour but you and

[revasserium]

tragic heroes

he sees it in the way you look at him, at the way you see passed all his bravado, all his helpless insecurities, hidden behind a firm exterior, or an easy smile, or a wink and a kiss to the cameras.

the first time you ask if he’s tired, he almost breaks down.

“exhausted,” he says, finally admitting it to himself, letting the height of his body curl in on itself till he’s sure he could fit comfortably in your arms and stay there.

“shh…” you tell him, “it’s okay…”

“everyone gets tired sometimes, even superheros like you,” you say, reaching for him, pulling him into you, into your chest, holding him like a breath, carrying him in your arms as though that’s where he’s always belonged.

“i’m not a superhero,” he says, his voice small and tight and terribly different from the way it usually is.

“of course you are,” you say, pulling back to look at him, to cup his cheeks between your hands like water in a stand storm, like something beautiful, something precious and perfect — something made so by it’s mere existence.

and when he tries to shake his head, to open his mouth and tell you how wrong you are, you shut him up with a kiss. you kiss him so hard and so deep that for a moment, he can’t remember a time when he wasn’t kissing you. you kiss him hard enough to bruise, hard enough to forget.

when you finally pull away, he looks down to find you smiling and he leans down to kiss you back like acceptance, like pain and knowing and remembering.

“you’ll always be my hero.”

ATSUMU, bokuto, hoshiumi, HINATA, midoriya, oikawa, MIRIO