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#the tags above are more or less stray thoughts
clandestineloki · 10 months
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Cold Flower (NSFW)
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A/N: My public apology for going dormant on Tumblr for nearly 5 months.
tw: jotun!loki dom!loki, sub!cottagegirl!reader, loki’s cock is big but his size kink is bigger, corruption kink, praise kink, manhandling but very cutely if i may say!!, unrealistically fast paced because loki is horny ) >:D
read it on ao3!!
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The grass tickles your ankles as you step through the bushes, careful not to step on any pretty flowers in your path.
Sunset is nearing, and you've only gotten so much as a few ferns. But you don't mind. The forest will bloom when it wants to, and even if you haven't collected any flowers for your work you're having a wonderful time looking around at all the birds and the deer and the butterflies and nature; just getting away from the busy life in the village is enough of a treat.
Stepping through a clear patch, you look around for any deer traps. What deer traps? The ones that have hidden nets that burst out from the ground like flytraps and scoop up any poor being that just happened to be there, leaving them trapped up in the air by a rope tied to a tree.
Now that you think of it, a clear patch in the middle of the forest means one thing: a deer trap has been set off already.
Right above where you stand.
Realizing the danger of being anywhere near a threatened or harmed deer, you’re ready to bolt out of the woods when you look up, and see a net that’s filled with leaves, branches, and stray grass reeds.
And dangling out of the net is a leg— a leg that looks less like a deer’s… and more of a person’s.
You gasp in horror. Someone’s caught in it!
Running around the tree, you find the rope suspending the trap buried in the ground. You rummage for your shears and hastily cut it, grabbing the rope to pull it down with your weight and let the trap sink to the ground slowly.
When it does, you run over, cutting away as much of the net as you can, digging through the leaves until you reach someone covered in an enormous fur cape.
You gingerly pull it back, and stare in awe.
It’s a man, with dark hair and sharp features, no doubt very handsome despite the scratches and cuts he’s sustained. The linen top he’s wearing is littered with twigs.
Softly, you brush away the twigs when you touch his wrist and freeze.
And quite literally, because his skin is as cold as ice.
Almost as if he were a corpse.
“Sir! Sir! Please wake up!”
When Prince Loki’s eyes open and adjust to the glare of the sun— and the silhouette blocking it out— his breath hitches.
Is this Valhalla? Am I… dead?
Surely, he must be. For above him kneels the most beautiful girl, almost shimmering in the golden light, it’s definite that you’re an angel.
“Hello? Sir? Can you hear me?”
An even lovelier voice for a radiant woman. He nods, and you let out a sigh of relief.
“Oh, thank goodness!” You lean forward, brushing away twigs from his face and cloak. “I thought you had died! I hate those deer traps, they’re dangerous and they're so hard to see! It almost killed you! Are you alright?”
“Yes- Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
It’s as if he spoke without thinking, eager to hear more from your pretty lips. You catch your breath, kneeling back down, and he sits up to get a better look at the captivating face of his savior.
“How long have you been up there?”
Loki brushes his hand against his cheek. “I'm not quite sure- ah-”
He hisses when his fingers graze a wound on his temple, and he retracts his hand to find a few specks of scarlet.
“Probably not long, I'm still bleeding,” he shows you his hand, and you gasp.
“Oh, no,” you take a closer look at his face. “My house isn't far from here, I can help you clean up and get some rest. You must be exhausted. Are you alright with some porridge and biscuits? They're all I have the ingredients for and the farmers’ market is a bit far so I'm sorry if...”
Loki honestly can’t concentrate on what you're saying. He nods along, but he's rather focused on you.
As he tags along behind you as you retrace your steps to your home, Loki whispers a thanks to whatever Gods led him to be graced by your beauty in this moment, regardless of the circumstance. He had just been hunting for sport, unaware of the trap that had pulled him up into the tree so suddenly and rendered him unconscious.
Now, he's found something— no, someone— better; a much more rewarding, delicious little prey.
“I just realized I haven't introduced myself."
Loki looks up just as you say your name, timidly holding out your hand. He takes it after a moment.
“Loki,” he replies, once he finds it in himself to speak.
“Like the prince?"
He recoils a bit in surprise. “Yes- Yes, like the prince. Uh-"
“How are you feeling?" you ask, dabbing the cloth lightly against his wrist.
“They don't hurt if I don't move."
“Okay. Let me know if it does.”
Loki nods, watching you silently tend to his wounds, before he hisses softly.
You flinch, pulling away. “Oh, I'm sorry-"
“You really don't know who I am?” Loki asks.
A second passes as you look down at him, brows furrowing as you sit down next to him on your bed.
“I can't recall. Sorry, have you ordered flowers from me before?"
“You run a flower shop?”
“Yes, that's why I was in the woods. I was looking for fresh flowers and came across you up in that trap.” You tilt your head. “What were you doing in the forest, anyway?"
“I was... hunting for deer, and the last thing I remember is hearing something above me snap.”
“Hunting… Is that what you do for a living?”
“Well, no. My brother and I do it for sport."
“Oh."
Loki stares at you blankly. “My brother, Prince Thor."
You nod.
Loki chuckles. Your pretty little head hasn't registered it.
He leans in close, brushing his lips against your ear, and whispers very slowly:
“I'm Prince Loki."
And the reaction he gets is the cutest. Your lips part as your eyes widen, to which he grins.
But he doesn't expect you to fling yourself off the side of the bed and onto the ground, bowing down to him.
“Your Highness!” you squeak. “I'm so sorry, I didn't know!! I-”
“Darling, please," he chuckles, shaking his head. “That isn't necessary-"
“I'm so sorry, I'll get some tea, do you want anything from the market? Please, allow me-”
Loki bends down, lifting you off the floor in a princess carry and sets you down on the bed.
“Please, don’t stress yourself. You saved my life.”
He takes your hand, kissing it softly as he smiles up at you.
“Thank you, pretty angel.”
Your eyes widen as you stutter out tiny breaths. Norns, aren’t you the most adorable?
“I don’t think you believe me.” He stands up, pretending to be offended by your silence.
“No!” you cry . “I mean- I do believe you! It’s just- I was surprised, I didn’t think-”
“Didn’t think what? A prince would just be out in the woods for no reason?” He laughs, leaning down to you. Before you can respond, he chuckles again. “That’s alright,” he steps back, “you just need a little… evidence.”
Loki closes his eyes, and lets himself shift into his true form: blue skin, dark green patterns across his biceps. He hears the tiniest gasp of amazement from you as the magic also heals his wounds and cuts (and hopes that he’ll hear more of those cute noises very soon).
When he’s done transforming, he opens his eyes and stares down at you.
Dear Norns.
He knew he was already taller than you in human form, but this was just delightful. You’re much tinier than him, staring up at his stature with those wide doe eyes of yours.
“You are-” you blink a few times in shock. “You are the Jotun prince.”
He smiles even wider. “That’s right.”
“And… I… just saved the Jotun prince.”
He starts laughing, leaning down to whisper in your ear.
“Clever girl.” He knows he’s downright cruel, teasing you just because you’re so cute. “And do you want anything in return for ‘saving the Jotun prince’?”
“Well, I don’t know-”
Loki walks closer to you, and stands between your legs as he drops his cloak to the floor and leans down, drawling his next words very slowly.
“You deserve something… special. Something downright… pleasurable as a reward for saving my life. Something that you’ll remember for the rest of yours.”
He chuckles darkly when your breath hitches in realization.
He wants to make love to you.
“What?”
He pushes you down on the bed, trapping you in with his large body as he takes your wrists in one of his hands.
“You’ll feel undeniable bliss. I’ll take you over and over and over again until I’m sure you’re truly satisfied, because you’re such a sweet little angel saving my life and cleaning me up and looking so fuckable.”
You mewl, no doubt keening from his dirty words. He cups your chin.
“All you have to do is say yes. You don’t even have to do anything~”
His thumb brushes over your quivering lips, and push into your mouth. Loki grins as you look up at him, nodding slowly.
“Use your words, angel,” he teases, pulling his thumb away from your mouth.
It takes you a few moments to catch your breath. “Okay…”
He wanted to make you beg. He wanted you to say please, please fuck me so he could flip you over like you weighed nothing and take you over and over again like you’d asked but the way you whimpered withered away the last of his patience.
He had to make you his.
Loki captured you into a passionate kiss, muffling every last sound your pretty lips made so that only he could hear. He pulled away only to push you down on the sheets again, forcing his tongue into your mouth as you twitch in his hold, unable to comprehend how dizzy you are from just a kiss.
The two of you pull away for air as his dark green irises watches your eyes glaze over with submission. He grins, unbuttoning his white button-up and tosses it elsewhere.
He grins as you stare at his chest. Your tiny hands reach for him, tracing over the markings and patterns.
Loki hisses, taking your hands in one of his. You whimper as he stares down at you.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “Did that hurt?”
“No, no.” His voice softens as he leans in, kissing your nose gently, his other hand pushing your dress up your thighs. He kisses your cheek, then presses his lips against your ear. You shiver at his ice-cold breath.
“It doesn’t, angel. It’s just that if you keep doing that, I won’t be able to resist flipping you over and pounding you into the sheets until you’re dripping with my cum and you can’t think.”
He pushes his knee against your crotch, making you squeak like a pathetic little mouse. Loki grins.
“I will be doing that, mind you,” he teases. “But I simply have to get a taste of your pretty juices first~”
Your skirt bunches up against your twitching hips as Loki stares down at your dripping cunt.
“Oh," Loki chuckles. “You're already wet for me, angel, isn't that adorable~?"
You mewl, bashfully covering your face as he grins at your embarrassment.
“Stop teasing..."
Loki shakes his head, pouting in mockery. “Only if you stop being so cute when you're flustered. But until then…”
He places his hands on your thighs, pulling you closer to him as he lowers his face to your mound.
“... I'll enjoy fucking you until you submit to me.”
Your eyes widen as he licks your folds very slowly, and you whine shakily.
“Prince Loki..."
Loki grins, kissing your pretty cunt wetly and pushing his tongue into your dripping hole. And your helpless whimper of pleasure as he devours your pretty pussy whole is the cutest and most captivating noise he's ever heard.
He draws it out of you again, and again, and again, drinking every bit of your slick, even if poor little you are just getting wetter and wetter.
You're panting now, and Loki is equally as short of breath, only ever breaking away from you to watch your pretty face scrunch up so cutely. Loki licks his lips, nibbling on your thighs and making you squeak and tremble in his icy grip.
“You're such an adorable little angel," Loki grumbles. "Makes me want to eat you up like a little mouse, hmm?”
He holds you down firmly as your moans tickle his ears. The way your little hole squeezes around nothing is just so cute, he just has to stuff you full after he makes you come far too many times than you can handle.
“Aww,” Loki chuckles as you whimper breathily, thighs thumping helplessly against the bed. “Little angel can’t take it anymore?”
He brushes a blue finger against your dripping folds, sinking into your hole for the millionth time making you squeak and sob in sensitivity.
“P-Please…” you mumble, glazed eyes pleading for a moment of rest.
He sighs, forgetting you’re just a pure little thing having her first time, and gently scoops you into his arms to press a few kisses to your cheek and whispering your name.
“Have I thanked you enough already~?” He teases, and you nod, nuzzling into his hold though you shiver lightly.
Loki’s heart skips a beat. He feels you cling to him tighter and he feels your little ass grinding against his cock.
“Well,” he muses, “I believe my kingdom will be overjoyed to find that an angel like yourself saved their prince, hmm?”
“Huh?” you ask, still pleasure-drunk as you settle into his lap, as if you perfectly fit in his hold.
“I said,” Loki chuckles his icy breath tickling your face, “My kingdom would be overjoyed to find a pretty thing like you saved the royal prince, wouldn't they?"
“Mhm..."
“And they'll throw a week-long celebration...” he continues, trailing kisses from your cheek to your shoulder. “All for you~”
“R-Really?” you gasp as he begins sucking on your skin, sure to leave marks after. “A whole week? That's too much-!”
Loki laughs against your shoulder, holding your hips down so he can feel your hips grind against his cock. “Nothing is too much for a perfect little angel like you~"
Loki licks the bite mark he's so carefully placed on your skin, then looks up at your glazed eyes and twitching pout.
“Would you like to come back with me to the palace?"
The look of confusion and bashfulness across your face makes his cock twitch against your bare folds.
“Me?! With you?!"
“Do you abhor the idea of that?”
He knows he's being mean and he knows you don't hate the idea, but Loki just can't resist seeing you so embarrassed and stuttering to apologize.
“No! I didn't mean that! I was just surprised-"
Loki shakes his head with a little chuckle, and brings you closer to his face to kiss the crease between your eyebrows.
“I know, I know. I was just teasing."
“Don't be mean like that!”
Loki laughs darkly when you cross your arms.
In a flash, he’s got you on your hands and knees before your pretty head can even figure out what’s going on.
“And if I do, what are you going to do about it?”
You shiver at the dark growl in his voice.
You're so far deep in this haze all you can see is blue.
“Your highness-!”
Loki presses your chest against the bed, leaving your pretty ass on display, purely his for the taking.
“You’re just a little mouse that can’t hurt anything, hmm? Just so innocent, and weak, and ready to be ravished.”
A cold, thick finger traces your wet folds, and you whimper, burying your face in the sheets as he tickles your hole until you’re shaking with need.
“Maybe I’ll take you back home with me… and make you my wife.”
Loki shoves his finger all the way in, knocking the wind out of you because you swear you can feel him in your tummy.
“Your- Your wife?” You ask, voice higher and breathier.
“Yes~” he mocks your airy voice. “My pretty wife, who won’t have to get her pretty hands dirty ever again, who I’ll take care of, and protect, and fuck every single night.”
Loki curls his finger, reaching that sensitive little part in your cunt that effectively leaves you a mumbling, drooling mess on him.
When he’s gotten you wet enough, he draws his finger back (to his cute little angel’s momentary dismay) and forces your thighs apart with his body, the head of his cock twitching against your folds.
Loki will forever remember the gasp you let out when you feel just how big he is.
“Do you want to be fully mine? Do you want me to fuck this little hole of yours with my cock until you’re screaming for me?”
You whine at his dirty words, slurring something that sounds like a yeah, and he knows he’s got you exactly where he wants you.
“Really?” he chuckles, fingering your little hole one more time to slicken your folds. “Do you think I’ll fit~?”
And with the dirty wet noises that tickle his ears as he sinks all the way in he gets his reply.
“Oh?” Amused, he runs an icy finger up and down your bare back. “She can take it, after all. What a good girl~”
Loki barely gets the praise out before the prettiest whimpers fall out of your mouth like sweet honey, your poor cunt clenching down on him as your voice gets higher and breathier by the minute.
“Please-” you hiccup, turning to look at him with those pretty teary eyes.
His vermillion eyes stare you down cruelly as he grinds his hips down into your ass, making your head fall onto the sheets as you slur out a moan.
His cock feels so heavy inside you and by the way he laughs quietly you know he knows just how big he is compared to you.
And the way he pins you down harder lets you know he loves it.
“Oh, you just feel so good around my cock,” Loki groans, pulling back and thrusting into your leaking little pussy.
Poor you, already sensitive beyond imagination as this handsome blue prince ruins any other man for you with the way his cock stretches you out better than anyone ever will.
Not that anyone else will get the chance to. Loki’s decided it: he will take you home to the palace and make you his wife, and everyone will bow before their new princess.
Loki can't resist you any longer. He beats your poor cunt like the beast he is until you're whimpering and bucking against him helplessly.
“Feels... weird..." you shudder and gasp, tears leaking from your eyes as he sinks deeper into you, his huge cock hitting all the good spots inside you as your pleasure takes over your senses.
“Oh, is she close? Is this perfect little cunt going to come all over me?”
Loki's dirty words make you whimper and nod dumbly.
“Yeah," you sob.
Loki laughs at how blissed out his little saviour is and stops,pulling out slowly and groaning when he hears the sinful squelching as your juices drip onto the sheets. He turns you on your back, pinning your wrists to your sides, and captures your lips in his as he sinks into you once more.
“I missed these pretty lips," he smirks into the kiss, taking you for himself.
“Y-You just kissed me a few minutes ago..." You sigh dazedly, though you love the attention he's giving you.
“Still can't get enough of you. You're just so sweet~" Loki licks your lips, thrusting harder and making you squeak and link your fingers through his.
“Say my name."
“Loki...”
“Gods," he throws his head back, almost moaning at how submissive you sound. “Surrender to me, darling."
His hands snake down to the back of your thighs, lifting them and pressing them to your chest, quickening his pace.
Your eyes scrunch up as you nearly scream in pleasure, wriggling away as if you could escape from him.
“Surrender to me, angel~" he grins, kissing your neck and marking you up. “A pretty angel like you deserves to be pampered like this every day. Imagine that? You'll never have to lift a finger, I'll do all the work, I'll do all the fucking.”
Loki accentuates that last word with a hard thrust into your hole, making your eyes blur over with tears as you mewl helplessly in the Jotun prince’s tight grip.
“Awh, don't cry," he teases, kissing your nose when he gets a sinfully great idea.
He stops his movements, making sure he's buried all the way inside you before he flattens his tongue against your soaked cheek and licks your tears away.
You gasp, stunned for a moment before you keen and twitch helplessly, whining loudly as he does the same to your other cheek.
And your poor little cunt just clenches down again.
Loki growls, his primal instincts taking over because you're his ideal mate and you're nothing like he's ever seen. The sounds in the room get filthier and filthier as he loses control and rams into your poor hole.
“What do you say, angel?" Loki asks, letting go of your wrist before his hand makes its way down to your clit, rubbing the little bud and making you scream and tremble in his arms. “Be my- fuck- be my bride? Be my pretty little princess?”
“Yeah,” you mumble, chest heaving as your eyes flutter shut.
“Are you close?"
“Mhm..."
“Cute little mouse," he chuckles, pressing open mouth kisses to your neck as he rubs your clit. “Let go for me now, angel."
It’s a sight from heaven as you orgasm all over him, soaking his cock with your juices and helplessly thumping your thighs against the bed because Loki won't stop thrusting in and out of you.
Loki growls, pinning you to the bed. He stills, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm, thick cum filling you up. It makes you feel even more full than you already do and it makes you dizzy with even more pleasure.
It becomes too much for your melting brain to handle when he pushes deeper into you and you gasp, attempting to kick him away.
A firm, cold hand grabs your ankle and spreads you wider, and you whine shyly when he grins at you with a cruel glint in his eyes.
“Stay with me, darling," Loki teases, gripping your hips possessively and holding you still on his cock so he can finish filling you up.
It feels like hours before he breathes again, but it's only been seconds for him, already wanting another round with you.
But the prince resists, setting your sore legs down slowly and carefully sliding out of your cunt.
You sigh in exhaustion, but your breaths falters in embarrassment when you feel just how much he pumped into you, dripping out of your twitching folds and onto the bed.
A tiny drop even lands on your ass and Loki chuckles at your wide eyes, leaning down to kiss your lips and whisper a dirty promise that he'll fuck you down there too next time.
“Next time?” you ask, lips parting.
“Yes," he teases. " I've decided it, you're never leaving my side, my guardian angel~”
And he scoops you into his side, letting you rest before he has a few more rounds with your pretty hole— then he'll take you back home to the palace and convince you to stay. He'll show you the library. He'll let you lose yourself in the royal gardens all day if you wish! As long as you return to his chambers each night and let him please you the way you deserve to be.
But he's fallen for you already and the whole kingdom will burn in a blaze of sapphire dust if anything or anyone ever keeps him away from you.
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globaloppaaa · 8 months
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full heart, empty stomach
ft. yoon jeonghan
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a/n: i’ve tried editing these as much as i can because MAN these stories are old lmao. However they aren’t entirely proof read!
warnings: slightly suggestive (bc jeonghans’ a menace) but reader doesn’t want that rn 🙄, otherwise pure fluff and appreciation
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Dawn's light seeps through closed blinds, neither crisp nor a clear morning as droplets of rain mist themselves above homes and busy streets. If it weren't for the warm figure embracing your side, this morning would have begun much less desirable.
You shift in your spot, sheets lazily tangled between your legs. Carefully you unravel yourself as to not wake him, just cherishing the moments like these where you can embrace how truly peaceful he looks. Even as he’s lightly snoring with his mouth ajar. Gently, you place a knuckle from underneath the blankets to his face, stroking a soothing line across his jaw. The boy's head subconsciously nuzzles into your palm, feeling it's warmth radiate throughout his entire body. Within a few seconds his face heats into a soft blush, and if he were awake he'd scold himself for being so vulnerable, trying to hold back the thoughts of how easily he comes undone for you. From a single stroke of your palm you make him go shy, as he usually does whenever he spends his time with you. It opposes his state of ridicule and teasing, and would most certainly ruin his reputation if any of his friends were to see. However when he’s with you, Jeonghan really doesn’t mind.
He gently twitches his eyelids, pinpointing his gaze into yours.
"Hi Hannie."
“Hi sweetheart”.
He guides his arms around your waist, encasing you in the cocoon shape he's formed himself into. His eyes close once again, blindly caressing your nose with his own as you brush a few stray strands from his forehead, tucking them behind his ears. He hums at the contact, intertwining his leg in yours and you let out a little laugh, honeyed by the mornings raspiness on the tip of your throat.
God, those little laughs are what he lives for.
You dip your head a little more into his chest, taking in the way his sweatshirt releases his natural cologne with every caress. When he hugs himself around you, his heartbeat lulls you back into that light state of peace, forbidding to shelter anyone else's heart like he does for you. Jeonghans’ mind and soul are overflowing by his love, unable to take in anymore from anyone else.
His stomach on the other hand, was another story.
With a loud grumble and a quiet groan from himself, you snicker, leveling your face with his.
"Could we get something to eat?" he asks, convincing a part of you with his cheesy smile and gleaming eyes
"I don't really wanna move.” you half-innocently pout.
"I know you don't baby, and you look so pretty right now. But you know what else looks pretty? A nice stack of pancakes and syrup."
You continue to lay in his arms, stuffing your head deeper into the crook of his neck. It sets off the smallest tingle to his skin, inspiring him to coyly comeback at your idling.
"Or I could take a bite out of you." He smirks rather confidently, tracing his fingers lower against the dips in your hips. He can feel your face contort against his skin, and suddenly your motivation to start the day skyrockets.
You glimpse his joyous smirk appearing as you release yourself from his arms.
"Anything else with your pancakes?" You ask humorously, a raspy tone still in your voice as you approach the stairs. Jeonghan laughs as he follows your figure through the doorway, running his eyes down your body clothed in his large and longly-discarded t-shirt.
You’re his and he’s yours he relishes. The thought alone gives him all the energy he needs each day. Raising from your bed, he hurriedly tags along to meet you again, just as he always find himself doing.
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violet-1atte · 5 months
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Kinktober Day Twenty-One: Tentacles - Minho/Jeongin
Tags: Pirates, sea monsters, dom/sub undertones, top!Minho, bottom!Jeongin, oviposition, belly bulge, come inflation(?), mating, breeding, crying during sex, double penetration CW: Brief description of drowning (no one actually drowns!)
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When Jeongin was a child, his mother had always warned him not to go near the sea. “It’s too dangerous, Jeongin!” she would always say. “There are pirates and thieves and terrible storms and evil sea monsters. I don’t want you to get taken away from me.” Her warnings seemed to do little in changing the course of his life though. It had been years since Jeongin had seen her and he was a faithful member on board the pirate ship Stray Compass, led by the aptly named king of the sea, Bang Chan. Her warning against pirates now seemed only as a foreshadow of Jeongin’s future when he looked back on it. 
He had long since stopped being afraid of sea monsters. He was curious about them, sometimes too curious, as Chan often warned him, but at the end of the day he lived in unbelief despite curiosity. Strange things in the water? Hallucinations from sleep deprivation. Huge waves? The storms he had been warned about. The storms were the only things that scared him now. Those were what could really take lives out on the sea. 
He had always done his best to heed his mother’s warnings when it came to the sea. They were his captain’s and his crew mates’ warnings as well. But things couldn’t always go the way they were planned. 
It was a huge storm and Jeongin was trying to bring down the sails so that the wind wouldn’t tear them or push them over. The rain was pouring down, soaking him to the bone, and the wood was wet. He could hear his crew mates shouting down below but couldn’t make out a word they were saying above the thundering rain and howling wind. 
Then, a wave crashed over the ship. It tilted and Jeongin gasped as his foot slipped. And then he was falling. Falling, falling, the wind and rain rushing around him as he plummeted to the raging sea. In that moment all the warnings of his past came back to haunt him and as he screamed for someone to save him, to catch him, he wished he had listened. 
The water was sharper than any knife Jeongin had had the misfortune of getting stabbed with. His first instinct was to gasp, but instead of air filling his lungs, water rushed in instead. The waves were too strong for him to find the surface and quickly he realized he was sinking. Sinking deeper into the deep, dark depths of the sea as he thrashed around to find a way back up. 
As he felt the strength in his limbs giving out and head going fuzzy, something wrapped around his leg. He barely had any time to register the feeling before something was pushing past his lips and into his mouth. He would have tried to fight it but his body had no fight left. Whatever it was filled Jeongin’s mouth with something sticky and the substance traveled down his throat and into his lungs. The substance coated the insides of his lungs and figured that this was his moment to die, this was how he would end–eaten by one of those sea creatures he had never fully believed in but almost wished were real–then out of nowhere, the burning in his lungs stopped. 
He sucked in a sharp breath and instead of feeling like he was breathing in molten lava, his lungs expanded, his head got less fuzzy, and the tingling in his limbs subsided. He was breathing again despite being surrounded by water. He should have been dead. 
He didn’t have enough time to think about how he was breathing underwater before whatever had wrapped around his leg and pushed into his mouth wrapped also around his torso and his arms. There were more than two and they suctioned to Jeongin’s skin. He couldn’t pull away even if he tried. Then he began to move and he realized he was being pulled through the water. This thing is trying to kill me. It's going to drag me to the depths and eat me, he thought in a panic. The water rushing around him was almost painful as he was dragged through it at an inhuman speed. The panic that had settled into his bones when he realized he was drowning had returned. 
Thankfully, to his great relief and surprise, whatever this thing was, was not dragging him deeper. After what seemed like ages, Jeongin suddenly started to see faint light filling the water. He could make out the outline of the creature now and–was that a man with tentacles? 
He didn’t have to ask for long because suddenly he was being tossed up onto shore and he hit the ground with a loud thud. The sand dug into his skin and he groaned and then the burning in his lungs was back. He started coughing and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees as all the water trapped inside him spilled out. “Fuck,” he croaked after the coughing fit left him, his throat burned raw. “What the hell was that…” 
His question was answered quickly as he looked up and looked around and his eyes landed on a man–not a man. It was some sort of creature, one that had a human face (arguably the most pretty face Jeongin had ever seen), and a human body–except for the purple color of his arms and legs and the fucking tentacles that protruded from his torso. 
Jeongin scrambled back, the sand sticking to his wet skin. “What–what are you?” he asked, voice shaking. The creature tilted his head and began walking towards Jeongin, tentacles raised in the air so they didn’t drag on the ground. 
“I’m Minho,” the creature responded and Jeongin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He could speak too? He smiled at Jeongin’s reaction and another shock of fear stabbed Jeongin’s chest when he saw that its teeth were sharp. All of them. “Ah you can understand me! Good, it worked then.” 
What fucking worked??? 
Jeongin realized he said that out loud when the creature made some sort of laugh that probably would have been charming to Jeongin if he weren’t scared out of his mind. “What I gave you to help you breathe under the water. It also allows humans to understand us.” 
“Oh…” Realization dawned on Jeongin. “You saved me.”
“I did, yes. I can’t let a perfectly good human just go to waste like that! Especially when I was right there. I’ve been observing you for a long time. Very pretty human.” 
Jeongin’s brain short circuited. Perfectly good human? Observing him for a long time…? Pretty?? “Huh–what I’m sorry I–I’m confused. Why–why were you watching me? What…?” 
“Oh! You’d be a perfect mate. That’s why,” Minho stated as if it were the most normal statement in the world. “Very pretty, very strong. You have many people to protect you who seem quite loyal. You’d be perfect to care for my babies.” 
Jeongin’s mind was reeling. “Babies?” he exclaimed. “I can’t have children, I’m a man! And I just met you! I don’t–what?” 
Minho stepped closer and one of his tentacles slithered up Jeongin’s leg. Jeongin shivered and something sparked in his stomach and–wait what the fuck? Another tentacle came to wrap around his waist and he wanted to pull away, he really did. But he didn’t. The creature was ridiculously handsome and there was something alluring about him, but maybe he had put something in whatever substance he’d given him to make him breathe. 
“Silly, you wouldn’t be having the children. I’d put my eggs inside you. You’d incubate them for me. And I saved your life, right? I save your life, you become my mate!” 
Jeongin wasn’t sure how he had reached that conclusion but he was ready to wake up from this dream. It wasn’t a nightmare, at least not now. Because even though he was highly weirded out and still a little scared, he wasn’t terrified. What had that creature done to him? “I don’t–that’s not how it works. You can’t just–mate someone out of nowhere!” How would that even work? Did he have a weird dick that he would push the eggs into him with? Would he use his tentacles? They’d have to go so deep–oh. Jeongin swallowed and wet his lips. There was no way he was getting hard right now.
Minho pouted and the tentacle wrapped around his waist began to slide underneath his soaked shirt. Another shiver ran through Jeongin’s body and his nipples began to harden. “But it’s not out of nowhere. I told you I’ve been watching you for a long time. I know you’d be perfect! Please? I’ve never been able to find a mate…My eggs always have to die.” He looked so sad suddenly that Jeongin’s heart clenched. Fuck. He swallowed as he looked down at the tentacles going over his body. They felt good. He certainly wasn’t entirely against the whole thing, judging by how his pants were tented with the outline of his cock. 
Fuck, this was insane. 
“I…I don’t know…” Jeongin trailed off. His mother’s warnings flashed in his head. Beware of sea creatures. 
He found he didn’t really want to listen anymore. 
“Alright,” he said, swallowing thickly. His chest prickled with fear but another part of him was curious. So curious, like Chan always warned him against. Why were people in his life always giving him warnings? Didn’t they know that only made his desires more intense? “I can be your mate.” 
A grin spread across Minho’s face and he licked his lips. “I was hoping you’d say that.” 
Another tentacle shot out to join the other one under Jeongin’s shirt and together they both pulled it up. Jeongin lifted his arms as his shirt was tugged off and tossed somewhere on the sand. One of the tentacles traveled up to his chest and a slick substance followed behind it. The tentacle stopped at his chest and then one of the cups on the underside suctioned to his nipple and Jeongin moaned. “Shit!” he gasped, back arching. Minho was still smiling at him and he tilted his head at Jeongin’s reaction. 
“Pretty,” he mumbled. 
Another pair of tentacles joined together below Jeongin’s waist and began working to get his pants off. How many did he have? They seemed to be very tactile because it didn’t take them long to get his pants all the way off. Jeongin’s cock bobbed up and slapped against his stomach and Minho licked his lips as he looked down at it curiously. “Hmm yours looks different…pretty.” Jeongin didn’t have time to question what he met because then one of his tentacles was wrapping around his cock. Jeongin let out a strangled moan. 
“Ohhh my gods,” Jeongin exclaimed, eyes squeezing shut. The tentacle was slick and wet and sticky and unlike anything Jeongin had ever felt. His entire body felt like a live wire ready to combust. More tentacles made their way over Jeongin’s body, crawling up his sides, suctioning to his thighs, playing with his nipples, wrapping around his throat to prod at his mouth. There were so many sensations it was overwhelming and Jeongin felt like he was going to pass out. 
One of Minho’s tentacles made its way up Jeongin’s inner thigh, a trail of purple slick left behind. Then the tip began to prod at his hole and his mouth fell open. At the same time, the tentacle that had been at his mouth shoved its way in and Jeongin’s eyes rolled back. It tasted salty like the ocean but there was also a hint of sweetness that made it intoxicating. He realized he’d tasted it when he’d been under the water. 
The tentacle at his hole swirled around it for a second before it began to push inside of him. Jeongin let out a muffled whine around the tentacle in his mouth and spread his legs. The tip of the tentacle was no bigger than two fingers but as it pushed in it got bigger and bigger. Jeongin choked and dug his fingers into the sand. 
“I was worried you wouldn’t take me,” Minho said as he pushed his tentacle deeper. Jeongin’s vision went blurry as his hole stretched around the intrusion. “But you’re doing so well.” 
The tentacle pushed deeper, deeper, until it brushed against Jeongin’s prostate and he made a guttural sound around the tentacle in his mouth. It continued moving even past that until when Jeongin looked down he could see a slight bulge on his stomach. His head fell back and he took deep breaths in through his nose. 
Minho’s eyes locked on the bulge in his tummy and removed the tentacle from his mouth. Jeongin gasped, moans flowing freely as he began to pump the tentacle in and out of him. “So small,” Minho mused. He reached out with his hand and pet over the bump on Jeongin’s stomach. “Gonna look so pretty when I fill you up.” 
“Nghhh shit, oh fuck,” Jeongin moaned. Minho was so deep, practically in his stomach. He didn’t even know why he had been against this initially. Any rational thought had left his mind. He just wanted to be filled. Wanted to see his stomach expand as Minho fucked his tentacles into him and filled him with his eggs. 
“Such a pretty human,” Minho mumbled. “Truly perfect…” Another tentacle moved to press against his rim and Jeongin gasped, eyes going wide. 
“That’s not–that’s not going to fit,” he whimpered, but Minho continued pushing anyway. 
“It will fit. I promise,” he reassured. The tip of that tentacle slid past his rim and the stretch burned. Jeongin choked on a moan and his eyes stung with tears. The pain quickly mixed with pleasure so intense Jeongin felt like he was going to fall apart. Minho was very surely breaking him. There was no way he could live normally after this. 
It wasn’t long before Jeongin could see the imprint of both tentacles in his stomach. He reached out with a shaky hand and pressed down, felt them move under his palm. “S-so full,” he groaned. He had never been this full in his life. 
“You’re going to be fuller soon,” Minho said with an amused grin. Jeongin’s eyes rolled back as Minho began to fuck both tentacles into him, while at the same time he explored Jeongin’s body with the rest of his tentacles. There were marks sucked all over his skin from the suckers on Minho’s tentacles and there were tentacles wrapped around his thighs, his arms, his waist, all holding him in place. His whole body tingled and his stomach burned hot with arousal like he’d never felt. It was so much, so so much. 
Without a warning his body spasmed and he orgasmed, his cock twitching weakly as ropes of cum shot over his body. Minho wrapped a tentacle around his cock as he came and Jeongin’s hips jerked away from the overstimulation. The tentacle squeezed, practically milking him through it. “Mm-Minho 's too much,” he hiccuped. At some point the tears had started running freely down his face. Oh gods…
“Shh, pretty human, doing so well. Just gotta get you nice and open to take my eggs,” he mumbled. Jeongin wanted to whine, to cry out that he already was open! Minho was splitting him in two, he was stretched beyond belief. But Minho didn’t wait much longer after that, and all the sudden his tentacles were slithering back out. Jeongin whined pathetically at the loss and his gaping hole clenched around nothing. 
“Please…” he whimpered, unsure what he was even asking for. Slick from Minho’s tentacles ran out of his hole and coated his thighs, leaving Jeongin feeling wet and dirty. He’d never particularly liked that feeling but now it was heaven. 
“You’ll be a good little thing and take my eggs right?” Minho said, one of the tentacles around Jeongin’s thigh tightening. He nodded his head, too dumb to form a proper response. “Good.” 
Jeongin looked down through hooded eyes and his breath hitched at the tentacle that wrapped around Minho’s front. This one was different from the others–wider and shorter, and covered bumped where the other tentacles had been smooth. It registered to Jeongin that this must have been his ovipositor and he was about to be filled with Minho’s eggs. This thought should’ve led to panic, should have led to the initial feelings of apprehension he had. But in the moment he wanted nothing more than what was about to happen. 
The tentacles on his thighs spread his legs wider and the tip of the ovipositor slipped past Jeongin’s rim. It was already as big as the two tentacles combined and as it went deeper he felt like the wind got knocked out of them. Minho’s eyebrows were furrowed together and he was biting his lip as he pushed in, the stimulation clearly pleasurable for him as well. Jeongin could hear his heavy breaths and that only made the fire in Jeongin’s stomach burn hotter. 
“Fu-uckk,” Jeongin choked, digging his hands deeper into the sand. “S-so–so bi-igg.” He was sure this one would tear him in two. There was no way it could fit. He could feel the bumps from the eggs rubbing along his walls, rubbing against his sensitive prostate, stretching him further. The rest of Minho’s tentacles worked to touch him elsewhere–one jerked his weeping cock while another two played with his nipples. It was mind-numbing. “I can’t, I can’t, it’s too m-much hnngg…” At this point he was practically sobbing, his words coming out more like choked gasps and moans. 
Minho smirked and there was a small amount of blood on his lips from where he had bitten them hard. “You can. It’s already in. Look at how your tiny little stomach is full.” He pressed down on Jeongin’s abdomen and his whole body jerked. 
“Sh-shit, oh fuck!,” he gasped. 
“So pretty,” Minho hummed. He grinned, flashing his sharp teeth and leaned forward to grab Jeongin’s hips. “I’m going to start filling you now.” 
Jeongin was too dazed to process what he was saying, but he didn’t need to. He felt it the second it started, the way Minho’s tentacles tightened around his limbs and suctioned to him, and oh, the way his insides felt as Minho began pumping him full. It felt like cum at first, hot and wet, but then the eggs started moving. They spilled inside of him and Jeongin felt them moving along his walls. They stretched his stomach and he watched as Minho literally filled him up. He felt like the breath had been sucked from his lungs and all he could do was moan helplessly. 
When Minho deposited the last egg inside him, a large spurt of hot liquid filled his insides alongside and drool ran down Jeongin’s chin. Minho made little groans that were like music to Jeongin’s ears as he finished inside of him and filled his stomach with warmth alongside the warmth of being so full. “There,” Minho mumbled finally, his voice a bit rough. He ran his hand over Jeongin’s stomach and smiled. “Nice and full of my babies now.” 
Jeongin looked down at himself and ran his hands over top. “Oh my gods,” he breathed, wetting his lips. “I look–I look–” 
“Bred. Mated. My mate,” Minho said happily, a proud smile resting on his face. 
Jeongin nodded. He couldn’t believe this had happened. He had mated a sea monster. He knew his life was full of surprises but nothing could have prepared him for this. “Stay away from the sea,” his mother had said. Pirates and thieves, storms, and sea creatures. Every warning disobeyed. Jeongin silently sent a prayer of apology upwards. 
“Wh-what–” Jeongin croaked, shocked by how raw his voice sounded. “What do I do now?”
“You stay safe. Take care of yourself,” Minho said, running his hands and his tentacles over the bump of Jeongin’s belly. “Then when the time comes, you’ll push the eggs out and they will hatch. And be our babies.” Minho chirped as he touched his tummy and Jeongin was struck with how cute the happy little sound was. 
“Okay…but what about my crew? How do I get back to them?” 
“I will bring them to you,” Minho reassured him. “Only you promise they won’t look for me. Or hurt me. Or you.” He frowned deeply. “Humans can be scary.” 
Jeongin sighed softly and nodded. He knew that fact well. “Alright, you’ll be safe. They wouldn’t hurt you anyway. Just make sure I get back to them.” 
Minho nodded and smiled, showing his fangs again. A little shiver ran down Jeongin’s spine. “Don’t worry. I will. But first, pretty human needs shelter.” 
“Jeongin,” he said quickly. “My name’s Jeongin.” 
Minho’s smile grew. “Okay. Jeongin needs shelter. Come with me.” So Jeongin gathered his clothes off the ground and dusted the sand off of himself. It felt strange to stand in this state and he was sore and exhausted. And after taking one glance at him, Minho grabbed him with the combined strength of his arms and tentacles and picked him up, carrying him to wherever the best place for shelter would be. 
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stupidlittlegay · 6 months
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Marriage, and other such bindings
Pairing: Barbatos/gn!Reader
Rating: M (kinda suggestive though nothing is stated)
Word count: 1063
Summary: Reader brings up the topic of marriage, and both lovers quickly find themself become possessive (in a sexy way)
Tags: gender neutral reader, kinda dommy reader, cuddling, bed sharing, established relationship, pact/brand markings
AN: I’ve just been thinking about Barbie’s love survey where he talks about wanting to be bound by his lover…and that’s canon. Anyway, I wish they’d do more stuff about his sin, maybe it’ll come up as part of his motives if he really is NightBringer. Kinda very self-indulgent. 🎉🎉 First fic on tumblr
———
“Marry me.” You whispered to his lips, pulling back a minuscule amount to unseal the kiss. “Properly.”
“Properly?” He asked, the movement of his lips brushing against your skin, pushing his nose into yours to nuzzle against your face.
“How many times have we married each other in shared dreams and worlds? Bound ourselves to each other to be freed from some game or illusion?”
“And is that not “proper”?” He teased.
“Do you consider it real?” Tracing your fingers lightly along his hairline, you tucked the stray hairs behind his ear without needing to look. “I want to be able to call you my husband. To stake my claim on you and know you are bound to be. And to be completely owned in return.”
His shiver under your fingers was small, but you caught it. He was a greed demon, after all.
You asked him, “do you want to be owned by me?”
“Please.” You thought you heard him sigh, but he didn’t speak up to repeat it. Instead, he pulled back slightly to be able to look you in the eyes, twined your hands together where they sat on the mattress, and said to you: “I’ve never been married before.”
“Never?” You asked as you pulled up your free hand to stroke over his jaw. He really was so pretty, it was a shame you weren’t allowed to say it. “Never is a very long time.”
“No one has ever treated me like you treat me. No one has ever made me crave being treated like you treat me.”
“Barbie~”
“Beloved.”
“I wouldn’t ask you for a pact, I don’t need you to be subservient to me. I just want you. Forever.”
He stewed in that for a moment, closing his eyes and bringing his lips to yours in a series of quick, shallow kisses.
“I could brand you.” The demon’s free hand had moved to sit on the bare skin above your heart, tasting the calm and heady pulse beneath his palm. “Brand you with my name and mark, taint your aura with mine.”
You hummed indulgently at the statement, moving your hand to instead press his harder into your skin.
“It would show here,” he continued, staring through your skin. “Always. And everyone would know it’s mine. You’re mine.
“The brand would lend you some power, not unlike a pact but with less pull. Instead of commanding me it would be more like asking politely; I would get to pick and chose which orders I am to follow, despite feeling a desire to serve you.”
“Perfect.”
“And, in return, I would always be able to find you, feel your heartbeat, be pulled to you across any and all plains.
“This is a demon marriage, an equal exchange of souls.”
He moved to press his cheek to the skin previously covered by his hand. With his movement, you leaned backward into the pillows, taking him with you to lie down. “I want it.”
“As do I.” He murmured into the skin of your chest, your hands coming up to stroke his head and run your fingers through the hair at his nape. “Although, I do lament you cannot brand me in return.”
You ponder on his statement for a moment, pretending that you had not already thought it over many times, before. “One day,” you start, pressing the hand not otherwise occupied into the space between his shoulder blades. Applying pressure to the skin; fair, unblemished—for now. “When I am a sorcerer in my own right, I will forge my own sigil and burn it so deep into your skin it will never fade.
He went still against your chest, breaths stuttering before evening out with a squeeze to your body. “We could do it now.” He seemed to test the statement, worried about the possibility of a negative response.
“I will have no regrets.” You tell him, sure and steadfast in the statement.
He breathed into your skin, huffing hot breath onto the valley of your chest, before bringing his lips to your skin and beginning his incantation.
“I, Barbatos—first of my name, first of my kind—chose to bind myself to the soul beside me. In turn, I have been chosen, I impart my brand upon them: Apprentice of the Sorcerer Solomon, bearer of The Ring of Light.”
You feel the binding and the words come over you—although it was a spell you had never learnt, the oath fell easily from your lips. “I—Apprentice to the Sorcerer Solomon, bearer of The Ring of Light—take the brand of Barbatos—first of his name, first of his kind—and in doing so, bind my soul to his for as long as we should exist.”
“With this brand, I acknowledge our bond of trust and love, I see it returned.” He finalised with a kiss to the skin.
Under his mouth, you felt the tiny pinpricks of a soul pact come into place. Watching as the skin changed colours under his breath, you relished into the feeling of the binding. Strings pulled tight between the two of you, and you felt your soul burn brighter as it became enveloped in his. Your soul and his, forever.
The brand revealed itself to you as your demon pulled slowly away to admire it. A sigil spelling his name, as well as a protection spell, and a few other symbols you didn’t recognise from your studies.
“This one,” he whispered, pointing to a shape you couldn’t identify, “is the demon symbol that detonates this mark as a brand between two.” He moved his eyes to beam up at you. “It is similar to a wedding band.”
Cupping his chin, you tease him: “I think I’d still like a ring.” Managing to get the statement out before cutting yourself off with a yawn—all of your energy spent from the ritual, physically demanding or otherwise.
“I believe I’d also be interested in partaking in the custom.” He said softly—admiring the brand again, and you chuckled slightly at the idea of him wearing the ring under his gloves before yawning a second time.
He looked up into your eyes, your natural colour now ringed with green and speckled through with gold. “Sleep well, my beloved, my darling, mine.”
“Good night, Barbie.” You mumble. “You’re mine forever, I love you.”
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majestyjun · 7 months
Note
Seeing ur tag I just wanna say toxic Kai is so cute and one of my favs
# toxic kai + dacryphilia
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(nsfw (under cut) + minors dni !! f!reader, unhealthy relationship, kai’s toxic af, possessive, dumbification kink, dacryphilia, marking/intentional bruising, creampie + unprotected,,, kai’s insanely in love~~)
kai’s such a sweet angel, isn’t he? a smile on his lips, his broad frame never less than a step away, warm hand holding yours as if you were made of delicate glass, his arm resting over your shoulders as he tugs you in closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head… and it looks like a princess found her prince charming, doesn’t it~? but beneath the surface, kai’s charm twists into an ugly, jealous shadow that stalks your every move,,, the kiss to your head disguising the quiet whisper, only audible to you, don’t even think about talking to anyone, his touch gentle.
and yet the moment a single… rule of his is disobeyed, his grip around your wrist tightens, tugging you closer to him, gently rubbing your back in pseudo comfort as kai’s voice replaces yours, silenced as he ticks you into his chest and shoulder,,, there’s nothing to say, love, let me. the moment your gaze strays, his hand grips yours,,, don’t think of going anywhere without his permission… much less him. and so kai claims his pretty, quiet angel, ever the adoring lover as he presses a kiss to your forehead, holding your hand and giving you a warm hug,,, but ever trapping you within his arms.
and behind closed doors, kai’s rough kisses replacing his sugary sweet ones, his body flush to yours as he demands, tell him you love him, say you love him,,, you know everything he does is for you, don’t you, love? holding your cheek, your lips bruised by his kisses, as you whisper you love him, it’s only ever kai, it’ll only ever be him. because he’s… loving when you give him what he wants, unpredictable when you don’t. i love you so much, kai murmurs, can’t even show you how much i love you,,, his lovesick eyes meeting yours,,, god, he loves it when your pretty body carries the marks of his love, his bruises decorating your skin, his presence making you tremble, wrists carrying the fading marks of his tight grip,,, as he raises your wrists to press kisses along the marks of his fingers holding on too tight, kai can’t help but feel so in love… so be afraid, so love him,,, because they’re the same to him.
tightly restraining your wrists above your head in a single hand, fuck, he can’t help but love how you tremble under him, so pretty and small compared to his broad frame,,, but even you can’t deny the way your thighs rub against each other, cute tears welling in your eyes as kai gives you a smirk, meeting little resistance as he spreads your legs apart, groaning at the sight of your wet panties, betraying you to instinct. i’ll take care of you, don’t think of anything else, kai mumbles, sweet, soft kisses against your swollen, bruised lips as he slots himself between your legs,,, he loves it when you’re so obedient to him, willing and wanting his love as you whimper, unable to resist the need for him, tears threatening to spill over,,, isn’t it so hard to be in love with someone you’re afraid of… shhh, he’ll take away all your thoughts,,, because he doesn’t need you to think at all.
because when he’s buried deep in your cunny, adoring your teary face as you sob and whimper, losing coherent thought to him by the second, can’t feel anything except for his big cock filling you up, stretching out your pussy so fit him all the way, and the incoherent pleasure as kai thrusts messily into your warm cunny, fucking his cum deeper inside, falling more and more in love, unable to think of anything but you, his beautiful darling,,, the way he’s claimed you as his as he fills you up with his warm love, the bruises he’s given to you, imprints of his fingers crossing your wrists like a bracelet, indents bruising your curves and thighs, red marks of hits against your thigh whenever your legs closed up,,,
because kai can’t help but love you so much when you’re all his… and fuck, how badly he wants you to cry for him, so beautiful with tears lacing your pretty face, gasping for breaths and whimpering his name incoherently as he cums again, hot seed filling you up to the brim with more than you can take, creamy white seeping out into a mess between your thighs as kai sighs into your neck, panting as he moans his mantra of love into your skin, hand pushing your thigh up to thrust deeper and deeper, unable to exist without the sensation of love,,, felt as your cunny clenches around him, so tight n warm as you milk his cock of his cum and love, pretty mind lost to a daze of confused pleasure,,, and so dumbed out you can only whimper and cry his name.
and toxic!kai cradling your pretty body in his arms, his large frame enveloping yours as he hugs you tighter, cock nestled deep in your creamed pussy, whispering his love into your ear, lying on a mess of soft sheets stained with a mess of his and your cum and arousal,,, because kai can’t live without you anymore,,, legs tangled with yours as he holds you closer, tighter, unable to imagine being away from you, so in love… so love him back, accept his twisted love… because he’ll never let you go.
oh… he’s different when he’s toxic LOL i feel like i enjoy writing toxic txt too much ahah
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zhongrin · 1 year
Text
kangen
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◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham, xiao, kazuha
◇ tags ◇ cotton candy fluff
◇ a/n ◇ i'm naming my fics with indonesian words bc i can s h u s h
◇ note ◇ in english, "kangen" means "miss", as in "i miss you"
𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡
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as we all know, zhongli has a good grasp of his emotions. he’s used to waiting and observing and reigning his wants, so even if he does miss you, he tries to restrain himself from making it your problem.
this doesn't mean that he won’t subconsciously seek you out, however. it’s very subtle, but if you know what to look for, you’ll notice that he’s actively making an effort to insert himself into your mind one way or another, even if he doesn't seem to be aware that his actions are betraying his thoughts.
one forehead kiss in the morning becomes two. him appearing to pick you up from work five minutes earlier than usual. the way he eagerly offers his arm instead of waiting for you to reach out to him. a sweeter undertone in his voice accompanied by an equally sweeter nickname. indeed, he doesn’t realize he’s doing some of these things, but if you do point them out and tease him about it, he’ll smile sheepishly and you might even catch a glimpse of color rising up his ears.
“ah… how unbecoming of me. it was not my intention to act so wantonly. i hope i didn’t make you uncomfortable, dear.”
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it’s very rare for al haitham to come to seek you out first, but when he does, you know it’s been a while since you’ve adequately spent time with each other. that, or he just feels particularly needy - perhaps from a frustrating concept he couldn’t seem to grasp, or a mission had gone awry. when things aren't going as planned and when he just needs to have someone to cling to, he will crave your comfort the most.
he’ll patiently hover over you as you do your tasks. cooking? expect him to ask what he could help with, and even if you don’t need any real help, he’s more than happy to just watch over the pot so it won’t boil over, or even become your taste tester. cleaning? you can take the broom and he’ll take the mop. working on your papers? the chair looks very uncomfortable, wouldn't having him as your lap pillow would be better than the hard cushions? plus, he can double as your essay checker too. how convenient, surely you won’t refuse?
no, he’s most certainly not being needy, what nonsense are you spouting about now? just shush and let him hug you close like this.
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you might think xiao can go without your presence for a whole month with no difficulties whatsoever, but you couldn’t be more wrong. xiao craves your presence like a withered qingxin wish for rainfall. he’s just good at pretending that he’s above such desires.
and even though he is a patient soul compared to most, just like how fallen snow on dragonspine will eventually pile up on untracked paths, there’s only so much the yaksha can take before he starts to unconsciously seek you out. the corner of his eyes twitches when his ears pick up the sound of your voice in the wind. the frown settling between his brows deepening when more hours pass without you calling his name…
“xiao?”
he’s there before the last syllable finishes forming on your tongue and your lips are still apart. with his signature scowl on his face and his toned arms crossed across his chest, he gives you a glare and a very minuscule pout. there is no hesitation in his movements when you grin and invite him for a hug.
“took you long enough."
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kazuha is accustomed to yearning and longing - loneliness is something he deals with daily. he misses his dear father, his friend tomo and the others he’s left, his home country where the lighting shines eternal, the stray cats he used to feed at the back alley of his residence….
but those experiences don’t make it easier to deal with his emotion when it comes to missing you. ironic, really. he would have thought having you nearby would be enough, would make him less needy, but in fact, it’s proven to be the opposite. it’s so hard to not stare in longing when you’re so near yet so out of reach. he wants to respect your space, your freedom, as you do your day-to-day chores. he truly does…
he watches in shock and horror when beidou slaps your back and whispers something to you while pointing directly toward him. when you turn to face your boyfriend, he struggles to keep his expression neutral and manages a sheepish smile as you approach him with a teasing glint in your eyes.
“soooo…. heard from beidou that someone’s been pining on me….”
“mmm… nothing escapes anego’s keen eyes. would you let me... accompany you, just for a bit? i have to admit… i have been missing your presence, my songbird.”
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© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!
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◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @niverine | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @clovcly | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee
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shibaraki · 2 years
Text
ANTECEDENT ┊ TODOROKI TOUYA
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synopsis: following Touya’s arrest you try to navigate the world as it is flipped on its head. torn between your loyalty to him and what’s best for your son, new family is formed and hope is found.
tags: AFAB reader (referred to as ‘mama’), established (kinda toxic) relationship, canon divergence: secret family au (post arrest), spoilers for touya backstory and chapters 349 onwards, hurt/comfort, original child character (‘Kaiyo’; he is your shared biological child), parent todoroki touya, mentions of canon attempted suicide and canon child abuse, themes of generational trauma, family feels, todoroki family centric, villain rehabilitation, dealing with trauma and recovery, second chances
wc: 16k+
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You shouldn’t have come. 
There are crowds of press, packed so tightly that getting any closer would be futile, all of them a cacophony of questions and accusations. You’re standing atop a small brick wall encasing a flower bed of hyacinths outside of the hospital, a head above the sea of cameras, watching as a group of heroes — Endeavor and Shouto included — slowly lead Touya towards an armoured van. 
Relief floods through your system for a few precious seconds, overwhelming the hopelessness in your stomach. He was alive. 
One little rumour from a patient in your clinic, an unsure whisper of I heard they’re moving that Dabi kid from the ICU to villain corrections had led you here. It’d been two long, devastating weeks since the final battle. Two weeks with no word from him, two weeks of reading every article you could find about the ‘elusive first son of Endeavor’ and learning nothing. 
The media blackout that came thereafter was the only thing that kept you hoping that he was okay. The Todoroki family, though disastrous and complicated, held some influence in Japan. And though Touya would vehemently try to reject it, they could not allow their surviving first son to be fed to the wolves. 
And wolves they were; yelling obscenities and insults with spitting anger. Legal justice was one thing, but the court of public opinion was another thing in its entirety, a fragile and fickle thing that held the power to sway even government policy. 
Kaiyo stirs in your arms at the noise and you soothe him, rubbing your hand along his back until he quietens, then you tuck away the stray red hair that has fallen loose from beneath his hat. Truthfully you never intended to bring him here, but given recent events it has been hard for him to separate from you, cheeks still slightly pink from his earlier tantrum. 
It’d been damn near impossible to prevent the four year old from learning about the broadcast a few months prior, paired with the sudden less than frequent visits from his father, he knew something was deeply wrong and he didn’t understand it. 
Touya is scanning the crowds lazily, expression impassive to everyone but you. You could see he was exhausted, more gaunt than you last remember, but his disinterest only fed into everyone’s fury. 
“Villain!” they’re bellowing at him, fingers pointed and words sharp, “don’t you care about the suffering you’ve caused?” 
He cares, you think, more than anyone could ever understand. 
You cannot look away as Shouto lingers by his brother, the other sidekicks giving them a wide berth. Endeavor is tucked away beside the van speaking with an armed officer, his shoulders hunched forwards in an uncharacteristic manner. He appeared to be ashamed. 
Good, the thought bitter and weighing heavily in your chest. 
Touya shuffles along obediently, wrists out and pressed together against his pelvis. Quirk suppressing cuffs, you assumed. They were bulky, and no doubt uncomfortable. You hold Kaiyo a little closer as you ache, distantly wondering if he’s cold without his quirk. 
After today it was entirely possible you’d never see him again, that your son would grow up without his father.
Nobody knew of your connection to him, something both of you doubled down on after your pregnancy came to light. There would be no way for you to visit or contact him now without suspicion being cast upon your little family. Law enforcement will without a doubt assume you were aware of his intentions, and worst case they would believe you to have played a part in them yourself. 
He couldn’t allow that to happen. And yet, here you were. 
You just needed one last look at him to know he was breathing, living flesh and blood, to know that the only thing you would have to mourn was your relationship. More than anything you needed him to be ok. And he does look different – better, in some ways. The new skin grafts hug his jawbone comfortably, and the rings that once kept him together are gone. 
Being alive meant he still had a chance. 
Touya tilts his chin up, squinting against the flare of the sun, and the corner of his mouth crooks into a smile. It’s the irony, you think, as your own lips twitch. The heavens should have opened by now, rain should be soaking your clothes to your skin, influenced by the utter misery flooding throughout your body. Instead, the day is bright.
As if he can feel it, he turns, and his gaze immediately falls on your figure in the distance. You’re close enough to see the abject fury flit across his features, eyes wide and unblinking as they stare back into your own. 
The hand you have rested against Kaiyo’s back slides up over his hat to cradle his head, his small fingers curled tightly into the fabric of your shirt, drawing Touya’s attention to the boy. 
To his son. 
The anger dissolves like sea foam, it washes away to give space for his grief. This was it, the final goodbye. You couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him for his choices, because it was something he had told you he’d do from the start. 
In hindsight, you can only curse your naivety. 
You’d met Touya a few months after your eighteenth birthday while shadowing one of the senior nurses in the clinic. The place was small, run down and barely funded, but it was valuable work and they were kind enough to give you the extra experience.
He’d been brought in unconscious by a concerned passerby. The skin of his arms has been rough, raised and pale pink, inflamed where they’d been burnt. Barely nineteen at the time, it was nothing compared to what he would do to himself years later. 
“Watch him until he wakes up,” they’d told you, and you did so dutifully until his eyes flew open in alarm. 
Back then his identity as Dabi was makeshift, fresh and unrefined. With the glue still wet between the cracks it was unsurprising that he would slip. Touya. That was how he introduced himself to you on that first day, under the hazy influence of painkillers.
The memory stuck with you throughout your relationship. You’d see it now and then — you’d see Touya plainly behind the veil. Sometimes you said his name as if it was a dare, and he’d hated it so much that he loved you. With you there was no need to exert effort in maintaining his bravado, he could just be. And that was dangerous, or so he’d insisted.
He would disappear for weeks at a time. He always had a myriad of excuses, from expressing concern for your safety to spitting that you were nothing but a good fuck. You could no longer count on one hand the amount of times you’d heard the ‘I’m a villain, you shouldn’t be with me’ speech. 
Touya would leave, and yet you’d still come home to a receipt on the counter, or to your clean sheets unmade. It was laughable, and you loved him. 
The pregnancy was… unexpected. Difficult. If his emotions were a switch on the wall, your growing baby was a finger flicking it up and down incessantly. Mornings full of nausea and nights full of reassurance. You offered him an out, a door that would always be left open, and he refused it. 
Stay and be a bad father. Leave and be a bad father. Those were the only options he thought existed for him. And maybe you should’ve believed him when he told you Kaiyo’s birth wouldn’t change a thing about the path he’d set for himself. 
But you couldn’t accept it. Not as he’d held your boy in his arms, not as the apprehension and fear in his eyes softened into love. Not as he’d laughed and told you, “guess I needed to give one good thing to the world before I die”. 
Sometimes the adoration would become overcast with anguish. There were days he couldn’t even look at Kaiyo because of how much he loved him, reminded only of how little he had been loved by his own family — but he never let Kaiyo see it. 
“Just because he’s too young to understand now doesn’t mean he won’t later”.
The only small mercy is that your son remains asleep, blissfully unaware of what he is losing, and unperturbed by the noise around him. His light, shallow breaths against the skin of your neck are a warm comfort. 
Touya can’t say anything for fear it will draw attention to you both, and you think that alone is punishment enough. 
Shouto stands beside him in silence, surveying the surroundings and eventually following Touya’s line of sight to you. Instinctively you step backwards into the soft soil of the flowerbed, your thoughts offering an apology to the hyacinth flattened beneath your shoe. 
With the realisation that his youngest brother has noticed you, Touya turns and lunges in Shouto’s direction with his teeth bared. It could almost be comical if not for the unpleasant murmurings of the crowd. In the short moment that Shouto is distracted, you jump down from the brick wall and slip away. 
You don’t look back. 
A small part of you had hoped your role in the story had ended, that you now might just move forward as best you can. Instead, you were shadowed by an overwhelming sense of dread everywhere you went. There was little to do besides work and walk, yet you couldn’t help but feel watched. The cashier at your local market, your neighbour, Kaiyo’s teacher, the food vendor on the corner; with just one look you can’t help but to think that they must know, that any day now this false peace will collapse onto you like a tonne of bricks. 
The anxiety keeps you up at night, counting the glowing stars stuck to the bedroom ceiling to pass the hours, tension threading itself into your muscle fibres. Kaiyo was warm where he laid curled at your side, but the loneliness — in all its violent emptiness — made the night colder. Despite it all, you missed Touya, your eyes still searching for him across the futon. 
Remnants of him are still scattered throughout the apartment. Should anyone come looking, there would be plenty of him to find. He’d hated having his picture taken, yet always gave in to you quickly, and you never needed to ask him for anything twice. There were photographs of his lips pressed to your hair, of his smile tucked against your neck, of his arms holding the baby; hand cradled around the crown of his head, his purpled scars a stark contrast to Kaiyo’s soft skin. 
He had treated fatherhood like he was a dying man, a clear red flag that you can only now see with hindsight. He had spoiled the two of you with his time and effort, no matter how uncomfortable it made him, because he knew any day might be his last. Touya was born with inherited wounds that were left to fester. To him, his failure was terminal, and no amount of love would undo that. 
The wood panels are cool beneath the soles of your feet as you pad your way through to the bedroom, bending at your knees to pick up stray toys and socks left throughout the hallway. There’s still an ache in your cheeks, the strain of smiling too long through all the tears and questions from your son that morning before school. You wish you had answers. 
Your shared room looks much emptier with the large futon hung over the balcony to dry. You find a small star in the centre of the room that has fallen from the ceiling. Held between your fingers in the daylight it is dull, a pale yellow, much different to the green glow it emits at night. Touya had bought them for Kaiyo after a series of bad dreams, lifting the boy onto his shoulders and letting him stick them wherever he pleased. 
Another piece of him. As you are slipping the star into your pant pocket, you hear a knock on the front door. You weren’t expecting anyone — rent had been paid, Kaiyo was with his sitter and your neighbours were at work. It sounds again, reverberating throughout the apartment, and the soft hair on your arm lifts in anticipation. 
There is a sense of embarrassment somewhere within you as you creep towards the entryway, keeping your body low and your steps light. You can hear muted, muffled voices through the cheap wood, fingertips carefully lifting the peep hole cover to look through. 
You hold your breath, stunned. There are two women just an arms length from you, both of them beautiful and horrifyingly familiar to you. Rei, Touya’s mother, stands with her head held high despite the nervous fiddling of her hands. Fuyumi, his sister, is clasping the strap of her shoulder bag with a white knuckled grip. 
“Mother, are you sure this is the place?” she asks, her eyes darting anxiously over the surroundings, “maybe Shouto made the wrong assumption”.
Rei is lovely, you think, even with the air of sadness  Her smile is gentle, and her expression softly determined. “The worst outcome to this is that he misunderstood the situation,” she replies, “but if this person is important to Touya then they’re important to me”. 
Fuyumi nods, shifting her weight between each foot. You inhale shakily through your nose, blinking back the dryness in your eye as you continue to watch through the lense. 
“He said… there was a child”. 
Your forehead bumps against the door as you startle, cursing under your breath, lungs tightening as the dread floods your system. The two women freeze alongside you, observing the door cautiously, glancing at one another in silent conversation. 
“If you’re there, we aren’t here to hurt you,” Rei lifts her hand, and rests it against the door in a show of reassurance, “I believe you know my eldest son. We only want to talk”. 
The push and pull of guilt, relief and fear forces the weight of your body to sink forward, drawn to the sincerity in her voice. There is no amount of time or distance that would dilute the loyalty you felt towards Touya. Letting them in would be a betrayal. 
“Please,” Fuyumi’s voice is wet, thickening with tears, “he’s my older brother. He’s refusing to talk about you or— or anything! We just want to—”
Rei turns to soothe her, and you’re reminded of your own parenthood. If something ever happened to Kaiyo you might just scorch the earth in your attempts to find him. It’s hard to swallow the swell in your throat as you watch his sister turn into the touch, seeking that comfort. 
Touya had loved his mother, a difficult thing for him to stomach but true all the same. He’d grieved the attention he never received from her, but you knew he didn’t blame her, and it is that which leads your hand to the door handle. 
Time feels like it’s in suspension. To see them standing so clearly before you without the film of dirt from the glass is still a shock to process. Behind you is a home filled to the brim with evidence of your own criminal involvement, the first photograph they’ll see hung in the hallway is of their grandson.
Kaiyo deserved his chance at having a family. 
“Please come in,” your fingers are trembling where they sit in your pocket, curled around the divots in the star. Please forgive me, you think. 
You step backwards to allow them through, both accepting with a short bow and a quiet thank you. It’s unnerving and tense, their stares lingering along the walls and shelves, the mother and daughter now hand in hand as they take a seat on your couch. 
“Would…” a blunt point of the star sinks into the thickest part of your palm, the sensation acting as your tether, “…can I get you anything to drink?” 
“Some tea would be wonderful,” Rei concedes, her voice full of earnest and so light it’s almost wistful. As you steep the leaves you can’t help but get the feeling she knew you needed more time.
The ceramic cups are old, stained with time and well loved. You fill them with hot water, tendrils of steam billowing warmth across your face, and place them atop the coffee table before kneeling onto the floor. 
Beneath your mug is a clumsily drawn cat, the marker permanently stained into the wood. There are others, too, little marks left by mistake. Faint lines of kanji where the ink had seeped through the paper, hearts and stick figures and stars. Rei reaches her hand out to trace a finger along them, lips pressed thinly in a sad smile. 
“I apologise for our unexpected intrusion,” she tells you, “I’m Himura Rei and this is my daughter, Todoroki Fuyumi".
“Believe it or not I’ve been waiting for someone to find us,” your hands wrap tightly around the hot cup, incognisant of the sting to your skin, “it was beginning to eat away at me a little bit”.
“Then Shouto was right,” Fuyumi mirrors you, keeping her voice soothing and calm as she speaks even as her eyes are tearful. You recall Touya telling you she was a teacher, and you can see why. 
“You did know him,” she says, “it looks like he spent… a lot of time here”.
You hear yourself laugh breathlessly at her tiptoeing of the subject, “he practically lived here until he decided to join the league. After that he stayed away for our safety, I suppose”. 
She nods, seeming to accept your answer, glancing then to her mother in a silent plea for assistance. “Could you tell us what he was like?” there’s a mellow, apologetic tone in Rei’s words, but to whom she was apologising you didn’t know.
“Could you tell us all the things we missed?”
So you sip your drink to smooth the dryness in your throat and it’s scalding against the roof of your tongue, and you tell them everything you know. 
After your first meeting you’d thought about him every day for a week, haunted by the intensity in his eyes and the marks on his skin. You had talked and talked and he had done nothing but listen. While you thought you'd never see him again it wasn’t long at all until he came back to your dingy clinic, this time of his own accord, in need of painkillers and suturing. 
He’d gone straight to you, rudely bypassing the doctors with any qualification in the ward, and shoved some money into the palm of your hand. He was still young, his attempts at carrying himself like a man seemed more like puppetry to you, but even so you entertained it and attended to his wounds. 
“Since I’m still not fully trained you’ll need to sign this”. You remember holding out the clipboard to him, your supervisor lingering by the curtains, the impatient tap of her foot echoing in your ears. 
“Touya—” 
Back then his aversion to hearing that name was much greater. Every time it’d passed through your lips was as if you had pressed your thumb on a fresh bruise, and he’d lash out in kind. 
“Don’t call me that here!” 
“Why? Are you running from something?” 
He’d laughed at you with eyes that glittered like he was about to cry, but the tears never came, they never could. “Running implies that someone is looking for me,” his skin pulled uncomfortably taut as he smiled, “there’s no one to run from”.
“He dyed his hair black soon after that,” the mug held between your trembling hands grows cold, your tea mostly untouched and leaving a faint brown ring around the ceramic, “sometimes he would visit me all soaked with rain, and the colour would run down the back of his neck”. 
You pause every so often to offer them a chance to ask questions, but the two women remain quiet, listening raptly to your story. Their genuine trust and willingness to believe you bore a sense of unease, or perhaps guilt that you’d had him to yourself while they’d been in mourning. 
“Then things eventually progressed to… more,” even with the air of melancholy, you couldn’t help but take refuge in the normalcy of being timid around your partner's family, sheepish as you recount your relationship. 
“Did you love him?” Rei asks, and though not unkind, her question makes you feel unspeakably lonely. 
Loving Touya had felt nothing like a free fall, there was no moment in which you woke up and realised your feelings. It’d been no great feat to love him, no grand prize or climax at the end of a long battle; you saw all the worst parts of him and it didn’t change a thing. Even with all his flaws your feelings only deepened until they hollowed you out. 
Despite it all, you had walked into it knowingly, each step forward towards him a purposeful choice. 
You have only your own hunger to thank. Your eighteen year old self had been fiercely persistent, and however much he denied it, you knew he was drawn to your sympathy. Even though he was never entirely honest you pursued him with the small truths he did offer, motivated by the selfish wish to see him happy. 
“Yes,” in sickness and violence, in struggle and fear; you’d loved him through holidays and birthdays, through time spent apart and nights spent alone, “I love him”. 
“And the little boy, is he your son?”
Kaiyo. An unexpected yet happy accident. Named after forgiveness and the spitting image of his father, a red haired cherub, you both already knew the answer. “You can say it, Ms. Himura,” your smile strained as you run your thumb along the handle of your mug, “he’s our son. Mine and his”. 
Fuyumi exhales shakily, slumping forward like the fight left her body along with it. You can see the moment your confession truly registers, misty eyed and sparing a glance between one another. Turning on your knees, you reach into the shelves of the TV cabinet, grasping the framed photo of your son as an infant. 
Rei takes it from you delicately as you offer it to her with an outstretched hand and traces her fingers across the glass pane, circling the swell of Kaiyo’s pink cheek. It’s a personal favourite of yours — his arms are held above his head in triumph, the lower half slightly blurred from the excited kick of his feet. He’s grinning widely, so much so his eyes are squinted. 
Touya had been the one to take that photo, making ridiculous noises from behind the camera, the ghost of their intermingling laughter still ringing in your ears. 
“His name is Kaiyo and he’ll be turning four soon,” you watch warmly as Fuyumi leans over her mothers shoulder to get a better look, hand clutching at the fabric of her knit sweater, “the pregnancy was unexpected. We didn’t… I told Touya I would raise him myself, but he insisted on taking responsibility”. 
As you recall, the very notion that he wouldn’t stick around had offended him. He loved his son. He’d even cried over the baby scans, dry blood still smeared across black and white where they sit in your bedroom drawer. But you could see how the fear had eaten away at him throughout those nine months, restlessly doting on you and bringing home stolen things for the baby every few days but never being able to touch your growing bump. 
“Then, why did he join the league?” Fuyumi asks, but you were intuitive enough to see the real question between the lines. Why wasn’t any of this enough? Why did he leave this behind, too? 
You’d guessed from the beginning that his relationship with his family was, at best, a strained one. In reality it was worse than you could’ve imagined. The small pieces to his past that he let slip every now and then would always fill you with distress, at a loss for words. 
The reveal of who his father had been all you needed to understand the secrecy, of both his identity and of your relationship. 
“In the end it was Stain,” you cross your arms over the surface of the coffee table, knees folded beneath it, and resist the urge to hide your face, “he continued to use his quirk so his condition was worsening, and his anger towards Endeavor had been festering for years”.
You ignore their plaintive wince at the mention of the Pro Hero, blunt nails curling into your inner wrists as you continue. “Touya felt his death didn’t matter. It didn’t change a thing,” and he had to watch his world move on without acknowledging it, “everything Endeavor did made him susceptible to Stain’s cause”.
Stain’s temporary reign of terror over Japan was the first time he’d ever heard anyone criticise hero society so blatantly. You remember the vengeful kindling in his eyes as he recited the vigilante’s words, your son sound asleep in his arms and none the wiser. 
It was that night, and every night that followed, that the stress had started to gnaw at your chest until you felt your lungs collapse under the weight. Panic gripped you each time he returned home with a new injury, the smell of smoke suffocating and clinging to the futon covers no matter how much you washed them. He carried a feral sense of excitement and restlessness that left you helpless — something had breathed new life into him, and it had not been you. 
Fighting had been pointless, your pleas like water to a ducks back. He loved you, he loved his son, but somehow he had rationalised that burning himself and the world would give rise to a better place.
“He already died once,” your smile is tight but not as tight as your throat,  “and it did nothing. So this time he’d do it where it couldn’t be hidden, where everyone would have to look right at his self immolation and know their part in causing it”. 
It's then that Rei carefully places the photograph on the table as she lowers herself onto her knees, the frame remaining upright with the support of its stand. With her hands resting one atop the other, she leans forward into a full bow in front of you. 
You’re stunned with arms suspended in the air as you hesitate to reach for her, a swell of tears lining your eyes at her softly spoken apology. Your son watches over the exchange, his presence poignant even through an image. 
“Ms. Himura, please lift your head,” you shift towards her, close enough to thread your fingers over her own, feeling the peaks of her knuckles against your palm. 
“I failed him as his mother,” she says, overturning her hand to hold yours and squeezing, “it was those failures that led to your own suffering. I’m sorry”. 
In your peripheral you see Fuyumi as she moves to mirror her mother, sitting close beside you, fingers ghosting a chill along your forearm where she comes to entangle with the two of you. 
“Please don’t take responsibility for my pain. Besides, it wasn’t always terrible,” you stare at the knot of limbs, comforted by the gentle warmth of their touch, “I don’t think… I’ve ever met anyone who loves as much as your son does”. 
Rei’s eyes fall shut, a faint pinch between her brows, sorrowful as she replies: “I know”.  
Her expression is so full of regret it’s almost contagious, drawing you in and reminding you of your own mistakes. There’d been so many opportunities that you could’ve fought him, could’ve said something, but didn’t for fear of pushing him further away. 
“How did you find me?” 
Your voice cuts through the plaintive silence and you shrink under their gaze as their eyes lift. Fuyumi speaks in place of her mother, her thumb rubbing back and forth over your wrist. 
“Shouto saw you as Touya was being transferred, and in all honesty he didn’t think anything of it until Touya attacked him to keep the attention on himself,” she explains with an amused lilt, “he appeared to be very protective of you”.
Idiot, you think fondly. 
“I assure you he only told my mother,” Fuyumi squeezes your forearm once again as if to comfort you, “he was concerned and wasn’t sure if he just misunderstood. But we wanted to look for you to make sure”. 
“Then, the authorities aren’t aware?” 
“No,” Rei murmurs. 
You’re surprised by just how much you were being upheld by stress, shoulders sagging forward in relief, sinking your teeth into the soft inside of your cheek to withhold a whimper. 
“Thank you,” you say hoarsely, and you repeat it again and again until the two women have swaddled you in their arms, surrounded by the gentle scent of lavender and detergent. 
“You’re family to Touya, therefore you’re family to us,” Fuyumi reassures you, “you don’t have to do this alone anymore if you don’t want to”. 
Family. The prospect almost seemed too good to be true, an enticing offer laid out only to trap you at the end. You couldn’t risk Kaiyo’s safety or wellbeing, but their sincerity is so palpable it’s stifling. 
“How is he?” you ask instead, “is he safe?” 
“This knowledge isn’t available to the public, but he has been moved into a private villain corrections centre,” Rei looks at Kaiyo’s picture as she speaks, and you wonder if she sees Touya looking back.
“He will be undergoing rehabilitation with the hopes of one day joining us for a period of probation,” she continues, turning to you with a soft smile, “rest assured we have no intention of removing his autonomy. Touya consciously chose to carry out his actions and he should take responsibility for it…”
Her voice breaks, “… but we had our own part to play in his creation, and believe he deserves a second chance”. 
It’d sound like a perfect dream if you did not know Touya as intimately as you do. You’re unable to repress the grimace that crosses your expression. 
“He won’t be happy about that,” your eyes fall closed momentarily as you exhale, “he won’t see it your way. You already took his autonomy by removing his choice to die, that’s what he’ll think”. 
“You really do understand him, don’t you?” Fuyumi laughs mournfully, “he’s refusing to cooperate. He was relatively fine in police custody but since the transfer he’s become more hostile”.
The room grows a little smaller with every word. “Do you think it’s because I was there?” 
“Shouto asked twice who you were and Touya attacked him both times. It’s a big part of why he came to me about it, and why we knew we had to find you,” Rei says. 
It would make sense. Touya always smothered his anxiety with anger, a response that allowed him some control or imitation of power, and power meant safety. You knew he found common ground with his youngest brother, that being the reason he ultimately lost to him, but that didn’t mean he trusted Shouto. The thought of him restlessly wondering if you and Kaiyo were in danger causes your chest to tighten. 
“Maybe if you’re able to tell him we’re okay, he’ll start responding to treatment?” 
“Maybe,” Rei nods and then the apartment is veiled in heavy silence. It wasn’t unlike sitting at his wake. You wished he could bear witness to how much love you all felt for him. 
Suddenly, a muted beeping sounds from the thin, mint coloured watch clasped around Rei’s wrist. She sighs and pressed her lips into a thin, displeased line. “I’m sorry but we can’t stay longer. They still get a little nervous if I’m out too long,” she says. 
Right. She too had spent time locked away in a hospital. It must be difficult, you think, to have a mistake follow you wherever you went. A perfect recovery did not mean other people would forgive, or forget. 
Maybe one day, Touya would see that he and his mother are more similar than he realises. 
“That’s fine, Ms. Himura,” you bow forward towards her, and then again while addressing Fuyumi, “I’m grateful to you both for finding us”. 
“And we’re grateful you gave us a chance,” Fuyumi lifts her arms in an aborted motion as if to hug you, but decides against it, “we’d like to leave you with our contact information. If there’s anything you need or… if you’d like Kaiyo to visit, please don’t hesitate to call”. 
Their touch lingers long after they leave. The evening moves on, sun dipping below the seam of the horizon as it always does as if nothing had changed, an unintended reminder of how minuscule your problems really were. Kaiyo is returned home by his sitter, excitedly babbling about his day, rushing throughout the apartment with bare feet padding over the spot where his grandmother had been seated only hours before. 
You’re reminded of how intuitive he is when he curls himself around your thigh, asking you if you’re okay, if you were feeling sick or sad. There’s a guilt there that can only come with parenthood, your depression smothered like a wet blanket as you pull forward a smiling mask to wear, hoping it will placate his worry. 
“I’m okay baby,” you tell him with fingers combing through unkempt red hair, his eyes wide and bright and distinctly your own, “I’m just a little tired”.  
There is an anger that accompanies the insurmountable love you feel when you look at your son. It is difficult to accept his abandonment, to know you will one day have to be the one imparting that pain into him. So gentle, excitable and considerate of those around him, qualities taught to him by his supposedly villainous parents.
Despite his mistakes and doubts, Touya tried to be a good father, he’d wanted to be one. You suspected a lot of it came from a place of wishfulness, parenting his child in a way he’d wanted for himself, as painful as it might’ve been to realise just how little he’d mattered to his own. And you can see it now — Touya’s inherited wounds are steadily present on Kaiyo, a passing of the torch, and all you can do is try to stop the bleeding.
If you truly thought about it, you could say your whole relationship had carried a disquieting dark shadow beneath its skin, something of a spreading blood wheel. You overlooked it anytime he was callous and unruly, you’d cry and ache but it pleased you to know he still cared enough about himself to be angry. 
Soon after joining the league he’d gradually plateaued, urges satisfied, and you should’ve noticed. 
“Mama, look,” Kaiyo appears and lifts a thin sheet towards you, paper wrinkling under his chubby fingers, “I drawed dad!”
“Drew,” you warmly correct, cradling his cheeks as you duck to press a kiss to his forehead. The drawing is that of three stick figures, each one distinct with features. Touya’s figure has his black spiked hair, and across the lower half of its face is a purple shadow. His scars, you assume. 
It was all perfectly normal to Kaiyo; the sutures and rings, the burns, the ever present smell of smoke. From the moment he could open his eyes, they would follow his father with love and excitement. The admiration would sometimes unsettle Touya, too familiar, too much like looking into a reflection. 
“It’s brilliant, baby,” you tell him, gentle as you take it from his grasp, “shall we put it on the pinboard along with the others?”
He huffs, incensed by your request, “but I want to show my friends!”
Therein lies the dilemma. You wonder how often this problem will crop up in the years to come, how quickly you might run out of acceptable excuses as he becomes old enough to understand. Dabi was too easily recognised, even in your son's amateur rendition of him. 
“I really love this one though Kai, it has all of us,” you twist your lips into a cartoonish pout, pulling the sweet sound of a laugh from him, “please can I keep it?”
His childish glare withers as he fights a smile, the restrained happiness plain on his face and entirely contagious. “Ok mama, I guess,” he relents, innocent and forgiving, head tilted and cheeks pink under your praise. In moments like this, you can truly understand a parent's wish to freeze time. 
You recall Touya’s claim of putting good into the world before his death. You too could hardly believe that you’d raised such an unequivocally good little boy. But as you watch your son appraise his art with an excited wiggle, you’re reminded that children are not a tool for redemption. 
“I love you,” I promise I’ll be better for you, “and dad loves you too. How about we draw him another picture? I’ll do one aswell". 
“Okay!” he takes your hand and begins to pull you along the hallway towards his room, your back bent uncomfortably to lessen his reach. Halfway to his destination, Kaiyo pauses, pulling anxiously at the hem of his metallica shirt. 
“When… When is dad coming back from work?” 
That’s right. Work in Okinawa, you’d told him. A terribly flimsy excuse given in a moment of panic. At the time you just wanted him to have a reason to hold onto, to reassure himself with, but it was slowly coming back to bite you. 
“He still has a lot to do baby,” an understatement if you’d ever heard one, “it’ll be a little while. But we can be patient, can’t we?”
His lips purse into a pout, eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he bravely nods, and the thought of Rei’s phone number waiting in your contacts lingers in the forefront of your mind. 
Truthfully it haunts you throughout the rest of your week, stomach lined thickly with guilt. You eat, you work, you walk Kaiyo to school with eyes on every corner. You sleep in Touya’s most recently worn hoodie and pretend it’s his skin, his hands, too attached to his scent to wash it. 
Kaiyo continues to draw, to write and create. He brings graded homework back from school to keep in one of your old folders along with his other keepsakes; just in case Touya comes back, just so he can show him. 
You were looking over some of the old home made cards the night you finally called Rei, reliving another time and wondering if it ever really had been better, or if it’d just been a figment of your imagination. 
It can be difficult to know when a memory has been altered by nostalgia. 
“What’s this?” Touya had said as Kaiyo handed him a Father’s Day card, the inside lined with confetti and star sequins that toppled into his lap when opened. 
“I— I made it for you,” Kaiyo had explained nervously with eyes wide, hands flexing at his sides, “see… that’s you and— and me!” 
“Those potato shaped things are us?” Kaiyo had visibly deflated even with Touya’s playful tone, “this is pretty fuckin’ cool if you ask me”. 
“Freakin’,” you’d gently chided, lacking any heat for it to sound truly scolding at the time, too pleased by Kaiyo’s excited dancing. You recall the relaxed smirk on Touya’s lips and how he’d pressed a kiss to your shoulder, a rare moment of him being truly at ease and present. 
“And the heart, why s’it blue and not red?” 
“Because of your fire, dad!” Kaiyo grinned as he lifted his arms, mimicking the pose of a hero, “I hope I have blue flames, just like you”. 
Fragile. You'd watched on as Touya’s expression became strained, closing the card and setting it on the table, “I guess we better keep it somewhere safe since you worked so hard on it”. 
Into the folder it went. 
You decide to make the leap the following morning, allowing Kaiyo to sleep a little longer while you sift through your shared wardrobe for a suitable outfit. Work had happily allowed you a day off — even though they were chronically short staffed, you didn’t often call in sick so they were glad to give it to you. 
Usually Kaiyo would be dropped off with his sitter, an older woman known in the neighbourhood for fostering children. She’d been around for a long time, had seen and worked with many a criminal, and she understood young people more than you could comprehend. You trusted her with your son, trusted that even if he unknowingly slipped up she wouldn’t say a thing. 
But today that wasn’t necessary. You feel the fabric of the small knitted sweater between your fingers, frowning at the aggravating itch. He wouldn’t wear this, too scratchy, but it was also the closest to nice clothing he had. 
It isn’t like you’re living in poverty, but one mistake and it could very well be a truth for you. Clothes were fine as long as they fit — Kaiyo loved the little band tees his father would bring him more than anything, he didn’t care much for formal wear. 
The unbidden image of Touya’s displeased scowl flashing through your thoughts is enough for you to put the sweater back. Forcing Kaiyo to conform for the sake of his wealthier relatives, indicating that your own reality was something lesser, is something you wouldn’t do. Something Touya would hate you for. 
A small lump curled up beneath the futon covers begins to move. Kaiyo stirs, almost as if he can feel your turmoil, sleep lined eyes searching for you. 
“Ma?” 
“Mornin’, handsome,” a smile pulls naturally at your lips and warmth unfurls in your chest when he reaches for you. Half of his hair is pressed flat to the side of his head where he’d laid. 
He blinks slowly from your lap, his fathers nose wrinkling as he surveys the clothes you’d been mulling over. It’s an unspoken question. 
“I have a surprise for you so I wanted to find something nice for you to wear,” you tell him, hand rubbing along the length of his back. He perks up noticeably, foot kicking out against the sweater you’d just been holding. 
“Don’t like that one,” he says. You laugh, eyes closing for a moment to silently send thanks to Touya, even if he had just been a fleeting piece of your imagination. 
“Thought so,” you murmur, leaning forward to move it aside, “pick something for yourself, then. Make sure it’s something you’ll feel good in, because we’re going to meet some new people today”. 
“Who?” he asks, mouth wet and shaped into an ‘o’ as he fists his hands into another one of his dark coloured t-shirts. 
“You know how a lot of your friends have more than just a mother and father?”
He mumbles a dejected ‘yes’. 
“Well, I know you’ve been missing dad so I thought we might be able to connect with him in a different way,” you explain, helping him lift his pyjama shirt over his head and refraining from pinching his belly. 
“What would you say if I told you… I was going to take you to see your grandma right now?” 
“Grandma?!” he squeaks from behind the clean shirt you loop over his head, frowning then as you help him push his arms through the sleeves, releasing a small noise of complaint. 
“That’s right, your dad's mother,” — your smile dims slightly while he insists on dressing himself, reminded of how quickly the time has passed, how much he was growing — “I guess he didn’t talk about his family a lot did he?”
Kaiyo shakes his head excitedly, bouncing on his toes as he struggles to tug his pants over his clean underwear. He relents and allows you to do up the fiddly top button of his trousers. 
“That’s not all…” 
“More?!”
“You have an auntie and two uncles,” you tell him, and his hands fly to cover his mouth as he begins to dance with excitement. His joy is contagious, you feel it fill you and spill over as you pull him back into your lap, holding him tightly. 
Rei and the siblings, that had been the deal. No Endeavor. Touya may forgive the former, but never the latter. You wouldn’t do that to him.
It isn’t strenuous getting him out the door, but it is taxing to get him to the station, hair once again tucked under a knitted beanie despite the day's warmth. He jumps over the cracks in the pavement, follows the pattern with his feet, stops to greet every stray he sees. 
And you let him. Because his happiness is your own, and you dread to imagine him without it. Maybe it was selfish for you to cover his ears to the cruelty around him. He knew of fear, pain and crime, he knew that people sometimes did bad things to others. But it had never been personal to him, not yet. 
Perhaps the biggest question as a parent was just that — at what point do you expose your children to what may hurt them? 
You had told Rei the cover story ahead of time, embarrassed by your own lies, but she’d been understanding. Gentle. Somehow it only left you more ashamed. 
You wanted to preserve the innocent lense in which he viewed the world, wanted to encase the image he held of his father in amber. Because the power of those traumas stay with you, chemically alter you; they become the epicentre of your nightmares, they shape your convictions and morals, they fuel your will. Especially as a child. Touya knew that more than anyone. 
You observe Kaiyo while he watches the surroundings change, clutching the backrest of his seat as he looks out the train window, propped up on his knees and ignorant of the glare from the elderly woman beside him. Folded on her lap is the morning newspaper, a grainy black and white photo of flames and the words ‘Where is Endeavor’s Villainous Son?’ printed across the front. 
You adjust the hat, his eyes fixed on the moving landscape. He’d never been this far out of the Kanagawa prefecture, Touya’s unease with regards to your safety always taking precedence over the freedom to explore, so you let him press his nose to the glass and laugh as his voice begins to vibrate with the train. 
“Do you remember the names I told you?”
“Fuyu!”
“Fuyumi,” you emphasise, tucking the tag by his neck back into the confines of his shirt, “who else?”
He holds out his fist, fingers unfurling one by one as he counts, seeking your praises as he goes. “Fuyumi… Shouto… Natsu…o… Natsuo!”
The two hour journey passes in what feels like a minute. With one blink the train arrives in Shizuoka, slow as it pulls up to the second platform, the anticipation knotting thickly like yarn in your gut. Kaiyo, as perceptive as he can be, is bubbling with too much enthusiasm to notice your inner turmoil. 
You hold him on your hip, arms pressing him close into your chest as the sliding doors part, and step into the throngs of people waiting to board the train. As if you’d been in a soundproof bubble the noise of the city amplifies, a cacophony of voices and cries and whistles echoing uncomfortably in your ears. There are suits everywhere, hats tipped over eyes, too many unknowns in such a crowded space. 
The relief of stepping out onto the clear street almost buckles you. Kaiyo is squirming in complaint, wanting to be put back on the pavement but you hike him up a little higher. You couldn’t let him down, couldn’t let him out of reach, couldn’t let anyone take him. 
“Sorry baby, you can walk soon. I just need to find the car first—”
You’re interrupted then by a low, nasal voice, startling you to pivot on your feet. Behind you stands a large figure, bowler hat held politely to his chest as he bows forward. Kaiyo shrinks into the crook of your neck at the sight of a stranger, sensing your unease. The man repeats your name, the well groomed moustache sitting on his top lip moving as he speaks, curled into spirals at either end. He’s formally dressed, wearing a three piece suit and a large black topcoat. 
“That is you, correct?”
Grappling at your thoughts, you recall the riddle that you had given to Rei after her suggestion of having you picked up. She hadn’t wanted you to make your own way there, adamant that the family staff would drive the two of you to her home, and you gave in only at the promise of a safeword.
You inhale to steady yourself. “What is it that, given one, you’ll have either two or none?”
His eyes soften considerably but it does nothing to soothe the tension, only when he gives you the answer do you let yourself relax. “A choice,” he says, “my apologies. I should have been more considerate of your circumstances”. 
Circumstances. What a kind understatement. 
“My name is Ono Hiroki, I’m under the service of Ms. Himura and will be your driver,” he continues with a well meaning tilt to his head as he leans towards Kaiyo in greeting, “and what is the young master's name?”
You feel your son shift beneath your chin, presumably to look up at Hiroki, but he remains stubbornly quiet. “This is Kaiyo,” the grip he has on your shirt lessens at the sound of your voice, “we appreciate you coming out here to meet us but… please don’t refer to him with that title”. 
Touya would turn his nose up if he heard. You can almost imagine the shiver that may have run down his back just now, wherever he may be, and the thought forces you to hide a smile into Kaiyo’s knitted hat. 
“Of course,” Hiroki assents, and he begins to lead you towards the car. You cringe at how obviously it stands out amongst the more common models, clearly something owned by someone with great wealth and status. Even with having chosen your best outfit, the clothes on your back suddenly felt like straw, cheap and unfit for the occasion. 
The drive is smooth, though your sense of time becomes warped — had someone asked you how long it took to arrive, you wouldn’t have an answer for them. Kaiyo, just as he had done on the train, pressed his nose and fingers to the window; leaving behind murky smudges against the glass. 
As the car pulls to the curb you’re left feeling alienated by the neighbourhood. Worse, Hiroki steps out and speeds around to your door, opening it for you with a reflexive bow. 
It feels… uncomfortable. 
The property itself is walled off from the street and the building is large, though you’re sure that’s only in comparison to your own homes. You’re drawn in by the greenery that surrounds it, though the trees were likely put there for the sake of privacy the garden was clearly a labour of love. 
It appears to be a single story house, the roofs tiled dark brown with broad waves and an exterior hallway that frames around each room. You could picture Rei tending to her garden while her children sat on the veranda in the summer months. 
It was beautiful. 
Hiroki slowly leads you up the path, the gravel between each step crunching beneath your shoes. The pace can be attributed to Kaiyo’s adamance in standing on each individual stone, which the man kindly indulges. 
The entrance is made up of a large sliding door with plaster slitted windows. Hiroki pushes it across and moves aside to allow you into the house. You murmur in wonderment at the width of the genkan, the wall above the shoe cupboard  lined with traditional calligraphy. 
“Yes— it’s fine! I’ll bring them through…”
A sweet, familiar voice echoes throughout the entryway. Kaiyo tucks himself against the back of your knees as Fuyumi rounds the corner, socked feet slipping slightly on the wooden flooring in her excitement. 
Her lips part to greet you, the words caught in her throat as her gaze is drawn to the movement behind your legs. Typically Kaiyo could be quite rambunctious around others, loud and eager to befriend others. Here you can feel his anxiety, how small he must feel in this large, unfamiliar place. 
Fuyumi, too, is at a loss for words. A little pale, teary eyed as she blinks, visibly composing herself in front of you both.  “It’s good to see you again, Fuyumi,” you say as the silence stretches on, taking pity on her. 
Her demeanour lightens, and she appears grateful. Somehow her awkward loss of words and your son's hesitance lent you courage even if you, too, did not have your footing. 
“How about we take off our shoes and make proper introductions?” the question ends with a soft hum, a gentle verbal push, reaching back to pluck the hat from Kaiyo’s head. 
His hair is mussed, cowlicks pointed in all directions after being pressed beneath the yarn. You run your hand through it, wetting the pads of your fingers to flatten some of the more unruly curls down until they’re neat. The red is brighter in the sunlit genkan, and Fuyumi does well to conceal her sharp inhale. 
Kaiyo steps forward, nervously wringing out the material of his t-shirt, and Fuyumi lowers herself to his height as if approaching a cornered animal. Tender with her motions, she reaches out to still his anxious tic, ducking her head to smile where he can see it. A teacher, you remember. 
“It’s so wonderful to meet you Kaiyo. I’m your aunt Fuyumi,” she says. He turns over his wrist and takes three of her fingers into his fist, head nodding forward in what you know to be a bow. 
“Nice to meet you, aunt Fuyumi,” he replies. 
“Don’t worry about formalities, sweetheart,” she uses her free hand to straighten out the hem of the shirt, her eyes flickering over the logo with some recognition, “you can call me ‘Fuyu. You are my nephew, after all”. 
Kaiyo straightens his back, overjoyed by the privilege, and looks up to share the feeling with you. If you could read his thoughts you’d guess it was something along the lines of told you her name was ‘Fuyu, mama. 
“Natsuo isn’t here yet as he stayed overnight at his girlfriend's dorm,” Fuyumi continues as she rises to her feet, still keeping a firm hold of Kaiyo’s hand, “but mother and Shouto are in the tatami room. She likes having all the doors open on a day like this while we sit together, would you like to meet them?”
“Yes!”
In his excitement he pushes up onto the tip of his toes, shedding his timid attitude and grinning so wide his cheeks begin to pinken. It’s infectious, Fuyumi brightening considerably at his sudden comfort in her presence, and she begins to guide you both through the house. 
Soft spoken murmurings become louder as you approach the open sliding door into what you presume is the tatami room. Kaiyo pauses a few steps before, hidden behind the panel, waiting until you’re close enough for him to wrap an arm around your thigh. 
“You’re ok, baby,” you whisper warmly, “let’s go in together”. 
You enter the room with an awkward gait, slowed by the weight of your son against your leg, the matts firm beneath your feet. Immediately you are embraced by the scent of earth and autumn bellflower. Rei is seated on a pale green cushion across from Shouto, cross legged and holding a steaming cup of tea with both hands, on the table between them is a vase blooming purples and blues. You garner their attention, self-consciousness twisting uncomfortably in your chest as they appraise you and Kaiyo, a part of you always ready to jump to his defences. 
But the two, despite the cool air and unreadable expressions, only seem to thaw as their eyes fall to your son. 
The light knock of Shouto’s mug levelling atop the table surface brings you above water. “Greet your grandmother properly, sweetheart,” you step further into the space and lower to your knees, Kaiyo mirroring your actions with caution, facing Rei with his hands resting politely on his knees. 
You bow forward, thank you for having us Ms. Himura, and watch with fond exasperation as Kaiyo leans until his forehead is touching the tatami in your peripheral. “It’s nice to meet you, grandmother. It’s— it’s nice to meet you, uncle Shouto,” he recites, “my name is Kaiyo!”
You smile at the force behind the words, as if he’d practised them in his mind repeatedly before arriving. Rei appears to come to the same conclusion, returning the words and beckoning him to sit beside her, and Fuyumi ushers you to take a seat by Shouto.
In closing the distance Rei appears mystified, eyeline wet as she blinks back the tears, hands lifting to cradle your son's face in her palms. Kaiyo tenses for a moment on contact, shoulders relaxing as her thumbs graze over the swell of his cheeks. You wonder who she was truly seeing as she looked at Kaiyo, a little boy almost identical to her own. “My hands are a little cold, aren’t they?” her voice is soft, weak. There’s an intonation of grief, of regret, and an apology in her eyes. 
And your son, ever loving and perceptive, covers them with his own as if to tell her it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. Then he shifts closer on his knees until he’s tucked against her chest, her chilled touch running along the length of his back as she holds him. At your side you feel Shouto exhale a short, hot breath of emotion. 
“Tea?”
You look to see Fuyumi has set out more cups, now with a pale cream teapot in her grip, unphased by the temperature as tendrils of steam wisp and dance from the spout. Along the curve of her jaw is a single tear, and she tilts to wipe it on her shoulder with a weak sniffle. You feel it too, pulling the sleeves of your shirt over your wrists to conceal the trembling, lifting your chin to keep the emotions behind your eyelids.
“That’d be great,” you nod, accepting the cup that Shouto slides towards you, “thank you”. 
You’re tempted to thank Fuyumi again as you bring the ceramic to your lips, a slight sting to the skin of your palms and your lower lip, breathing in the potent scent of green tea. This family must enjoy it a little stronger, steeping the leaves for longer, the bitterness heavy on your tongue. There is at least some respite in the distraction it provides — you could not talk if your mouth was busy. 
Kaiyo ignores the silences, leaving his grandmother's lap to squeeze himself next to Shouto. You try not to laugh, the youngest at a loss for what to do as your son looks up at him in wonderment and admiration, though it is hard to restrain yourself at the barrage of questions Kaiyo targets him with. 
“Are you really going to be a pro hero, uncle Shouto?”
“I am,” he replies solemnly, “I’ll be a hero that my family can rely on. Do you want to be a hero?”
“Hell no!” 
“Kaiyo—”
“I’m going to go to space,” he barrels on without a care, too wrapped up in his own passion to recognise the informality, but with Rei’s quiet laugh you realise there was no need to worry. As Kaiyo stumbles over his words about asteroids and comets, about how the sunset on mars is blue and isn’t that so cool, Shouto seems to relax even further. 
“He doesn’t think he’s good at talking to children,” Fuyumi whispers at your side, “believe me, Kaiyo is doing him a favour”. 
Even as the time passes Shouto’s tea remains steaming in his left hand while yours begins to cool, and Rei observes their back and forth with an autumn bellflower petal between her fingers, gently as she handles it like it were something precious. There’s no tension, any growing pains soothed as Kaiyo soaks up the attention, the beating heart of the room. 
“I’m gonna go to space an’ clean up all the junk,” he announces. A goal that you’d heard many a time, manifested in his fathers arms one evening as they’d sat together watching a pre-quirk era documentary about space travel. 
“Pro heroes came along and suddenly we forgot everything that used to be important to us,” Touya muttered, “going to space is—”
“—a hero's job in its own right,” Shouto says. 
You do well not to drop your drink as Kaiyo launches himself into Shouto’s lap, one of his arms outstretched to not spill his own while the other steadies the boy to his chest. Gleeful, childish laughter wells throughout the room, paired with the balmy sun and the whistle of a Japanese tit flitting through the gardens. 
“Dad told me that too,” you feel as the mother, the sister and the brother all hold their breath at the mention of Touya, the one topic they weren’t sure if they could even touch upon, “do you really think so, uncle Shouto?” 
“I do…” he shifts, hugging Kaiyo only after glancing at you for permission, “...and you don’t need to prefix my name with ‘uncle’ every time. You can be casual”. 
“Prefix?” 
“A word that comes before another,” you interject gently, “he means you can just call him Shouto, baby”. 
In that instance your back straightens at the sound of another voice ringing throughout the house, low and distant. “I’m home,” they shout with familiarity, “sorry I’m late!”.
Fuyumi jumps to her feet, leaving to meet the new arrival, and Kaiyo watches her go with a chubby fist curled into Shouto’s sweater. He pats his hand awkwardly to Kaiyo’s thigh in reassurance, “don’t worry, it’s just Natsuo. He’s my other older brother”. 
Kaiyo lessens his grip, tentative as he watches the open doorway, and you can’t help but to reflexively reach out to pinch his cheek. “It’ll be fine,” you murmur. 
Your first impression of Natsuo is that he’s much bigger than his siblings. He must’ve inherited his build from his father and his demeanour in spite of him, because even with the chill that he brings, his grin is refreshing. The type of person that sets you at ease and wordlessly invites you in, that actively wants you to feel welcomed. 
“Wow, you’re really here. You’re really…” Natsuo's throat bobs as he swallows his next words, silenced by Fuyumi’s encouraging touch. Rather, he hastily greets his mother with a kiss to the cheek, and then he settles down at the table facing Kaiyo. 
A litany of emotions flicker through his face, like he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. Even so, his smile doesn’t waver as he introduces himself to you, nervously rubbing his neck as he bows. 
“And you must be Kaiyo. I’m Natsuo, I guess that makes me your uncle,” he inhales deeply, chest expanding and falling, “you… you really do look like your dad”. 
He sounds mournful. Kaiyo senses the change in atmosphere, though he doesn’t understand it, and the anxiety settles into his restless fingers as they pick a thread loose from Shouto’s sweater. 
Fuyumi lightly swats at him: “Natsuo, you’re freaking them out!” 
He gives a wounded complaint, dramatic only in a way you can find with siblings as he clutches at his bicep, and Kaiyo laughs. Like it was called upon, the sun moves from behind a cloud and brightens the room. 
“Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to be awkward, I was just surprised,” he says. 
Kaiyo slides down from Shouto’s lap, the youngest briefly forlorn at the loss before schooling his expression once more. “It’s ok, mama said I look like dad too. That’s why I’m so handsome,” he grins triumphantly. 
Your chest knots tightly at the spotlight it shines on your relationship with Touya, thoughts running amok with assumptions of what they must think of you, whether they approve of how you have raised Kaiyo. But despite your inner conflict the family don’t flinch, in fact — they smile with him. 
“Touya was indeed a beautiful little boy,” Rei briefly looks at the purple petal still held between her fingers, “I have a lot of pictures here. Would you like to see?” 
Kaiyo scrambles, almost knocking the table as he stands, “yes please, grandmother!”
There’s an air of nostalgia as she leans down to take his smaller hand into her own, in the way he looks up with love, height falling just short of her hip. The last time she had seen her children this size had been before she was sent away. You can’t even begin to comprehend such a loss.
“Just 'grandma' is fine,” she assures, and Kaiyo bounces with each step as they leave to find the photographs. 
You realise, then, that you are left alone with the siblings. Fuyumi pours more tea, the sound of running water loud in your ears, Natsuo’s words barely audible to you. 
“I wanted to thank you,” he says, cup in hand with his thumb anxiously tapping the rim, “for being there for Touya when we couldn’t be. For bringing Kaiyo here even when you have every right to distrust us”. 
The words pick away at the composure you’d maintained throughout the morning, their gratitude, while completely genuine, feels undeserved. In the grand scheme of things your relationship to Touya had not changed much at all, perhaps he’d staved off his mission for a while to play house with you, but the outcome was the same. 
“It isn’t you that I distrust,” the ‘Endeavor’ goes unspoken but still heard, “I wanted Kaiyo to keep his connection to his father. And you don’t need to thank me, I didn’t…”
Didn’t help him. Didn’t save him. Didn’t stop him. You only loved him. You laid with him in darkness and thought if you held him tight enough that something might crack, that the light might get in. 
“What I did wasn’t enough,” you tell them, the words broken with your wet exhale, “it was your actions, your dedication to understanding him. It’s… it’s you I should thank, Shouto”.
“Still,” Fuyumi is tender as she speaks, her hand resting between your shoulder blades, “knowing that all that time he wasn’t alone, knowing that he had you, it means a great deal to us all”. 
Even if he hadn’t been alone for those few years, there was still a rotten past from before he met you that he wouldn’t touch. Touya, stone faced and eyes narrowed, watching you from beneath the sheets of his hospital bed as if he were a wounded animal. Your slow, telegraphed actions, promising respite. That’s why despite wanting to stay away from you, he couldn’t — because you saw who he was, and you still loved him. The burning flesh, the distended skin, the smoke and the blood. You saw the bodies on the news, you saw the flames across the city, and you still loved him. 
Maybe that was the only thing you got right; because there isn’t much else worse than someone loving the potential of who you could be, or loving someone you’re not. In the end, you think, we all want to be seen first and loved second. 
“I do think he’s worried about you,” Shouto interjects plainly, “ he’s not directly asking about your wellbeing because he doesn’t want to reveal your identity, but the staff say he’s restless”. 
“You can be quite perceptive, Shouto,” Fuyumi says. 
“A friend of mine has told me that before,” there’s a flicker of a smile pulling at his lips and it warms his expression. If you needed to attach a word to it you’d pick fond. 
“Though he also said I make all the wrong assumptions about what I’m seeing,” he exhales through his nose in what you think might be a laugh, “that’s why I went to my mother first. This seemed… too important to be wrong about”.
“I’m truly grateful for your discretion,” you wipe a tear along the heel of your hand, ignoring the sting in your sinuses, “and for your acceptance of us”.
“You’re our family now,” Natsuo’s grin widens, “and I can’t say I wasn’t curious ‘bout the kind of person my brother fell in love with”.
You knew what Touya would say to that. You're too good for me, I don’t want to hurt you. You should’ve seen through it then, with every premature apology. People only say those things when they know they’re going to hurt you. 
Over your thoughts you hear the siblings begin to talk again with affection, your eyes drawn to the empty end of the table. You should be here, you think, I wish you were here. 
Kaiyo returns excitedly with a large picture frame held to his chest, the paint worn and flaking, encasing an old school photograph of Touya. His uniform is buttoned to the top, face youthful and pale, not a scar to be seen. You recall his discomfort with high collared clothing, always irritable against his sutures. 
Following behind is Rei with an album of family pictures. Some of them have been awkwardly cut, some burnt along the edges, some faces notably scribbled over with a pen almost out of ink.
“Mama look, he really does look like me. And dad’s hair was white! Did he colour it like that, too?”
“No sweetheart,” you murmur with gaze fixed to the page as it turns in Rei’s lap, the siblings all gathered around to look, “remember, he told you he had red hair like yours, but it changed like magic”. 
“So cool,” he mumbles in awe under his breath, “dad is so cool”. 
Rei stiffens minutely. Maybe that, too, was uncomfortably familiar. 
The conversation continues into the late afternoon, moving only to sit beneath the clear skies and stretch your legs, Rei guiding you along her well loved flowerbeds. They tell Kaiyo stories of his father, diluted but true for the most part, their smiles tightening with the memories. It feels odd, wrong, mourning a man that is very much alive. You give them a piece of him and in exchange, they offer one back as the hours pass. You come to know another Touya — their Touya — and when you line him up aside your own you find that they aren’t all that different.  
As Kaiyo’s confidence grows with his newfound family he begins to wander. Natsuo lifts him into the air and he laughs joyfully, a sound you wish you could solidify and keep by your breast, and they take off to hide in the house with Fuyumi close behind. 
“Are you sure it’s ok for him to play indoors? I’d hate to leave any mess—”
Rei smiles. The light reflects against the crown of her head forming something of a white halo and Shouto is at her side, eyes softening at his mothers happiness. 
“I assure you it’s alright,” she says, “truthfully I think I’ve missed the mess”. 
You think of toys left astray, crayon smudging cheap wallpaper, juice rings staining the coffee table. Marks of your little boy left all around the apartment. Touya cursing as he steps on a building block, hopping on one leg theatrically to make Kaiyo laugh. Touya spilling the warm bottle of milk as he falls asleep and Kaiyo on his chest, exhausted from a day without rest. 
“I know what you mean,” you reply. 
Shouto only blinks. You couldn’t imagine that he was allowed to make much of a mess at all, and that thought alone makes you ache. His brow furrows then, and anticipation settles in your gut. 
“There was something we wanted to ask of you now Kaiyo is distracted,” he seeks Rei’s support as he talks, and she nods gently before turning to face you. 
“As we’ve told you… Touya is not being cooperative to treatment. In all honesty, we are getting anxious that he will be removed from the programme,” she says with regret, “you are free to refuse. But as you suggested when we first met, I thought he might benefit from knowing you’re safe”.
It feels as if the ground beneath your feet has steepened, a weightlessness flooding through your chest, and you reach for the closest pillar on the veranda to steady yourself. 
“You’ll let me visit him?” 
“Strings can be pulled to get you a visitor's pass,” Shouto confirms sagely, “typically it is for professionals or family. Which you now are”.
You hadn’t even let yourself entertain the idea of being able to see him again. The possibility of hearing his voice, of holding him again, felt too good to be true. 
“And Kaiyo? Where will he stay?” you ask, “I can’t take him with me, I don’t want him to see his father like that—” 
Approaching you from the house is the soft, pitter patter of socked feet. You feel a weight fall on your back, Kaiyo interrupting to wrap his limbs around your waist and neck, giggling into your nape. Natsuo lands unceremoniously on the tatami matts, leaning himself against the inside of the sliding door panels with pink blossoming on his cheeks, “damn, kid. You’ve got too much energy”.
“Your house is so big, grandma,” the words carrying a little embarrassment as Kaiyo says “ours is a lot smaller”.
“Sometimes houses are too big,” Natsuo reassures as he slumps forward to rest his chin against his fist, “you can get lost and feel lonely in a big house. I bet at your place, you can always find your mama, huh?” 
He nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet and rocking your body forward with the motions, “does that mean dad was lonely in the big house?” 
Rei’s hands wring tightly in her lap, the question pulling a forlorn atmosphere over the three, and you’re quick to try and rectify it. “Even if he was, he won’t be anymore because he has you,” you say as you twist your body to pull him into your arms, squirming as your touch curls against his ticklish stomach, “isn’t that right?” 
“Yes,” he stammers between deep inhales, giggles tumbling from his lips and ringing across the garden. Rei reaches to thread her fingers through his hair, the red stark against her skin.
“You are both free to sleep in my guestroom tonight,” she offers warmly in response to your earlier concern, “we will watch him while you’re busy tomorrow”. 
“We can have a sleepover!” Natsuo shouts, the excitement forcing him to sit straight and eyes gleaming. Kaiyo gasps, mirroring his uncles enthusiasm as he clings to your shoulders. Shouto, however, remains plain faced as his gaze flickers between the two. 
“Is it really that fun?” he asks. You hide your abrupt laugh into Kaiyo’s hair as Natsuo’s expression settles into disbelief. 
“What? You’ve never had a sleepover in the dorms?”
“We have a curfew,” Shouto shrugs, and Natsuo guffaws.
“What the f… heck is wrong with your school—”
As they bicker you observe contentment settle around Rei. A gentle breeze passes through the shrubbery and you hear the leaves rustling, light breaking through the canopy above and dancing along the grass. Fuyumi calls everyone back into the house as the scent of curry is coaxed out into the open, and you all make your way to the dining area. 
The night comes sooner than you expect. Kaiyo whines at the full feeling in his stomach, cheeks orange and smattered in sauce. Apparently Rei brought over all the childrens things during her move — everything, from toys to certificates to baby clothes, and you’re offered the hand me downs with a wistful smile. 
Aside from the red sleeves the shirt is white, a flame embroidered into the centre and the word fire written below it. Then you’re given an old blanket, slightly thread bare and clearly well loved. It is a light purple, faded after years of being washed, and dotted with stars. It’d belonged to Touya, she’d said, he always loved stars. Kaiyo clutches it tightly to his chest where he lay across from you on the guest futon. 
“Did you have fun today?”
The covers shift, a tell tale sign that he’s kicking his feet. “Yes mama,” he mumbles, nose wrinkling as he fights to keep his eyes open, “I feel really happy”. 
“I love you baby,” you hum fondly, leaning over to needlessly readjust the covers once more, if only for an excuse to kiss his forehead again, “are you sure you’ll be alright while I’m gone tomorrow?” 
Kaiyo nods, cheek turned against his pillow, jaw already slackening as he succumbs to sleep. It isn’t home, there’s no glowing iridescence on your bedroom ceiling tonight, but the space across from you feels empty as it always does. 
“Watching you two sleep soundly together was the happiest I’d ever been,” he’d said. You have no doubt in your mind that he had been telling you the truth. 
When you're pulled into consciousness it happens gently, the house so quiet that it’s unsettling. You were used to rousing with voices in the streets, car engines spluttering as they passed, thuds from the apartment above your own. Here it’s peaceful, a reality that you never thought you’d come close to, and for a moment you can hardly believe you’re awake. 
The staff offer to make the two of you breakfast but you politely refuse, a possessive twist in your stomach. Accepting help never came easily to you, a deeply buried seed of insecurity in your heart that first leapt to defensiveness. You could feed your son just fine on your own. 
Rei joins you soon after tending to her potted plants, Kaiyo pushing up onto the tip of his toes to kiss her cheek as she holds her dirtied hands away from his clean clothes, passing by you to wash the soil from between her fingers. “Grandma, will you have breakfast with us?”
“Of course,” she smiles. 
The rest of the family slowly trickles into the dining room with slow, sleep leaden movements. A full table, a full heart, a full stomach. Breakfast tastes all the better in their company, even Kaiyo seems to have soaked up the serene atmosphere as he quietly recounts a strange memory he had to Fuyumi. 
Still, the dread begins to settle, your knee bouncing restlessly and concealed by the table cloth. Hiroki enters the house with a deep bow and a lanyard around his wrist, your ID badge clipped securely to the end. “It’s best we leave now to avoid any run-ins with the press,” he tells you apologetically, “the likelihood is low. But I’d like to completely mitigate the chance, if possible”. 
Kaiyo lingers in the genkan, shifting on either foot, fiddling with the strings on his sleep shorts. “I’ll be back later, baby,” you hook your pinky around his and squeeze, “I promise”.
He presses a wet kiss to your cheek and you do not wipe it away, the morning air cooler on the skin where the imprint is left. An off duty officer waits by the curb to follow behind Hiroki’s vehicle — another safety precaution, they say — and he opens the side door on your behalf. 
“What will happen once we get there?” you ask, stare fixed on the streets as they speed past, flocks of people continuing with their days as normal. The thin, plastic card in your hands feels like lead. 
“Upon arrival the officer will escort you to the reception as I am not permitted to enter the building,” he explains while subtly adjusting the rear view mirror to watch you, “you will sign yourself in and then you’ll just have to wait. I’m afraid Master Touya isn’t aware that you are his visitor, so it’s entirely possible he’ll refuse to see you…”
Eventually the words become muffled, a disjointed hum in your ears, and your fingers tighten around the lanyard. You play out every hypothetical in your head, try to script questions in preparation, explanations and excuses. But you come up empty. 
Anything that you think of would be rendered useless as soon as you laid eyes on him. 
Pulling in, you survey the land. The facility is double fenced, double gated, and for all intents and purposes it looks to be a prison. There are patients spread out across the grounds, some lounging in the shade while others gathered under staff supervision. 
Surprisingly you are hesitant to part ways with Hiroki, the man bidding you goodbye with a bow and with promise to pick you up as soon as you’re done. The click of your shoes echoes throughout the building as you walk, the accompanying officer striding ahead of you and silent, beckoning you hastily through the security scanners.
A man stands incredibly tall behind the desktop screen situated atop the main desk, large auburn jackrabbit ears protruding from the crown of his head, paired with two large antlers. As you approach his nose wrinkles. 
“Pass?” he asks, interrupting any chance of you greeting him. You swallow the agitation in your chest and show him the ID card, to which he scans with a handheld device and waits until it beeps. Satisfied, he hands you a clipboard detailing a list of names and tells you to find yours. 
“Write your signature in the arrival slot, and when you leave write it in the departure slot. Wait to be called upon in the seating area”. 
You exhale shakily as you sink into your chair, taking in the room, unable to describe it as anything other than impersonal. You had spent a good deal of adulthood working in a clinical setting, and yet this place only seems to make you uneasy. No colourful posters, no informative leaflets, no magazines for people to read. No stickers by the doors, no colour in the staff uniform, guards posted at every entrance. 
Eventually a red light above the doors to the wards flashes red, a loud buzz cutting through the silence and startling you so harshly your chair scrapes against the tile. A doctor calls your name from the doorway, all eight of her beady eyes observing closely as you get to your feet. 
“The patient is being given forty milligrams of quirk suppressant every four hours while he acclimates to his skin grafts. So rest assured he will not burn you,” — you quickly smother your anger at her insinuation — “since you have a high ranking family pass, contact has been allowed, but if anything goes awry there are guards posted at the door”. 
You’re barely given time to process her explanation or the new information as she abruptly comes to a halt, almost stumbling into her back. All eight of her eyes blink at you expectantly as the door clicks open, inclining you to enter. 
“Thank you,” you mutter as you pass, flinching when the door once again clicks shut. You steel yourself with a deep inhale, lungs ballooning to expend the anxiety spiking throughout your chest, and lift your head. 
The air remains there, held in your mouth so as not to make a sound. Touya stands across the threshold with his back to you, facing the wide barred up windows and observing the other patients. He’s in a loose fitting t–shirt and pants, all white and blending into the rest of the room. Where the collar dips below his nape you can see pink, inflamed skin, and for a moment you are reminded of your first meeting. 
“Finally decided to come look your failure in the eye, did you?” his voice is harsh, like talking through gritted teeth and lilted with sarcasm. You’re frozen in place, muscles tensed as if you were bracing for impact, throat swelling just from hearing him speak again. 
“Hate to say it but there’s no cameras here,” he laughs, a hollow and dry sound as he begins to turn, “so you can drop the fuckin’ act—”
The anger dissipates as soon as he meets your gaze, his seething grin slipping until his jaw slacks in surprise. Even as your eyes sting you cannot blink for fear that he’ll disappear, a wishful figment of your imagination. He’s really here, a few feet from you, flesh and blood and breath. 
Closer now, you can clearly see there are lines of scarring where his previous body had been sutured together. No longer held by staples and rings, the patchwork skin fitting the curve of his cheeks without pulling taut and tearing. He doesn’t wince in discomfort as his expression contorts into disbelief, as his brows pinch and he starts toward you. 
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” 
Even with the obvious ire behind his words you aren’t frightened by him. Your legs carry you to meet him halfway, reflexively reaching out for him in all the ways you had longed to over the past few months, only for him to catch you by your wrists. His grip tightens in warning, answer me he snaps, but his demand goes ignored. You’re focused entirely on how cold he feels, sharp around your forearms, just like his tongue. 
“You’re freezing,” you whisper.
He huffs in exasperation, a sound you never knew you could miss. “I know,” he says, dropping your arms as his hold loosens and you silently mourn the loss, “it’s like this all the fuckin’ time now”. 
“Because you don’t have your quirk?” 
He nods curtly, lips twisting in disdain, the confusion in his eyes sinking through realisation and settling on betrayal. “You’ve been getting cosy with my family, haven't you? It’s the only way you would’ve been able to get in here,” he sneers.
You rub away the chill from your inner wrist, following him further into the room as he walks away from you, pleading with him to listen before he makes any assumptions. “Touya, it isn’t what you’re thinking—”
“Don’t call me that!”
Your own anger steers you then, frustrated by his refusal to hear you.  “Touya. Touya. Touya. Touya,” you repeat childishly until he spins on his heel to glare at you. I’m going to keep your name in my mouth until my last breath, you think.  Arguing, scowling, you’ll take anything in this moment as long as he keeps looking at you. 
“Your mother and sister tracked me down, I didn’t go looking for them—” your own fault, you shouldn’t have been there “—they wanted to help me. They wanted to look out for your son!”
He hums like he doesn't believe it, and the forced amusement in his smirk irritates you, crawling hot through your chest. “I bet you’ve been enjoying all that bastard's money, right? He’s got plenty to throw at you and keep you quiet”.
You almost forget to breathe with how his accusation takes you by the throat, the regret crossing his features being the only thing keeping you in the room. It’s hard to handle his vitriol when it is directed at you, hard to see him like this, so wounded and cornered. In his mind you have gone behind his back, you have sought help from the people who hurt him the most, and you are only here on their orders. 
It’s a cycle he cannot break from. He’s gone again, tethered still to the world, but they are all moving on without him. He’s gone again, tucked away where no one needs to look at him, and they are all better for it. 
“I have not met Endeavor and I have made it clear that Kaiyo will not meet him either,” you tell him firmly, “I have not, and will not, accept financial help from that man. You… I’d never do that to you”. 
He wilts then, partially limbless as he sinks back against the hospital bed frame tucked beneath the barred window, covers still spotless and unused. As you glance up at the star-less ceiling, you wonder if he manages to get any sleep at all. 
“Why are you here?” he asks again, no fight left in his words. Without the bravado to keep him up he looks exhausted, torpid. You join him cautiously, settling yourself on the edge of the mattress. 
“To reassure you that we’re okay. That we aren’t in any danger,” you murmur, splaying your hand out in the space between your bodies, “we’re worried about you, Touya. Why aren’t you talking to them?”
He rests his hand beside yours, stretching out his pinky to hook over your own; the one you’d linked with Kaiyo only two hours before. “What good would that do?” he says, “I’m defective and this is just a waste of taxpayers money. Why let me live in the first place?”
The worst part of it all is the grating monotony in his tone, the total disregard for his own life and wellbeing. “Don’t say things like that,” you rasp, “it isn’t true. You have a real chance to do better now”.
“Fuck you,” he snorts without malice, giving a light shake of his head as he continues, “I was always going to end up here. You knew the path I was going to take from the start”. 
“And so did you, Touya!” 
The words come hoarse as they catch in your throat, heavy where they press against your nerves. Around you the room becomes smaller, stifling, and yet he is still miles from your reach. You’d do anything if only it meant wiping that look of indifference from his face. 
“You knew, and you could have made the effort to change. Don’t act as if this was predestined for you, it was your own choices that led you here—” 
“This wouldn’t be happening if you just hadn’t come looking for me!”
“Of course I looked for you,” you pleaded with him, “what would you have had me tell Kaiyo?”
“That I was dead,” he replies plainly, “he would’ve been better off”.
“You…” fatigue floods your system and you feel yourself sink back against the bed frame “…you truly believe that”. 
You don't sob, don't let yourself whimper, you simply let the salty burn overtake your vision and clog your throat, thick and cloying. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, “you know I’m bad with crying”. 
“You’re crying too,” and he laughs humourlessly, eyes still dry. Amongst the quiet you can hear people outside talking, the window panel slightly ajar to let in a continuous breeze, carrying in the scent of spring. You shiver, and when his icy touch begins to move away you upturn your hand, interlocking your fingers together to keep him there. 
You can feel him watching you as you appraise his belongings. No character, no personality, everything looks brand new and unused. Compared to your stingy one bedroom apartment tucked away in the sparse Yokohama neighbourhoods, this place was completely lifeless. He must hate it here, waking up in yet another unfamiliar place against his will, treated as if he were something to fix.
Though after everything he’s been through, it must be a relief to do something bad and be punished for it, rather than to be punished for all the things you couldn’t do. 
“How is he?” he asks, ending the drawn out silence. 
“He knows something isn’t right,” you say, feeling the chill along your wet cheeks, “he wants to see you”.
He makes a sound of acknowledgement as he strokes his thumb along the back of your hand. You tighten your grip, still habitually cautious of the sutures that are no longer embedded into his skin. “What a kid wants isn’t always what’s good for them”.
“That’s priceless coming from you,” you huff, and he knocks his shoulder against yours in response. Bittersweet, you recall how you sat beside him on a hospital bed just like this five years ago, IV hooked into his veins to ward off infection. Hair white, skin mottled, growing accustomed to your freely given affections. 
You breathe, the exhale long, and lean your weight into his side. Your hands, still interwoven, rest together in your lap. “We just wanted to be closer to you,” you tell him, your apology unspoken, “Kaiyo misses you. I miss you. Even if I’m angry with you, don’t ever believe that we aren’t thinking of you”. 
The word sorry does not come naturally to Touya, it never has. Remorse was best shown through action, overbearing attention and unnecessary gift giving that only ever left you wondering who he’d stolen from. When he rests his cheek atop your head, nuzzling softly into your hair, you know he’s trying to apologise as well. 
So you recount everything that happened over the past two weeks. Of nightmares and paranoia, of old photographs and starless ceilings, of autumn bellflowers and cultural dissonance. You rush each story, unsure of how much time you would be allowed in this place, nor how often you would be able to visit. And he listens, slowly sagging against you the more you speak, your bodies two beams upheld by the other. 
“Oh, and the driver called him ‘young master’ at first,” a small grin pulls at your lips at his amused snort, the only sign that he was still awake, “I know. I told him right away not… not to call him that. I knew you’d hate that”.
His muscles tense then as an intrusive knock reverberates throughout the room, a white knuckled grip on your hand at the interruption. The doctor from before steps into the threshold and is followed closely by one of the guards, eight eyes blinking simultaneously as she takes in the scene, her expression unreadable. 
“Your allotted time for visitation is up,” she says, her voice softer than before and perhaps even tinted with regret, “I’ll give you a few moments to say goodbye and notify your driver”. 
A part of you wishes that the wordless goodbye you gave back at the hospital by the hyacinth beds had been your last, because this time around it is impossibly harder. If his expression is anything to go by you think, if he could, Touya would freeze your hands together in an eternal block of ice. 
“Touya,” he begrudgingly meets your gaze, “what happened to you was undoubtedly a tragedy. Still you— you hurt people, and you need to accept that. I’m not going to tell you to forgive anyone, you don’t have to, but…”
You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his “…even if others can’t, I want you to forgive yourself”.
“For who I was or for who I wasn’t?” he mutters, so close you can see the stray white stripes in his eyelashes. The doctor clears her throat quietly where she lingers by the door, and so you get to your feet. His throat bobs as he swallows, expression suddenly pleading as you let him go, and you take his face between your hands. 
His cheeks are rough, the sore skin raised under the pads of your thumb. “For all of it,” you say. 
You’d always thought that love didn’t need to be so complicated. Sometimes it was as simple as I see you, and I understand you. Sometimes it was dirtying your hands to make their life a little easier. Sometimes it simply took the form of an illusion, and all you needed was for someone to point out the tangled lines, the true image irreversibly seen. 
“We love you. If that means anything to you, then take advantage of this second chance and let yourself be better”. 
Afraid of testing their patience, you step away from the bed, heading towards the door where your guide awaits. While only four strides, it feels like a lifetime, and you find yourself dragging your feet to stall for time. The thought of leaving him here made your stomach sink, an invisible magnetism tied to your spine and begging you to turn around. 
You startle as the guard suddenly steps forward, recounting Touya’s patient number with warning, but the doctor holds her hand out to settle him. You’re tugged back against a firm chest, familiar if not for the deathly temperature, arms circling firmly around your waist. 
Their presence falls away as he kisses you, and the sensation is new. No awkward angle, no need to be aware of his sutures, no copper tang left on your tongue as you pull back. Once, twice, and thrice — Touya kisses you without regard for time he was wasting, for the people who were waiting to take you home, and you give him every extra second you have. 
“Tell Kaiyo I’ll be out by the time he starts his training at JAXA,” he murmurs. You laugh wetly, finally forced to take your leave. 
“Better make that ten years sooner, you hear me?” 
The door begins to shut behind you and he’s crying again, eyes dry as he calls out to you.
“No promises!”
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Lost - Chapter One
Next Chapter
- Group: Stray Kids
- Reader doesn’t not have a name!
- All members will appear in this fanfiction! Do not worry.
- Minors do not interact. This fanfiction will have graphic depictions of violence and other adult situations. This is also a mixed fiction of Apocalypse and Hybrid AUs. The reader in this fanfiction is a Female and therefore has female pronouns. 
Tagged: neohyxn
- I have not invested myself in fanfiction writing in quite a while so I’m very nervous about this...but I hope you enjoy.
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    🕸️   It took everything in her body to not trip over the cracks in the pavement outside of her apartment building; her throat burning from both the cold and the amount of breathing she was doing as she raced towards the door.
Hands shaking as she struggled with the rusty lock, her ears pricked upward at the noise of a blood-chilling shriek, and she knew that they had spotted her again.
She was getting sloppy on her supply runs and even though she knew this, she wasn’t exactly known for having the best balance even standing still, let alone grabbing supplies from the blood-stained shops.
Letting out a small cry of relief, the door finally came unstuck, and she slammed the door shut; turning around just in time to see a small group of people slam their bodies into the thick glass door.
Their eyes bloodshot, their mouths always open and drooling, all of them agile despite whatever their human health state was like.  
“Fucking arseholes,” she whispered as she tried to ignore the groaning and the screaming that was just behind a single glass door.
Dashing up the stairs, she kept her apartment key ready in her hand, anything to just be a little safer that much quicker.
“I am alive,” she called out, her breath halting for a few seconds as silence followed her announcement.
“You sound terrified,”  
The deep voice made her flinch and she turned to see her best friend sitting up on his elbows, his eyes narrowing on her face and taking in her shaken form.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” he jumped over the back of the sofa and quickly gathered her up in his arms, “safety in numbers,” he added pulling back so he could look her in the eyes.
“Felix, you were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you up,” she replied feeling a little bashful under his gaze, “it’s been so long since you had a good night's sleep and I’m not going to wake you up for every supply run just because you think you’re okay when you clearly aren’t,”  
She pouted when Felix chuckled and pet the top of her head with affection, enjoying the softness of her Dalmatian ears.
“You’re right,” he agreed surprising her quite a bit and she tilted her head to the side; the two of them making their way to the seating area, “lay with me?”  
Felix helped her move the heavy backpack she was carrying and held his arms out to her, knowing fully well that she would never be able to refuse such an action.
“Evil,” she mumbled before quickly joining him on the sofa, head buried in his chest as a blanket was thrown over them.
“Maybe so but you love me,” he giggled at the scoff that was replied and he squeezed the hybrid just a little bit more out of sheer love for her, “I’m glad you’re safe,” he added quietly as he heard a loud scream coming from a floor above them.
Must be Miss Lorn’s boyfriend...finally turned Felix thought with a shudder as the screaming continued a little more before it slowly became quiet with a loud gurgling.
“Me too,” she whispered gripping the fabric of his shirt for comfort, “maybe...maybe we should barricade the door today,” she added upon hearing the rather disturbing scrambling of hands scratching at the floorboards from above.
“I’m on it,”
                                    ‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
Even though the world had gone to shit, the internet seemed to still be working.
Only on select days of the month it seemed but working none-the-less.
Felix had been trying to get in contact with his best friends ever since things really started to go downhill; she could see his heart breaking every time the phone calls cut short or when they simply weren’t even working.
She had only met one of Felix’s friends and that was a man called Han Jisung.
An introverted man who was shy and anxious a lot of the time but bloomed the second he was comfortable with you.
She always had had a soft spot for Han and had enjoyed his company very much whenever he’d visited Felix, the two men extremely close thanks to their birthdays being one day apart.
She had assumed that Han would’ve been the first one he would try to get in touch with but apparently there was another man from Australia that he was the closest too.  
“Still nothing?” she asked quietly as she eyed Felix, who was leant over his laptop with a very exhausted expression on his lovely face, “Lix?” she pushed gently when silence followed her question, and he looked up slowly with a sad shake of his head.  
“I don’t even know if they’re safe,” he whispered trying his very best not to cry, “Channie-hyung is tough but his kindness is the thing that will get him in trouble...people will take advantage,” he closed his laptop and rubbed his face harshly; leaving red marks on himself.
“Minho-hyung is tough and no nonsense, but playful and kind...I guess he’ll be the one who would be around the longest,” Felix picked at his nails, and she knew that he was just talking to vent out his anxiety; so, she stayed quiet and nodded, “Changbin-hyung and Hyunjin-hyung live together, so I think they’ll be alright but Changbin is loud and a hot-head sometimes,” he pulled at his thick brown locks, “Hannie....” he seemed to be particularly stressed when talking about the slightly older man.
“Hannie is smart, and I think his anxiety benefits him...he’s not that great with social situations unless we’re with him so I think...I think he’ll be hiding in his home or with Channie-hyung...they’re super close,” he took a deep breath and turned to look at her for the first time since his ramble.
“Seungie and Jeongin are the youngest of our friendship group but I believe that they are together, I hope they’re together,” he whispered, “I believe they’ll be okay but they get overwhelmed easily and I just don’t know what to do!” he finally broke down in tears and she rushed towards him; pulling him into her chest and stroking his hair as he sobbed into shirt, gripping the back of it so hard she thought it would rip.
“I will help you find them,” she squeezed him tightly and kissed his forehead when he eventually looked up, “I will find them,” she knew it was giving him false hope, but she couldn’t stand to see the utter distress upon his face.
“I don’t want them to be hurt,” he whimpered as his face turned a bright shade of red due to his crying, “I love them,” he bit his bottom lip nervously before smiling ever so slightly when she bumped her head against his affectionately.  
“I know you do,” she replied looking at the front door at the sudden sound of screeching, which caused them both to bolt towards said door just in case they had to hold it shut once again.
“How are they still in the building?” Felix shook his head, voice still wrecked because of his crying.
“I don’t know, I thought I had gotten rid of them all on this floor,” she eyed the peephole and felt her stomach drop at the sight of them running down the halls; clearly on the scent of something and she hoped it wasn’t one of the poor pets in the other apartments.
“Might be newbies,” Felix sighed heavily, “I still think it’s to do with the water around here,” he added making her shrug.
“Could be, I haven’t been using any water for drinking that didn’t come out of a bottle,” she confessed, “bad for the planet but so is this virus,” she continued making Felix laugh.
“Same here,” he confessed as they moved away from the door and back towards his bedroom; shutting the door behind them.
A rule the two of them had come up with in case their front door was knocked down during the night, they would still have a barrier between them and the zombies.
Sleeping together was also another safety rule they’d made as they’d be able to 1. hold the door better with two and 2. have more chances to fight the zombies off if, God forbid, they got in.
Plus, they were just scared to be by themselves.
“Have you tried to call them?” she moved to his side on the bed and cuddled up with her arms locked around one of his, chin on his shoulder.
“I think using phones is going to be pointless,” he puffed a big sigh out, “fucking thing hasn’t been able to connect a call in about,” he paused, “three-four weeks,”  
This news came as a surprise to her as Felix hadn’t even mentioned this to her.
“Three-four weeks?!” she gasped, and he nodded, “oh Felix,” she almost cooed at his saddened expression, her fingers gently brushing his hair from his face so she could look at his dark brown eyes.
He, in turn, looked back at her feeling quite hopeless, his head pushing forward so their foreheads were together.
“I have you,” he whispered closing his eyes, “so it’s not all bad,” he felt his face flush red at the sudden confession, and he moved away from her, eyes darting to the grey carpet of his room.
There was a short silence that followed his statement.
She would be lying if she hadn’t picked up on a weird atmosphere surrounding the two of them lately; not that she hated the feeling, but it was just a little strange.  
Felix was always a touchy person; often pulling her into cuddles for most of the day or just petting her ears as she curled up beside him, kissing her forehead or cheek whenever he felt particularly soft.
But recently the cuddles had become longer and tighter, the kisses had become more frequent, and his lips lingered.
Even she had become aware that she was also being a lot more affectionate with Felix; even brave enough now to kiss him back on several occasions.
She considered the man a forever packmate, even though she didn’t have a pack in the first place.
Maybe she was confusing simple pack-love with romantic love? She wasn’t too knowledgeable about Hybrid pack lives, having been brought up with a Human family since birth.
Shaking her head furiously, startling Felix in the process, she cleared her throat and threw herself down onto the bed, pulling the covers over her body.
“We should get some rest, we need to go on another supply run soon,” she faked a yawn and made sure to face away from him as she tried to figure her thoughts out but still pushed backwards as Felix joined her, arm thrown around her waist protectively.
It was annoying that her tail was wagging.
Fucking traitor!
198 notes · View notes
redwolfxx · 7 months
Text
Memories
next
James/DG x reader
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tags: angst
------------------------------------------------------------
                                "Diego"
You had grown up together, inseparable. You would study together, you would train together. You would watch shows together and be little delinquents together. You would skip class to watch Diego (Dora's, in your opinion, much cooler cousin) and snack on whatever you raided out of the kitchen. You practically lived together with how often you hung out together. You were best friends, almost siblings, but you couldn't be.
After all, you can't look at a sibling the way you saw him.
He was always there for you. Late nights when you would be stressing over homework he would sneak in and bring you food. He would then help you with your schoolwork and then hangout with you before leaving for the night. Your parents loved him, he was so kind and polite to them.
You, like him were an amazing fighter. You would spar together, the score was often left uncounted due to the closeness of each match.
He knew you so well and you knew him like the back of your hands. You could just look at each other and know exactly what the other was thinking. Two peas in a pod. Nothing would get between you
Except everything did.
High school. Although you went to the high school you were both so different. Your grades were above average but they weren't like his, you weren't as good as him in school. But, you weren't complaining, especially if your struggle meant more time with him after school.
Popularity wise, you were different. You were both known for your looks, however you both had very different personalities in school.
You would sit in the back by the window, daydreaming of all the things you would rather be doing than listening to the teacher ramble about his wife who left him because he was, and I quote "too ugly to even be in the same room with." Which, was sadly an accurate statement. Your popularity was more of the "mysterious" (girl/guy/etc) at the back of the room that people would talk to if they weren't afraid.
James on the other hand was popular, girls loved him, guys wanted to be him. He was the school's golden child. Perfect grades. Fast track times. Amazing charisma. And a heart of gold.
At least that was during school hours. After school though, you were both very different.
You were the kind (girl/guy/etc) who the grandmothers loved and asked if you had a significant other. You would feed stray cats, you would play with neighborhood kids. But more importantly you were the reason why thugs avoided your neighborhood.
James was the kind of guy who did his homework during class, or occasionally asked others to do it for him (after all who wouldn't want to do his homework, who can say no to that smile?). He would hang out behind buildings with other friends (read: wannabes) who would smoke and basically act like gangsters. After an hour or two he would go meet up with Charles Choi and discuss plans for the future. When he wasn't doing any of that he was starting fights with other crews for extra sparing practice. He loved fighting, but his fights consumed his life. He started seeing you less.
When he did have free time he would spend it with his girlfriend if the week from his school making out in the hallway bathrooms.
Some wondered why the two of you never were a thing, especially with how close you were - used to be.
----
It was a New Years Eve Party, it was at one of your "friend's" houses. She was nice, rich, and probably thought that being nice to you meant James would like her more. Anyway, it had been a few hours since you had arrived and the balcony started feeling like a good idea to get away from all the noise, sex, and smells.
You walked out and took in the nice warm air, a cooler breeze running through your hair every now and then. As you watched the streets of people below the penthouse you didn't notice the presence next to you. With a flick of a lighter and the smell of smoke, your concentration was broken bringing you to focus on the new presence beside you. James.
"Hey, haven't seen you much." You say, breaking the silence.
"Yeah well you seem to avoid me these days" He responds carelessly.
"It's not you I'm avoiding, but that crowd you surround yourself with. Anyway, when did you start smoking?" You ask.
"When did you care so much?" He snaps back, returning the two of you to a silent tension.
The silence enveloped the two of you as you looked into each others eyes, the sounds of the city below you and the party behind you two.
"I've missed you." You finally breathe out.
"Yeah, me too." He says, his warm eyes giving you a once over.
You both return your gazes to the city below watching the city lights go dark as the buildings all light up with the same numbers.
"The year is already over and I haven't even  completed my New Years Resolution from earlier this year." He says, sneaking a glance over at you.
"Well you still have 5 seconds left it seems." You say, still glancing at the city below.
Before you know it he's turned you so your facing him. Eyes looking deep into one another's. Without warning he drops his cigarette crushing it beneath his foot and grabs your waist pulling you into him.
Surprised you gasp, your gasp is met with a passionate kiss as the city breaks into noise announcing the New Year. Fireworks burst to your side announcing the arrival of the New Year.
You break for air and ask, "Why?"
"I always complete my resolutions." He smirks back.
Your face blushes a deep red as you avoid his sharp gaze. He grabs your face and pulls you to look at him.
"Do you want to know what my resolution for last year was?" He asks softly.
"What?"
"To kiss you."
This time his ears turn a soft pink shade.
You laugh at his sudden embarrassment and lean into him. Your head on his chest and arms around his neck with his arms around your waist. His head rests on your head as you watch the fireworks.
"Will you go out with me?"
"No."
"What?" He pulls away slightly, surprised.
"I'm not a one week fling, I'm not two week fling. I have feelings and a heart and I can't bear to be with you if you leave at the drop of a hat." You say, pulling away.
"No, no. I would never do that to you. Do you understand how much I love you. I've loved you for years. I promise I'd never hurt you. Never"
"Promise?"
"Promise. Will you go out with me forever?"
You laugh at his rewording, "Yes."
----
It had been almost a year since he had asked that. You'd been dating for a while now. It was almost the same as the friendship you had before with the exception of you seeing him more often and the physical contact.
Each night, however, he would start coming home later and later. Mumbling about a plan and leaving. Being the middle of the night you forget by the morning to ask him. After all he promised he would never leave. So what did you have to worry about?
You had been on countless dates. Amusement parks, fancy restaurants, and more. He was so kind to you, so good to you. He would buy you gifts and would never accept any gift you gave in return saying he was buying your love an affection and not to spend money on someone like him. You would always reassure him that nothing was wrong with him.
Over time he would start developing your habits and you would correct his. Always replacing his cigarettes with lollipops. Although he grumbled about it aloud, he always felt warm inside at the sight.
You both loved each other so much. You believed nothing would ever stop a relationship this amazing.
One day he disappeared. No note, no message, no call, no goodbye. He just left.
No one knew where he was, he was gone. As if he never existed to begin with. The only records of him were the photos on your wall and the pain in your heart.
And with that, he was gone. He left your heart shattered. He left you alone, with no trace of him to love.
He left you broken, destroyed, abandoned. Your heart filled with sadness which developed into anger. Over the following years you would love again, but never the same, no one was him. No one loved you like him.
Your anguish would fade and you would distract yourself with work, and when you weren't working you would watch videos of kpop idols. Although one in particular stood out to you, familiar almost, but with no reason as to why. It would never be him, he always complained of the color pink, "it's blinding" he would whine as he would cover his eyes as you laughed at him.
Pink hair must be popular, there is always a pink haired customer who arrives before your shift and leaves around the same time you get off everyday, his eyes a familiar brown. But still distant.
One day he would give you his number asking you to call him one day. You never saw his face and you were cautious of strangers so you thanked him and threw it out after his back had turned.
You would later discover a new message in your phone from a"Diego."
"Can we talk?"
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koisuko · 11 days
Note
Could I request reader as a cat, but with the mk 1 girls?
Absolutely! (Forgive me this is long overdue and has been sitting in my drafts, im slowly losing my passion and motivation for mk1 content im sorry jehfjsjf)
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Pov: You are a cat (pt4)
how the mk1 characters react to you as a stray cat, one with an oddly familiar/fitting name
part 1, part 2, part 3, bonus
Tw: none, gn, platonic, kitty cat
Ft: Mileena, Kitana, Sindel, Li Mei, Tanya
Mileena
Ever since her mother past, even if her soul was safe with her father, she found it hard to find the time to grieve. It wasn’t the same, not being able to speak to her, hug her, learn from her. And now, the newly passed duties of empress was thrown on her by circumstance, taking up nearly her entire day.
When in the solace of her room, hidden away from prying eyes, even for just a moment, she would let a tear slip down her cheek. All the inner turmoil collected into that single drop, and staining the silky case of her pillow.
All the struggle was slowly healed when you came along, trotting happily into the castle with your tail held high. You were a stray, with your once soft black fur now dirty and matted. She took pity on you, feeling the need to care for you tugging at the strings of her aching heart. And so she did, finding an almost therapeutic rhythm when brushing your shiny coat. Upon finding the small tag dangling on your neck, she was baffled to see it read ‘Tanya’. She almost giggled at it, such a bizarre coincidence to find a gentle companion with the same name as her lover.
During the nights, when the peace and quiet is a luxury earned, she lays on her satin sheets in deep thought. You, her new found friend, curled into a small ball against her side. Your purrs vibrate through her waist, bringing out a soft sigh of content from her lips. “Thank you, Tanya,” she whispered, “you’ve done a wonderful job fending off the sadness that plagues me.” She gently stroked your back, reaching up to scratch behind your ears. Both of you, at peace even for a moment, slipped into a dreamless slumber.
Kitana
It was hard watching her sister, watching her lack the time to grieve, watching her suffer in silence and create a fake facade of happiness in front of the people. Kitana wasn’t as high status as her, so she could afford just a little time alone, something she was grateful for. If she could, she would take her place, even for a moment to allow her some freedom.
Even with the time she had, she still missed her mother greatly. It was too early, unnatural even for her mother to be gone. She almost felt lost, lacking her mother’s usual guidance and watchful eye was akin to a motherless fawn.
It had been a normal day, tending to duties, but a particularly sad day. A day filled with heavy sorrow, the stages of grief hitting Kitana like a train. Her sister is busy, tending to duties as a new empress, and this left her feeling empty and alone. Never the less, she kept a neutral expression through out the day, even a small smile for the cherry on top.
But as night came, she’d sit out in the courtyard, here eyes to the stars above. She’d whisper to the night sky, one prayer at a time, for the safety of her family and the palace. A sudden rustle of a nearby bush breaks her from her thoughts. She approaches with a perplexed expression, “who’s there?” No answer, instead, the bushes rustle once more in response. Kitana took another step closer, cautious and ready, her heart slightly racing with impending adrenaline. To her surprise, a small fluffy feline emerged from the shrubbery, tilting its head in her direction.
“Mreow,” you purred, a simple human translation to a hello. She lowered her stance, relaxing at the sight of you, “hello little one,” she cooed. You chirped in response, trotting over to rub against her legs, looking up with your big adorable eyes. She giggled, there is simply no resisting the pleading gaze of a friendly feline. As if she read your mind, she gingerly scooped you up into her arms, cradling you close to her chest. While doing so, her fingers grazed the hem of your collar, causing her to retract for a moment in surprise. When looking closer, the collar read ‘Sindel’ in a intricate cursive engraving. She gently traced the letters with her fingers, as if committing it to memory. Her eyes welled with tears, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She sniffled, nuzzling her face into your fur with a sigh, “I miss you, mother.”
Sindel
To be reunited with her husband was one thing, but to be inside his body as a spirit was another. Death wasn’t at all as expected, she felt the cold sensation and loss of feeling that came with it, but did not go to some whimsical after life. Considering the death of the forest of souls, there was no going there. A shame, really, she wanted to experience it for herself. But, considering she was with her husband once more, it felt safer than the forest.
The best she could describe it would be, feeling whole again, realizing a part of her that she was missing. She felt a strange connection between her and the other spirits there, as if a cord interlocked them at the core. Every feeling, every thought, it was all shared between them as a collective. Negativity didn’t exist, all the fear and longing she once felt, was gone now.
There was a place where everyone was a physical, walking around in a blank plane of white and fog. This is where she could be with her husband, reunited once again in pure bliss. The area was endless, even if you chose to walk continuously, you would never reach an end.
Sindel sat near the edge of the group, waiting for her husband to return once again. She looked off into the endless pool of white, deep in thought. She could see the memories of her past life, memories of her children, husband, and the kingdom. All the memories skimming over her brain like a slide show, all the way up to her untimely death. Reaching down, she gingerly caressed the wound where the katana had struck and killed her. She could remember the look of dread and sorrow on her daughter’s face, but proud was the only thing she could feel. Sindel could see the progress Mileena and Kitana have made through Jared’s eyes, and regardless if she could tell them or not, she was beyond overjoyed.
A sudden presence beside her lured her out of her trance. When she looked, she was surprised to see you, the spirit of a small house cat. It was unusual to see animals here, but never has it been unwelcome. Perhaps the others have not noticed you, as usually they would flock to an animal newcomer. She smiled down at you, admiring the beauty of your coat while you groom your paw in silence. You turned your head in response, looking up at her with one big eye, the other closed off as a token of your past life. You could sense that she was waiting, and decided to keep her company. You stood, stretching your back before trotting over to her. You didn’t hesitate, making yourself right at home on Sindel’s lap. There was no protest from her, instead, she placed a gentle hand on your back and stroked her fingers through your fur. It had been quite some time since you had been pet, your past life lacking the love and care you craved so much. If only Sindel had found you when you both were alive, she would surely take you in as her own. She scratched the top of your head, eliciting a soft purr of satisfaction from you. Sindel continued to wait for her husband, watching memories flow by, but this time with a new friend.
Li Mei
Li Mei practically watched Sindel’s daughters grow up from small infants to young women. She nearly felt her eyes well with tears, watching the coronation of Mileena through blurred eyes. Even if she gained the role through circumstance, she was still unbelievable proud.
It was unfortunate, downright depressing, losing the best friend she had just got back. After years of pleading with Sindel, working so hard to regain her trust after Jared’s passing, she had finally rebuilt the bond once broken. Only for the untimely death of her best friend, regaining her best friend’s husband in her place. Although, it was a relief to learn from Jared that she had safe passage to an afterlife of some sort. And, she was happy to hear that they were reunited, even if it was through failed dark magic.
After her promotion for her heroic acts, she felt alone and home sick. She felt wrong in the place as chief of imperial police, missing the streets of Sun Do where she kept peace for so many years. Now, she sat in her office as a newly reinstated first constable, mindlessly dragging the pen across parchment. She had taken up journaling, a simple way to vent out the everyday frustrations of police work, and to pass time on off days where crime was minimal. Paperwork from the days criminals had stacked neatly in the corner of the desk, a small lamp hovered over the various journal papers. She sighed, setting the pen down and leaning back in her seat. Stretching her back with a satisfying pop before making way to the exit of her office.
A sudden shrill shriek startled Li Mei, nearly sounding like a child screaming for help. At this time of night? She swiftly ran to a nearby alleyway where she was surprised to see the source of the sound was a cat fight between strays. One was much larger, covered in fluffy orange fur, and the other a small and scrawny brown tabby. The smaller one let out a meek hiss, while the larger one raised a paw ready to strike. You bolted behind Li Mei’s leg, having accidentally stumbled into the territory of a large Tom cat. He was aggressive, fiercely defending his home and potential breeding area, to which you wanted no part of and simply made your way here by curiosity alone. As the Tom cat made an attempt to run towards you, Li Mei stomped her foot, “hey! Quit the scuffle.” The Tom cat hesitated at first, giving you one last hiss before running back through the alley where it came from. Li Mei brought her attention to the small tabby hidden behind her, lowering to crouch beside you, “quite the predicament you got yourself into hm?” She brought her hand to your eye level, to which you gave it a gentle sniff. Paper, ink, and a small amount of roast lingered on her skin, remnants of her lunch eliciting a heavy pang in your stomach. “Are you hungry?” She frowned, studying the current state of your boney ribs and dirtied fur. You meowed, your eyes large in a pitiful beg for a scrap of satiation. She smiled, scooping you up in her arms, “let’s get some dinner in you little one,” walking back into the headquarters. She felt a strange fabric on your neck, the dirt covering making it nearly impossible to notice at first. Attached to it, was a small metal heart, rusted and covered in mud. Upon wiping it with her thumb, the words on it read “umgadi”. She giggled, “my past comes back to me.” From then on, you made several returns to her for food and protection, until eventually, you were adopted by her with open arms.
Tanya
When she wasn’t with Mileena, majority of her time was occupied by the duties of leader of the Umgadi. Being at such a high rank, and rebuilding the Umgadi from the ground up to be reformed from a few rotten apples, had kept her a very busy woman. Tanya made sure to thoroughly wring out every pupil to keep out the rats who conspire against both the Umgadi principles, and the kingdom itself.
Tanya stride down the hallways of the palace, her heels clicking against the pristine floors of the Umgadi barracks. She held an air of confidence, her head held high and eyes straight ahead. She smiled as the gentle snores of her sisters reached her ears, the peaceful sound of slumber fading slightly with every step. She had an objective in mind, her feet carrying her to the palace gardens where her lover waits.
Upon arriving, just at the entrance, two small cats walked side by side with their tails wrapped over each other. They seemed so peaceful, enjoying each other’s company under the starlit sky. She hadn’t meant to intrude, but once noticed by the two felines, one had bolted into a nearby hedge. The one remaining, a small calico, had looked at her with curiosity. You did not run, instead, you sat right where you were, to convey that you were not afraid. Tanya smiled, lowering herself to a crouch and reaching a hand in your direction, “it’s alright, I won’t harm you.” You sniffed the air, catching a whiff of her scent, the smell akin to a sunlit field of flowers with a hint of honey. You slowly approached, your neck elongated to sniff her outstretched hand without risking too much. She smiled, tilting her head with curiosity, “what’s your name, little one?” You lifted your head, just enough for her to catch a glimpse of a name on your collar. It read, “Mileena”. She smirked at the engraving, “what a beautiful name.”
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royalvelvette · 16 days
Text
dumpster diving for a girlfriend
Read on AO3
Rating: Mature
Characters: Vaggie, Charlie Morningstar, Razzle, Dazzle Minor Appearances: Adam, Lute
Warnings: Aftermath of Injury, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-con
Vaggie is… not doing great in this one. Her first POV scene contains a sentence that could be interpreted as her wanting to die (it's the last one), and her second contains explicit discussion of the fact she expected to die right at the beginning.
The Threats of Rape/Non-con tag is because Vaggie assumes that's why a demon saved her. It's kept intentionally vague and is a false assumption, but it is there.
I do recommend reading this one on Ao3 (link) due to better filtering capabilities wrt format if those subjects are triggering.
Word Count: 1398
Every staggering step sends another bolt of white-hot pain through Vaggie’s back. Taking her uniform off had been the smartest call – but did it ever hurt, peeling it off – even with her casual clothes underneath, the exorcist uniforms were designed to be skin tight. But she had to get out of the streets. The other exorcists had returned to Heaven, and sinners were beginning to emerge.
As she was now, Vaggie was easy pickings.
(Lute, towering above her, sinful filth-
It was a child – just a boy, not even past her hip-
Adam, taking her halo; better not get found by another sinner, Vaggie – always with the soft ‘g’ but at least he used her name-
shehatedthemshehatedthemshelovedthemdontleavemepleasepleasepleaseimsorry)
She stumbled, half blind, down the alley – her centre of gravity was all wrong, her wings were gone, fuck – her hand caught a dumpster, and she used it to lower herself to the filthy ground (perfect for filthy sinners like her), trying not to aggravate her wounds into bleeding again. What was left of her vision was fading in and out with the beat of her heart. Vaggie let her good eye drift shut.
Sinners were meant to die on Extermination Day, after all.
Charlie’s feet hurt. They always did, in the hours, days after the exorcist army retreated until the next year. But she couldn’t rest, not yet – there were entire swathes of the city she hadn’t been to yet, more possibly-injured-but-not-dead (there were less and less of them, more just dead, but she had to hope. She had to.) she could help. So what if her feet hurt? So what if her side was bleeding sluggishly where a stray bullet from a territory dispute hit her? So what if she hadn’t slept in nearly two days? She needed to help her people.
(Maybe this year, someone might even say thank you, instead of growling at her to fuck off. Maybe.)
She ducked down an alley to avoid one of the ever-growing fights. This alley had two exits, thank fuck, because she probably wouldn’t be able to go back the way she came unless she felt like waiting for a couple hours. She’d just have to double back after, check the main streets this alley cut her off from once the fighting died back down to pre-extermination levels.
(Why did they have to fight now, when so many dead sinners were still lining the streets? Couldn’t they at least wait for friends and families to recover the bodies of their loved ones? Or at least until the cannibals had cleared the worst of it...?)
Her eyes caught on something as she came closer to the corner of the alley. Something was against the dumpster – no, not something. Someone. Charlie rushed over, already reaching out to feel for a pulse. As she did so, though, the sinner’s eye fluttered open (fuck, fuck, the other one was missing, and it didn’t look like it was supposed to be). She flinched back from Charlie’s hand, but Charlie didn’t notice – she was already digging through her pockets for her bandage wrap. That missing eye looked recent.
It would probably scar. She could only hope it didn’t become a defining feature, like some sinners scars did. Bandage wrap in hand, Charlie reached towards the sinners face – hesitating for just a second when she flinched. But her socket needed to be protected – an infection wouldn’t kill her; never did, but it would be really fucking unpleasant.
Charlie murmured an apology under her breath and pressed forward. It only took a couple minutes to wrap the socket; two minutes of the sinner holding stiff like Charlie was about to snap her neck.
(If Charlie were anyone else, she probably would have.)
Work done, Charlie rocked back on her knees, taking a good look at the sinner for the first time since she had noticed her. Her first thought was,
Whoa, she’s really fucking pretty,
Which... wasn’t helpful. Her second thought, whoa, she’s about to yak, was slightly moreso, in that it let her get mostly out of the way in time as stomach acid splattered the ground (and the bottoms of her pants) where she had been just a moment ago. The sinner heaved, once, twice, before it faded to a truly awful sounding cough. Charlie reached over the vomit, rubbing her hand against the sinner’s shoulders.
She wasn’t expecting the sinner to scream and proceed to pass the fuck out.
Shit.
Vaggie was confused when she woke up again. Partly because she hadn’t expected to wake up – she vaguely remembered a demon approaching from the end of the alley not halfway blocked with trash cans; partly because she woke up somewhere different than she remembered being. Vaggie grabbed her spear (which was leaning against the bed she was in, for some reason – maybe the demon thought she’d be out longer?) and used it to get out of bed.
The movement sent searing pain through her back, but she wasn’t going to just... lay there helplessly. Not in a demon’s bedroom. Not when the only reason a demon would have saved her was...
... not important. Setting an ambush was.
There wasn’t anywhere to hide in the room itself – there were three doors (shit, this demon came from power, shitfuck), but barely any furniture except the bed and a desk covered in paper. If she knew how much time she had before the demon returned, Vaggie would investigate – anything to give her an advantage, that might save her – but there was humming coming her way from one of the doors.
Vaggie dropped, crawling under the bed, spear and all. She bit her lip harshly to keep herself from screaming – everything hurt.
The door she could still see opened. She heard the demon – female? - say something, but couldn’t make out the words over the ringing in her ears. She gripped her spear tighter. She had one shot at this – she had to make it count.
Charlie opened the door to her bedroom (all the other rooms were cobweb infested messes), humming. Razzle and Dazzle followed behind, Razzle with a bowl of broth, Dazzle with a tray holding a glass of water and painkillers. A stone dropped into her stomach when she saw the bed empty, and the angelic spear gone.
Oh, no, she thought. “Oh, no,” she said.
Razzle and Dazzle set their loads on her desk, each already flying to one of the other doors to check the closet and ensuite. Charlie watched, anxiously – if the sinner had left in the condition she was in, there was no way she would survive the territory disputes. She had to still be here.
Please, please let her still be here; let Charlie have not failed one more of her people.
Razzle emerged from the closet first, shaking his head. Charlie offered him a wan smile, holding out her hand for him. Razzle flew over quickly, eagerly accepting his chin scritches. Dazzle came out of the ensuite then, braying a negative as he flew over.
Charlie sighed. “Thanks, guys,” she said, bonking her head first against Dazzle’s, then Razzle’s. “You can go back to cleaning this place up.”
Razzle made an inquisitive sound, nudging against her hand.
“I’ll be okay,” Charlie said, trying not to let her voice shake. “I just... need a nap.”
Dazzle churred in the back of his throat, tugging at her hair.
“It’s okay,” she said again. “I’m just gonna nap before going back out... I couldn’t help her, but there’ll be more sinners out there. I’ll help them.”
Neither Razzle nor Dazzle looked like the believed her – why would they, she could feel her eyes begging to overflow and it was tricky speaking past the lump in her throat – but they finally left the room. Charlie sighed again as the door closed behind them before turning and walking over to the bed.
Only to stagger back, cursing, as the angelic spear darted out from the space underneath and stabbed her shin. Charlie fell onto her butt, still cursing – the sinner emerged from where they had been hiding under her bed (she hadn’t failed, she hadn’t failed, she could still help-), brandishing the spear towards her.
Charlie stared up at the sinner in front of her, holding one of the only things in Hell that could actually hurt her, and all she could think was.
Oh.
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redstringraven · 12 days
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Amber & Blood
characters: traximus and nyxram rating: g content warnings: n/a word count: 3061 relevant tags: grief/mourning, post-canon, canon compliant
"Have... you ever done something like this?" When she sends him an inquisitive glance, he continues, "...mourned someone?" Her jaw tightens. He’s seeking companionship. He didn’t want to journey here alone, and he doesn’t want to be alone in grief, either.
---- With the rebellion's success, the New Republic making slow but steady progress toward a better future, Traximus decides it's time to make an important trip. Nyxram accompanies him.
[ read on ao3 ]
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She'd always thought the Trebai Archipelago haunting from a distance.
Scattered pieces of what may have once been a small moon drifted just beyond a significantly larger silver planet, its orbit slow and almost lazy. Long, tangled tendrils of grayed plant root and organic matter kept the dozen 'islands' linked in a cluster. The archipelago's origins predated their history; no one quite had answers for how the system had remained 'one' for so long, and even less answers for how its flora continued to thrive even in vacuum. Spots of vibrant gold, red and teal leaves, flowering white plants--even a 'river' that flowed through and between the islands in twisting figure-eights, unbound to soil.
They’d chosen one of the outer islands to land the shuttle, so it’d be a walk to the piece at the center. Ranzar had fussed--insisted he could easily pilot them further in--but Traximus held firm this was the safer decision. Nyxram knows it’s more than that. She hardly minds. The two of them will make the trek while the crew minds the ship.
She casts a final nod over her shoulder to Grax, who salutes her from the shuttle's ramp, before she walks to Traximus's side. They make their way across the rock toward the first of the thick, winding roots that stretches to the next island across. The gravity should be weaker. Even for their large size, they should float, drift, need to watch their surroundings for stray debris. But the gravity here is strange, too. They walk as though they were on a homeworld vessel.
"You've been here before?" Traximus asks, suddenly, as they step onto the root. His voice is clear over her helmet's receiver; clear enough to catch a stiffness in his tone and exhaustion he’d long been trying to hide. It wasn't the focused, but warm, cadence she'd come to know.
"No," Nyxram answers. "But I've seen it."
Traximus grunts, shifting the satchel over his shoulder--the spear in his hand. "It's beautiful."
"Mn."
They continue across the root and step onto the next island.
Nyxram frowns to herself. He's trying to make idle conversation; distract himself. You're not giving him much to work with. "...why here?"
"What?"
"Why this place?" She clarifies. "What made you choose it?"
"Oh." He shrugs, clearing his throat. "He’d mention it when... when we'd discuss fond memories. --during meals. Suppose it's... as good a place as any. He never brought up family."
"But he had memories of the archipelago?"
"--yes. Traveling. Said he came here to think."
Nyxram's brows rose. "Traveling, then. What did he travel for?"
"...I don't know."
"No?"
"--no." There’s frustration in his voice. Then, something more akin to sorrow. "...No, I. I don't know, he... I guess I never asked." A pause. She saw his head turn to her from the corner of her eye. "Have... you ever done something like this?"
When she sends him an inquisitive glance, he continues, "...mourned someone?"
Her jaw tightens. He’s seeking companionship. He didn’t want to journey here alone, and he doesn’t want to be alone in grief, either.
Nyxram turns ahead, allowing her stride to widen. "Watch your step on the next line up,” she says, “these 'roots' are older than some galaxies. Best not to test them."
Behind her, Traximus sighs. They keep forward.
Somewhere above, a meteor flashes by. A wash of white and silver light blooms over the brownstone, sharpening their shadows and striping the ground in liquid patterns cast from the river. There’s no wind here. No sound. It's something ethereal, like walking through a dream. Their only clues of passing time came from subtle changes in the light or the water’s slow, steady flow.
Traximus doesn’t try to initiate conversation again. Neither does she.
They reach the center island. Roots emerge from various cracks in the stone, curling and tangling across its surface until they join to form the tendrils of material that hold the archipelago together. The water stream curves above and down, arcing the length of the island in a translucent halo that dapples it with flecks of light. Most of the archipelago’s plant-life resides here. She wonders if it houses a larger organism at its center. If all the flora binding the archipelago--blanketing its surface--are merely smaller extensions of one.
Nyxram slows her steps, allowing Traximus to move ahead. She follows him to the base of a mass of roots and flowering stems, just beneath the river’s center. Some of the plants stretch up toward it, as though reaching for a chance that stray droplets might land on their petals and leaves. For a moment they stand, silent.
Traximus steps to the mound. He kneels at its foot, setting the spear to his side and sliding the satchel from his shoulder. There's a painstaking care to his movements as he opens it, as though he feared he may cause a large disturbance by just unpacking. It was… odd. Watching him like this.
In their time together, building and operating the rebellion, she'd seen his usual forms of physical expression. Collected, but never afraid to be loud, assertive, or slam a fist to emphasize a point. He held the attention of a room as easily as he breathed, the trust and respect of those who listened even more so. A commander he was, in near every sense of the word. But here he knelt, moved, with great effort to make himself as small and unremarkable as possible. It felt like something she shouldn't be seeing. Nyxram folds her hands at the small of her back, and she turns her eyes elsewhere.
She watches the slow shift of debris beyond the silver planet’s gravitational reach. On the first island, she can see Zuron has wandered out of their shuttle. His smaller form stands beside Grax, and they seem to be talking. She allows herself to wonder what about.
Maybe the make of the archipelago--the driving force keeping the flora alive and the river on its path; that would interest Zuron. Or plans once they’d returned to homeworld; Grax had made passing remarks--mulling over meals he might make for Xi the next time they'd have dinner together. A long overdue night to themselves. She must be eager to have him for more than the time they spent asleep. The rebellion may have succeeded, but the demands of a new beginning were unending, the work never done. Traximus had barely managed to carve out what time he wanted, needed, for this.
“We didn’t have much.” Traximus’s voice comes through her receiver (the silence, perhaps, has become overwhelming). His tone is cautious, measured, and almost… timid? She didn’t quite have the word to describe it. “After… the arena was cleared out, I tried to search our old cells. His cell. ...I don’t know why; I guess I thought… I thought he may have stored something. --left… something I could find and bring here. But there wasn’t much about that life you’d want to hold onto. Nothing… worth the risk of hiding away.”
“Nothing material,” Nyxram said.
Traximus exhales. “...no.” A small pause. “No. …--but. He preferred the spear. It will do.”
Nyxram frowns, and she turns her head to him.
Traximus stood, the spear now in hand, facing the mound. The hand clenching the spear held it well. A trained, even grip. He’d wrapped a vibrant red cloth around the head of the spear just below where metal and wood connected, secured with a thick golden-threaded rope. Hanging from the center tassel was a single ‘drop’ of amber. Even in the limited light, it shone brilliantly.
“Why the spear?” Nyxram asked.
“Distance,” Traximus answered, “resourcefulness, or a make-shift shield. Sometimes a walking aid if something went wrong. …he preferred to out-last than he did to fight.”
Her brow wrinkled. “How is it that he found himself there, then?”
Traximus remains still, not looking at her. There’s anger in his low tone, searing the words when he speaks, “...sometimes, you just need fodder.”
She remains still and quiet as his open hand curls shut. Watches as it shivers by his side, claws biting through the gloves of his suit, and as his shoulders rise with on held breath. He steadies himself and steps forward.
Traximus places the blunt end of the spear against a fracture in the rock. He takes care to wedge it into place without disturbing surrounding roots, the cloth--without jostling the amber drop. Despite his efforts, his movements are stiff. His hands grip the spear tighter than they need to, and he growls--irritated--when the spear's end slips from its place. But he pauses, seems to steady himself a second time, and tries again. It's a delicate line between too gentle and too rough, and he's struggling to find the balance. Again, the blunt end slips. And again he stills before giving it another try.
The spear takes to the rock this time. Once certain it would stand on its own, he steps back and releases one hand. She waits, patient, but he doesn't release the other.
"Do," he breathes, suddenly (and there’s brittleness in his voice; like the slightest misstep in word choice will break it), "do you... know what it's like? Looking up. And realizing the room is... is cheering because you... because someone you..."
"...Traximus--"
"--do you?"
Sharper. But the veil of anger is gone. There's only pain.
"...no." It's a half-truth. Her room had been two. Not a stadium of hundreds. "I don't."
There's a long pause. She hears him exhale, slow and ragged through the receiver. His fingers adjust around the spear's staff. "You... were there that day. Weren't you?"
She's quiet.
"Up there," he continues, "with him."
She remembers.
"...was it a good show?"
She doesn't answer. She doesn't know how.
Traximus swallows, a strained sound that their comms shouldn't pick up. "He should have won that day."
Something inside her hardens to steel. Whether he's speaking of Tilus or Zanramon, she can't tell. It worries her.
A silence stretches on. Then, only once his hand pries from the spear and drifts back to his side, does he speak again.
“Is it… daft of me to think we owe so much to him? To the turtles, even--to… --that I would never have…”
Nyxram frowns. “You feel their aid lessens what you’ve accomplished?”
“I let myself become a husk of everything I stood for," he said. "I didn't manage to find my way alone. Not like you.”
“You think I found my way alone?” She's surprised when her voice reveals how much his statement offends her. “Traximus. Just as you didn't emerge from your darkness until you met the turtles, I did not emerge from mine until I saw you throw your sword at Michelangelo's feet. --Should I be ashamed of this?”
Traximus pauses. He sighs, a heavy rush of air against the receiver. “I suppose not.”
He lifts the satchel back over his shoulder and adjusts the strap. Nyxram watches as he turns and starts back the way they came. There’s a new weight in his steps. A wilt in his posture that hadn’t been there before. An impulse strikes her--drives her to do--what? …something.
He's just passed her when she turns the word over on her tongue. It’s almost bitter.
“No.”
“Hm?” Traximus stops, turns his head.
Nyxram flexes her fingers. “The answer to your earlier question: …no. I’ve never mourned anyone.” Then, slowly. “...I was never made to think of it that way. …as ‘mourning’. So, I didn’t.”
He blinks, thrown off, and faces her in full. “How were you made to think?”
“A victory. I got to live.”
“...So did I.”
The words are unaccusatory and soft, not meant to be cruel. But they still sting. Nyxram looks away.
“Do you want to?” He asks.
She turns back, almost startled. Traximus opens one arm toward the mound. There’s a carefulness in his expression; a gentleness that bleeds through harsh lines brought by exhaustion and stress. It makes something deep within her ache.
“...it’s,” she hesitates, “…it’s been dozens of cycles, Traximus. Hundreds.”
“You’re suggesting this sort of thing has a time limit?”
“--no,” she says, perhaps quicker than she’d meant. She felt. …she felt disarmed, suddenly. It wasn’t a feeling she liked. “I mean to say I’ve had my chance.”
“...A time limit,” he repeats.
She growls, turning away again. Traximus huffed. For a moment, she thought the topic dropped. Then he asks again, “...do you want to?”
Nyxram tightens her jaw. She looks to him.
Her hand moves on its own, lifting to the knife strapped between her collar and shoulder. A flick of her thumb, and it comes loose from its sheath and slides like liquid into her palm. She pulls it free in a sweep of her arm (a gesture that would surely cause anyone who recognized her name to hold their breath; Traximus remains at ease). She steps forward to stand before the spear and mound.
The knife rotates in her palm. It catches the light, a glint that had been the last so many had seen. But it’s not the fine edges nor expertly crafted metals that hold her attention. It’s a detail no one would think or know to look for.
Her hands had been shaking that morning. The knife was something she’d grow into, and she hadn’t held it right--not like she’d been trained. Her misplaced fingers left room for blood to fall where it shouldn’t--where her future skin would catch it instead. A small section of handle had been exposed. There was one single, thin, strip of blood that she’d been careful to never wash away after all this time.
It wasn’t amber. Quite the opposite, actually.
Where amber could hold once-living things, a once-living thing had held this.
Again, Nyxram rotates the knife. It takes her a moment, but she finds a place between the roots and rock that will cause the least amount of damage. The knife slides into the coils until she feels them thicken, slowing the blade to a stop. Carefully, she lets it go and steps back.
Traximus moves to stand by her side.
“...what was their name?” When Traximus asks, his tone is just as soft as it had been before.
Nyxram shakes her head. “He never received one.” A pause. “Names are for things able to last, and he wasn't. --their. Words, not… not mine.”
She’s not sure why she felt the need to emphasize that.
Traximus hums. “It seems he has.”
Nyxram glances at him before she can think not to.
“Lasted, I mean,” he clarifies. He clears his throat. “You remember him. You… want to mourn him. That's lasting, isn't it?”
She looks back to the knife.
“...could you give him a name?” Again, the question is careful. He’s unsure if he’s treading where he shouldn’t. “You don’t have to.”
Nyxram can only breathe. It feels as though something in her chest is becoming undone. There’s an old emotion, one she’s never had a name for, clawing its way through her every fiber and bringing with it a sense of vulnerability that should be unforgivable. In standing here, in giving up the knife, in admitting she has someone to mourn at all, she is left bare and exposed. She's confused. Panicked?, even. What so many would give to capture her in even the smallest moment of weakness. But Traximus doesn’t strike.
“Thank you,” he says instead, “for coming out here today. Listening to me, even though... even... when I...”
He trails off, rounds to her other side and returns to the spear. “I’ll… --you know how our schedules are. When there's an opportunity to revisit, I will. You’re welcome to join, but there's no need. It's your decision.”
She watches as he reaches out, smoothing down the cloth’s folds, straightening the amber with a tender pinch of his fingers. He rests his palm on the spear’s head, and he goes still. She waits, half-expecting him to say something else, but he doesn't. He turns with a sigh and starts for the shuttle. Nyxram remains where she stands.
She waits until he’s reached the nearest coil of roots before turning her head to the spear. Her hand lifts as she takes a cautious step forward, and a finger taps the button on her helmet that disables her microphone. She refolds her hands at the small of her back.
She remembers that day. Zanramon summoned her back to the arena (remembers thinking it troublesome, annoying, a waste of her time--what twisted views of those soon to die). She remembers seeing the platform lift the two of them to the surface; Traximus, still large and imposing despite limited nutrition, and how much smaller Tilus had appeared by his side, his head only just reaching Traximus's collar. They'd all thought the only opponents that day would be a pack of starved leapers. She should have known by the creeping smirk on Zanramon's lips that they were wrong.
Was it a good show?
No. And made worse in that it was necessary for her. That only in seeing the knife fall--watching Traximus's face grow ghastly, hearing Zanramon laugh--did her eyes finally open and a cold awareness seep into her marrow. It hadn't just been wrong, it'd been monstrous. Abhorrent. She'd retreated to her quarters that night, shaken, disturbed, and ashamed. For cycles, Traximus had voiced his disagreements and concerns with Zanramon's direction, choices, priorities--only to be brushed aside and belittled, and finally enslaved. It shouldn't have taken that to realize that they'd long crossed a line. To realize, for certain, she wanted nothing to do with the old regime.
“...thank you, Tilus.” The softness in her voice surprises her. “You saw him first. Believed in him before the rest of us thought to listen. That was our mistake... one you should not have paid for.”
She extends a hand but stops just short of the spear’s metal. Her fingers close. She lowers her hand to her side and sighs. “...Rest now.”
“Nyxram?” Traximus’s voice comes through her receiver.
She taps the button for her microphone. “Yes, I’m coming.”
She walks to the roots, eyes focused ahead, and falls into step behind him.
He slows until she walks at his side.
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hashira-mal · 2 years
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insecurities {itachi uchiha hc}
HELLO FRIENDS! this was actually the very very first thing i had ever written for the naruto fandom (in my adult phase of writing naruto fanfic). this is a repost from my old account @/mal-the-konohoe.
i honestly loved this post so so so much.
please enjoy!
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headcanon - itachi with an insecure s/o
tag list: @justmyownreality @sixtymillionoverdueideas @rocknrollsoul76 @sneetsnoot @mortyvongola2-0 @therantingfangirl @smutteedreams @mrsbakashi (please let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!)
masterlist
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Of all the people in the world who could possibly make you feel bad about yourself, Itachi Uchiha was dead last on that list. 
Your boyfriend of two years had been nothing but supportive of you and all your dreams since you had met. It probably helped that you both seemed lost in your younger years. Being on the journey of life with someone else was always encouraging. 
He didn’t bat an eye when you told him that he no longer wanted to walk down the shinobi path, in fact, you could almost see some tension release from the boy’s shoulders when you brought it up. It wasn’t that you weren’t strong enough, but your mental and emotional fatigue had gotten worse and worse over the years. 
“We are all meant for something special, love.” was what he told you, not specifying what that ‘something’ was for you, but rather, leaving it open-ended, allowing you to find that dream. 
He was more than pleased when you found out what you wanted to do.
About six months after taking off your leaf village headband you decided to open up a cat cafe, a place to shelter and care for stray cats who you hoped one day would be adopted. 
Itachi was there for the grand opening, and while he wasn’t away on missions he insisted on being your second in command, grooming and feeding all the needy kittens… as well as resisting the urge to adopt all of them himself. 
A small workaround for this was getting his little brother Sasuke to adopt one of the kittens. “Animals are wonderful for companionship and mental health, Sasuke.” He told his brooding brother who was less than excited to house the animal, but who also always took Itachi’s advice to heart. 
Sometimes the conversations weren’t so light-hearted. 
One evening, Itachi came home to find you curled up in your bed, hopelessly gloomy.
Immediately he jumped into action, undressing from his ANBU gear and pulling you to his chest as he rested beside you. 
“What is it, my love? Please talk to me.” 
You sobbed softly, his deep, compassionate voice breaking you in two. 
“I-it’s stupid, Itachi…” You shook your head insistently, finally looking up to meet your boyfriend’s tired gaze. “Y-you just got back from a long mission. We sh-should just rest… I’ll be okay.”
“Anything making my dearest this upset is worth speaking about immediately.” He was stern, but not pushing with his words. Itachi held you tighter, brushing the damp hair out of your face. 
“Fine..” you let out a long sigh. “Some of the girls.. W-we’re talking about you at the cafe and just…” you looked away, feeling more and more stupid the more you spoke. “They were talking about how attractive you are and just how… how much better you could do.” 
You heard Itachi grunt softly, something he did when he wasn’t quite pleased with what he was hearing. 
“My love, if I must, I will tell those girls to never come back to the cafe. I can’t-”
“But what if they’re right, Itachi? There are so many beautiful and strong women in this village. So many are leagues above me… maybe you would be better off..” you trailed off, getting more upset the more you spoke. 
“Stop that.. Please.” Itachi’s lips are on yours for a moment. It isn’t long enough, but it extinguishes your tears shortly. 
“You push me to be more of myself. You push me to be a better man and a better shinobi. Y/N, I have never laid eyes upon someone who I thought was more beautiful or who has made me feel like I am worth this much.” You could almost hear his voice catch. He hadn’t sounded this emotional since he first confessed his love to you. “Those girls... They look at me as if I’m some sort of prey, not as a lover or a companion. They hear my name and think of the legacy and not of me. You have something incredibly important that they do not… You have my heart, Y/N, and there is absolutely no one who can change that. I will be here with you until the end or until you no longer want me.”
This time, you kiss Itachi first and the two of you melt into one another as if it’s your first. 
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tailoroffates · 9 months
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Anxiety Brain Fog and Tips to Defeat it!
Hey-hi! I’m back again to chat about yet another aspect of anxiety!  Anxiety brain fog… Anxiety brain fog can happen when a person is feeling anxious and it causes difficulty thinking clearly/concentrating. It’s common to experience brain fog when dealing with stressful situations, or while an individual experiences high stress in general. So, why does anxiety cause brain fog? Well, it typically happens because anxiety takes up a lot of mental resources. This makes it so people need to use more energy while trying to focus on anything other than that anxiety, which is why it makes it so difficult to concentrate or think clearly.
Symptoms of anxiety brain fog include:
Fatigue
An inability to organize thoughts or activities performed
Feeling confused or “spaced out”
Being easily distracted
Forgetfulness, or a constant loss of your train of thought
Having difficulty finding the right words
Processing thoughts slower than usual
Forgetting about a task you need to complete
Needing more time to complete basic tasks
So basically, anxiety brain fog creates a forgetful mental state affected by your anxiety. The more anxious you get, the harder it becomes to focus. It usually happens when you go to do something that you know makes you anxious, and it makes preparing for that task much harder than it needs to be. There are other causes for anxiety brain fog, meaning things that can make it more likely to affect you. These are:
Neurological conditions, like head injuries or dementia.
Some chronic illnesses
Dehydration, hunger, or vitamin deficiencies
Drugs and alcohol
Certain medications, like chemotherapy or mood stabilizers.
So the gist of the situation is, if it isn’t anxiety induced then you should do your best to take good care of yourself and if that doesn’t help, seek out medical attention that could provide better answers for your condition. Now, since the brain fog is a symptom and not a medical diagnosis there is no treatment for it that I am aware of. Though, managing the anxiety or the conditions causing the brain fog may help. I’m no medical professional or therapist, but as a fellow struggler of anxious tendencies, I happen to have a few tips to help you along the way.
My tips: 1.  Make a checklist and actively run through it before heading out to ensure you don’t stray off track. 2. Try to prepare ahead of time, or leave the things you need near the door where you can see them. Sometimes visual cues can help to re-spark your memory and clear the fog enough to set you back on the right path. 3.  Work on methods to slow or calm your anxiety. Giving your brain less to focus on can help redirect your attention towards what you need, instead of what you’re afraid of or anxious about. The tips I mentioned above are my personal methods of clearing, or at the very least, working through my own anxiety brain fog. I hope this information helps you find your own path to victory VS the foggy brain feels <3 Unfortunately, that’s all I have for you today, but for those of you who have your own tips for working through anxiety brain fog, I’d love to hear about them and how they help you in the comments or tags! Sharing is caring!
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lemeute · 7 months
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fic stat game
rules: give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the fewest words.
tagged by @arafinwes!!
first-most hits: that would be And You Find Some Way to Survive. this fic is from april 2017, at which point I'd been fucked up about Takashi Shirogane from Voltron: Legendary Defender for about six months. unfortunately for him, I needed a character onto whom I could project my feelings about teaching, grad school, and being the only one emotionally responsible for various teenagers. he also had space trauma so this was like. perhaps not very fair to him. but in this fic he doesn't have space trauma yet!! only "my mentee is dealing with a Crisis that I don't have the resources to fix" trauma!!
second-most kudos: fdjksljf apparently Conditional Acceptance, which I think of as a companion fic to the above. more of the teaching projection, less of the Crisis vibes. I think these two are at the top in part because Voltron fandom was so big compared to my other fandoms, and also in part because the specific flavor of gen they are picked up readers on both sides of the Big Ship War
(sneaking in a shoutout to Severance, a Tatooine-centric Star Wars prequel fic which has the third-most kudos, because I'm still fond of it and the oneshot series it's part of, oh rise with me forever)
third-most comments: also a Voltron fic, because when I sort by comments the top sixteen are Voltron. If You Trust Me is abandoned after three chapters, and is also one of the few ship fics I've ever attempted (there may be a correlation). it's an Disney!Aladdin fusion, and I got sucked into writing it because of a stray "cut off your hand for stealing" reference in the movie; Shiro is canonically missing a hand, and I canonically cannot resist a fic idea that? involves amputation????* but despite this bewildering quirk of my personality please do not be alarmed; the fic is cute, what there is of it. my favorite thing about it is that a minor character who goes missing at the start of canon has been transformed by a curse into the flying carpet, and this is also a pun.
(*uh. there is also a prequel to this fic, Try To Try Hard. which is perhaps not so cute.)
fourth-most bookmarks: for a second I thought this was the same fic as above and I was like wow sorry everybody but NO, it just starts with the same word! If Only In My Dreams is. also Voltron. it is CHRISTMAS WHUMP IN SPACE.
fifth-most words: And You Find Some Way to Survive puts in a second appearance here (at 8,354 words if you're curious)
fewest words: ok look the one with the fewest words is a 72-word prompt fill that I didn't really like even at the time and I am simply going to link you the third-fewest words, because A of all it is still only 166 words and B of all I got only Voltron for all the other answers even though I've written for So Many Things and so I think I should be allowed little a Picking. as a treat. and C of all because and now my heart stumbles is Eomer and Eowyn, who are SIBLINGS and the bestest bravest darlings and all should love them. ok there you go.
with this set of results I think it is only appropriate that I should tag some of my VLD-era writing pals @curiosity-killed @demenior @lookforanewangle and then I will also add @kcrabb88 and @amarguerite :) if anyone else would enjoy doing this please grab it and feel free to say I tagged you!!!
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meilunye · 1 month
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✧.* crumpled paper
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✧ Characters: Scaramouche & Lumine (not necessarily ship) ✧ Written for: V4. Fortune - The Genshin RNG Zine ✧ Word count: 2,4k ✧ Fortune chosen: “Every flower blooms in its own sweet time.”
Lumine finds the Wanderer in the midst of a dilemma.
In the long months she had spent roaming the surface and underworld of Teyvat, Lumine had uncovered countless secrets: hidden cults, ancient civilizations buried under sand and moss alike, mysterious signs of fate most people failed to decode.
Over time, she had grown used to it. Some enigmas were easy to unfold, while some required time and effort she couldn’t afford to spend dwelling on them. She let the course of her quests guide them through the thickest tangles of the world, turning a blind eye to the deeper unknown.
And yet, what confused her the most was a simpler matter. Something utterly trivial that ought not to be as infuriating as it was. And so, despite the feats Lumine could boast in her record, she failed to see why, exactly, the majority of citizens considered Adventurers as their personal shoppers.
Alright, sure, she wasn’t expecting to seek gold or hunt gods when signing up for daily tasks from the Guild. Yet, spending her summer days collecting fruit and shrooms for a local villager who was just a tad too lazy to walk out of town was somewhat unnerving.
“One more mushroom, and that should be it for the day,” she muttered. Not even Paimon had chosen to tag along, preferring the comfort of their inn bed to nap on rather than dirtying her hands with mushroom picking in Avidya Forest. “At least I’m getting paid.”
Right as she was lost in her greedy thoughts, her mind racing to the delicious lunch she was planning to enjoy later in the morning, something fell on her head. Lumine glanced at her feet. A crumpled paper ball was resting between her boots, like an alien object plunging from the sky.
Was it a scrapped page from a Forest Ranger’s notebook? The rainforest was their scouting territory, after all. Maybe they were conducting some research higher up on the tallest tree branches. And, of course, the only stray piece of junk had to land on her.
“Just my luck.” She collected the tiny ball and stored it in her bag, to dispose of later. “Now, where to find the last mushroom…”
Her gaze ran up to inspect the majestic trunk of the centuries-old tree. The next wooden platform awaited her further up, probably brimming with hedges and herbs of all sorts. With a resigned sigh, Lumine climbed up the ladder, the breeze howling as it caressed her bare thighs.
A patch of dirt lay at the side of the wooden platform, where mushrooms peeked from behind thick leaves. Lumine shoved her hands into the soil, pulling at one of them to rip it from the ground, and held it fierily in her palms. She was done, at last.
Something feather-light fell on her head again. Followed by a second, and a third. Okay, now it started to look less like a coincidence and more like harassment. Lumine glared at the foliage above her, expecting to find a mocking hilichurl or a similar prankster.
What met her gaze, instead, was a pair of familiar sandals and a disgruntled complaint. What was he doing out there on his own? Not quite the encounter Lumine had foreseen for her morning walk in the forest.
Although every muscle and nerve in her body advised her against getting any closer, Lumine had never been known for her use of logic. She followed her gut and silently pulled herself onto the branch the man was sitting on.
“How odd to find you anywhere without the Archon.” Lumine dropped down at his side, not bothering to get permission first. Old foes did not owe each other kindness. “Something on your mind?”
Scaramouche— No, the Wanderer, as he now went by, was not responsive. A scowl was all the reaction he had to offer to the uninvited guest, his hand busy frantically scribbling on the white page of a notebook. Ah, so he was the culprit.
Stubborn (and quite honestly out of better things to do), Lumine didn’t leave. She stayed there, humming a tune under her breath and kicking her feet in the air, while waiting for any sign of acknowledgment to come. The Wanderer was headstrong, but she made for a good rivalry.
And she won the unspoken contest.
“What do you want?” The Wanderer turned to face her after what felt like ages, dropping the notebook on the branch between his knees. Most of the pages seemed to have been ripped out already. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”
Lumine shrugged. “I’m done with my work. Some unidentified flying objects were hindering my job, however.” She took the paper ball out of her bag and showed it to him, a cocky smirk on her lips.
“Ah, that.” Showing no apology whatsoever, the Wanderer averted his gaze again. “Do not blame me. You shouldn’t lower your guard while roaming the forest.”
A roll of Lumine’s eyes marked the end of that poor attempt at conversing. Even though socializing had never been an issue for her, given her popularity wherever she went, introverts like the Wanderer were her weak spot.
There was a difference, for her, between dealing with quiet folks such as Kazuha, who became talkative when solicited, and with adamant walls like the Wanderer. Those who weren’t sure when or how to speak, be it out of shyness or politeness, were more manageable than those who refused to do so.
Silence fell for a long time.
Lumine kept her gaze over the horizon. Groups of Aranara were playing among the leaves, visible only to her and a lucky few others. The wind from the shores carried the gentle echo of birdsong. Ah, she should head back soon. Paimon might have woken up by now.
Surprisingly enough, it was the Wanderer who broke the silence first.
“In your travels, you’ve certainly met all kinds of people,” he whispered, indigo eyes glued to the page he was scribbling on. “And I’ve witnessed firsthand the number of requests for help you receive on an average day. What makes people worthy of being lent a hand, in your book?”
Lumine pressed her lips together. “I am not sure about that,” she admitted with a weak shake of her head. The question was genuinely surprising coming from him. “But everyone is worthy of being listened to, at the very least.”
“I see.” The Wanderer lifted his head, finally looking at something that was not his notebook. Rukkhashava mushrooms shimmered in the sunlight on the tree in front of them. “Even ancient foes?”
Well, Lumine wasn’t as dumb as not to catch on. “If you want my help, why don’t you just ask?” she considered saying, but scratched the idea. Direct approaches would hardly work with someone like him. “I said everyone for a reason.”
As if his doubts were thawed at once, the Wanderer opened up to her in one single waterfall of words, like water breaching through a dam. And it was oddly pleasant to hear honesty pouring out of his mouth.
“I came here to escape from the Dendro Archon, actually,” he explained.
Lumine held her knees to her chest, her head tilted to pay utmost attention to what he was saying. “Did you fight?”
“Nah,” he shrugged indignantly. “I’m merely exhausted to have her disappointment haunting me like a ghost.”
From what Lumine had seen and learned so far, disappointment was not a common emotion for Nahida. Was the Wanderer showing struggles in his rehabilitation progress, or threatening to fall back into old destructive habits? He didn’t seem harmful, however. He was on his best behavior. “What is she unhappy with?”
“My thesis?” The Wanderer showed her the product of his work. Paragraphs written in clumsy handwriting crowded the page, thoroughly stricken through by thick ink lines. “I mentioned last time that she enrolled me in the Akademiya. It’s weirdly entertaining, but… these papers. I can’t seem to get them right.”
Writing wasn’t Lumine’s forte either. She was the brawns more than the brains, whereas her brother excelled at a bit of both. “I’m sure she knows you aren’t well-versed in prose. You’ve never attended a proper school, nor received scholastic education before.”
“That’s not the only issue.” The Wanderer ripped off the page with a groan, crumpled it in his hand, and tossed it off the branch.
Lumine caught it before it could go too far, though, using her brand-new Hydro powers to trap it in a bubble. “Stop littering the forest.”
“Quiet.” Another grunt, then a sigh. “Even after resetting the past and erasing my previous existence, I cannot find my place amidst the crowd. Every day, the Archon watches me return from class alone, as quiet as a stranded fish on the shore.”
What weird comparison was that? It must be something he stole from Nahida and her out-of-line analogies. “And?”
“And,” he echoed, frustration visibly piling up within him, “every day she asks me with that annoying little smile, ‘Wanderer, how is it going with your fellow students?’. Damn it, the gloomy look on her face when I say I don’t talk to them… Ugh, so irritating.”
Too bad Lumine could see right through him. He was sad, more than annoyed. “How does it make you feel?”
“My chest clenches, and it pisses me off.” The Wanderer scoffed. “I don’t even know what it means. I hate feelings. Pointlessly complicated to understand, and with far too many strings attached.”
A peal of laughter shook Lumine’s torso at that. Oh, how to believe the person sitting at her side was an ancient magical being, a former criminal, and a convicted murderer? His attitude towards himself and his emotions was akin to an immature child’s.
It would be endearing, were it not for the past they shared. Some things could be explained and understood, perhaps even mended… but not forgiven nor forgotten.
However, Lumine wasn’t as selfish as to deny advice to a forlorn soul in need.
“What haunts you is probably the guilt for letting her down,” she explains, patiently, with the calm of a teacher. “Even if Nahida does not enforce any expectation on you, you built some for yourself. You’re convinced that failure to succeed and excel will lead to her disappointment.”
An ominous glare came her way. “I do not recall asking for counseling,” the Wanderer spat. “Save your wit for those helpless adventurers who get surrounded by hilichurls on the daily.”
“You’d better listen to my unsolicited advice, instead.” Lumine rolled her eyes and sagely chose to ignore his remark. “I see two possible solutions to your issue. One, you talk to Nahida openly about your concerns, and let her soothe them in person.”
Sometimes, being told to her face that people still have hope for her is all it takes to clear up the stress that made a dozen nights sleepless. She did not know whether or not the same applied to the Wanderer— judging from his disgusted grimace, though, it was likely a no.
“No, thank you.”
“Of course,” Lumine nodded. She should have seen that coming, indeed. “Two, you let it slide and keep walking your path. And you accept that, in the end, it will be alright.”
The Wanderer groaned. “That’s such simplistic talk. If anyone could manipulate their worries on demand like this, there wouldn’t be a single unhappy soul roaming Teyvat.”
Ah, so it did bother him, after all. If direct suggestions were not the Wanderer’s cup of tea, Lumine could try another approach: analogies worked well with Klee, the most naive among her acquaintances. Hopefully, he would appreciate them too.
“During my days in Mondstadt, I often listened to the bards singing their hearts out at the inn and plazas.” Lumine stretched out her legs as she stared absent-mindedly at the tips of her boots. Her gaze was actually aiming farther, farther ahead: to the bygone days in the land of breeze.
The Wanderer did not dare to interrupt her tale. He was fidgety, nervously shifting on the branch and sketching frantically on the corner of the notebook page.
“One poem in particular is carved into my heart. It’s the story of a pear blossom, still unripe and closed amidst an ocean of white petals.” She closed her eyes, trying to recall the gist of the plot. “All of its friends had bloomed before it. Left behind on its own, it tried and tried to be like them— it pushed its limits, and ended up exhausted and more lost than when it had begun.”
The Wanderer frowned. “Flowers don’t have feelings.”
“The blossom felt inferior and miserable,” Lumine cut him off. “It thought, ‘if every other pear flower on the tree has already bloomed, why I alone am unable to?’. Night after night, its insecurities tore it to pieces.”
The Wanderer lowered his gaze. At last, the true meaning behind Lumine’s story was sinking in. “Then what?”
“Then, one day, its moment came,” she continued, happy to see his engagement. “As the spring sun rose above the horizon, the blossom opened its petals to catch its warm rays. And, though it was late and self-conscious, its corolla shone the brightest on the whole tree.”
The notebook slammed shut. The Wanderer rested his palm above its cover, a deadpan expression painted on his face. “Nonsense,” he commented.
“Perhaps,” Lumine chuckled. “Regardless of the metaphor, I do believe everyone has their own pace. As long as you don’t lose sight of your goal and keep persevering, eventually, your moment of glory will come.”
There was also a solid chance that, simply enough, academic life was not suited for the Wanderer. But in Lumine’s book, such a realization would also fall within the spectrum of blooming: he would find new aspirations, talents, and dreams.
“I must go.” The Wanderer stood up, weightless on the branch. “I hope you don’t expect a thank you for your sob story about blossoms and bards.”
Lumine sighed. Oh, if only he knew how easy he was to read… Ever since he had turned into his current self, freed from his past identity and tragedy, he had been wearing his heart on his sleeve. Even if, maybe, only someone as sharp as Lumine could pierce through his facade.
When she glanced up, she was alone once more. Only a crumpled paper ball lay solitary at her side.
A shy gust of wind combed through her hair in a playful dance.
“Heh, you’re welcome.”
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