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pholla-jm · 1 month

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Colors

IMAGINE: COLORS - ZORO X READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: soulmate au. a bit ooc? ****************

The world was rather drab in your opinion. Just black, white and grays. And to see color you have to meet a certain person, your soulmate to be more specific.

You hated that idea. If you want to see the world at its fullest you have to depend on a single person? You cursed the deity that created it. You wanted to be an independent person, and falling in love only sounded like it was going to slow you down.

So you continued to live life in monochrome, accepting to live like this. That doesn’t mean you hated every second of it. To make the best of it, you traveled to different islands, exploring different cultures and trying different foods.

It was a good life.

The island you were currently at was quite busy. People constantly bump into each other, shoving, just trying to get to their destination. You wouldn’t be surprised if there were any pickpockets in the area. You didn’t really like it, too many people. So you decided to head to the docks to find your little boat.

However, it was gone. Someone had stolen it. Your day literally couldn’t get any worse.

Your eyes gaze at all the other ships, trying to find one that you deemed worthy enough to get help. A ship with a sheep figurehead caught your eyes. It was rather… cute.

You could see some people walking around on the deck. With a deep sigh, you mentally prepare yourself to play the damsel in distress. Forcing tears to sheen over your eyes, you climb up the ship.

“Excuse me,” You softly say, tears becoming more fresh in your eyes as you try to catch someone's attention.

“Hey! What are you doing on my ship?” You hear a boy call out to you. You look at him, seeing that he was wearing a straw hat and an open vest. You could tell he had his guard up, and you don’t blame him. It is his ship anyway. However, you could tell that it would be rather easy to convince.

“Someone stole my ship… and now I’m stuck here. Can you help me?” “Huh, are you a pirate too?”

What, a pirate?

You didn’t really consider yourself to be a pirate but if it pleased the boy in front of you, then you would say that you were.

“Because if you are, then you’re a terrible pirate.” He says and you almost choke on your spit.

“No,” you whisper while wiping away some tears, “I’m not a pirate. I’m sailing by myself.”

The boy was about to say something until another woman appeared.

“Luffy, who is this person?” A taller woman now stood behind the boy, a slight scowl present on her face.

“I’m (y/n), and my ship has been stolen. I just need passage to the next island… I have berri to pay you with.” You say holding up a small bag of berri, since the rest of it was on your ship. Something that irked you even more.

As soon as the woman heard berri, her scowl lifted away and a bright smile graced her face. “Of course!” She says immediately grabbing the small pouch of money that you had. She walks off, not saying anything else. Leaving you with the boy named Luffy.

“Welcome to the crew!” He excitedly says. You quirked an eyebrow, “uh. Not part of the crew. Just to the next island.”

Luffy ignores you, “I’ll show you to the rest of the crew. That was Nami, she’s our navigator,” he grabs your hand and starts to drag you around the ship. He opens one of the doors, which led to a kitchen. A man stood over the stove, stirring something.

The man sighs hearing the door open. “Luffy, how many times do I have to tell you-” He turns around, ready to scold the boy. However, he stops once he sees you.

“Well, who do I have the honor meeting?” He walks over to you, with a suave smile. “This is (y/n), she’s going to be a part of the crew now. This is Sanji, he’s the cook” Sanji grabs onto your hand, and you just slightly shake your head, “oh no. Just to the next island.” Sanji brings your hand up to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on it. “Well, I do hope you change your mind.” You nervously laugh at him while pulling your hand back, “thanks.”

Luffy grabs onto your other hand, dragging you out of the kitchen.

“This is Usopp!” He shouts pointing to someone with curly hair and quite a long nose. “He’s a-” “I’m the Captain!” He cuts off Luffy. “No! I’m the Captain!”

The two start to bicker, causing you to sweat drop at their antics.

While they are bickering, you decide to look around the ship. Your eyes caught a man that was sleeping on the side of the wall. He had three swords right next to him, and you wondered, who uses three swords?

Leaving the two bickering boys, you walked up to the sleeping man. Wanting to get a closer look at the three swords. However, when you are standing right infront of him, his eyes snapped open, looking straight into your eyes.

Suddenly, you could see this green hair. Something that greatly stood out to you.

Wait.

You could see the color of his hair. You could see every color around you.

It was all too much. The sudden rush of colors causes your head to spin and hurt. There were too many colors that you’ve never seen or heard before. You didn't have time to process the fact that you were now face to face with your soulmate. You rush past the man, and lean yourself over the railing. It wasn’t long until you were puking your guts out.

“Huh, I guess my first impression isn’t that great.” You hear the man speak and you inwardly cringe. He must think you’re disgusting now.

You groan, pushing yourself up to face your soulmate. Now that your headache has calmed down a little, you were able to take a better look at the man. He was tall, and had a few muscles on him. The thing that stood out to you was his green hair. You weren’t expecting to meet your soulmate on a pirate ship, and an actual pirate nonetheless.

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t expecting to meet my soulmate. And the colors… and it was just too much.” You explain. The man hums in response, “I wasn’t expecting my soulmate to sneak up on me.” You purse your lips, “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you… I was just interested in your swords.”

The corner of his lips twitched, and he was about to say something until Luffy jumped in between the two of you.

“(y/n)! There you are! You met Zoro!” He excitedly says. “Yeah, we met. They’re a part of our crew now, right?” Zoro says and your eyes widen.

It seems like Luffy wasn’t the only one who decided that you were going to be a part of the crew.

“Shhiiishiiishii, yeah!”

Zoro shoots you a look, one of amusement and just a little bit of smugness. “Welcome, I can’t wait to show you more about my swords.”Zoro walks away leaving you speechless and Luffy just a little bit confused. “What was that about?” He asks. “Uh, don’t worry about it.” You answer, “I just found my soulmate…”

#one piece #one piece x reader #oneshot #zoro x you #zoro x reader #one piece zoro #one piece fluff #zoro fluff #zoro x y/n

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toomuchracket · 10 months

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Bumping into ex!matty/ ex-hookup!matty at a party or an event, when you’re with your new BF. And Matty has a whale of a time, certain you’re unsatisfied with your new partner.

so you've been on one date with a guy and it didn't go that well, like it was fine but so boring, and you had no real intentions to see him again, but then he texts and says his friend is opening an art exhibition and there's like a gala for it with dinner and drinks and stuff and he has a spare ticket so would you like to go? and you're like fuck it ok. like you're getting free drinks, a fancy dinner, a bit of culture, and an excuse to wear the long green velvet dress you recently bought in a sale, and then you can just phase the guy out of your life lmao. so you get all dressed up and go, and it's fine. although you don't know anyone else and the art is, um, kinda shit and not worth looking at more than once, so you do have to lurk by your date a bit like a spare part or sit in a corner by yourself the whole night - you learned that the artist in question is actually his ex, and they seem to want to reconnect. and honestly, good for them. anyway, you're standing counting the bubbles in your champagne glass and mentally calculating if you have enough time to make it onto the last tube if you leave now when a voice speaks and practically sets your whole body alight: "well, well, well. s'been a while, babe". and you look up to see a familiar head of dark curls (although more grey-streaked than they were), a familiar chest tat peeking out of his shirt (although the chest in question is far more muscle-bound), and a familiar smile (that, to your delight, is still the same as it was the last time you saw it, before your little dalliance ended and he went on tour and the world went into lockdown); you smile back like "hi matty. what's it been, four years? you look good". he kisses your cheek like "four years, yeah, and you look amazing as always. don't think your date has quite realised that, though, the div", and you stay silent but quirk your eyebrows as you take a drink - matty's face lights up, and he giggles like "oh, sweetheart, he's not doing it for you at all, is he?", and you wince like "he's a sweet guy, he's just not-" and matty interrupts like "interesting enough for you? yeah, i could see how unimpressed you looked with him talking from across the room". you can feel yourself blush, and you look down at the ground sheepishly; matty lightly tilts your chin up to look at you (which does not help the blushing in the slightest) and say "and i know how much you like things to be... interesting. you really do look amazing, by the way. think you're the only masterpiece in here, honestly". and at that point, you literally can't help yourself - you look up at him through your eyelashes and say "is this you offering to pin me to the wall?", and matty smirks and says "gladly, if that's what you want". you smirk back and say "always, if it's you doing it", and matty kisses you so quickly you don't even have time to react and says "come on then, time for you and i to have a proper reunion" <3

#i like this a lot #mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks #smutty asks #toomuchracket best bits

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suhnshinehaos · 2 years

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crush culture : part ten

synopsis : ln yn has always flirted with huang renjun. but they do that with literally everyone else too, they couldn’t possible be serious about pursuing him, right? on their final year of university, yn is determined to show that they are. with all the walls that renjun has built around himself, will they be strong enough to succeed in tearing them down? pairing : huang renjun x gn!reader genre/s : university + student council au, fluff, angst, pining, slice of life, humor pt10 wc : ~1k

part ten : promises, promises

previous ➤ part nine : intense discussion next ➤ part eleven crush culture ➤ masterlist

“a warning? seriously? that’s all you can do?”

frustration is clear in each and every one of renjun’s words. he stands outside the front door of your apartment and the grip on his phone tightens, his knuckles on the verge of turning white. despite the fact that he had bitten the inside of his cheek to keep from saying some sort of snarky remark, one still manages to come out anyways, “what’s the point of having a disciplinary board if they aren’t going to do their job?”

he hears a sigh on the other end of the line, “mr. huang.”

“not even a suspension? even for just a day? these people won’t learn if there aren’t any consequences to their actions. a warning does nothing.” renjun presses on, the exasperated utterance of his last name is not enough to deter him. he continues, “you should see what they’re saying about yn who, if you don’t remember, is the student council vice president.”

“we remember that very well, mr. huang. and we do see what some of the student body have been writing online. we’ve reviewed their statements and while they are uncalled for, they are simply not enough to warrant a suspension. they are not threats, nor grave attacks on their character. i’m afraid this is the best we can do.”

aware that the person on the other end is unable to see him, renjun rolls his eyes but manages to bite his tongue on his irritation, “alright, thank you for looking at my report on such short notice.”

“of course. one more thing, please tell the rest of the council to act accordingly should something like this happen again. we are aware that their tweets have been deleted, but we have also received word that they were cursing out the student body-”

renjun cuts him off before he could even finish, “yes, but i also hope you understand that their friend was attacked. you can’t blame them for reacting in the way that they did-”

the sound of a door opening brings him out of the conversation, his gaze landing on you, “anyways, thank you again. i have to go now, please excuse me.”

he hangs up and places the phone back in his pocket, “ready to go?”

you respond with a nod and both of you make your way towards the elevator.

“who were you talking to? you looked stressed.” you speak up over the generically cheery elevator music. your arm barely brushes against his, but you stare straight ahead for fear of the way he’d notice the smile that creeped to your lips, “your brows were furrowed and your jaw was clenched by the time you ended that call.”

his gaze briefly lands on you before he stares right ahead once more, making note of the way the corner of your mouth quirked upwards to a barely noticeable smile, “the head of the university’s disciplinary board.”

you turn your head towards him just as the elevator doors ding open, “what? didn’t all this happen just yesterday? how did they look into things so quickly?”

renjun shrugs his shoulders as he steps out of the elevator, a hint of a smirk gracing his features, “being student council president has its perks i guess.”

you’re rooted to the floor, still staring at him wide-eyed with your mouth parted ever so slightly. just as the elevator doors are about to close, he grabs a hold of your wrist and pulls you towards him. that seems to be enough to snap you out of your trance, “sorry, just a little surprised.”

renjun lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his head, letting go of your wrist, “it’s fine, come on.”

the brief walk from your apartment building to the university gates is punctuated by silence, at least from the two of you. cars passed by, birds tweet from their branches on the trees that lined the street, your shoes make contact with the concrete beneath them. the crease in between renjun’s brows return, does he tell you about the disciplinary board’s decision? you’d be disappointed, right? …that wouldn’t be good first thing in the morning.

under the early morning light, he finally takes notice of the heavy bags under your eyes, the far-off gaze, the small quiver in your breath. renjun is inclined to tell you the truth, but he stops himself and instead asks, “are you okay?”

the question catches you off guard, stopping you in your tracks. he stands just a couple of feet away, unaware that his inquisitive gaze would be enough for the wind to get knocked out of your lungs, “of course i am.”

but he notices. renjun catches the way your words shook, the way your gaze avoided his and landed on your feet, the way your shoulders slumped forward. “are you sure?”

you let out a sigh, “can you promise me something?”

“of course.” renjun answers without hesitation, surprising both you and himself. he takes a step closer to you, patiently waiting for you to finish collecting your thoughts.

“renjun, let me know. be upfront with me, okay? when my flirting gets to much, when i make you uncomfortable, tell me. and if the time comes when you’re sure you can’t reciprocate what i feel for you, reject me. break my heart, don’t drag it out longer than it needs to be.”

“yn…” he’s at a loss for words, the only thing that could escape his lips is your name in a breathless whisper.

“promise me, please.”

you’re practically pleading him, and your voice was enough for his knees to grow weak. it was enough that he felt like he had no other choice but to let out a quiet, “okay.”

“great!” you grin, clapping your hands together in an attempt to bring back the cheery attitude he’s always known you for, “come on! let’s get some breakfast!”

but he notices that your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, at least not in the way he was used to. just as you were about to walk past him, he grabs your wrist and his eyes meet yours once more, “can you promise me something too?”

you nod enthusiastically, “of course, renjun darling ! anything for you !”

the corner of his lips unconsciously twitches upwards at the familiar pet name, his grip on your wrist firm yet somehow gentle at the same time, “don’t let what happened yesterday affect you. never change, yn. not on anyone’s terms. not even me.”

“i’ll try.”

from reese, with love <3 renjun priv reveal hehehe let’s see if either of them actually end up keeping their promise, shall we? >:)) hope you don’t mind a written update every now and then >_< thank you sm for reading, as always id really love to know what you think ! hope you are all doing well and taking care of yourselves :))

#🦋 — crush culture!#nct dream x reader #nct x reader #renjun x reader #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #nct dream smau #nct dream series #nct dream scenarios #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct smau #nct series #nct scenarios #renjun imagines #renjun fluff #renjun smau

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tiredassmage · 7 months

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Bold the Facts

I warned y'all I wasn't about to be normal about this game, so we definitely have to do the hot mess express. <3

Alucren's my pathetic little alley rat regardless, but I think he's got extra interesting answers for the Cipher Nine edition, so I'm using this as an excuse to explore some of that utter spiral alknflksdfnsd.

PERSONAL

Financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty

During his Intelligence service, Alucren's relatively removed from his family - a fairly well-off figure of Kaasi nobility, but at no point would they ever consider him cut-off. And Jadus made a handful of promises in exchange for his service.

Medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / non-applicable

Bargaining with Jadus has its... quirks. The Dark Lord's favor is both gift and hindrance and, in a sense, as are Alucren's Castellan Restraints. The Sith's touch allows his Hand to carry out his orders, but introduced a level of paranoia in the operative's actions. In short, allowing their Hand to undergo Castellans was meant as something of a counterbalance to the nearly corrupting power of the Dark Alucren wasn't quite managing, and its that very influence that helps keep him mostly together when the SIS begins to abuse that system with Hunter's interference. In short, they're equal parts problem and solution to each other - and... something something walking Indiana Jones style curse of power beyond comprehension, etc. etc. He can, in fact, get so much worse. He's prone to a mild to severe case of... interesting Dark Side-influenced heterochromia when Jadus's influence is particularly strong. Sometimes that takes over both, but an eye patch tends to be enough to hide at least the one glowing eye when it's more... contained.

Class or Caste: upper / middle / working / unsure / other

His family has a long history of service with the Empire in roles ranging from the Diplomatic Service to domestic architectural projects. The family is involved heavily in several museums of Imperial history in Kaas City.

Education: qualified / unqualified / studying / other

Criminal Record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no / has committed crimes, but not caught yet / yes, but charges were dismissed

FAMILY

Children: had a child or children / has no children / wants children

Relationship with Family: close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased

Alucren is the youngest of four and has three older sisters who are his world outside of his life of service. They were quite close before his service to Intelligence removed him further from contact than he'd ever been with the Diplomatic Service and, while he wouldn't admit it under threat of torture [he says, at least], he... misses them dearly.

Affiliation: orphaned / abandoned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s) / not applicable

TRAITS & TENDENCIES

♦ extroverted / introverted / in-between

♦ disorganized / organized / in-between

♦ close-minded / open-minded / in-between

♦ calm / anxious / in-between / highly contextual

I think he'd combust if you made him stand in parade rest too long. Man is almost always bouncing on the balls of his feet if he has to.

♦ disagreeable / agreeable / in-between

♦ cautious / reckless / in-between / highly contextual

And just shy of being prone to overconfidence. Walking example of, like, a terribly socialized dog that is now essentially reactive. Only made worse by the injected bravado of a Cipher.

♦ patient / impatient / in-between

♦ outspoken / reserved / in-between / highly contextual

♦ leader / follower / in-between

♦ empathetic / vicious bastard / in-between

Just conscious enough that his crew could totally leave his ass to mildly check himself before he entirely wrecks himself. But he's, again, prone to being a bit... like a reactionary dog. A lot of fuckin' bark.

♦ optimistic / pessimistic / in-between

♦ traditional / modern / in-between

♦ hard-working / lazy / in-between

♦ cultured / uncultured / in-between / unknown

♦ loyal / disloyal / in-between / unknown

To a bitter, sunk-cost fallacy fault.

♦ faithful / unfaithful / in-between / unknown

Out of true loyalty? Out of fear of reprimand for failure or imperfection? Shut up. He'll kill you. >.>

BELIEFS

Faith: monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic

It gets a little muddy when he dedicates himself to Jadus. Alucren's loyalty has always been unflinchingly to the Empire, and by extension the Emperor, so he... would have said for much of his life. But to Jadus he pledged his service, his dedication to his plans - up to and including investigating their would-be Emperor's Imperial Guard. In a sense, his loyalty is to his singular master in Jadus, through which he believes he serves the good of the Empire. He... hopes he has not miscalculated.

Belief in Ghosts or Spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care / in a manner of speaking

Belief in an Afterlife: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care / in a manner of speaking

Belief in Reincarnation: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care / in a manner of speaking

Belief in Aliens: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care

Religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious

He may not be able to wield the Force as the Sith do, but Jadus made quite a speech of sharing such ways and beliefs with the Empire entire - a speech Alucren hangs on to as guidance.

Philosophical: yes / no / highly contextual

SEXUALITY & ROMANCE

Sexuality: heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual

Incredibly oblivious about it for the longest time.

Sex: sex-repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable / naive and clueless

Romance: romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable / naive and clueless / romance suspicious

Sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious

Potential Sexual Partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

Potential Romantic Partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

ABILITIES

Combat Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Literacy Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Artistic Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Technical Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

HABITS

Drinking Alcohol: never / special occasions / rarely / sometimes / frequently / alcoholic

Smoking: tried it / trying to quit / quit / never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / chain-smoker

Recreational Drugs: tried some / never / special occasions / sometimes / frequently / addict / former addict

Medicinal Drugs: never / no longer needs medication / some medication needed / frequently / to excess

He should probably get, idk, therapy? Instead of cannabis. But that would require him to admit to vulnerability and he'd absolutely rather not.

Unhealthy Food: never / special occasions / rarely / sometimes / frequently / binge eater

Splurge Spending: never / sometimes / frequently / shopaholic

Gambling: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / compulsive gamble

#bold the facts series #tag games #ch: alucren #swtor ocs

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brooklynislandgirl · 1 year

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Advent Calendar: Day 26 @tangleweave

“Elizabeth. Might I inquire about all of this..” A hand waves about the decorated apartment and Beth is genuinely surprised that it’s taken him all this time to ask. Then it strikes her; he already knows, he’s probably part of Google’s backbone, after all, and that maybe he remembers the holidays spent with the Avengers in his former life, if he’s still even a little the same Vision she’s known for years. She finishes putting the last of the glittery bows on the present she’s wrapping ~also surprised that her imprecise edges haven't driven him to geometric madness~ and sits back. Admiring the job done she rises from the table and makes her way from the table to the enormous tree. She places it next to the others and wipes her hands on her skirt before turning to address him. “Shoots.” He’s gotten used to her slang even if he doesn’t like it so much. While his face isn’t as expressive as it could be, she can tell by the slight dimming that mimics the narrowing of his blues. A quirk of her face from the slight scrunch of her nose to the drawn down furrow of her brows offers him a wordless apology and her own flutter of fingertips encourages him to ask. “Why do you put so much belief in rituals and traditions distorted so far beyond their origins that they do not even pass muster as fables?” She blinks, and blows out a little breath, because that’s….well, that’s a really hard question to answer. She doesn’t even know where to begin. Though when she does, it’s that painfully precise way of hers when she struggles to be understood, which pushes her beyond her comfort zone, which takes so much effort, but doesn’t Vision deserve that? “I…I suppose it started back when I was little. My brother always loved Christmas because maybe it was the one time for him that things felt…normal. He was born here in New York and could remember what it was like. The snow falling most years. The pine trees that were brought in by ship because they don’t grow natively back home. There was something really comforting about my mom baking in the kitchen and it just lit him up from the inside. Especially because the only snow that falls in Hawai’i comes down on the upper most slopes of Haleakala. Mauna Kea. Mauna Loa, but she…my mom…would still make paper ones for him. “And ya know, if you look at the vastness of the winter holidays, all those origins traded hand over fist from one culture over the other…there’s a thread that runs through them.” She takes his hand and gently urges him to turn toward the tree, the star atop it. “Light even in the deepest darkness. Gifts to express love from the giver to the receiver, whether its something so simple as a piece of fruit or a brand new car, or anything between. Food shared between family and friends to sustain one another through the leanest times. Whether it’s the celebration of the sun being reborn, or the Prince of Peace, it’s the promise of survival and the interdependence of the entire community. A triumph of life.” “The symbolism between kisses and a poisonous berry?” Her lips twitch. “Oh, that’s just an excuse to kiss.” “You string it up in hopes of such a reward?” He looks down at her in a way that she can only say is soft. “Naw, I do it as a warnin’ dat even da prettiest kine can be lethal if not treated wi’ care.” It works. She makes him laugh. And he makes her want to hear it again.

#tangleweave #Out of Beta|Vision #Points of Data Make a Beautiful Line|Vision and Beth #Blood Ties|Avengers AU #Brooklyn Stories|New York #Merry Christmas 2022

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jolliestlolli · 1 year

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Jolly's Monday Blog Update - Dec 19th 2022

Elf on the Shelf scares the shit out of me.

There's probably a hundred other better opening lines I could have thought of for this blog update but that's the one I decided was the best. I'm well aware I missed both blog updates last week, and I'm not gonna even try to spin a good excuse for that. It just is what it is.

Writing wise, I started writing a new short story, and then I got cold feet and decided to return to a project I actually started last year with the intention of trying to finish it before Christmas. Here's an excerpt:

He had to admit, Teruteru’s passion about food was as clear as day, and that was admirable enough on its own even if it didn’t quite make up for the chef’s… other quirks.

Teruteru held the zucchini and cradled it to his face like it was a precious creature, stroking its outer rind. “The best part about this particular store is the price you get for such beautiful, long, juicy–”

Ryoma could practically feel his eyes going cross and his brain briefly numbing for the few seconds it took Teruteru to say whatever gross innuendo that the person currently recounting this story to you does not even want to recite.

In that time, his eyes drifted away from the chef and around at some of the other shoppers in the store. Out of all the people currently around them, the ones that stood out the most were two young women standing not very far away from them. The both of them clearly not Japanese, judging from their clothes they were likely American tourists and not quite used to the culture shock, because when Ryoma first saw them out of the corner of his eye, he realized one of the girls was already staring directly at him.

Enjoyed that? Good, because I have no idea if I'll actually be able to upload this before Christmas lmao. I'm really excited to finish this story because it'll be the first time I reveal some certain details of Ryoma's backstory that I've been thinking carefully about over the last several months. I just hope you all find it acceptable.

Speaking of Christmas, I'm going to be attempting to cook my first ever Beef Wellington soon. Jason Farmer's video about cooking a Wellington using Walmart ingredients really inspired me and I'm feeling confident I can do it with minimal help. A couple years back I made a Christmas Porchetta so I guess I just like to make a tradition out of cooking complicated AF dishes for the holidays. Cause what else says "Christmas" like working your ass off to try to appease a bunch of ungrateful sour pricks that have as much Christmas spirit as Ebenezer Scrooge passing a kidney stone.

Woo, got a little salty there (Not as salty as the Christmas Porchetta I made). What do I wanna talk about now? Hmm

Well one minor thing I wanna mention is that I became mutuals with @graincracket today which I'm really happy about! I don't have nearly enough Ryoma simps to chat with so it's always a good day when I get to become friends with one.

Ghhh... Now I feel like sorta going off on a whole tangent about the Christmas season, but if I'm gonna do that it's not gonna be a today thing. Maybe not even a next week thing. So instead, because I'm really high now as I finish writing this, I'm going to leave you with a sudden revelation that came to me that I must share:

There is no visible difference between using normal quotation marks and using double apostrophes. You cannot tell the difference between '' and ", you fucking look me in the eye and tell me there's a difference. I rest my case.

#Jolly's Bi-weekly Blog Update #danganronpa #ryoma hoshi #teruteru hanamura #cooking #christmas #this one's got a lot more aimless rambling ain't it #good thing no one comes to me expecting intellectual observations

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reidslibrarybook · 2 years

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For No Good Reason

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings - language, alcohol consumption, fingering, use of pet name (sweetheart, good girl, sweet girl), unprotected penetration, oral sex (female receiving), slight hair pulling, sorta dom!spencer and sorta sub!reader (lmk if i missed anything lmao)

Summary - A little jealousy never hurt anyone, especially not you.

Category - fluff, smut (18+) MINORS DNI

Word Count - 5.5k

A/N - sheesh my second smut fic, this one is supposed to be a little rougher than the last lmao. this is also unedited cuz writing this shit fried my brain, plz excuse my mistakes lmaooooo. also thank you to @samuel-de-champagne-problems for helping me and just being there to support me while i wrote this lmao, ily so much love! enjoy <333

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——————————————

A man of science.

That was who Spencer was.

He respected every religion and cultural belief, but he himself was one to believe in things he could see— things he could feel and touch and smell.

His beliefs were rooted in the tangible, things he could prove to be real.

That was… until he met you.

He could have sworn that you had descended from the sky right in front of him, a divine glow surrounding your body and a brilliant radiance that undulated from your addicting smile. Had he not been seated in his swivel chair, his knees would have given way and hit the floors in complete praise.

All his beliefs and theorems and empirical experiments were thrown out the window with one single glance in your direction, but not all of them were discarded.

Every day for months on end, he’d watch you in complete secrecy— scoping out your favorite things and routine so he could subtly become acclimated to your incandescence. Little did he know that hiding his borderline stalker behavior from you was the least of his problems, ironically forgetting that the nosiest person in the unit had access to all the security cameras. Soon enough, Garcia confronted Spencer and blackmailed him into asking you out a good five months after you ended things with your ex-boyfriend. It was then that every single thing he knew before was useless in his clueless endeavor of navigating a relationship with you.

Everything was different with you, you accepted him for him no matter how talkative he was. Contrary to his former beliefs, he didn’t need to slowly introduce his quirks to you— you loved him and the weird and the bad and the good parts. That was when he realized that science was of no use to him anymore, not when the unfathomable fantasy became his treasured reality.

And as you turned into the parking lot of the rundown bar the team had chosen to converse in, illuminated by the headache-inducing neon lights, he felt the same malfunction in his mind. He was left speechless even by the simplest of things you’d do, one of the minor side effects of being in love with you.

Irresistible, he leaned over the center console as you parked the car and kissed your cheek gently— making his way down to your neck. You giggled, shaking your head in utter disbelief in his shenanigans.

“Spence,” you laughed, “Please…”

He mumbled something into your skin, continuing to attack you with hungry kisses and greedy hands.

“You can’t be doing this right as we’re about to go in for drinks with our friends.” Unbothered, he pushed aside the hair covering your jaw with his hungry fingers. “Why not?”

“Because… I don’t want our colleagues to see all the hickeys you might leave if we continue,” you gasped as he reached the particularly sensitive part of your skin, gulping nervously as your resistance to his temptation waned.

“Well,” his breath spread across your ear as he nipped at it lightly, “They wouldn’t have to see anything if we had just stayed home like I so kindly suggested earlier.”

“Funny,” you huffed sarcastically, “This is the first time in a while that we finally get to spend time with our friends, not our colleagues. Can we have a night where we just hang out with them, please?”

You pushed him off gently, Spencer moving off the center console and slinking back into the passenger seat. His face had contorted into a sweet pout, pursing his lips like he always did when he didn’t get his way. You smiled at his defeatedness and leaned over to give him a sweet kiss on the cheek, a hint of red brushed across his sharp facial features.

“I promise,” you whispered into his ear, brushing his hair back with your fingers and tugging gently, “I’ll be all yours once this is over and you know I never break my promises… right?”

He nodded eagerly, meeting your lips for another kiss before quickly hopping out of the car. The sooner you left, the sooner he’d get his on you at home.

Spencer opened the car door for you, offering his hand for you to take as you stepped out. Before he let you leave his grasp, he brushed the pieces of your hair that covered your splendorous glow and kissed your face gently. A gentle smile graced his face, a look of love and admiration proudly worn.

You took his hand in yours, the two of you walking towards the glass doors. He looked around the bar, since he had the height advantage, spotting what looked to be Emily sitting at the bar with the rest of the team— minus Hotch, JJ, and Rossi.

He led you across the bar, holding you close against his body to keep you away from the prying hands of the monstrous drunks whose eyes you caught. With his hand planted on the small of your back, you reached the counter and called out to Emily who was nursing a large glass of margarita.

You exchanged your greetings, Spencer standing behind you with his eyes alert for any menace that might be coming your way. You were the apple of his eye and there was no way he was letting anyone dull your shine, at least, not with him around.

He pulled the stool out for you, sitting down on his own right next to you after ordering himself a club soda and your usual drink. You shook your head, ordering an iced water instead.

You were keeping yourself completely sober, something he was sure was in preparation for the amorous events that would come into fruition that night. Spencer could barely focus on the conversation that had grown to include the rest of the team, mesmerized by you and eagerly awaiting his imminent downfall as soon as the night was over.

You gave him a smile, his hand wrapping around your thigh to ward off anyone that would come to harass you. Even in the most deplorable of settings, as dark and musty as it was, you were always the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

You were God's way of showing that he was real, something to believe in.

It wasn’t until your name came up in the conversation did he finally tune in and temporarily mute his endless thoughts about you.

“I actually didn’t think you guys would come tonight,” Emily admitted, sipping her drink as Derek and Penelope nodded along, “And if we’re being honest? I sort of wish you hadn’t come.”

Spencer furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“The two of you were more than handsy when we got off the jet,” Derek shrugged.

“A- and,” Penelope hiccuped slightly from the copious amount of liquor she had already ingested, “And Y/N would come back with the wildest stories when she was still with, you know, A-D-A-M about the night before. So we were thinking that if you hadn’t come, she might come back tomorrow with some more.”

“What kind of stories?” He asked, turning to look at you. You shook your head. “It was nothing, Spence. Really.”

“Do better, Reid,” Derek joked before dragging Emily and Penelope to the dance floor.

They left, allowing the two of you some privacy, he turned back to you. “What kind of stories?” He asked, a curious smile on his face.

You shrugged, “It’s really nothing, Spence.”

“I don’t think it’s ‘nothing’ if Penelope’s going on about it,” he laughed.

“You know her, she likes to gossip,” you giggled, amused by his dead-set intent on finding out what you told them about Adam specifically.

He raised his eyebrows at you, skeptical of your answer and what you were keeping from him. “So you won’t tell me about these stories?”

“Like I said,” you sighed, kissing him on the lips before you continued to ease him, “There’s nothing to tell. Plus, I like keeping you on your toes.”

You hopped off the stool, Spencer’s hand stopping you before you could walk any further from him. He pulled you back to him, your faces inches away from the other. His hand gripped your waist, a burning fire lit behind his eyes as you stared into them with a playful stubbornness.

“I love you,” you giggled, distracting him with a kiss before slipping out of his grasp and towards the dance floor with the rest of your friends.

He shook his head with a smirk on his face, watching you saunter off to Penelope who immediately grabbed your arms, rushing you into the horde of sweaty people to sway to some upbeat music.

His curiosity got the best of him, trying to think back to when you were still with Adam— digging up every single piece of information about him that you’ve ever told him. He couldn’t think of a single thing sexual in nature, which was his best educated guess on what the stories were about. A nagging feeling of jealousy spurred within him, he could’ve sworn that green began to creep up his neck.

According to your friends, these stories stopped when you and Spencer started something new. He didn’t think that your sex life was lacking in any way considering the sounds that came out of your mouth and the way you squirmed under him when he touched you.

But maybe what he was doing wasn’t on par with what Adam did, which only served to make him more envious. What was he missing?

You wouldn’t tell him?

That was fine.

He’d just have to find out for himself.

——————————————

You got back from the dance floor, breathless, smiling wide and hopping into Spencer’s arms in utter bliss. You had a great time dancing and all you wanted was a kiss from him, but it appeared that he had something else in mind.

Gently pushing you off his lap, he called the rest of the team— stumbling drunk out of their minds— leading them to the cab he ordered. Confused, you stood quietly behind him and followed him towards the car.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he mocked your denying words you spoke earlier, opening the car door and closing it shut when you hopped in.

“Spencer,” you leaned over, caressing his face sincerely, “Is everything alright?”

He looked over, his darkened gaze and desirous expression washed away with a gentle smile. “I’m fine, I just wanted to go home.”

You nodded, slinking back into your seat and taking small glances in his direction every once in a while.

There was something off about, something he was hiding from you. It was apparent that the cogs in his brain were working on overdrive, his mind’s eternal churning working even faster than they were before. You couldn’t put your finger on the tension that filled the air around you, but your intuition was telling you it had to do with Adam.

It was a quiet drive, the silence keeping you from moving or speaking to him. You took a brave glance in his direction, his hands gripping the steering wheel and his jaw clenches slightly.

He was mad.

You figured it was because of what Penelope said; or rather, what you didn’t say.

The anger coursing through him was obvious, his veins in his hand and forehead more prominent than usual. You were anxious, shifting uncomfortably in your seat to which Spencer placed his hand on your knee.

Your eyes flicked to him immediately, the warmth of his hands radiating a sense of serenity in your callous waters. The tension in the air cleared up slightly but there was still something he wasn’t saying.

He parked in the parking garage, exiting the car and walking over to your side to open the door for you as he always did. Even when he was mad or upset, he still loved you and you knew that.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart beating at an untimely rate for some inane reason, a tightness in your chest almost sent you running.

The two of you made it up to the seventh floor, where your homely apartment resided. You walked in as soon as he stuck the key in the lock, waiting for him to say something… anything.

“What?” He questioned, looking at you with his brows strewn together after locking the door behind him.

You set your bags down, working up the courage to ask him what you had been dying to know since you left the bar.

“Nothing…” You trailed off.

He scoffed playfully, “‘Nothing’ seems to be your new favorite word. Isn’t that right, love?” The look in his eyes evolved to one of hunger, desire. Every single thing around you stilled, your pounding heart quieting amidst the new wave of tension that imbued into the air… one that was sexual.

“You really won’t tell me about these stories that Garcia seems to think so highly of?”

“It’s nothin-” you stopped yourself before you could give into his sly accusation, a smirk playing on his lips, “They’re not important, Spence.”

The two of you paused in a wave of uncertainty, wondering what you’d be doing next. Was it a fair move to forget about what happened and push it in the closet as your first and only skeleton, or was he adamant enough to push for a conversation of uncharted waters?

A moment of silence settled between you, his eyes scoping your body and quickly flicking to your lips before he pushed you against the closest wall. His hands cornered you in between the backing behind you as he pushed against you flush up against his body.

“Spencer… w- what um,” you gasped, the words unable to tumble from your lips like they usually did, “W- what are you doing?”

“I’m going to make you scream like he never did,” he admitted in a low hush, his lips working to close the distance between you. He connected with you, electrified by the contact and melting right into his touch. Your fingers tangled themselves in his messy curls, tugging like you did in the car earlier in the night.

He left one hand on the wall while the other traveled down your body aimlessly, feeling you up and down while they left burning fires in their wake. Not once did his lips disconnect, sucking and nipping at your skin as he desecrated your body in ways no one ever has.

He struggled to unbutton your blouse, his impatience getting the best of him right when he ripped your shirt off your body— exposing the lacy bra you wore just for him. He stopped to look at you, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth and licking slowly.

A slight smile graced your face, reaching around your back to unclasp your bra. The useless garment slid down your arms, his jaw gone slack as he stared at your body ready for him to ravage. He stepped closer to you, his fingers brushing up the sides of your body painstakingly slow. You looked up at him with your pupils dilated, your tongue licking your lips as your gaze dripped with impatient longing.

Before you knew it, he was on you again. But this time, he wasted no time in taking everything off of you. His greedy hands pulled down your tight skirt along with your black underwear he had no interest in toying with like he usually did.

He caressed your thighs with his roaming hands, your skin raised with goosebumps. Butterflies roamed your stomach, his evocative moans of satisfaction from your responsive motions. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your hands grasping for his shirt while he licked at your sensitive skin.

There you were, your wet cunt laid bare in front of him as he attacked you from above— planting ravenous kiss after kiss on your neck all the way to the top of your breasts. Eventually, he began to toy with your nipples, taking one in between his teeth as your other breast was kept company by his hands. You couldn’t help but fling your head back against the wall, mouth wide open in pleasure from his hot breath on your body.

“Spencer,” you moaned, tugging at his hair to anchor yourself.

He laughed against your skin, leaving impassioned marks all around you. “You won’t tell me these stories of yours so I guess the only way I can find out is through process of elimination,” he chuckled, “I’ll do every single thing to you until you can’t even talk anymore, since you weren’t so keen on telling me anyways… understand?”

You huffed heavily, nodding while scrunching your face in bliss.

He slowly dropped to his knees, planting voracious kisses along your inner thigh. His hands snaked around your body to grab your ass, his breath ghosting over your pussy dripping with your arousal. He smiled into you, his bold tongue licking from your thigh until he reached your cunt.

He used two of his fingers to open your lips, sucking at your clit until all that could be heard were your pleas for mercy— taking the bundle of nerves in between his teeth gently and sending surges of energy up your body. Your hands grasped his curls, pushing him up forcefully as you craved the feeling of his tongue inside of you.

The vibrations of his cocky laughs made your knees buckle, the strength you had to stand disappearing just as quick as your clothes did. Your thoughts were clouded by the feeling of him beneath you, slowly raising one of your legs and setting it on his shoulder to allow him more access to your core.

You reached for anything around you to grab, lascivious moans and whines tumbling from your mouth. Your fingers felt for the bookshelf, knocking over a couple of his books in your pleasure-drunken state— grasping the wood in utter desperation.

He could taste every inch of you, your pussy throbbing around his tongue. He moaned into you, his hands leaving red scratch marks on your ass as he swirled his tongue inside of you.

You could feel your orgasm coming, unable to say anything aside from profane words and the name of the only man who rendered you speechless. He chuckled, knowing full well what he was doing to you and how close you were.

You opened your eyes, meeting his from below you. You could see the arrogant smile from the crinkle of his eyes, enjoying the noises that he elicited from you.

He gave into your frenzied race for fulfillment, slipping in two of his fingers and curling them upward to hit your g-spot. Tears of pleasure rolled down your face, grinding your cunt into his face as you strode towards your high.

Soon enough, you had come undone right on his fingers— his tongue moving to lap up your cum.

He stood up, his hands cupping your cheeks and placing soft kisses to your tear-stained, mascara-ridden face. He pouted, feigning sympathy as he pressed himself up against you— his painfully hard dick indenting your thigh.

“Are you okay?” He asked. Beneath his tough, angry exterior was still the tender man that loved you.

You nodded, placing your lips on his eager for more. He chuckled as you jumped up onto his body, carrying you into the room and tossing you on the bed. You sat up, leaning down on your elbows as your panting subsides, briefly.

He unbuttons his shirt slowly, letting the fabric hit the ground as his hands reached for his belt. He managed to unbuckle it, unzipping his pants that were uncomfortably tight around his erect dick. Your eyes widened, the breath from your lungs sucked out as you saw the outline of his cock straining against the confines of his underwear.

You heard his low, breathy chuckle, feeling a wave of heat wash over your cheeks. You couldn’t help but take another look at him, his body glistening under the dimmer lights of your room from his sweat. He pulled down his underwear, stepping out of the fabric bunching up at his ankles and walking over to the bed.

You were antsy from the anticipation, your eyes glued to his dick that glistened from the precum conjured by your harmonic laments.

“Turn around,” he whispered, to which you obliged— waiting on your hands and knees for him to take you.

His hands grasped your hair, using it to pull your head back gently as your exposed neck was left for him to conquer. You whined at the feeling of his tip brushing up against your wet pussy, stuck in a state of waiting as he teased you some more by sliding himself between your lips without pushing himself in.

“Spencer…” you breathed, his wet breath tickling your neck and his impudent smile plaguing your thoughts, “Please, I need you.”

“Is that right?” He laughed huskily, “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Adam instead?” He knew what he was doing to you, entertained by your intense ardor for him— not anyone else. With one hand still in your hair, the other slid up your back and around to your tits. “Are you sure you want me? Because I can go and let you-”

“No!” You screamed, pushing yourself up against his dick, “Please, Spencer. I need you.”

He smiled, placing kisses on your neck and cheek before whispering in your ear, “Say it again, sweet girl.”

You turned your head to look at him, eyes half-lidded in ecstasy. “I need you… and only you.”

He groaned into your ear, content with your answer. You could feel him position himself at your entrance, his hands that were once around your breasts were gone— used to give himself a few pumps before pushing himself inside you. You whined at his size, leaning your head backwards as he began to thrust into you slowly. His hand was still stuck in your hair, tugging with every snap of his hips.

You took him in inch by inch, your cunt clenching around him from the sensitivity left by your last high. The lewd sound of your bare ass slapping against him filled the room, your bed frame banging against the wall as your neighbors were no doubt groaning into their pillows in order to block the vulgar noise being produced.

“Spence…” you moaned, feeling every bit of him hit the deepest parts within you. Your body was electrified, every single cell inside you shaking with excitement and nearly bursting with pleasure. Your hands grasped at the sheets, your knuckles stark white as you tried to make up for the uncontainable feeling of miraculous rapture blooming in your chest.

Spencer leaned forward to give your kisses along your shoulder, his unrelenting pace rendering your mind useless as the words were wrung out of your brain. His hand granted your hair liberation, instead holding you upright knowing that you were using your ability to hold yourself up was fading.

Eventually, your strength gave way, your face landing on the plush bedding as he continued to fuck you into oblivion. Out of courtesy for your neighbors and an inkling of embarrassment, you bit your lip to keep your rolling cries dormant.

His hands wandered around your body, feeling the way your body reacted to the feeling of his dick.

It was then that he realized why he loved the tangible. As much as he adored the idea of hope and belief in a higher being, there was always something that held him back on earth.

Feeling you.

Touching you.

Hearing you.

Tasting you.

There was nothing that wasn’t real about you, being able to know that you were 100% veridical.

For so long you had been the subject of his dreams, but now his dreams had become a fateful reality he indulged himself in every single day. How good were fantasies if they were just that, a fantasy?

You were real. You were his. Every stroke inside you, every euphoric moan he elicited proved as much.

“I want to hear you,” he wrapped your hair around the palm of his hand, pulling the both of you up so you were standing on your knees, “I want to hear you tell me who makes you feel this way.”

You whined, head resting on his shoulder as he continued to pound into you with the little space he had to move.

His fingers traced the marks he left on your neck that had deepened into a dark purple color, each touch of his finger tips sending a cocktail of chemicals straight to your brain.

“Y- y- I-” you stuttered, struggling to speak coherently, “I-”

“What’s wrong?” He teased, your body squirming under his touch, “Can’t speak?”

“Sp- Spencer,” you sputtered, “Y- you.”

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you.” His finger found its way back to your clit, moving in small agonizing circles.

He was making it even harder for you to think, to speak. You could barely focus on what he was doing, let alone focus on his questions. All you could think about was the way he was making you feel. Every single moment that led up to your sexual endeavors were long forgotten, the only thing in the forefront of your mind was him. The way he slammed into you with every inch of himself buried inside you, every moan and call of your name filling your ears and making your heart flutter. His tempestuous pace left you exposed and bare, not just your body but your heart. You were his and he needed to be reminded of the fact, lost in the fog of jealousy and envy of your ex. It wasn’t the same and it would never be the same. Spencer was different in every way. “You,” you moaned, burying your face deeper into his neck from the unbearable buzz of passion, “Y- you make me feel this way. O- only you, Spence. Only you…”

An all-consuming lust filled his once bitter green heart. Satisfied with your words, he pulled out gently— a small petulant whine coming from you. “Don’t worry, love,” he laughed at your fervor, “I’m not done just yet.” You nodded as he turned your around slowly, laying you down onto the bed with your back against the blankets wet with sweat. He brought his fingers up from the bottom of your stomach, leaving light red marks with his nails before touching your face lovingly.

The jealousy had dispersed, replaced with the same sweetness present at the beginning of the night. He slid into you again, the resistance he felt in the beginning long gone as the remnants of your last orgasm slicking your throbbing pussy.

Your moans mixed together with his hips hitting your thighs, his face pressed against your as he tried to muffle his growing volume through wet kisses and hungry nips.

You fit perfectly together, every one of your dips and crevices filled with his body.

Spencer developed a steady rhythm, thrusting himself into you with a force driven by his burning love and desire to satisfy you. Every stroke of his dick caused your back to arch more and more, his eyes mesmerized by the movement of your tits and the way you buried your face into the pillows.

He rocked in and out of you, your walls clenching around him after every in and out. The kisses and nips and licks were endless, your body never catching a break from his merciless lips. The smell of your shampoo and feel of your body flush up against his overrode all his senses, he lost all control and inhibition he worked to maintain. The sensation of you around him coupled with the crude sound of your moans and his dick slipping in and out of you was almost enough to send him over the edge. Quickening his speed, he gripped onto you harder than he had before. The whole bed shook with the driving force of his cock inside you, your screams of pleasure growing louder and heightening the ripples of passion.

Spencer’s movements faltered, his dick twitching inside of you as he filled you up with his cum. He laid on top of you panting for the air that he refused to let in as he lost all control.

He looked up slightly, your eyes still closed from the endless feelings of ecstasy. He used his hand to tilt your head towards him.

“One more time, sweetheart,” he cooed, “You can do it just one more time.”

You shook your head. “I- I can’t, Spence. I-”

“Yes, you can. You’re so so close,” his hand moving to touch your face lightly, “I know you can. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

You nodded, still completely inebriated from your imminent orgasm. “Yours,” you whispered breathlessly.

“Good,” he smiled, pulling out of you slowly. He tried to comfort you as you winced at the feeling, distracting you with kisses up and down your neck and shoulder.

His fingers caught the cum that threatened to spill out of you, pushing it back in and using it to slick his fingers as he entered you. You gasped, your hands grappling at his back and tugging at his tangled curls from the mixture of pain and pleasure. Your lips connected with his, your tongue slipping into his mouth as he curled his fingers inside you. You gasped, pulling away from him in order to throw your head back against the pillows and closing your eyes as you took in the euphoric feelings radiating from your core. The tell-tale knot in your stomach formed after Spencer decided to tamper with your insanity— using his thumb to rub your clit which seemed to double your pleasure.

The tingles that came from his touch ricocheted across your body as you felt every inch of you transcended physical pleasure. The look on your face, the sounds that came from your— every part of you— was his proof, his evidence that you were his.

You thrust your hips up into his hand, his fingers fucking you with no clemency or sympathy. He defiled you, the once gorgeous angel that descended from heaven in his eyes became putty in his hands with a single touch. The room spun in the midst of your disorienting thoughts, your breath captured by his carnal tendencies. Soon enough, you came undone in a spasm of pure, unadulterated lust— the aftermath of his jealousy and your playful teasing came to an end as you came down from your high.

He placed loving kisses on your forehead and brushed the hair off your face, reaching over for a tissue on your nightstand. He wiped you off, continuing to plant kiss after kiss as you recovered from his voracious takings.

He laid down across from you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer to his chest.

“Jealous much?” You giggled, playing with his hair in between your fingers.

He cleared his throat, shifting as you moved out of his grasp and onto his chest. “N- no…”

You giggled, kissing him tenderly, “It’s alright if you were, I’m not complaining.”

He chuckled along with you, the same admiration for you still stuck in his chest. “I was um, I was a bit,” he admitted, “I just- you don’t talk about us at work and I guess that just made me insecure about this part of our relationship… the sex part?”

“Spence,” you sighed, “I don’t talk about this part of our relationship at work because I don’t want to embarrass either of us.”

“Not because I’m too boring for you?”

You shook your head, placing your lips on every part of his face until he turned bright red. “No, of course not. You are anything but boring, Dr. Reid.”

“I just want to be enough for you,” he pouted, pressing his lips into a thin line and wrapping his arms around you tighter than before— afraid that holding you any less would result in his very own angel disappearing before his eyes.

“You are more than enough,” you chuckled at his needy behavior after you were the one that had their brains fucked out, “You were worrying for no good reason.”

“So…you’ll start telling those stories again?” You laughed, “Do you want me to?”

“Of course,” he sat up, a playfully serious expression on his face, “I want them to know everything.”

“Alright,” you giggled.

He leaned forward, whispering into your ear and taking you flush up against his body once again, “The ins and the outs, everything…”

“Spencer,” you yelled as he attacked you with kisses, his fingers brushing up against your side to tickle you beneath him.

Maybe there was a threshold for him, a happy balance between belief and the tangible— but all he knew was that you were the impossible, his impossible.

A dream and a reality wrapped up in one.

——————————————

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critrolesideblog · 3 years

Text

Caleb Widogast pushed his hair out of his face for the ei--nineteenth time in about as many minutes. Caleb and Essek were reading for pleasure this evening, with the aid of Comprehend Languages: Caleb the collected poems of Erdan Niemi, a famous Drow bard, and Essek, Die Waldhexe und andere Zemnische Volksmärchen. They were seated at opposite ends of one of the sofas in the tower salon, their legs in the middle not quite touching. But some time into Essek's reading, the repeated scrape of sweater against paper edge and rustle of hand in hair became too much for him to ignore.

It was a long time coming really. Essek recalled that it had been Veth who had braided back Caleb's hair for him, when they were in Aeor last. Since there was no Veth to braid it this time around, Caleb had fallen into the habit of roughly tying it back in a ponytail or bun, with varying degrees of success, depending on the amount of effort he put into it, which, lately, was middling, and tonight, none at all. There were times when the mess was charming: when Caleb shuffled into the dining room in the morning, stray locks framing his face; when he ran his hand through his hair in excitement at a new discovery; when some friendly wind caused wayward strands to brush just so against his lips. At the moment, though... Essek took a large sip of his wine and set the glass gently back on the table. "Caleb?"

"Hmm?"

Despite the response, Essek knew better than to continue right away. Caleb's head tilted up toward him slowly, but his eyes lingered on the page a moment longer. When blue finally met lilac, Essek took a deep breath breath. "May I... braid your hair for you?"

Caleb blinked once, twice, three times, before his eyebrow and lips quirked up with a humor that was a little too insightful. "Well, if it’s bothering you..."

Essek gave a huff of laughter at being caught, before pressing his hands together in front of his lips, arranging his features into a semblance of solemnity. "It is driving me insane." Caleb laughed, as Essek hoped he would.

"I apologize if I have driven you to distraction," he replied, in a voice that sounded not remotely contrite. Essek averted his eyes and took another small sip of wine to provide an alibi for the warmth in his cheeks. "Please, by all means." Caleb pulled free the tie holding his hair in place, and with a small shake of his head, the copper strands fell down around his face and shoulders.

Essek gathered his composure, clearing his throat slightly. "Excellent -- ah, Liesl?" He said quickly, turning to the tortoiseshell cat relaxing in front of the fireplace. She opened one amber eye in response.

Liesl was Essek's right-hand cat. She had been standoffish at first, it was true, but it seemed Essek's years in politics were not wasted in the ruins of Aeor. "Liesl, would you please have Jaakko fetch me some additional hair ties and a comb?" Liesl, without raising her head from her paws, turned her gaze to the cat in question, all black and slender, whose interpretation of cleaning apparently included batting a piece of crumpled paper around the legs of a desk with incredible enthusiasm. At some unseen signal, he turned his attention to Liesl, and after a series of tail twitches, trotted off into a nearby cat door. She turned her gaze back to Essek. "Thank you, Liesl. That will be all." She chirped at him in response and returned to her nap.

Caleb's eyes were back on his book now, but Essek did not recall anything in Niemi's works amusing enough to justify the grin on Caleb's face, which Essek now had an excuse to give due consideration. He did not think the braids that Verin favored in their youth would suite him particularly well, and they were a bit elaborate for a night in, besides. Perhaps just a variation on the Gwardanian-style braid Veth employed.

Jaakko returned in no time, the items required laid out neatly on a tray held aloft by his long tail, and, with one last small sip of wine, Essek rose from the sofa and moved to stand behind Caleb. He took a deep breath as he picked up the amber comb from the tray. There was no cause, he told himself sternly, for his heart to be racing as it was, which was, of course, a lie. He raised the comb above the copper strands. "I am going to begin now?"

"Ja, danke."

Whether the thanks was for the impending braid or the warning, Essek was not sure, but he drew the edge of the comb gently back along the scalp, carefully delineating a section of hair at the top of Caleb's head. He tied the sides and back out of the way, and if his face warmed at the brush of fingertips on neck, there was no one able to see it. He gathered up the hair closest to Caleb's face and divided it in thirds, before weaving the right third over the center and then left over center. He repeated the process, carefully gathering more strands in on the sides as he went. He was about halfway through with the braid, when Caleb leaned to the left without warning, nearly pulling the locks from his grasp.

"Pysy paikallasi!" Essek hissed, decades-old habit causing the words to spill from his lips in Undercommon, but it did not matter. Comprehend Languages was still in effect. "Mitä sinä teet?"

"I want some wine," Caleb explained, extending his arm to the side to demonstrate that the glass was just out reach.

"Did Veth allow you to move around when she braided your hair?"

"She never complained."

"Then she spoiled you terribly."

"Will you hand me the wine?"

"No," he replied sternly, gathering the strands into one hand, careful not to mix them up, and then leaning over and passing the goblet to its owner.

"You are a riot, Herr Thelyss," Caleb said dryly, but Essek caught a glimpse of a grin as he straightened.

"I am glad you think so. I have been thinking of taking my comedy show on the road when we are done here."

"You should ask Veth if she has any material you can use. Will there be a Mighty Nein discount on tickets?"

"Please, if anything, I should charge you all extra for the honor of heckling me."

Caleb gave a mock gasp. "The Nein? Heckle you? We would never."

"Ha! Tell me another one!"

Caleb's shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

Essek stopped gathering new hair into the top braid, braiding the remaining length of the locks together, and tying them off. He then shifted to the left and began the process again with a section starting at Caleb's left temple. From this vantage point, he could spy the gilded edges and precise black script of the book in Caleb hands (and what hands they were! Capable, as he knew, of both great destruction and healing. And, perhaps, from this vantage, he could also glimpse the stately sweep of his cheekbones, the curve of his nose, the strength of his jaw, but who was to say.).

"How are you enjoying the poetry so far?" He asked, affixing his eyes firmly to the task in front of him. He had not known whether Caleb enjoyed poetry, when he gifted it to him. He had doubted, though, that Caleb had much opportunity to avail himself of Kryn literature during his time in Rosohna, and Caleb had seemed delighted, even touched, by the gift. He did not seem to be making quick progress through the text, however.

"Very much so," Caleb replied after taking a sip of wine. "I imagine I am sometimes missing some nuance or cultural context -- Comprehend Languages is a bit of a blunt instrument -- but I am enjoying it even more than I thought I would. You almost made it sound dry in your description, when you gave it to me."

"Ah, no, not dry. Only, all young Drow are forced to read his works as part of our schooling, and it colors our enjoyment of it somewhat."

"I see."

"Do you have a favorite passage so far?"

Caleb did not respond right away. "Yes..." He admitted, at last, and added, "It is from the Courtship of Lael."

Essek nearly lost his grip on the braid as he fumbled the strands mid-crossing. He had forgotten the Courtship was so early in the text. "Oh?" He asked, hoping it came across as polite interest.

"Would you like to hear it?" Caleb's voice had a softer, deeper hue than usual.

"If you like."

There was quiet for a moment.

Caleb did not turn to the page -- he did not need to. He merely cleared his throat lightly, and began:

"My lover's skin is a field of stars. What bliss to wander among the heavens! Let me approach as a pilgrim from the dark. Let me worship on my knees before the holy light. Let no beacon go without a prayer from my lips."

Every opalescent freckle on Essek's skin was now a flame. He swallowed hard. "That--that was, ah ... evocative."

"Ja, I thought so too." Caleb chuckled.

Essek tied off the left braid and moved around to the opposite side. They passed the time in quiet, as Essek's dexterous hands, having found their rhythm, made quick work on the braid on the right. And if he had a new awareness of the freckles that made fiery constellations along the slope of Caleb's neck, he gave no indication.

"You know it is a good thing you are braiding my hair up, with us going deeper into the Genesis Ward tomorrow." Caleb said at last, as Essek gathered the braids and the loose strands left over in the back up into a neat ponytail, tying it off with Caleb's original tie. There was more than a little mischief in his voice. "I should hate for Devexian to see me for the first time in months with my hair a mess."

"You are a riot, Caleb Widogast," Essek drawled.

"I'm glad you think so."

----

Notes: Pysy paikallasi! Mitä sinä teet? - Stay still! What are you doing?

#some fluff for your Sunday evening #this was originally going to involve more reflections on Essek's childhood #but Caleb had other ideas #Caleb: I'm gonna read him my actual favorite passage from this book. Me: you don't have to. Caleb: No I'm gonna #Shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #shoutout to neverlain for fixing my Finnish!#my writing tag

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hamliet · 3 years

Text

Dabi’s Missing Heart

So I’ve been seeing two main responses to Dabi’s character as portrayed in BNHA 292, both of which I feel touch on a very surface understanding of his character and role in the story despite seeming like opposite takes.

Take #1:

Dabi is an unfeeling monster created to show the redeemability of Shigaraki and Enji in contrast with his true eeeevil villainy! He will never be redeemed!

Take #2:

Dabi is a sweet softy who did nothing wrong! He will never be redeemed because of this chapter which is so out-of-character!

Note how they both have the same endpoint. I’m not actually gonna address the redemption question much because I can’t fathom what this panel foreshadows if not Touya’s salvation (alive):

I’m not looking to debate this either; I’m just putting it here because I know it’ll come up if I don’t.

Instead, I wanna address Dabi’s character. He’s my favorite, and I’ve been asked a few different times whether I enjoy him as a villain or as an uwu poor baby, and my answer is always both.

Dabi is a villain. This chapter’s rampage is, in my opinion, not remotely out of character for him. But neither is it the summation of his character, and he surely is not meant to make Enji look good by comparison.

So, who is Dabi?

Dabi is kind of a flaming jerk, and that’s why I like him. He’s an abuse victim who gets to be angry and crass and sharp. He pushes people away because he doesn’t want to open up to them and get burned (heh). He’s just like Shouto in that, except with a dose of murder.

Believe it or not, this is a very realistic response to abuse, and very common too. It’s good to see that representation. If the writing was indeed just “he’s bad get rid of him,” well, that would of course be a terrible representation. But seeing a mean victim get redeemed? Now that’s some good sh*t I’m here for.

If you want a sweethearted, misunderstood soft victim, there is one in MHA, and that’s Shigaraki. Dabi is not these things, but that does not mean he’s not a victim or that he’s somehow an unfeeling monster.

You see, Shigaraki is a heart character. Dabi’s the mind. (Heart and mind characters are a literary pattern that is utilized in literature across the globe; it’s not an eastern/western cultural thing. It has its roots in alchemy.) The problem is that you can’t have a heart without a mind nor a mind without a heart. If you lack one, you’re missing half the picture, and you won’t accomplish anything.

We see this with Shigaraki in his quest to look for ideals, something to believe in, purpose to justify/enable acting on his feelings/emotions.

Dabi, in contrast, has conviction and ideals, but eschews any kind of personal connection and care.

So, both Shigaraki and Dabi struggle to unite heart and mind--but they need to do precisely this.

It’s not a coincidence that Shigaraki expressly envisions both Dabi and Himiko when musing on what his purpose is.

Yet Shigaraki is able to unite more easily with Himiko as opposed to Dabi because Himiko is also a heart character. She claims to be motivated by extreme empathy that warps around to become a lack thereof (wanting to be who she loves).

Shigaraki’s motivations are basically revenge for hero society not saving him--which encompasses both a deep internal and external (societal) need for empathy and a need for better ideals. Shigaraki needs Himiko and Dabi. They’re a trio, and all of them need each other to grow. But Himiko, being similarly driven expressly by emotions, is easier for Shigaraki to understand and work with.

The irony is that Dabi is actually a very, very emotional character as well. But what he does (as is typical for a mind character) is repress them, compartmentalize, dissociate. He constantly pushes people away, yet admits privately, to himself, that he’s primarily (and paradoxically) motivated by family. This is emotional, yet Dabi claims he “overthought” and, according to other translations, “snapped” can be actually be read as “went crazy” as a result over overthinking (note: both are mind allusions).

Dabi repressing who he is--Todoroki Touya--is symbolic of him repressing his emotional side, because again, family and emotions are tied together for his character. Now his identity is acknowledged, and Dabi claims to be losing his mind (again), claims that he can’t feel, and yet is completely consumed by emotions. Like, does anyone think he’s being methodical and calculating this chapter?

It’s not just negative emotions (rage, hate) that drive Dabi in response to his family. His seeking belonging and emotional connection is present even in a chapter where he tries to murder two members of his family and laughs off the risk to the life of another.

See, Dabi first asked Shouto to validate his pain:

But like, given the circumstances, of course Shouto doesn’t really respond well. How Shouto responds is this:

Shouto’s words are triggering. And keep in mind I am not blaming Shouto: he’s in shock and he’s a kid. I’m merely trying to explain how it likely comes across to Dabi.

You’re crazy. Your feelings don’t matter. You don’t really care about Natsuo! You’re a villain and that’s ALL you are. Not a brother or abuse survivor. Just a villain.

So, uh, yeah, Dabi then retreats back to being unable to feel, dissociating as has always been his coping mechanism. But that’s not all: Dabi’s been repressing for so long that of course he’s gonna go a little insane in response to the dismissal of everything he’s trying to point out. Why wouldn’t he? His family dismissed his pain back then and now again, and so, without that heart, without those emotions, principle is all Dabi has. This has been present since long before Stain’s ideology came into his life:

Now, he answers this question of existence through Stain’s ideology. Purpose is all he has, and to him, Shouto and Best Jeanist are dismissing that too. Why are they dismissing it? Best Jeanist dismisses him for an ideal: the overall good of hero society. Shouto has a mixture of this ideal and also like, genuine shock and pain.

Back to Dabi. Dabi’s summation of himself and his purpose is incorrect and harmful to himself and others. I’m not excusing him or justifying, just explaining. It’s a tragic reflection of what Endeavor raised both Touya and Shouto to be (and thereby ironic that BJ uses an ideal to dismiss him):

Instead of being raised to be the symbol of hero society--as Endeavor intended--he exists to destroy it. The root is the same: Dabi assumes he exists for hero society, as a tool. He dehumanizes himself, hence why his quirk physically harms him (which also fits his almost religious zeal for Stain’s ideology). But it is not all Dabi is. He’s not a tool, he’s a person, but to acknowledge he’s a person involves acknowledging his heart/emotional desires, and that gets to my next point.

Dabi’s not a reliable narrator about himself. At all. I’ve written about Dabi and dissociation before. So let’s look at Dabi’s devotion to his ideals, the ideals he puts above people and claims he only cares about... because there are moments where Dabi goes against those ideals.

For one example, Dabi’s gone against those ideals when he’s allowed his personal need for revenge (an emotional/heart motivation) to overcome his longterm plan. Like, he was fully about to get himself killed here, even though that would likely mean no one would know the corruption of the Todoroki family and hero society, just for the chance to prove to his father that he hurt him.

In addition, I’ve talked before about how Dabi’s the only character in the entire damn manga to comment that maybe using child soldiers is not okay. While it’s not explicitly stated, it’s reasonable to conclude that Dabi considers the abuse of children in hero training a sin of hero society that ought to be purged (hence, part of his ideals).

That said, I have also pointed out that Dabi has gone after children in the past when it benefits his mission (Bakugou would like a word). So let’s look at four examples of Dabi and his principles concerning kids--since, after all, he claims to be motivated by heroes who hurt kids.

Firstly, Dabi’s “save the cat” when he spared Aoyama.

Why did he spare Aoyama? We can only speculate, but it seems quite likely there are two reasons: 1) hurting Aoyama would not add anything to his overall goal of downing hero society, and 2) a terrified, cowering kid might just have been a teeny bit familiar to Dabi. Here, his ideals--destroying hero society--either take a backseat to a reflection of his personal pain (and)/or his ideal of not abusing kids directly contradicted his ideal of bringing down hero society. But the important part is that in this instance, Dabi chose mercy and the goal of bringing down hero society was jeopardized as a result.

So then why did he attack Tokoyami, Nejire, and Shouto this arc? Well, Dabi does things he knows are wrong for the sake of accomplishing his overall purpose. He does things he knows hurt himself for this purpose. This isn’t new. If he can’t be acknowledged, can’t exist as a person with emotions, then he at least will ensure he still has a purpose.

In addition, let’s look at what sets Dabi off in all of these instances. (Again, this isn’t me saying “well actually Dabi’s justified.” He’s not. I’m just pointing to what’s in the text to explain the machinations beyond “bad guy do bad.”)

Dabi tries to reason with Tokoyami, pointing out that Twice was doing essentially what Tokoyami is doing: trying to save his friend(s), but Tokoyami doesn’t listen (also again: not me saying Tokoyami should have listened--realistically, in this situation, it makes sense Tokoyami trusted his mentor!)

Only after his reasoning was rejected did Dabi go to flames mode. He could have just let Tokoyami save Hawks, but instead he really wanted to kill Hawks and that overrode his other principles. Was this just because of his furthering his goal--killing the #2 hero would help destroy hero society--or because of a sense of personal revenge for Twice? That’s open for interpretation (in my opinion, it’s likely a mixture, because again, it tends to intertwine more than Dabi likes to think it does). His principles and/or emotions are brushed aside, and Dabi Does Not Like That.

Dabi does this again with Shouto this chapter, asking him where he stands on their family issues, and gets brushed aside, and then Shouto goes into his rage mode and Dabi responds. Again, not saying Shouto is rational here or that he should side with Dabi’s murderous plan, but like, his words really don’t come across well to Dabi.

Dabi going after Shouto after explaining things, asking Shouto for help, and then having his pain dismissed is pretty much a repeat of Tokoyami. When Dabi’s pain is dismissed, he says fine, let’s aim for the highest principle possible: making Stain’s will a reality, and damn any emotional ties.

Dabi’s obsession with ideals, you might say, is a smokescreen to cover his own pain. Far from feeling nothing, he feels very deeply. (I promise I’m getting to Nejire.)

So what does this indicate? Well, that Dabi does have a heart and a conscience. But when he lets his heart act, when his heart reaches out, he gets burned. His heart jeopardizes his overall purpose, so he most often dissociates himself from it. But by pretending he doesn’t have a heart, he dehumanizes himself, and he projects that dehumanization onto others (see: seeing Shouto as an extension of Endeavor, when that’s actually the precise image Shouto is trying to shed).

It’s not a coincidence that Shigaraki has been unconscious during the entire confrontation with Endeavor, nor is it a coincidence that Himiko has been MIA. But, Shigaraki wakes up a bit this chapter not only when hearing Dabi spout about how hero society needs to burn, an ideal/the thing Shigaraki lacks, and through a less important but still-ideal-driven character in Spinner asking him to accomplish his supposed ideal of destruction, but when Dabi saves Shigaraki and Spinner.

Dabi doesn’t burn Nejire for lols (not that this makes it better because it doesn’t) or even for ideals. He burns her to save Shigaraki and Spinner, because they are his links to full humanity right now.

(Again, this is also dissociation and projection: Endeavor did this! No, Dabi, you did. You’re perpetuating violence against kids rather than stopping it.)

But anyways, when Dabi calls upon heart, Shigaraki wakes. He lends Gigantomachia and thereby Dabi and the league power.

Dabi can only grow and actually accomplish anything related to his ideals (fixing hero society) through accepting a heart--even though that will likely mean some painful surgery to shift his ideals to accommodate said heart, because pure ideals don’t leave much room for humanity. He needs to feel to actually change anything, because right now he’s just making things worse (hence, the need for saving and redemption).

I know the League aren’t the protagonists of the serIes, but their complaints aren’t exactly incorrect either (if anything they’re almost a little too valid). But through growing together, Dabi, Shigaraki, and Himiko might actually be able to accomplish something, and get themselves in a place where they can be reached and saved by Shouto, Deku, and Ochaco. Because to be saved, the kids will have to acknowledge the villains’ pain and complaints, and do something about it.

#bnha 292 #bnha meta #mha 292 #mha meta #dabi #todoroki shouto #todoroki touya #todoroki enji #hado nejire #toga himiko #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #best jeanist #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha theory #mha theory #league of villains #spinner

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 2:

You never end up getting a text from Kirishima.

The following night, when you return from your shift at the hospital, what you find waiting for you instead is a gift basket. It’s filled to the brim with boxes of food, and packets of tea, a few dishtowels, and, surprisingly enough? A job offer.

Thank you for saving one of our own. The attached note reads. Due to your impressive quirk and quick thinking, we’d like to offer you a spot on our medical team. The Hero Public Safety Commission would love to utilize your talents. Call at the number listed for more information. We’ll be waiting.

You think the note sounds a little ominous, if you’re being completely honest. While it’s a nice offer, and one you’ll probably at least ask a few questions about, was the ‘We’ll be waiting’ really a necessary addition to the note? It makes the whole message read as an order, not a suggestion, and that makes your stomach uneasy.

The knowledge that they know about your quirk sits a little heavy too. You’d always tried to keep a tight lid on your power; only using it when absolutely necessary for as long as you could remember. You didn’t like digging into people’s brains, and you knew that it was an easy power to exploit if left in the wrong hands.

People felt pain for a reason. You knew that better than anybody.

Still, you did end up calling the number, and you did end up accepting the offer. As uncomfortable a reason as it was, the money was undeniable. The local hospital’s salaries just couldn’t compete.

You were quickly reassigned to a hospital in the center of Musutafu, and it was a bit of a culture shock. You’d always lived on the outskirts, and the villian presence there was laughable in comparison to the inner city. Suddenly, you were extremely busy, nearly constantly drowning in work and people who needed your help, but you didn’t mind. You’d always been passionate about being a nurse, and now you felt fulfilled in ways you hadn’t before.

All in all, you considered Bakugou a strange blessing. He might’ve been rude, and violent, and just generally pretty unpleasant when you first met him, but you didn’t hold it against him. If you really thought about it, you were nothing but grateful- well, as grateful as you could be to a guy who bled all over your apartment and then never talked to you again.

Still, you always wondered if he was alright. As much as you tried to forget about it entirely, you couldn’t wipe that night from your mind. When you took his pain, you were nearly winded by the anger and terror he felt. It was more than just shock, more than just fear over his injuries- it was something lasting, developed, something he’d been struggling with for a long time. A feeling that intense was hard to forget.

It was nearly three months before you saw him again.

Your day had been hectic, as it nearly always was. There had been a villian attack near a residential subdivision, and while the casualties were few, there were innumerous injured civilians. The entire day had been spent rushing between rooms, splinting broken limbs, applying casts, and evaluating for concussions. You were exhausted, nearly dead on your feet, when one of your superiors pulled you away.

“We need your quirk.” She says, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Excuse me?”

“We need your quirk. We’ve got a special guest, and we need it as painless an experience for him as possible. It’s the least we could do for him.”

“Oh? Um, okay? Who is it?”

She doesn’t answer, just spins on her heels and motions for you to follow. Your superior walks fast, leading you down winding hallways and past operating rooms, all the way down to the small luxury wing. You know what you’re in for now- a hero.

Your hospital had treated a lot of injured pro-heroes in the past, but you’d never been chosen to help before. You mostly stayed in the general part, assisting with the civilians heroes saved instead of the pro’s themselves. You briefly wondered why you were chosen- you figured whoever it was had to be pretty important if they wanted you to take away his pain entirely.

“Take your time with him, he’s your last patient. I know your shift’s not over, but, trust me, all you’ll want to do is go home after treating him. So be grateful for the time off.” Is all your superior says, pushing you through a door. “ Alright. Good luck.”

Then she shuts the door behind her, leaving you with whatever problem-child she was mentioning- and what a problem-child he is.

One look at blonde hair and red eyes and you realize your earlier assumption was wrong. You weren’t chosen to make his experience as painless as possible- you were chosen to make the hospital’s experience as painless as possible.

Still, you’ll push through it. You’re tired, but that doesn’t mean Bakugou’s injuries should be ignored. Upon first look, you notice gauze around his forearm and one of his knees. When he turns his head, he’s got a shallow cut spanning across his temple, and of his fingers looks oddly blue and swollen. All things considered, at least it’ll be a quick visit. You’re fairly confident it’s not gonna be anything more than stitches and maybe a finger splint for him.

“Alright, first things first, any other injuries I should know about? Besides the obvious ones, I mean.” You say, pulling over a cart and taking the blood pressure cuff from it. You start taking his vitals, smiling up at him from where he’s sat on top the hospital bed. “Secondly, it’s nice to see you again. I’m glad you’re not unconscious this time.”

“Excuse me? The hell are you on about?”

“Wait, do you not remember me?”

“Nah, ‘m fuckin’ supposed to?” He bristles, his shoulders tensing up. “You a fan of mine or some shit?”

You roll your eyes- you’d always sort of naively hoped he was more pleasant when not gravely injured, but you’re quickly realizing that not’s the case. Bakugou is prickly. Prickly, prickly, prickly.

“No. Not exactly a fan.” You answer him coyly, moving to rinse your hands clean at the sink. You slip on a pair of latex gloves, gather some antiseptic, some gauze, and your stitching kit, and then you turn back to him. “You might not remember it, especially considering your head wound that night, but three months ago you crash landed on my balcony.”

Bakugou blinks, once, twice, and then he’s red in the face and screaming.

“You! Fuckin’ you!” He roars, lips pulled back over his sharp canines. “You were in my goddamn head! Fuckin’ witch.”

“Okay. Well, yeah, you’re technically correct- but that’s not a very nice way to thank me for saving you. And it’s a quirk, not witchcraft.” You reiterate, nearing him with the antiseptic wipes. Bakugou recoils back, slapping your hand away lightly. You’re entirely unimpressed at his actions. “Calm down, I’m not going to use my quirk on you; at least, not without your explicit permission. I’m just here to stitch you up.”

He just huffs, nostrils flaring as he glares down at you.

“Have you ever gotten stitches before?” You ask.

A part of you is aware the question is kind of dumb, especially considering his career, but you figure you should ask anyway. In your experience, patients generally receive treatment a lot better if you talk them through it.

“Yeah.” He answers. “Not while fuckin’ lucid though.”

“Alright, that’s fine. We can work with that. But, that means you must not get hurt a lot then, huh?”

“Nah. Never.”

Bakugou’s voice is proud, and when you look up at him, he’s smirking. You think that expression is only mildly less irritating then his grimace- but, maybe he’ll finally let you take a look at his arm now. You decide to try, your hands nearing the bandages around his forearm, but he smacks you away again.

“Bakugou. Stop. I need to take a look, alright? That’s what you’re here for, so let me do my job. I won’t use my quirk on you, I promise.” You tell him earnestly, holding his gaze steadfastly. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to, alright? I’ve got gloves on and it doesn’t work without skin-to-skin contact. So, could you please calm down for me?”

Bakugou’s eye twitches.

“Fine. But I’m fuckin’ watching you.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“I am.”

“I know. I’m not arguing with you.” You retort calmly.

You point at the cart, sighing in relief when he finally complies to your wishes. He sets his forearm flat on top of it, and you watch him wince slightly. There’s cloth and gauze wrapped around it, blood soaking through the makeshift bandage. You peel the material away gently, revealing a fairly large cut. The wound’s not very deep, thankfully, but it slices almost to the inside of his elbow. It is going to need a fair amount of stitches, but luckily most of the active bleeding seems to have stopped.

“Alright,” You start, catching his gaze. “This doesn’t look too bad, but it might scar.”

“No fuckin’ shit. Dumbass.”

“Bakugou, take a breath for me. I didn’t mean any harm by the comment, okay? I’m just doing my job and being honest with you.”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ honesty.”

“No, maybe not, but you do need me to stitch you up.” You try to keep your voice level, treat him delicately even as he fights you with every breath. It’s challenging work, but no more strenuous than any other difficult patient you’ve ever dealt with. “Alright, so I’m gonna clean around the wound, apply some local anesthetic, and then stitch you up. Sound good?”

“I don’t need the goddamn step by step, I’m not a fuckin’ kid. So just get on with it already.”

“I’m just trying to be accomodating.” You reply with a sigh. You take his forearm gently, working around the wound with an antiseptic wipe. You hear him suck in a breath. “Sorry. I’m sure it probably stings.”

“Don’t pity me.”

“It’s- I’m not.” You can’t help but sigh in slight frustration. It’s normally a reaction you’d try to cut short, but Bakugou’s being needlessly rude- you think he deserves to hear it. “Look, I was trying to be professional, and normally I’d never say this, but I’m- I’m not being paid to argue with you, alright? I’m just here to fix you up. So, if you’d rather me just stay silent while I do that, that’s perfectly fine. Just say so. I won’t be offended.”

“Good. Shut the fuck up then.”

Irritation flares in your chest, but you do your best to breathe through it. He’s far from the most difficult patient you’ve ever had, but something about his clipped words and guarded expression has you just as annoyed. You think it might be his eyes- the way they seem to always be tracking you, zeroing in on any and all possible flaws.

Still, you try to ignore his attitude anyways, and it becomes a little easier as you focus back on dressing the wound, finishing up with the antiseptic wipes and moving on to the anesthetic. You almost consider lathering the numbing gel on while it’s still freezing cold, but you quickly decide against letting his bad attitude interfere with your job performance. You don’t want to sink to his idiotic level.

You’re warming the gel packet in your palm, rubbing to create friction and heat, when he speaks again.

“You can skip that.”

“Yeah. I could. But I won’t- it generally makes the whole process a lot smoother if you can’t feel every stitch.” You say simply, tearing the gel packet open. “Sorry in advance if it’s still cold, I tried to warm it up a bit.”

“I’ll be fuckin’ fine.”

“I’m sure you will. Still though, most people flinch, so I figured I’d warn you anyways.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything in response, just flares his nostrils as you spread the anesthetic over his arm. True to your words, he does flinch at first, and that only seems to piss him off more. You can’t really see his face from where you’re hunched over his forearm, but you’re sure he’s probably scowling. You wait a few moments for the gel to activate, and then you’re opening your kit and lacing thread through your needle. Thankfully your arm feels steady today, and it’s easy work as you begin stitching up his wound.

Bakugou’s a pretty good patient. Surprisingly. He breathes quietly through his teeth, fist clenched as he tries so very hard not to admit his discomfort. He actually reminds you a lot of the children you so often treat.

You find an easy rhythm sewing him up, your fingers gently prodding his arm as you work. You do your best to be delicate, treating him just as gently as you would any other patient- even if he irritated you. When you look up at him, Bakugou just traps his bottom lip between his teeth and creases his eyebrows. Those same red eyes study you again, almost looking right through you. You hold eye contact for as long as you can stand, but under his intense gaze it’s less than a few seconds.

“Alright. Almost done.” You mutter softly, dropping your eyes back down to his arm. You resume your stitching, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. “Thanks for keeping still for me.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He grumbles, but his voice is a little softer now. He seems almost calmer, none of the bite from earlier coating his words. “Nothin’ special.”

“No, really. I mean it. You wouldn’t believe how much harder it is to treat somebody who’s panicking.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult if you weren’t such a shitty nurse.”

“If you didn’t want to be treated by me, you could’ve asked for somebody else. But you didn’t.” You comment easily, taking the kit’s scissors and cutting the thread. “You really missed your chance- could’ve caused a whole scene, Bakugou.”

“No thanks.”

“Wow, and here I thought you actively enjoyed making as big a scene as possible. Guess not.” You can’t help but tease, smiling slightly. “Or did you just want an excuse to come and bleed all over me again?”

“That’s- no. Shut up. You’re annoying.” Bakugou barks, blushing slightly as he turns his head away. “Fuckin’ witch.”

“You really shouldn’t call me names when I’m the one treating your wounds.”

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want. And you started it, fuckin’ pryin’ around in my head.”

“I wasn’t prying.” You tell him, turning away as you grab new gauze and bandages. “I was bringing you out of shock. I’m sure you don’t remember, but you were threatening to blow my entire apartment up.”

“No! I wasn’t! You just wanted to fuckin’-”

“Wanted to what? Help you? Stabilize your condition? Make sure you didn’t die out on my balcony?” You press the gauze carefully over his stitches, making sure none of the sutures catch on the cloth. “Yeah. Guess I did want to do that.”

“Still shouldn’t a fuckin’ done it.”

“Okay, well I did, and I’m still sorry if it felt invasive. Believe me, I wouldn’t have done it unless it was absolutely necessary.” You tell him honestly, trying to catch his gaze even as he avoids looking at you. “And, it was months ago, you know? So no point holding a grudge. Especially since I’ll probably be seeing a lot more of you from now on.”

“What, you think I’m gonna get myself killed again? Fat fuckin’ chance. I’m not that fucking weak.”

“Are you always this defensive?” You ask him, wrapping the bandages gently around his arm. “I meant, this hospital’s the main center for relief efforts, alright; so even if you try to avoid me, we’re bound to see each other if you ever end up back here for whatever reason. I wasn’t insinuating that you’d definitely get hurt again.”

“Fuckin’ sounded like it.”

“I didn’t mean for it to.”

“Yeah whatever. Pick up the goddamn pace.” He rolls his eyes, dramatically swinging his hurt leg up onto the table. You’re sure it has to hurt, but Bakugou keeps his pride. He doesn’t even wince. “My leg’s not gonna fix itself. Get the fuck to it already.”

“Okay, alright. You got it.”

Luckily, you don’t have to cut the material of his hero costume away just yet. His pants are already torn, thin, scattered slices exposing his leg all the way to the tops of his thighs. When you take a look at his knee, you’re not pleased with what you find.

Removing the gauze unearths a strange web of metal shards sticking out of his skin. They don’t seem to be stuck worryingly deep, but there’s a lot of them and some of them are quite large. You’re gonna need to pluck them all out, and give stitches for the big ones. Your short visit with Bakugou just got a lot longer.

“Alright. So this is gonna take some time, but the good news is, nothing is actively bleeding on your knee.” You tell him. “So, I’m thinking I’m gonna sew up the cut on your forehead first, alright? Head wounds bleed a lot more. That should be taken care of first.”

“Fuck are you tellin’ me, for? Your job, you do it.”

“Oh- yeah. Sorry.” You apologize. “Guess I’m used to treating kids. Lots of mom’s hanging around and asking questions, you know?”

“No. ‘m not a fuckin’ nurse.”

“No, you are not.” You breathe out, hardly able to keep the sarcastic tone out of your voice. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to lie back for me.”

He grumbles, but falls back anyways. You sigh in relief, grateful for his acquiescence. You honestly thought you’d have to fight with him about that.

You begin the process all over again- cleaning, applying gel, and then stitching the wound close. Bakugou doesn’t say anything while you work, but he does let his eyes flutter shut. He kept them open at first, staring you down relentlessly, but eventually he doesn’t seem to like all the unintentional eye-contact as you lean over him. You think it’s strange- the way he seems to melt into the hospital bed even as you’re sewing up his forehead. You begin to realize that his day was probably just as long as yours, if not longer.

You fall into an easy rhythm again, and time passes peacefully before you know it.

“You almost done?” He peeks an eye open, voice gravelly when he speaks.

“Yep. Almost. Just one more up here and then we can move on to your knee.”

“You can move on to my knee. I’m not doin’ shit.”

“Oh my,” You mutter under your breath, cutting the thread with your scissors. You clear your throat before speaking again. “So are you always this difficult with the other nurses?”

“No. Only the dipshits who go diggin’ around in my fuckin’ head.”

“Well, I only have to dig when people threaten to blow up my apartment.”

Bakugou doesn’t seem to have a response to that. He just closes his eyes and huffs through his nose, ending the conversation entirely.

That’s fine with you- if he wants to stay quiet, you’re not complaining.

It’s quiet as you begin working on his knee, nothing but the soft metallic clink of your tools and Bakugou’s own breaths. You think it’s a strange sort of calm, but also a little nice too. You’d been worked to the bone all day, rushing and scrambling and giving instructions- it was nice to just sit back and focus on one thing at a time.

You think Bakugou must feel it too, because when you look up at him he’s still lying back. He’s got his head pressed back into the pillow, his uninjured arm thrown over his eyes while the injured one lies across his stomach. His index finger is still blue, but not any more blue than it was when he walked in. You’re not sure how he’s managing to look so relaxed, despite being in what you guessed was a fair amount of pain.

You wonder what kind of day he had that made his hospital visit out to be the most relaxing part. You try not to think about it too long- try not to fit that anger and terror you felt into a make-believe narrative.

“Alright. That around does it for that.” You say softly, wrapping a bandage around his knee. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened? With the metal- it doesn’t look like any shrapnel I’ve ever seen before.”

“It’s not.” He drops his hand from across his face, voice deeper and slower than before. Groggy almost. “Fucker had a metal quirk. Shattered a car right next to me.”

“Oh. That really doesn’t sound fun. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Don’t apologize for stupid shit.”

You find that oddly ironic- pretty much your entire job was apologizing and showing understanding for things that weren’t your fault. You decide there and then, without a single shadow of a doubt, Bakugou would make the worst nurse in the world. Far shittier than you, no matter what he said.

“All that’s left now is your finger.” You say, grabbing at his hand gently. “Sorry if this hurts, but I’ve gotta feel and see if it’s broken. I’m fairly sure it’s sprained, but just in case.”

“Whatever.”

“Wow, no fight? None at all?” You joke, applying as gentle pressure as you could to his finger. “You tired or something?”

Bakugou just nods, letting his eyes shut once more.

Up close again, you notice the circles under his eyes, the paleness of his skin. His face doesn’t even contort as you prod at his finger, and it almost breaks your heart when you realize how high his pain tolerance must be. The only way he’d be able to be even half as calm as he currently was, was if he was getting hurt like that on the regular. Which, you figure, probably comes with the job description in his case- but the thought still flooded you with sympathy anyway.

“All good, just a pretty severe sprain.” You tell him. “Now, metal splint or dressings? Your choice.”

“Dressings.”

You squint a little bit, at him. You’re pretty sure a metal splint would be easier, and more convenient, but he looks pretty sure in his choice. You shrug, figuring that you did give him the choice for a reason. Maybe he just finds dressings more comfortable.

You dig out an ace bandage from your medical cart, setting it on the hospital bed as Bakugou sits up. He still looks a little tired, breaths slow and even as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes. You figure he must suffering a pretty serious adrenaline crash- if he’s not, then you’re not sure what the attitude change is about. He just looks so calm, so quiet that you almost can’t place him as the same angry guy you’d been faced with earlier.

You unwind the bandage, taking his hand into yours. His palms are strange, calloused and tough, unnatural heat radiating off of them. It’s a little hard to ignore, but you figure it’s just his quirk, so you press on without comment. You’re pressing his index and middle fingers together, half-way through wrapping the bandage around them when he speaks.

“Too lose. Do it again.”

“It’s not loose, I promise. I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s loose.” He says again, more insistently this time. “Do it again.”

“Okay.” You sigh, figuring that starting over entirely would still somehow take less time than fighting with him. “But just this once, alright? As an apology for ‘digging around’ in your head.”

Bakugou just nods tightly.

When you start again, you try a different approach. You’d been trying to avoid touching him earlier, to soothe his worries about your quirk, but you start to think that maybe it caused your splinting to suffer. You decide to just go about it normally this time, grabbing his wrist and flipping it upwards just like you usually would. Bakugou seems to stiffen for a moment, but then he’s huffing a breath and lolling his head forward to his chest. You watch his eyes flutter shut.

You think that’s a strange reaction. You really expected him to put up more of a fuss about your touching him- he doesn’t though, and you take the little win. Chalk it up to just how tired he seems to be.

“There- you’re all done now.” You say quietly, pressing the adhesive side of the bandage into place. “Everything feel good? Need anything else?”

He shakes his head, blinking his eyes open blearily. If you didn’t know any better, you really would’ve thought he’d fallen asleep while you were caring for him. Well, you figure, guess that makes twice now that’s nearly passed out beneath your fingers.

You think that’s pretty funny, but you keep it to yourself. Bakugou seems to be feeling relatively pleasant, and you don’t want to jinx it.

“Alright, so concerning the splint, wear it for at least a few weeks, and then take it from there, alright? And all the stitches are dissolvable except for the ones in your arm. Those ones will need to come out in about a week or so, but that’s a super simple procedure. You could probably get them removed in the med-wing at your complex. No need for a follow-up her-”

“No. I’ll be here.”

“You don’t have to. I can just write up some instructions and send you back, no problem. Really, it’s-’

“I said I’d be here, so I’ll fuckin’ be here.” He grumbles, clearing his throat. Bakugou averts his gaze, turning towards the window to avoid your eyes. “You did the stitches so you take them out. You’re not gonna fuckin’ get away with cuttin’ corners on me.”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever you want, I guess.” You say, a bit unsurely. “So I’ll see you in a week or so, alright? Somebody’ll give you a call.”

“Whatever.”

Bakugou then hops down from the bed, and you wince at the sound of his impact. You’d seen his knee first-hand, and you imagined that it probably hurt a lot to walk on it. He seemed unaffected though, shouldering his weight without fuss and hardly even limping as he walks out. The only sign he’s even slightly in pain, is the grunt that leaves him when he accidentally tries the door handle with his injured hand.

He’s so quick that you can’t even ask him if he wants crutches or not. The thought hardly even enters your head before he slams the door shut behind him.

--/--

taglist: @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3

#bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x self insert #bakugou katsuki x y/n #bakugou imagine #bakugou series #bakugou fic #mha fic #bnha fic

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shania-twain · 3 years

Text

au. the met.

She caught his eye from across the way. He was leaning against a column, looking at her curiously.

Used to men staring at her, she quirked a brow at him and he shook his head slightly, looking away. His cheeks were pink from embarrassment. She found that a little endearing. Usually men didn't give a shit if they were caught ogling her.

Amanda is enthusiastically greeted by her friend Lara with a kiss on the cheek and a friendly hug. Over Lara's shoulder, she spots the tall man again. He's turned slightly and she takes the opportunity to study his side profile, her interest piqued. A quick glance to his hands to check for a wedding ring and she's excited to find it bare. His hair is gray, but she likes the silver fox look. Face clean shaven, body lean and a lopsided, closed mouth smile.

"How are you liking the gallery so far? Isn't it neat?" Lara interrupted her thoughts and Amanda tried to focus on her friend. "Find any pieces you like?"

"I like most of 'em," she answered with a small shrug. Her first time at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City was uneventful, as she wasn't the biggest fan of art pieces. Though she chalked it up to never having been to a real museum like this and her parent's lack of interest in taking her and her sister anywhere cultured.

Her friend Lara dragged her here with a promise to return her to her hometown in Georgia "a sophisticated lady." She had scoffed at that, but agreed to go, glad to have a reason to dress up nicely.

With it being her last night in New York, she wanted to have a nice dinner and then maybe a bar afterwards with a group of her friends from college. They had been at the museum for nearly an hour and she was ready to go. She could use a drink after another full day of activity. She was really dreading the flight home tomorrow.

"Hey," Lara told her, taking her out of her thoughts. Her friend probably sensed her discomfort by the way she had her arms crossed, but really she was just chilly. "Let's go say goodbye to Steven and then we can get an early dinner. Sound good?"

Amanda nodded, smiling pleasantly as Lara began to lead her over to a friend of hers she had been introduced to earlier. Catching the gaze of the stranger again, she watched him curiously this time. He doesn't look away, even goes so far as to send her a small, friendly grin, dimples in his cheeks. She thought he was damn adorable.

She briefly wished she was alone so she could approach him without ditching her friend.

She watched him try and smoothly break their gaze by pretending to be interested in a painting nearby. She let out a laugh as he placed his large hand on his chin, feigning contemplation on the artwork. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, seeing her smile flirtatiously at him. He swore his heart jumped at the sight.

She was beautiful. Sexy in every way. Her long legs were accentuated by red heels. She wore a white dress that complimented her figure and hugged her curves. His eyes didn't miss the plunging neckline either. Her hair was golden, styled on her head and flowing in waves down her back. She was elegant, classy, and had a smile as bright as the sun.

Noticing that she seemed to be leaving with a girl friend, he felt himself moving toward the exit. He hoped to have some sort of interaction with her, somehow.

He found her outside the museum, shivering, her friend nowhere to be found. Taking a deep breath, he casually walked up to her.

"Hi," he said, trying not to sound too eager. He was shoulder to shoulder to her, though she was a tad bit shorter than him in the heels.

She glanced up at him, a surprised look on her face. He felt his own face flush at the delighted smile on her lips. She detected an accent from him, a smidge different from the regular New York one she had been hearing for days. "Hi," she said.

She had a deep southern accent. It may have been the first time he ever thought it was adorable. He may already be a little biased, though.

"Did you friend ditch you?" He looked around and didn't find the other woman she had been with.

"Nah, she's still inside," she said, gesturing behind her to the building. "Ran into someone. I told her I'd wait out here."

He smirked at her slightly bouncing in place, clearly freezing. "Ya regrettin' that?"

"I'm fine," Amanda defended, rocking on her heels now.

Sonny found himself taking off his jacket and offering it to her. She raised both eyebrows so high, he almost laughed.

"Thanks, but you're a stranger."

He held the jacket over one arm, holding out his hand to her. "I'm Dominick, nice to meet you."

When she took his hand and shook it, she shivered for a different reason. His hold was light, hand warm, his eyes gentle and soft on hers. "Amanda."

Letting go of her hand, he offered his jacket again with a dimpled grin. "Now we're not strangers. Take it while you wait, it's fine."

She still looked doubtful but she did grab it. She was shivering in front of this handsome man and it was embarrassing. "I didn't know it could be so cold in April." As she slipped the large jacket over her shoulders, she gave him a look. "Sure you're not a serial killer?"

At his nod, she left the jacket on, eyeing his professional suit underneath. His blue tie had polka dots on it and she got the sense that he wasn't like the guys she was usually attracted to. "I'm a criminal prosecutor."

Impressed, she lifted a brow again. "So you've been in the room with serial killers?"

He laughed and she found herself mesmerized with the sight of his eyes crinkling. "Not very much, I usually prosecute sex crimes."

"Oh, wow," she said in surprise, "that's gotta be a damn hard job."

"It is," he said honestly. "What do you do?"

She tugged his jacket closer to her, smelling the cologne inside of it. "I'm a social worker. I help kids in difficult domestic situations at home. Among other things."

Her eyes held something dark in them, he noticed, as she told him this information and he thought maybe she could find the same darkness in his. She stepped closer to him, excusing it for the body heat and not the way he smelled and the way he looked at her. Like she was something more. As if she could offer something more than just a body.

"That's incredible," he smiled, "you must be a hero to those kids."

She shook her head humbly. "They're amazing kids. It's wonderful to see kids in awful situations thrive despite the odds against them."

Amanda couldn't believe she was opening up in any way to this man. A stranger, no less. But she figured he could understand, as he's probably seen troublesome things in his own line of work.

"Anyway," she tried to lighten the subject, "back home people don't believe in these kids enough. I want to help them as much as I can."

Smiling softly at her, he asked, "where's home?"

"Georgia," she answered, waving her hand, "small town."

"Amanda!" A voice called out and she turned to see Lara waving at her from the entrance, the person she had been talking to still at her side. Amanda waved back and turned her attention back to Dominick.

"I think she wants me over there," she told him. She started sliding the jacket off but he stopped her.

"Keep it," he said, "I have plenty, trust me."

"Oh, no, I'll be fine," she reassured. He was about to tell her again not to worry about it when her friend walked up.

"Hey," Lara said, looking him up and down. "Who's this?"

"Lara, this is Dominick," Amanda introduced, "we kinda just met."

"Oh," Lara blinked, then when she realized Amanda was wearing the man's jacket, the woman's eyes widened. "Oh!"

"Yeah," Amanda deadpanned, slightly amused. Lara caught the hint Amanda was giving with her eyes and gestured back to her friend. "I'm gonna - forgot to tell them something."

Dominick watched her friend walk away, also amused. He didn't catch Amanda taking something out of her red wallet.

"Hey, so," Amanda said, capturing his attention again. Her eyes were gorgeous. Light, bright pools of blue he could drown in. "I'm actually leaving for Georgia tomorrow."

Ah, damn.

He couldn't even pretend to hide his disappointment. He really thought he might have had a chance with her. Or at least even one date.

"But," she said, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling at his obvious disappointment. "I'll be coming back for a visit pretty soon. Maybe you can show me around?"

Grinning widely at her, Dominick enthusiastically agreed. Amanda could feel butterflies swarm inside her at his excitement. She had never encountered a man quite like him before.

"Amanda, you ready?" Lara called again, from a distance, this time alone. Amanda sighed as she had to part with him, wanting to know more about him but she had made plans already with others.

"It was great meetin' you," she told him in her charming accent.

"Yeah," he stumbled over his words, not quite ready to let her go yet. But he knew he had to. "Yeah, definitely."

She smiled brightly again, taking his jacket off and handing it to him. He took it numbly. "Call me." He watched her walk away, hips swaying, heels clacking against the pavement as her and a friend got into a cab further down the street.

It wasn't until she was out of his sight that he realized he didn't have her number. Cursing to himself, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Why didn't he get her last name? Why?

How many Amanda's in Georgia could there be?

Grumbling, completely irritated, and feeling like a moron, he put his jacket back on. He harshly shoved his hands in his pockets when he felt something in his left pocket. Taking it out, he noticed with extreme delight it was a business card.

Amanda Rollins - Social worker. With a phone number at the bottom.

He smiled.

#oof this was a LOT longer than I intended it to be #amanda rollins #sonny carisi #rollisi #law and order svu #svu #another photoset WOW

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i-need-air · 3 years

Note

Your blog makes my heart explode, it turned in the place i go to whenever I want to feel butterflies and uwu!!! I was wondering, how would a relationship with Bakugo be with a foreigner, like would he embrace their culture or would he see a future with that someone? I saw this study that japanese men find foreign women attractive but just for fooling around and not marriage stuff and my mind went there idk maybe it sounds weird. Fell free to ignore this if it's weird heh

Appreciate your words! You're absolutely adorable and now I'm the one feeling butterflies! 💖💗💖💗💖💗🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

And wow, that's interesting to say at least and I googled it myself to see; I'm not gonna lie, it's not surprising and it points out that the cultural difference could be a problem in long term relationships that's why they're more reclutant about marriage. Japan is very traditional so that's why I said I'm not surprised and honestly it's an issue in multicultural couples everywhere. Been there, felt that...

That being said, let's talk about Bakugou:

× i 100% stand by this: Bakugou dates to marry.

× could definitely leave the ask like this and feel good about myself bc i trust those words.

× one thing about this man is that if he likes you, he likes you

× it's a matter of attitude, not origin, not heritage, not quirk related, not looks, but your personality

× even before dating he will research about your home country and traditions as the curious man he is [ thinks it's not a big deal, he just wants to know where your dumbass came from, like whateverrr who caressss ok but what did you say your birth city was called? how do you spell— 💀]

× and if you are still learning about japanese ones, he will teach you about it in his own way because of two points.

he genuinely wants you to like Japan; it's is homecountry, his origins, he grew up with those traditions and would like to enjoy them with you

it's an excuse to spend time with you; he might act a little indifferent about it [ as he avoids being aggressive with you ] but he likes your company and the small smiles he sends you give him away

× if you're still trying to learn japanese, don't worry, he's a nerd so he knows English but will point out mistakes in grammar or pronunciation; don't mind it, again, he won't mock you, he actually respects you for actively trying to learn another language and mastering it

× even if he did read about your country, he won't ask about it much before dating and it will take him some time to ask afterwards too; absolutely does not mind if you do start talking about your country on your own though since he's learning new things about it and about you, which he then adds to his mental PowerPoint about you

× why doesn't he ask, you say? at first he's interested in your personality and once he's sure he's into you, he'll then slowly think about having a future together, and this guy, this guy is a thinker so he goes through all scenarios; another thing is this dumb pomeranian wants to keep his indifferent act;;

× he does think about cultural differences but doesn't see them as a problem. if you managed to catch his attention and got him to think about a future with you? he's gonna embrace your culture altogether; you already won him, congrats

× food will connect you two and i feel he'll use cooking time to bond together

× he will teach you how to cook japanese food so maybe teach him recipes from your culture? if you don't know, pull some recipes from google and make a disaster together, he doesn't mind much; istg he's gonna cook better than a local grandma after a couple of tries 💀[ specially if you're homesick and enjoyed his other tries, Chef Bakugou will basically do it for u bby ]

× traditions are a big thing too, so whenever you celebrate something he will pay close attention and definitely butt in and ask; the difference from before is that he doesn't have to pry to find out, it comes naturally and that saves him some blushes and the conversation can be more natural while keeping that indifferent pomeranian act i told you about before [ as you bond closer he will get over this issue, don't worry ]

× "So what's it about?" says in a bored tone but his eyes give him away, curiosity getting to him

× just tell him but please, tell him about your past and memories related to those traditions

× language, you say? if your mother language is english he will perfect it bc of you and if it's not;;; ok look, he's a lil shit, ok? so guess who learns how to call you a dumbass in your own mf mother language? ye, that's right

× this is a whole fluff hc but he's extra at doing things, right? when he knows he loves you and tells you the first time, he will tell you in your language

× bc your face is priceless and that's his shit; legit cocky grin and snickers in your face

× tell him "I love you" back and watch him turn into a stuttering tomato

× it will become common between you to say it in your language, it's like a secret only you two share

× by secret i mean everyone knows he's a simp but now ✨international✨

× once Bakugou knows it's time to meet your family, he will actively learn it though, at first without your help; he still has this dumb idea that he has to be the best at everything without seeking help but once you find out and he sees how absolutely enamored you are by his actions, you'll become his tutor [ full time job and you get paid with food and sneaky forehead kisses ]

× he can't pronounce something? gets angry and tries until he does; he ain't a quitter 💅

× makes you repeat the words a lot though, he likes watching your lips move and the way you speak? y e s

× one thing that is make or break in the relationship is where you decide to live long term so pretty early in the relationship you'll know he's not moving away from Japan

× he has his goals and dreams and definitely wants you in them but moving away is something i feel he wouldn't do

× yet he's all up for vacations twice a year or so; remember he wants to be a hero so he won't have time to go more than, but he will want to explore your country with you by his side, also to meet your family and put to test those tutoring classes he got from you;

× once you're married and have kids [ yeah, he wants the whole package ] know for a fact those kids will take part in both cultures; loves your heritage and wants to pass it to the future generations; imagine multilingual mini-Bakugous, i—💖💗💖

× his parents! the Bakugou household is pretty modern and they wouldn't have a problem at all with you being a foreigner; they'd be very interested in learning about your culture too and honestly, they don't mind where you are from as long as you love their son [ they feel blessed someone can handle his dumb ass but ok ]

× fashion designers as they are, they gonna be interested in your traditional clothing; seriously, they'd love to know everything about the topic and even implement them in some of their designs if there's no issue from your side

× overall once Bakugou knows he wants to pursue you, he will go all in for you

× bc he a simp and genuinely appreciates everything about you 💕

#boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #noire writes #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou headcanons

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softkuna · 3 years

Text

Sukuna || Interview || Fic

Part 1

Content ║ Punk!Sukuna x reader. There is an oc version here.

Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer.

Count ║ 2,626 K

Consider ║ Swearing. Female Pronouns (she/her).

Creator ║ This is the reader version. I took the name of the oc out. Hopefully the double post isn’t too weird? I did research on punk fashion, culture, and all which was really interesting. I knew some stuff about it before, but it’s really rich! I hope it’s not too information dense for you guys. Either way, Punk!Sukuna is now my comfort au and writing him is an absolute delight!! Also, Sorry for changing from ‘you’ to she/her ;v; it’s a lot easier for me to write/edit this way.

Sukuna had a lazy grin as he lounged back into a modern cream sofa. His arm stretched across the back of it, ankle crossed over his knee. Eyes staggered from the two cameras set up to the woman talking with some other chick. One held a small stack of papers, the other was grandly gesturing. He breathed out a short-stop breath, wishing they wouldn’t waste his time with bickering. Annoying as it was, it left a thick self-satisfactory lather over his ego.

“-didn’t you say the band?”

“Yeah, but this is better.”

“Sure… but what happens if-“

Quite frankly, he hated most press and avoided it, so to just have him in the hot seat was a double-edged blade. They didn’t get the whole band, but they did have The King himself. Whatever publicity he thrived off of were live shows, signings, fancams, tangible and real-time events. Interviews were a complete and utter waste of his time. He did a couple in the beginning, but found them pointless, callous even. They all asked the same shit. So, him coming alone was absolutely a note to pin to the fridge, even if it were a passive-aggressive post-it note.

His head turned to the two going back and forth. It wasn’t until the third minute ticked by that Sukuna felt the flashpoint of his blood plummet, “Yo! We doing this or what? You’re wasting my time here, Eros.”

The blogger whipped her head to the man with an indignant, “Excuse me?”

“Eros. Known for being reckless and unreliable? Like your scheduling.” He leaned forward, elbow on knee and chin in palm. The aura of shit-eatery exponentially growing, “You’re not excused, sorry, not sorry Princess.”

“I think you have the wrong God,” She quipped as she dusted off the front of her outfit. It was a smart look and an intentional one for an interview with a punk rocker. What would strike the best complement than a khaki academic outfit? It consisted of a white high collared button up, sleeves billowing before cinching at her wrists. The blouse was stuffed into high-waisted, cuffed khaki chinos, pleated at the center of each pant leg. Over top, a gray woolen sweater vest. Accessories included various silver rings, a black ribbon to tie under the folded collar, and small silver studs as earrings. Makeup remained that done-up natural with brow, liner, and mascara. Hair had been swept into something similar to a faux 1920’s bob, pulled loosely back. The overall silhouette made the perfect contrast.

Sukuna wanted to peg her as your average superficial fashion bitch, he really did. Even at the concert, she dressed smartly despite the pathetic look on she wore on face. It wasn’t until afterwards when he saw the burn in her eyes, that he craved for her to prove him wrong.

Black flats clacked as she approached her own seat, a matching armchair to the couch. She held a certain command once she walked in, instructing him on where to be, which camera to look at, and what the introduction would be. He listened, admiring how her small frame moved to and fro, fixing up last minute edits on a paper, chattering with who he assumed to be a videographer. It was a whole production. One that was hers. The set itself was practically out of a home décor magazine. It was a general space used across the publisher, but she was born to be there. Deserved to be there. Her calculated glee and deliberate positioning of each member made him feel as though he were looking through a mirror.

The interview process began.

She sat professionally, legs crossed and leaning on the arm of her chair closest to Sukuna. He was unmoving, that slit to his lip curling upwards as the cameras began. She introduced the blog, the channel, her social media handles. With a smile, she introduced herself, “With me in this special is lead singer of Two Face, the King of Curses – Sukuna.”

The camera panned to his lazy wave, “Yo.” He looked to her, she looked to him and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of interest. Maybe the man was meant for cameras after all.

“After looking more into the punk scene, there’s a pretty interesting history behind it. Revolution, social discourse, poverty, violence, and unity. As someone in the scene, can you talk a little bit about what you know of the background?”

Sukuna drank in her voice, smooth and warm like the steady strum of a bass guitar. For a moment, he wondered if she sang. He quirked a brow, “Sounds like you didn’t research enough to summarize it yourself,” Eyes flickered to her features, watching as slight annoyance crinkled onto her nose then smoothed, “Let me learn you, Daisy. Starting back from rock in the 50’s, take that, strip it, build it with shit you find in the backyard…” His wrist rolled as his harmonious voice sang on, lacking even a single stutter as he summarized the movement top to bottom, inside and out, “…So, people would make their own records, sell them in plastic bags, they’d scan and reprint photos to make their own ‘zines. Shit was hard to distribute without tech…”

Much of his dissertation, she hadn’t even found on her own deep dive into the culture. Sure, the anarchist and nihilistic ideologies were well known to pretty much anyone who would listen, but the deep history and connection between communities was far beyond the surface scratched into.

“There’s a crowd of sub-genres now. Fuck ‘punk is dead’ what even is that bull shit?” Sukuna scoffed, jerking his chiseled chin to the side, “Only thing that’s dead here is – ironically – peoples drive to change.”

His interviewer sat in silence for a moment, mind spinning. He spoke in the way a well-educated University professor gave a dissertation to his peers, dripping in confidence from his storm of information. He was articulate despite the fowl language, even including a tie in to modern perception. Excitement curled into the recess of her mind. In a delightful turn of events, expectation and reality didn’t match up.

She leaned forward slightly folding her hands over the arm of the chair, “That was comprehensive. Thanks!” She chuckled, causing the man before her to freeze and thaw with a nod. She continued, “With all of this mention of D.I.Y. culture in punk, let’s talk about Vivienne Westwood.”

Sukuna kept his attention to her profile as she spoke to the camera, catching himself in the glow of her enthusiasm, “On Kings Road in England, she kickstarted the fashion movement into gear. Now, many would think that with a style such as this, it would’ve been hand-me-downs, pins, self-stitching, but contrary to this belief, many of the clothes in her store were expensive. Knock offs circulated, and seeing as much of it did have that hand-done finishing touch, many decided to take tailoring to their own hands…” Not that this was a competition, but she found herself trying to prove his ‘research’ comment wrong. Her ability to scour and exhaust her resources of fashion history is the furnace that kept her going and she would make it well known that she was not to be challenged.

The approaching lurch of a stalemate stuck to the walls of the vocalist’s stomach. Something he didn’t think he’d feel for a while. Small stuff over here may not’ve known all there was about the cultural history, but he could feel the crashing wave of fascination washing over him as she spoke. Sure, some of it he knew. Some of it he naturally garnered from stylistic preference and others he learned for marketing, however there was just a certain target she aimed for with such precision that he bled a newfound admiration.

“You’ve answered it already, yeah, I know. I saw the interview,” Her head tilted to the side, pleasant smile hinting at her trick, “but enlighten me for a second about how your natural style transitioned to what it is on stage. We’ll put up some of the photos taken from last night here,” her hand gestured to some empty space, “You basically turned chiaroscuro and made it a performance. It’s obvious in how each member contrasted with themselves and the stage.”

The chick didn’t even know who he was a week ago, yet somehow watched every interview since the start? An answer tumbled from the tongue readily, “Punk is like a renaissance of music. Like I said before, it tore down the foundations of what was before and built something new out of it.” The words were succinct, but as her pretty lashes bat, he was goaded into continuing, “Contrast is important. I like art. I like plays. Just ‘cause it’s punk doesn’t mean I can’t have it look aesthetic? Or is that a word only snobby fashion journalists can use now?”

“Hm. Change ‘journalist’ to ‘vocalist’ and you’re a word away from meeting the requirement,” It was a sour candy treat traded for his lemon warhead.

“Ouch. Miss Blog-Spot here has some sass,” His large frame leaned further into the armrest, cheek resting on that fist.

“Mister Eight-Track here is some a–“

The videographer clapped his hands, “We have sponsors, you know. We can at least censor him.”

It was Sukuna’s time to laugh a loud, hyena-like cackle. A large hand smacked his leather-clad knee. She scrunched her nose again, biting back her tongue from childishly jutting out at him.

As soon as the videographer clapped his hands again, she recollected herself, shuffled her papers, and continued on, “From what it looks like, you took a mixture of old and new high-trend brands and added a touch to them to keep with theme. Even now, you’re wearing a Real McCoy with cone spikes embedded. Is that custom made? McCoy isn’t cheap.”

Part of him hated her keen eye, but reveled in her raw talent all the same. “I’m not going to bull shit you and say I dumpster dive for my clothes. I like high quality things. What’s the point in making money if I can’t spend it? What’s a bigger ‘fuck you’ than having your version of a top-brand item being worth more than the original?” With a proud glint in his eye, he rolled the jacket off, sure to make a grand display of strong, bare arms as he did so. The muscle tank he wore was similar to the concert before, white with a pocket, neckline was stretched and worn. It hung over the dense muscle of his shoulders and chest. Sukuna could feel the trail of her eyes on him. His chest puffed from her approval. He threw the jacket over his knee, flipping the leather inside out to show where the studs had been placed, “See this? Did it myself.”

Manicured fingers touched the inside of the jacket, thumbing the connecting points that the studs were pressed in by and sealed. The work was immaculate. Sukuna leaned back, canines gleaming as he saw her mouth move in a silent ‘wow’. He picked the front of his tank top, snapping it up and allowing it to billow back to his body, “Embroidered this, too.”

He waited for her comment, her praise. Why? Like he needed some two-bit Vanderbilt bitch’s validation. He chalked it up to being praised by a master of the craft. He hadn’t been prepared for her to take the fabric between her fingers and rub it, concentrated brows cinched like a corset. Well-toned abs flinched in response to her delicacy, but she didn’t notice.

The embroidery was messy and chaotic, but it was obviously intentionally. The way the needlework was so clean, barely leaving a hole from the pull of the exceptionally soft fabric. It wasn’t floral like in the concert, but abstract stitching created crosses and streaks here and there, using the composition of the fabric as like it were a canvas. Experimentalist. It was like touching the work of Westwood herself.

God, she hated how perfect it was. It squeezed her heart to know that he was so effortlessly multi-talented. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers once more, attention being stolen by his baritone voice. She could practically hear the treble in it, “Ey Princess, you think it’s okay to just touch me?” His breath caught under the arrogant teasing of his words. Not from the words themselves. Couldn’t care less about that. What choked him up was whatever resplendent emotion flared from them when she peered up to him.

“Let me check the tag.”

“What?”

The blogger leaned back, cheekily snapping the shirt as she did so. “Your shirt, can I check the tag? I want to see what its made out of. Also, sorry.”

Sukuna blinked twice, mouth stupidly hanging open before he leaned forward, “I’ll allow it.”

He may have tinnitus, but he wasn’t deaf enough yet to miss the mocking ‘I’ll allow it,’ muttered under her breath. He wanted to laugh, but for the second time, the graze of chilled fingertips along his skin shut him up. Along the back of his neck, she fiddled to flip the collar and tug it. Her eyes squinted and a hum escaped her throat. Sometimes she wished she could read upside down. That’s when she sat on the back on the sofa and leaned closer, pulling the shirt to better read the small print. If Sukuna were a cat, he’d lean his head into her. The thought physically bothered him.

“I knew it. It’s American Pima. Thanks for letting me check.”

He missed the shiver her touch gave him as she sat back into her chair.

“While I have more questions for you, this video’s gotten pretty long already, so we’ll have to cut it a bit short here,” She gave a closing statement, motioning for her guest to do the same. With a thanks, the cameras were cut.

While the editor and videographer chatted together, She leaned heavily into the back of her chair, poised posture slipping into something more comfortable. Long lashes slid closed and a heavy drag of breath lifted her chest. Sukuna’s eyes trailed along her form, contemplating Eros once more.

She exhaled sharply, “I do appreciate you coming on stage. It’s disgusting how talented you are.” She laughed, cracking an eye open to meet his, “I prepped a lot of questions thinking you’d be short with me. It’s a shame I only got to ask a few.”

He was surprised himself. It was more than just her talent to make him talk - she may have been the first to see him as an opportunity rather than a commodity. ‘She would be the first and last reporter to see me as a meal’ was the thought he had going into this interview. He had every single intention to shut down her buffet, make it apparent that he was not to be dined on by a single soul. Yet, if his dish were ‘opportunity’, hers would be ‘intrigue’. He wanted to devour it, to know its palette and identify its spices. It was a compulsory urge to order, just to see why he craved it in the first place.

“Film the next few concerts. Backstage.”

Tags: @lovesakusa

#⛩.sukuna #⛩.fic #⛩.punk #🍺.jjk #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk fic

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anime-academix · 3 years

Text

Dating Mexican Reader

Headcanon

Characters: Midoriya, Bakugo, Todoroki, Kirishima, Aizawa, Shigaraki, Dabi

Warnings: minor swearing, minor nsfw (it’s extremely brief, you’ll see it if you squint)

Requested by: @peachyhonxeey Thank you for your request! :)

A/N: I’m so sorry, I took so long to post this! 😭 But I hope you all like it! I will admit, my knowledge on Mexican culture is limited...so I asked a few friends more knowledgeable in that area for some help! So, if there are any spelling/pronunciation/translation errors, I apologise in advance! But, I hope you guys enjoy reading this! I will definitely be going back in and doing some much needed revising though lol and then maybe a part 2!

Midoriya

Shy when it comes to dating outside of his race, but claims he’s the luckiest person in the world once he’s with you.

ALWAYS asking questions about your family, culture, and even the language.

Writes down all of your answers.

Actually enrolled himself in a Spanish class so he could surprise you with what he’s been learning.

If Japanese isn't your first language, he will offer to help you with your Japanese.

The two of you end up spending hours just teaching each other phrase in your native languages.

During times like these, this boy is so madly in love with you, just observing the way you are, the way you’re just existing.

Wants to meet your family and will even ask how he can please your family members.

Listens to you in awe when you converse with your family in your native language.

Will try and repeat some of the words/phrases he hears you use to himself.

Once you’re done talking to your family, he’ll ask you how to pronounce a word he heard you say or what a phrase means.

Will ask you about how Japanese culture is different from your own culture.

When it comes to PDA, Izuku is EXTREMELY shy and gets flustered so easily.

He’s shock when he finds out that you’re culture is significantly different than Japanese culture.

Especially when it comes to PDA.

In public, as far as the two of you go are hugs, hand holding and cheek kisses.

Most times you initiate it, but after a while, he begins initiating it on his own.

He’s always sending you recipes he comes across and asks if you two could make it together on the weekend.

You’ll have conversations concerning your own experiences with racial discrimination.

Will almost always start crying.

Hugs you tight and reassures you that you and everything about you is beautiful.

Bakugo

He is so fascinated by you and your culture, but he won’t ever say it aloud.

You’ll see his fascination through little things:

Started eating Mexican food, even when the two of you were just friends to understand you a bit more.

Even learning words, phrases, and slang words in Spanish when he could.

He absolutely loves it when you switch to speaking your native tongue.

Especially when you guys get into an argument, he’s left speechless because you’ll curse at him in Spanish but he has NO idea all of what you’re saying.

“Excuse me? ¡Siempre haces esto! Te voy a romper la cara con mis puñetazos. No me jodas. Ugh! Vete a la mierda, pendejo. Eres tan jodidamente molesto.”

“W-what...what the hell did you just say to me?!”

You can honestly out argue him.

Will almost always lose the argument because he wouldn’t know how to reply.

Honestly would think it’s really hot and badass that you switch languages when you’re upset.

Usually won’t be the first to apologise directly, but after giving you space to calm down, he usually starts by calling you ‘Mi Amor’ or ‘Princesa’.

His pronunciation is actually so on point.

He’ll act as though he’s indifferent but he LOVES Mexican food.

On RARE occasions, he will even attempt to make a simple Mexican recipe to impress you.

He’s actually so good at cooking and when you praise him, he’ll say:

“Tch. Don’t make a big deal about it; it wasn’t that hard.”

Was actually hella nervous that he would do it wrong and you wouldn't like it.

Blushes HARD, but will pretend like its nothing when you praise his cooking.

During late night talks, usually with you laying on top of him, his arms wrapped around you and he’ll ask you if you feel comfortable in Japan.

Then will eventually ask if you’re comfortable with him.

Todoroki

Is 100% nervous to date outside of his race, or anyone for that matter.

So, once the two of you start dating, he is very attentive and takes the relationship seriously.

Very traditional when it comes to dating, but at the same time extremely shy.

Especially when it comes to PDA.

If we’re being honest, he’s really awkward when it comes to being around you, so it’s hard for him to express affection and his emotions directly.

So majority of the time, you’re instigating hand holding, hugs, and eventually kissing a lot of the time.

Expresses his love and affection for you through other ways.

He will take so much of his time reading about Mexican culture, the languages, and will even learn your native language to converse with you at times.

Constantly asking you random and unexpected questions about yourself and background.

Most of the time, he won’t give an explanation or context for the question.

Over time, he becomes more comfortable with affection and will start making the first move, such as: cheek and hand kissing and hugs.

When he’s around his friends, he usually sticks to hugging because this boy is honestly so awkward.

Whenever the two of you are in public, he prefers to always be holding your hand.

Some times he’ll have two of his fingers wrapped around yours.

He finds it so interesting when you speak in your native language whether you’re talking to family/friends or talking to yourself.

When you guys have an argument, it definitely would be over something serious.

Todoroki tries to remain calm whenever the two of you do fight, which usually resolves the argument as quick as it started.

But on rare occasions, during an argument he’s caught off guard when you switch to your native language when you’re upset/frustrated.

He’ll understand even more that when you switch to your native tongue, you’re extremely upset about whatever the two of you are arguing about.

Even then, he usually doesn’t argue back and will let you get out all of your feelings until you’ve calmed down.

If he thinks the two of you need some space, he’ll leave for an hour or so and then come back so the two of you can talk.

Regardless of whoever started the argument, he’s almost always the first to apologize, which usually results in the both of you apologizing at the same time.

Kirishima

In all honesty, the two of you just clicked instantly.

Picks up on your native language incredibly fast.

The two of you can hold entire conversations in Spanish.

Confuses the others because they have no idea what you’re talking about.

As if Kirishima wasn’t already romantic enough, once he starts learning more about your culture, his art in the romantics sky rocket.

Like this boy will tell you pick up lines in Spanish with a smirk on his face in front of your friends.

Will even ask if you can teach him any Mexican dances that you know.

When/if you do, he won’t stop practicing that dance(s) and he gets INTO it, emotions and all.

But honestly, the two of you are always dancing, especially when you’re alone together.

Kirishima doesn’t care about what others think, so therefore, he has no problem showing you off in public.

He will almost always initiate PDA and it doesn’t even bother him if other people think it’s weird.

Your family absolutely loves him, he honestly fits right in quite well when he meets your family.

Has at least a question every day about your culture and/or family.

Aizawa (slight NSFW towards the end)

Same with Kirishima, he has no problem showing you off.

LOVES listening to you speak in your native tongue.

But also loves hearing you talk about your culture and family.

Though he’s very educated on Mexican culture, he also learns alot from you--more intimate and personal details.

Aizawa knows a good amount of Spanish, but is kind of shy when it comes to responding back in Spanish because he’s self conscious when it comes to pronunciation.

His pronunciation is actually really good, but he doesn’t seem to think so.

You lowkey love when he speaks in your native language.

At times, when you ask him a question in Spanish, he will answer in Japanese and/or English.

Whenever you guys argue, you tend to switch back to your native tongue especially when you’re angry/upset.

He actually knows exactly what you’re saying, but usually won’t say anything.

Wants to let you scream out your anger/frustration as effectively as you can.

BUT NOW HEAR ME OUT, Aizawa WILL speak Spanish but only on rare occasions, like really rare.

Happens mostly on late nights when the two of you are cuddling that he’ll call you Mi Amor while holding you in his arms.

The other times he speaks Spanish to you are the nights when you two are doing the deed, he will whisper dirty things in your ear because he knows that it will turn you on instantly.

His deep voice + Spanish = ⚰️

He’s extremely protective of you.

Whenever the two of you are out in public, tends to hold you close to him by your waist.

Shigaraki

He may act like he’s all big and bad, but he becomes so shy whenever the two of you are alone.

Though you’re immune to his quirk, he’s always scared that one day he’ll touch you and you’re going to decay in his hands.

Because he’s always thinking that, you’re the one to take his hand and remind him that you’re not going anywhere

When you’re around the other League members and he’s acting out, you’ll put that boy back in line.

You’re honestly the only person that can keep him calm the most effectively.

Kurogiri is so lucky to have you, because he knows Shigaraki will listen to you.

Becomes a huge softie when you speak in your native tongue around him

Very interested in your culture and background.

He’s extremely shy when it comes to him asking you questions about your culture.

If he feels too embarrassed to ask you a question, he’ll spend a good amount of time researching the topic and he will inform you in hopes of impressing you.

Loves to see the happy look on your face when he tells you what he’s learned.

He may be a soft, pouty baby when it comes to you, but if anyone even dares to disrespect you, he will dust them in a second.

Will occasionally ask if you’re comfortable being with him or if you’d rather be at home.

He’d become flustered asf when you tell him that he is your home.

Spends hours cuddling and talking about everything and nothing.

Okay okay okay, one night he will ask you if you can give him a nickname in Spanish.

When he asks you that, he’s blushing like CRAZY.

Dabi (slight NSFW)

Okay, if we’re being honest, he honestly was the one to make the first move when he saw you.

Jokingly says dating you was a bad idea, but doesn’t regret meeting you at all .

Dabi won’t ever admit it, but he is SO in love with you, even if he tells you you’re a pain in the ass.

Whenever he gets an attitude, you have no problem reminding him of his place.

“What are you gonna do? Kick my ass? Doll, I’m not scared of you.”

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you talking to, but it ain’t me. So, you better watch yourself before I knock you out into next week.”

He’s almost always caught off guard with how fast you snap back.

When the two of you argue, he tends to lose the argument because at some point when your anger/annoyance heightens, you’ll start swearing at him in Spanish.

He’ll just stand there smirking at you while you’re just full of frustration.

Finds it so hot when you switch back to your native language.

Asks you so many times to speak in Spanish to him.

Knows a generous amount of phrases and words native to your culture.

Okay, I will tell you, it turns him on so much if you talk dirty to him in Spanish--it’s definitely one of his weaknesses.

Has no problem asking you questions about your culture.

Loves hearing you talk about your stories about your home, background and even family.

Though he’s a little rough around the edges, Dabi is EXTREMELY protective and especially observant when it comes to you.

Whenever the two of you are in public, he always has his arm around your shoulders or waist.

Dabi doesn’t care too much for PDA, but if he notices someone staring at you, he’ll glare at the person before kissing your lips then your down your neck.

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lorei-writes · 3 years

Note

Hi! I wanna say your stories are too cute! Do you have any advice to new writers?

Ahh, thank you! 😳 Haha, I honestly don’t know how to reply, people being so kind towards my works always leaves me a little speechless, haha. So... Thank you 😳

As for the advice... Well, let’s give it a shot.

[Lorei from the future: of course, I made it long. Why am I even not surprised anymore].

In short (I elaborated on those below the cut):

Never dispose of your old work.

Do not obsess over editing.

The initial growth may be rapid. Then it slows down and it is when you are more aware of your errors. It is okay like so. It shows your growth.

Forget about what you think you should be and focus on what you can be. Do not try to force yourself into any rigid frames of “should” and “should not”, of “but author XYZ does it and it works out for them”. It is not an excuse not to try, but a call to adapt things to work for you.

Write for yourself and be greedy of your time. That being said, if you feel like being generous, do it!

We are not perfect and will never be - a knowledge of a person is finite. Look for your biases and never, never forget you can be wrong.

Do not be scared after the sixth. It boils down to being humble and being aware that your experiences are only yours.

Experiment and have fun. Not all stories have to be finished. Sometimes we aren’t at the place in life when we ourselves have an appropriate ending for them.

See what you can learn from others and observe. Ask whether they’d be willing to give you any opinions on the matter. However, you do need a certain compatibility for that too.

Try to localise the issue you’re experiencing every time you stumble into one.

I presume you have already heard “just write”, which by itself is well, the most universal piece of advice. Just write and you’ll get better eventually, although... From my observations, it is not necessarily given. I suppose it could be rather frustrating to hear - just write what? How to write this “just write”? As such, allow me to elaborate on this “just write”, or at least what I think “just write” could entail for the benefit of the learner.

First, never dispose of your old work. You will need it later on, even after you’ve improved - to be able to look back and see your growth during periods of discouragement.

Second, do not obsess over editing. Sure, things can always be improved upon - and it will most likely be the case that sometimes it will not be just in your head and that indeed, somebody will notice. But it is okay this way. We are humans. Humans make mistakes. What humans do is also learning from them. You will get way more experience out of creating plenty imperfect works than if you were to write just one perfect piece.

Third, the initial growth may be rapid. Then it slows down - and much to my dismay, and probably to that of plenty other writers, it is when we are most aware of our errors. We have enough experience to recognize them, but lack tools to solve them. It is okay this way. This is just how learning goes and it will pass eventually. It does not mean you suddenly forgot how to write, quite the opposite - you’ve learnt more than ever before and started to notice things you were oblivious to before. Don’t be scared, it’s okay - just try to tackle them, one at the time.

Fourth, forget about what you think you should be and focus on what you can be. Listen. You will never be Ursula K Le Guin - and she will never be you. Art of any type is subjective, and it will never be so that one style is superior to the other. You may admire some authors and try to mimic their style - which by itself, I presume, isn’t that bad of a thing, it can give you some analytical experience - but eventually, you will find something in them that’s bothering you. Do not try to force yourself into any rigid frames of “should” and “should not”, of “but author XYZ does it and it works out for them”. If it doesn’t work out for you, it doesn’t work out for you - that’s it. That being said, since I think I may be wording myself poorly - it is not an excuse not to try or say, to avoid some things completely, because you don’t feel particularly confident about them, no. It is a call to adapt things to suit you. You will grow with time too - adapt again, do not shackle yourself!

To give an example to that - my imagination works in words. I hardly ever see any scenes, and if I do, they are usually extremely vague, blurred. But I also think in smells and feelings, colours, textures, plenty things which together create an experience. I struggle with writing detailed descriptions. For the longest time I thought I should be writing them, but... Really, as much as I know it is something I should make sure to check myself on, I stopped putting extra pressure on myself to make the descriptions VERY detailed. Does my reader need to know the precise layout of streets, or is it okay if I give them an idea on how more-or-less the system works and then walk them briefly through it? We all have our set of experiences we build up on. I’d rather collect a set of items with a certain atmosphere to them than torture myself with creating a precise vision. My readers don’t have to imagine things the way I do for the scenery to still work. Did it make my descriptions so much better? I don’t know. But it certainly kept me a writing-writer as opposed to i-cant-write-a-single-thing-right-writer and I think that’s plenty good.

Fifth, write for yourself and be greedy of your time. Your stories do not have to shatter the world or otherwise save it. All stories have some sort of audience that will be willing to listen to them, and they may be just as meaningful to other people - so honestly, don’t put any pressure on yourself with some sense of mission. That being said, if you feel like being generous, do it! Take requests! People don’t like what you wrote for them? Well, they asked for it and it was your courtesy to begin with. However, that brings us to another one...

Sixth, we are not perfect and will never be - a knowledge of a person is finite. Be curious and remember that no experiences are universal. In other words: ask questions, look for what other people say, read their experiences, educate yourself, and then, at the end of the day, decide whether your original outlook on the matter is still relevant. Examine whether the story you wanted to tell still holds up. Look for your biases and never, never forget you can be wrong - people can and may point our your errors. It is fine. Apologise and do better next time. (Although it may happen that somebody’s claims will not be based in reality - and then it’s back to learning and talking and... Basically, navigating through the world). Basically, step out of your shoes and try to imagine walking in those belonging to somebody else. This is particularly relevant when discussing cultures or presenting characters from marginalised groups.

Example relevant to me: If the only slavic characters in your work are uneducated or otherwise stupid, you have a problem with representation there. If all of them are addicted to alcohol, drugs, are part of mafia, are spies, are thieves or otherwise operate as criminals - you have an issue there. If your story is set in Prague, but you use Russian cultural themes and have your characters use stray words from other slavic languages (and it is not just a quirk of a given character, but more so a common thing to all of them) - you have an issue there.

Seventh, do not be scared after the sixth. It seems like a lot. It boils down to being humble and being aware that your experiences are only yours. And to the fact that if you know precisely nothing about something and want to write about it, you should do some reading first.

Eighth, experiment and have fun. If something grows more tedious than entertaining, you may want to let it go, at least for a moment. Not all stories have to be finished. Sometimes we aren’t at the place in life when we ourselves have an appropriate ending for them.

Ninth, see what you can learn from others and observe. This isn’t only about their experiences, but their craft too. Sometimes others know better. Ask whether they’d be willing to give you any opinions on the matter. However, you do need a certain compatibility for that too - sometimes your styles may be too different and one person could be converting the other to be more like them in terms of writing. This isn’t any good.

The last one, tenth: try to localise the issue you’re experiencing every time you stumble into one. It will make it easier for others to help you, or for you to help yourself.

#Anonymous #answered

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