I love your fic for Pluton so much🥰 Please make a Pluton part two he's such a cute character I know he's a giant but still I adore him and there's basically no fics about him
Your wish is my command, part 2
Eleceed Masterlist | Main Masterlist
With each leap, your confidence grew. Your hardening ability made you steady — the cracks in your skin tightening like armor as you propelled yourself upward.
Finally, you were right behind him, heart pounding with excitement.
Pluton glanced back, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, before smirking as he jumps by a skyscraper.
“Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.”
You silently followed him in the sky, than underground and down you were in underground hideout.
You looked around. There was no smell fo sewer. But there are boxing sacks around. On the walls techniques,especially defense.
''....look around,fall around-thats how you learn-''
You looked down,your ears redding out of emmbaressment
''.....but first make yourself comfortable and eat something.....and shower-little dumpster''
You didn’t move at first. The idea of comfort felt foreign. But somehow, an hour later…
Small hands gripped the edge of a tub far too big for you. Warm water sloshed around your waist. You hadn’t meant to stay this long, but he hadn’t rushed you.
Pluton sat on a stool behind you, sleeves rolled up, thick fingers gently scrubbing shampoo into your hair.
One of his hands could wrap around your whole head.
Your head bobbed slightly with each movement. You blinked through the rising foam and popped a stray bubble drifting too close to your nose.
“...What is your name?” you asked quietly, voice muffled by the echo of the tile and water.
“Pluton, little dumpster.”
You closed your eyes shut tight as he splashed water to wash the shampoo out.
You sat in his lap, legs warm from the bath, the oversized shirt he tossed at you hanging past your knees like a nightgown.
Pluton grunted, shifting you slightly with one arm as he propped up your ankle. His hands, calloused and scarred, held your small foot like it was something breakable — even though you weren’t. Not really. Not anymore.
He had a pair of clippers in his hand, squinting as he lined them up with precision.You stayed quiet. Let him clip and grumble and scold under his breath. Let him tilt your foot to check for any rough spots. You squirmed around a bit,not happy and not used being touched around.You shifted again, a small, frustrated whimper slipping from your throat — the kind only uncomfortable toddlers make.
''almost done,3 nails to go''
His thumbs rested near your temples, gentle despite his size.
“You can look after I’m done.”
Your eyes crossed slightly from how close his hands were. You huffed. Sat very still.
“Don’t move your head,” he said, a little sharper now. two large, warm hands came up, cupping either side of your head to keep you still. His thumbs rested near your temples, gentle despite his size.
Your eyes widened, but you didn’t dare turn.
Another lock fell — light as a feather, brushing your shoulder before hitting the floor.
He kept one hand steady on your head, the other moving with slow confidence.
“You couldn’t even see through this mess,” he muttered. “How’re you supposed to throw a proper punch if you’re eating your own hair?''
You felt the siccors on your back and your hair feel lighter
You weren’t sure whether to cry or thank him.
“…I liked my hair,” you mumbled.
“It’s still yours,” he replied. “Just… less of it trying to strangle you in a fight.”
A pause. Then the fingers on your head brushed back through your hair once more — slow, combing through the remaining strands with care.
“There. Now you can see.”
He let go. You blinked at the dim light ahead of you. And slowly turned to glance at the floor. A little pile of hair lay curled like feathers.He combed your hair,taking your forehead while he is at it.
''Alright'' he said, sitting cross-legged in front of you with his arms resting on his knees. His eyes studied you calmly, like a weight waiting to drop.
“Show me what you can do.”
''Í can.....harden my body'' You said,showing hardens arms that clinked against each other when you crossed your arms infront of you.
Your forearms knocked together as you crossed them in front of your chest, metal-on-metal echoing softly in the room.
He didn’t move. Didn’t react with praise or amazement — just watched a little longer.
“...That’s it?” he asked, voice low.
Your heart dropped a little. “Well— I can cover most of me, if I focus. It’s strongest on my arms and shoulders. Legs too,and hair''You said.
Still no expression. Just a slow blink.
You fidgeted. “I can take hits. Really hard hits. And I’ve been trying to punch while it’s on but— sometimes it hurts my joints.”
“Of course it does.” He finally stood up, cracking his knuckles. “Because you’re turning yourself into a shield without learning how to carry the weight.”
You flinched slightly. “So I’m doing it wrong?”
“No. You’re just raw. You’ve got muscle, sure — but no discipline.”
He stepped behind you. “We’ll fix that.”
You felt his hand tap your shoulder.
“Turn it on. All of it. From the feet up.”
You closed your eyes and focused, gritting your teeth as the hardening spread — ankles first, then shins, knees, thighs. Up your spine. Your ribs ached as the shell formed around them, like armor growing too fast.
Your arms clinked again as they tensed. Forearms, shoulders. Jaw.
When you opened your eyes, Pluton was still there, nodding once. His eyes weren’t unimpressed now. They were sharp. Calculating.
Then — without warning — he shoved you backward.
You stumbled, arms swinging, and crashed onto the mat behind you with a loud thud.
You sat up, wide-eyed. “What was that for!?”
Pluton didn’t smile. But his voice was different now — steady, like stone.
“If you want to be strong, you don’t start by showing off what your body can do. You start by learning what it can take.”
''Harder!Put your back in it-you cant just rely on your hardening''He said as you hit the palms of his hand as he parried them.
SMACK.
Your fist hit his palm with a dull thud, but he barely budged. He parried the next strike with a simple flick of his wrist, sending your balance off again.
“Harder! Put your back in it!” Pluton barked. “You can’t just rely on your hardening!”
Your breath came in short, hot bursts. Sweat dripped from your chin, and your arms already ached — the familiar weight of your hardened quirk pressing against every joint. Your shoulders burned. Your knuckles throbbed.
“But—”
Smack.
He deflected another punch.
“I am trying—!”
You gritted your teeth and lunged again, slamming your hardened forearm into his palm. He absorbed it like a wall, then twisted — making you stumble, forcing you to pivot or fall. Your back foot slid across the mat. You caught yourself, barely.
“You’re fighting like your ability is a shortcut. It’s not.”
He stepped in suddenly, hand snapping forward. You flinched, instictivly blocking
But the blow didn’t come.
Instead, he grabbed your wrist, held it still. His voice dropped just a little — less thunder, more stone.
“You think turning to steel makes you untouchable? All it does is buy you time. Your body’s the weapon. Not the armor.”
You blinked, chest heaving. “...So I can’t rely on it?”
He let go, stepped back. “No. You build on it. You get strong without it, so when you use it—”
He tapped your chest with two fingers.
“—you’re a wrecking ball. Not a crutch.”
You were silent for a moment, catching your breath.
Then—
You narrowed your eyes. Stepped back into stance. And hit him with your real weight behind the punch this time.
His hand shifted slightly. Just slightly. But enough.
He grinned. “Better.”
Then added, “Still weak, though.”
You huffed. “You’re the worst teacher ever.”
“Good. Means I’m doing it right.”
Your little body was slumped against a cluster of floor pillows, too tired to move, limbs heavy from training. You didn’t even remember when you fell—only that you were panting one second and laying on your side the next.
Pluton had caught you. He always did.
Now, he gently shifted your weight with one arm, laying you down with more care than he gave his own gear. The pillows crunched softly under your body. A blanket followed—thrown haphazardly but tucked around your feet.
You murmured something incoherent, one hand twitching as if to swing again in your sleep. He snorted softly, standing up with a groan in his joints.
He walked over to the old water tub. The ripples had settled. Steam barely rose now.
Beneath the water, the red bloomed out from his knuckles. Purplish-blue bruises marked the bones. Swollen, hot to the touch. Tiny cracks like stress fractures lined a few joints where your hardened fists had landed, over and over.
He didn’t hiss. He didn’t wince. Just stared at the trembling water.
Anyone else, anyone with less durability would’ve had broken bones.
Because your punches aren't soft,not in the slightliest. Because even without refinement, you were already something dangerous.
If you’d been Awakened fully…even he might’ve had to block in the future.
Pluton leaned forward on the tub’s edge, water dripping from his fingers.
He looked back at you—curled up, on those soft pillows-the closets thing you have gotten for to a bed.
He smiled, just slightly.
“Little Dumpster,” he murmured.
Then sank his hands deeper into the tub, letting the pain bleed away into the water—never once letting it show in front of you.
