#But everytime I'm looking at alternatives I just think how I'm not cut for this

[harrystylesfan2686]

Alone Part 2 (Alternative Ending)

Pairing: Eris x Reader

Summary: Reader finally finds someone who cares for her but at what cost...

Warnings: Minor Mention of self harm

A/N: Surprise😏

Masterlist Part 1

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It has been three days since your last mission, the very mission that got you hurt and made you realize just how fucked your head is. Three days since you left the fight that left you with a big tear at your waist which will most definitely leave a scar.

It's half healed already, so is the cut you gave yourself but you didn't realize how deep you hurt yourself because it's left a thin white line that's fully healed but can be easily recognized.

You shift on your feet from where you're standing beside the rest of inner circle. You are at the high lords meeting, accompanying your High Lord and High Lady.

You keep moving your weight from one foot to another because the pressure keeps causing pain in your waist. You can't wait for this to be over.

When you get a chance to leave you take it, running of the the nearest restroom you can find. You take off your fight leathers to find out you bled through your bandaid. You rub your hands over your head trying to think of a way you can hide your injury from everyone.

"Well, what do we have here." A voice fills the room, one that you know oh so well. He always does this, annoy you or talk to you every chance he gets. You don't know why but you put up with him everytime too. You practically hear the smirk in his words as you complaint to the Mother for putting you in this situation right now.

"Go away, Eris." You hope for him to take the hint and leave you alone but you, too, know that it's too late considering you can clearly smell you blood in the room, and so can he.

He crosses the room in just a few strides and puts a hand on your shoulder, turning you around with surprising gentleness. He sees the blood on you shirt that's seeped out of your bandaid and intakes a sharp breath.

"Left up your shirt." You are taken a back at his order. Mouth opened agaped as you see anger swirling in his amber eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"Y/N, If you don't lift your shirt up in the next minute, I'm going to rip it off of you." He practically growls. Your eyes widen and he raises his eyebrows, daring you to question him.

After a minute of silence, he raises his hands to your shirt and you take a step back,"Alright! I'll do it!" His eyes narrow and you sigh, lifting you shirt for his to see the scarlet bandage.

"Who did this to you?" His hands clench into fists.

"No one. It's nothing." You sigh.

"Was it an enemy?" You shake your head. "Who was it?" You shut your mouth and look away. Eris' eyes widen in realisation. "Was it them?" He spits in anger. You look back at him and your lack of answer in enough for him.

"I'm going to kill them." His body radiates pury fury as he steps away from you and starts walking towards the bathroom door.

"Eris!" You run to step in front of him, blocking the door and putting your hands against his chest, gasping because of the movement causing sudden pain to your waist. Eris immediately wraps an arm around you waist and searches you for any other cause of pain.

"Are you crazy?" You exclaimed.

"No. I'm fucking angry that the people who are your apparent family, who are supposed to protect you, hurt you. And I intent on hurting them just as much."

"Eris, you're going to start a war! And that's not even the point. They didn't hurt me alright, at least not physically. I went on a mission a few days ago and got hurt, they had nothing to do with it. They don't even know I'm hurt, for gods' sake." But that doesn't seem to calm him.

"What do you mean they didn't hurt you physically? And how the hell do they not know you've been hurt since days?" It seems like his rage just amplifies.

"I just didn't tell them alright?"

"They should've checked you for injuries the second you came back from the mission and they didnt care enough to do that. And what kind mission leaves your entire waist fucking open?!" He puts a hand behind your neck.

"Why are you acting like this? Why do you care if they care?" You don't notice you close proximity because you are so shocked from the way he's reacting.

"Because I care about you!" You intake a sharp breath. "What?"

"I care. I care for you. I always have." He looks into your eyes with so much honesty that it leaves you speechless.

"I care for you so deeply. I always have, and I thought you would figure that out yourself because of the way I talk to you. Why do you think I only talk to you. Why take every chance I can have to hear to speak to me, to hear your voice, doesn't matter if you're bitter.

I take every chance I can get to have your attention because I care for you. I do not know why, but I do and im not ashamed of it. I know you don't care for me the same way but I don't care, I'll take every second of your time that you'll give me."

What are you hearing? Someone truly cares for you? This isn't true. It must be a joke. It has to be. This is no way that Eris Vanserra cares for you. He cares for no one. Everybody know that.

So then why are you believing him, believing his words, clinging to them for dear life. If this truly is a prank, if what he is saying wasnt true, you don't think you'll survive. You won't survive another Heartbreak. But something tells you that he isn't lying, that he is telling the truth, that he truly, genuinely cares for you. Something deep in your heart tells you that he might truly love you.

You gasp when you feel it. Feel everything click into place. Feel the second everything in you life finally makes sense.

"You feel it now, don't you?" His voice soft as a tug feels on your heart. Your breath heavy as you look at him in the eyes, feeling the thin golden string connecting your souls to one another.

"So leave them." He pleads.

"Why are you doing this, my love? Who are you doing this for? They don't care about you." His hand on your cheek, swiping back and forth softly while the other hugs your waist, pushing you flush against him. "I do. I care about you so much and I refuse to see you hurt yourself for people who don't value your existence." He puts his forehead to yours.

"Leave them, come with me to Autum Court and I will treat you like the queen you are. And even if you don't want to come with me it's alright, just leave them. Please." His voice cracks with your heart, taking a piece of it with him daring not to return. You don't want him to.

"Okay. I'll come with you." Tears fall down your face as his breaks into a smile. "Really?" His voice unsure.

"Yeah, I'll leave Valaris, leave them. I'll come with you." You smile genuinely after a long time and he sighs in relief.

His lips slam to yours and you both lose yourselves in the kiss. You smile into his lips, finally happy to have found someone who cares for you enough to threaten to go into war for you.

You finally found your person and you will never let him go.

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#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #acotar fluff #acotar angst #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris x you #eris fanfic #eris angst #eris fluff

[gojoshooter]

Your body flaws — that JJK men are obsessed with

Featuring : Itadori Yuuji, Megumi Fushiguro, Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro

A/N : Had so much fun writing this one im surprised with my level of fluff tolerance fr.

WARNINGS : body insecurities, mentions of make-out sessions

Itadori Yuji :

your teeth ain't the prettiest

a few of them are crooked, and both your front rows are pointy and sharp

and getting yourself a boyfriend who smiles ridiculously sweet 24/7? yeah you thought that's a great idea

when you told him about your insecurity, he tilted his head to the side asking why you were because that was the part of your charm????

makes you laugh and smile as a way to distract you from the mindset you have

you unconsciously cover your mouth while laughing so sometimes he just pulls your wrists away to a steal a kiss

makes a habit of buying you adorable masks so you can smile comfortably

even if he doesn't get to see it everytime

you earn yourself the nickname "baby tiga" (& you lowkey want him to call you that often)

alternatively if you have an oral fixation along with it he'd ask you to nibble on his fingers or biceps

Megumi Fushiguro :

when he accidentally sees your youtube history about ‘how to get rid of hip dips’ he's like what???

you were sitting right beside him and oh did you want to evaporate into thin air

the half dumbfounded and half offended face he made was laughable, but you start to panic

"y/n, is that something you eat? you don't have to.."

Megumi is just so unpredictable hfdksk

by the time you're done with your explanation, his expression changes into a more serious one

he's okay if you have insecurities maybe he has a couple too

but thinking about yourself so lowly that you hid them all the time he's not okay with that

once back home he researches about the 'hip dips'

texts you, "babe, look"

and sends an article named 'Hip Dips Are Totally Normal, So Focus on These Exercises Instead '

your face blooms into a giddy smile helplessly, he's so cute

after you told him you're fine with him touching you there, he wouldn't hesitate

sacrificing his big fluffy hoodies so you don't need to hide your sides

special attention to your curves while you cuddle

Gojo Satoru :

moles. if there’s one thing you wish you could change, it’s the moles on your face

there's four of them — two on the underside of your left eye, one under the nose and one on your bottom lip

and Gojo thinks he has never seen a prettier face than yours

if you're sleeping he'd trace his fingers gently across them

and if you're making out, he'd enjoy giving little licks to the twin moles under your eyes and tiny bites on the rest two

you'd whine. you think he's about to kiss you, but he would go for the mole on your nose instead

once you mentioned about getting your moles removed, and god he almost JUMPED you

he'd say your moles (or alternatively freckles) look like stars scattered across, making a beautiful constellation on your face

you have quite a few on your other body parts too

and don't be surprised if he has a total count of them

sometimes you feel less insecure and more jealous of your four moles

Toji Fushiguro :

you're not a fan of the stretch marks and scars spread on your limbs

oh but Toji is

once you were on a call with your friend complaining about how Toji might ditch you 'cus of your body when he overhears the conversation

you cut the phone abruptly after realizing his presence and god you had no idea since when was he there

"y/n, you coulda told me right?" he says after a moment with an unreadable expression which he has mastered

the unnerving feeling doesn't go away as you try to lessen the tension with your whiny voice, "Tojiii... i.. i'm sorry. It just annoys me... and- and i'm embarassed."

"No, I thought you were honest with me"

your stuttering words gets saved as he begins again without waiting for a reply "I'm sorry you have to be be embarassed about me"

huh what? WAIT? you're confused asf

"They're bad.. fuck, you're right eh? should've done something about it. I'm getting em removed." he checks his face in the mirror, touching his lip scar which you very much loved.

you just stare at him, frozen, as he turns away from the mirror and reaches your side to lift your chin with two fingers

"then y/n, would you love me more?" there's this sly grin he has on his face, but you think just how that scar makes it better, hotter. "ya won't leave me right?"

it takes you time to process and then you chuckle. that's silly. "Toji, why would I leave you for something so stupid?" he's silly.

"Hmm, so why would I care bout somethin like that baby?" he asks lifting his brows

you finally realize why he did all of this

"god, i love you" you crack a smile, Toji tackled down on the bed

and now you know he loves your scars as much as you love his

enjoys resting his head on your tummy besides your stretch marks

can be very intimate with them too, trapping you on bed, licking the expanse of the marks slowly as his eyes never leaves yours and you're reminded of a predatory beast

A/N : fin♡! hope y'all enjoyed this one ^^ reblogs are always appreciated !

Tags : @luckimoon @maybekoya @lifting @zourryxv @bootylischous @feraltrashenergy @skypesblog @rain-in-the-clouds @acereads @regalillegal @popcorn-and-other-fun-stuff @ventiisoverparty @neitiaquinnpb @firebonbon @badum-tsss @cursedwitchsblog @silentsilverdrop @s1mp9000 @north2445 @sqitlet @th3h0nkz @aqua-marine89 @fermentedbeansinacan @evalynanne @okkotsufav @thickussupreme @mooonglod @203steph @originalgentlemenwinner @bluemuffindonutghost @kannra21 @matchakaii @abbacchi0s @aoitoge @jspenft @hecateria @ummmitstoru @dovahkiinsbitch @alexisblakes01 @selfawarejester

#new hc #body posititivity #jjk headcanons #jjk hcs #gojo hcs #gojo headcanons #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #itadori headcanons #itadori yuji #yuji headcanons #megumi headcanons #toji headcanons #toji hcs #toji hc #toji fluff #gojo fluff #yuji fluff #megumi fluff #jjk fluff #jjk #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x y/n #hip dips #freckels #insecurity #comfort #hurt and comfort

[roses-r-rosie3]

Dancing With Your Ghost: Lost

Miguel O'Hara x M!Reader

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4]

warnings: Arguing, guilt, and angst

Summary: The reader is really self absorbed and Miguel starts to lose hope that he will ever love the reader, but the reader slowly starts to fall in love with Miguel

A/n: I wasn't really planning on making a part 2 for this story but I saw a comment from @strawberrycakecake with this idea so yea, thank you to them <3

Quote: "Listen, I am sorry for whoever you lost, but I do not love you, and I never will"

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It had been a few weeks after he unknowingly invited you, or an alternate version of you, to the society. He still wasn't over you. Everytime he looked into your e/c eyes, it reminded him of how he failed to save you. So everytime you were around, he would always lock himself inside of his office.

Most of the spider people wondered why Miguel constantly favored you over anyone else. But the only people who understood why were Jess and Peter. They were both aware about Miguel's relationship with you. And only they understood the grief he went through when he lost you. They tried comforting him the best they could, but each time they tried, Miguel would shoo them away.

But one thing stood out about this alternate version of you. This version was really snarky and a bit disrespectful. That's one thing that Miguel hated. His version of you was sweet and cordial, that's one of the main reasons why Miguel fell in love with you to begin with. But this version of you didn't care about anyone's feelings but your own.

Miguel was in his office, looking at old pictures and videos of you and him, but then Peter busted inside of Miguel's office.

"Miguel! Uh- you might wanna come fix this!" Peter said before he ran right back out of Miguel's office.

Miguel quickly ran after Peter to see what he was talking about. Peter lead him to the cafeteria where you and Gwen were arguing and two different spider people holding both of you away from each other. And as soon as Miguel came into the room, everyone went silent.

"What is going on in here" Miguel growled.

"I'm sick and tired of him being a narcissistic asshole! That's what!" Gwen screamed.

"Just because I cut you in line? Are we in middle school?" You scoffed.

"You pushed me, laughed about it, and didn't even say sorry!" Gwen responded.

"Well who's fault is that?" You mocked.

"Enough!" Miguel yelled.

Without a word Miguel immediately took your arm and lead you inside of his office.

"What the fuck is wrong with you y/n! Ever since you joined this damn society you have been nothing but rude to everyone! You used to be sweet and nice! What the fuck happened to you?!" Miguel cried.

"I don't know who you think I am! But I am not who you think I am! I am me! I don't know who you are! I don't know which y/n you are talking about, but you need to stop comparing me to him because I am not him!" " you yelled back.

"Listen, I am sorry for whoever you lost, but I do not love you, and I never will" you said before leaving the room.

Miguel's heart was shattered. That's when it hit him that he lost you. He could love his version of you but this alternate version of you would never love him.

After that whole fiasco happened, you had this gut feeling that was making you feel guilty. You have never felt any type of remorse before. It bothered you for some reason.

The next day Miguel came to the spider society he finally accepted the fact that you didn't love him. He lost hope in this new you, for all he knew you were just someone who looked like his version of you. He was not going to treat you differently than the other people anymore.

You on the other hand, you were a mess. You couldn't sleep all night because you were thinking about what you had said to Miguel. The look on his face

"Hey Boss man, I just wanted to say sorry for-"

"Get out" Miguel grumbled as he cut you off.

"I just wanted to say-"

"Did you not hear me? I won't warn you again" Miguel snarled.

You left his office with out saying a word. As you walked out all the spider people were giving you death glares. You couldn't help but to feel vulnerable. You wanted to go back in there and beg for Miguel to forgive you. Why were you feeling this? You have never felt this way before. And that's when it hit you, you were in love with Miguel.

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A/n: Part 3???? 🤔

Tag List: @honeydew-i, @loivre, @strawberrycakecake

#male x male #mlm #malexmale #male reader #mxm #gay #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x male reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #atsv x you #spiderman atsv #atsv spoilers #angst #miguel atsv #miguel x you #Spotify #arguing #regret #rosesrrosie3

[bonesandthebees]

The banter alternating between the friend group, followed by the tense moment where they realise Phil is here and Techno dissipating the tension are all woven together so we'll, its such a cohesive mix of everything the scene needs to make it feel human.

Despite all the progress that was made though, of course, it can't heal years and years instantly. But there's still progress and Tommy definitely subtly acknowledges it.

Idk why but the constant mention of aircon being used everywhere followed by a power cut scene feels very intentional despite you saying it was on a whim.

The way you go between calm and present moments to darker and more melancholic pasts is honestly so good, catches me off guard everytime, in a good way. The parallels and contrasts between Wilbur and Tommy's parents are so cool to look into because they're both described happy and jolly, but only one of them is described to have wilted away as the days wore on.

The little scene with the therapist numbers on a note speaks volumes too.

The parallels between the first and newest dance scene are so nice too! The amount of progress they've made in between them is so visible, even despite the old problems that arose in the gap. It's a nice way to link everything together, back to them and what they mean to each other.

["I think I'd have liked her too."]

:')

- ❄️

fun fact that whole scene with tommy's friends + phil and then techno interrupting them was really hard for me to write just bc it was awkward to try and balance all the dialogue in a way that felt natural, so i'm really glad it came across as realistic. techno dissipating the tension was definitely very needed and I was very happy with how the scene turned out after he jumped in

baby steps! it takes baby steps to heal a relationship after so many years.

you're smarter than me bc when you look at it like that you're right it absolutely seems intentional lmao. I love when things end up fitting together in a way I didn't even intend for them to

i'm so glad the transitions between the past and the present feel like they're well-done. i never want it to feel jarring (unless that's the effect i'm going for) so ty for telling me it's good <3

yeah I wanted to show that tommy's mother did have opportunities to get help. you can't force someone to get help if they don't want it, and that was unfortunately one of her biggest issues

yeahhh the parallels between the dance scenes!! I really wanted both of them to show just how much the brothers relationship has grown over the past few chapters. especially with wilbur being the one to initiate the dance this time and not tommy. they're far more comfortable with each other now than they were at the laundromat and it shows

:') :')

#ask #snowflake anon #honey and tangerines

[mxfitmatrix]

I think a good chunk of the big heavy thing im feeling right now is left over grief from cutting my mom out of my life.

She was easily the 2nd most important person to me other than my brother for most of my life. She taught me to survive and to be ok with being silly as an adult. She created the holiday magic with me and stayed up late when I couldnt sleep because she couldnt sleep.

The older I get, the more my body becomes like hers. I have a lot of her health conditions now, and I look and sound a lot like her some days.

Then my heart shatters because I hear from my brother and his gf that shes supposidly forgotten why i left. Why i cant come back. She fell into some very narcissistic patterns and she had us so well trained to feed into them, to the point that I still feel guilty from time to time for holding my ground. But everytime I think, you know what its been a few months, maybe i can reach back out and we can talk and maybe i can express my conditions for coming back and we can work together to repair things. Then she lies and manipulates and it breaks my heart again.

This year I have to go through the holidays without the magic her traditions bring. They were dying for a while, but it still brings some whiplash when I have the urge to ask her when we are making krispelli or if she wants to do a yule celebration.

She just proved this week, and mind you its only wednesday as i type this (this shit started sunday night), that she has not grown at all, and if anything is getting worse as my brother begins to disconnect from her since her scapegoat is gone. Shes forgotten that her husband wanted to have me arrested if I stepped foot on property again, and that its because of their actions that i cant come over. Its not my choice, its respecting a boundary at best and being incredibly cautious over a man who cannot be anything less than the best in the room at all times always at worst. I cant fix them, and its not my job to. But im still sad. I dont have much hope that things will change.

Funny thing is, this is perpetuating family cycles too. It should be obvious to her whats happening. She did the same thing to her mom over 10 years ago! She cut my gma out of our lives because she didnt care about her kids.

And honestly I hope that she does know whats going on at some level. I hope she does know that shes wrong but isnt ready to fix it yet. The alternative is so much more painful and I'm not sure that I can reconsile that with my inner child in a way that will not fundamentally break me.

How do you handle it when your greatest hero becomes the ultimate villain after all?

All that to say, I'm feelin big sad, but I know its whats best for me right now. I am trying to look forward to new traditionsand hopefully breaking the bad luck surrounding me trying to help plan events.

Fucking love planning events. Would love it if people showed up to them sometime. (To be very clear and fair: 95% of cancellations are emergencies, unavoidable circumsyances like illness, and weird things that need to be taken care of. I refuse to blame my friends because they all try to show up in other ways and its a huge improvement over what used to be and i love them so deeply for it.)

So here's to ending generational trauma, the strange grief that comes from going low/no contact, and to any traditions that bring you joy in these cold dark months.

#jo babbles #aka time to process some big feelings before i have a meltdown

[akuumea]

//////////////////////////////////////////////

#I was always bad at communication #Saying what I feeling or even talking about myself to others #And dropping school last summer + the lockdown didn't help #And after all this time I still don't know what I'm supposed to do #I had plenty of time to think about it and I hate myself for still being stuck after almost a year #But everytime I'm looking at alternatives I just think how I'm not cut for this #I'm not enough #And seeing everybody else having plan for the future make me feel like garbage #Sometimes I just how no one will hire because I have never worked before and I know that everyone think I'm lazy #And the worst part is I can't even deny #Cause that the only reason things haven't changed #Sorry for the rambling #Personal post #Vent #Negative

[fkinavocado]

OMGGGG I just reread A wish come true and my mind just went to lhh doing a semi nude portrait series of her (him being a photographer and all) and soooo much more 🤭😏

🧚‍♀️ (OK I'm going to stop now,, prolly annoying you to death😂😂)

in which you spring a surprise semi-nude photoshoot on your photographer boyfriend and he tries to keep it professional, but fails

A wish come true- Masterlist, Author’s Note & Warnings

A wish come true / alternatively, read on wattpad

Through the viewfinder (word count: 7k)

Things had taken an interesting turn ever since that fair you took Harry to the first night you officially met, in person.

You were not only getting to know Harry, but apparently a whole other side to yourself, one you hadn’t even known you had to begin with.

You’d always been… not necessarily shy, but timid. Reluctant to really allow yourself to just be, with really anyone apart from your mother and your bestie, maybe. Let alone other friends, and much less so, any guy you’ve ever dated.

And you hadn’t even realised it before Harry came into your life. But being with him was just so effortless, and you’d never felt so giddy in the presence of another person before, your smile had never felt so genuine as it did when he’d put it on your face.

It truly felt as though ever since that night your life had somehow fallen into place, everything seemed to be right on track and it was such a novel feeling for you that you feared you would somehow fuck it up. Nothing was too good to be true, surely.

You tried to catch yourself whenever you would start thinking that way. What was it with you that you just couldn’t accept that you deserved happiness for a change?

You’d only ever been in lousy relationships. Men had treated you poorly, especially your ex, but somehow they’d always made it seem like it was your fault and that you were the reason they had to act the way that they did. You were “bringing out the worst” in them.

Hell, you’d been with your ex, Sam, for 2 whole years, even lived together, and now that you looked back on it, you realised it truly had been a toxic relationship. You’d never been happy with him, yet he manipulated you into thinking it was all in your head, everything you disliked about him, about your relationship, was all just exaggeration or your lack of appreciation for what you had.

It took you all the courage you could muster to finally pack your stuff one day and leave, moving back in with your parents, but you knew you had to end it. Even if it meant taking a step back in the large scheme of things- you never thought you’d end up living with your parents at 25.

But, here you were, finally moving into your new apartment. Harry had helped you move all your stuff, barely let you carry any boxes, checked first to see if they were indeed lightweight and shook his head in mock disdain everytime he caught you trying to sneak away with a heavy one in tow.

“Bun, cut it out. ‘M not gonna tell you again”

You huffed “Fine. Break your back, what do I care…”

“Gotta give me more credit, I don’t hit the gym for nothing, you know”

Yet, by the end of that day, when all your boxes were finally in your new place and your mattress on the floor, Harry plopped on it and you could literally feel the tension radiating off of his body.

He mumbled something into the mattress and you had to scurry next to him and push him onto his side by his shoulder amusedly “Try that again?”

He sighed, stretching his long limbs “I said, I can't believe you moved all your shit before at least buying a bed. How are you gonna sleep on the floor, Y/N, come on now. Even you have to admit that’s a tad ridiculous.”

“It’s actually supposed to be great for your back!”

“You’re mental. There’s no way I’m letting you sleep on the floor. You’re staying over at my place till you get a proper bed”

“Harry… I’m excited to sleep here, I’ve been dreaming of this day for half a year now. I love my folks but it was really starting to get to me” you grimaced

“Yeah, well, I guarantee you’ll not bump into any of your parents at my place”

“No, but I’ll bump into Niall, which is worse”

Harry laughed “How is my flatmate worse?”

“He just is. Don’t act like you don’t know why. He’s just always flirting, always teasing me and always ogling me”

“That’s just Niall being Niall. It’s all in good humour, trust me, if I ever got the feeling that he was really coming onto you I’d let him have it” you scoffed and Harry raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips “Oh, I know what this is about” you rolled your eyes but he continued “This is why you’ve been avoiding sleeping over for the past 2 weeks, isn’t it?”

“Harry…” you hid your face in the crook of his neck

He lowered his voice a bit but his voice still held a glint of humour in it “So what if he heard you? What’s the big deal? I have to hear him shag his dates all the time. And trust me, what I’ve been hearing from his room is downright pornographic. Nothing like those little sultry moans of yours” his lids grew heavy as he leaned over and trapped you beneath him, kissing you

You gave in easily, kissing him slowly in turn.

You knew he must’ve been going out of his mind by now. You’d been together for little over 2 months and you still hadn’t slept together.

As in, had sex.

All you’d done was some heavy petting and you’d genuinely been taken aback when he got you off through all those layers of clothes, (something your ex couldn’t manage fully naked, but oh well.)

Considering how things had gone down the very first time you saw each other, at the fair, when he placed his hands in the pockets of your summer dress from behind and rubbed you over your panties till you came right there amongst all those oblivious people… you were feeling a bit guilty- what if he felt led on? He never said anything, but you could tell he was dying for it, everytime you two had a moment alone together like that he’d be all over you, albeit always mindful of your unspoken boundaries. Never once did you feel like he was losing his patience with you. On the contrary, everytime you shared an intimate moment, he never pushed for more, and he was big on consent. You felt safe with him.

He knew a little about what went on with your ex, and how you were hesitant because of that, and he told you there was no rush. Whenever you were ready, he’d wait for you.

But that put even more pressure on you, as the ball was now in your court. And everytime you slept over at his place, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d gotten his hopes up that this time would be the time.

You knew Harry knew what he was doing in bed. The way he touched you, even if only over your clothes, and the way he managed to work you so masterfully even so made it apparent to you that he was very well versed in the female anatomy. You didn’t even wanna know his body count, that naturally flirtatious nature and charisma of his had surely paid off along with his good looks. You weren’t fooling yourself, he’d been around the block.

But, again, your ex had never been able to get you off, and sex with him was never something you were looking forward to, necessarily. Sam had been the first and only guy you’d ever slept with, and he made sure to remind you, time and time again, how inexperienced you were, how it wouldn’t kill you to “move a little and stop being a pillow princess”.

So when you’d found out he’d been cheating on you, he only made it seem like it’d been your fault. What did you expect? You barely put out, and when you do, you act like it’s a chore. Stop being so fucking frigid, and maybe I wouldn’t have to go around fucking randos. Watch some porn or something, for fuck’s sake- literally.

It was that night that you’d packed your bags and left him, but the message had been crystal clear. You’d been the problem. You were just… lousy in bed.

And you weren’t ready for Harry to discover that about you yet, especially considering all the experience he obviously had over you.

Maybe it was selfish of you, maybe it was dishonest to string him along like that, he deserved to know the truth about you. But you just couldn’t get yourself to tell him. Because that would mean your bubble would burst and you couldn’t say you’d blame him if he wanted to break up with you over it.

Sex was important. Maybe it wasn’t to you, but to most people it was, and you respected that.

True, you felt the urge to jump him all the time, hell, you even wanted to go down on him, your mouth watered for it, but all that was just hypothetical, because as soon as you remembered what your ex had said to you, all will to ever act on those desires was obliterated. Just imagining disappointing Harry was enough to make you crawl into your own skin. You didn’t think you’d be able to stand it if he ever looked at you the way Sam had. You didn’t think Harry would be as harsh as your ex had been, but surely every man wants someone compatible in bed. And you were certain you’d never raise up to Harry’s standards.

Of course, Harry had no clue this was the reason you were stalling. He just knew that you weren’t ready yet, after your ex, and he didn’t question it any further, only reassured you that it was fine to take things slow.

And now he was probably thinking that maybe Niall being on the other side of the wall was inhibiting you. You’d moaned particularly loud one time as he was guiding your hips when you were riding his thigh, and it’d caught you off guard. One moment you were making out and the next you were coming violently on his thigh. You were so shocked that it hadn’t even registered that you were being so loud. You were certain Niall had heard you, the next morning he was being extra cheeky. Harry was right, he never crossed the line though, and it was just his naturally flirty self, you didn’t hold it against him, really. But you were realising that you were getting closer and closer to when you’d have to face your fears and thus, you kept making up excuses not to sleep over at his place anymore for a few weeks.

But now, you had this whole apartment to yourself. You knew that time was ticking, and it terrified you.

*

The following day, you tried your best to clear out the boxes. Yes, you didn’t have a proper bed yet, just a mattress, but the apartment still was partially furnished, and aside from the actual bed frame and a desk, you were all set. The sofa was a bit worse for wear and you’d eventually look into replacing it, but for now you were good to just cover it with a cute throw blanket and some decorative pillows.

Harry had had an early day and all his equipment was at his place, therefore he couldn’t spend the night, and when he left he still tried to persuade you into coming with him. He didn’t push it though, he knew you were excited for this new chapter in your life, and most of all, he knew your ocd self and the fact that you wouldn’t be able to rest properly until everything was out of the boxes and in its rightful place.

Sleeping on the mattress on the floor was surprisingly comfortable. Aside from the fact that you hurt your feet when you swung them over in the morning, not having expected for them to hit the floor instantaneously, the whole experience was quite refreshing. And aside from dust and overall it maybe not being very sanitary, you really didn’t understand why this wasn’t a thing.

You’d woken up early, and gotten right to work cleaning every surface imaginable before you cleared out the boxes. You briefly paused for lunch, you’d ordered some takeout, and while you were eating, wondering why the internet provider had booked you 5 days from now, and had to eat in silence at the table like an animal, a thought popped into your head as you glanced over to the mattress through the open bedroom door.

You’d left it unmade, which was very unlike yourself, but you knew you’d eventually crash for a nap midday. And you still had a few more boxes to sort, and then you’d have to vacuum and mop, but after that, you were absolutely gonna nap for at least a good 2 hours.

But the sheets thrown across the mattress like that had your mind come up with something that made you feel all giddy. And that was the kind of gut feeling that you’d learned in your 25 years of life meant that you should go with it. It’d never lead you astray thus far.

So you grabbed your phone and texted Harry

How’s work baby?

So far so good. Had a pet photo sesh and those are usually tiresome but this little buddy was a very good boy and made life a whole lot easier for me

Aww! Was it a dog?

No, it was a bunny much like yourself 💕

You smiled at that, you loved Harry’s petname for you. When you asked him why he liked to call you that, he told you it was because of how sweet you were and had a cute little button nose and very pink pouty lips, to which you retorted that he was the one with the bunny teeth, and that bunnies don’t even have pink and pouty lips but it landed on deaf ears. Regardless, you loved it that he called you that. You usually just called him baby, but he’d told you that nobody had ever called him that before and even to this day he would always blush a bit when you called him that.

Can’t wait for you to show me the pics later 💓. Speaking of photo sessions, how would you feel about taking some pics of the apartment now that it’s all nice and tidy? To keep as a memento of this day

Of course love

You knew brits just threw around that term casually, but your heart always skipped a beat when he used it on you.

Yay! Ok, what time should I expect you over?

I’ll probably be done at around 6, and I’ll head right to yours. Hey, ain’t that something huh. Your apartment. Proud of you 💋

Can’t say the same for my parents. They still think I'm wasting too much money on rent when I could just stay at home:(

You’ve lived away before, I wonder why they aren’t more supportive this time around

It’s because I’m renting it out on my own and they just think it’s a bad idea overall. Anyway. Getting back to work, it’s not all done yet. See ya 💋

He sent you back a pic he took with his phone of the bunny in question and you wasted a couple more minutes fawning over how cute it was, stalling resuming your cleaning. And thinking about what you’d just arranged for.

Now that it was set in stone there was no turning back. You finished setting up the apartment and then tossed and turned in bed for over 2 hours- sleep never came. You were far too excited/ nervous now.

You did take a bubble bath though. It was still only around 5pm, and it would’ve taken Harry at least 40 minutes to get to your place. So, you had plenty of time for pampering, then doing your makeup a bit (which should earn a raised eyebrow from him since he seldom saw you sporting any unless it was for a special occasion), and you even did your hair, curling its ends slightly so that it was bouncy.

You felt good.

Just around 6:30 you eyed the Bailey’s bottle Harry had brought the previous day as a little celebratory gift, but you hadn’t gotten to opening it since the both of you were much too tired and Harry still had to drive back home anyway. You decided you were going to need a bit of liquid courage, so you poured yourself a shot glass that you’d just washed along with all your other cutlery and what little else you had for your kitchen. And then another. Harry always snickered that you would get tipsy so easily on this stuff, since it was so sweet and yummy and you never really noticed how much you’ve had to drink by the time it finally hit you.

But two shot glasses worth surely wasn’t enough for you to get tipsy. You just needed to let loose a bit. Your nerves were getting to you.

When the intercom buzzed you realised the Bailey's did fuck all. You were all but shaking.

Fucks’s sake Y/N. Get your shit together.

When you opened the door for him, he raised his eyebrow, scanning you head to toe just like you knew he would “Oh, what’s this then? Are we going out?”

“No, silly. It’s for the pics”

“Good thing I didn’t drop by the flat first and came straight from work. Gonna need my DSLR if I’m doing portraits. Thought you just wanted some wide shots of the place”

“Well. I mean…”

He kissed you mid-stutter “You know I love to take your pics. Mmm. You taste sweet. Treat yourself to a little desert, did you bunny?”

You grinned, knowing he was just tasting the Bailey’s “Yeah, you could say that”

“Worked your little butt off, didn’t you? Look at this place. It looks amazing” he allowed himself to take in your apartment now that it actually looked lived in. “Gonna use the loo real quick, and then I’ll get right to it. Then I’m taking you out, you deserve it after all this hard work, yeah?”

You melted into a puddle at that and gave him a sweet peck on the lips before he headed to the bathroom and as you watched him shut the door behind him, you knew this was the perfect window of opportunity. You kept wondering how you’d go about it without it being awkward, and this was perfect. You tiptoed to the bedroom and easily stripped down from your oversized sweatshirt and leggings, underneath which you were perfectly nude, and quickly kneeled on the still dishevelled bedding, draping the sheet to your front in a very precise manner, just as you’d seen on some very tasteful semi-nude portraits on pinterest.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to overthink it, only practising the poses a few times in front of a full length mirror so that you knew what angles worked best for you. You wanted this to be sexy but not vulgar. You knew Harry had done this kind of shots before, much to your dismay he was tasked to snap all kinds of photos by his company. You normally weren’t the jealous kind, but with Harry you couldn’t help but worry. You trusted him, but you didn’t trust those around him not to throw themselves at him, especially since he had such a naturally flirty, charming personality. And he was only human. What if one day he opened his eyes and realised he was settling for you when he could have virtually anyone?

And now you were about to be as vulnerable as you’d ever been in front of him. Your mind was racing, suddenly second-guessing everything.

But before you could make up your mind to forget about all this and just go on that date he promised after he would take a few pics of the apartment, you heard the bathroom door open and since it was right next to the bedroom he was immediately standing right in the door frame, almost having passed it by before he caught something amiss in his peripheral vision on his way back to the living area.

He leaned against the doorframe slightly, staring at you, a scowl adorning his features, and you knew by now that it didn’t mean he was angry, but that it was just one of his natural facial expressions. He sometimes furrowed his brows even when he smiled and that combination was downright lethal. He was much too good looking for his own good.

You clung tighter to the sheet draped over your front and pooling in between your parted thighs, biting your lower lip nervously. You would’ve given anything to be able to read his mind just then.

“Bunny?” he’d never used that deep baritone uttering the pet name before and it sent shivers down your spine

“We… we don’t have to. But I saw this shoot on pinterest and it looked like fun… and not too tacky, hopefully? And the mattress on the floor seemed to fit that whole aesthetic and--”

“We absolutely have to” he interrupted your rambling, his lips quirking up into a devilish smirk, but you noticed his eyes had darkened considerably, his gaze scanning alongside that sheet you were holding up to your chest “Are you really naked underneath that?” he murmured

You nodded quietly, and he mirrored you, rolling his lips and inhaling audibly through his nose “Are you alright?” you asked, a bit of humour in your voice

“Mhm. Just gimme a sec”

You giggled at that, he looked like was in a trance “Harry!”

“Hm?” his eyes snapped back up at yours, he wasn’t trying to be subtle in staring at what little flesh he could see

“Go get the camera” you whispered shyly

He nodded, ungluing himself reluctantly from the doorframe. “Dunno how ‘m gonna survive this” he mumbled to himself as he made his way to his equipment where he’d left it near the entrance. He came back with just his DSLR in tow, and after stopping dead in his tracks in the doorframe once again, almost as if he wasn’t expecting it all to have really been real, he slowly entered the bedroom and hovered over the mattress. It was times like these when you realised just how tall Harry was.

“Right” he cleared his throat “‘M determined to bring on my A-game, want these photos all over my walls. So I need you to act as though you’re my client. So that I can go about it as professionally as possible. Otherwise, I swear to God, Y/N, I’m this close to losing it, yeah?” he grinned, raising his eyebrows and you laughed at how ridiculous he was being

“All over your walls? Now, wait a damn minute…”

“Miss…” he squeezed his eyes shut, furrowing his brows and exhaling through his nose in exasperation “If you would please follow my directions and just try and relax?”

You smiled, biting your lower lip. Was this little role play supposed to make it easier? Cause it was actually turning you on even more than you already were sitting there naked with that flimsy silk bed sheet to your front while he was fully dressed and towering over you, and one quick glance right ahead of you confirmed just how much this was turning him on also. He was rock hard against the confinement of those skinny jeans he wore. You were surprised they could contain his impressive length, even flaccid. You knew Harry was big, you’d grinded your own groin against his enough times to be painfully aware of how well endowed he was. Which was another thing that made you worry a bit. You ex had been considerably smaller, yet it still hurt whenever you had sex. How could you ever take Harry? Your breath hitched just thinking about it again, and you tried to chase those thoughts away, before you chickened out. You were determined to do this, even if he had no idea- yet.

He then sat in front of the mattress, his legs crossed, so that he was eye level with you. He fumbled with the camera a bit, probably adjusting the settings, and you were hoping he wouldn’t increase the exposure by much, you liked the fact that the sun was setting and the light was more forgiving on your imperfect skin. Plus, the semi-darkness made it feel much more intimate. He finally brought the through-the-lens viewfinder to his right eye “Ready?”

You barely had time for a timid nod before you heard the shutter. Again, and again and again

“Relax, bunny. It’s only me, yeah?”

“I thought I was meant to act like your client”

He hummed mischievously “Yeah, changed my mind about that. I’m definitely not looking at my clients the way I’m looking at you now, and I think the camera knows it too” that made you blush profusely and you could see Harry smile behind the camera “There she is. Gonna let her come out and play, baby? …I love it when you get like that” his voice was getting huskier by the minute

“Like how?”

He kept adjusting the angles, and you moved as well, trying not to stand still, and give him a few poses you’d seen in those pics. Nothing over the top, just different places you could hold your hands in front of you, thus far, and you kept tilting your head differently, arranged your hair to one side and then the other, letting it fall over half your face “You have this look when you seem like you went all shy but that’s actually when you end up doing something I wouldn’t have expected you to. It’s like you’re actually blushing from how worked up you get and the ideas that pop inside your head and you’re probably imagining it all play out”

That took you by surprise, in a pleasant way. So when you bit your lower lip next and turned so that your profile was facing him, and he got a clear shot of the curve of your ass, now showing him much more skin than originally, you heard him hiss and curse under his breath “Fuck, baby… You’re unreal”

You tilted your head back, exposing the length of your neck and arched your back even more so and Harry was praising all your poses. You were glad you’d practised them first in the mirror. You knew what was most flattering for your figure in doing so, and what to avoid. Harry switched from sitting cross-legged to crouching, so that he could try even more angles, and he brought the camera down to check with you nonverbally before you nodded for him that it was ok to step more to the side so that he got you from the back. His breath hitched and you knew the swell of your ass was completely on display then. You looked back at him over your shoulder, your hair framing your face nicely and you were glad you’d styled it for this.

After a few moments, enough for him to take a good few shots, you whispered “Could you… keep looking through the viewfinder-- but just to look?”

You could hear him swallow thickly “...Yes?”

You tried to keep your eyes trained on the camera even if you knew he wasn’t going to take a photo next, when you slowly let the sheet slip from your hands and pool in between your thighs and you bunched up the fabric there, not yet ready to reveal yourself completely to him.

He whimpered at that, and you realised he hadn’t meant for it to slip. He sounded like he was in pain, and you were sure the confines of his jeans must’ve been killing him. You were still looking at him over your shoulder, only the curve of your left breast visible to him from where he was stood slightly behind you.

And then, you slowly leaned on your back, splayed on the mattress before him, still mindful of the fabric between your legs and reached a hand to grab his camera away from him. You placed it carefully next to the edge of the mattress on the hardwood floor and tried to gauge his expression, but you were looking at him upside down and his back was facing the window, his features shadowed. You realised the sun was about to set completely, the room had fallen quite dark in the span of just the few minutes the whole photo session must’ve amounted to.

You carefully rolled onto your belly and Harry’s eyes immediately fell to your full breasts resting on the mattress, and he was standing close enough to you to hear his breathing falter. His gaze slowly took all of you in, the whole of your back completely naked and finally it made its way back to your own eyes.

His pupils were blown out, his eyes were pleading. But he never uttered the words. He was waiting on you. As always.

“Kiss me?” you whispered again, for some reason it was easier to voice your thoughts like that

After a long moment in which he stared into your eyes he finally managed “I don’t know if I can”

“Why not?” your brows furrowed and immediately thoughts were invading your head, telling you that this had been all a mistake, that he’d seen you naked and didn’t even feel like kissing you, that you’d misread all his cues etc but you didn’t know how you managed to think about all that in the millisecond it took for him to quickly reply

“I don’t know if I can… just kiss you”

“I don’t want you to just kiss me. I want you to do more than that”

His breath hitched once more “...Are you sure?”

You nodded and hooked your forefinger onto his necklace, pulling him closer until he fell onto his knees, and your lips finally met. Just before you got to deepen the kiss, he unlatched himself from you and stood abruptly, and you once again turned over so that your naked torso was on display for him and watched him circle the mattress and stand before you while he slowly, painfully slowly unbuttoned his shirt. It wasn’t even as if he had all that much to unbutton, since he always wore them open into a deep v, exposing his broad chest all the way down to the top of his moth tattoo. But he took his time as he let his eyes roam unashamedly over you. Once he finally discarded the shirt, you were biting your lips looking at him undo his belt next. He peeled his skinny jeans off himself and wasted no time in joining you on the mattress next.

He didn’t try to climb in between your legs, you were still clutching the fabric there, your thighs rubbing together though, seeking friction, and he stared at you do so hungrily as he finally made his way next to you, his arms on each side of your torso.

He couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering. He kept trying to make eye contact, but his eyes would immediately start their descent yet again and it took a few tries until he finally managed to hold your gaze “You can stop me anytime, yeah? Tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like. But I need to touch you, baby. Please, can I touch you?”

You let go of the bedsheet and reached for his neck, pulling him closer and kissing him nervously “Please touch me” you whispered against his mouth and he kissed you even more ardently back. He mouthed down your neck and to your collarbones, as he slowly leaned on forearms, pressing his naked chest to yours, and you both moaned at the skin on skin contact.

He kissed and licked further down until finally he reached in between your breasts. He brought one of his hands to your waist and then upwards, till he reached the swell of your left boob and he reveled in the feel of its weight against his palm. You looked at him look at you, and you were drunk on the visual. He looked at you as though he was committing you to his memory forever. When he finally managed to make eye contact again, he kept his eyes on you as he slowly bent and guided your hardened nipple into his wet, warm mouth.

This, again, wasn’t exactly novel to you. You hadn’t done it with Harry before, but your ex had played with your boobs hundreds of times in the 2 years you’d been dating, but for the life of you, you couldn’t recall it ever feeling this way. He licked and sucked there, but you felt it in your clit, and you wondered how that was even possible. The bedsheet in between your thighs wasn’t providing enough friction. You needed more.

You laced your fingers through Harry’s curls, you wanted him closer still, and you moaned when you heard him groan in pleasure as you tugged the slightest bit on his roots. You hadn’t known this about him, but then again, you’d never had reason to tug on his hair before.

“Need more, bunny?”

“Yes” you breathe out

“I’m dying to taste you. It’s all I can think about, all I’ve been thinking about for a while, not just right now. Please, can I?” he said all that against your other breast now, nudging at the underside of it with his nose and looking up at you expectantly and you bit your lower lip, nodding your approval

But instead of him scooting downwards, he crawled back up to kiss you and look you deep in the eye “I still wanna take it slow. That’s all I’m gonna do, ok? No need to rush into things all at once, alright bun?” you whined and he chuckled “Don’t worry, gonna take good care of you” he kissed you again, and again and he just couldn’t seem to stop, his hand slowly descending its way from your breast down to your navel where he ghosted the tips of his fingers across the delicate skin there making you shiver

You pushed your hips against his hand, inviting him to do more and so he finally let his fingers wander lower still, under the fabric, until he found you slick and wanting. He then peeled the bedsheet aside in one swift motion and himself off you and bent your leg to finally wiggle his way down in between both.

He had no way of knowing this, of course, but oral sex was making you way more anxious than if he’d just went straight for penetration. You could count on one hand the amount of times Sam had tried, and you were probably being generous. None of which you’d enjoyed. At all.

So you closed your eyes and threw your head back, waiting, expecting the familiarity of what you’d experienced before. But when he laid his tongue flat on you and hummed as he licked you bottom to top you decided you were going to want to watch him do it. You rested on your elbows, mouth agape as you watched him mouth at your cunt like a cat would inhale a saucer of milk. He was relentless, nothing tentative about it. You’d expected him to take it slow somehow, and maybe he had wanted to initially, but the mood in the room switched like lighting up a candle wick in a pitch dark room- the flame dancing wildly. You felt each move of his tongue all the way to the tips of your toes and you curled them, trying to anchor yourself into the mattress but he pushed your knees to your chest next, and drove his wicked tongue deep inside of you, making you scream, and you couldn’t comprehend how it had escalated that quickly

“Please, Harry” you gasped “Please!”

“Can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me bunny. Gonna take my time, yeah? Make up for lost time”

“Harry” you mewled

He then looked up at you, misinterpreting your reaction “Hey, I didn’t… I only meant--”

“I know, it’s fine, I know. But I … I want you up here”

He hummed “I’m not finished playing with your little pussy yet, darling” he rubbed your clit leisurely yet determinedly while smirking up at you and you couldn’t help your wanton moans

“No, I mean… I want you to fuck me, please” you keened “Please?”

He groaned loudly “Fuck, Y/N, asking me so sweetly, and I wanted to take it slow” he reached down against the mattress and grabbed himself through his boxers, rolling his eyes back while still working your clit masterfully.

“But I don’t want to take it slow anymore” you thrashed your legs a bit and he withdrew his hand from over himself and your clit and held the back of your thighs firmly as he reattached his mouth to you, doubling his efforts this time. All you could think about was how this was nothing like what you’d experienced before. He ate at you like he meant it, you could feel his nose rub against the hood of your clit repeatedly, his chin pressing against your perineum, his tongue delved in and out of you, then back up to your clit and down again, his lips pulled at your folds and then latched onto your clit and sucked hard.

“Then we won’t take it slow” he let it go with a pop and then sunk two fingers into you, knuckle deep, easily, you were dripping for him. The stretch of his fingers had you panting, your mouth agape, and brows furrowed and you grabbed the backs of your knees so that you could hold yourself spread open for him just like he seemed to want you, spreading your legs further apart so that you could really watch him go to town. His curls were obstructing the view slightly, but you watched his shoulder blades flex in rhythm with the trust of his fingers inside you and you could make out his nose nudge against your clit and you suddenly felt like you were tickled in the best kind of way.

“Harry!”

“That’s it!” he grinned against your cunt, seemingly overly satisfied with your reaction to what he was doing, and you started hyperventilating, this was something you’d never felt before, ever. Not even when you tried touching yourself. Sure, you’d managed to come on your own before, but what he was doing felt a hundred times better and you wondered how you’d had access to your own body this whole time and not know you could feel this way. He licked a long stripe and hovered his mouth over you, looking at you through hooded eyes as his fingers kept pumping relentlessly and you couldn’t believe he was making you feel like that without having to even touch your clit anymore “Let me have this one, bunny, and I’ll give you what you want, yeah? Wanna taste you on my tongue first. C’mon. Then I’ll fuck you silly if you still want it”

“I want it God, I want it! Harry- I’m gonna, I’m gonna--”

“C’mon bunny. Drench me” he then sucked your clit back into his mouth and you felt the dam break. You couldn’t hold your legs anymore, thrashing violently around him, trying to somehow get away from him and closer at the same time. The orgasm seemed like it’d went on forever, and he milked every little spasm out of you before pulling back

You felt as though you must’ve blacked out for a moment there, because he’d managed to retrieve a condom from his wallet in his backpocket and discard his boxers, seath himself and position back between your thighs in what had felt like just a few seconds.

He nudged your nose with his affectionately as he pulled you into his arms. You could feel him hard and waiting at your entrance and felt sad that you’d missed seeing him get ready, you were curious to see his gorgeous cock, you knew it must’ve been gorgeous, because you already knew he was big from all that dry humping you’d engaged in previously. But maybe it was better not to see, you had a feeling his two fingers were no match for his girth.

“Still want me, bunny?”

“How did you… what--” he chuckled at your hazy state, kissing you profoundly and managed to somehow breathe air into your lungs and sober you up. You blinked your eyes open and waited for him to follow suit “Of course I do... I wish you’d been my first”

Harry’s eyes saddened at that, searching your face in worry “Oh, bunny… I’m going to make you forget that I wasn’t, hm?”

“Please” you kissed him again, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him impossibly close. And this time, although you expected it to be more heated and intense, he took it slow and never once broke eye contact with you, keeping you flush against him. He moved unhurriedly inside of you, but still managed to make you pant whilst barely moving at all. You couldn’t believe it could be like that. You couldn’t believe the two of you could be like that. You forgot all about your worries when Harry kept telling you how good you felt, how good you were for him, how well you fitted together, how beautiful you were and how he couldn’t believe he was already reaching his climax- he wanted to prolong this moment forever. But after he snaked a hand between you and made you cry out even louder than before, and you watched him lose himself in you in a way you were bent on seeing him as often as possible, you found yourself pressing your lips in the crook of his neck as you both tried to steady your heartbeats, and mumbled against his skin “Doesn’t matter. You’re the first one I love”

Greedy bunny

A/N: happy valentine's lovelies! ❤️ so glad to have finally turned this into a miniseries! hope you liked it 💕 i'm planning on more for them 👀

💕 like & reblog if you enjoyed this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here 💌

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#harry styles smut #harrys styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #lhh #long hair harry #penpal!harry #penpal harry styles #photographer!harry #photographer harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles concept #harry styles prompt #harry styles imagine #harry styles x yn #lhhconceptnight

[roxyfoxgamer150]

Observer Mirabel and Scrappy Mirabel in a random AU where Mira is rumored to be insane after her ceremony, when in reality she just has trauma lol

Word count: 150+

—————

Wispers (mini tiny fanfic)

Observer Mirabel was wearing her black poncho and protective motorcyle pads, her hood was up to avoid confrontations.

Scrappy Mirabel was walking beside her, the only difference between her and the canon Mirabel was the fact she wore bandages around her arms, although she had blood all over her.

The townsfolks stared at Scrappy Mirabel in horror, shocked that she's walking around covered in blood with a crazy look in her eyes. In public.

They all began to spread wispers around the two, both of them noticing, but not interrupting them all. When all of a sudden someone goes near them.

"Mirabel! There you are- AY DIOS MÍO WHAT HAPPENED!?" Julieta asks Scrap, knowing she's not Mirabel but has to keep it a secret.

"Lo siento Jul- mama, I had to fight someone who was lusting for Isabela." Scrappy Mirabel says while wiping her bloody nose, Observer Mirabel cringes when seeing it just get worse.

"Yeesh, I think you need so many arepas now Scrap- Mira." "Shut it! Not a word." Julieta rolled her eyes at their antics, grabbing both of them by the wrists.

"Come on, let's go give you both food." "What!? But I'm not hurt!" "Observer hija one of your eyes are red." "Oh."

While both of them were dragged to the casita, the townfolks began to wisper to each other, confused and shocked.

"Who was with the kid?"

"Why does Mirabel look more mature?"

"Oh my god she killed someone with a friend!"

"Who do you think was the hooded girl?"

"How is señorita Julieta okay with that!?"

——

Observer Mirabel and Scrappy Mirabel were eating arepas made by Julieta. She sighed, "Why is it everytime someone gets beaten up both of you are the first suspects?"

"Believe me señorita, I've been asking the same question for 3 years." Scrappy Mirabel states, earning a surprised look from Observer Mirabel.

"You know that reference?" Observer asks, Scrap nods. Julieta looks at them repeatedly, already knowing it's a show reference.

"Observer, could you check on mi ¿mi hija? She's sick and in her room." Julieta asks.

"Hm? Oh, sure. I can check on a ten-year-old that is rumoured to be insane-" *SMACK* "ALRIGHT ALRIGHT I'LL CHECK-" Observer Mirabel yells while walking upstairs.

A minute later, Dolores comes to the kitchen looking sad. Frowning, Scrap questions her. "Eh? Dolores? What's wrong?" She asks, Dolores sighs.

"Apparently the others are wispering that you've gone insane, even though you were not Mirabel in the first place. They also think you should be stuck in your room like an animal." Scrap just blinks when her AU cousin states it.

"I'll gladly have a reputation. But they think I'M Mirabel? Honey, I'd rather bust a part of my spine than let my 10-year-old self get a-"

Scrappy Mirabel freezes.

Observer Mirabel shows herself around the corner, holding a nine-year-old Mirabel whose crying her eyes out hearing the last part. Observer's gift was activated, but instead of showing her usual yellow color, it was acid green with liquid coming out of her eyes.

Julieta froze midway on cutting tomatoes. Her grip on the knife unusually relaxed. Yet her fury shows in her eyes. (Wait why are her eyes red in a reflective surface?)

Dolores was calm. Too calm. Almost as if she was expecting this in extreme details.

"Scrap, Observer. Did you both realize what Alternate Universe you are in?" Julieta asks them, her tone of her voice showing a tiny bit of anger on what Dolores said.

"Uh, Protective Madrigals AU? Just a different version where Mira here is hated?" Observer lifts her smaller self. The nine-year-old just shoves her face onto Observer's neck, eyes red and puffy from crying.

Observer freezes.

"Oh shit wait PROTECTIVE Madrigals where Mirabel is HATED. Ay Dios mío I just realized." Observer says while Scrap looks at Julieta and Dolores in shock.

Dolores chuckles, "Yeah there's going to be lots of broken bones and no healing food."

"Get the others, there's going to be bloodshed tonight." Julieta exclaims.

Observer Mirabel and Scrappy Mirabel looked at each other

'Well, there goes our 3 day break.'

#observer mirabel au #mirabel madrigal #encanto au #mirabel au #scrappy mirabel au #julieta madrigal #dolores madrigal #encanto

[firein-thesky]

COIN TOSS– PART III

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I → PART II

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

↳ A playlist I made for this fic, if you're interested!

A/N: here is your final part to this series! again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing this!! and thank you guys so so much for your support and comments, they mean so so much to me!! i had a lot of trouble with this last part, there was a lot of scenes i cut out and alternative endings before i settled on what is there now and i'm not even fully happy with it still lol. i have a lot of Thoughts about this, so feel free to reach out if you want to know more or just chat!! i hope you guys enjoy this!!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta apologizes to you soon after. You sheepishly get out your own apology, even though you’d planned on holding a grudge a little while longer.

Still, Shouta confides that he also had his doubts and worries as a young hero and that he shouldn’t have dismissed yours. He talks in a soft, low voice for you, sits beside you on the edge of the couch.

You hate it because it’s easier to be at odds with Shouta lately, easier for your conscience. He put distance between the two of you, but you forced it apart further– if only to keep him in the dark. Maybe if only to spare yourself all the lying, all the pretending you’d have to do.

He says, “You know, you can always come to me. Whenever you need me.”

You have to swallow hard around the lump in your throat.

“I’ll always be here for you, despite everything.” he promises gently, trying to catch your eyes. Your gaze ducks away, out of his line of site.

Still, you hug him, tuck your face into his shoulder so he can’t see the guilt written across your face. Your secrets will constrict around you if you’re not careful. You know Truth is tricky and likes to reveal itself with Time’s help.

Once more, you become acutely aware of the clock ticking away on your relationship with Tomura.

But this time, you also realize how much trouble you could get in. You realize that you’re endangering Shouta now, too. You swallow hard, try to keep all of that down inside of you, but you feel nauseous suddenly. Bloated with guilt.

You wonder if you would’ve confessed to him then, if you would’ve spilled your guts the way you’d wanted to, if it would’ve saved you the heartache of it all.

Instead, you’d just clung to him, little fingers twisting in the back of his shirt, praying that you’d never need to make good on his promise. Praying you’d never need to test how far he’d go for you.

(It’s far– you’ll realize, further than it ever should’ve been. And you’re all the worse for it.)

***

Tomura thinks one of the troubles with heroes is their willingness to sacrifice anything for their greater good. He doesn’t think there’s anything noble in it, there’s nothing glorious or good in leaving their friend behind because they think it will save more. Nothing honorable in facing down a threat you know you can’t win against alone. What good is their world if they’re willing to sacrifice all that’s good to them in the process?

Everytime he watches you patrol, go up against other villains, maybe yakuza members, throw yourself in harm’s way needlessly, he realizes the Hero Commission uses heroes’ bodies as collateral damage. You are nothing to them. Even to other heroes; your sacrifice is expected. He knows it isn’t wanted, per se, but it isn’t surprising.

It doesn’t help that you have a streak of recklessness in you. You are quick to danger, just as quick to flash teeth and stand your ground, to fight mercilessly.

You struggle against large, powerhouse types. He watches you nearly get crushed or strangled some nights. Your Quirk doesn’t do much for you when your opponent has strength and weight to defeat you with a singular blow.

Your mentor is often pulling you out of danger with his capture weapon, yanking you away from a massive swinging arm or a curled fist about to smash you into the ground. But if it came down to you or the greater good, he knows what your mentor and your heroes would pick.

He thinks it’s strangely unfair, for you to give them your loyalty over him. He’s more loyal to you, isn’t he? There is very, very little he wouldn’t destroy for you. They would sooner let you be destroyed for the sake of their world.

Destroying the hero society that is so careless with you now feels, in part, like his gift to you. Freedom from the world that only cared about you when they realized you could be useful–

There is a night you become not just useful to your heroes but imperative.

It starts with your sacrifice, just as you were trained to do. You shove a civilian out of the way of a villain’s Quirk– it’s something with tusks and teeth that jut out from his body, sharp and ready to gut you.

Your mentor is busy with this villain’s accomplice.

Tomura watches when he shouldn’t. He was supposed to meet with Kurogiri, but he knows you patrol in this area and when there’d been commotion, he couldn’t help but watch from the shadows.

He watches one of those tusks jut towards you, your hand reaching out in hopes of disengaging the Quirk. But it’s a physical Quirk, not something like Dabi’s fire or his disintegration. And he doesn’t know if this Quirk disengages with it’s user or if it’s just his body.

Tomura feels his heart drop, the trapdoor given way to all icy fear as he watches one of those tusks pierce into your stomach.

Tomura stops breathing.

You grab hold of it, a scream getting caught behind your clenched teeth. Your fingers are tight, near frantic as you press into them– hope with everything in you, in him, that his Quirk disengages with yours.

Your broken off scream is wretched from your struggling body when another tusk rushes to crash into your shoulder.

You’re the only thing between the civilians behind you and this villain.

Your other hand reaches for the tusk at your shoulder, digging fingers and nails into it desperately.

Your eyes are bright and feverish with the hot pink of your Quirk.

Tomura stutters towards you, before the villain let’s out a pained groan. Your teeth are bared, blood bubbling up in your mouth, but you’re still standing, vicious and undeterred.

The tusks begin to crack where you grip them, splintering apart–

A sudden fission of light through those crevices, same fire pink as your eyes, arcs throughout the villain. A flare of it that makes the villain almost see-through, the lines of his bones burned by light, an x-ray flash, as if you’d struck him with lightning for a moment.

Eraserhead shouts for you.

When the flare dies, there is a scream of pain and it’s not yours.

The tusks shatter, splinter apart into gleaming bone that flies through the air.

You’re left standing, blood oozing from your stomach, your shoulder, but still standing, your eyes crackling and too bright.

The villain, tuskless, crumples at your feet, smoking. A normal, Quirkless looking man.

Did you–?

“What happened?” he hears the distant voice of your mentor, laced with worry, whose already reaching to staunch blood, blood that seeps so dark out of you. Tomura’s stomach rolls, twists suddenly, but you’re still standing. You’re okay– you’re okay–

“I-I don’t know.” you manage, but you sway into your mentor’s arms and Tomura has to look away, jaw clenched tight, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat.

He hears, “I need an ambulance– there’s a hero and villain down–”

But he’s already turning away, his mind churning, trying to keep the nauseousness from overcoming him. He feels suddenly furious, that it can’t be him at your side, that he has to watch, pushed to the outskirts. His fingers rush to scratch at his neck, his throat, desperate for relief from the pressure that has built in his chest.

He will try to call you– later, much later– the only time you’ll answer him. He is certain you will be okay with your healers and–

He thinks of the flare of light, the breaking of those tusks, the sudden heap of that man on the ground. If Tomura is correct about what you’d done, about what your Quirk actually is, the heroes won’t let you die now.

No, now you’re imperative. Now you’re trapped.

And the destruction of hero society will be his gift to you, an end to all the strings in place, the hands holding you both back.

***

“You destroyed his Quirk.”

“W-what?” you manage to get out, wobbly. You’re bandaged up, your torso and shoulder wrapped in fresh gauze after Recovery Girl healed the worst of your wounds. You’d been sleeping, hooked up to an IV to aid you in recovering. “That’s not possible, my Quirk only cancels–”

The doctor that has entered to give you this news shakes his head, “No, we’ve done scans, tests, the works on this guy. His Quirk is gone from his DNA. No trace of it.”

Shouta, who's sitting beside your hospital bed, speaks up, “Is it possible that it will eventually return?”

“I suppose, but we think it’s unlikely. It’s gone from him. There’s nothing left. She destroyed it cleanly. It’s like it was never there at all.” The doctor answers.

“I don’t understand–” you manage to get out, your head beginning to swim, giving a painful throb at your temples.

“It seems your Quirk isn’t so simple as cancelling out another’s. It’s likely that subduing other’s Quirks was just the surface of yours.”

“Is the man okay otherwise?” Shouta asks now, fidgeting in his seat when he senses your sudden distress. He leans towards your bed more and you have the sudden urge to latch onto him and not let go.

“Physically, yes. He’s fine.” the doctor answers, “However, mentally...he’s inconsolable at the moment. As you know, Quirks are incredibly– well, they’re a part of who we are, aren’t they?”

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat.

You think Shouta says something else, finishes speaking to the doctor for you. The moment the door clicks shut, the tears that you stubbornly had been holding back rush forward.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” you get out on just a hissed breath. “I-I didn’t know I could.”

Shouta shushes you gently, “It’s okay, this happens. Sometimes people don’t know the full extent of their Quirk.”

“I destroyed his Quirk, it’s not okay!” you respond, guilt thickening inside of you, dragging you down heavy, clogging your throat and chest. “I didn’t mean to do that– what if I do it again?”

“You were under distress,” he soothes, reaching out to brush a tear away from your cheek, “Really, you were fighting for your life.” And when he says it, something gets caught in his throat. Something hitches in yours, too.

His eyes rove over your face slowly, taking you in carefully, as if he hasn’t been by your side the entire time. As if it wasn’t him in the ambulance, or him kneeling beside your bed when Recovery Girl put you back together.

“I should’ve been there. It shouldn’t have happened.” Shouta admits, the confession filling the small space between you two.

You take him in now, too, tired and worried, his face finally displaying the fear and care he has for you. It softens out his features, turns his eyes gentle and dark.

You realize suddenly that you miss him. You miss quiet nights on his couch as he graded papers. You miss his clothes and his cats and the tenderness that blossomed in all your silent spaces to fill you both out.

You wonder if he misses you as bad as you’re realizing you miss him.

You think of him cooking for one again, eating alone, and it does something horrible to your heart– mangles it, twists it up horribly.

It’s made all the worse because you’re lying to him. And here he is, at your bedside.

“S’okay, Shouta,” you get out, reaching up to touch his cheek with a trembling hand. He leans into the touch, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. He savors your touch in a way that he hasn’t ever allowed himself to before.

But after a moment, he shakes his head fractionally, and he murmurs “I’m supposed to protect you.”

You don’t know why, but your bottom lip wobbles. Big, fat tears well up in your eyes, burn hot and put pressure on your already foggy head. You feel like you’re unraveling, your chest all swollen and tender, too, aching horribly.

You can’t decide if it’s because you’re lying and disobeying him so badly or because no one has ever bothered to say something like that to you, let alone mean it.

And you’re betraying him, your mind hisses.

When he notices, his face falls, his thumb moving to try and brush away your tears. “Don’t cry,” he hushes, “I’m sorry, don’t cry.”

You lean into his large and warm palm at your cheek, let him cradle and coddle you.

“I-I’m sorry–” you barely manage to choke out, for reasons far beyond him.

“No,” he coos, “No, sweetheart, don’t apologize.”

You choke on a sob and he grows more worried, leans over you more, brings his other hand up to stroke at your hairline, too.

He says your name softly, trying to soothe you, “Why are you crying, huh? What are you apologizing for?”

You shake your head, more tears loosening, your small fingers twisting themselves in the shoulders of his shirt. You think you’ll drown in all this guilt, it’ll fill your lungs with pressure, choke you out slowly as you struggle and thrash.

But for now, all you get out is a warbled, slurred, “Please don’t hate me–”

Shouta moves then, shifts to sit beside you on the bed. He’s painfully careful with you as he slides strong and sturdy arms beneath you, lifts you slightly into his lap, mindful of your IV, and cradles you to him.

You bury your face into his chest and try to hold back another sob as he murmurs, “Why would I hate you? I could never hate you.”

He strokes your hair, he hushes your cries, rocking you gently. Rocking you until you can stop crying, until you’re exhausted and aching and tender.

“I’ll help you with your Quirk,” he promises gently, holding you tight to him, “We’ll be okay, huh?” he murmurs, and it just forces another cry out of you, swallowed up by his chest that he cradles you to, “We’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

It’s the we’ll in that sentence that makes you squeeze him tighter. You wonder how willing he’d be to use it if he knew where you were every other night, who you filled your time with.

If he knew who called you late that night, when you’re alone in your room, aching and sore and alone. If he knew who you answered to, your voice hushed in the inky darkness;

“Tomura,” you exhale his name through the receiver.

“I saw what happened,” he answers instead, “I saw what happened today.”

You can feel the sudden jump of your heart, your nerves wringing themselves tight. “Oh,” you respond lamely.

To your surprise, Tomura rasps, “Are you okay?”

You don’t know why, but you cradle the phone to your cheek tighter, your eyes slipping shut for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Sore and tired, but I’m okay.”

“Good,” he responds, his voice softer than it usually is, just a breath when he asks, “What happened? What’d you do to him?”

You’re silent for a long moment. You can’t decide if you should tell him or not. You think of Shouta earlier and his voice like a hearth and the tender way he holds you, you think of his we’ll be okay.

But you can hear Tomura’s soft breath on the other line. You can see Ryuji in the patch of sun that splays out against the corner of the couch in the evenings. You think of him curled tight around you, like you’re the last good thing left on earth.

“I destroyed his Quirk,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “With mine.”

“That’s new,” Tomura almost hums, but it nearly seems like he was expecting the answer.

“I didn’t mean to.”

A quiet snort from him, “What are you trying to prove to me?” he asks, “I’m not your heroes. I won’t look at you differently whether you intended to or not.”

The thought strikes like an arrow between the ribs, sharp, sudden. It stings, when you realize it’s truth. How hard have you tried to prove yourself to Shouta? How hard are you trying to prove your goodness to yourself?

“You could’ve killed him,” Tomura says, “And I wouldn’t think differently.”

You wince for some reason when he says that, “Don’t–”

“What would your heroes think then?”

“Tomura–” you snap, voice gaining some bite, a warning.

But for some reason he presses, “How badly does the Hero Commission want you now? With a Quirk like that?”

“What?” you ask, suddenly shocked.

“Don’t be naive,” Tomura says and there’s an edge to his voice. He sucks in a breath, “That’s a big Quirk. Destroying someone else’s? You don’t think they’ll be interested in that?”

You feel the pressure of tears work their way through your head, your throat. Your fingers clutch so hard at the phone that your knuckles are turning white and before you can think, you hiss out, “And how interested are you now?”

“As interested as I was before.” he returns, sharp and quick, and then with a vitriol he hasn’t directed at you in months, he says, “Don’t compare me to them.”

You bare your teeth, tears stinging sharp at your eyes, prepared to fight back when he hisses, “Mark my words, they won’t let you go now.”

“Stop it,” you spit, “You don’t know anything–”

And he laughs at that, caustic, harsh, a grating sound. Villainous. It slithers through the phone, down your spine. Your stomach twists. You hate this– your head is throbbing. You don’t want to fight. You want to stop crying, God, you wish you could just stop crying–

“I’ll be here when you realize it.” he says and there is too much heat behind his voice, simmering and venomous. You can feel the end of this conversation, the bitter goodbye in his words.

Your bottom lip trembles, and for some foolish, lovesick reason, you gasp, “Wait– don’t hang up–”

But you hear the click of the other line and he’s fallen away from you, leaving you with an empty, static silence that buzzes around in your head. In your heart.

You throw your phone across the room. You hear it clatter somewhere in the darkness. You turn to press your face into your pillow and let out a sudden, childish scream. It tears at your throat, before tapering off into this pathetic little sob.

It’s worse because he ends up being right.

And it’s ironic because it’s another string tethering you to him, the ability to destroy something with a touch.

It’s like some part of him knew all along, or maybe some part of you.

You scream into your pillow again, louder, kicking at your covers before it breaks off into a bitter cry.

***

The Hero Commission is very interested in the new discovery of your Quirk. They run tests and scans on you, over and over again, trying to find something interesting. They want you to practice with it, but there’s no way for you to practice without potentially destroying other people’s Quirks.

They offer up criminals to practice on.

It turns your stomach.

“I don’t want to do this,” you tell Shouta one night after another long series of poking and prodding at you by white coats from the Hero Commission.

Shouta is silent for a moment, “No one is making you.”

“But they want me to. It’s expected of me.” you tell him.

“They want to make sure you can control it,” Shouta answers, “And the only way to do that is practice, unfortunately.”

Or do they just want to be sure they can control me? The question bubbles up unbridled inside of you. It sounds suspiciously like Tomura’s voice.

You frown, “I can control it. I don’t go around destroying Quirks with every touch. I just mute Quirks still.”

“Under distress, too? Can you summon it completely calmly? Or stop it in an instant?” Shouta asks.

“I don’t know– no, I don’t think so.”

“Then you can’t fully control it.” he answers, which makes you ball your hands into fists.

“It doesn’t feel right taking people’s Quirks– practice or not. And it’s controlled enough.” you respond, gaining a sudden edge to your voice.

“Then don’t do it.” Shouta responds, almost impassively.

You try not to grow upset or so frustrated that you say something you might regret. You swallow tightly. “Will you be disappointed? If I don’t?”

Shouta tilts his head and in the quietness you fear he will be, but he eventually answers, “No. You’re right; you have it controlled enough that it doesn’t hinder your day-to-day life.”

You let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Besides, if you’re under that amount of distress again, it probably flares for a good reason. It’ll probably save you if you ever need it again.” Shouta then says, “And if what they want you to do doesn’t feel right to you, then you shouldn’t do it.”

You stare up at him, a little surprised but–

Relief sweeps through you, sweet and cool.

“I trust your instincts,” Shouta says, the curl of his lips small but promising, as he reaches out to nudge your chin with his knuckle.

The guilt blindsides you later, so hard that it makes you lock yourself in your bathroom and keep a sob trapped behind the palm of your hands.

But for now, you smile up at him, the curve of your smirk playful, something he hasn’t seen from you in what feels like forever that you give to him again freely.

“Can I get that one in writing?” you ask and his answering laugh strikes you so suddenly it almost makes you dizzy and it’s like hearing the notes to one of your favorite songs that you hadn’t heard in a long time.

Like you couldn’t ever imagine forgetting it, now that you’ve heard it again.

***

Tomura wonders what it will take to make you leave your heroes.

Specifically, your precious mentor.

When he sees you again, you look like you did before nearly bleeding out in front of him and destroying the Quirk of another. It’s almost as if it never happened at all, almost like your argument never happened at all, either. In this little apartment where the rest of the world doesn’t exist, just you and him and sometimes Ryuji.

Except when he lifts your shirt there is a twisted, ugly scar from where they patched you up. Another at your shoulder. He doesn’t kiss it or run his fingers over it gently, he doesn’t make any sort of comment. He just thumbs at your waist and glares at it, wishes he could make it disappear like the villain who gave it to you.

(Not because he finds it ugly or unacceptable, only that it is now a permanent reminder of what he’d seen. Only that it reminds him that you are not guaranteed to him, not in life nor in loyalty).

You’re a little hesitant with him now. You feel more fragile to him now, too, like you’re holding something back, waiting for everything to finally fall.

The inevitable crash and break.

Tomura is gentler with you– he knows he needs to play his cards right now. It’s crucial. Something is building, even for the League of Villains. There’s more on the horizons.

And despite everything, he wants you there, when the sun is bloody and falling on a dismembered, new world.

He thinks he shouldn’t have pushed you now, when you’re so delicate, barely stitched together. But he had– he’d started another argument. He’d tried to convince you of the heroes’ lack of care for you, their greediness upon discovering the depth of your Quirk.

You throw it back in his face; isn’t that what All For One does to him? Isn’t that what he does for the League of Villains? Aren’t they all just pawns for him? Is that what he wants of you?

He seethes, digging into the skin of his neck desperately. You don’t stop him. He can feel the facade of this little apartment beginning to crumble, fall away into dust and he–

He knows he destroys everything he touches.

But you were supposed to be different.

(You are, his mind hisses, you are, you are, and that’s the worst part of it all).

You storm out that night. You leave him, no doubt to return to your precious mentor.

He thinks about destroying the entire apartment complex. He could now– he knows what’s coming. He won’t be staying here any longer. He has plans, so many plans.

You come back to him a week later, though. You’re bound to him in some way, returning again and again when you know you shouldn’t.

The make-up part is nice, with him buried so deep inside you that he’s trying to turn your stomach. Make you sick with him, the way he is with you. Your gasping moans, with the arch of your body far too pretty for hands like his.

And still, you lay on his chest afterwards, you let him run his fingers over the planes of your shoulders, the line of your pretty neck. He drags his knuckles against your soft skin, enamored with the feeling, with the way you soothe the haunting, sunken part of him. His Quirk submits to yours easily, dimmed inside of him. Maybe he should be frightened of your new potential.

But you’ve never been frightened of him, so he’s not of you, either.

You’re very bold, though, he thinks, for you to say, “Your parents were cruel.” After the argument you both had last time.

He tenses beneath you, grits his teeth. He’d thought you’d both learned your lesson, getting too personal in a place as sacred as here.

“You don’t know anything,” he says and it’s just a breath. Surprisingly toothless. He’d said it to you last time, in your argument. You’d said it to him before that. It feels almost ironic now.

You shake your head against his chest, your nose nudging into him, lips soft against his skin. You remain calm. “I know your name is Tomura. They were very cruel to give you that name.”

You say this as if it’s a fact, something as simple as the sky being blue. But it’s dark out now and the stars are dull, the moon just a scythe in the sky, caught in the window’s glare.

“What?” he demands quietly.

At least you have the guts to tilt your head up to find his eyes now. You look up at him through dark lashes.

“Your name–” you say again, gentle, “It means ‘to mourn.’ I don’t know why anyone would give their child such a sad name.”

He knows what his name means.

But this takes him by surprise, for some reason. Only because it’s not the name his parents gave him. You don’t know that, though. You don’t know anything about him, technically. He has the urge to tell you suddenly, that’s not my name.

He doesn’t, though. He stays silent. It’s his name now. And he likes the way you say it, the syllabus softened by whatever it is you feel for him.

(He won’t give it a name, he’s realizing now that names can be very powerful.)

Your fingers are gentle on him, rubbing strange patterns against a scar near his collar bone.

You have rendered him silent.

And eventually, as you begin to drift off to sleep, you murmur, “You were just a kid, you know?”

He doesn’t really know what you’re getting at, only that it does something strange to the tempo of his heart. He swallows hard, tries to keep his fingers gentle on you. Your breathing has slowed, the rise and fall of your back measured and even, but his has gotten tight.

He squeezes you against him, glaring at nothing, at darkness.

You were just a kid, you know?

It’s this part of you, the one that sees the human in him, that makes him think maybe you will be at his side until the bitter end of it all. Your compassion, the sympathy you have for the child he was, for the person he somehow became. Your unending ability to understand the worst of people.

He doesn’t dwell on the child he was, just has buried it in the cemetery of his chest– a part of him that only you have been able to reach through Quirk, through something too massive to name. You’ve soothed it, put it to rest like the dead, lit your incense in the spaces of his heart. Said your prayers along the notches of his ribs. Tried to appease that restless spirit that possesses him.

He doesn’t know why, but he starts to shake. He can hardly breathe.

And in the dark, when he thinks you’re asleep, and his secrets will be lost to your dreams, he admits for the first time in years what has always trembled inside him. He speaks the tragedy that has made a home of his body, the mourning that he was given name to;

“I wanted to be a hero– when I was a kid.”

***

Tomura thinks, for a moment, when you’re splattered in blood, that this will be your great turning point.

Your fall, the tearing and burning of your wings from your holy back. It will hurt, but he will be there on the ground with you, a hand extended to guide you. He will be there to cradle you into his chest, to hold you close when your world falls apart.

The way All For One was there for him.

The beginning of the end starts with you being a hero.

But you save the wrong person.

Toga’s been following him around as she does every so often, dogging in his shadow, skipping along beside him. You’ve become accustomed to her, too. She likes having you around. Something about not being the only girl. You’re kind to her in the same way he thinks you probably wanted kindness at her age.

The sky is mottled purple, bruised as the day sets into night. The sun looks like an open wound, violent and red.

When he thinks about it, he figures he should’ve been more careful, but then there’s a petty villain Tomura knows vaguely, someone they’ve clashed with before, who he’s pretty sure Dabi and Toga pissed off. He spots Toga first. Your back is turned to him.

“Uh oh,” Toga says, peering over your shoulder.

Tomura grabs your wrist, “Hide,” he hisses, and when you try to peer over your shoulder at what Toga is looking at, he forces you back around so the villain doesn’t see your face.

He doesn’t know why he saves you like that. Only that he doesn’t want you to get in trouble, doesn’t want you taken from him like that. He is not an idiot; if the villain recognizes you, if it somehow got around that you were seen with two of the most notorious villains, the Hero Commission would eat you alive.

And here’s the part that really gets him. You listen to him. You trust him.

You dart away, swift and fast like a fox, disappearing into the shadows the way you were trained to.

“Hey!” the villain shouts and he’s large, Tomura remembers now.

Stupid, too, he thinks, as he barrels towards them.

The glint of Toga’s knife in the sun makes him pause.

Better to not engage, Tomura thinks, not yet, not now. Too much on the horizon for something foolish to happen tonight. The apartment isn’t far from here. He hopes you’ll retreat there. He just needs to get Toga away safely now.

“Oh, I’ve missed fighting!” she sings.

“No,” Tomura rasps, “Don’t engage. We need to go, too.”

She whines a long and drawn out, “Why?” just as the hulking mass of a person swings at her. She ducks away easily, quickly.

However, then his Quirk bursts to life and it’s far worse than what Tomura had hoped for. He doubles in size, his arms in particular growing longer, and fill out with what seems to be rushing water.

“Dammit, Toga,” he hisses, shoving her out of the way as the villain blasts a large cannon of water at her.

Tomura takes the hit hard, black coloring his vision when he hits the ground.

In truth, he thinks he is out for at least a full minute, because when he’s come to, you’re shouting at the villain. You’re tugging desperately at his massive shoulder, clawing and screaming. You’ve canceled his Quirk, but he’s still too big, even without it.

Toga is pinned beneath that arm, choking and spluttering, drenched. It actually looks like she’s choking on water. She can’t even scream, too garbled, too water-logged. She looks like a doll, she looks horribly small. Her face is turning a deep shade of red as she struggles for breath. Her little hands claw at his wrist, too.

Tomura tries to stand, his vision swimming, swaying so bad that for a minute everything goes sideways.

Fuck, he curses, just as he watches you get tossed away by that villain’s other hand like you’re nothing. His Quirk suddenly ripples back to life and he blasts Toga with another bout of water, plastering her to the gravel, the onslaught of it unending.

You’re up in an instant, throwing yourself onto his neck, trying to wrench him off. His Quirk disengages again, and Toga heaves and gasps for breath, coughing up large amounts of water.

“You’re going to kill her!” Tomura finally can catch onto what you’re saying, what you’re desperately screaming. His ears ring.

You get thrown off again. More water. Toga is being blasted so hard that she can’t even choke or struggle.

Tomura thinks you’re trying to rationalize with them, you’re trying to explain you’re a hero. And to disengage. Stop, please stop, please stop–

He’s not listening, though, of course.

And he’s too big. You tried knocking him out, tried putting him to sleep with the grip of your elbow. You’re trying everything, even to crush his Quirk beneath yours. Tomura catches the flutters of pink, your inability to summon your destruction when you need it.

It wouldn’t matter anyways, not with how big he is. You struggle against powerhouses.

Tomura stumbles.

But you’ve always been gritty and sharp and determined, if nothing else. You have always fought so desperately for your life, never mind law or honor or glory.

He thinks he catches the glint of your knife, the desperate threat to let her go, leave her alone!

The villain grabs you with a massive hand around the throat, lifts you clear off the ground.

Toga has gone slack against the pavement in a puddle of water, face colored a strange shade of red and blue. A little like the way the sky blurs before his eyes.

You kick and thrash, a horrible growl wretched from your throat. You don’t think, just lash out.

And then there is blood. So much blood. It’s all over Toga now, seeping into the water– did she cut him? She managed to cut his throat? Because that’s where the blood is pouring out of–

Tomura sways.

You’re dropped.

You stumble away.

Your blade– the one you used to threaten him with, is bloody.

“Fuck!” you shout, raw and so sudden that it jars him a little. He forces himself over to the scene. So much blood. His stomach rolls.

He looks at you, your shell-shocked face. You’re looking at the knife, at the blood. At Toga, who's still not moving.

He goes to her first, tries to shake her a little, fingers held away from her shoulders carefully. For a moment, she doesn’t respond, limp and lifeless and something inside of him threatens to overwhelm him. No, no–

Her eyes flutter, though, and she wheezes for a breath, suddenly turning over to vomit up far too much water.

“I-Is she-?” your voice, so small and lost, cuts through his thoughts.

He looks at you again, blood splattered and terror caught in your eyes. Pale and slack faced and half-mad. You look like a ghost, standing there in the aftermath, in your gruesomeness.

“She’s fine,” he says, just as she wretches up more water, “You saved her.”

Toga falls limp again. He checks frantically for a pulse at her wrist with two careful fingers. Still there. She needs a doctor, though. He stands to face you.

You make a noise, high pitched, trembling. You cover your mouth to keep it in, it’s something like a sob, an animalistic noise.

“I didn’t mean to– I didn’t, I didn’t– she was just–” you’re trying to get out, almost doubled over now.

Tomura doesn’t bother to check if you killed the villain. He knows the dead when he sees it. And he won’t lie to you now, he won’t soften this blow or shield you from it.

But he also knows what he needs to do.

You keel over, about to scream more and– no, that won’t do you any good.

He grabs for you, hauls you back up and you’re shaking so hard that he fears you’re going to split apart. You’re about to lose it.

“Listen to me,” Tomura hisses and you choke on a cry. He shakes you a little, tries to force you to look at him and not the body behind him. Your eyes, feverish pink, meet the wildfire of his, “Listen to me.”

“I– I don’t–”

“Sshh,” Tomura hisses, palm going to your cheek, a little too rough, forcing you to look at only him. “Sshh, listen.”

You try to swallow and he continues, “You’re going to call reinforcements. You’re going to tell them there’s a villain down.”

“W-what?! I’m going to– they’re going to–”

He shakes you again, harder, your teeth click together with the force of it. He needs you to understand this– needs you to hear this if he wants to keep you safe and out of jail.

“Tell them I decayed him. And before that, tell them Toga cut him, and it splattered onto you. Say you heard commotion and like the good hero you are, you ran to help.”

“Tomura–” you sob.

“Do you understand me?” he snaps instead, grabbing you harder, his fingers curling against your cheek to press desperately into you. “Answer me!”

“Yes–” you gasp, wide-eyed and terrified. “Yes!”

“Good,” he hushes, wiping blood from your cheek, “Good. You saved her,” he tells you, “You saved her, do you understand?”

You nod, jerky, and he continues, hand petting your cheek, messily pushing your hair from your face, “You did everything right.”

Your breathing is still labored, but you’re quieting with the praise. When he thinks you can handle it, he breathes, “Now, are you ready? I’m going to decay him and the knife, then I’m going to leave with Toga. You’re going to call for help.”

You glance at the villain, lying lifeless, in his own pool of blood and Tomura ducks his head to force you to look at him. “Okay?” he asks, “Answer me.”

“Okay,” you exhale slowly.

“Good,” he murmurs, “Good. Now give me the knife.”

You press it, trembling, into his hands. It’s slick with blood. He forces himself to stay calm for you.

He steps away, let’s go of you. The knife turns to dust.

“Look away,” he commands then, his voice a rasp.

And you– you listen to him. You trust him. You turn away. He sets his hands on the villain. And just like that, his body breaks down, gore at first, until it is nothing but dust. It blows away easily.

And then he goes to Toga and he lifts her carefully. She’s like a ragdoll in his arms, soaked and cold. He’s certain to keep his hands away from her, fingers lifted away, but she lolls into his chest.

When you turn around, Tomura says, “Thank you for saving her.” And he means it.

You swallow hard. You look to where the villain was. He’s gone now.

“Now call your heroes, just like I said.”

You nod, eyes filling up with tears. That’s fine. They’ll have more sympathy for you, for what you’ve witnessed. They’ll believe you more. Your mentor will protect you, with those tears in your eyes.

Tomura’s eyes burn crimson as you pull out your phone, “Do what I said and you’ll be okay.”

And you do, just like that. You lift the phone to your ear. That semblance of calm that he had coaxed you into shatters the moment someone picks up on the other end.

Your voice goes high, near hysterical, “T-There’s a villain down–”

He turns away from you as you stutter and cry into the phone about what happened. You give them the lie he told you to feed them. You make Tomura out to be the villain, you make yourself out to be innocent. He holds Toga close to him.

He tries not to smile, a dizzy slip of a thing, as you do exactly as he told you to– as you lie and lie and lie through your teeth.

Toga stirs in his arms. Police sirens are heard in the distance. An ambulance for a pile of dust. The sun sets, darkness blanketing the world, shielding it from the light.

And as he stalks away, with Toga alive and in his arms, he thinks maybe he’ll make a villain of you yet.

***

The police believe you. It’s hard not to, when there is so little evidence otherwise. Tomura destroyed it all for you. It’s hard not to believe you, when you’re crying and terrified, as you should be for witnessing the death of another person at the hands of Himiko Toga and Shigaraki Tomura.

Shouta, however, is not as easily convinced.

Not after so many strange occurrences with Tomura.

When he brings you back to his apartment, when the door is shut tight, and you still stand in bloodied clothes with your teeth chattering, Shouta eyes you warily.

You want to shower, burn yourself beneath the spray of water, like you could wash away what you’d done. You squeeze your eyes shut.

You saved her.

You swallow down the lump in your throat.

“What really happened?” Shouta asks, almost tentatively, standing in the middle of his living room.

You turn and you don’t– you don’t know how you should react. Should you be offended that he’d doubt you? React in outrage after all that’s happened? Should you act confused? Play dumb?

You can’t stomach any of it. Not when someone’s dead at your hands. But someone is alive because of them, too.

Your eyes well up with fresh tears.

“I-I told you.” you choke out.

Shouta’s jaw ticks. He draws in a slow breath, “Something isn’t adding up. You have had more contact with Shigaraki Tomura than anyone has been able to have.”

Your stomach drops. Your tears fall harder.

“What’s going on?” he asks and the distance between you two feels massive. It feels continental in the small space of his living room. He seems suspicious.

The lie comes out on a sob, “I–I think he’s been stalking me.”

“What?” Shouta asks and any uncertainty he has in you evaporates as he watches your face crumple.

You let your guilt overwhelm you into choking on another cry, cover your mouth as if you could catch it in the palm of your hand. Shouta doesn’t know the truth of it, so he believes it.

He crosses that distance like it’s nothing now. He stands tall in front of you, reaches to try and brush tears away from your cheek.

“I don’t know–” you gasp, filling out your lie, “I think he's interested in me because of my Quirk. Because he can’t– I can’t decay, when he touches me.”

Shouta tips your face up towards his but you can’t look him in the eyes, let your eyes squeeze shut when he asks, “Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

“I don’t know–” you choke out, “I wasn’t sure.”

“Did something else happen?” Shouta prods gently and you grit your teeth to keep back another sob. More tears cut tracks down your face, right into Shouta’s waiting, gentle hands.

There is a long moment where you think of giving everything up. You think of telling Shouta everything, if only to lift the weight that has settled onto your chest. Surely, it will crush through your sternum, surely your heart will burst with it’s pressure.

“It’s my fault,” you whisper, “It’s my fault he’s dead.”

“No,” Shouta says then, gentle but firm, shaking his head, “I know it may feel like it–”

“He was going to kill her.”

This stops Shouta. He goes very, very still.

“What?” he rasps softly.

“He was drowning her– he wouldn’t stop. I tried to get him to stop and he started choking me–and she saved me by–” It’s a fabrication to save yourself. That’s not how it went! Your mind screeches, that’s not how it went– you saved her by killing–

Toga was turning blue, she didn’t help you. She didn’t save you. She was drowning. She didn’t kill him. You did.

“You saved Toga Himiko, a notorious villain, one of the most wanted–”

“He was killing her!” you hiss, “She was turning blue–”

“She’s a powerful villain, too, you should’ve tried–”

Something inside of you fractures, bursts apart the way glass does when thrown against a wall. You think there are a million, shining pieces of you now lying on the floor.

“She’s Shinsou’s age!” you snap, hoping one of your shards cuts him, suddenly half-furious through all your tears. “She’s Shinsou’s age, do you know that?!”

You break now, wrenching away from Shouta’s touch and rushing to double over the sink to dry heave again, body squeezing painfully. You threw up everything in your stomach already at the scene, when recounting the story to the police, to Shouta. You claw at your stomach, trying to stop it, to keep it all down inside of you. You curl your fingers into the divots of your ribs, try to force them to give you air, but they won’t– betrayers that they are, they squeeze and squeeze until there’s nothing of you left.

Your knees buckle, head spinning when you turn away from the sink and crumple into a heap on the floor,“She’s just a kid,” you wail desperately, “That’s all I saw when I tried– when I–”

Your head bows forward, body folded in on itself, forehead digging into the ground as you cry, “I didn’t mean for him to die, I didn’t mean it– I didn’t, I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Shouta moves again finally, drops to his knees down beside you. He cradles your skull in his large hand, pushes your head into the crook of his neck to hold you, “It’s alright,” he breathes, curling his other arm tight around you, “It’s not your fault,” he hushes, “It’s not your fault.” You sob hard into his chest, fingernails digging into him, clawing at his biceps, “Sshh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

And he holds you, buries you in the bulk of him, like he always has when you need him. Your constant, the love you never once deserved. Especially not now. Especially not here, with blood stained on your clothes, sunk to the floor with nothing but the anchor of your guilt.

He strokes your hairline, gentle, cooing softly to try and calm you.

He murmurs, his voice so deep and soft and earnest, “You’re a good hero.” When you make a strangled noise against him, he presses on, “You are. You’re compassionate. You see everyone’s humanity and that’s a good thing.”

He hushes more of your cries, fingers gentle in your hair, and you try not to throw up again when he tells you;

“You’re a good hero, I promise. I promise.”

The beginning of the end starts with you being a hero for a villain.

***

The next time you see Tomura, he questions you about what happened, if you pulled it off. You tell him you managed it, somehow. You don’t tell him anything else. You don’t tell him you haven’t been sleeping, that you can hardly keep food down. You don’t tell him that you take too many showers, trying to wash away the phantom blood.

You remember when it was Tomura’s blood on you, so long ago. A beginning that now seems so hazy. You hadn’t minded blood, then. You had never been particularly squeamish but now–

Now it could make you sick on your best days, downright hysterical on your worst.

Your guilt tears chunks out of you, bites down and shakes the meaty, soft parts of you until you’re all torn up.

It is easier to be with Tomura than Shouta now.

We have more in common, you think, and it makes you want to laugh, empty and wobbly.

You look in mirrors and hardly recognize yourself, wonder if this is really your body. If this is really your life, or if it’s someone else’s. Maybe you are possessed, maybe that explains how you got here.

You don’t tell him any of this. You stay silent.

And that’s okay because Tomura seems strangely quiet after that, pulling you to lay on his chest. He doesn’t let you put the TV on. You can tell he needs to think. You let your eyes drift close as he runs his fingers through your hair with a surprising amount of gentleness, compared to his usual petting.

But eventually he says, so soft that you fear you almost imagined it, “A yakuza head visited the League recently.”

Your eyes flutter open and in your surprise, you sit up a little, looking down at him. “Tomura–” you start, almost a warning.

He knows he isn’t supposed to talk like this here, in this little slice of another world.

But he continues anyways, his voice just a rough scratch, “He killed Magne.” And then, “And Compress no longer has an arm.”

Now you really pull away to look at him. You can feel your eyes widen out, your shock, then the stomach-turning sadness. His face is unreadable, but his jaw is tight. His eyes are simmering, so red, even in the low light like this.

“It was a set up.” he hisses, “I failed them.”

He doesn’t cry, but you can feel the slightest tremble in his body.

You hurt for him, you realize, your heart falling into the pit of your stomach. Those are two of his closest, some of his inner circle.

He looks shaken.

He looks young, with the weight of his world on his shoulders, with the crown of thorns placed on his head. Heir to a monstrous throne. All For One’s successor, boy prince to inherit an underground empire.

You just see him, though, just Tomura who's twenty, who likes sour candy and video games.

He swallows hard. He looks angry and hurt.

“Nobody mourns us,” he says eventually, looking away from you, somewhere in the darkness of the apartment.

Except you, you want to say, with a name like Tomura.

You lurch forward, throwing your arms around his neck, hugging him tight to you. “I’m sorry,” you tell him, soft, the way Shouta speaks to you, “I’m sorry.”

And then you think, I’d mourn you, and you squeeze him tighter, I’d mourn you, oh God, I’d mourn you–

He doesn’t hug you back, but you can feel the shaky breath he exhales, and the way his fingers tighten in the fabric of your shirt.

***

Tomura thinks it should be you, at his side, when he takes Overhaul’s arm. You are everything Overhaul wants. Your Quirk is what he has tried to bottle.

Tomura thinks you could’ve been useful, to switch off his Quirk, to destroy it in an incredible twist of irony. It would’ve been the ultimate power move, to have you at his side by the end of all of this.

But you’re not there, no, not with him.

You’re with your heroes, Toga had told him.

It shouldn’t, but it feels like a betrayal. It stings hard and sharp inside of him, like a livid bee that jabs at his heart.

He seethes about it. Hadn’t he done everything right with you? He’d played this game slow, knew that the rewards would be worth it.

You’re still walking away from him, though. You’re still not his.

And you’ve still got one of his ribs, left a gaping wound inside of him.

He wants it back. He wants it back.

***

Eri looks up at you with watery, red eyes when you first introduce yourself to her. You crouch to be on her level. She has silver hair. She’s timid, wobbly bottom lip and flushed cheeks.

You almost start crying, looking at her now. You wonder if this is what Tomura was like as a child– small and terrified of his Quirk, round red eyes pleading with the world. All you see in her is every other forgotten child.

“Hi, Eri,” you hush, half for her, half because you’re scared your voice might break.

“H-hello,” she trembles.

You try to keep your smile in place, but it’s a weak, sad thing.

Still, you say, “I’d like to be your friend, if you’ll have me.” And you extend your hand to her, palm up and offering. “I have a Quirk like Mr. Aizawa’s.” you tell her gently, “If you touch me while using your Quirk, it’ll stop.”

She brightens at this, not smiling but, surprised, “Really?” she asks, just a breath.

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat, “Really.”

She takes your hand then, eager, tightening with her small fingers, despite her Quirk still being off.

Then she looks up into your face and offers you a tentative smile. Small, just the corner of her lips lifting up.

“I’d like to be your friend, too.” she murmurs bashfully and you close your hand around hers. It’s small, almost fragile. She’s all bandaged up, arms wrapped in gauze.

You look at Eri and her red eyes and silver hair and see a coin toss, see it up in the air, spinning and spinning, catching in the light. A twist of fate like the flip of a coin.

But you think you could call it now, with her hand in yours, and the heroes that hover protectively around her.

***

There is a morning shared in blush light that isn’t the ending but feels like it could be one. In truth, you’d prefer to remember this as the ending, more of a whimper and less of a bang. The night before had been one of your better ones, too– you’d only woken once with a nightmare. Tomura had already been awake and he’d soothed you with a careful hand that drew patterns across the bare skin of your back.

That night, that morning, was gentle in the wake of all that violence, love taken root, finally bursting through your veins to make a mess of your insides.

Dawn is too mellow a place for the two of you.

(You have come to the conclusion that Tomura looks best in dusk, saturated, sharp and rich in color. Bold and vivid. You didn’t know it, but he thought the same of you.)

You never told him you loved him.

You think about that a lot, wonder if it would’ve made a difference in anything. You wonder who was the last person to tell him that, if anyone at all.

He’s still half hoping that you’ll follow him, but you think he knows he’s losing you. You are not content in fuming misery, cannot stomach to leave the mentor that has loved and cared for you with such perseverance and softness. You cannot stomach to turn away from the boy with violet hair, or now the girl that reminds you of him.

You wish you could keep him, too, despite it all, but all you see in the future with him is rubble.

In the least, you’ve always had a sense of preservations, survivor that you are, scavenger that you are. You know when to move on, can’t linger too much longer now or you won’t live through it.

You sleep better with Tomura, though, and that’s the cruel part. You wake with less nightmares. You sleep more soundly, wound up in him, so tight that you two might just grow together. Palm to palm, your Quirk quieting his, lulled and softened.

And that morning, you wake slowly, twisting around fitfully with the warmth that has blossomed gently inside of you.

Consciousness creeps to you, fighting against the pull of sleep, being coaxed awake by the fluttering of your heart, the slow roll in your core.

Your eyes lift, heavy with sleep, finally awake. You blink blearily before a sudden, sleep soft cry escapes past your lips.

You glance down the line of your body to find Tomura nestled between your legs, tongue tracing messy patterns into where you’re most sensitive. Your stomach swoops sweetly, flares into a spark of heat.

The light is soft on him. He cracks a ruby eye open to gaze at you, to open his mouth so you can watch the flash of glistening pink as his tongue laves against you slowly.

“About time you woke up,” he gets out, voice still morning-rough, a little grating. His fingers squeeze your thigh, pulling you apart further to be at his mercy, spread open all for him.

“Tomura–” you gasp, your hands finding their way into his hair, fingers gentle and weak with sleep.

He sets his mouth to you, sucks on the bundle of nerves in a way that makes you keen, almost arching away from him. He fixes his eyes on your face, watches as your expression twists up.

You can see the way his hips are twitching into the mattress. Sometimes you think he does this more for himself than you, takes pleasure in rendering you down to your most basic, most desperate.

Pleasure coils warm, simmers on the inside of you. Your fingers flex, tighten in his hair until he groans against you. When he pulls away for another moment to admire you, his lips are spit slick, a string of translucent spit and slick bridging between the two of you.

It makes you flush darkly, makes you throw your head back and whimper.

He takes you apart with the savagery and viciousness that he has always carried. Dawn spills over the bed sheets in rays of peach and honeysuckle, lovely for the impending destruction. You shatter like glass, pretty and ringing beneath his hands.

And then he’s flipping you onto your stomach, letting you claw at your pillow as he sinks deep inside of you. He hisses when he fucks into the crux of your sweet, supple thighs. Your hair is messy with sleep. He presses his chest to your back, presses you into the mattress.

You fist at your pillow, whining at the burn and stretch, and you can feel the sickle cut of his smile against the arch of your shoulder blades. He leaves sloppy kisses, scattering them, sucking at your skin until he has claimed and marked and branded you.

He nudges his nose against your cheek until you tilt your head back to his, to rub back affectionately, nudge into him like a cat. He hums in satisfaction, in pleasure, the sound of it rumbling against your back.

You feel like he’s trying to savor this. He doesn’t pull your hair, or speed up his hips. No, he waits until you arch your back for him, until you’re near begging.

He likes you weakened, maybe delirious, maybe like he’s giving you a dose of your own medicine. He’s trying to make you as addicted as he is, but there’s no need.

No need when he covers your hand with his, slots his fingers between yours. All five of them, squeezing at your hand.

“You were made for me,” he gets out, giving you a rougher thrust, his eyes flashing to your hands, “See?” he groans, fingers digging into your wrist, your knuckles, “Made for me.”

You moan, too, all wobbly and pitched, with all the pressure, with the squeeze of his hand. With the stretch of him inside where you’re vulnerable and soft and slick.

He drags everything out that morning, fucks you both into oversensitivity, until you’re both shuddering and gasping. He breaks you down, until there are tears streaming down your face, until he’s gripping you so tightly that he’ll leave a bruise in the shape of his hand.

He fits his hand against your throat at one point and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You end where you began, with the violet petal bruise of his fingertips into your skin.

You linger in bed with him that morning, letting him pet and stroke and touch you. You stay gentle, even when he gets rough.

You make cheap, bad coffee for the both of you.

You feel twenty something with a boy and his tiny apartment. A cat chirps at the window and you’re smiling when you let him in. The breeze is cool. You don’t put on clothes because you feel like an adult, with a lover.

You feel normal for a fraction of a moment after everything that’s happened.

You feel sated and tender and saddened. Your chest fills with aching as you watch Tomura drift in and out of sleep in the sunbeams.

You were made for me, he’d said and you reach out to brush a strand of hair from his face. You were made for me.

You swallow around the lump in your throat, the one that feels like needle pricks and the hard truth. You don’t have the heart to tell him that he may need you, but you don’t need him.

You want him, though, your fingers trailing down the lines of his face, you want him so badly that it hurts. Your fingers travel over the hitch of his scars, his body as familiar as a home.

You want him, but you don’t need him, you try to tell yourself in this moment. You want him, but you don’t need him. You will survive this.

Still, it’s going to hurt. You’re bracing for impact, can feel the free fall rush up to the ground, can feel your stomach swimming up where your heart is.

You’ll survive it, you think, breathing hard, trying to keep back your tears as you look at him. But it’s going to hurt, it might tear out something very precious inside of you.

You’d rather he just break your arm again. At the thought of it, you try not to choke on the bitter, furious laugh that splits from your aching ribs.

***

You get to know Eri, try to spend more time with her and Shouta and Shinsou like you’re trying to fix something you broke. The pieces aren’t quite matching up right, though. It can’t be fixed, not really, not fully.

You can’t close your eyes without seeing that villain in a pool of their own blood. Or Toga’s face made blue. Sometimes in these dreams, it’s Shinsou who is drowning. Sometimes the villain in blood is Shouta. Tomura is always the one who saves you.

You can’t look at yourself anymore. You can’t stomach to. Your lies explode out of you when you catch a glance of yourself, haggard and exhausted and beaten down.

Shouta takes you to a hospital after your fist collides with the mirror in your bathroom. Glass shatters into hundreds of reflections of your warped and terrible image. They’re not as pretty, when the sun isn’t setting in a warehouse with a boy that you think you love.

Your hand bleeds the way that man’s necks did–

Your world spins as you lean over the bowl of the toilet to throw up your lunch. You’d made it with Eri earlier, before Shouta had gotten home from class.

Shouta finds you on the floor, sitting in all that glass, with your hand clutched tightly to your chest. He must’ve heard the commotion next door.

“What happened?” he asks, voice flooding with concern. He doesn’t hesitate to step carefully over the glass to you.

The question feels too large for you.

I did something horrible, you think, that’s what happened.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter weakly, lifting your chin from its place on your chest. “I didn’t mean to.”

(That isn’t true and you know it.

(But you’re always trying to prove you’re good. Especially now. Especially to Shouta– trying to prove you’re worthy of his love.

You suddenly crave Tomura. You didn’t have to prove anything to him.)

Shouta lifts you carefully, cradles you to his body to carry you out to his car to bring you to the hospital. He treats you like you’re fragile, made of glass yourself. “What’s going on with you?” Shouta murmurs gently, but there's almost a plea in it, concern that is so transparent it hurts, “You’re scaring me– I’m worried about you.” he confesses, almost desperate, “You know you can talk to me, don’t you?”

The laugh that sputters out of you is hollow, a grating noise that gets choked off. Shouta looks at you warily, uncertain and fearful.

The hospital keeps you for three days. Eri asks Shouta about you, apparently. She misses you. Shinsou helps her decorate a card for you.

Get well soon! Is written in her poor handwriting with far too many colors, and in Shinsou’s messy scrawl at the bottom;

Miss getting my ass kicked by you.

The doctors tell Shouta you’re struggling with a lot of survivor’s guilt and you have to fight back another absurd, off-kilter laugh.

Part of you thinks you’d be better off with Tomura at this point (your coin uncertain, hanging suspended in the air), if only to relieve you of this guilt, when Shouta tends to you and cares for you and loves you so steadfastly that it makes you feel rotten and horrible and monstrous. He has no idea who he’s loving. And you don’t deserve any of it–

But you think of Eri and the way she clings to your sleeves. And how you and Shinsou share granola bars during training.

And mostly, you are terrified to be without them.

None of it’s the same, though, and you think it’ll eat away at you until you’re nothing at all but the empty lies you kept feeding them.

You want to be better, you realize, when Eri draws you in pictures, holding her hand. You want to be better, you realize, for kids like you, like her–

(Like Tomura–)

So you decide one night, with your hand still bandaged, with Eri sleeping peacefully on the couch in the crux of your arms, and Shouta at the opposite end of the couch, that you will stay with them. The easy thing to do would be to leave, to not look back. But you have always been nothing if not determined, if not a fighter.

You will become who they want you to be, who they believe you to be, even if it tears you apart from the inside out.

Which means giving up Tomura, which feels like giving up a rib.

***

You had hoped you’d be able to slip away from Tomura and leave your secrets in a rundown apartment in a part of the city you grew up in. You had hoped that you could get away unscathed, without Shouta ever knowing more.

But Dabi mentions you to Hawks.

Offhand. Something about another traitor hero. Something about Shigaraki’s bitch.

Tomura also mentions Hawks to you.

And here is your trouble, what you were hoping to avoid by never allowing him to speak about his plans; you now know that the Number Two Pro-Hero is a traitor. However, the only reason you know that, is because of your secret relationship with the leader of the League of Villains that you have been slowly, painstakingly trying to sever yourself from.

(It doesn’t help that he’s latched on tighter–)

So, if you go to Shouta to warn him that the Number Two Pro-Hero is a traitor, you have to also conveniently come forward with your own truth. And what if he thinks you’re a traitor, too?

Surely, it looks that way.

Truthfully, you might as well be– you killed someone.

You killed someone.

Your stomach squeezes tight.

You think of Shouta and Shinsou and Eri and the loss of their love, when you’ve been trying to earn it back.

You don’t get much time to mull this over, though, because while walking back to your own apartment at U.A., a shadowy span of wings fall over your form.

Your heart falls into the pits of you, the drop of it sharp, horrible.

You think running will make it look all the worse.

Besides, he’s fast.

You can’t decide how this will go. Maybe he’ll only want to speak with you, traitor to traitor. But then you will be confronted with the undeniable truth that you now need to share with Shouta, with the Hero Commission, for the sake of people’s safety. You will have to come clean. Maybe it will be worse. Maybe he’s not after you at all, but just in your neck of the woods because–

All other thoughts are cut short when he lands in front of you.

You try to think of a proper reaction. Should you be expecting him? On guard? Should you act surprised?

His wings flare and you realize quickly how massive they are. They throw you into their towering shadow, make you feel like a mouse.

His eyes glint when he pushes up his visor, the gold of them sharp, his pupils a pinprick. The eyes of a predator.

You try not to cower. You stand your ground, lift your lips a little like you might bare teeth in warning, your hackles raising. Backed into the corner, you feel half wild, too.

But Hawks beats you to any form of a greeting, his smile a menacing twist of his lips, like he’s trying to be pleasant but he wants you to see all of those sharp, white teeth of his. You think he doesn’t look like much of a hero in this darkness, with the way his wings look thorny and maroon. His voice is barbed wire, the drawl of it stinging.

You know you’re in deep trouble now;

“You and I need to have a little talk.”

***

You are kept in a steel room that the Hero Commission tells you is not a holding cell, but you definitely think is a holding cell.

Your mind has not slowed since you got here.

You scramble for a story to tell– for lies to sew.

Hawks is not a traitor. Not to the heroes’ at least. He is a traitor to the villains and you know, logically, that this is for the greater good, but something about it bothers you. Villains aren’t people to the Hero Commission. You feel strangely protective of Tomura’s league of outcasts, even if you know you shouldn’t.

But they’re young, with feelings and thoughts and lives and pasts.

Nobody ever mourns us.

No, they don’t, you think, trying to keep away bitter tears from springing to your eyes. They don’t bother trying to see the big picture, they don’t bother to try and figure out why villains are on the rise.

They can’t stomach the idea that maybe their precious hero system has given birth to their villains.

Or maybe they can and they just don’t care.

They need heroes for their charts and money and power, don’t they? So they need villains. A never ending cycle, forever going around on this carousel. You’re dizzy with it, you’re sick of it, caught up in it’s riptide.

You don’t look at Tomura Shigaraki and see the most dangerous, wanted criminal in the country. You see a twenty-year-old pawn, a chip in a bigger game. You see someone as starving and desperate as you were.

You see a coin flip.

(You see the person you fell in love with–)

Shouta enters silently and the moment you see him, you have to try to keep from bursting into tears. Your lip wobbles.

He approaches slowly, cooly, but when he gets near you, his eyes are livid and searching your face, like maybe he could finally find the lies you’d kept buried so deep inside of you. They’ve finally blossomed, you think, all of them sprouting from your body, creeping through your lungs and up your throat to choke you out.

“Tell me the truth finally.” Shouta says, sharp and icy. He speaks like he’s speaking to a criminal, “Now.”

You suck in a shaky breath, try not to flinch when he leans across the metal table and snarls, “And if you are a traitor, at least have the decency to tell me now, before they come in here and interrogate both of us.”

Tears catch in your lashes.

Through the throbbing of your head, you realize you have jeopardized Shouta in the way you never wanted.

“I’m not a traitor.” you get out, voice quiet but firm, barely above a whisper.

“No?” Shouta clips and you can see it now, the hurt in his eyes. He feels betrayed, deeply so, and you can’t even blame him. “Hawks says differently. Says you’ve been working with Shigaraki.”

You rub furiously at your cheek to try and keep the tears from falling, shaking your head quickly, “No–”

“Then what happened?” he snaps and through the blur of your own tears, you catch the way his own eyes glisten.

“I didn’t tell you everything, when I said I thought Shigaraki was stalking me.” you say, having readied this lie the moment that Hawks brought you to the Hero Commission’s doors. You give them the story they want to hear of you, not the one where you fell in love, but the one where you jeopardize yourself for them. You are careful to peer up at him through damp lashes, “I–I got close to him, because he let me, because he was interested in me.”

Shouta goes very, very still. All you can see is his chest rising and falling, quick, as he slowly begins to walk the path you’re leading him down.

“And I thought he might tell me his plans, I thought that I could help–”

“No,” Shouta says in disbelief as it all begins to connect, leaning away from you in shock, “Please tell me you didn’t–”

You lurch towards him slightly, naturally, your hands coming up to the table like you’re reaching for him. “I wanted to prove I could do this–” you choke out, voice breaking, “I wanted to prove I could do undercover work like you wanted– like they wanted!”

“What were you thinking?” he hisses in return.

“You never would’ve let me do this!” you snap, almost plead with him, and it must strike true because he looks away from you momentarily, “I-I saw an opening so I tried to take it– I was perfect for it. Shigaraki was interested in me. I used to be a thief. I would’ve fit in.”

The moment you say it, you realize how true it rings. It startles you, maybe, with how close you were. Almost, but didn’t, your coin doing an extra rotation in air. And why didn’t you? Why not be with Tomura now? Why not be where you fit in most? Where hero society wanted and expected you to be?

“I’m not a traitor,” you cry, tears tracking down your cheeks freely now– you think you’re trying to convince yourself as much as Shouta now, “I promise I’m not a traitor– I couldn’t do that to you. O-or Shinsou. Or Eri–”

And there is your reason. The truth to disguise your lies. You look at him, across from you, his face almost unreadable, with his furrowed brows and tense jaw. His eyes shine, though, gleam with unshed tears as he listens to you. The man who gave you everything, who has cared for you since the moment he found you– perhaps the sole reason your coin has flipped in their favor. All because he did more than what was asked of him, because maybe he just saw someone starving, too, like the way you did with Tomura.

Believe me, you plead, believe this.

There is a long stretch of silence after that, where all you can get in is hiccuping breaths.

Finally, Shouta asks, “Did you find anything out about him? Or the League of Villains?”

You exhale hard with relief, your shoulders finally falling. You collapse somewhat, exhausted, folding in on yourself.

You hang your head, then shake it slowly, “No,” you sniffle, wipe at your drippy nose, “He didn’t tell me anything. He didn’t trust me.”

Shouta eyes you warily.

“So that’s why you encountered him so much. That’s why you were there with Toga Himiko when–” Shouta cuts himself off when he sees your wince, the shuddering of your features at the mention of that incident. But he finally put all of the pieces together. All the pieces you’ve given him, at least.

You nod, stray tears falling quick, dripping off your chin, “I’m sorry for lying,” you get out, “I hated it— I hated lying to you.”

Truth.

Shouta throws you a hard look, “You shouldn’t have. It was dangerous and irresponsible. And now look at what you’ve done–”

Your stomach knots up tightly.

“I thought I could handle it.” You breathe and there is another truth, sprinkled throughout your lies.

But you were so horribly wrong–

Shouta is about to open his mouth again, but the door swings open and a man in a suit enters slowly. His gaze is cool as it falls on you and Shouta. You know this isn’t the end of your conversation with him, you know he wants to know more. But now, he focuses on the higher up that encourages him to sit, too.

He says, because Shouta has been such an upstanding hero and teacher, they are allowing him the courtesy of explaining everything now.

And then you watch as Shouta opens his mouth and lies and lies and lies for you.

He tells them that it was his idea to allow you to get close to Shigaraki. He knew, every step of the way. He tells them he bypassed speaking with a committee at the Hero Commission’s because it would’ve taken too much time. He says that they needed to act quickly and accordingly.

He takes the brunt of it, saves you from far more trouble. He’s a trusted hero. You’re an ex-thief in the eyes of the Hero Commission with a too-big Quirk. They won’t believe you and truthfully, if they did more digging, if they pried more, there is a chance that the truth might leak out of you, open like a wound.

Shouta protects you, the way he always has. You don’t deserve it and you can feel your heart tearing itself to shreds.

You know you can’t go back to Tomura, not after all this.

You watch Shouta lie for you, speak for you, get you out of the grave you have dug yourself. For the second time in your life, Shouta saves you. You try to hold back more tears, you try to hold back from throwing yourself onto him, clinging to him.

And finally, they ask, “Did you learn anything, then? About Shigaraki Tomura?”

He likes sour candy. He has trouble sleeping. He drinks too many energy drinks. There is a scar at the corner of his lip. He has a beauty mark on his chin. He is desperate and starved of love. He let’s a kitten sleep in the sunlight of his apartment. He tries to take care of the League to the best of his ability– he cares about them more than he will admit. He is not heartless. His hands are often cold but seeking, longing for what he can’t have.

Your eyes well up with tears but you take a slow, steadying breath. They don’t want those pieces of him, the human, messy ones. No, they want to know how evil he is, how diabolical his next plan is going to be. But you don’t know any of that, just that he holds you as if he never wants to let you go when you fall asleep at night.

So you’re not lying when you say;

“I don’t know anything about Shigaraki Tomura.”

Only that he wanted to be a hero– when he was a kid.

***

The days following are the worst between you and Shouta.

He doesn’t trust you anymore. You can’t fight him. You have nothing to say, which is perhaps worse than if you tried to fight with him.

There’s no defending you, especially if Shouta even knew half of the truth. He barely speaks with you some days.

He wedges the distance between you two wide, forces it apart further.

He does not comfort you, he does not hold you when you cry this time. He’s not there with soothing, hushed words or the gentle touch of his hand to your cheek.

A piece of his trust is broken, now so severely that it’s just a jagged edge, something you don’t think can ever be soothed.

(And you’re right, in some way– there’s a deep shift in your relationship with him, changed and scarred. It never returns to what you once had, when your life was very simple and all you knew was him.)

He doesn’t ever say, I forgive you. I will trust you again, in time.

But he eventually will make dinner for you again and you will sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder at his table with a respectable, lonesome distance between his heart and yours.

Nothing is ever the same again.

You think about running– from Shouta, from Tomura, from all of it. It would be the easiest option, where you never have to look either in the face again.

But the Hero Commission looks at Eri the same way they looked at you when they discovered you could destroy Quirks and you can’t stomach the idea of leaving her to them.

(Tomura was right in a lot of ways.

And when there’s a war on the horizon and the Hero Commission seeks to use you as a weapon, you will think of him again.

I’ll teach you, if that’s what you want, he’d said to you once. And he did.

You hate the system, the endless cycle, Prometheus chained to his rock, the need of villains to have heroes, the creation of heroes to make villains. The endless bodies, the using and discarding of real, human lives for a greater good. You wish you could destroy it.

But there is more than only destruction, too. What good is rubble and ruin and death?)

You stay so you can do what you can, so you can protect a child with red eyes, with silver hair, and a Quirk too big for their own body.

And you think maybe if you stay with her, it makes up for leaving Tomura.

***

You go to Tomura one last time, walk the distance to his apartment with your hands shoved into your pockets. It’s a familiar walk now. The pavement is wet from rain. It’s cold out. You don’t know what you’re going to tell him. You wonder how he’ll react– for a moment, you’re fearful. Will he lash out? For a moment you wonder if he’ll try to kill you.

But you know, deep down, he wouldn’t. Won’t.

And you won’t pretend you’re scared of him now. You won’t play the innocent hero, not in front of him.

The moment Tomura sees you, he knows something has changed. You are too expressive and now you look at him with a sense of foreboding. With a sadness that he feels uncomfortable gazing at.

You tell him, “I got in trouble with the Hero Commission.”

For a moment, he lets his hope grow and stretch inside of him. Maybe this is finally your turning point, your fall from grace that he will catch you on. But no, your lip wobbles and your eyes dart away.

“I can’t see you anymore,” you whisper.

At first, he wants to snap at you, hiss out something cruel between his bared teeth. Maybe if you had done this a few years ago, a few months ago, he would lash out, try to tear into his neck or you or the world. He thinks about hurting you, slamming you against a wall or–

The thought is unfortunately repulsive to him. He doesn’t want to hurt you, not like that.

His anger and resentment wells inside of him, swarms his chest viciously. He wants to argue, to point out every way your heroes have failed you. The world feels so absurdly unfair suddenly, to give him you– you who quiets his Quirk and touches him gently and winds your arms around him in the way he likes so much– only to then take you away, too. You who destroys with a touch, too. Who is perfect at his side.

But for all his work and care and strategy, he can’t get you to stay.

You will run back to your heroes.

You don’t need him, he realizes now. But you have his rib, tucked away inside of you. He wants to dig into you, pry it out, rip it from your body and take it back for himself.

But you’re crying.

And you’re pretty in the dark, like you’ve always been. This time, though, you’re not looking for a fight, there is no viciousness in you now. Maybe you’re too tired to fight.

So instead of erupting, instead of lashing out, Tomura steels himself. He’ll play the longer game, then. You don’t want to go, but you will. You’ll go back to your heroes and they will disappoint you. As they always do, at some point, eventually.

You will come back to him again, he tells himself.

And he will be forgiving, the way All For One has been with him. He sees it now; you, needing his hand, needing him to take you back. He will welcome you back into his arms, as if you hadn’t even left, and you will know then that you were right to leave.

He gazes at you, red eyes smoldering, “Then don’t.” he rasps and he’s trying to remain dispassionate, but his voice has a trembling note in it, the hidden fear underneath the harsh coolness.

Your eyes flicker back to him, your lips parting in surprise. You wipe at your eyes.

“So that’s it?”

And this makes him angry, the sharp tug of it like a dog at the end of it’s leash. He lurches forward threateningly, like he might hurt you.

(You don’t flinch. And he stops himself before he gets too close.)

“What?” he snaps, “Did you want me to beg for you to stay?”

He wants to, he realizes, he wants to howl and scream and tear apart everything in sight. He wants to say don’t go, don’t go, don’t slip from me, too.

He wants to bargain with you– what is it he can’t give you that they can?

Your heroes only love you because they don’t know you, they don’t know what you’ve done. Your heroes only love you as far as truth and justice go. A hero would sacrifice you for the greater good and you would agree with them, even if you were shaking and crying, even if you burned with all that liveliness.

But he’d sooner sacrifice the world for you.

You have his rib, he wants to scream, of course he wants to beg.

You shake your head, though, more tears falling free, “No,” you say, voice surprisingly strong, “No, I never made you beg.”

The truth of it burrows beneath his skin. He knows. The itch squirms beneath his skin. His hand reaches up, digs into the crook of his neck to scratch at it.

It’s Dabi’s voice in his head that says something about getting too distracted with this braindead hero. He has bigger plans than hiding in an abandoned apartment with you. More to do. You were nothing but a side quest.

His pause screen.

Besides, what’s there to be upset about? You’ll come back.

He won’t even punish you for leaving, he promises. He promises.

“Then that’s it.” Tomura tells you, a bitter curl to his lips.

There’s no goodbye, just the breeze between the two of you, the empty space that he always hated. The nothingness between that he always sought to destroy.

Eventually, he just turns away from you. He can’t stomach looking at you any longer. He can feel your eyes pressing into his retreating form– he imagines you rushing for him, crashing into his back to throw your arms around his middle. You can’t do it, you’ll cry, burying your face between his shoulder blades. And he’ll freeze, but eventually he’ll wrap his arms around yours and bow his head with the strength of your feelings for him.

Or he imagines later, when it’s the end of the world, and you emerge from the rubble to reach for him. It’ll be like his dreams, when the sky is falling, and you only want to hold his hand in yours.

He imagines you shouting to him, changing your mind, saying his name like it’s a song to sing, not mourning bells, not a curse or an affliction.

But none of it happens.

And when he turns around, you are gone.

You leave his life as viciously as you entered it, suddenly there, all furious and beautiful, and now gone, like a lightning strike, like a lifetime.

***

You tell yourself you’re going to be fine, but you spend random days weeping over a villain. You spend long nights awake, missing him, replaying it all in your mind. You cover all your mirrors. You try to be different. You wish you could say you regret ever getting involved with him, but it would be one more lie. You wish for the time before the worst of it, the strange honeymoon you never should’ve had.

You wish you’d remembered to slow down, to savor it all a little more. You try to remember what your first kiss was like and the shade of his eyes through the evening light of an abandoned warehouse.

You try to remember when you didn’t feel so heavy, so corrosive and lost.

It doesn’t help that you’re suspended from heroing; a choice made by both the Hero Commission and Shouta. There’s nothing for you to do some evenings.

Shouta lets you train with him and Shinsou still. Shinsou tries to cheer you up, though he doesn’t know what’s wrong with you. Still, it hurts because he’s trying. It hurts because he cares so much, even about you.

You don’t deserve it, after everything.

You take care of Eri more, too, now that she is nearly in Shouta’s care. You babysit her while he’s away. You grow close with her, fiercely protective of the young girl, careful to keep the Hero Commission at a distance from her. She settles in your lap on the couch in Shouta’s apartment most evenings, watching TV and movies, while he grades papers at the opposite end.

Sometimes she falls asleep tucked into your side. You stroke her silver hair and try to bite back tears.

She catches you, sometimes, perceptive as she is, and asks very gently, “Why are you sad?” even if a tear hasn’t slipped free yet.

And you always shake your head, trying to dispel the thought of Tomura and the parents that gave him such a tragic name as a child. You force a smile for her and you tell her something silly to distract her, “I’m not,” you promise, “I just think there’s an onion nearby.”

She wrinkles her nose at this, “No, there isn’t!” but she’s easily distracted with tickles or the promise of painting her nails or having a tea party with Shouta.

Miraculously, your relationship with Shouta begins to heal, despite your betrayal. You think he can tell something worse happened to you during your time with Tomura, you think he can tell that you’re hurting, so he ends up gentler with you. He doesn’t trust you, though, keeps you on a tight leash. He looks at you some days like he isn’t quite sure he knows you.

Nothing is the same. Part of you wants to regret it. The part of you that loves Tomura can’t stomach the idea of regretting it. Someone is dead because of you. Someone is alive because of you, too.

But Shouta doesn’t ask and you don’t tell, can’t seem to speak the words.

You can’t even say, I fell in love, can’t speak the truth because it is so horrible.

And you know what everyone would ask; who could love the likes of him?

Me, you think, vehement and grief-stricken, me, you think defiantly. Why couldn’t you? He was a child once–

Shouta lets you burrow into his chest, wraps his arms around you. He sways with you in the kitchen until you can keep back your tears, until your heart has slowed to the tempo of his. He kisses the top of your head.

And it’s Shouta who is with you, when you return from training, and open the door to your apartment to reveal a scruffy, mangy looking grey kitten that wasn’t there when you left.

Ryuji chirps happily at you, rushing to the open door.

For a moment, you’re so shocked that all you can do is stand, startled, as he rubs himself against your legs.

“Don’t tell me you found another stray–” Shouta starts, but all you get out is a small, choked noise.

And here is the impact from the fall, you think, looking at that little cat that is excitedly winding itself around your legs. You can feel the shattering of your heart, like he’d lobbed it against the wall. You wonder if it catches light the same way glass does, all stained with color and broken into shards.

You drop to the floor with the weight of it all, with the clean splitting of your heart.

The moment Ryuji climbs into your lap, a sob finally ruptures out of you.

Shouta is fast, coming down beside you, you think he’s asking what’s wrong, why you’re crying, but you’ve already gathered the kitten into your arms, cradling him to your chest as the tears come quick and furious down your cheeks.

You think maybe you should be more concerned as to how he got Ryuji here, in U.A. dorms, you should be worried about security and safety but all you’re thinking about is that little apartment that you hid from the world with him in.

No, all you’re thinking about is the way light fell through the lone window to turn him hazy and soft in your memory. You’re thinking about how he never denied you affection, so long as you gave it tenfold in turn. The drawl of his voice. The pressing of his fingers into your skin like you were a miracle.

To him, you were.

Another sob spills out of you, from somewhere deep inside you.

What a lonely life, to only be able to touch one person in certainty. You wonder who will be the next person that will lay their hands gently on a body that has known too much pain. You wonder if you will be the last person to do it.

The thought hurts, opens up a part of you that is tender and shaking and desperately furious.

When Shouta can’t figure out what’s wrong with you or why you’re crying, he gives up, and sits on the floor with you. He gathers you into his lap so your back is pressed to his chest, pushing your head beneath his chin, Ryuji still cradled in your arms.

You cry harder when Shouta tries to comfort you, when he hushes softly, so sweetly, only because you don’t think there’s anyone to comfort Tomura like this.

You think of Tomura alone, even without Ryuji and it just–

Crushes you.

You squeeze the kitten tighter to your chest as you cry and cry and cry. You let Shouta hold you against him, but there’s no comfort in the aching hollowness that is growing in the pit of your chest.

You want to scream at the world that tossed the coin.

But all that comes out is a garbled, misery struck, cry.

You never told him you loved him, never gave word to what consumed you. And you realize, sitting on the floor with a kitten in your arms, that you won’t ever be able to tell him now.

It will live and die inside of you, never spoken into existence.

And even though it’s too late and Tomura Shigaraki is readying for a battle with a giant without you at his side, you still whisper the words you never got to speak into the top of Ryuji’s head.

Your lips barely move with it, the quietest, most desperate, “I love you– I loved you.” that escapes you with a trembling breath.

Shouta doesn’t even hear the confession.

Ryuji nudges your cheek with his, though, purring softly, keeping your secret safe.

And in the least, you are able to twist into Shouta’s arms and bury your face in his chest to cry as hard as you need. There’s no distance between the two of you now, like you always wanted.

Always here when you need him, even now, when it’s not him you want.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

You mumble incoherent apologies into his shoulder, try to hide in him, like he might be able to shield you from all the hurt and ache of your first love. He doesn’t ask, but he tells you very gently, his voice like the hearth of your home, “If you ever want to talk, I’ll always be there for you.”

You keep Ryuji, clean him up, fit him with a new collar, a new life. Shouta helps you care for him.

Eri adores the kitten, hugging him to her smiling face every time she sees him. Thankfully Ryuji is even-tempered, eager for affection. Almost desperate for it.

Ryuji is like proof of another world, proof that it all happened.

Sometimes you rub between his ears and ask, “Do you miss it, too?” but all he does is peer at you inquisitively, eyes large and fixed on you.

You sleep with him, though, let the kitten curl up in your lonesome arms, hold tight to him the way you used to hold tight to Tomura.

***

In the middle of the night, your phone wakes you with its insistent chime and buzzing. You blink awake sleepily, slowly and blindly paw for your phone.

You turn the screen towards you and squint at the bright light, making out the word that flashes on it;

Unknown Caller.

You grimace, rubbing at your eyes. You debate putting your phone down, letting it ring and go to voicemail. Why should you answer for an unknown caller in the middle of the night?

And yet, something in you squirms, urges you to pick up. You have no idea who it might be— maybe someone needs your help. Is it possible it’s Shouta? Shinsou? What if it’s—

You answer finally, groggy voice slurring out, “Hello?”

You’re met with static.

“Hello?” you say again, voice hushed with sleep.

Still nothing.

Tomura sits on the other side, with the phone pressed desperately to his ear. He holds everything inside of him, barely allows himself to breathe on the other end.

He doesn’t know why he’s done this, only that he is on his way to proving himself with the League and he wishes you were still at his side.

He swallows, hears you call again, “Hello? Anyone there?”

He tightens his four-finger grip on the phone, squeezing his eyes shut at the sound of your voice, sleepy and soft in his ear, wrapping around the jagged parts of his heart.

He exhales and you must hear it because you say, “Is someone there?”

He bites back an answer, feels his lip tremble slightly.

He hears you huff, indignant little thing that you are and his lips pull into a shaky, painful smile. “I’m going to hang up now,” you say, all prickly, the way you’d get if he woke you too soon.

He used to soothe you with lips and teeth and tongue, run diligent fingers over you until you were sighing and arching into his touch. Until all your hard, vicious edges softened with the flattening of his palm on your body.

And for some reason you try, one last time into coaxing him to answer, “C’mon,” you say, almost like you know, “Nothing?”

Nothing, he wants to echo, but doesn’t.

His heart pounds an uneasy rhythm, a haunted tempo. He feels himself shaking again.

“Okay,” you exhale, slow, like you’re giving him a chance to stop you, “Goodbye.”

A beat passes, before he feels his heart lurch painfully in the hollow place of his chest at the thought of not hearing your voice again like this, so near. He doesn’t want you to go, wants to listen to you until it coaxes him to sleep.

“Wait– don’t hang up–“ Tomura hisses into the phone at the last moment, unable to decide if he wants you to hear him or not.

He gets his answer in the buzzing silence, long and drawn out, that fills his head. His heart.

And he sits there with his phone still in hand and his heart still on the line.

***

Tomura shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be watching you from afar, in the park that he thought you’d looked like a painting in. You’re beautiful.

But what does someone like him know about beauty, anyways?

The fireburst leaves are nearly gone, barely clinging to lone and stark branches. They claw up into the sky now, but the sun is shining. It’s mid-morning. You’re in the park with your mentor, with the violet haired boy he’d seen you with before, and the little girl with silver hair. The one that was in Overhaul’s care, with the devastating Quirk.

She tugs excitedly at your sleeve now and you give her your undivided attention, your face lighting up with whatever it is she tells you.

You scoop her into your arms and her echoing giggle is like wind chimes, melodic and childish and care-free.

You look happy, he thinks, with your mentor’s hand on the small of your back, looking down at you and the girl fondly. The violet-haired boy says something that makes the girl laugh, it makes you smile as you watch her.

You look back at your mentor with a look that Tomura has come to know; one that begs of attention and approval and affection. He can see the desperate glint to your eyes, hungry for his love.

He swallows around the sharp bitterness he feels. Jealousy floods him in a way he has never fully known. But it’s more than just jealousy for you and your attention, for the way you’re looking at your mentor.

No, it’s something greater, far worse.

He’s jealous of your mentor, with the easy way he gets to touch and look at you out in public. But he’s also jealous of you and your life.

He doesn’t realize it at first, but he’s begun to shake.

Because you were saved– isn’t that it? You were saved. And he wasn’t.

Maybe he’s jealous of the boy with you, too, with the possibility of his life so much brighter already. He has more of a chance than Tomura ever had.

Or maybe it’s the girl in your arms, with eyes like his, who he is most jealous of now. He has never allowed himself to ask;

Why couldn’t it be me?

But now he does and he can feel the pit in his chest grow with a livid sort of despair. Grief for a life never lived. Didn’t he deserve to be saved, too? Like the girl in your arms? Like you? Didn’t he deserve a life like this, too? What’s the difference? He wants to demand it, what’s the difference?

You were just a kid, you know?

His fingers dig into his neck. There is no one to stop him from breaking skin, for drawing blood on his own body. His chest festers, angry, like a blister. His stomach turns, his body trembling harder, like he’s a child, like he’s going to shake apart.

He looks at your smiling face, the curve of your lips, and wants you so bad it hurts. He wonders if you ever dreamt of him as a hero, the way he dreams of you as a villain. He wonders why it feels so unfair suddenly, the turning of your lives, the coming together and falling apart.

He shudders, feels the sudden lump in his throat. He tried not to mourn you, when you left him. He told himself that there was nothing to mourn; either you would be back or you weren’t worth it. He feels the pressure of tears now, though, much to his frustration. He feels his lungs burn for breath as he watches you hand the little girl off to your mentor, who props her onto his hip easily.

He watches you throw your head back and laugh, the sound of it distant, but he catches it, the outskirts of it. He used to feel that laugh against his throat, against his lips.

But now he watches you live a life he apparently never deserved.

His bottom lip trembles, a furious scowl marring his face.

He could scream or shout at a world that wouldn’t listen. The fact of it all, the helplessness of it all, burns beneath his skin like wildfire, like acid.

Tomura takes one last look at you; the expressive glimmer of your eyes, the flash of your teeth. He lingers on you, commits you to memory as if he could ever forget you. Maybe someday he will. Maybe he won’t have to, if you come back to him.

But he won’t wait on it, in an apartment that still has traces of you in it’s corners and crevices. No, he has more to do, bigger than him. Bigger than you.

Even if the horrible tempo of his heart begs differently, even if the shaking in his shoulders is an indication otherwise.

One last look of you– you’re talking, saying something with your hands. The little girl laughs again, her red eyes crinkling up happily.

Tomura turns away.

He walks a familiar path to the apartment, the wind tries to slice through his jacket, kicks up leaves and litter in shadowed alleyways.

He enters and there is no one trailing behind him, your hands twisted into the back of his hoodie, or his sleeves. It’s quiet. Empty. He surveys it once, the bed with unmade sheets. The window that let in beams of colored light, that Ryuji would sit at.

And then he sets his hands on the wall, all ten of his fingers down, the way he used to touch you.

The wall begins to decay, cracks and crumbles beneath his hands. It spreads, and spreads, and spreads like a disease filling out the body of the apartment. Dust begins to fall like early snow.

His heart squeezes painfully, his eyes suddenly flooding with pressure, with tears he tries to keep back. His head throbs, feels like it’s going to cleave apart. His ribs ache– hurt so bad it’s like he can feel the one you took from him, the gaping part of his chest.

His Quirk flares hard and hot and fast. It burns through him, floods his veins in a way that makes him cry out, suddenly shaking, suddenly pained.

He destroys the apartment, disintegrates the tiny world he created with you that existed outside of the real one. He unpauses the game. He takes apart what the world should’ve been, when he was here, with you. He sees now that a world like this cannot exist.

The peace, the ideal, the way you had understood him. Your unending compassion. It’s rare. Not enough to save the rest of them.

So he tears it all apart, pushes at his Quirk in a way he hasn’t been able to before, nudges at its strength to test it. It flares outward, eating away at the entire space, at the furniture, at the floor. Everywhere.

He seethes, blooming, finally allowing that livid and vicious thing inside of him to burst forward. It’s explosive, wrenching out of him in the form of terrible destruction.

He’ll grow into what he was supposed to–

I wanted to be a hero– when I was a kid.

The only option he ever really had, the hand extended to him a villain’s, gentle when he’d taken it.

He destroys the boy inside him, the one that was naive and hopeful and weak. He let’s that boy inside of him fall apart, split open and leaks gore before turning to dust, too. He kills the part of him that he had only ever shared with you, in the blue-dark of night, when you were lulled to sleep with just the sound of his heart.

He swallows down his anguish and his jealousy and his bitterness, keeps it safe inside him, like All For One always said to do. He’ll nourish it, let it grow, fester inside of him until the only thing it can do is explode out of him to tear the world apart, too.

When he’s standing in the rubble of the tiny world you’d made with him, the apartment complex demolished, the people inside gone, he knows what he has to do.

And he has so much work to do in order to achieve it.

He tries to forget you, to destroy your memory, too. He will not carry the weight of you around inside him.

(But in his dreams, you sit cross-legged in front of him, serene and beautiful, like a painting he knows nothing about.

In his dreams, you ask for his hands to have, and he gives you them to hold.)

#shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura x you #shigaraki tomura x you #shigaraki x y/n #tomura x y/n #shigaraki tomura x y/n #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #tenko shimura x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #shigaraki fanfiction

[dragynkeep]

So I just watched encanto, very good movie super cute. But I dunno the grandma just brings up memories. Maybe it's because I'm not part of the culture, maybe it's because I'm not super close with any family or have elders to look up to or please. But I spent most of my life being degraded and pushed aside by my parents never being able to fit into their expectations. So everytime the grandma showed up it was like hackles rised hissing on defense for me. I would definitely not be so quick to forgive even if an apology and owning mistakes is the first step.

Maybe I'm talking out of my ass maybe I'm just weaker but it was very hard for me to accept the ending when all I can think is the wasted years I spent taking their shit trying to be what they wanted and never could so my instinct now is fuck'em walk out cut them out don't waste anymore time life is too short.

i definitely don’t think you’re weaker for it & obviously everyone’s going to bring their own experiences to the table when they watch a movie about something so applicable as generational trauma. even if you’re not of the culture the movie is specifically about, there’s obviously parts of it that can transcend that like the instance of generational trauma & what grandparents can go through to bring their families to a new, better life but never truly feel like they belong.

i will say that it is obviously very clear that alma cares about her family & that’s precisely the issue that she acknowledges in “all of you”  —  she held onto her children too tight for fear of losing them like she lost pedro & she was forced to become the woman she did through having to run a village all on her own & convince people that their gifts were good things. she says that “to keep the magic strong these gifts must be earned” & it does fit in line with the very catholic mentality that runs through the film, something i have personal experience with from my father’s side of the family.

encanto does a very good job of showing how complex family dynamics can be, especially in multigenerational families which is common in latin america & poc communities. things can be misinterpreted, like the conflict between pepa & bruno where he only made an ill timed joke but pepa obviously felt like her wedding was ruined because it spurred on her powers & neither of them are in the wrong for their emotions there. alma has also never talked down to mirabel, the family was never actively malicious to her but obviously through the lack of communication, mirabel couldn’t voice her frustration at being left out unwittingly because of her lack of a gift until it all boiled over in the confrontation with alma.

like others have said, there is no true villain to the movie. alma is not a villain, she’s as much a victim as the other madrigals to the circumstances that brought them into this situation. if there was really a “villain” it would be trauma but the movie does a really good job in proving the message that you shouldn’t demonize your trauma, you need to give it time & space to reveal what it truly is, love & pain. which is exactly what happened in the last act of encanto; they were forced to feel mirabel’s love & pain in regards to her family & then alma returned that in letting mirabel feel her love & pain for a trauma she’d held guarded close to her for half a century.

while cutting people out of your life is obviously a valid choice for those who choose it, i think this movie pushes a very valid alternate choice that i often see demonized by a lot of traumatized people & abuse survivors; choosing to forgive your abuser. it’s something i’ve seen in regard to abusive characters in media like enji todoroki from mha; in that people really resist the fact  that two of his children chose to forgive him & they’re just as valid in that choice as the children who didn’t & cut him out of their lives. there really needs to be a lot more understanding in these conversations than what i’ve seen, especially in places that are dedicated to talking about family issues like this on reddit & social media, where cutting these people out of your life is the only valid option when it’s not. there is just as much value in working with your family to become better, which is something shown in the finale of the movie when all of the family’s love comes together to rebuild casita, even on an imperfect foundation because your relationships will never be perfect.

obviously not targeted at you solely anon, but for others if you expect perfection in your relationships & aren’t willing to also give way, while protecting yourself, then you will just finding yourself cutting everyone out of your life. i know this because i’ve been there & it was just as harmful as a coping mechanism as just staying in a traumatic situation hoping it’ll get better.

obviously this applies mostly to people who are willing to make that effort, after all don’t set yourself on fire to keep someone warm when they aren’t willing to change, but the film showed us that the madrigals are willing to make that change, they had begun that process in the finale. it wasn’t a finite ending but it was one that showed a lot of promise & i don’t think that should be disregarded just because the ending was “lacking” for some people.

i wouldn’t say no to a tv series like tangled tho —

#encanto #encanto analysis #owl.txt #answered #q #yes i have a lot of feelings abt encanto #my server has been crying abt it #for like a wheeze straight wheeze

[sicjimin]

🎭 Torn, or, Bond 🎭

—alternate universe story 🌌

A.N : writing this by running an hour sleep at 5 AM .. please dont yell at me i know this makes no sense TT just a filler to complete my craving for mpreg stories .. again.

TW : emeto, mpreg

— Soulmate (/noun) ; a person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity. This may involve similarity, love, romance, platonic relationships, comfort, intimacy, sexuality, sexual activity, spirituality, compatibility and trust —

***

Having a soulmate, and in a literal way manage to find it, is an incredible feeling.

More so be able to build a stable relationship— Yoongi and Seokjin wouldn't ask for any other way.

One of the perks, that maybe could be a flaw of this soulmate system is that they can feel what each other currently feeling. Sad, nervous, angry, even overwhelmed, they can sense it. It could be a good thing, like, Yoongi will always get ready with a cup of hot chocolate, complete with marshmallow and a spoonful of whip cream everytime Seokjin gets home tired and sad. Or Seokjin would have a basket of tangerine ready when Yoongi comes late at night with a pout on his lips when one of his songs didn't work out.

Their dynamic becomes beautiful just like that.

But it becomes a flaw when it's about sickness. And Seokjin is the one that really hated this one, especially when he's pregnant.

He actually feels a little bit guilty for Yoongi, that had to feel nauseous every morning while he throw up his dinner on the toilet. It's not a rare occurrence that it makes Yoongi can't comfort Seokjin while he puking his guts out as he's too nauseous to move.

Seokjin even ever cried, because he was feeling horrible after keep throwing up all of his lunch, and he came back to the bedroom seeing his boyfriend pale, weak, with his cheeks flushed, pressing his fist hard to his lips, fighting the urge to not throw up. Seeing his boyfriend suffer when he's not supposed to, break his heart, and he feels like it was his fault that Yoongi feels sick like that.

So he cried.

Today is entirely different in their soulmate journey.

As Seokjin wakes up, with an overwhelming, very overwhelming nausea. It feels like he just got off from rollercoaster after having a full lunch, then someone drags you immediately to a spinning tea-cup, and spinning it for an hour nonstop.

He jolts awake heaving into his palm.

He's so nauseous. And he feels like he's going to hurl right then and there. It was different with his usual morning sickness. This time ... it's intense.

His eyes are squeezed shut, hands holding tight onto the sides of the bedsheets as he tries to fight down another wave of nausea. He's almost sure there's going to vomit.

He reaches his hand blindly to the other side of the bed, hoping that he would find his boyfriend to give him comfort and ease him through nausea, but it's empty.

Does Yoongi wake up early? , he thoughts.

That's when he heard the bathroom was in use.

There's the sound of the sink running, but whats makes his nausea intensifies is there's the sound of someone retching. Vomiting.

Seokjin curses under his breath, Shit, Yoongi is sick.

It's faint, getting drowned with the sound of the sink running, but he could hear the sound of liquid filling the toilet, with occasional coughs that tried to be muffled.

Seokjin heaves into his palm again.

He takes a deep breath, as he pull himself away from the comfort of his bed, wobbling with his figure slightly hunched, one hand clutching his stomach as he tried to keep his dinner in bay. Not wanting to make more mess. He needs to take care of Yoongi first.

"Yoongichi, are you okay?", he whispered softly, trying to hide how shaky his voice was due to nausea.

It's silence. A quiet gag that followed with another sound of thick liquid filling the toilet is the only things that answer him. Seokjij grimaces, gripping his mid-section tightly as it churn uncomfortably.

It took few minutes before Yoongi opened the bathroom door, sniffling, as he wipes the spit from his mouth. Yoongi looks pale. And tired. His eye bags were heavier than normal, his skin pale and sickly looking which made Seokjin's stomach twist again.

"Hyung", he croaked, " You wake up?"

"You're sick?", Seokjin ignored his boyfriend question, his eyes observing the latter. Quiet yelps snatched from his throat when Yoongi leaned into him, nuzzling his head on Seokjin's crook. Seokjin could feel abnormal prickling warmth emits from Yoongi's skin.

" 'm sorry hyung .. you must be feeling horrible", Yoongi mumbles, slightly panting as if he's been run a marathon. His eyes droop as he leans his head against the taller male.

Seokjin sighs softly, carding his fingers through Yoongi's damp hair, 'What are you saying", he scolds lightly.

" How long have you been feeling like this?", he asks as he guides Yoongi back to their bed.

"Midnight ..", Yoongi mutters weakly, hissing when headache thumping his skull when he lays down. " I think i caught something from works ..", he adds quietly.

Seokjin huffs, pressing his palms to Yoongi's sweaty forehead—that Yoongi immediately leaned into it, and whine when Seokjin retracts his hand— he has a fever.

"You're burning up, Yoongichi", Seokjin mumbles.

"I feel awful"

"I know baby," Seokjin coos softly, brushing away Yoongi's bangs with the pads of his thumb, caressing gently his cheeks, and his forehead. Yoongi hums quietly, leaning more heavily into the touch, his face buried deeper into the sheets.

"I will take care of you, but first, wait here", Seokjin mutters, " I need to throw up first", he mumbled to Yoongi who lets out a concerned gaze,

"You want me to help you?", Yoongi let out a concerned gaze, eben though it looks like more a tired gaze with his droopy eyes.

Seokjin shakes his head, pressing his fingers to his lips when his stomach clenched with nausea, "No", he breathes out, " Just stay here. You barely can keep your eyes open, i will be fine", he mumbles quickly before hurries to the bathroom as the urge of vomiting has been on the tip of his tongue, locking the door, and let himself kneel in front of the toilet bowl.

His fingers grips the porcelain tightly, as his stomach immediately let a harsh gag. Echoing through the small room. The sounds make him more nauseated that he already is. It made him gag again and again until it morph into a full heave. His shoulder rolls as he ducked down his head further when a stream of his dinner last night flooding from his mouth, filling the toilet at a rapid pace.

and it felt like he was about to hurl again.

He let out another loud gag, scrunching in disgust when vomit passed his tongue. He clutches his stomach, feeling it jerked against his arms when another bout of vomit come up again, adding to the already soiled water.

"Hyung!"

If Seokjin wasn't too nauseated, he must have been rolled his eyes and scoffs when he heard his stubborn boyfriend knocking the door.

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily through nausea, as he yells, "Yoongichi! rest!! i'm fi- uuuurrrkkk", his words cut off with gurgles of more vomit spraying from his lips. Seokjin pants.

It took him 5 more minutes, until his body stop convulsing with heaves as he left dry heaving and spitting saliva into the soiled water. He coughs, flushing the toilet, and let his head rest at the seat, ignoring how unsanitary it is as he tries to regroup himself along with his strength. He rubs his stomach gently, attempting to calm his blueberry there, before he pulls himself away and cleans himself.

"What are you doing here?", Seokjin raps, sniffling as he meets with Yoongi's worried gaze when he opened the door. He wants to flick his stubborn boyfriend's forehead.

"How can i stay calm in bed when i could clearly hear you puking your guts out hyung!", Yoongi pouts. With his flushed cheeks, Seokjin had to strain himself to straight away kissing his boyfriend. He looks 10 times more adorable.

"I appreciate that Yoongichi, but you're sick. Look at you swaying on your feet", Seokjin deadpan as he eyeing Yoongi's warm hand that gripping tightly into the wall. Yoongi grumbles in pout again as he starts walking away and curled himself small under the cover. Only up from his button nose could be seen.

Seokjin trailed behind him, tucking the blanket further, " What do you want to eat?"

"Not-"

"Yoongichi", Seokjin chides lightly. Knowing well what will comes out from his boyfriend's lips. " You must eat"

Yoongi groans, "Can you make .. soup? I don't know .. something light", he mumbles shyly.

Seokjin smiles softly, "Okay, wait here. I will make one, you can sleep if you're tired, i will wake you up later", he says as he stands up. But it comes in a halt when Yoongi holds his wrist, " Hyung .. are you okay? You always throw up when you cook .. you don't have to, we could order take away ins—", Yoongi rambles got cut off with Seokjin's fingers.

"Sshhh, it's fine Yoongichi. Just rest, i'm used to throwing up, okay? I will be fine", Seokjin reassures. But it still can't wipe Yoongi's frowns.

"Let me take care of you", Seokjin huffs, pressing a peck on the latter forehead before retreating to the kitchen. Leaving no room for argument with his stubborn boyfriend. He knows it won't end with Yoongi.

***

Seokjin sighs as he gets down to the kitchen, staring at the stove ironically when the thought of cooking making his stomach churn.

What was his baby have against cooking??

He gulps down nausea that starts building up in his stomach. He needs to cook, for his boyfriend.

He had to cook!

He opened the fridge, hands mindlessly grabbing ingredients he needs that he already remembered outside his head.

Everything was going fine, at first. Successfully chopping the vegetables as he waits for the water to boil. All he needs to do now was to chop the .. chicken.

" Uuurrrkkk-", Seokjin throws the knife from his hand, scrambles to the sink as his stomach revolts the moment he touched the chicken. The texture of the skin that moist ... "Uuurrrkk-", he retches harder at the thought, bringing nothing but a trickle of bile is as his stomach still empty.

" Ngghhh.. fuck .. ", he moans in pain as his stomach feels like churning and sloshing inside, but he had nothing left to bring up, leaving him belched emptily into the sink. He leans heavily on the sink's cold porcelain, panting hard as he tries not to vomit again. He sucked a deep breath, rinsing his mouth and wipes the tears that managed to escape before he turn back to his cooking.

He can do this.

His optimist self only lasted for few minutes until all ingredients were cooked, emitting smells of soup throughout the kitchen.

"Uurrkk-", he gags again, holding his tummy tight as the heaviness returns. He groans at the heaviness in his head and the nausea building in his stomach, scrambling to the sink as this time he felt liquid filling up his mouth. His fingers gripping tightly, head ducked low as water spraying from his mouth, messily splatters against the sink with thick yellow liquid that he could recognize as bile. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head and flushes the mess away as soon as his stomach settled. He stares at the sink, trying to regain his bearings as he tried to breathe in deeply, before back to his cooking.

Just few more steps, Seokjinnie, he cheers himself as he stirs the soup with some convulsive swallowing. Turning the stove off after few minutes and take it upstairs along with a wet cloth and medicine.

***

" Hyung?", Yoongi's raspy voice was the one that greeted Seokjin as he stepped into their room. Seokjin smiles, placing the tray on the nightstand. But his smile flatters as he sees the trashcan beside the bed, and on top of that, it is soiled with vomit.

Seokjin shut his eyes as he could feel tears springing on his orbs.

Fuck soulmate and his bond.

"Hyung ...", Yoongi 's soft call for him snaps him out of his thoughts when he looks over his shoulder, seeing Yoongi trying to sit up and lean himself on the headboard. He must senses Seokjin's distress, as his warm fingers start rubbing on Seokjin's arms.

" It's not your fault", he murmurs, his voice laced with comfort, as he guides Seokjin on the bed, letting him sit right beside his side, where he reaches out to grab his hand.

Seokjin blinks at that, sniffing hard, before he takes Yoongi's hand in his own, squeezing it lightly while he stared at the other's. Tears escaped from his eyes as his face scrunched, "I hate seeing you sick", Seokjin croaks, " And it's all because of me"

Yoongi shook his head, wiping away a few stray tears that escaped from Seokjin's eyes with the pad of his thumb.

"Don't say that", Seokjin hiccups, " But .. if it's not because of this morning sickness .. your sickness wont be .. this .. hard", and Seokjin couldn't help the sob that broke free from his throat, he can feel his throat closing up as he felt his body tremble uncontrollably, "I.. I can't handle seeing you like that...."

Yoongi shakes his head, tightening his hold on his hand, "It's just a stomach bug hyung, it'll pass", he murmured, brushing his cheek on Seokjin's.

" It must been hard for you .. let's just call Jimin, okay? We can't take care of each other like this, i know you've been vomiting a lot while cooking .. you will exhaust yourself", Yoongi adds, pulling away slowly to look into Seokjin's eyes.

Seokjin nods, feeling Yoongi's hand on his cheek rubbing it soothingly as the other wiped the tears falling freely down his cheeks. Yoongi cups the side of his face softly, "Hey, shhh, hey," he cooed, "Happy thoughts! or our baby here would be sad", Yoongi smirks before his hand moves to cup Seokjin's chin. Seokjin laughs weakly as he tries his best to stop the tears and sniffs.

"l'm sorry .. this pregnancy hormone fucked with my emotion. Why am i such a crybaby this day", Seokjin grumbles, making Yoongi chuckles fondly as his hand moved back from his chin, " Oh, i know", he teases, gaining a light slap from the older.

"Now, Yoongichi, let's eat? Then we call Jimin-ah", Seokjin suggested, grabbing the bowl, but almost gagged at the sight. "Can you eat it by yourself? The smell making me want to puke", he mutters bitterly as he held the bowl in his palm, looking away. Yoongi smiles fondly, "Of course", he chuckled lightly at the way Seokjin pouts. " Dont puke though, or i will too"

#bts sickfic #bts emeto #tw emeto #tw vomit #sick!yoongi #sick!seokjin #and again another mpreg fic

[kandi-tutorials]

Masks and Remaking Kandi Blah Blah

this is my THIRD time writing this post up

Soooo let's talk about that briefly. Why would you remake kandi?

Maybe the string is wearing thin. Maybe you don't like a color you used, or the type of beads or string you used. Regardless of, the general consensus is that remaking kandi you were traded for a reason beyond changing the string to renew it isn't a good idea. Obviously kandi is ever-changing, and this idea might change. Who knows?

Once you've decided you wanna go through with the remaking process, you've gotta disassemble it. I'd suggest starting from the bottom or top and just cutting the string, taking off the affected beads, and cut again. I'd advise going slow so you don't lose any beads. If you're also like me and have really bad vision-- hello y'all-- I'd suggest sorting apart colors you get confused. Otherwise you're gonna be shining a flashlight in your bag of beads for an hour wondering 'is this black? or dark blue?' Plot twist: it's neither and it's dark purple.

Today I'm gonna be using a modified version of this pattern by T3TR1S, with the old mask pictured below. Never too late to start on Halloween preperations, right?

[Image ID: An uncropped photo of a kandi mask. It's 21 wide by 14 tall. The straps are a dark blue. The mask is black with a red and light blue alternating border, and the mask has a libra sign on it in a more cerulean color. End ID]

look i felt too lazy to crop that last night.

Regardless of the pattern you decide to use, it's gonna look something like this when you enlargen it/click on it.

[Image ID: A picture, once again 21 high by 14 wide, of the patten for the mask above. This is the unmodified version. It lacks the red and light blue border, and the sign on it is more of a darker teal color. End ID]

There's no numbers though, right? If you recall from one of my multi-stitch tutorials, this is because masks can be started from a few different places and can be finished in a couple of ways that're all similar. Having numbers would likely get confusing.

First, you're gonna be chosing a place to start your mask. I personally like to pick somewhere around the middle of the pattern. You need to start your mask from one of the straight sides, and there has to be at least two beads to start off with. For instance, starting from the two beads at the bottom of the left side would work, but using the very last bead-- only one of them-- wouldn't. This is because of how brick stitch-- or more commonly called peyote stitch-- works, which will be explained shortly. AKA, right now.

First, you're gonna wanna grab some string. I suggest about two arm's length is good for now. Take that, and fold the two ends together like so--

[Image ID: a picture of me holding a piece of pink string. It's folded together, and the two ends of the string are pressed together. End ID]

This is why we need where we're starting to have two beads, because that's how we start peyote stitch! I'm not going to go too much into detail on that here, because I plan on writing something on peyote stitch anyway.

Follow your pattern across whatever row you chose. It should be a straight-shot across-- there shouldn't be any weird curving or anything yet. You're gonna put on those two beads, then the one bead depicted in the middle of those two. Like this--

[Image ID: A picture of the same mask pattern from before-- but with red marks depicting the two starting beads, and the one after. End ID.]

This picture shows where I'm starting my mask-- the two beads on the end then the one bead. You're gonna put the two beads on the string-- one per end of string you're holding together-- then you're gonna put your strings together and put the one bead through BOTH of the strings.

For this, I'm gonna end my row with two beads-- great! You... might not though. I think that's possible? Regardless, it makes everything a bit harder. At the end of your row, I highly suggest taping an end of your string down after pulling it tight, and taking the other end of your string and beginning building. You'd start building by putting on an end bead (a bead above/below where you ended, respectively) and going through the next bead that's sticking up (or the last two beads you put on). I'd build that for a row or two, and then build with the OTHER string for a row or two. From there, you can just keep going til the points, which I'll show how to handle shortly.

If you're gonna end with two beads-- great! Finish up that row, putting on the next two beads, then the one bead, then the two beads. Follow the pattern you have on hand for color changes, and make sure to keep track of which string is the TOP part of your row, or the BOTTOM part. Otherwise, you might end up with colors in the wrong place.

When you're done with that row, if you have two beads, congrats! You can tie that off using some square knots. Welcome to the building of the actual mask! The entire way this works is through putting a bead on, and going through the next one sticking up... for now. There's weird ways to starting new rows that I'll unfortunately have to cover. Look at your pattern.

[Image ID: A picture of the mask pattern, with red marks all along the first row. The next row is marked in blue. End ID]

In this picture, I've shown my first row. The blue marks will be representing my next row, building upwards. Building downwards would be the same thing, just toward the bottom of the pattern. In other words, the next row is depicted as the next raised beads near your last row.

[Image ID: A picture of the mask pattern from before. The third row of the pattern is highlighted in lime green. End ID]

Here, I've taken the liberty of highlighting the third row for you! But once you get to the end of that third row, you're probably wondering how to put that end bead on. This is the unfortunate part...

There's a couple of different methods to this. This is Vicky's old tutorial on masks, which could be useful and worth it to follow instead of this if this doesn't make sense.

I learned using iHeartRaves' video. You know, the one with people complaining in the comments about this part in particular? I spent about an hour figuring out how to do this, but I think I have the hang of it by now. So, here we go.

You're gonna put a bead on your string, the bead should be in the color of the last bead on that third row. For me, in the original pattern, it'd be black. For my modified version, it'll be red.

[Image ID: A photo of my mask progress. There's a red bead hanging on the pink string I'm working with to build upwards. There's a blue bead and a red bead below where the red bead will go. End ID]

You see that red bead to the side there? Below the light blue one? Stick your string through the top of that, like so.

[Image ID: A picture of my mask work in progress. The pink string from before is going through the top of the rightmost-- or the bottom if the mask is looked at horizontally-- red bead. The string is coming from the bottom of the bead, and the new red bead we put on the string is posistioned next to the light blue bead in it's rightful place. End ID]

If you pull tight (and you should!) the bead will move to the top of those side beads. You can use your fingers to move it and hold it in it's proper place.

Now, take your string and go through the bottom of that light blue bead, like so...

[Image ID: A picture of my mask WIP. The pink string was pulled through the bottom of the light blue bead, and is coming out of the top of it. End ID]

That part might be a bit hard. Don't be afraid to move stuff around to get it in there, you can tighten it up and put the new red bead back in place after you get it through. From there, you put your string through the top of the new red bead, like so!

[Image ID: Another mask WIP picture. The pink bead is going through the top of the new red bead, and is coming out from the bottom of it. End ID]

From there, start row 4! Your new red bead should be secure now. Everytime you come back to this side, you'll need to do that. It'll always be the same process. Put new bead on string, put string through top of bead two beads down, put string through underside of bead one bead down, put string through top of new bead.

On the other side of your mask, you can just continue building by putting the end bead on, and going through the last bead you put on. Though I suggest pulling the string for the last bead really tight, this'll keep everything together better.

Keep following your pattern until you get to the spikes part around here--

--okay only 10 images allowed per post. fuck you tumblr. at ANY rate...

There's a part of your pattern where it doesn't go straight up anymore. It drops off and starts to make a spike. Vicky explains what to do about this pretty well here. But, even then, here's some text instructions. When you finish that row, and there's no bead to put above it to start another row, just shove your string through the last bead you put on. This'll start the spike shape. You'll just keep doing that as you go through to carry the spike higher and higher.

As you go, the spike will break off into two smaller spikes. This is fine-- just focus on one spike, building on that until it's finished. After you put that last bead on, take your string and weave it towards the middle of your mask so you can start the other spike, tie it off tight a few times, and start on the other spike. I hope that makes sense-- I swear I'd have pictures if it wasn't for tumblr's image limit. (actually you might be better off watching Vicky's video from here, I'm not gonna lie. If you wanna learn to tie off the mask and tie together the spikes from her, here's a timestamp for that.)

If you're still here, I'm sorry lol. But let's keep going! Build until the spikes and complete those on the top, then build on the bottom and make those. When you're done, you should have a shape resembling the pattern you're following.

okay ive been here for, about 4 hours. ill be back tomorrow (but in one second for you :) )

it's the next day, let's talk about lacing up masks! You're gonna want a small piece of string, doesn't have to be that long at all. You're gonna thread that through the bead in the middle of the spikes. For me, on the top, it's the black bead above the top of the libra sign. Even it out so the two ends of string are together and they're mostly equal. Then, you're gonna take the string on the left and put it through the right bead that's one up. The left string goes through the right bead one up. Then you take the left one, go one up to the right. Left one goes one up to the right. Right string goes through the left point, left string goes through the right point.

Pull that together! It should lace up into something a lot like this (photo by sarasunshine on KandiPatterns). See how her mask comes together at the top in a kinda point? That's what we're aiming for. Pull that tight and tie it off. Do the same to your bottom spikes.

We're at the final stretch! Specifically it's time for mask straps. This one is also hard to explain, so I'm gonna link you to the point in Vicky's video where she adds straps. In addition, she only laces her masks twice, while I do mine thrice. There isn't much different between the two, it depends on how you feel.

Straps. I'd highly suggest more stretchy fabric cord for this rather than clear elastic or something not so stretchy. I used all my fabric cord on this, so I'm gonna use this weird jelly glitter string I found? I genuinely have no idea where it came from. I do my straps in the same way Vicky does, and I think she can explain it better than I because she isn't limited to 10 images per post. Though, I will suggest you be careful, it's really easy to use too many beads, or to make the straps too tight or too loose. imo, i like to have a LOT of room on my string (seriously, i only used about 22 beads) because I move the beads around so they aren't on the back of my ears. by the time i'm done tying on my string, the straps are usually half string and half beads.

Just follow how Vicky does it, fiddle with it a bit, it's ultimately up to personal preference about how you'd like to do it.

okay that's all i've gotta say uhhh i should have something up on putting fabric in them for actual use soonish. go forth and make stuff.

#kandi guide #kandi tutorial #kandi mask #kandicore #scenecore #best of luck to y'all tumblr's image limit kills me once again

[rosesastrology]

Hey rose, i was wondering if you could give your insight on something? There's this thing that I've been working on but i think i should cut my losses, however everytime i make up my mind to Bail i get some sort of sign that i shouldn't, angel numbers, tarot card readings on my feed, and i know tarot card on ur feed aren't always super accurate but almost all of them have the exact same message: don't quit bc its gonna pay off soon, and well TikTok is governed by an algorithm so i was starting to think it doesn't mean anything, but one psychic pulled out a card and the words she used to explain it were said to me almost WORD FOR WORD for this project, and I've been seeing like religious verses prop up that i strongly associate w this project..its like logically i should quit for my own mental well being and bc i don't ever see this problem being solved but the universe is telling me to stick it out..and i don't know what to makw of this. I don't want to quit it, id love for it to work out but idk if i have it in me to see it thru and when i logically look at it, i feel like that's the decision I'd make if i prioritised myself but idk maybe im wrong.. I'm not strong believer of astrology and the like, but I'm not disbeliever either i really don't know what to make of it.

Sorry for the super long post it kinda just came out and i rambled a bit, its fine if you can't be bothered with the whole thing,sending you love either way ! 💜

I read all of it & I'm thinking a couple of things.

One is that I'm curious to know whether or not these things popped up before and if you maybe didn't notice them because they didn't apply to you. It sounds to me like you're a bit stuck between emotion and logic and that may be what's causing this. You're saying it yourself too: "logically I should quit for my mental health because I don't see this problem ever being solved, (but the universe is telling me to stick it out...) I don't want to quit, I'd love for it to work but I don't know if I have it in me."

Do you see how there's like this.. confliction in your mind? Like a juxtaposition. You don't want to quit, because you want it work out. But what I notice isn't really the fact you've been seeing signs, it's more that both your logic and emotion are based on a lack of faith in your own abilities at the moment (bold text). There is a sense of finality and a sense of hopelessness there, but you want it to work out.

And that want is very strong. It's the reason you haven't quit yet. I think it's more important than you even give it credit for, because it's stronger than your need to prioritize your mental health. So what makes this project so important to you?

I think you really desire this thing and are very attached to it, and honestly I assume you've gotten similar tarot readings on your feed before but didn't notice them because this wasn't on your mind. That want you have will latch onto every kind of affirmation it can to keep you going.

And I know most often suffering is ranked more important than projects and productivity, and that's because it's the case 9/10 times. But, if this is something that feels like it's your duty and responsibility and it's something that's really important to you—then honestly, perhaps it's worth it to keep pushing for what you'll get out of it and/or leave behind.

Alternatively, if this isn't that important of a project in the long-run, then like.. know that it's okay to give up. And whether or not you do it doesn't retract any value from you as a human being. I don't think this has much to do with astrology (tarot, angel numbers, religion, etc.), but I do often feel like these kind of divine things often get hijacked by our mind in order to confirm or appease any deeper needs or desires we have. And it's like an external faith that replaces a lack of internal faith we have in ourselves. So the faith fluctuates, because we don't have a stable foundation. And it's worth exploring where we lost that. For the record, I think both internal and external faith are equally important. But I find that if someone doesn't believe in themselves, believing in something bigger than life can comfort their worries but also creates a self-fulfilling prophecy (at least in terms of occult arts, not so much religion). They don't have a stable foundation I suppose. I've seen people fall down a black hole of spirituality because of this and it tends to somehow end up hurting them. Maybe a bit too psychological of an explanation and I'm not trying to be all psychoanalytical💀😭, but it's just my insight on it and I hope it maybe helps somewhat.

Also, be patient with yourself, even if this is why it happens. Just because you know the source of the issue doesn't mean it'll disappear overnight, and above all, it's your experience. I may very well be completely off-base👄

#answered #spirituality

[cowabungacafe]

Hey u have like the best matchups in the game!! Mind if I pop in for one?

I'm a very small person with very big feelings, I have platnuim blonde hair (bleached lol) and two blue streaks in the front, I have a few physical conditions and few mental ones as well, but I'm a total punk, I dress and act the part, I work a lot of the time and when I come home I love to cook and play games like pikmin and sims and earthbound, very lax games. I love love love animals and I'm not exactly the brightest bulb in the box but I'm very creative and a problem solver no doubt. I make a good leader but I'm flexible so following is just as good! I have a dog and lizard!!! I have piercings and tattoos and I'm definitely getting more lol

Hope this info is good!! If u need more feel free to dm me! Theenk uuu

Hi thank you for your matchup request! You sound really badass to men!! I hope you got who you wanted.

I matched you with

Leonardo

Why i matched you with your result

Honestly you are giving me those karai vibes, smart and mature, knows what she is doing kinda girl.

I think of you as a someone who is pretty calm when problem arises while other lose their shits, and someone like that is what leo needs in his life. He loves how you solve any problem with a cool mind and he cant help but admire you, while others in the lair lose their hair.

You are leaderly, that is a boon to leo!!. He will very often come and discuss with the if any problems arises or if he needs any advice of any kind. If he ever takes a wrong decision or strategy, you're the one pointing it out and explaining to him why its a bad choice and what could the alternative be. He will listen to it intently bcus he has a lot faith in your decisionmaking.

If ever the team fails to catch some goons or save a thievery, leo will enter "self-loathing" phase. Thats when you will come to him and console him, you are probably the second person after sensei to whom he opens up to. Those days you will be the one cheering up the whole team and creating new strategies and describing it to the brothers and leo will be sitting beside you,looking at you with sparkly eyes. He can't help but admire you ever more.

He won't say directly but he has made you the second leader of the group.

Random headcanons of both of you when together.

The first time you told showed him your piercings and tattoos, he was amazed and constantly told you how brave you are to withstand that much pain bcus he himself is afraid of needles but would never admit lol

You showed him your sims house and though he have heard the games name he never played it. He was filled with all these cutesy-wutesy feeling when he saw the lil sim going about her life,that he installed the game too. You helped him all the way, and he chose the martial art teacher as his sims job. His sim is pretty clean and every work is usually done with the energy level barely being empty. He projected his own life routine to his sim too.

Though he isnt that much fan on animals, but your happiness is his happiness. The first time he saw your choco lab, he was a lil bit scared as he never interacted with animals before, but when he saw pubby looking at him with those big brown puppy eyes and wag his tail enthusiastically as if he want s to jump on Leo's lap, he mellltteeddd. Then on, he is a dog person.

He spoils pubby so much, he brings food and toys for him everytime he comes over at your house and spends more time with him then you (you're kinda jealous of tht but seeing the two play makes ur heart too so you decide to let it go).

He knows you're usually busy so when you come home/lair tired and sloppy, he will take the wheel, he will make u some herbal lemon tea and make you lie down while doing the rest of your work.

He cooks with you, no matter how many times you said you can manage cooking but he still helps you bcus he thinks you may be tired after a long day of work. He had some experience cooking(he sometimes does it for his bros and sensei). Its so harmonious, like both of you does a bit of your part and if one of you went to get something else the other will complete that part too, like if he is cutting the vegetables while you are frying the potatoes(sorry i never cooked in my life and have no knowledge 😭 how to do it) and suddenly you get a call, he will fo your part gladly (UwU husband leo vibes)

#tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt bayverse #tmnt karai #tmnt leo 2012 #tmnt 2012 leo #tmnt asks #tmnt matchup #tmnt matchups #tmnt askbox open #tmnt ask box open #tmnt requests #tmnt request

[cosmicbash]

Hey, So I'm having a bad week and would really like an outed Kells and Em fic, it could be as angsty or fluffy as you want, I just need a happy ending. A little joy from a situation like that would be really nice right now, Thanks P.S. I've been reading your writing for a while and I think they're really great!! I hope you keep having Inspiration to do so!!!

Sorry I'm so late replying to this!! Ive had a shitty busy week myself and i feel horrible its taken me so long!!

I feel like instagram would be Em and Kelly's downfall. Just because the younger rapper is constantly on it, posting little snippets to interact with his fans, going Live, and of course posting pictures.

Slip ups are inevitable once he and Marshall start spending more and more time together.

Because Colson can't just cut back, when he does that fans start speculating. Questioning why exactly he's suddenly getting more secretive or searching through what he does share with a fine tooth comb to spot a new mystery girlfriend.

So Colson continues posting away on instagram and filming his lives, even when he and Marshall are together. Ignoring the headshakes and looks the older rapper shoots his way everytime he's on live laughing it up.

At first it's awkward, Marshall and him keep alternating who's going to duck into the bathroom or step out for coffee. But eventually they get used to it and comfortable enough that Colson can walk around their hotel room filming while Marshall naps on the couch.

The blonde even gets cheeky enough to start teasing his partner, like snapping photos of their shared brunches, or taking after sex selfies that always get Marshall hiding under the blankets or kicking him.

Really Colson should have seen it coming. You can only fly so close to the sun before you get burned afterall.

The mistakes start piling up soon enough.

Marshall accidentally yelling to ask him something when he's recording a live, Colson walking a bit too close to the couch and flashing the hoodie clad rappers back, the bottom of Marshall's AA necklace in the back of a breakfast shot, and more minor incidents that branch out from there.

At first Colson can just brush the unfamilar voice and thankfully covered up body as one of his assitants or friends. But as soon as that necklace peek gets out the internet does its thing and speculation over a possible collab strikes up.

The assumption being he gave everyone the glimpse on purpose.

Of course he's relieved the public isn't immediately jumping to the crazy possibility of them banging. Even though thats exactly what theyre doing. But him and Marshall AREN'T actually making any music together, and neither of them has publicly squashed their beef. Afterall, what better cover than pretending to still hate eachother?

But now that's all out the window. Colson's lack of an immediate excuse and rapid deletion of the photo just convincing the media their theories are correct.

Paul is of course furious, reaming both of them out over the phone about how they better get on a track together or figure out some new cover. And Diddy, well Diddy rarely comes off his self made throne to speak to Colson, let alone acknowledge most of his success, but the rapper actually does inquire to him about the whole spectacle. And Colson can't help but find himself wishing he had a guy like Paul who knew about them and could just simply yell at him because he still has no idea what to even say.

They settle on quiet ambiguous statements from their labels about how the two of them are working towards mending their beef and that a collaboration isn't exactly out of the question at this moment.

It works. For about a month or two, mostly due to them being apart yet again. The major hype dies down and Colson avoids any and all questions relating to Marshall in his lives and on twitter. The two of them are able to breathe a sigh of relief as temporary as it may be.

Until the next time they make time to see eachother. Colson's got a small charity event in Detroit that he plans on using as an excuse to linger around the city and steal some much needed time with his secret boyfriend.

Of course all eyes are on them yet again, questioning whether the young rapper might also be stopping in to work in some music with his rival.

With paparazzi tailing him more than ever it's impossible for him to just go to Marshall's place like he'd planned. Instead forcing him into renting a suite and wasting most of the day stressing over just how the hell he's supposed to sneak Marshall in with the bastards sitting outside the building like hawks. The other rapper isn't exactly helping either, just sending his usual cryptic texts telling Colson not worry about it but never expanding on what his plan is either.

By the time the blonde finally finishes his busy day and drags himself back to the room he has fully accepted that their rendezvous is not going to happen. Marshall had stopped texting him more than two hours ago and he wasn't about to act even more like a spoiled child by blowing the man's phone up. Colson's just given up. He can't even muster the energy to give the paparazzi outside his hotel more then an annoyed comment about how his life doesn't revolve around collaborations and the finger before slipping inside.

Marshall's presence in his hotel room, already stripped down to his night tee and briefs almost looks like a mirage. But when he shuts the door and crosses the room to bury his face in the other man's neck he smells like ivory soap and that woodsy beard oil the blonde bought him and Colson can't help but hug him closer.

He's so relieved to see him he doesn't even snark back at Marshall's muffled comment that he looks like shit.

The moment is sweet and Colson honestly should have realized it was just the calm before the storm but he's too caught up in complaining about the media and basking in his partner's soft agreements to care.

Before taking off to take his shower he hands Marshall over his phone, suggesting the brunette look through the mess his instragram comment section has become, all the questions and posts he's been tagged in over that little picture and their statements. Because why not? They would inevitably end up laying against eachother in bed scrolling through them all together anyway, at least this way Marshall can get a headstart.

And Marshall does actually swipe through them for a bit, spending more time admiring some of his partners pretty posts than he does reading the never ending stream of comments. The rapper rarely gets on the app himself except to post the occasional merch drop and promo. Social media isn't his forte, and it's not like he could follow Colson's account anyway. Navigating the app and searching for his boyfriends account was too much work when he could just asks for selfies over text.

Thats why when Marshall finishes his browsing and begins backing out of a post back to Colson's homepage he doesn't even care to pay much attention to what he's tapping. The flash of black and loading wheel that lights up the screen completely missed when he tosses it across the bed in lieu of playing around on his own phone.

The livestream he accidentally starts mainly films a blank ceiling through the rest of Colson's shower. The occasional creak and shift on the bed from Marshall's weight and blare of music from his own phones speakers all anyone tuning in can hear.

It doesn't take a brain surgeon for fans to realize the Live has been started unknowingly, but thats not going to stop any of them from filing in.

Maybe if Colson hadn't set his phone to silent the string of text messages might have alerted Marshall to his mistake. But the older rapper relaxes back on the bed less than a foot away blissfully unaware until Colson finally exits the bathroom.

Neither of them notice the phone when Marshall sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, his body briefly flickering past the frame. They don't see the explosion of comments flying past the screen while they talk and Colson shoves the other man back onto the bed again. Bouncing the phone high enough to almost flip it if fate didn't decide to just scoot it closer to their tangling bodies.

Colson's whole upper body and face is in frame from then on. His cheeks flushed and smile cocky while he straddles his unseen partner. Marshall's fingertips peeking onto the screen where they're tickling the skin covering his ribs.

Its not until after Marshall's sat back up and begun peppering kisses down the front of his throat that he finally catches sight of his half blanket covered phone. An amused accusation about the other rapper trying to sneakily film them prompting Marshall to scoff and reach out for it.

"Probably just the app, shits always opening up to the camera on my phone-"

The rush of comments speeding past the screen and the unmistakeable red dot next to LIVE has Marshall freezing. His wide eyed face fully on screen for 10 seconds before Colson finally pries the phone from his hands to see whats got him so spooked.

Instead of panic, anger is what rushes through Colson's veins. A slew of curses leaving his mouth, before he finally manages to end the live. Phone promptly flying out of his hand against the wall afterwards.

The blonde wants to scream and thrash around. And thats what he does, fingers tearimg at his hair in frustration.

It takes Marshall's fingers softly prying them down for Colson to finally open his eyes again. The utterly terrified look on his partner's face chasing away his residual rage. "Fuck Colson I'm sorry-" its not the first time he's heard Marshall apologize, but it is the first time the man has ever done it while looking so scared of his response.

All the months he'd spent dreaming about his rival making such an expression have nothing on the real thing. And that smug powerful feeling he'd imagined was completely absent now. Just an uncomfortable knot seizing up his chest in it's place.

"I'm not--" his own voice feels tight. Tears threatening to bubble up in his eyes while the reality of the whole situation continues to wash over him. "I'm not mad at you, alright?"

He's mad at the media, at his fans, the rap industry, everything that makes him feel like this little slip up and intimate moment of theirs going viral will ruin their lives.

Colson's sick of hiding who he is and who he's with. Its utter bullshit. Its 2019 for chrissakes, who gives a shit who's banging who? They both make bad ass music either way and liking dick shouldn't change that.

Pushing up off of Marshall, Colson moves to climb off the bed. His hopefully not smashed phone across the room his current focus. But the older rapper snags his wrist and wont let him take more than one step.

And thats when Colson realizes just why Marshall looks so terrified. The man's worried that this is it, that he's going to just leave.

Run away from their problems and abandon the relationship they've been cultivating. Just go full scorched earth.

And that hurts.

So instead the blonde softens his expression and climbs back into bed, onto the other man's lap to hug him tightly. "Fuck Marsh--" He's not about to let the media ruin another relationship. "I love you."

The responding hug is so tight it hurts but Colson doesn't stop. "I fucking love you."

They're falling back onto the bed, legs tangling and Colson's teeth grinding while he rubs his face along the older rapper's shoulder. "I love you"

He doesn't even know what else to say. Now that the words are out it's all his tongue can shape.

"Colson-" Marshall's warm palms are cupping his face, pulling him back so they can stare at eachother

"I love you-" that one hurts the most, maybe because they're eye to eye and just looking at Marshall's soft expression and the possibility of losing it makes him want to crumble. "Please-"

He chokes back a wet sound in the back of his throat before they kiss. Pressing as close as he can, practically trying to glue their mouths together permanently.

Marshall's afraid to lose him just as much. They're idiots for ever thinking it might be a possibilility.

The media can get blown, and so can the industry and their so called fans. The cats out of the bag now and theirs no turning back. If they don't like them together than tough shit. They've both dragged themselves up out of the pits before, this will be no different.

Except, this time they have eachother to lean on.

"I love you to you cornball."

(((Ffffff this sat in my drafts cuz I got distracted by work and life. Im so fucking sorry anon!!!)))

((Also! Thank you anon! For the compliments! Im glad you enjoy my works!))

#emgk #ehhh i dunno where this went #sorry if its not great #been real distracted and busy with work lately #but i hope you can still enjoy it #prompts #asks #i love asks

[eilowyn]

Leegaa for the ship thing? I know i'm a little late XD

no you’re not late!! there’s never an expiration date on ask memes i reblog ♥

all 45 questions under the cut

1. Who's the one who's reckless and always getting into trouble while the other gotta pull em out

of course lee is the one getting into all kinds of shenanigans while gaara watches from the background until lee gets into real trouble and he has to save him

2. Who's the one to send the other "I love my gf/bf" memes

they both do it, but lee even more so because he’s such an open person, while whenever gaara sends it he gets really embarrassed

3. Who's the one who listens to a music genre the other doesn't like and how does the other react

lee is into fighting movie soundtracks.. they’re always a bit too intense for gaara

4. Which one spoils the other more and do they ever get competitive to show the other more love

lee competes with himself on how much he can love gaara. “if i cannot manage to give gaara 50 hugs today, then i must shower him with 100 kisses tomorrow!!”

5. How many years did it take to get married or was it just not for them

idk if they’d ever want to get officially married but they’re definitely partners for life

6. What was their wedding like

IF they had a wedding, it’d be a large affair on gaara’s side since he’s the kazekage, while there’d be a bit less people on the konoha side but everyone would be really happy since it’s like one of the purest affairs ever gdghdfh

7. Is their friends/family supportive

of course!! kankuro and temari are a little iffed that gaara snagged the weirdest dude in konoha but they’re happy that lee is honorable and definitely stays by his word to love and cherish gaara ‘til even after death

8. How does one comfort the other when the other is in distress/having a panic attack/crying

lee always grits his teeth and wishes gaara’s anxiety and PTSD episodes could be a physical entity he could beat up, but instead he rubs his back and gives him big hugs until he calms down

9. Which one dissociates

gaara.. sigh

10. Which one stares at the other's booty like "damn" and how does the other react when catching them

i guess gaara, since lee is way too innocent to think about that kinda stuff (most of the time), but it’s only because lee wears such tight jumpsuits that it’s hard not to notice his glorious glutes

11. When they live together what kinda place do they live in? What does their home look like?

lee would probably move to live with gaara since he has a lot of responsibilities to take care of, and their house would be a quaint little wooden shack with lots of plants and stuff

12. What do their dates look like

flowers, gardening, kisses

13. How does each act when getting drunk

gaara acts even quieter than usual when he’s drunk but he’s much more active, using his actions to convince lee of the things he wants to do, whereas lee slurs his words a lot and thinks out loud way too much

14. Which one rolls over in the morning to wake up the other one just to give kiss them

leeeeeee

15. Have they saved each other's lives before

i’d like to think so

16. Does one have an interest the other think is weird but wants to listen to it regardless

https://youtu.be/8N5B0DQ2eDo

17. Which one uses cropped hentai as reaction images

lee, believe it or not, but only because the faces make him laugh

18. Does one of them kinkshame the other

nope!

19. Is one of them self conscious about their body? If so how does the other comfort them

gaara frets about himself way too much, especially since his boyfriend is so damn fit but lee treats him way too well for him to dwell on it for very long

20. Say they were cuddling on the bed while listening to record player playing the background. Which song is playing?

“Lonely Shepherd” by Zamfir

21. What is their song? Like the song that gives them overwhelming feelings?

“Way of Life” by Hans Zimmer

22. What song do they listen to while going on a joyride

the rocky soundtrack, courtesy of lee

23. What kinda joyrides do they go on? Relaxing ones or wild ones?

lee always makes them wild and nearly gives poor gaara a heartattack, but it’s also an honest distraction so he tries to have fun

24. Where would they vacation for a honeymoon

anywhere near an ocean

25. Do people ever get annoyed of their pda

maybe a little, pfdhgs, all gaara manages to do is either hold lee’s hand or kiss his cheek, while gaara will profess his love in front of everyone and turn gaara into the shade of his hair

26. Would they live in the city or the country

the country!

27. Which ones the red which ones the blue

tough.. i think lee would be red and gaara would be blue

28. Are either of them mentally ill, if so how do they help one another cope

gaara has awful PTSD and sometimes hallucinates, so lee distracts him as best as he can with things gaara likes to do

29. Does one have a spot on them where they would melt when the other kisses them there

the spot behind gaara’s ear is a surefire way to make his knees buckle

30. Do they dance together

oh definitely

31. Do they sing together

lee sings loudly whereas gaara’s a whisper-singer

32. Which one is better at cooking than the other and makes most the dinners

they both cook relatively well, but they’re still learning the tough stuff so they alternate making dinner as a way to experiment and gain knowledge from each other

34. Are they a reckless couple or safe

they’re on a constant see-saw of safety and recklessness

35. What be they kinks and do they try each other's kinks

secretly, gaara’s feet are always cold and he has a habit of pressing the soles against the backs of lee’s thighs, which shocks him everytime so they discovered the concept of “sock kink”

36. What would their valentines gifts be to each other

flowers, cards, chocolates, teddy bears, the whole shebang

37. Do they get into fights often? If so what do they fight over and how do they make up?

nope, almost no fights

38. Which ones top, bottom, verse

lee’s the top despite being the more innocent one, so when he gets into that mood, hoo boy

39. What kinda sex they be having (gentle rough whatever)

gaara likes gentle sex when he’s had a rough day but he also has no qualms about being absolutely rawed by lee in the middle of the night

40. Who would fight in honor for the other if someone would insult them

lee for gaara, always

41. Which one has a favorite movie that they have the other watch with them again and again

lee will marathon bruce lee movies nearly every month, and gaara has to deal with it because he loves him

42. How would one react if the other was to die

they would be absolutely crushed and they would never truly recover from it

43. Who dies first

lee, i think

44. Do they want kids

lee gets excited whenever the topic of children comes up because he really loves them, but gaara is unsure because he didn’t have much interaction with other children in his youth, so he figures he wouldn’t exactly know how to take care of them

45. How would they spend their last moments together

recalling past memories and kissing, i think

#thank you for the ask! #rock lee #gaara #leegaa #hauntedrebelcollective