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sentinelpri · 10 months

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Yeah, Right

The first time Aizawa does it, he doesn’t think about the ‘why’. After all, it seems logical enough.

It’s All Might’s fifty-first birthday and Aizawa expects the fresh batch of new students to want to surprise the older man with something special for the day of. Only, when he gets to class that morning, he hears them all talking about how they’re too shy to so boldly approach their teacher and give him a birthday gift. While Aizawa imagines that All Might will get plenty of gifts and letters in his P.O. box, none of them will actually be from anyone he knows- random fans, even some stalkers- all people that he has no connection with.

Aizawa knows All Might well enough to know that the only people he wants anything from are going to be his students and fellow heroes- people he knows, people who care. Aizawa remembers that All Might doesn’t have a family to celebrate with and frowns as he sits at his desk listening to the children rattle on about the former number one hero.

When All Might walks in to take over the class for his heroics lesson, he looks Aizawa in the eye and offers a small smile. For whatever reason, said smile makes Aizawa’s heart skip a beat, so he doesn’t smile back. Instead, he leaves, rushing to the local grocery store even though he knows he’s supposed to be doing lesson planning. When he returns, he smuggles the little bouquet of roses and the box of chocolates into the lounge through his duffle bag.

All Might’s locker is always stupidly left unlocked (because ‘none of my fellow hereos would meddle with my belongings’, according to the older man), so Aizawa puts the presents there with a note but no name.

‘Happy birthday, number one. Hope you have a good year.’

It’s simple and plain enough to not give away who it’s from. Perfect.

Aizawa doesn’t feel too nervous as he shuts the locker and retreats to sit at the round table. It’s lunch time now, so the sound of loud teenagers bustling down the hallway rings in Aizawa’s ears. He buries his head in his hands and groans, only to have a more pressing problem when the door is slammed open just seconds later.

He glances up to see All Might, standing in the doorway, the front of his pink button-up shirt soaked with blood.

“All Might,” Aizawa stands up and grabs a washcloth to wet, then brings it over to All Might. He wipes the blood off of the older man and glances up at him with a scowl. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Oh, Aizawa,” All Might offers a weak smile and takes the washcloth from Aizawa’s hands so he can clean himself up. Aizawa stands there awkwardly, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for an answer. “I’m fine! Just a normal day for me, coughing up blood, though I’m starting to run out of shirts that aren’t blood-stained… Maybe I should start wearing more red.”

“You’re coughing blood up that often? And in this quantity… That isn’t normal,” Aizawa scoffs, as annoyed as ever by All Might’s alarming normalization of his declining health. “When’s the last time you’ve been to a doctor?”

“Back after we fought Shigaraki and the Paranormal Liberation Front.”

“No, I mean for a normal check up. When’s the last time you’ve been to a doctor for something other than a grievous, hero-work-related injury?”

“Oh, I haven’t been since…” All Might trails off, tossing the washcloth in the dirty laundry and thinking to himself. Meanwhile, Aizawa moves to dig through his own locker for an extra shirt that All Might can have- God knows the former number one hero is never prepared enough to keep a change of clothes handy. Aizawa finds the largest one he has, an oversized black sweater that he likes to sleep in sometimes. It’s just long enough that it’ll fit All Might’s weirdly oversized frame perfectly, so Aizawa takes the shirt out and tosses it at the older man. “Hm… I actually don’t know.”

“You need to go see one soon, then,” Aizawa nags and sits back down in a lounge chair as All Might hides behind the lockers to change shirts.

“Why do you care so much all of a sudden?”

“Ugh, never mind,” Aizawa grumbles and gets up to head towards the door. Just when he thought he was getting soft for the man, All Might had to go and get on his nerves again. “God forbid I try to make you take care of your health for the sake of your students.”

“Aizawa, wait-”

“No, it’s fine. I get the point. You’re never going to prioritize yourself and nothing anyone can say will ever make you. Keep the shirt,” Aizawa puts his hand on the door knob and turns it. Then, he opens the door and leaves, calling back to a flustered looking All Might with- “I’ll see you later.”

The second time Aizawa does it, he wonders why the hell he finds himself doing this shit again. The first time it was because it was All Might’s birthday and he wasn’t sure if All Might would get anything from anyone else. Now, it’s the middle of autumn, and he’s unsure about his motives. He tells himself that All Might has seemed down lately- yes, that’s all it is- and that he wants to cheer him up for the students’ sake and definitely not for his own. It’s odd because the last time he did this, he had an awkward and tense interaction with the man right after that turned him off for a while, but… It couldn’t hurt to try again.

So, he spends time hand-crocheting and knitting some sweaters and scarfs for the upcoming season and packing them into a little gift basket. All Might still has a nasty habit of leaving his locker unlocked, meaning that Aizawa can get into it easily. He sneaks into the lounge early, unusually early, knowing that he’s the least likely to get caught at this time since school doesn’t start until seven thirty. Right now, it’s six.

The only person that ever gets to U.A. before seven in the morning aside from Nezu is-

“Mic,” Aizawa blankly states, unsure of what to do. He’s standing in front of All Might’s open locker with the gift basket in one hand and his other hand on the edge of the locker door to hold it open. Mic has just walked into the staff lounge and caught him red-handed. “Uh… What’s up?”

In an awkward series of little motions, Aizawa slams the locker shut and tries to hide the ridiculously large basket behind his back.

“Um… What’cha got there?”

“Nothing that’s any of your business,” Aizawa answers, then reopens the locker, shoves the basket in there, and slams it back shut.

“C’mon, now, don’t pretend that I didn’t just catch you leaving a gift basket in All Might’s locker! No wonder you’ve been acting so funky lately… And to think I thought I was imagining things when I saw him in your favorite shirt,” Mic says, much to Aizawa’s embarrassment and horror. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of him doing this coming off like that to anyone else- and maybe loaning All Might one of his favorite shirts that he used to wear all the time wasn’t the best idea, either, especially considering that All Might now wears the damn thing at least once a week with the claim of ‘since it’s black, it doesn’t stain easy!’. “Wait, are you two a thing!?”

“Absolutely not. He borrowed the shirt once and I let him keep it. As for the gifts… Well, I am guilty of that, but he doesn’t reciprocate said gifts nor does he know it’s me giving them,” Aizawa explains and guiltily walks away from All Might’s locker in favor of sitting down on the edge of the staff table. He sighs and shakes his head both at himself and at Mic. “So don’t tell anyone.”

“Hah! No one would believe me, even if I did want to go and betray you by blabbing about it,” Mic laughs and sits right next to Aizawa on the table top. Then, he looks over at the erasure hero with his big green eyes and a knowing smirk. “But are you seriously going to keep on with this until he retires from teaching?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you clearly like him, and this is your weird fucked up way of expressing it-”

“Hey!” Aizawa interrupts with a blush and a glare- or, as much of a glare as he can produce these days with only one eye. The other eye socket remains empty and covered by a black eye patch, thanks to a certain Shigaraki. “Don’t talk about me like that.”

“What? It’s true! I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Mic points out. It’s horribly, embarrassingly true. Aizawa used to hate All Might and everything he stood for, and he still tries to tell himself that he does, but… Things just aren’t the way they were back then. He watches All Might a little too closely and checks in on him all the time, even if it’s not in the most overtly caring and compassionate way. He does care about All Might, and they’ve grown to respect each other. He just never thought that it’d develop into those sorts of feelings; for the former number one hero, who’s far more popular than him, far more attractive than him, and over a decade his senior. “You’ve been doing this for how long now?”

“I don’t know,” Aizawa shrugs and crosses his leg over his prosthetic. Then, he crosses his arms as well and taps his fingers against his bicep. He can’t even meet Mic’s gaze. “A few months, maybe?”

“Exactly,” Mic yells a little too loudly and throws his hands up in the air. “You’ve been doing this for months instead of just telling the guy you have a crush on him!”

“I don’t have a crush on him,” Aizawa mumbles, hating the sound of such a juvenile term being thrown at him like this.

Crush.

Yeah, right.

“Really?” Mic presses. “Really? Look at yourself right now, Eraser!”

“We can continue this conversation never,” Aizawa gets up from the table, heads to the door, and looks back at Mic, who is sitting there with a ridiculously large grin. “And remember; don’t tell anyone about what you saw today.”

“Aye aye captain!” Mic responds with a mock-salute that somehow pisses Aizawa off even more.

As the ravenette leaves, embarrassed and confused, he can’t help but think about what Mic said.

A crush.

On All Might.

Yeah, right.

The third time Aizawa does it, he hears All Might start to talk.

Aizawa has had to come to terms with the fact that these stupid feelings he’s developed for All Might are, in fact, a crush- as Mic had so eloquently put it just a few months ago. Said crush has been festering for God knows how long and seems to only get worse with every season that passes.

So, by the time winter rolls around, he’s more on edge about the whole thing than he thought he’d be when he left the first gift basket for All Might back in June. Despite never caring about his appearance before, he finds himself tying his hair up (All Might said it looked good like that once), wearing cologne (one that All Might said was his favorite in an interview a while back), and putting a little more effort into his appearance than he would have just a few years ago.

It’s the day before winter break. All of the kids are doing cute holiday celebrations, gift exchanges, dorm parties, and more. They’ve already taken their finals, so there’s not much for the teachers to do aside from sit on their asses and enjoy the festivities. Aizawa doesn’t mind it. He even finds himself in a particularly cheery mood as he leaves another gift basket in All Might’s locker, this one full of holiday candies, a new blanket, and some fancy tea and coffee blends.

After leaving the gifts and making sure that no one is around to catch him in the act this time, Aizawa quietly closes the locker and moves to sit at the staff table before anyone can walk in.

He catches a glance of himself in the mirror and sighs. His hair is tied back all pretty, he actually bothered shaving, and though he looks as tired as ever… He looks better than he used to. The things people say about ‘glowing’ when they fall in love may actually be true. With a shake of his head, he ignores that train of thought in favor of pulling out his phone and reading the news.

Slowly, more of the faculty file in; Nezu, Mic, Vlad King, Nejire- who started working for U.A. shortly after graduating- and finally, All Might. The four sit near Aizawa at the table with Mic sitting right next to him and the others sitting across from him. They chat and talk about their plans for winter break as if Aizawa isn’t even there until Aizawa hears Nejire pipe up with-

“Hey, All Might, is that a new scarf? It’s cute. Where’d you get it?”

“It’s a funny story, but someone has been leaving these gifts in my work locker for months…” All Might explains, much to Aizawa’s embarrassment. Aizawa can’t help but notice that the older man is wearing his sweater. Again. The chunky crocheted scarf around his neck is made of black and red yarn, one of the many things that Aizawa has anonymously gifted to him since the summertime. “Everything from chocolates and flowers for my birthday to this scarf and custom-made sweaters. No idea who it is.”

“Oh, well that’s a simple problem with a simple solution!” Nezu suggests. Aizawa’s heart drops as the principal suddenly crawls into his scarf and sits on his shoulder- something he frequently does for warmth and height. His beady eyes remain trained on All Might. Meanwhile, Mic won’t stop nudging Aizawa with his foot underneath the table. “Would you like me to check the security cameras for you?”

“No, that’s not necessary, Nezu,” All Might answers with a dismissive wave. It takes everything in Aizawa not to let out an obvious sigh of relief. “After all, if they’re going about it like this, they probably don’t want me to know their identity.”

“You don’t think that it’s some sort of villain, do you?” Vlad King questions.

“Not at all. UA’s security is too strict to allow any outsiders in and all of the gifts I’ve received so far have been totally harmless. I had the same train of thought at first and even had Tsukauchi run everything I received through his forensics team to test for poisons and find any trackers or cameras that might’ve been hidden, but no one found anything. It seems like they’re totally innocuous, well-meaning gifts.”

“Do you think it’s a student?” Nezu presses, clearly somewhat concerned.

Aizawa suddenly realizes just how bad of an idea this was to start off with. Maybe he should stop and get a hold of things before he gets caught and makes a fool out of himself.

“No, they wouldn’t have access to the lounge unless they had some sort of quirk that allowed them to phase through things. I know we have a couple of those quirk users here, but I doubt that any of them would risk getting in trouble for something so dumb when they could just leave the stuff on the desk of the classroom I teach in. So, it must be another faculty member; another teacher, a janitor, cafeteria staff…” All Might continues rambling on about the many deductions he’s made. Aizawa almost calls him out for sounding so much like Midoriya, but he decides against it. “There’s so many people who work here that I haven’t bothered trying to narrow it down.”

“And that doesn’t bother you at all!? I’d be going insane!” Mic yells out, then sends a quick and knowing glance in Aizawa’s direction. Aizawa glares back at him. “What if you have a stalker or something?”

“I doubt it’s anything that severe. Either this is some sort of cruel joke or someone has a crush on me,” All Might shrugs. “I’d be surprised at the latter considering the form I’m currently in, but the gifts clearly have a lot of thought behind them and some people have weird tastes…”

At that, Mic burst out laughing, to which Aizawa quickly turns and scolds him.

“Mic!”

Mic only laughs harder. Aizawa doesn’t think his face has ever been this red, and All Might is looking between the two of them like he’s trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together.

“What’s so funny, Yamada?” All Might asks and narrows his sky blue eyes.

“Nothing, nothing,” Mic answers, but again, only laughs even hader. He puts his head on the table and buries his face in his arms. “Sorry!”

“So you’re just going to let this continue to happen?” Vlad King interjects.

“Basically. Either I’ll retire from teaching, they’ll come and tell me who they are and why they’re doing this, or they’ll get bored and stop. Whichever happens first. I don’t really mind either way.”

“What if it’s, like, a secret admirer?” Nejire continues. Meanwhile, Aizawa doesn’t know if he’s relieved or offended at the fact that All Might doesn’t seem to care very much about whoever it is that’s been leaving him presents in his locker. “Don’t you want to know who they are?”

“Not really. I know I don’t discuss it very often, but I do have my heart set on someone else… I just haven’t had the courage to tell them, especially since my retirement from hero work. So, it’s better that this person doesn’t reveal themselves to me; I’d hate to reject them after they’ve given me so many nice things. I want them to know I appreciate all these things they’ve gifted me, so I wear and use them as much as I can, but I also wonder if I’m giving them the wrong idea… Ah, I’ve got lesson plans to work on. I should get back to the classroom.”

With that, All Might stands up and retreats, leaving the rest of the staff to eat their lunches and chat amongst themselves- mostly about the upcoming holiday party that the hero commission is going to throw in about a week to celebrate the last year’s worth of hero work. They do it every year, but Aizawa never attends, finding that no one really cares whether or not he’s there aside from Mic. It always seems like a big publicity stunt for heroes to come and throw their money at the charities that are promoted there, for heroes to come and get interviewed by famous reporters, and for heroes to come and find more work with new teams or agencies.

Like a lot of hero society, the whole thing is about business more than it is a genuine celebration, but… if All Might is going to be there this year like he always is, Aizawa may go.

Eventually, the rest of the staff clear out, leaving Aizawa and Mic by themselves. Mic is the first to say anything.

“Eraser, aren’t you going to tell him about your feelings?”

“Has your quirk made you deaf or something? He said he’s in love with someone else! He’d just reject me, I… Should’ve never done this in the first place,” Aizawa sighs. His heart actually feels like it’s breaking from everything All Might said. “It was a stupid idea. Out of all the people I could’ve gone and caught feelings for…”

“But what if that person he talked about is you?”

“Really? Out of everyone All Might has ever met and known, you think he’s in love with me? Yeah, right,” Aizawa scoffs, looking at Mic in disbelief. “Be realistic.”

“I dunno, maybe? I mean, I could’ve sworn he was giving you ‘fuck me eyes’ while he was in here so perhaps-”

“There’s no way,” Aizawa interrupts, flustered. The idea of All Might looking at him like that… No. It’s impossible. For someone like All Might to want someone like him… “I look like a homeless person according to my students and everyone knows I haven’t been the same since everything that happened with the League of Villains and the Paranormal Liberation Front. And, just in case you forgot, I’m also more than a decade younger than him. I wouldn’t blame him for being completely repulsed by me.”

“Eraser… I’m sure if you told him, and he didn’t return the feelings, he’d be nice about it,” Mic tries to be comforting by putting a hand on Aizawa’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, pity kindness. That’s definitely what I want from him. As if this isn’t embarrassing enough,” Aizawa sarcastically huffs with a roll of his eyes. Mic just offers a guilty smile in return. “Honestly, Mic, you… Look, I appreciate you trying to help me here, but it’s better if I just don’t say anything, okay? He doesn’t want me back, and he never will.”

“If that’s how you really feel, I guess I can’t change your mind, but let me know if you ever want to ask him out, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure thing.”

“Okay, catch ya later!”

With that, Mic stands up and exits the room, leaving Aizawa alone yet again. The ravenette sighs and holds his head in his hands.

Asking All Might out?

Yeah, right. Because that’ll go swimmingly.

Aizawa doesn’t get the chance to do it a fourth time. Instead, U.A. is closed for winter break so the students can go home and spend time with their families for the holidays. While a few of them stay behind, they celebrate in their own way, leaving the teachers to attend the hero commission’s holiday party. It’s thrown at some fancy venue with a ballroom, that of which Aizawa can’t be fucked to remember the name of. Mic drives him, anyway, so it’s not like he has to know what it’s called or where it’s at.

Once he gets there, Mic splits from him to go be the social butterfly and casually functioning alcoholic that he’s always been. He downs drink after drink, but thankfully, Nezu is nearby keeping an eye on him so Aizawa doesn’t have to (for once). Aizawa takes the opportunity to lean back against one of the less crowded walls and scan the room.

Since the end of the conflict with the PLF, any interest in Aizawa and his involvement with the U.A. scandals has died down considerably, so he’s almost returned to the familiar comfort of no one knowing who he is again- so much so that none of the paparazzi or reporters bother trying to snap pictures or get an interview with him. Though many heroes would feel stiffed by this, Aizawa is relieved as he watches All Might, who is currently experiencing the exact opposite.

At first, All Might was happily chatting with the other heroes and dancing with a lot of them (which made Aizawa somewhat jealous, but that’s another story). Now, All Might looks uncomfortable, though he does a great job at putting on a front and answering all of the reporters’ questions as if he isn’t becoming a nervous wreck with every second that passes. Eventually, All Might directs them to Mount Lady, who is currently dancing with Kamui woods. Those vultures take the opportunity to go take as many implicating photos as they can, which gives All Might the time to make an escape and slip outside of the venue. Aizawa grabs a coffee from the bar and follows the former number one hero, who he finds sitting outside on a bench a few yards away from the front door.

“Parties aren’t much your scene these days, are they?” Aizawa asks, standing behind the bench and slumping his shoulders.

“Heh,” All Might laughs, then shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“It seems like I can always find you out here when you feel out of place… Outside in the freezing cold, all by your lonesome, sitting on some bench.”

“Would you like to sit?” All Might offers.

“Sure,” Aizawa sits down next to All Might and sees that the blond is shivering due to the cold, even in a nice sweater and a scarf. So, Aizawa holds out his hot coffee and asks- “Want a sip?”

All Might looks at the coffee, then at Aizawa.

“You don’t mind?”

“Kids are petri dishes, and I’m around them all the time just fine,” Aizawa shrugs. “I doubt you’ll get me sick.”

All Might takes the cup.

“There’s no alcohol in this, right?”

“Right. I know you can’t really drink anymore. Plus, I’m not really stupid enough to drink at this sort of thing unlike all of our coworkers… I’d hate to slip up and let something embarrassing out to the press. I know those damn vultures would take full advantage of some poor inebriated idiot here- hell, they do it to Mic every year.”

“That’s true,” All Might laughs and leans back against the bench. It’s taken him a couple minutes, but he seems comfortable with Aizawa’s presence now. The smile on his face is beautiful underneath the pale moonlight, practically glimmering. Aizawa feels his cheeks burn red and prays that All Might doesn’t notice. Pausing, All Might drinks some of the coffee before continuing. “I remember last year when they got him to admit to that fling he had with Vlad King, those two were in hot water for a while… Thanks for the drink, by the way.”

“Sure.”

A few moments pass with the two men passing the coffee between each other, drinking, and chatting away. Aizawa can’t help but notice that All Might is acting a little differently- a little more at ease than he normally would. Aizawa isn’t sure how to place it until All Might sets the drink down on the middle of the bench and holds out one of his large hands.

“Hey, how about a dance?”

“Hm?”

“I think you’re the only one of our coworkers I haven’t danced with tonight,” All Might says offhandedly, which makes Aizawa’s face fall. Is it really just a platonic offer? Almost as if sensing his disappointment, All Might rushes to retract the invitation, panicking. “Then again, I understand if you aren’t interested! I know being in the spotlight isn’t really your thing and-”

“We can dance out here, if you want,” Aizawa interjects. The soft lull of the waltz music from inside can be heard echoing through the open windows. “I can still hear the music.”

“That actually sounds pretty nice,” All Might stands. “Mind if I lead?”

“Not at all.”

So, hand in hand, the two dance together outside of the venue, unbothered by the press or their fellow heroes who would ask questions. All Might’s hands are calloused and warm, and he smells like the cologne Aizawa bought him not that long ago.

“You know, it’s rare that you dress up like this,” All Might remarks, and it’s true. Aizawa wore a suit for the occasion at Mic’s pestering. He even shaved and tied his hair up to make himself look somewhat nice. Though, he didn’t expect All Might to notice. “I don’t think I’ve seen it since that last press conference.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” All Might smiles. “I like it.”

“Well, I like you,” Aizawa spits out before he can think better of it. He freezes, tripping over All Might’s feet. All Might wraps an arm around his back and pulls him into his chest to catch him. Embarrassment washes over Aizawa like a shower that’s way too hot. He rushes to explain the words away. “Wait, that’s not what I-”

“I like you, too,” All Might blurts out, much to his relief. On one hand, Aizawa is happy, but on the other, he doesn’t want to admit that Mic was right. “And um… Thanks for the stuff.”

At that, Aizawa blinks and pulls away, flustered.

“You knew it was me?”

“Well, no,” All Might answers, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “But Mic’s pretty hammered in there and-”

“He told you, didn’t he?” Aizawa huffs and facepalms with a shake of his head.

“Maybe?”

“He’s awfully lucky this just so happened to work out,” Aizawa sighs and reaches forward to grab one of All Might’s hands. Much to his delight, All Might laces their fingers together and stands by his side. “But I guess since the cat’s out of the bag, we can take this inside, right?”

“Yeah… I’d like that.”

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #erasermight #erasermight fic #eraserhead #all might #yagi toshinori #shouta aizawa #shota aizawa #fluff #oneshot #oneshots #drabble #drabbles #post-canon #post-war

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theheartboyshome · 1 year

Text

Hunger Games characters reacting to you seeing their imperfections

Gale. Finnick. Peeta. TW: Unedited; mentions of abuse; mentions of bl**d; mentions of violence; implied s*x; mentions of harm

Gale.

Not one. Many. Many scars littering his back, across every hemisphere of his tense muscles and tender bruises. Strokes engraved into his skin, scattered across every slope of his back. Ugly. He hates looking at them. They’re everywhere, it seems. Not faint lines, either. That’s what Gale hates the most. His pain, the reminders of it, are never going away. They’re deep lashes embedded into his body, shiny pink trails that remind him of home. Of how terrible 12 really was. How unfair everything was. He doesn’t want to remember home like that. Not like the painful scars that seem to mark every inch of his back. District 12 was…

He doesn’t want to think about Peacekeepers, especially now that he’s the equivalent of one himself. He doesn’t want to think of all the pent up hurt he had left behind in 12 for him to pick up. Part of him wanted to feel the pain again, if only it would patch the holes he feels inside himself. Like he needs something. And these scars… the pain… is all he needs to obtain whatever it could be.

Gale is standing in front of the mirror stapled into the wall of his room. Not so much preening as he is… examining. He turns his back to the mirror more, straining to see the scars that riddle the plains of his back. He runs his finger along one of them, feeling the shiny repairs contrast with the unmarked skin. His fingers press more firmly into one of the deepest gashes. It doesn’t hurt anymore… which he’s grateful for. He only wishes they’d go away- the scars. He really hates them. The creaking door grates his eardrums, and he turns sharply towards the doorway. He looks around for his shirt, albeit a little frantic.

“Can I come in?” The door isn’t completely open, which was very polite.

Gale pauses, pushing his arms into his shirt sleeves as he glances headlong towards the door. “Yeah, in a sec,” he continues dressing, ignoring the heat that’s rising to his face.

“Gale?”

His shirt isn’t even over his head, leaving his back completely exposed to the doorway. He pauses, turning away from where you stand.

“Yeah?” He calls back in the most nonchalant voice he can muster. He didn’t really intend for anyone to interrupt him, especially not you. “Sorry I-” you look down at your hand sheepishly. “I thought you were just procrastinating.” Gale scoffs; his calm and collected act is completely contradicting his wild heart rate. “Procrastinating? What, from seeing you?”

It’s the Gale you like. Not serious Gale. Not captain Gale. You like youthful, District 12 Gale. You nod, still a little sheepish. “Well, I’m not,” he pulls the shirt over his head, “I was just-” “-changing?”

You interrupt with a knowing smile, although Gale would argue that it’s a smirk. “Yeah I noticed.” He looks down at his hands that are now tucked into his pockets. The scars, fragments of pain left behind from twelve, running the length of his back, deep gashes that would never go away; you had seen them. Gale figured as much. He just really hoped you’d never have to see them again. But of course…

“Gale,” you breath against the crook of his neck. You’re both sitting on his bed, but you were clever enough to let time pass before pressing. It was a week later. “Let me see.” As you chide him, gently- mind, your fingers slip underneath his shirt. Gale sighs heavily. “I don’t know…” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s just… they’re really- uhm…”

You listen patiently, hands stationary at the hem of his shirt. “I don’t… let a lot of people see them.” You chuckle, “I hope not.” And on a more serious note, “I promise to be gentle. You know me.” He does know you, how tender you can be. Reluctantly, he complies. Your hands ride the shirt up his back and over his head. Elegant, gentle fingers run along his spine, so soft that Gale hardly suppresses a shiver. You apologize quietly. He hears you murmuring idle comments- something about cruelty and mistreatment. He already knows all that. The way you describe the scars is different than the means in which he got them. Your fingers trace a particularly long stoke that winds from the top of his shoulder blade down to the middle of his back. The soft flesh of your index finger sends goosebumps in the wake of its touch against the shiny scar.

“They’re beautiful.”

Gale almost chokes on air, his jaw tightening.

Heavy silence follows as he tries to comprehend what you said. His scars are ugly. They always would be. “What did you say?” You look up from your trance, seeming a little dazed, “Hmm? Oh!”

You look at his back again, avoiding eye contact. He turns towards you, observing you intently. Your gaze is still downwards, and more color is flaring in your cheeks. “I said: they’re beautiful, because… I- er -I think they are.” Gale’s eyes soften and his face relaxes. He leans forward, capturing your lips in his. You might not know it, but you made him genuinely happy. Maybe the pain and hurt from the scars could be healed.

Finnick

The footprints of lips were all over him; more hickeys spanning across his skin than he could count. Tender brown splotches with defined Cupid’s bows that nestled in the crook of his neck and across his chest and shoulders. Finnick slowly drew his finger across the curves and dips in his skin, letting his thumb rest on a particularly sore spot, rubbing against the print of a fleshy bottom lip. He felt a smile creeping onto the corners of his mouth as a scoff built up in his chest. The smile wasn’t genuine, and the scoff was partially out of disbelief. His latest visitors really left their mark, and he hadn’t been eighteen for more than a month. He averted his gaze to the floor, staring at his bare feet instead of the open scratches and dark hickies that ran across every plain of his upper body. His fingers still rubbed subconsciously on the sorest splotches. The blood dripping down his thigh was probably from a newly created scar. Finnick’s eyes darkened with distaste. There was something about this job that made him feel hollow. The throbbing in his crotch and aching in his muscles were the highlights of his evening. Not that anyone cared- but he really hated the whole thing.

Damp fingers turned on the faucet as he finally mustered the courage to back away from the mirror. The room was chilly, and his legs and body shook as he leaned against the bathroom counter, rubbing his hands until they pruned in the sink. Finnick was aware he was good looking- he had always known that. However, as he stared at his reflection, he was beginning to get the impression that beauty was cruel. There was a soft rapping on the door. Abruptly, he was snapped out of his trance. The knock on the door startled him, and he turned off the water hurriedly, shaking his hands dry as best he could. “Ye-ah?” His voice cracked, eyes swarming with alarm as he looked around for his clothes. Of course...seeing as they were in the other room where he left them, they were completely useless to him. “Finnick? It’s me.”

He recognized the friendly voice, but didn’t intend to let you see him like this. If he was too young, then you certainly were. The bathrobe would do, and as he fastened it, he let you inside. Of course, he couldn’t cover up everything. The dark lip stains that riddled his neck were still displayed to you. He felt an increasing amount of self consciousness, something he doesn’t feel often, as you stared at him with lips pursed and eyes sickeningly blank. “Bad time?” You asked, averting your eyes to the floor. Finnick tried smiling, but once again it felt as plastic as the capital, “Course not. Come in.” He had hardly clicked the door in place and you were already grabbing the hem of the robe. Finnick shuttered the moment your fingers grazed his skin, flinching away from you. “It’s fine...” he breaths, “It’s nothing.”

You nod, looking a bit sheepish.

“Sorry,” you mutter, letting your hands fall limply to your sides. “You’re-just bleeding.” “Am I?” He chuckles, staring at you with an empty gaze and a tiny smile, “Would you look at that.” His head tilts as he examined the rusty, slightly transparent, liquid that sits on his fingertips.

You eye him wordlessly, your brows drawn together in concern. Finnick doesn’t enjoy the attention at this particular moment. “You need something?” Of course it’s a lame attempt at changing the sore subject, he knows that. He also knows that you’ll be gentle with him. However, the last thing he wants is for you to see him. Not just the hickies and temporary scratch marks. Lines of crescent moon scars where sharp nails drew so much blood he got dizzy mid-session. Rope burns on his wrist and less-than pleasant marks scattered across his body. No, his first “lover” wasn’t pleasant, and his second was hardly better. He didn’t need you to see. To know. “What did they do to you?”

You stand across from him, and despite your lack of contact Finnick’s body still vibrates and tingles. He waves it off, “Nothing really- worth sharing- if you know what I mean...” his gaze falls onto the ground before rebounding onto you. “So- what did you-“

“Finnick,” you cut him off sharply. He blinks, in a daze. “Yes?” You creep closer to him, cold fingers dragging against his skin and underneath the robe. He knows how gentle you’ll be, and he does trust you. But why would he let anyone see something that’s so horrible? Suddenly, the curiosity vanishes on your face. Finnick gets the feeling that now you understand. Your hands are just short of completely undressing him, your face so close to his that he can feel your warm breath. “I’ll take care of it,” you promise quietly, “And you don’t have to answer any questions if you don’t want to.”

Finnick holds his breath, staring at you with sober dark eyes. His lips form the tiniest of smirks, his brows drawing together partway as he lets his head sag. It’s subtle confirmation, and he bids you to begin. Cool fingertips begin peeling away at his clothes, and warm palms begin caressing his most tender muscles. “Just be gentle, kay?” His trembling voice cracks slightly.

You nod, “I will be.”

Peeta

It reminds him of a paint spill or something of the like. Dark purple, underlying tones of red; colors that are normally beautiful to him suddenly aren’t. The grooves and dips in his hands are stained purple-black, from his fingertips to his knuckles, some even extending to his wrist. Peeta scolds himself. He doesn’t even think to apply any sort of medicine to his hands, or cool them off in water. His able fingers are rendered sore- useless. He knows the burns will leave a mark, they’re sure to. It’ll just be another imperfection, he reasons. Another freckle, another scar, there’s no difference. That’s what he keeps telling himself anyway. Peeta is sitting at his kitchen table, rubbing the outline of one of his burns with a gentle thumb. His gaze is vacant and hollow, lips slightly parted, like he’s concentrating. Which, he is; he’s concentrating on the contrast between the plump flesh of his finger pad and the coarse burn that covers his knuckles and fingertips. He only got these burns recently, and wasn’t intent on letting anyone know. He had quite a few old burns on his hands and wrists- they had turned into pink scars that reminded him of sunbursts. Peeta never would be vain. Another imperfection, that’s all scars were to him. But for now, the dark burn only reminded him of his stupidity, and caused him discomfort throughout the day. He turned his head to the front of the house, hearing the screech of the screen door and quickly averting his gaze. He had taken to drawing imaginary shapes on the table, and began doing it then. It was an excellent distraction. His eyes didn’t waver from their target; his gaze was solely fixated on his cramped fingers working their magic. He didn’t look up to the doorway when you appeared, and despite knowing who it was, nothing could deter his intent stare for the moment. Dark eyes that followed the stroke of his hand against the dark oak tabletop. It wasn’t until your voice coaxed him out of his own inner musings that he focused on anything other than his imaginary house. You had a very— hooking voice. Had you said nothing, Peeta might not have given you a second glance. “Peeta?” You call distantly. Your voice sounds thick at the moment. Distant... but packed with emotions so raw that Peeta is forced to look your way. “Huh? Uh- hi! He smiles. There’s nothing fake about the smile; nothing fake about the cheeriness in his voice. Yet somehow... he gets the impression....

“Something wrong?” He asks. His brows draw together. He’s always been expressive— gently animated, that is. You nod, leaning casually on the doorframe, a small pail of soapy water weighing down your shoulders. “Yeah, actually,” you begin with an easygoing- open tone. “I was wanting some help with washing the bathroom-”

“Oh... yeah! Totally,” He replies, sliding out of his chair. He extends his hand out to take the bucket; offering help that you can’t refuse. “Thanks.” “No problem-“

Then you notice the sudden tautness of his jaw, and he releases a tiny hiss, clunking the bucket to the floor. “Very helpful, Peeta.”

“Yeah- Sorry...”

He starts ogling his hand, running his index finger down the tips of the opposite fingers, scouring the surface for any signs of agitation. His pretty eyes hover over the pink burns and he begins to frown even deeper. He at first, he doesn’t realize that you’re looking over his shoulder, and when he does he can tell that you in fact do see the rotten burn on the backside of his hand, and that at this point he really can’t hide it from you. Yet, he’s Peeta, and doesn’t want you to worry, so he’ll try anyway. “How about I meet you in the bathroom, I just-” “-Peeta.”

You cut him off in such a gentle voice, your eyes flickering to meet his gaze apologetically, that he shuts up immediately. Once again he finds himself asking: just who the hell is this person?

You stare somberly at skin shining a silvery pink. Your lip quivers as you pause for words, “When did you burn yourself?” “I-dunno...” he sort of jumbles his words together, his sheepishness apparent, “I can’t really remember.” You give him a hard stare. “Mellark.”

He tries smiling at you, shrugging his shoulders, anything to get you off his case. Yet, you’re persistent.

“Can I take a look?” You ask inquiringly. He complies. Your hands reach out to his own, the contact of each other’s skin sending a tingle of goose bumps rippling up his arm. Your eyes roam over his hands; the dips, the curves, the pink burns and the pale skin. Peeta concentrates on your fingers that line the edge of his fresh burns. Your thumb rubs along some other cuts and burn scars. He bites his lip, relaxing the knit in his brow. “They’re just some old scratches,” he tells you softly, his brown eyes flitting up to meet yours. “Nothing really to look at.” You nod silently. You pull him back into the kitchen, past the empty dining chairs and oak table, over to the sink. “Okay Peeta. Let’s take care of these-”

“No- No, (Y/N)...” he whispers with a smile. “You don’t need to take care of me. I can do it myself.” “Embarrassed, Mellark?” He smiles wider, nudging you gently with his elbow.

“Just a little.”

End.

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vox-anglosphere · 8 months

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Trafalgar Square's fountain hums with life in the summer of 1953

#Trafalgar Square #Old London #Nelson's Column #happy crowd #post-war #fountain #urban landscape #architecture #1953

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henk-heijmans · 5 months

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Primary school, midday meal, Vienna, Austria, 1948 (Children of post-war Europe) - by David Seymour (1911 – 1956), Polish

#David Seymour #Europe #Austria #Vienna #post-war

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retropopcult · 4 months

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All stocked up and ready for a baby boom. "Kartch's, a business on Main Street. Rear, vertical detail." Photographed January 1947 in Paterson, New Jersey.

#vintage #postwar #mid-century #baby clothes #children's furniture #1940s #kids clothing #post war #mid century #40s fashion #baby linens #toys #stuffed animals #post-war #midcentury

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tsukuyomii45 · 6 months

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Under the Influence - Post-War AU ObiKonan (NO MINORS!)

"You're so fucking beautiful."

I'm findin' ways to articulate the feelin' I'm going through, I just can't say I don't love you, 'Cause I love you

Delivery for @amikotsu and @maireyart <33

Post-war ObiKonan is all that I've been thinking about lately. Yes, and by that I totally mean white-haired Obito x Konan, they're uniquely sexy and I've just been obsessed with them.

This is based on Scenario 1 from this headcanon here

You can read my headcanons about them here - you may have to scroll a bit to locate the spicy ones. ;)

#under the influence #obito x konan #obikonan #obikona #obito uchiha #uchiha obito #konan akatsuki #konan #post-war #post-war au #naruto shippuden #headcanon

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roeswater · 1 year

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Bernar Venet, Undetermined Line, 1986

#bernar venet #work on paper #collage #this thing is 60 x 95 inches wtf #art #contemporary #post-war

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miamaimania · 2 months

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The Abstract World of Sadamasa Motonaga

#abstract #contemporary #sadamasa motonaga #art #post-war #painting #gutai group

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freedoms-wingz · 5 months

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In Time

Summery: Reiner has a nightmare and seeks his family for comfort

Warnings: Mention of Marijuana use, Domestic fluff, slightly ooc probably. Proofread by me but please point out any spelling goofs.

Notes: Hey @fromriches-tosin told you I'd consider making my own blog. This is it. Just some domestic ReiJean. I haven't written in like a year so sorry if it's a little choppy haha.

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

Reiner shot awake with a gasp, his breath coming out in raspy pants. His heart raced uncomfortably fast, making him put a hand over his chest in an attempt to calm it.

He closed his eyes and took breaths like Jean had taught him. Breathe for 10 seconds, hold for 5, exhale 15.

Eventually, his heart stopped racing, and he pushed himself to sit up, glancing over at the other side of the bed, smiling to himself seeing his husband, Jean, still asleep.

At least one of them was sleeping easy. Tonight at least.

Fuck. It was almost 10 years since the rumbling, and Reiner still had terrible nightmares. Both about the rumbling and before. Jean did, too, but not nearly as often. Especially these days.

Reiner ran his hand through his platinum blonde hair (he really should cut it). He carefully got out of bed, being sure not to jostle Jean too much.

He rubbed his eyes and walked down the familiar hallway of the house he and Jean had built (litterally). He went into the kitchen and got out a cup. He put some water in the kettle to boil and searched the cabinets for the "sleepy" tea. It was a blend sold at Levi's teashop that Jean had designed. It was a blend of lavender, Hibiscus, Rose Petal, and Chamomile. Reiner hoped it would get him sleepy again, or at least relaxed.

Until recently, Reiner would maybe smoke a joint or two to calm down, but had been trying to steer away from that when they adopted their daughter, Aurora, 3 years ago. And even more so now since they had talked about potentially adopting another.

Adoption hadn't been on their plans originally, Reiner hadn't been entirely sure he was cut out, or deserved, to be a father (or that the kids would even like him, especially if/when they found out what he used to be.) But Historia had written them, saying there were a number of kids on Paradis left orphaned, both by the rumbling and now the Jeagurist uprising. They hadn't cared about ages of course, but Aurora had been given to them when she was practically a newborn.

Jean had taken to parenthood easily enough. Of course, unlike Reiner, he had come from a mostly-functional home with a mom who loved him (perhaps a little too much at times). Reiner's mom had certainly...been around, and that was all the credit he was willing to give her.

The scream of the kettle cut his thoughts off. He got it off the burner and poured it into the cup and put the tea bag into the cup and bounced it a few times, and left it to steep for a couple minutes.

His mind wandered back to the nightmare. It had been a memory, but the worst part is that it was one Reiner couldn't place. It was just a time he had killed, and sadly that didn't narrow it down much.

He closed his eyes and willed the thought away before he spiraled into a panic attack and woke up Jean. He took the teacup into his hands and let the warmth seep through his hands before taking a slow sip.

He took another series of breaths between sips.

Eventually, he felt the tea work its magic and his nerves relaxed. He rinsed the cup and put it back. He felt arms wrap around him.

"Nightmare?" Jean's voice, raspy and slightly slurred, said softly, kissing the area where Reiner's neck and shoulder met.

"Yeah..." Reiner said softly, relaxing in the embrace. He loved Jean's voice after he just woke up...

"Been a while since you've had one," Jean said softly, his head resting on his shoulder.

Reiner just nodded and chuckled as Jean pressed slow, lazy kisses along his shoulder, neck, and jaw.

"Care to talk about it?" Jean asked.

"No..." Reiner sighed.

"Okay." Jean said softly. "Come back to bed when you're ready..."

"I will." Reiner said, tempted to tease Jean but ultimately chose not to. He leaned down and kissed Jean briefly before the other went back to their room.

Reiner sighed and quietly mourned the loss of Jean's warmth.

He began to track back to his room but paused, stopping at another door instead. He cracked it open quietly and peeked inside, a small smile crossing his face.

He carefully walked in, dodging the chaotic toys on the floor (a chore for tomorrow, he noted). He made his way to the little bed that had a little head poking out.

He sat on the edge of the bed and adjusted the blanket, white with bright polka-dots, up to Aurora's chin and re-tucked her in. He smiled at the stuffed bear (gifted by Connie for her 2md birthday) she held loosely in her arm. He brushed some hair from her face, making the girl squirm.

"Daddy...?" Aurora asked in a soft voice.

"Shh. Go back to sleep, baby, " Reiner whispered softly.

Aurora looked at him with gentle brown eyes.

"Daddy was just checking on you. It's okay." Reiner said softly again. He studied her, seeing her blonde hair was turning more brown as she got older.

She nodded and squirmed, burying her face back into her pillow. "Night night Daddy..."

Reiner smiled softly and kissed her temple, getting back out of her bed, slightly awkwardly since it was a weird angle for the tall man.

He walked to her door and turned back to her. "Night, Baby girl. Love you" He said softly and closed the door behind him.

"Love you more..." He heard her little voice say, and Reiner just smiled again.

He walked to his and Jean's room and got back into bed. He wrapped an arm around Jean and pulled him closer, his thumb running long the side of Jean's arm.

He nuzzled closer and breathed in Jean's comforting scent, a mixture of Pine, cologne, Tea and a faint bit of cleaning chemcials (the last two courtesy of Levi and Jean working at his tea shop).

He kissed his cheek and adjusted his hold as he settled back into bed.

While the nightmares would never truly go away...he hoped that moments like these didn't either.

#ReiJean #Reiner x Jean #Reiner Braun #jean kirstein #Jean #Reiner #Armored Titan #Attack on Titan #Ficlit #Domestic fluff #Post-war

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