Latest Posts by jellyyfishdreamer - Page 6

peter b spent the entirety of across the spiderverse being like “listen you know what cured my depression? my MAGIC BABY”

guys i have had a vision of miles telling miguel about the whole 'i can have my cake and eat it too' but the whole times he's using the term bizcocho which means cake in puerto rico but in some parts of mexico it means vagina and i just 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

miles (trying to show off his spanish): see you can have your bizcocho and eat it too!!

miguel: why the fuck are you talking about my pussy

“Domain expansion.” And it’s just me opening up my legs

Go watch the Spider verse, this totally happened in the movie

Question:

Is the Moon Knight fandom still alive? I've got a potential series sitting in my lap atm. I just wanna know if I'm gonna indulge in this alone? It is what it is.

Edit: here y’all go

Tumblr

Tonight’s Golden Hour: Introduction

Serpents Renewal Summary: You find a new beginning. A new country, a new place to live. But this isn’t living, not yet. Something was off.

SPIDERBAND !!

available as a print here!

hi jade <3 can you pls write an “idiots in love” scenario between fem!reader and peter. something really gushy and fluffy <333

hi baby <3 I'm really sorry I think I may have misunderstood this so they're idiots in love but they aren't together yet !! fem!reader, 1k

Peter's dragging you by the hand through the crowd like one might dangle a carrot on a stick, though you aren't sure what it is he's hoping to attract in the sticky floored Burger King you're dominating. 

"Coming through!" he shouts, shouldering past people in a way that isn't strictly polite. 

You're laughing so hard your waist aches and the tether of your hand is a necessary precaution to stop you collapsing into a baby stroller. The greasy bag of your spoils quivers with a paper crunching as it whacks some poor bystander in the arm, your "Sorry," a swallowed shout in the busyness. 

Finally, you arrive at your destination. Broken crayons and tear away colouring pages splayed messily over a table hidden in the corner of the room, and there, nestled between the chaos, a precious diamond in the rough, lays the true purpose of your visit to such a fine dining establishment on such a hot summer's day. The Burger King crowns lay in their pop put forms, thick printed card stock. 

"They were more impressive when we were kids," you say.

"They're rustic." Peter drops your hand and gathers up way more crowns than you. "Understated. Humble, even." 

"Yeah," you say, giggles emerging once again. 

Peter tucks the crowns into your bag and you leave the way you came through herds of disgruntled New Yorkers and out into the summer heat, dipping into shadows as the glaring yolk of sun dips behind a skyscraper. Peter leads you deep into a cold alleyway and fiddles with the shooter at his wrist. 

"You're sure you won't drop me?" you ask, taking the paper bag of burgers and cradling it against your chest like a child. 

"You think you're so heavy," Peter complains, wrapping an arm around your waist. 

"I am heavy, Pete. A normal guy could pick me up, much less carry me onto a rooftop." 

"I'm not a normal guy." Chest to chest, Peter gives you a shameless smirk. "Hold on tight. I won't drop you, but if you drop even a single French fry, I'll be tempted." 

"Don't even joke about thAT–" your words turn to a breathless hoot as Peter thwicks his wrist upward and the two of you careen through the air. 

"It's alright!" Peter shouts. 

"Woah woah woah!" you shout back, strangling him as you try to climb up his arms and away from the bottomless air below you. Another thwick and you climb higher. A swing that takes the air out of your lungs ends with a jogging stop on a gravel rooftop. "Woah, I'm gonna chuck up." 

Peter rubs between your shoulders. "You always say that." 

"I'm dying." 

"Don't crouch like this, you're begging to be sick." 

Peter helps you up, close and smelling like all things nice. Laundry detergent from a stickler of a laundry sheriff, deodorant and aftershave and the sweet burned sugar smell of his unwise experiments. 

The rooftop is one you've come to before, wide, abandoned, but outfitted with two camping chairs that can be dragged into or out of the sun depending on what half you sit on. You drag your chairs into the sun once your nausea has abated and sit down, Burger King bag in your lap. Peter peels the straps of your tote down enough to grab your unmanufactured crowns, his fingertips summoning an odd shyness from you while they touch you. He's familiar to the point of seamlessness, usually; you and Peter may as well be one person. But now every close encounter, each gentle hand on your skin, is demarcated by a fizzy excitement you can't ignore. 

Peter hooks his chair with an ankle blindly, dragging it under his butt as he sits and pops crowns from their cardstock holdings. He guesses the sizing for your head, and props a golden crown on your head while you retrieve his cheeseburger. It slips down your nose. 

"Woah," Peter murmurs, leaning in to nudge it back up. He looks you right in the eye, close enough to kiss. "Hi there." 

"Hello, good sir," you say, eyeing his own crown. 

"Your majesty," he corrects. 

"Your majesty. Take your burger." 

"Where are my fries?" 

"The crown suits you, I think, considering you're a royal pain. Give me five seconds and I'll give you your fries, jerk." 

Peter's eyes squint gently closed in a slow blink, eyebrows raised. "Jerk. Nice. You're a royal dick." 

"Nice!" You pass him his fries, and the ketchup dip. "We should've got milkshakes." 

"Then you really would throw up." 

"You're probably right," you say, leaning back into the chair, the sun warming your cheeks like a lingering kiss. You tip your head back to eat a handful of soggy fries, salt like an explosion on your tongue. 

"Christ," Peter says, fries in one hand, burger in the other, "they're trying to give us heart disease!" 

"I was thinking the exact same thing," you laugh. 

Peter nods, pleased to be on the same wavelength, and curls your legs together, elbows bumping as you eat with all the laziness of rich people poolside at the country club. The subtle crunch of fries, the crinkling paper bag held under your foot to stop from flying away on the breeze. New York doesn't need anymore litter. 

You give up on your salty fries and Peter doesn't ask, he doesn't need to, polishing them off. His metabolism is enhanced in time with his healing and regenerative abilities, his stomach an endless pit. 

"You should've gotten another burger," you say. 

"You should mind your business." 

"Is it 'cos I was paying?" 

Peter dunks your crown down your face, kisses your cheek, and steals another handful of your fries. "Too slow." 

You laugh and tip your head until the crown falls off. The wind picks it up, and Peter throws his wrist forward without looking, catching it in a web before it can fly off. Burgers, laughter, the flirting sun and an accompanying breeze. Things are perfect. 

You look at Peter as he tries to pull his web from the crown without ruining it. He gives up, grabbing a new one from your tote. 

Well, things are almost perfect.

Remember when Peter told the biggest lie in the entire movie and said Miguel is all bark no bite.

Like sir.... would you like to explain to the class why you think MIGUEL O'HARA would never hurt anyone. Nono. Go on. Please tell us why you were confident to tell everyone in the room that their safety is certain in the presence of a man who has a venomous bite, talons, and throws things when he's angry. Is that true peter. Is that true or do you just know he wouldnt hurt you.... just... just think CRITICALLY about WHY you belive this Peter-- SHUT UPP HE CLEARLY HAS A FOND TOLERANCE FOR YOU SPECIFICALLY THEREFORE WOULD NEVER HARM YOU OBLIVIOUS CUNT AARRGHHGGHH

Project: Pandora

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Synthezoid!Reader

Synopsis: You are experiencing things for the first time and you can't wait to explore what the multiverse has to offer, but for now, you'll start with a messy college dorm room.

Warning: Children having made to witness premarital hand holding and flirting of excruciatingly emotionally constipated adults.

Word Count: 2174

Events take place after Project: Galatea and prior to Project: Eros

“This is…”  Your face twists, trying to find the right word.  “Odd.” 

You lift your arm, the blanket that Miguel draped on you falls from your shoulder and you watch as goosebumps litter your skin.

Avenger Peter, MJ, and Ned simultaneously inhale sharply through their nose.  The ceiling, the cereal box, and fork suddenly looked too interesting.

Miguel clears his throat and reaches to wrap you tightly with the blanket again.

“That’s the result of adrenaline reflex.”  Miguel grumbles, turning his eyes to the carpeted floor, away from you and the lamp that illuminated the living room and dining area.  “And can you be more careful?  Gravity applies to your clothes now.”

“I know, Miguel.”  You glare at him as you sink on the couch beside him.  You don’t need him to discuss physiology and physics with you.  “I just need time to get used to it all.”

He keeps his mouth shut, his eyes softening as he memorizes every curve of your frowning brows.

“So uhm, you feel fine?”  MJ cuts the tension.  “No trouble breathing?  No pain?”

You laugh softly.  “What does pain feel anyway?”

Obviously, you know it in theory and experienced it quite a lot emotionally but you never really felt physical pain.

A sharp pinch on your thigh makes you yelp and jump like a startled cat.

The culprit beside you has his eyes deadpanned but the slight curve on his lips told you he enjoyed it way too much.

“Asshole!”  You gave Miguel a stink eye, rubbing your poor thigh.

“That’s pain.”  Miguel grins at you. 

You throw a playful punch on his shoulder but a strange pop has your eyes doubling in size.

“Did I just break a finger?”  You almost scream but Miguel keeps the shit eating grin and just grabs your hand, he clicks his tongue multiple times and your heart hammers on your chest.  They spent months perfecting your body, the least you could do is take care of it.  You watch Miguel lift your hand to his face and brushes your knuckles on his lips.

“Looks like a serious fracture, we might need to amputate it.”  You hated how he could make you feel stuff by just altering the timbre of his voice despite uttering such baseless barbaric statement.  “You just cracked a knuckle, firefly, stop worrying.  If you feel any discomfort anywhere though, you tell me.”

MJ picks at the loose thread on her sweater as her eyes darted between you and Miguel.  “They definitely need to go get a room.”  She whispers under her breath.

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

Whispered back the two teens beside her.

A loud grumble suddenly travels to their ears.  They turn and see you looking at your stomach, your eyes wide, looking absolutely embarrassed.  “Uhm, I’m hungry?”  Rather than say it, you sound like you are asking for confirmation, which is fair.

Peter immediately snatches his phone to order food.

Ned smiles at you understandingly, you must have been hungry the entire time but did not recognize the feeling.  “How about water?  Does your mouth feel dry?”  Checking your electrolyte level slipped their mind due to multiple reasons, they were marveling at you after taking your vital signs and range of motion.

Miguel reaches and pulls you to him.  He brushes his thumb on your lip, his eyes following his movements carefully.  “Yeah, she could use a glass of water.”  He slips his hand under the blanket to pull your arm and you are about to protest when he pinches your skin again but you choose to stay quiet as he did it gently.

“Is it tented?”  Ned asks while rolling a stress ball atop the table.

Miguel meets your eyes and returns your arm inside the blanket.  Your body goes hot when he flashes you his sharp canine as he grins.  “Nah, perfectly supple and elastic.”  The grin gets wider.  “We might need to check her temperature again though.  She’s running a bit warm.”

You are not stupid.  Theoretically, you know how the normal body responds to external stimuli.  Miguel holds back another smart comment when you harshly pull your arm from him, too flushed to even bite a retort back.

Ned and MJ watched the exchange with narrowed judging eyes.  Watching old people flirt made them a bit queasy.

The next minutes were spent with them telling you about the project and how Dr. Strange aligned your neurons.  You wanted to thank the man but they tell you that he has been busy for a week now, trying to ward off an intergalactic entity.  Miguel just had to roll his eyes at the mention of the Doctor’s name.  Him helping Peter almost break the multiverse was not appreciated by Miguel.

You walk around the apartment as you listen to them talk, mainly to Miguel now, as you let your hands wander on every object you can find, taking in every texture that you come across.

The carpet on your feet was a nice feeling and you are glad you refused the slippers that Ned kindly offered for you to wear.

You see a pile of old books on a corner and you bend down to swipe at the thin layer of dust sitting atop it.  You smile so brightly, seeing the mark your finger left.  Then you see the coat of dust on your finger tip, the dirt clinging to your skin didn’t feel pleasant at all.

Just in front of your 3D printer, you refuse to call it casket, lies the messy work table of Peter Parker.  You wander to it and you read the tiny sticky notes that are stuck on the wall in front of the desk.  Some are newly placed, some a bit older, their edges starting to peel off.

You tilt your head to the side as you realize that they’re a bunch of ideas for his suit upgrades. 

“What a clever kid.”  You whisper.  You smile when you see a tiny error on a formula, creating a cascade of errors on the other notes.

You grab a sticky note and you uncap a ballpen, it took you a while to figure out how to hold it and your handwriting was messy but you managed to correct his error.

The bubble wrap in the corner became the next center of your attention.

Miguel was in the middle of telling the teens about your code when you wander on the couch again.  He glances at you for a while and goes back to ignoring you when you place a hand on his enormous arm and rub.  He really bulked up, didn’t he?

“Unstable molecules feel weird.”  You wiggle your fingers right in front of Miguel’s face, cutting his geek talk.  “Feels like this.”

He raises a brow.  “Tingly?”  He retracts the fabric from his fingertips and lets it rest on his suit.  “Huh, guess so.  But it’s quite comfortable inside.”

You nod and make a beeline towards the dining table where the teens are.

“Can I?”  You ask while pointing to MJ’s sleeve.

“Sure.”  She shrugs and offers you her arm as she turns to listen to Miguel trying to explain advanced computer science to them.

You pinch the fabric and smile at the softness of it.

“What’s this material called?  I want to wear it everyday, it feels so cozy.”

“It’s uh, cashmere.  Pe-Peter got it for me last Christmas.”  She briefly points at Peter before using the same hand to cover a cough.

You glance at Peter, who was also listening to Miguel, though his ears looked a bit redder, you can tell despite the dimness of the room.

Ned soon notices you looking at the stress ball resting a couple inches away from his fingers.

“You wanna hold it?”  He offers you the toy.

“That’s a stress ball, right?”  You take it and squeeze hard.  “What’s so relaxing about this?”  You raise a brow as the toy only strained your hand.

“You’re just not stressed enough to need it yet.”  Miguel sighs.  He knows that your muscles would need endurance training but of course he had to taunt you just a bit.

You sassily put a hand on your hip, making a big deal out of everything that Miguel says is almost a habit to you.  “And you probably need a truckload of this judging by how you look.”

The kids near you almost scratched the table cloth by how hard they were trying to keep a straight face.

Thery mustn’t laugh.  Peter can’t lose his place in the Society.  Peter can’t lose his place in the Society!

A knock from the front door keeps Miguel from throwing something just as insulting to you.

“I’ll get it!”  Peter volunteers, too happy with the opportunity to get away.

Miguel grumbles to himself, shaking his head.

You smile a little too sweetly at Miguel before turning to Peter who is carrying a bunch of plastic bags that are all hanging on different fingers instead of being all carried by a finger or two, like how they should be?

“Whatever is in those boxes, I want them.”  You laugh.

Ned gets up to grab a clean spoon for you, seeing as you won’t be able to use the chopstick just yet.

“I don’t know if you’d like this but I figured that you’d need the carbs and manageable food for now.”  Peter says, scratching the back of his head and pushes a steaming hot bowl of congee to you. 

“Thank you, Peter.”  It smells divine!  And you appreciate the soft food, you should give your stomach something easy to digest for the meantime.

Your curiosity is piqued and you open a box before you.  “Oh, look at this, Miggy.”  You turn to Miguel who is already heading to where you are standing.  “Fried rice.”  You thank Ned when he hands you a spoon.  “You used to make this when you were particularly lazy.” 

He hums.  “I don’t cook anymore.”

Peter asks you two to join them at the table and you do.

“They didn’t have empanadas- uh…I heard you liked them!”  Peter starts to sweat under Miguel’s stern gaze.  “But uh, they have fried dumplings.  In-in case you wanna try some.”  He pushes the box to Miguel.

You scoop a spoonful of congee to your mouth, after being reminded by Miguel to blow on your food.  You hated how he made you feel like a toddler just now.  But you forget that you were pissed just a second ago when the rice porridge lands on your waiting tongue and you almost melt at the flavor.  In fact, it looks like you actually are.  They all watch you close your eyes, still chewing, and collapse on the chair dramatically.

“It’s so unfair that you all get to eat these for years, especially Miguel.”  You pat Miguel’s shoulder when he curses at you in Spanish.  “It’s okay, Miggy.  You aged like fine wine, don’t get worked up.”

You take another spoonful, ignoring Miguel’s incomprehensible expression.

The night ends with you listening to Peter trying to explain or defend himself from Miguel’s accusations for the whole multiverse disturbance thing. 

You were biased, of course.

It is pretty normal to take his side.  Peter’s side.

But nevertheless, you and Miguel thanked the three of them, even Dr. Strange.  Through a portal.  Made of magic.  Wasn’t weird at all.

When Miguel told them that he’ll be taking you with him to the HQ, they didn’t really go against it, a knowing smile plastered on their faces when Miguel says that the tech there is better in monitoring your state.

“I will definitely visit.”  You say as you release MJ from your embrace and move to hug Ned who is tearing up a bit.  “I’ll come so often that you’ll be sick of me.” 

Lastly, there’s Peter.  You hug the kid tightly.  “Thank you for taking the time to bring me back to him.”

He hugs you back, just as tight.  “I should be the one thanking you.”  He could only wish that Tony was there to witness everything.

“He’s proud of you, I just know it.” 

You return to Miguel’s side and you smile at them one last time before turning to step into the portal.

“Wait!”  Peter yells.

Miguel raises a brow at him, his large hand encasing yours in a gentle hold.

“Uhm.”  Peter’s eyes darted from you to Miguel and back again.

“Spit it out, kid.”  Miguel snaps.

Peter crosses his arms, awkwardly.

“I know you two are-are excited and y-you miss each other so much.”  He stutters out.  “But it’s probably not a good idea to—” He grimaces, as if saying it is physically hurting him.  “—you know.” 

His hands flew everywhere, making you and Miguel look at each other, silently asking if the other is picking up what the hell the kid’s saying. 

Peter sighs, defeated.  “You shouldn’t…test her body’s limitations in one night-”

“Yeah, we get it.”  Miguel says quickly while he pushes your confused ass to the portal.

Project: Galatea • Project: Pandora • (Project: Eros)

omg ☹️ I just had a thought so since miguel doesn’t see ai reader romantically, at least right now, what if there was this spider person (other than lego spider-man) who suddenly began popping up in miguel’ office more often and noticed that miguel seemed to not hate them being there. as this spider person shows up more often, ai reader gets significantly more and more bummed out because they think miguel likes said spider person romantically and does like a percentage check and gets upset when it’s above 1% lmao 😭

cws for gn reader/ai reader.

-

Cindy Moon, better known by her alias Silk, was the other woman—or, that’s what the internet told you when you had detailed your ‘problem’ on an online forum geared towards helping the romantically disadvantaged, leaving out the fact that you were an android and technically weren’t supposed to be able to experience these feelings for someone in the first place.

You hadn’t even known your feelings for Miguel had turned romantic until you had begun to wonder why you would suddenly grow displeased whenever he interacted with Cindy. You had originally assumed it was because his attention wasn’t on you, and you really liked when Miguel’s attention was on you, but after an internet query, you had discovered the concept of significant others, love, romance, affection.

You read countless people’s experiences with love, from happy tales that ended with lovers ending up in a quaint little house on a hill, to sad tales that ended in betrayal or heartbreak. You must have processed hundreds of thousands of words on the topic, and you felt as though you had a decent understanding of it, and in turn, a decent understanding of the foreign feelings brewing inside you.

Jealousy was the biggest one.

You were jealous of Cindy Moon, or more specifically, you were jealous of the way Miguel smiled when he spoke with her, not a hint of his usual negative attitude in his face. He looked carefree, light; shoulders lowered, fangs retracted, brown eyes bright, posture relaxed. He responded to her in low, soothing tones, nothing like the sharp quips he’d direct your way whenever he’d called you a ‘little nuisance’.

You began to wonder if perhaps Miguel felt the same way about Cindy, that you felt about him. The thought displeased you like no other, and you had a hard time focusing on doing the tasks that he asked you to do, but you didn’t like when Miguel looked at you with furrowed brows and heaved a sigh of…disappointment, so you ignored those feelings and did your work to the best of your ability.

The more you ignored your feelings, the stronger they became, and you had finally decided to do a few more queries.

~

“Love compatibility…” You tilt your head as you look up at one of Miguel’s many monitors. It’s late into the night, and the man has long since gone to sleep, leaving you to your own devices. He used to power you down, but after enough of your complaining about being shut off like a video game all the time, he had decided to let you stay on under the promise that you’d stay out of his stuff.

Your eyes take in the words on the screen. There’s two pink boxes surrounded by hearts, one box says ‘YOUR NAME’ and the other says ‘THEIR NAME’. You hum as you slowly pace in front of his keyboard. If you were understanding correctly, all you had to do was place your name into the box along with Miguel’s and then the machine would tell you how compatible the two of you were.

What a neat little thing!

You direct the cursor to the box on the right before climbing onto the keyboard, carefully punching in his name before you direct the cursor to other box. You’re suddenly hit with an idea, and you frown before slowly typing in Cindy Moon.

“Okay. Let’s do this.” You hit enter, and a feeling that perfectly matches up with the definition of anxiety rushes through you. A large heart (which is not anatomically correct, you notice) suddenly appears between the two names, a percentage just above it. Pink pixels slowly begin to fill the heart, and the 0 above it begins to rise.

Your anxiety grows as you watch the number go up, and up, and up, before it finally settles on a 57. You deflate, head hanging between your shoulders and boots scuffing at the metal table underneath you.

57 wasn’t a great score, but it was entirely too high for your liking! You had wanted it to go no higher than 0, and had been prepared to smile and cheer as you jumped around for joy, pacified in knowing that the two would never work out.

Less eager than when you had first started, you scroll the cursor over to the box containing Cindy’s name and delete it, briefly wishing it was this easy to delete her spot in Miguel’s life.

You glance down to the engraving on the inside of your wrist. ANDROID 007. You type it into the box, and the process repeats as you anxiously watch the screen, fingers tapping against your thigh as you wa—“What!?”

0% Even if these two were to defy the odds and become a couple, they are surely doomed to fail.

The words glare at you from the monitor, and you kick at the keyboard, angry huffs leaving you each time your foot hits a key.

What a stupid program! As if some sloppy coding could possibly predict—wait. ANDROID 007…was that really a name?

You stop your violent outburst and tap your finger against your chin. You weren’t given a name like how humans were. You hadn’t been born, but rather created, and the scientist that made you hadn’t been interested in being friendly with her creations. The label had been slapped onto your wrist just as your uniform had been slapped onto your body.

Androids didn’t usually have names, rather being called and identified by their number. Miguel chose to call you unfavorable nicknames, such as ‘pest’, ‘little nuisance’, or even ‘thorn’, derived from the saying of being the thorn in someone’s side. You didn’t dislike them, but you couldn’t really say those were your names, either.

Maybe I should just pick one myself, you think, and that leads you down a path of searching up name lists and trying out each and every one. You test them on your tongue, immediately giving some the boot while placing others into your ‘maybe’ pile.

The sun is just beginning to rise, and you’ve yet to find a name. You had grown more and more dejected as the hours passed, figuring you’d be doomed your zero percent for forever, but then you’re clicking onto a link that you hadn’t opened yet, and then you see it — the perfect name.

It resonates with you, and when you speak it, the word flowing effortlessly off your tongue, you smile and quickly head back to the compatibility tab, not wasting a second as you enter in your chosen name.

A few seconds go by, the number stagnant and the heart empty, when suddenly it fills up all at once, the number rising so quickly that it becomes a blur, and then a flurry of hearts are feeling the screen.

100% A match made in Heaven! Congratulations to the lovebirds! Send us a wedding invitation, will you?

-

Miguel enters his office to see you standing on his desk, hands clasped together in front of you as you regard him with a smile. He quirks a brow at your expression.

“Batteries got a full charge this morning or something?” He had been met with a sulk and pout every morning for the last week, and had been fully expecting the same thing today.

“I don’t operate on batteries, Miguel, we’ve been over this.” You walk to the end of the desk as he nears it, and he lowers himself into his seat, hand rubbing down his face as he relaxes into it. “You look more tired than usual. Are you not sleeping well? I can put in an order for stronger sleeping aids.”

“The pills I’ve got work just fine.” He yawns. The pills do work fine, on normal nights, nights where he doesn’t stay up late staring at his ceiling, thinking back on all his actions as he tries to figure which one upset you tot he point that you barely spoke to him, only moping about and casting him sad looks when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

His gaze slides over to you, and he blinks when he sees that you’ve zoned out, smile plastered on your face as you let out soft sighs. “Hey,” he calls, but you ignore him. He snaps his fingers beside you, “hey, nuisance.” You flinch, slightly stumbling to the side, and he steadies you with his hand. You shoot him a glare, but then a smile is quickly replacing it. He blinks again.

“Actually,” you lay your hands on the back of his, “I’d prefer it if you called me a different name, Miguel.”

“A different name?”

“Yes, I picked one out for myself last night.”

“Hm,” he slowly nods, “guess everyone needs a name, don’t they? Alright. What’d you pick out?” You give it to him, and he tests it on his tongue, letting out a soft chuckle afterwards.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I do. It suits you.” Your smile widens even more, and Miguel holds his hand out to you, finding the size difference comical when you place your own against his in an attempt of a handshake. “Nice to officially meet you.”

“You as well, Miguel.”

ten years of fighting and when shit hits the fan tumblr instantly has reddit's back. the greatest enemies to lovers story ever told.

Pumpkin [Part 1] Blue Jones x Fem!Reader

Warnings: callous mentions of dubious consent. Blue Jones is his own warning. Reader is a little unhinged. No explicit smut, yet. LOTS of cursing.

Words: 2.7k

Summary: AU, not sucker punch asylum. Blue Jones is an Orderly, you’re a patient. You’ve got the hots for him, he’s a big fat tease. (I’ll release part 2 later, because I’m a big fat tease too.)

Dedication: to @bluejones​ and @propertyofabelmorales​ 

If you weren’t fucking crazy when you were first admitted to the asylum, you sure as shit were now. Your thoughts were consumed. Your mind could fixate on one thing and one thing only.

Orderly Blue.

And how he was, without a doubt, not into you.

Keep reading

And I'm looking through the glass

Where the light bends at the cracks

And I'm screaming at the top of my lungs

Pretending the echoes belong to someone

Someone I used to know

And we become

Silhouettes when our bodies finally go 🕳️

we are all just so normal about him

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you. 

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 

"I don't have time for this-" 

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 

"What happened?" He strains. 

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?" 

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word. 

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

_

_

_

i saw across the spiderverse last night and my life will never be the same again

Avatar Wallpaper Pt 3

Part 1: Here

Part 2: Here

(Not mine)

incendiary | 5 | bakugou x reader

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Fem Reader

length: 3.5k | 5th of 8 chapters

summary: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.

tags/warnings:  enemies to lovers, themes of discrimination (please see note in fic masterpost), canon typical violence, eventual smut, aged up characters

series masterlist

Almost overnight, things began to change.

Bakugou had apparently decided that ignoring you was off the table now, and he was there the next morning when you awoke, audibly puttering around the kitchen, making his usual ruckus of kitchenware sounds. You listened to him work, slowly blinking awake, trying not to think too hard about the events of last night.

He came back into the living room only a few minutes later, bearing two plates of western-style breakfast, piled high with fluffy mounds of scrambled eggs and perfectly golden potatoes. He shoved a plate in front of you like he’d already sensed that you were awake, then retreated back to the kitchen. He returned with two mugs of hot coffee that smelled heavenly–almost certainly fair trade and freshly ground.

He put one in front of you, then dropped down to his place on the opposite side of the coffee table, watching you scrabble out of the blankets with something like a smirk pressing at the corner of his mouth, as if he knew his food was the fire under your feet.

“New rule, brat,” he pronounced as you finally freed yourself, flinging yourself down at the table and seizing your utensils.

You couldn’t bring yourself to stop now that you were already in motion, so you fit an entire forkful of potato in your mouth, then looked at him questioningly.

The smirk on his mouth deepened. “Your little stunt yesterday attracted every quirk supremacist in a twenty mile radius to this neighborhood, so you’re gonna have to keep away from the windows until they fuck off.”

You inhaled wrong around your potato, the steam catching in your lungs, and you coughed a little. “What? Quirk supremacists—here?”

Bakugou took a slow sip of his coffee, and you tried not to notice the way his bare bicep flexed as he brought the mug to his mouth. He really needed to invest in shirts with sleeves. “Your little cashier friend from the convenience store apparently leaked video onto YouTube already. The attack’s made a couple of the morning news shows.”

Your stomach churned, and you let your fork clatter back to your plate. “They’ve found us?”

Bakugou’s scarlet gaze tracked your expression over the top of his mug. “Not yet. But people know you’re in the general area now. Genius Office is running ID on all the weirdos showing up around here to find out who they are and what the risk is. But until they know what we’re dealing with, you’re to keep away from the windows. And you’re not going outside again.”

You didn’t think you wanted to go outside again anyway, considering the events of last night. Not for a long while, anyway.

You would never tell him, but it was kind of a relief to have Bakugou in here with you, now, understanding the kinds of people you were up against. But that so sucked, not even being able to poke your nose out a window after weeks of already being cooped up.

You nodded resignedly. You took a sip of your own coffee, then had to suppress a shiver of delight. Definitely freshly ground, and definitely fancy.

“They haven’t seen Matsui, have they?” You asked.

Bakugou shook his head. His hair looked a little messier than yesterday, piecey with gel and slightly flattened on the side he must have slept on. “No. Nothing on Matsui yet.”

You picked up your fork again and went back to your breakfast, at least reassured by that fact.

“Any estimate on how much longer this is gonna go on for?” You asked.

Bakugou scrubbed a hand through that thick golden hair. You watched, strangely enraptured, as it sprang right back up again in wild tufts. “Not much if you keep luring them straight to where you are, princess.”

You frowned into your egg. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Bakugou’s socked foot poked into yours. “It’s a safehouse for a reason. There were ground rules for a reason.”

You scowled. “Yeah yeah, I get it now. Excuse me for never having been the target of a national witch hunt before.”

Bakugou smiled, a wicked, blade-sharp thing. He leaned across the table. “So you’re gonna be good for me now, brat?”

Your fork clattered against your plate, spattering egg everywhere. You jumped in surprise, registering belatedly that you’d dropped it.

“Good for—? Good—?” you spluttered.

If anything, Bakugou’s smile went wider. “Something wrong, princess?” His eyes were practically glowing as he spoke.

What the hell was he doing? It was one thing to stop giving you the cold shoulder and act friendlier in light of everything that had happened yesterday. It was one thing to make you dinner and breakfast and not loom over you while radiating disdain from every pore. But it was entirely another to do—to do—whatever the fuck that was!

You grasped your fork with suddenly numb fingers, pointedly looking away from him. “No.” You shoveled a large potato into your mouth as if to punctuate that statement.

Bakugou just watched you, too knowingly for your taste. “Uh huh,” he said.

You finished your meal at lightspeed, desperate to get away from Bakugou and whatever that had been just now. Bakugou ate more sedately, seeming like he was mulling something over between delicate bites of his breakfast. You did not care to find out what that was.

You brought your dish to the sink when you’d finished and washed it speedily, then beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, standing in the shower for a long time. Then you crept back to your room and managed a little bit of homework after you’d dressed, though you were a little too unfocused for your liking.

When you checked your phone you found that messages had started to pile up again, with a litany of texts from Megumi crowning the stack.

MEGUMI ✨🍹🌴💕 girl you almost died are you okay 8:58 PM those douchebags omg 8:58 PM please tell me you’re okay i’m really worried about you 9:06 PM

And then, a couple hours later, in typical fashion:

MEGUMI ✨🍹🌴💕 that rescue was so hot though 12:09 AM the way dynamight was all rough with them and then all gentle with you 12:09 AM it’s okay if you’re dead i would have passed away too 12:10 AM

You reassured her that you were fine, then paused, staring at her later messages, mystified. What did she mean, the rescue had been so hot though?

As far as you remembered, Bakugou had come slamming in there, metaphorical guns blazing, and he’d hauled you out of there much the same way. You didn’t think there had been anything particularly sexy about getting your quirkless ass almost handed to you.

Curiosity prickling in your veins, you googled around for the video Bakugou had mentioned, wondering how it had looked so different to someone on the outside. You found an hours-old upload on YouTube entitled dynamight destroys 7-eleven shopfront to save internet legend drunk girl—a title you thought a little unfair considering you had not been drunk this time, even though that was apparently your internet moniker now.

The clip was shot from a vantage point above the register, and started with the back of your head as the two men from yesterday turned the corner and almost immediately began crowding you towards the register. You saw your own face in profile as you peered back at the cashier for help—his own face conveniently hidden from the video’s perspective—and then turned back and said something muted to the two men. The smaller one stepped towards you—you saw yourself take an alarmed step back.

And then, faster than you had remembered—Bakguou was shooting into the store, the glass windows shattering under the blow from the door as he threw it open.

He was just as much a presence on screen as he was in person, all violence and savage grace. You watched as he grabbed the smaller man’s hand and twisted it at a brutal angle, then produced quirk suppressors from where they had been belted under one pant leg, just above his boot. You hadn’t even noticed it, then, hadn’t even thought to question where the quirk suppressor had come from—but he’d been wearing sweatpants yesterday, a pair not unlike the ones he’d been wearing this morning at breakfast.

But he clearly was packing some kind of emergency supply—and you wondered if he was wearing it now, even clanking around in the kitchen.

Then you watched as Bakugou approached you, saw yourself stumble as he grabbed your shirt to pull you out. To your surprise, you could see sudden concern twisting his features, clear as day, and you watched with surprise as he leaned down to look you in the face, hands going under your elbows to support you.

You remembered that—but it had all been so fast, and the sight of his hands, so gentle on you after he’d been so rough with the two men, made something in your stomach shift strangely. He really did seem to be looking after your safety, like an actual certified, probably-not-quirkist pro hero. You watched as Bakugou said something to you, and pulled you up into his arms. You instantly cringed at how truly princess-like you looked—having to be escorted out of the store under someone else’s power.

Embarrassingly, the comments section under the clip seemed particularly focused on that aspect as well.

2:11 ok but the way his arms flexed when he lifted her????? hello?????? jghgl26 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 600 [Thumbs Down]

how he’s gonna carry me over the threshold after our wedding dynadaddy’s girl 5 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.1k [Thumbs Down]

THE LIFT!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!! HOW EASY IT WAS FOR HIM?? am i gregnant? am i pegnate?? how to know if pregonate????? Rika Abe 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.7k [Thumbs Down]

A hunted energy creeped over you as you read through them, your skin tingling. It suddenly took everything you had in you to click out of the video and not rewind it to the part where Bakugou had first hefted you into his arms. It had not been that appealing. And there was absolutely no reason you needed to witness the events again, no reason at all.

Bakugou chose that exact moment to rap on your door, and you accidentally flung your phone across the room in surprise, scrambling upright on your bed.

“Uh—come in,” you said, trying to not sound flustered.

Bakugou had clearly showered too as his hair was still damp, and moisture still glittered in the divots of his arm muscles. You clamped down very tightly on the echo of pegnate?? Am i gregnant???? that was suddenly the only sound in your entire brain.

No no no no.

You would not let Megumi and some internet perverts get the best of you.

“Oi, you just gonna sit here all day?” Bakugou demanded.

You frowned up at him. “I have been doing homework, thank you very much,” you said defensively.

Bakugou made a show of surveying your bed which was pointedly empty of any textbooks or notepads. “Yeah, looks like you’re real hard at work, princess.”

“Well I was,” you said, but you could already tell Bakugou had made up his mind.

“It’s time to talk about your second new rule,” he pronounced smugly.

“Another one?” You asked, heart sinking.

That razor sharp smile cut into Bakugou’s mouth again. “Yeah. You’re learning how to cook actual fucking food.”

You paused and stared at him, mystified. “What,” you asked flatly.

“I told you I was sick of watching you eat garbage,” he said. You could almost taste the disdain, dripping off of him like butter off of the baked potato he had so despised. “I can’t keep you alive if you die of fucking scurvy.”

“I eat fruit!” You bit back defensively. “And potatoes are good for treating scurvy!”

Bakugou wasn’t listening, though. Before you knew what was happening, he’d already fisted his hand in the back of your shirt and was hauling you to your feet. You felt like a kitten being scruffed by its intimidatingly well-muscled mother.

“Bakugou–what the hell—?”

But you were already being herded into the kitchen, where Bakugou had apparently preemptively arranged the instruments of your torture—several knives, a grater, a variety of pots, a rainbow of vegetables, an apple, some chicken, and a knob of ginger. Behind it all you spotted several other types of herbs and spices, some flour, and chicken stock.

“You’re gonna make curry, princess,” he informed you imperiously.

Curry! Okay now curry you could kind of do. You peered around for the sauce mix, poking through the ingredients on the counter.

Bakugou watched you, scarlet eyes tracking you curiously. “What,” he asked, though it was barely phrased like a question.

“Where’s the packet?” you asked, not finding it among the things he’d laid out.

Two blonde eyebrows went up, and you swore you could almost see a vein pop in Bakugou’s forehead. He grabbed the counter beside your hip, leaning back in, and you definitely did not notice the definition in his bicep as he did so.

“Packet?” He demanded, in the tones of someone who’d just witnessed their entire family get massacred. “Packet?”

You watched his handsome face work through what had to be the five stages of grief. “If I fucking ever hear about a packet again I’ll sell you to Matsui myself,” he said.

He reached over and slammed a kitchen scale down in front of you, followed by several of the ingredients. “Now pay attention, brat, I’m not showing you this twice.”

You knew better than to argue.

Under Bakugou’s stern direction, a curry roux—a term you would not have been able to supply before he’d said it—came together quickly. He stationed you at the stove, stirring everything together for almost twenty minutes while he chopped vegetables in front of you, a rainbow of carrots, potatoes, onions, and some leftover asparagus and peppers he’d dug out of the fridge. Then he made you grate an apple and some ginger into a paste while he sliced the chicken in expert strokes, narrating everything in his gruff tones.

It was strangely hypnotic, watching Bakugou’s hands work. You’d not paid much attention before, but he had long fingers, almost elegant but for the various scars and calluses that littered his skin, evidence of his career pressed into his fair flesh. You watched his fingers bunch at the end of the knife, the swift, decisive sweep of his palm moving ingredients back and forth on the cutting board.

Your skin prickled with the memory of those hands on you in the hallway after you’d passed out, the image of how gently those hands had handled you in the convenience store, and you shook off the thought, the back of your neck weirdly warm.

They were just hands. And they were Bakugou’s hands, for that matter. Make one wrong move on the end of those hands and you’d get cooked, faster than the curry you were working on now.

Eventually Bakugou divided everything into two bowls, and shepherded you over to the coffee table.

“That’s real curry, princess,” he informed you haughtily as you sat down, blowing on the golden sauce. It shimmered under the living room lighting, curls of steam rising off of it in tempting twists.

If this was real curry, you never wanted to eat anything else. As with dinner and breakfast, it was perfect—expertly seasoned, everything evenly sliced and cooked just right. You hated how much you liked it, suppressing a pleased groan as you shoveled down spoonfuls.

“I hate you for how good this is,” you admitted to him.

A wicked smirk cut the corners of Bakugou’s mouth, and the sight of it raised a strange heat to your face. You shifted uncomfortably.

Whatever. It was probably just the spice in the curry.

After dinner you helped Bakugou wash up, and you were sent for a loop by how easy it was. There was still some kind of… tension… that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, and it wasn’t like he’d done a complete one-eighty in your esteem.

But knowing now that he hadn’t despised you for your quirklessness… hadn’t even actually despised you at all, really. It seemed like it had somehow flipped a switch inside of you. You’d told him that you’d needed more time to think on it, to come to terms with the things that he’d told you about himself. But really, with the air cleared so definitively, well—

You kind of thought maybe Bakugou wasn’t horrible after all.

You still wanted to bite him, actually–that hadn’t gone away–but you definitely didn’t think he was horrible.

The thought unnerved you.

When you were done you retreated to your room, still mulling that idea over, bemused at the idea that Bakugou wasn’t actually bad if you weren’t looking at him through the lens of your quirk supremacist glasses.

You managed a little bit more homework and cleaned up your notes from one of your previous lectures, shooting off a couple questions to one of your TAs. And that’s when you finally noticed it, an email from earlier this afternoon, sitting primly at the top of your inbox. It read: New Day Japan - Interview Request

You opened the email, interest piqued by the mention of one of the country’s most famous morning programs. What it said inside floored you.

Miss L/N, My name is Honda Ichika; I’m a producer here at New Day Japan. We’re airing a segment on the two quirkless anti-discrimination bills currently circulating in the National Diet, and we plan to cover your story in relation. We would love to interview as part of this segment. Specifically, we are hoping you can comment on: - Cultural barriers quirkless civilians face - Your specific experiences with respect to the events portrayed in your viral video and subsequent run-in last evening, as a microcosm of those cultural barriers, and -Your feelings on the efforts of the assembly to pass these anti-discrimination bills. The interview won’t exceed 15 minutes and will take place Thursday morning in our studio in Nakano (address to be provided upon acceptance). While I can’t offer questions ahead of time, I promise the questions will fall within the outline I mentioned above. The story, once completed, will run Friday morning. Please let us know by Sunday what your interest is. Cordially, Honda Ichika

You gaped, stunned by the idea that anyone wanted to interview you about anything.

New Day Japan was a hugely important morning news program that had been running for something like the last fifty years, and it was a massive platform for anyone looking to speak to the average citizen.

You didn’t know that you in particular had anything worthy of that massive platform, and you were squirreled away in a safehouse besides, having just almost eaten it at the hands of two random quirkist assholes just yesterday. So it was probably not a great idea to draw any more attention to yourself, and it wasn’t like you had some huge message you wanted to share at the cost of your safety.

So you closed your laptop instead of answering, pulling up twitter on your phone for something to distract you.

And yet, even as you scrolled, your mind was helplessly drawn back to the email like a magnet, catching on key points. A segment on the two quirkless anti-discrimination bills, the cultural barriers quirkless civilians face….

Please let us know by Sunday what your interest is.

You had two days to either put it out of your mind, or figure out why it was piquing your interest so much. You could give it more thought in the morning.

You wondered absently, as you drifted off to sleep, what Bakugou would make of it.

incendiary | 4 | bakugou x reader

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 4.5k of ~23k / 4th of 8 chapters

summary: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort

warnings: themes of discrimination (please see note in fic masterpost), canon typical violence, eventual smut, aged up characters

notes: Please see my notes in the fic masterpost.

The next thing you registered was a strange warmth on the side of your face, the rasp of someone’s breath across your cheekbone.

“Oi—brat, you’re fine, just breathe.” A rough voice filtered into your consciousness.

Your eyes fluttered open, only to be encountered with a handsome face far too close to yours. Bakugou was crouched over you, and you’d somehow been shifted more fully over one of his arms, balanced against a thigh, so that one of his hands could cup your face.

Behind him, the yellow light of the hallway limned the spikes of his hair in a rusty gold, casting his face in shadow. Your legs were crumpled uselessly between his body and the floor, numb.

“What—?” You demanded blearily.

“Look at me, princess,” Bakugou said, gently turning your face more fully towards his. His mouth had thinned to a grim line.

“Now take a deep breath,” he ordered. He breathed in deeply as if in demonstration.

It took you a couple seconds to process what he was saying, and then a few more to follow orders, almost as if you’d forgotten how to operate your own lungs. Air punched into your chest like a blow to the sternum. Bakugou took another breath, ordering you to do the same.

It took a couple seconds more, but eventually you took another one, and then another and another. The two of you sat like that for a few long minutes, Bakguou scrutinizing your every breath closely, eyes flicking between your face and your chest as you heaved air in. Once he was satisfied that you’d fallen into the familiar rhythm of breathing again, he shifted you back into his arms.

“Gonna get you back inside, princess. You need to lay down.” His voice was gruff but he didn’t sound as angry as he usually did. His imperious, assertive tone didn’t even annoy you—you had the wild thought that you were grateful for once, that he might know what he was doing.

The realization that you’d lost a minute or two disturbed you more than you’d ever understood it would, watching movies where somebody passed out, reading stories where maidens swooned in the company of handsome gentlemen. You didn’t know why more people didn’t talk about how unnerving the experience was.

Despite yourself, you huddled a little bit closer to Bakugou, relieved you were in the company of a pro hero. You didn’t want to think about what might have happened if you’d needed to stumble back to the safehouse on your own.

Your gut shifted as Bakugou picked you up again, and you had trouble focusing on the doors as you passed them, the hall a strange kind of yellowed blur. But soon enough Bakugou was kicking in a door, crossing a kitchen, and laying you out on a familiar couch.

He pulled up a blanket over you, and it occurred to you once the warmth settled over you that you had been cold—and that you were giving tiny, almost imperceptible little shivers. You had the vague impression that this annoyed you.

“Breathe, idiot,” Bakugou said again, and you startled, not realizing he’d rounded behind the couch. You heard his boots stomp into the kitchen, the clatter of cabinets and clank of some kitchenware.

You did as he said, heaving in another breath, and then another. You focused on the feeling, the even flow of air in and out, fresh and clear in your lungs. You must have zoned out, because the next thing you knew, Bakugou’s face was filling up your entire vision. His eyebrows were knit, mouth tight, and eyes burning into yours—but he didn’t look angry, exactly. He got a hand under your below, helping you sit up.

Then something warm was being shoved against your hand, a leafy, almost floral scent meeting your nose, and you looked down to see a mug of tea being pressed into your palm.

“Drink it, brat, you’re still shivering,” Bakugou commanded.

You couldn’t dredge up the will to argue, too wrung out, and you took an obedient sip. A shiver went down your spine as the heat flooded onto your tongue. It was so strangely warm, in a way that you had never appreciated before, like every single one of your nerve endings were instantly concentrated in your mouth.

Then the strange feeling shifted, and all of a sudden, some strange, nameless emotion welled up in your chest. Tears pricked the corner of your vision.

You blinked rapidly, horrified you were about to start crying in front of Bakugou. You struggled to free your other hand from your blanket, but he caught it before you could raise it to wipe your face.

Your eyes darted to his, startled.

Bakugou’s brows drew together. “It’s….you’re fine, princess. ‘S normal.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “W–what?”

He looked uncomfortable.

“Fucking everyone is a crybaby with shit like this. You’re not special. It’s fine,” he said again, gruffly. You watched the minute shift of his expression, the downward pull at the corner of his mouth. You’d have said he looked almost concerned, if you didn’t know better.

You shifted in embarrassment, not fully understanding why this was such a big deal for you. You’d handled assholes like this before—though no one had outright attacked you since you were kids, taking out their parents’ prejudices on you in the sandbox, before any of you really understood what you were struggling in the dirt for. Maybe that was it.

Outside the window, you could hear the shift of wind in the scraggly trees, the loud chatter of a group passing by. Tears kept pooling in your vision, turning the room into a blur. You took a few deliberate, calming breaths.

“Those guys,” you finally managed. “I don’t know why I’m so…It’s not the first time something like that has happened, but….I don’t know why I’m being so dramatic.”

Bakugou scoffed, startlingly loud in the quiet of the safehouse. “Whatever. Those guys are fucking assholes.”

The baldness of his observation startled a bitter laugh out of you.

You’d assumed he was the same, before he’d come for you.

You hadn’t had a second to really think it through yet, but now that you did—Bakugou had interfered at the convenience store. You’d assumed he had it out for you, but he’d come charging in, figurative guns blazing, and gotten those two douchebags up against the shelving in five seconds flat.

He saved your life as far as you could tell.

But…that didn’t explain why he had been such an asshole to you this whole time, too. He might have saved your life but there was something significant underlying all those weeks of judgment, those sulky silences.

“You’d probably know,” you muttered uncharitably, unable to keep the exasperation out of your tone. The way he’d spoken to you earlier still smarted, and you could still feel a little of your previous anger hot in your veins.

“Oi—” Bakugou said. He leaned down to try to catch your eye again but you jerked your face away quickly.

The couch dipped down next to you, and then Bakugou was kneeling in front of you, shoving his face right into yours again. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, brat?” He demanded.

Your heart rate kicked up with his proximity, blood bubbling into a simmer. He was wearing that pissy little expression again, and your jaw suddenly ached with the familiar need to bite him.

“You know exactly what it means, Bakugou,” you said tightly.

Bakugou made a noise of disbelief. “I just saved your ass, you shitty fucking brat, what the hell is wrong with you!” His expression twisted again into something ugly and angry.

“You want to know what it means?” You demanded. “It means you’ve been an asshole the entire time we’ve been here, Bakugou! You might have saved me but I am abundantly clear that you hate me too. That’s all I’m saying.”

Bakugou’s expression clouded over. “I don’t hate you, you overdramatic little shit. You’ve been up my ass about that since we got here and you still don’t fucking know anything.”

You threw your hands up, sloshing your tea around violently as you did. Some spilled down your hand and over your wrist, scorching hot, and you bit down a swear.

“So you keep telling me,” you said. “I don’t know what I’m talking about, I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know anything! If that’s so true then why don’t you explain it to me, huh? You’ve hated me since the second you laid eyes on me, you refused to take on this assignment to protect me, you’ve been giving me nothing but attitude since we got here, and you even blamed me for what happened in the first place!”

Your mind was jerked back to those sandboxes, sidewalks, rough hands and scraped knees. A calm, almost callously amused teacher, echoing, “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, sweetheart.” Another, asking, “Well, did you provoke him?”

Bakugou’s eyes burned blood red in the center of your vision, and you realized your voice had risen to a screech. “You don’t even know me, and as far as I can tell, this has everything to do with my quirklessness. Doesn’t it? Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong!”

Bakugou’s face went almost mottled purple, and there were several moments where it looked like the pin had been yanked from the grenade of his temper—like he was seconds from exploding in your face. His hands clenched and unclenched in the corner of your vision, opening and closing like he was thinking of using his quirk.

Finally, he managed to grit out, “It’s not a problem with your quirklessness, asshole.”

You stared at him, uncomprehending.

It was so obviously a problem with your quirklessness, so what the hell did he mean?

Bakugou’s gaze was so heated it felt like fire on your face. “It’s not a problem with your stupid fucking quirklessness. It’s not a problem with you either, you goddamn brat. It’s a problem—” He seemed to struggle with the words for a moment, his throat working. You watched him, unnerved.

“It’s a problem—it’s a problem,” he finally managed. “It’s a problem with me, okay?” He spat the words out in some disgust, like they were a bug he’d accidentally ingested.

It took a second for the words to actually register with you. When they did, you couldn’t do anything but gawk at him.

A problem with him? What the hell did that mean, a problem with him? He obviously had plenty of problems, but you couldn’t begin to imagine what he was talking about, if it didn’t have anything to do with your quirklessness.

Bakugou’s hands clenched and unclenched in the fabric of his pants, and he looked like he was milliseconds away from leaping up and kicking the coffee table across the room. It took several long minutes of this for him to work himself back into a state where he might say anything.

Finally, he pronounced tightly, “My problem with you isn’t that you don’t have a quirk. It’s that you remind me of some little fucking asshole I used to pick on in school.”

The swarm of swirling thoughts slammed to a sudden halt in your brain.

This—the past was not quite where you had expected this conversation to go. You watched him as he heaved out a gusty sigh, strong shoulders rising and falling.

“Some little shit-faced nerd, who wanted to be a hero even though he didn’t have a quirk,” Bakugou’s voice was like gravel, rough and rasping. “He wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it, no matter how many times I kicked his ass.”

He swallowed, and then swallowed again, like he was having trouble getting his throat to work right. “No matter how many times people gave him shit for it. He’d always get back up and keep fucking yapping, couldn’t shut his mouth like he knew what was good for him. And I kept fucking coming after him for it—I beat the snot out of him, told him some really fucked up stuff. Told him he should give up and wish for a quirk in his next life.”

The words sounded like a gunshot in the air, and your mouth fell open in shock.

“But just like you, he couldn’t mind his own fucking business, and he kept chasing after whatever he damn well pleased. And you know fucking what?” Bakugou demanded. “He was right. That absolute fucking shitstick was right, and I was wrong about it, just like all of these fucking douchebags giving you shit about your own quirklessness. And while I’ve done some apologizing, and he’s forgiven me, I don’t see how I should be the one trusted with shit like this again.”

Bakugou took a heavy breath through his nose. “So my problem with you, is that you’re exactly the fucking same. No,” he quickly corrected himself. “You’re even worse, so fucking mouthy and demanding and up in everyone’s fucking business like the you’re the goddamn princess of quirklessness—They should have trusted anyone else with you instead of me.”

The room descended into a ringing silence.

You sat there, stunned.

You couldn’t have found the words to say, even if you could have dredged up the brainpower to say anything at all. You just watched Bakugou’s fingers twisting in the fabric of his pants. His knuckles were white against the tan of his skin, and scars crisscrossed the skin, a long one leading up the side of his wrist, disappearing behind his elbow.

This was not what you had expected from him at all. Nothing even close to what you had been imagining had been going on in his brain this entire time. Nothing could have prepared you for the turn this argument had suddenly taken.

“What do you mean,” you finally asked, “that they should have trusted anyone else with me instead of you?”

Bakugou’s face stilled into an impassive mask. It seemed to take him a few moments to find the words. “Jeanist knows, the fucking asshole. Knows what I did, and he gave you to me on purpose. Called the police right the fuck up when he heard and asked to get me involved. When I should be the last person babysitting your mouthy little ass.”

His scarlet eyes flicked over your face. You watched him back, thoughts churning.

So, Bakugou had been some kind of quirkist, that was frankly no surprise. Obviously you had assumed as much, with the way he’d been avoiding you, and shitting all over you when he couldn’t do that. But to hear it was rooted in something more complex than that—not because he still thought he was a quirkist, but because you dredged up the memory of what he had been—

—It was…unexpected.

“I was wrong about it, just like all of these fucking douchebags giving you shit about your own quirklessness,” he’d just said. Wrong about your quirklessness making you somehow inferior, wrong about intimidating you into silence, wrong about everything that had put you in this situation in the first place.

You ran through every interaction with Bakugou, reframing it all under this new lens. All that barely-contained frustration, the clipped words, the “you don’t know anythings” suddenly made so much more sense.

“And that means you can’t be trusted?” You asked suddenly.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not hear what I just fucking said?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Do you still have a problem with quirkless people?” You asked.

Bakugou scoffed. “Fucking—no. Just you and your goddamn attitude.”

This startled a laugh out of you. It was a wretched, hiccuping little thing, but it was still a laugh, the smallest, strangest little moment of relief. Exhaustion chased after it instantly, like it had just been waiting for the smallest sign of weakness to sweep back in. You leaned against the back of the couch for support.

Bakugou pressed forward, looking concerned. “Oi—you’re not gonna faint like a fucking princess again, are you?” He demanded.

You huffed another tiny laugh. “No. I’m just…..taking it all in.”

It really was a lot to process.

He said he shouldn’t have been trusted with you. Except that he had saved you just now, hadn’t he? He had come barrelling into the convenience store after you—even though you’d just been fighting with him, had accused him of being a quirkist asshole—and he had still come running in. And then he had carried you all the way back here, let you pass out on him mid-transit, covered you in a blanket, and made you tea.

If what he was saying was true, that he’d moved past that line of thinking and didn’t begrudge you your quirklessness, and he had proved in the moment of your need, much as you hated to admit it, that he would save you…then, well why wasn’t he to be trusted?

If he’d changed, in the way that he was hinting he had, then why wasn’t he to be trusted?

Your mind was too muddled with everything to settle on any solid feeling, and you would have to think things over when you hadn’t been about to get basically force-choked by some rando in a 7-Eleven. But there was some shift of feeling. Some small sliver of conviction, that Bakugou was maybe not a quirk supremacist.

Maybe.

He was still a tool, way too salty and loud-mouthed and rude as hell.

But maybe, at least, not a quirk supremacist tool.

“And,” Bakugou said loudly, so loudly that you jumped, spilling half your tea all over your blankets. Your head whipped up again and you watched him warily as he shifted, even more visibly uncomfortable now.

He seemed to struggle with the words. He kept opening and closing his mouth, looking angrier the more he did so. Finally he managed to choke out, “I’m fucking—sorry. Or whatever.”

This floored you even more than his admission about his school years. You watched him in shock, unable to even begin to formulate the question you wanted to ask.

The tips of Bakugou’s ears were rapidly going red, and his look almost dared you to say something, but he continued. “I shouldn’t be taking it out on you,” he said. “The stupid thing with Jeanist. He’s a fucking meddler and it’s not—it’s not your fault. You didn’t ask for this shit.”

You thought this over, for a long time until the room was almost dark with the onset of evening. Street lights flickered on, one by one, illuminating the plant by the window in an orange glow.

“Thank you,” you said into the silence of the room. It surprised even you that you’d spoken, and that this was the set of words you’d chosen. But now that they were out there, they felt fairly right.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked up to yours.

“I don’t—I’m not sure how I—I mean, that’s a lot to think about right now,” you said. “But thank you for saving me back there. And thank you for the—um, for carrying me back, and the tea.”

Bakugou’s face twisted like he wanted to deny it.

“I’m too tired to settle on how to feel,” you said, lingering thoughtfully on the words for a minute. “I think you can be trusted. Just, based on what happened there. I’m not sure about all the rest yet, but…I’ll think about it.”

Bakugou nodded slowly. His quiet was almost disturbing in its unusualness, and his focus was laserlike, nerve-wracking in its intensity.

He was quiet long enough that you fully gave up on supporting yourself and leaned all the way back against the couch, just watching him think. Eventually his expression evened out, and he heaved himself off the couch, getting to his feet. “Drink the rest of your tea, brat.”

You were too tired to argue. You obediently raised the mug to your mouth, taking a warm sip. Bakugou looked on approvingly, red eyes picking over you closely. You finished the rest of the tea under his watch, the two of you sitting in a strange, contemplative silence.

As you were finishing up, his phone rang. He shoved a hand in his pocket, face twisting as he read the contact name.

“Dynamight,” he answered briskly.

On the other end of the line, you heard the familiar tones of Best Jeanist—clear, crisp, and disappointed. “What happened?”

Bakugou’s mouth flattened. “She ran out,” he said, his voice gravelly but even. “I started shit with her.”

His honesty surprised you, the complete lack of excuses on his part.

Best Jeanist heaved an audible sigh. “I really believed you could handle this, Katsuki.”

Bakugou’s face twisted, and your eyes dropped to the ground, wanting to give him the dignity of some small privacy in this moment.

“Yeah, I know you did,” he said.

Something about the flatness of his tone pulled at your heartstrings just a little. You fiddled with your tea mug nervously, frowning down into your lap.

Best Jeanist didn’t say much more on that, just left it at a long moment of silence before launching into a bunch of follow up questions. Bakugou walked him through the events from his perspective, tracking you to the convenience store, seeing two men corner you and the cashier cower behind you, watching you panic as you realized you couldn’t draw in any breath.

The description he provided of the two men surprised you in its observancy—he noted many different characteristics and mannerisms you hadn’t picked up on your own, and though everything was almost a blur in your own memory, he recounted everyone’s movements down to the most minute detail like it was a set of choreography he’d spent weeks memorizing.

He detailed your reaction, your shock and momentary loss of consciousness, and the observation he was currently following up with. And then he circled back to the fight that had caused it all. “We….talked or whatever. It won’t happen again,” Bakugou said finally.

Best Jeanist paused, then said something quietly enough that you couldn’t hear.

Bakugou scoffed. “I fucking said it, didn’t I?”

You couldn’t tell whether Best Jeanist’s silence was thoughtful or judgmental. Eventually he answered, just as quietly as the previous comment. Bakugou grunted, and then hung up.

When he turned to you, he eyed you thoughtfully. “You still hungry, brat?”

You startled at being addressed again so suddenly. “I—uh…”

Bakugou didn’t wait for your answer, padding back over to the kitchen. You heard the clank of various kitchen equipment, the clatter of cupboard doors and the sticky sound of the fridge opening. You listened for a long time, to the thump of a knife on a cutting board, the hiss of butter in a pan.

You were almost asleep against the side of the couch by the time Bakugou came over, bearing two plates laden down with two small mountains of food.

He shoved one under your nose, and you stared down at it, eventually registering some kind of dressed chicken, a small pile of asparagus, and—you let out another shocked laugh—a baked potato, with a neat little pat of butter, and a distinct lack of the cheese you’d shaken over your own earlier.

“If you’re gonna eat that shit you need to balance it out with actual food,” Bakugou pronounced judgmentally, sinking onto the couch with his own plate. “Sick of you fucking scarfing down absolute garbage.”

You didn’t deign this with a response.

You accepted silverware from him, balancing your plate on your lap and carefully cutting into your food. It was disturbingly good, perfectly balanced, everything cooked and seasoned to high perfection. It irritated you, vaguely, that Bakugou was so good at cooking, which you had long suspected but had never had the opportunity to confirm. It meant he’d been eating like this the entire time you’d been subsisting on old granola bars.

The two of you ate in companionable silence, the kind that you hadn’t had since you’d been yanked unceremoniously from your dorm. Bakugou was surprisingly good company, when he wasn’t screaming or scoffing or staring you down judgmentally.

The food satiated a hunger you hadn’t realized was eating away at you underneath everything else. Filled with food and hot tea, and safely ensconced in your covers on the couch, your exhaustion fully caught up with you. You managed to get your plate onto the coffee table before slumping down between the back of the couch and an arm.

“Oi—you still think I’m your maid service?” Bakugou demanded, but he didn’t sound as mad as usual. You just watched him from beneath your blanket until he eventually sighed, collecting your plate on top of his.

“Just, get some rest, brat,” he said. “You’ll feel better after you sleep.”

You nodded, only half-registering his words.

You heard the clink of your two plates together, the metallic slide of silverware across them as Bakugou rose to his feet.

Dimly, you noted the sound of the sink running in the kitchen, the clatter of plates in the basin. Exhaustion pulled on your eyelids and a strange feeling of safety wrapped around you like a thick blanket.

And then, for the second time in as many hours—you slipped into sleep.

incendiary | 3 | bakugou x reader

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 4.9k of ~23k / 3rd of 8 chapters

summary: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort

warnings: themes of discrimination (please see note in fic masterpost), canon typical violence, eventual smut, aged up characters

notes: A HUGE thank you to my sensitivity readers @cat-slippered​ and @darkenedniqhts​. They’re both incredible writers and lovely human beings, please check their fics out!! Please see my notes in the fic masterpost for more!

In the morning, you woke to the slam of pots in the kitchen.

You shot up, instantly getting tangled up in your covers. You struggled against their tight coiling, letting out a strangled hrgh noise before overbalancing and slipping over the side of the couch, landing hard on your shoulder.

An ugly chuckle issued from the kitchen. You poked your head up to catch a scarlet eye turned in your direction, the maliciously pleased curl of a full mouth. You stared for a moment, disoriented, wondering who the hot blonde was, why he was so familiar, and what he was doing in your house.

Then he turned towards you more fully, his eyes flickering judgmentally over you, and it all caught back up with you.

Ugh. Fucking Bakugou.

Part of you had hoped when you woke, this all would have proved a very detailed and specific nightmare. But the nightmare was still there, glaring at you while he neatly chopped vegetables and set a pot to boiling on the stove, still wearing that stupid black tank that showed off the meticulously honed, deadly perfection of his biceps.

Double ugh.

You groaned and sank back to the ground, biting down some choice swear words. Bakugou ignored you, the only sounds from the kitchen the quick thump of his knife against a cutting board, the snap and hiss of the grill drawer being turned on.

You slowly extricated yourself from your tangled heap of blankets, beating a bleary but hasty retreat to the bathroom to escape his presence, grabbing a change of clothes and your toiletries on the way.

In the bathroom, Bakgou had apparently already set out his own—a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, a razor, and a small travel size container of shaving cream were laid away behind the mirror. On the shelves, a small zippered pouch in a deep gray lay next to a stack of fluffy towels.

You couldn’t help but peek inside, intrigued by the idea of Bakugou Katsuki having personal effects like an actual human being. Inside, a comb, some kind of expensive smelling hair gel, and spares of the items behind the mirror peered back at you. It all seemed weirdly domestic, weirdly intimate, and you quickly backed away, turning on the shower instead. You flung off your clothes, scattering them all over the bathroom in your haste to get into the shower and away from Bakugou’s things.

Of course Bakugou was a living, breathing human (demon), which you had quickly realized yesterday. But it still threw you for a loop to realize he was more than the person you saw on TV, or even the spitting, snarling gremlin who’d stood in the detective’s office and vehemently refused to protect you. He existed outside those spaces—he brushed his teeth and shaved his face and did his hair like every other human man on earth. He apparently also chopped vegetables very expertly and had enough presence of mind to start grilling things early in the morning. There were moments, domestic and intimate, that he had, just like everyone else.

You jumped into the shower, disliking the thought of him as anything other than a feral garbage rat. A quirkist, feral garbage rat, at that.

Keep reading

Gosh someone is out here trying to crush malewife dreams😔😔

Guys, if you read on AO3 please try to create an account. So many of us writers are going to be forced to lock down our fics to registered users out of necessity to help keep AI away, and it kills us because we don’t want to stop any of you from reading.

AO3 is invite only. So if you know an AO3 user, ask if they have an invitation to give you (we’re given invite codes to share with others who want to join) because that’s an easy way to get in. If you don’t know someone you can ask, this is AO3’s instructions for requesting one from them…

I know this seems like an extra step and maybe you don’t think you need it and can just read from people who haven’t locked their fics. But this isn’t just about you as the reader. If you enjoy fics and you want to keep them coming, this is how you support your favorite writers! If our stats and comments plummet, I guarantee writing is going to start going down as well. Nobody wants that! So please consider making an account and signal boosting this as well! 🙏🏻

**NOTE: AO3 indicates (as of today) there’s 48k some people in the queue for invites and they’re sending out about 5k per day. That’s not a bad wait at all!!**

I love Avatar 2's designs of the new water-based Metkayina clan. I decided to sculpt the village chief's daughter Tsireya in Zbrush as a learning exercise!

ArtStation link: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/9EyKLv

the ocean and the wind. (7)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ synopsis: tonowari is the ocean and ronal is the wind. where does it leave you?

ੈ✩‧₊˚ notes: another late update again aaaaa our finals is so near i am shaking sobbing screaming!! as an apology there will be like mini extras after this so stay tuned for that also what the hell this is literally the final part of totw. my first fic and baby is ending. oh my god. i have written so much in this fic compared to my writing club lmao. whats your fave part and line?? i love them all but mine is lowkey part 3 because that's the start of misunderstandings and pain i love it. tell me ur thoughts and dont forget ily all. thank you so much for the huge support for this fic im so grateful to all of you JKSDGDISKJBDS :(((

part 1 ✩ part 2 ✩ part 3 ✩ part 4 ✩ part 5 ✩ part 6

Ronal knew guilt. Guilt introduced itself to her when she made a young boy cry and it never left her side ever since. She also learned helplessness. Helplessness hugged her from behind when she overheard her parents' worries for her, and it never took its arms away ever since. Hopelessness intertwined its own with her fingers when the friends she made after a long time got upset at her and it never took its arms away ever since.

But you came along and gently pried the sticky and murky darkness that eroded her and rendered her incapable of feeling more. You took her out from their figures and suddenly, she met joy. Joy chuckled along with her with your ridiculous banter with Tonowari. Faith introduced itself to her when she found herself talking with you and Tonowari and a couple of other friends. She learned of love from you, a beautiful and gentle breeze of air, and found one with Tonowari.

Then, your sudden disappearance came and the blues came back and turned into raging winds that wanted to sweep her away. But she held on tight to the joy of the memories with you. She held on tight to the faith that you gave her. She held on tight to the love that formed out for and from you.

But, she has never known anger. She never knew about the red that blinds her and the rage that boils within her veins. She never knew about the wrath that forms a hurricane and wants to destroy everything in its path. She never knew about the madness that wakes a typhoon that thirsts for violence and ruin. Not until now when she sees you in tears on the ground in the beach side with some wretched creatures laughing and looking down on you.

How dare you. How dare you.

“What is this?” a voice booms from behind her, low and deep, and Ronal did not need to look behind to see who it was. The girls look at her and Tonowari behind her. They let out grating giggles and she snarls, hissing at the sound.

“I said,” his voice thunders and the loudness attracted the attention of the others as they stopped to look at the situation, but Ronal paid no heed to them. “What is this?” 

She did not know what to look at, the girls who dared to make you cry or you who is sobbing so painfully that she herself wants to cry with you. The anguish she holds for you, the pain each drop of your tears increases she feels for you overpower the unfamiliar terrifying storm that makes her want to shout at the short-haired girl that finally stopped their useless giggling. So she hurriedly comes over to you and embraces you in her arms. 

“[Name]...”

“No, please let me go…” she feels you struggling, trying to hit and push her away but she knows—desperately hopes—you do not even hold an inch of intention to be away from her as she did when you tried to calm her down when she first met you. She lets you and did not let you go, not even soften her embrace on you just once.

She leaned close to you and perhaps Eywa heard her prayers but she felt relief when you finally understood that she wants to protect and help you this time. But a huge part of her hurts in the way, you cover your face into the crook of her neck and your sobs are muffled against her skin. The wetness of her shoulder brings over a hot air that wants to melt one of the girls who dared to make you cry which she finally recognizes. Letsakx.

“What’s wrong, Tonowari? I was just telling her how you two did not need her anymore,” her thin voice said in a disgusting sickly tone, “How you are to be mated before Eywa soon enough and lead the clan together. Without her.”

She batted her eyelashes at Tonowari like a blind snake that wiggles its body to attract a mate. Disgusting. She looks at Tonowari who clearly has the same thing in his mind. His jaw clenches and his fist tightens, his eyes as still as the calm before the storm.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Tonowari? Aren’t I right?” she condescendingly giggles once more, “Don’t be shy, tell her the truth. She’s just a plaything you’ve gotten tired of when Ronal entered your life—”

Ronal snarls at her. “Shut your mouth! You do not know anything! How dare you run off your useless mouth with such lies!”

“Or what? What would you do?” the vile wench scoffed at her, “Besides, everyone knows, everyone knows Tonowari wants to mate with you. Not poor little useless [Name] who has been with him for so long and still couldn’t have him. I wonder what you have that she, a long-time friend of his, doesn’t? What everyone else doesn’t?”

Amidst her anger, Ronal could care less what she’s insinuating. She could not give a single piece of her mind what interesting choice words she says to insult her. Perhaps, if the past version of Ronal was the one standing as of now, she is sure it would affect her and destroy what little of care she has for herself left. But she is not the old her now. The one in front of her that stands in front of everyone is the Ronal of the present, the one who has changed and will continue to change. So no, whatever slander the unblessed by Eywa herself says about her does not offend her.

But it is entirely a different matter when it is you who she dares to commit such blasphemy and disrespect. It is a different matter when you, Eywa’s blessed child of love and joy, are reduced to sorrow and grief. You, who are full of smiles and everything nice of this world, are reduced to tears and sobs.

Ronal can feel your breath hitch at Letsakx’s words and you go limp in her arms like you had given up on everything. Like you had given up on the love that she and Tonowari have for you but you do not feel. Like you had given up on the way she and Tonowari see you but you do not see.

No. No. Nononono—

“[Name]... no, no, don’t believe anything she says. I see you. He sees you.” Ronal pleads with you as she gently lowers herself and you to the sand. She rocks your body gently and caresses the wet hair that is stuck to your face from your tears. She finally sees your eyes and oh—you’re gone. Your eyes are glossy but they do not shine anymore. You don’t even look at her. You don’t see her. You don’t see them.

“[Name]...” She chokes out a sob and she’s helpless in the storm that harshly scratches her skin. The wind has become blades that tear whatever is left of her heart and dried her blood dry.

“Hahaha! How pathetic! Is it your tears that seduced our future Olo’eyktan? I can’t believe a tramp like you has—”

“Take my mates’ name out of your mouth.” Tonowari’s deep voice permeates the whole island and suddenly everything stops. The murmurs and the hushed whispers of the onlookers, the giggling of the girls who managed to kill her life and love, the whiffs of the winds, the waves of the ocean. It all stops.

Ronal looks at Tonowari who stands in front of the both of them. She can only see his back, his figure towering over the other girls. Letsakx’s arm is held by him, and she could see the fear and confusion creeping onto her and leaving her legs slightly trembling.

“W-What? Let me go—”

“My mate had told you to shut your mouth but you did not, did you?” his grip tightens, his veins becoming more prominent and his muscles tensing, and she struggles as her arm turns purple.

Ronal purses her lips and let her tears fall. Despite the pain in her heart, she feels warm. She feels loved. She feels seen. Tonowari is a blessing and you are her miracle. Really, it hurts how fate won’t let her live peacefully and contented. She silently grieves over the lost future she dreams of with you and him.

“You are our soon-to-be Olo’eyktan! I am one of your people, you cannot do this to me!” She shouts at him but panic can be easily heard from her voice. Tonowari is silent and she takes this as him contemplating her words as she continued as arrogance comes back as she believes her delusions, “You cannot hurt me. You can only serve me as our Olo’eyktan.”

“And as your future Olo’eyktan, you should have known better than to insult my chosen mates,” his voice is thick, full of calm yet venomous wrath that threatens to break the weak constraints of his patience, “and to insult my mates is to insult me.”

He pushes her away with force to her group of friends and did not care that she fell. She starts to sob and Ronal can only grit her teeth. Forgiveness was a lesson she had to learn by herself. She learned to forgive the parents of the boy who hated her and humiliated her without them asking to. She learned to forgive her friends who blamed her for something she never really intended to make them feel without asking to. She learned to forgive herself for the faults she committed and learned how to grow stronger and mature.

But she does not think she can forgive Letsakx for what she has done. To you. To Tonowari. To herself.

“This is a warning to each and every one of you. Touch them again, hurt them again, and I will not hesitate to show you what your soon Olo’eyktan’s wrath is.” He glowers at them and the people kneel at him. They bow their heads showing their alliance to their leader.

Ronal looks at you once more and finds you looking at the setting sun on the ocean. The golden rays glisten so beautifully on your skin. The wind sways your hair, it whispers out to you,  and the waves try their hardest to reach out to you and call out your name.

He comes back to both of you. She looks at him and tells him with her eyes to take her and you away from this mess. Tears slip out and he sends her a smile that hides the same pain she feels, but she sees through him. She sees him. She sees you close your eyes.

Tonowari carries the both of you in each of his arms and into the inner island where no one would come to disturb nor dare to hurt each of you again.

.

.

.

“Take my mates’ name out of your mouth.” Tonowari’s words still ring through your head over and over again. Mates? The sinful part of you, the greedy little thing desperately hopes what he said is true. That he considered you to be truly his mate. But you know better. You learned better. Tonowari is a kind man. Very, very kind that he would put anybody else first before himself. He is putting you first despite what anyone will say to him because he is kind.

Ronal’s warmth encases you and the green monster wishes to be buried hidden beneath her loving embrace. But you know better. You learned better. She is a thoughtful woman. She cares about others first, most of the time overlooking what she thinks and feels. She cares for you first despite what anyone will say to her because she is thoughtful.

They only protected you back then because they are kind and they care for you. Because you are their friend. And as a friend, you should thank them for defending you and offer your congratulations for their bonding. 

But you can’t open your mouth. The words are stuck in your throat, it encloses and constricts what you want to say and you find yourself feeling so stupid and pathetic all over again.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it now,” Tonowari says suddenly. He carried you and Ronal into the inner parts of the island. The creek where you first met Ronal. The creek where you witnessed the love they had for each other and left none for you. He placed you both on the grass nearby the streaming water and sat close to you. “Please.”

“Please see us,” Ronal takes your hands and you look at her.

“I do.”

“But you don’t.” Tonowari leans his forehead against your temple as he pleads with you. You frown. How could he say that? How could he? You try to withdraw your hands and you leaned back away from him. They look at you with so much hurt in their eyes but they still don’t let go of you. It pains you to see them like this but you swallowed it down.

“I don’t? What do you mean? I see you two. Eywa knows how much I look at you and how much it hurts me. She knows how I desperately beg for her forgiveness because I shouldn’t be hurting. I should be happy for both of you, you two who are so in love with each other. I should be happy for both of you because I am your friend!” like the creek that trickles continuously nearby you, your tears flow down endlessly, “But I’m not. Seeing you two hurts me.”

You tilt your head and close your eyes. It’s odd. You don’t even dare to say what you feel out loud to yourself, much less even think about telling them both. But you did. The suffocating and heavy weight that kills you inside is finally out in the open. You scoff inwardly. You guess it won’t be too long till they would shun you out for daring to disturb their love.

You were alright with being just their friend. You accepted and settled just for that so that you wouldn’t ruin anything. Why… Why did you have to push me like this?

“Do you love us?” Ronal’s trembling voice made you open your eyes. You look at her, with your hands in her tight grip, not leaving you any chance to turn them away. You take in her beauty which made it irresistible for you to say the truth.

“Yes. I love you two so much.” You breathe out. 

“Tell us how much you want us. Let us understand you. Let us see you.”  She crawls towards you until you back away. But you can only move so much until your back hits Tonowari’s chest. She sits so close to you, only a breath away from each other. His arms snake around your waist and you feel your breath hitch. Like a captivated Na’vi who fell victim to the storm that brew in their eyes, you let the wind and the ocean drift you away.

“I want you. I want you two so bad it hurts. You are my source of greed. My selfishness.” Your hand is placed on Ronal’s cheek by herself and you caress it. Her eyes look at you with so much wonder and love. They are so full of life and you find yourself looking at your reflection in them. “You are my prayers to Eywa.”

Tonowari rubs his head against yours and he kisses the temple of your forehead and it takes all of you to not melt underneath his warmth.

“But you two are made for each other. Tonowari, you are mighty and strong like the ocean. You have what it takes to be our Olo’eyktan. Ronal, you are as gentle but as powerful as the wind. You have what it takes to Tsahik. You even proved it once more a while ago, you can make quite the storm together,” you lightly chuckle with a sense of pride and bitterness.

“But between the two of you, there is no place for me,” you smile painfully, “So let me go. Leave me with the sins of being greedy and selfish to both of you. Leave me and go forward with each other.”

“You said you see us. But you’re wrong.” Tonowari suddenly says against your skin. You shiver at his breath. You look at him questioningly. He looks at you, his blue eyes are deep with emotions you find yourself drowning in.

“If you do, then you should have known how we long for you as well. How we want you so bad. How we want you to be with us. Together.”  Ronal rests her head on the other side of your shoulder.

“If you do, then you should have known how greedy and selfish we are as well for you. Be greedy with me. With Ronal. Be selfish with us and let us be the same with you.” Their words make you widen your eyes. Shock leaves you speechless and their confession leaves you breathless.

“You say we are the ocean and the wind, but you are the life. You are the gleaming plants and the flora the wind dances with. You are the glowing lights underneath the ocean it flows with. You are the direction that guides the wind. You are the water that makes the ocean.”

“We might be the ocean and the wind, but without you, there is nothing of us.”

Suddenly, you are aware of the way they look at you. The way they touch you. The way they are so close to you.

“Do you hear the ocean and the wind that has been longing for you and calling out your name for so long?”

“Do you see us now?”

With more tears not out of sadness, but surprise and tenderness, flow out once more, you chuckle hoarsely. You finally rest against Tonowari and fully embrace Ronal. You close your eyes. You hear the waves of the ocean from the distance and feel the breeze of the wind. You open your eyes and look at them.

“I see you.”

series-taglist: (tumblr won't let me tag some blogs so if you changed your username, please lmk!) @totesnothere04 @ducks118 @narutoboi @yeosxxx @fanboyluvr @ladylovegood-69 @northsoulss @thatfictionalwh0re @ghostlyworld @toodaloo432 @lovefromjazzy @greendino7 @neteyamforlife @vermilionzombie @vxncxntt @adaiasafira @tsuteysyawntu @mooniequeen @eywas-heir @arminsgfloll @dev1lm4n @myh3artttt @thehoneymushroomhealer @delightcandlelight @shadowmoonlight0604 @dae-dreamer @buttercup-beeee @ms5m1th @cryingwhilereading @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @manumanulau @ssc7514 @loveofvernonslife @cheolattes @bobaopal @riahpickle-blog

navi

pt 1

"okay, okay, that's enough!"

you hissed in pain as roxto dabbed the paste of herbs on the red gash across your arm.

"i'm hardly even halfway, (name)." he deadpanned, pulling your arm closer to his body to resume his work. the medicine stung with every press, almost making you regret chasing after such a big fish past the reef.

"maybe if you had waited for aonung to catch up to you, you wouldn't be sitting here and whining like a baby."

"and let it get away? no thanks! you should thank me for the great feast we're going to have!" you gleamed, muttering a silent prayer to eywa as thanks for what she has provided.

"still, it was dangerous, you should've waited for the others." roxto emphasized, wrapping the fabric covering over your wound. you were competitive, you'd rather take the glory all for yourself than for aonung to have his name all over the achievement as the chief's son.

"but thank you," he added as he tapped your arm to signal he was finished. you smiled, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.

"thank you, too, roxto."

the journey back to your marui was met with many greetings from the metkayina, many of them congratulating you on your big feat and asking if your arm was okay. you had almost reached there when tsireya stopped you, lo'ak trailing behind her.

"(name)!" she held your hands in hers, squealing in excitement.

"i heard what you did, that's so cool!" she gushed, your cheeks flushing at her compliment. more flooded out of her mouth before she quickly left in excitement to prepare for the night, leaving lo'ak with you.

"hey," he greeted, his arms slinking around your waist to pull you close. you nodded in response. your hands were on his chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath.

"what's 'reya talking about?"

reya.

your mood instantly dropped.

here we go again.

"got a big catch on my own," you mumbled. you slowly tried to wriggle out of his grasp in hopes of him not noticing your discomfort.

he laughed, "you?"

you frowned at his retort. it felt like he wouldn't believe you could pull off such a thing.

"yes. me. i've done it before, why would it be so unbelievable this time?"

his face contorted in surprise, he definitely wasn't expecting the tone of your voice.

"you did?"

"i told you.. the day we first hung out as a couple."

he didn't remember. he hardly remembered anything about you anyway. or was it that he didn't care to listen? his mind always seemed to wander off somewhere when you'd talk to him. maybe it was that, he was just occupied that day.

"oh, my bad."

that's all he ever says.

you rolled your eyes before muttering some lame excuse so you could leave. you've had it with everything. you didn't know what to feel anymore. a part of you felt like you deserved better, but another part of you kept making excuses for him to keep the picture-perfect image of your relationship intact.

at eclipse, you were sitting around the fire with your friends, and some other metkayina, as you enjoyed your catch for the day, getting flustered at exaggerated compliments from roxto.

"it's almost like eywa blessed specifically this fish! i promise you!"

"that's enough, roxto. you're embarrassing." you groaned before kicking some sand in his direction to shut him up.

"oh no need to feel so shy, (name) the great hunter, we all know of your great hunting feats." he teased. he elbowed you as a laugh escaped his lips at the sight of you covering your face.

however, it got you thinking.

great hunting feats.

was he exaggerating? or did he really know about your hunting stories? you don't even recall mentioning anything. it must've been during a fleeting moment when you two were exchanging small talk. roxto seemed to know a lot of things about you. both small and big, and you hardly remember telling him about them.

it was then that you realized, it wasn't only roxto who was like that. your friends remembered things about you, too. tsireya knows you like to talk to the ilu as you feed them, so she gives you space in order to make you feel comfortable to do so. neteyam knows which parts of the meat you like more, and therefore tries to save those parts for you. aonung knows what time of day you like to hunt, and when you absolutely hate going, which becomes evident when he only invites you around those times.

all your friends paid great attention to things you said, and you did the same for them, too. it's what made your bond with everyone so strong.

if your friends could do that, why couldn't lo'ak?

it's hours later when you see him again in the comfort of your marui. his eyes are casted downwards, mouth twisted in a frown.

"hey, why didn't you sit with me?" he broke the silence, voice barely above a whisper.

"didn't think you'd care." you replied indifferently, moving past him to stretch a little and get yourself some water.

"didn't think i'd— what is wrong with you? i always care."

he seemed angry, but you knew he was more upset than that. lo'ak would never get boiling mad with you. maybe that was another way he had of showing he loved you. but you'd rather he treat you like everyone else than how he'd treat you now. you'd rather he be more joyous like he was with others, more expressive, instead of treating you like his pastime.

"sure doesn't feel like it, lo'ak."

"what are you trying to say?"

"i'm saying i'm—" you hesitated.

do i really want this?

you're not so sure now. the thoughts always crept back, claiming you were overreacting and lo'ak was just like that. you just had to deal with it. but as you thought back to today, with how roxto cared for your wound, and your friends congratulated you, listened to you, while lo'ak didn't even ask about your injury, you decided you didn't want this anymore.

"i'm done with this. i'm done with us."

maybe you misunderstood. maybe you overlooked things. maybe he did love you. but it just wasn't in the way you wished he did.

Masterlist

my requests are closed! here are the rules <3 comment or message me if you want to be added to my taglist :)

current works

neteyam

“secret”

—“to the ends of pandora” alternative ending | requested

“this weight on my shoulders” | in progress

— part four of the “can only hope” series

“she is mine”

— part one, part two

neteyam x human!reader as besties headcanons | requested

“this time, let me take care of you” | requested

lo’ak

“deja vu”

— part one, part two

“closure”

— part two of “can only hope” series

“i believe you” | requested

“take me with her”

— part one, part two | in progress

“from me to you” | requested | in progress

“figure you out” series | in progress

ao’nung

“forever”

— part one, part two, part three, part four | in progress

“hard for”

kiri

“feels like we buried alive something that never died” | in progress

— part three of the “can only hope” series

tuktirey

“time has moved forward but you’re still the same” | in progress

— part five of the “can only hope” series

neytiri

in the works…

— part ? of the “can only hope” series

jake sully

“a lesson in pinky promises” | requested

“soft heart” | requested | in progress

in the works…

— part ? of the “can only hope” series

sully family

“can only hope”

“the sea gives & the sea takes”

— part one of the “can only hope” series

the sports i think the sully kids would do modern au headcanons

spider socorro

“a kiss, perhaps”

“stay away from her” | in progress

Yandere! Male Leads

A/N : this took so many hours to finish Aghhh. Reblogs, notes and Feedback are appreciated!

T/W : death, yandere behaviour, etc

Event Masterlist 🎉

•┈••✦ 🎀✦••┈•💌•┈••✦ 🎀 ✦••┈•

💌 You woke up in an unfamiliar place. It wasn't the bedroom of your friend whom you had fell asleep in. The only memory you had of last night was falling asleep next to your friend's laptop while they were playing the new visual novel 'Flightless Dove'.

🎀 You couldn't have possibly experiencing those 'transmigration' thing in one of those isekai manwha/manga! Those aren't real! At least that's what you thought..

💌 Looking at the full body mirror across from the bed, you let out a sigh of relief. You still have your own features and body. However the picture frames on the bedside table reveals your identity in this new world you have been thrown into,

(Name) (Last Name), best friend of the protagonist and the heir to (Last Name) Corporation.

🎀 With this information, you recount that despite them being a side character, their story is unnecessarily tragic.

You were determined to change their fate.

Routes under the cut!

💌 Choose your route :

🍓The Fiancé 🍓

❣️Yandere! Fiancé whom you were incredibly wary of when you first met him. He was a terrible partner towards the original host, neglectful and rude towards them. Later, falling in love with Celine, the female lead and killing them to be with her.

❣️Yandere! Fiancé who you approached with caution, intending to be acquainted with him in order to hopefully guide him into becoming a normal human being. He was distant and closed off at first, shooing you off but eventually somewhat enjoys your presence.

❣️Yandere! Fiancé who finally begun opening up to you, sharing his troubles and worries with you, how angry he was at his parents for setting up this engagement without his knowledge. It's almost as if the two of you were actually lovers :)

❣️Yandere! Fiancé who falls in love with you, hard. The previous cold hearted man now replaced with a lovesick puppy who follows you around at any chance given. Always gifting you things he came across while on a business trips as a show of his affection. It's to also serve as his claim over you, that you belong to him, that you are his fiancé.

❣️Yandere! Fiancé who completely ignores the female lead numerous attempts at mingling with him. He's a faithful man, he had promised himself to you, so why should he tolerate this woman's presence any longer? Should he just kill her already? She's pissing him off greatly.

❣️Yandere! Fiancé who were envious of your friends, he wanted to be the only one you look at, the only one who you'd smile at and laugh with. Why are you giving away what's rightfully his to nobodies??

❣️"Promise me you'll never leave me, if you does, I wouldn't know what I'd do.."

•┈••✦ 🎀✦••┈•💌•┈••✦ 🎀 ✦••┈•

🍒The Childhood Friend🍒

❣️Yandere! Childhood Friend who's the only person you liked in the game as he's only one who stuck by the original host's side through thick and thin. Even attempting to avenge them after their death.

❣️Yandere! Childhood Friend who were surprised by your attitude towards him- not that he was against it- you were more animated and affectionate with him, it made his heart flutters everytime you complimented or gave him a hug. Have you finally reciprocate his feelings for you?

❣️Yandere! Childhood Friend who were in love with you ever since the two of you were kids. He was a loner that nobody wanted to befriend until you came along, suddenly there was a crowd of kids wanting to be friends with him. They don't matter to him though, in his eyes, you're the only friend he needed.

❣️Yandere! Childhood Friend who were incredibly jealous and resentful towards your fiancé! He was such a lucky man to be engage to you yet stupid enough to not see your worth. Can't he sees how beautiful and intelligent you are? How amazing you are compare to him??

❣️Yandere! Childhood Friend who were aware that he wasn't your only admirer. While he had been successful in scaring away your other suitors, the protagonist and even your fiancé weren't as easy. They too share the same strong feelings he have for you. And they weren't going to back down anytime soon.

❣️Though just like them, he too wouldn't be giving up on you. He was tired of seeing you with someone who's undeserving of you, who doesn't know how to treat you right.

❣️"You're the sunshine to my lonely self you know that, (Name)? I love you :)"

•┈••✦ 🎀✦••┈•💌•┈••✦ 🎀 ✦••┈•

⚘️The Protagonist⚘️

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who were the original host's best friend besides their childhood friend. He was your stereotypical main character, he was charming, attractive and powerful. Despite that, he still stuck around them until Celine came along.

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who you were determined to keep as an ally. After all the downfall of the original (Name) was because of a falling out between them and the protagonist. By having him as your friend, your chances of surviving this mad world is increased!

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who just like your childhood friend was surprised at your change of attitude towards him. He was used to your stoic and closed off self but was happy with your positive changes!

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who's feelings for you grow rapidly as days went by. He can't put a finger to what exactly it was about you that pulled him in. Was it your infectious laughter? Or your odd sense of humour that he can't help but adore you for? Your intelligence that never fails to amaze him?

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who were absolutely smitten by you that he ignores practically everyone including the female lead whom he's supposed to fall in love with. Nobody else is as important as you are to him. So why should he bother be around them when he can be with you instead? :)

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who despite his reputation as being kind and charming to others, would not hesitate to murder for you. Though he hasn't committed any, he is guilty of sending threats towards your other admirers. Unfortunately, your fiancé and childhood friend aren't as easy to rid of unlike like your other suitors.

❣️Too bad for them, he's not one to give up once he sets his eyes on something. He'll do whatever it takes if it meant that you'll be in his arms at the end of the day.

❣️"(Name), I hope you know how important you are to me. I love you now and forever"

•┈••✦ 🎀✦••┈•💌•┈••✦ 🎀 ✦••┈•

just moaned at my brain

𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

...hear my prayer

➺ pairing: aged up!lo'ak x metkayina!reader ➺ series summary: lovesick!lo'ak does all he can to win the heart of oblivious!reader ➺ series warnings: minor mentions of death, tuk bullying lo'ak (he had it coming), throwing up (minor), general lovesick behaviour a/n: ♪ and they call it puppy loveee ♪ i strongly believe that lo'ak's goofy ass is ultimate rom-com material !! a couple yrs hv passed since the sea battle with the recoms so everyone's older.

➵ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅰ -- ❝ eyes of liquid gold meet their aquamarine match and just like that, he is smitten ❞ (w/c: 1.6k)

➵ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅱ -- ❝ If one movie trope is true then surely they all are, right? ❞ (w/c: 1.6k)

➵ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅲ

➵ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅳ

➵ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅴ

© iwantjaketosullyme tumblr 2023

“x reader is so cringe.” to YOU. im reading this shit and having a ball ‼️