#Like i very much just want to lie down and sink into the ether but lying down worsens the pain 😭

[vamptastic]

cannot exaggerate how truly horribly my stummy is hurting me i may have suffering more than anybody else on earth ever. only time it's ever been this bad is when i was on an international flight after drinking coffee didn't get an ounce of sleep for ~36 hours and then landed in berlin and spent the next 12ish hours walking around in the sun without water. truly horrible levels of stomach pain and i am literally just sitting in bed sipping water and occasionally eating a saltine. wghats wrong with me

[witchpassing]

an intervention {ii}

{ prev | next }

Morning brings bruise-blue light and an impression of road, and, beside it, a motorcar hidden in the underbrush. Small, second-hand, and laced so finely with counterscries - sewn upon the upholstery, carved into the engine block, mixed into the paint - that Mairead isn’t even sure what colour it is. 

Harrier drives all day. Mairead can drive, and offers to, but Harrier insists. She hasn’t changed, not one bit; something needs doing, she does it herself, just in case. Naturally, neither of them even considers letting the wizard touch the wheel. Laplace notices this and sulks. 

The crucible of the engine renders down petrol into distance. Forest shades across into fenland, fenland gathers its high shoulders into moor. Harrier pulls over once in a while, engine still running, tall grass whispering under the bodywork, so that Mairead can get out and check on their passenger. 

Ada is in the boot. Nobody loves that - this already feels a bit too much like a kidnapping - but it’s secure, it keeps her out of sight, and Laplace assures them that she doesn’t need to breathe. She’s no more distressed in there than anywhere else, as far as Mairead can tell. 

Around evening, the magician flicks one of their church-smelling cigarettes out of the window, reels their head into the car, and says: 

“Do we care about keeping our friend in the back conscious?” 

The leather of the steering wheel creaks in Harrier’s grip. “You said she didn’t need air, Laplace.” 

“She doesn’t, sweetheart,” an audible eye-roll, “she needs magic. Dolls are parasites, and we have plucked ours from its host.” Laplace has been going back and forth on the it shite. At this point, Mairead just wishes they’d make up their mind. “I have the reagents on hand, if you want them used, but, ah…” 

“Sure. Material costs.” Harrier glances into the mirror. “Maisie?”

Mairead knows what she's really asking her to weigh; risk and lost time against an additional measure of suffering for Ada; a small one, in the scheme of what they’re doing here, but one she could be spared. It doesn’t take a lot of thought. 

Laplace’s ‘reagents’ turn out to be tea leaves, purple-blue and papery as butterfly wings, prepared upon a camp stove a little way off the road. Harrier leans against the car and watches the sun sink into the haze above the heather. She does not let herself smoke. (Harrier not letting herself smoke and Harrier just not smoking look very different.)

Mairead props Ada up on the edge of the boot and brushes the stray hair out of her face. Her hands lie in her lap, limp as dead things save for the occasional hypnic twitch. She’s been like this since last night. Laplace taps the dull glass of her eyeball, counts the delay until the reflexive blink occurs, mutters something about ether deprivation, but Mairead isn’t sure she believes what they said about that mark not hurting her. 

It’s not that she’d prefer her to fight back, exactly; this job doesn’t need to be any harder. It’s just that there are few things Mairead wants to see less than Ada giving up. 

On impulse, Mairead reaches out and smudges the glyph on her throat into uselessness. The false skin is cool beneath her thumb, as perfect as velvet.

-

Soon enough, the tea is ready. Even unsweetened, it smells of honey, a rich, ichorous sweetness. Mairead wonders if that’s the smell of ether.

A witch must reek, then. Like a smashed beehive. 

Laplace sets the cup in Ada’s lap, notes the ruined sigil with a scathing arch of the eyebrow, and withdraws to bother Harrier for more cigarettes. 

Wind stirs Ada’s gauzy hair. Somewhere out on the moor, a raven creaks. 

Funny. Don’t see those up here much. 

Eventually, Ada takes the cup in both hands, finger by finger, as if operating herself from somewhere very far inside, and lifts it to her mouth. Mairead watches her throat not-move as the tea pours into her, one smooth, slow draught, untroubled by breath. Her eyelids tremble and flicker, and for the moment, the tide of catatonia recedes. 

“Hey.” Mairead offers a smile. The best she can manage, which isn’t saying much.

“You aren’t going to let me go back to her,” Ada says, staring out over the moor, at the place where the sun is going away. “No matter what I say.” 

She’s speaking in first person, at least. Maybe that means something good. A first step in recovery, in re-becoming the woman Mairead remembers. 

“No, we’re not,” Mairead says. “What’s been done to you, it can be… reversed. That’s what Harrier’s contact says. We can make you you again.” 

Ada turns to look at her. “Maisie,” she says, with horrible gentleness. “I’m sorry that I didn’t say goodbye to you when I still could, and I don’t think you will understand what I mean by this. But, love-

“I am never coming back.” 

And then Harrier is there, shouldering them apart, shoving past them into the boot. She comes up with something long and heavy and sheathed in oilcloth, tears at the wrapping one-handed, swearing under her breath. Instinctively, Mairead follows her line of sight, and sees the raven wheeling overhead.  

“Harry, what–” 

“Get Ada stowed.” 

“Oh, Christ, you brought a gun?” 

“Now, Maisie.” 

The oilcloth flutters to the grass. Harrier sights. The raven balks, hangs for a moment in the air, as if suspended upon unseen thread. No, not a raven; those don’t live on moorland, and they don’t know what guns are. 

Harrier fires, and the thread snaps. They don’t wait around to see the corpse hit the heather. 

-

“Laplace,” Mairead hisses, a mile down the road, working the rifle’s stubborn bolt. “Why aren’t your fucking wards working any more?” 

The magician laughs a dry, choked little laugh. Their knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “Oh, I bet they’re working just fine, actually. I bet that familiar wasn’t even looking for us. The point is that it saw our faces, and it probably heard at least one or two names, and if it knew those things before it died then she knows them now, and that means we are dead.” 

“Not yet we’re not,” Harrier grits out, thumbing cartridges into the glovebox revolver. “Once we’re off the moor it’s Stillwater Circle territory. She won’t cross a witch-border just for a doll.” 

“Won’t she?” says Laplace, and laughs again. “Won’t she?

The engine gutters and twines. The sun has gone out. Fifty more miles to Grenmere. Fifty more miles until Ada is safe. 

{ prev | next }

[cherryblossom-chopper]

》Beach Day《

Content: Bartolomeo Fluff. Ambiguous Reader.

————— ୨୧ —————

Bartolomeo couldn’t stop grinning as he watched you. Bringing you to the beach was one of his significant decisions. Maybe he couldn’t get in the water with you, but seeing you in your cute bathing suit was good enough.

Nico Robin and Cat Burglar Nami approached Bartolomeo’s spot in the sun, blocking Bartolomeo’s view of his partner.

“We’ve got questions for you, mister,” Nami declared, hands on her hips. Her sunglasses were titled down, a sharp look in her eyes.

The man let out a flustered shriek, not looking them in the eyes, “Questions? What kind of questions, Ms. Nami?” Bartolomeo stammered. He feels their eyes drilling holes into his skin.

“We want to know your intentions with (Name),” Robin replies with a smile.

There was something nefarious about her grin that Bartolomeo couldn’t place, nor did he want to. “I’m not trying to do anything bad with ‘em,” he says, fumbling with his words. His hand wanders towards his face as he tries to hide his expression.

A third-hand snatches his wrist from his face. The Black Leg Sanji’s nimble fingers wrapped around Barto’s thick wrist. He glowers down at the other man; Sanji’s pink-tinted sunglasses do very little to hide his expression. Sanji squats down to meet Bartolomeo’s eye.

“We can’t trust just anyone with (Name),” Sanji says, letting Barto go, “They are precious to everyone here; we can’t just let some fanboy come in and steal them away. Right ladies?”

Nami nods, leaning down. She pokes his bare chest, a well-manicured nail stabbing into his skin.

Bartolomeo opens and closes his mouth like a fish as he struggles for words. What is he supposed to say? Sweat peppers his brow as he looks between the three straw hats, which are all staring at him.

“Hey!” The voice behind them makes everyone jump. You stand behind the Strawhats, hands firmly on your hips. “What are you three up to?” you ask, flicking sea water from your fingers at their crew.

“Just asking our friend a few questions,” Robin replies, their nefarious smile melting into a soft grin.

You shoo your friends away from your nearly cowering partner. “Scootch,” you say to Bartolomeo, waving your hand at him.

His toothy grin shines on you as he makes room for you on his beach towel. He fails not to stare at you. The sunshine and the saltwater on your skin nearly make you sparkle. How ethereal could you possibly be?

As you sit, Bartolomeo pulls you into him. His skin tingles with the remnants of the saltwater on your skin, but he doesn’t complain. He would sink below the waves if it meant your happiness.

“Thank you for saving me,” he says with a sheepish smile.

You smile back, enjoying the weight of his arm draped across your shoulder. “I always will,” you coo, shutting your eyes and leaning into him further.

“How was the water?” he asks, Bartolomeo’s eyes watching the blue waves lap at the shoreline, marking the spot he cannot cross.

“So refreshing,” you sigh, “But Luffy kept trying to come in after the rest of us. What are we going to do with him?”

“Ah, well, he’s just using his brain power so much to focus on other things,” Bartolomeo laughs, “Being the most powerful pirate in the world is hard work.”

You barely contain a laugh. “Sure, whatever you have to do to convince yourself,” you grin, patting his firm chest.

“But-but, you are much more impressive,” Bartolomeo says, the words tumbling out of his mouth, “You’re my favorite Straw Hat, obviously.”

You lean over and kiss his cheek. “Of course, I’m sure you’re not bluffing,” you tease.

Blushing, Barto’s arm slides down your side and wraps around your waist. He squeezes you and yanks you into his lap. “Me? Bluff with you?” he replies, resting his head on top of yours, “I could never lie to someone as handsome as you.”

You roll your eyes, grinning. “What a dork,” you say before struggling to get up. Your partner’s arm is holding you in place. He groans when you try to get off.

“Don’t leave,” he whines, “Ms. Nami and Ms. Robin will come after me if you won’t protect me.” He squeezes you a bit tighter.

You let out a soft ‘ugh’ before wiggling out of his grasp. “Come with me then,” you say, finally getting to your feet, “We can play beach volleyball or build sandcastles. We don’t have to get in the water.”

“Only if you hold my hand,” he said, reaching up to you.

With a grin, you help him up with a grunt. He’s far heavier than he looks.

With your fingers intertwined with Bartolomeo’s, you guide him just out of reach of splashing waves.

————— ୨୧ —————

🏷: @kristaline2dmensimp@vemuabhi@cjm-cookiethief@cipher-p0@undercoverweeb@aykxz98 @ryzio @lavenderkaye106 @chimooky @bolinhodadestruicao @jazminetoad

[onyourhyuck]

🎤 Rockstar | l.mk | 18+.

synopsis; mark lee is an infamous rockstar and it’s hard being his girlfriend at times. especially when you want him all to yourself.

warning; possessive and jealous! y/n, mark lee!switch, sneaking, hickeys, wholesomeness! Suggestive, y/n and mark are just cuties. ft renjun.

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐒

mark walks into his own dressing room, not expecting you to be there and immediately kiss his lips. he stumbles back closing the door, gasping for air. “y/n? what are you doing here baby.”

he looks around cautiously because he wouldn’t want his lover to get in trouble by his production. you darkly grins, “asked renjun to let me in here.” the man in front of y/n sighing.

“you did great! i saw your concert and made sure to cheer for you.” mark smiles at your words caressing your hair, face and then lips. he gentle gives your forehead a smooch. “i saw, only saw you.”

“liessss, your fandom was in your view too.” mark chuckles, suddenly lifting you up over his shoulder and throwing you on the couch where he goes on top of you. smothering your face and body with kisses. “yes but you outshined them of course.”

you sigh giving into the kiss attacks, allowing him to sink into you, holding you and to cuddle you. he misses you the most when he is working, but you make the longing worth it after he sees you.

“do you ever get jealous, babe?” he asks suddenly as your eyes shift, you hummed with a nod. “yeah but, can’t help it. some of them are very nice.” he would laugh at the emphasis on the ‘nice’ you told, not believing your words he leans in. “oh really? what’s nice about them.”

you stay quiet with a short smile, “their taste in music.” he simply awes at your answer but quickly sits up. “awe really? you sound so believable earlier.” y/n huffs towards her boyfriend’s sarcasm. “right okay maybe i don’t like them much because of my jealousy issues.”

mark felt your head rest on his shoulder and hands immediately tugging on the thighs, he tensed up and nervously laughs when your body lifts itself up to pin mark on the other side of the sofa. “i think i know how to solve the issues though.”

at first he wondered what you meant by this. Mark’s black shirt would be pulled down revealing the neck and collarbone area, he looks so ethereal in your eyes with the pale glowing skin mixed with jewellery and the outfit outsold him a whole bunch. your lips breathing on his skin sends a shiver down his spine and he moves his thighs up halfway the moment the pleasure hit him.

he swore you found every weak spot on his body in less than twenty seconds he could comprehend. you overfilled him with hickeys around the neck, collarbones, the other side of the neck and even his shoulders at some point. mark lightly breathes out a groan, tugging on the shorts you were wearing.

“is this your way of telling my fans ‘touch him and you’re dead?’ ” he gently laughs, y/n hums a giggle, kissing his lips. “mhm you bet your ass it is.”

mark would stay down beneath you enjoying the feeling of being the submissive one for a while. seeing you so worked up and in control was hot. y/n whispers. “since you enjoy getting me jealous, enjoy being seen as my slut with my markings” mark turns red at the statement, opening his lips to defend himself.

“Nahuh!” your finger hovers over his lips shutting him. “don’t want to hear it baby.” he lightly wraps arms around your waist, scoffing. “i mean..no lie there but still.” he mumbles.

the moment you were about to answer, Renjun knocks and comes in. he points to the door where there were girls chattering, loud enough through the door for you two to hear. “time to leave y/n, the fans are there for mark.”

you nod grabbing your bag and waving goodbye to mark, he knew exactly why you looked so relaxed. the hickeys were enough of her satisfaction to claim him. renjun would let you leave peacefully and then looking at marks neck.

“yah, are those hickeys?” renjun asked and mark clears his throat shaking his head. “no, uh, it’s just mosquito bites what you mean.”

“last time i checked y/n’s name wasn’t mosquito.” Renjun raises his eyebrows teasingly. he then opens the door for the fans who rushed in to question and get their album signed.

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐒

@onyourhyuck please refer from translating, copy righting and plagiarising my work!

do follow me, reblog, comment and like my posts for more future content like this. check my other work too!

[watchmegetobsessed]

Grammy Winner Husband - Harry Styles

a/n: okay, yall know im a suckr for dad content and i just needed to write this little fluffy thing. also MY BABY IS A GRAMMY WINNER IM SO PROUD OF HIM and also, Sarah and Mitch are gonna be parents???? my heart can’t take all this *sigh*

pairing: Husband!Harry / Dad!Harry x Pregnant!Reader

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

“Congratulations once again, Harry. This Grammy looks great on you,” the interviewer compliments the grinning man who still very much feels like he is in a dream and his phone could start ringing anytime, ending this ethereal feeling of becoming what was only a dream when he was just a boy.

“Thank you,” he cracks a humbled smile.

“How are you gonna celebrate? Popping all the champagnes?”

“Honestly?” he sighs. “I just really want to kiss my wife, that’s gonna be my celebration,” he chuckles shyly, making every woman close to him swoon at his sweetness.

He accepts all the congratulations, the little shiny golden award weighing in his hands, not letting it out of his sight as he makes his way to the back to change his outfit back to something casual instead of the bold statements he has been making all night with his boas.

“Good night, Harry. Tell Y/N I said hi!” Sarah runs a hand down his back, grabbing his attention immediately. She’s gotten rid of her leather bodysuit as well, wearing just jeans and an oversized t-shirt, but her bump is making an appearance in it regardless. Mitch is holding his girlfriend’s other hand, their bags occupying his other as he smiles back at Harry with proud, shining eyes.

“Good night, you guys. Drive safe and thank you for tonight.” Harry pulls her into yet another hug, careful not to hold her too tight.

“Good night, see you soon,” him and Mitch share a quick hug as well, patting each other on the back before stepping back. Sarah’s hand runs down her belly, an instinctive motion Harry has seen quite often lately and not just from her and it reminds him how badly he just wants to get home to you finally.

While most performers and winners are probably out for some celebrations, champagnes must flow all directions, Harry quickly loads his things in his car and heads home to the one person he would ever want to celebrate with. It’s late, way past midnight by the time he arrives home and he has a guess where to find you.

Being the angel that you are, you left the lights on for him so he doesn’t have to blindly make his way to the bedroom. He kicks off his boots, drops his bag to the couch in the living room, placing the award on the dining table before padding down the hallway, the muffled sound of the TV and the strobbing lights of the screen still on in there, illuminating the doorway. He pushes the door that’s ajar open more, his smile immediately widening as he sees you curled up under the sheets, the TV remote still in your hands, your phone lying on the pillow next to your head while you’re fast asleep.

You swore you wouldn’t have problem staying up this late, but Harry knew it was not gonna happen, especially because ever since you’ve reached your third trimester bedtime was moved to seven o’clock, no exceptions.

Harry takes a second to adorn the beauty he has the luck to call his wife, before he quietly tiptoes into the bathroom connected to the bedroom to quickly wash up and get ready to his way of celebration: holding his pregnant wife in bed, falling asleep smelling your shampoo and maybe feeling a few tiny kicks under his palms.

Following a speedy shower he brushes his teeth, washing away the taste of that one glass of champagne he allowed for himself, he has been very restricted when it comes to alcohol ever since you found out you’re pregnant. Partially because he wants to take solidarity with you, having to say no to a good wine whenever you’re out for dinner, or a beer you occasionally drank with him while watching a movie. But he also feels like alcohol would just take away memories from his brain he wants to cherish forever.

Lifting the covers he tries to slip into bed next to you as gently and quietly as possible so you don’t wake up, but the moment the mattress sinks in under his weight, your eyes flutter open, blinking up at him sleepily as you register what’s really happening.

“Oh shit, you’re back! I really wanted to be awake when you arrive!” you pout at him as his arms curl around you, pulling you to him gently, his smiling lips pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s alright, baby. I know how tired you always are.”

“Yeah, but my man won a fucking Grammy! I wanted to jump at you the moment you walk in,” you giggle, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. “I’m so proud of you, baby. Congrats!”

“Thank you,” he smirks blushing softly. He is still not used to the title he has earned today.

“You looked so hot on stage, that leather suit was awesome,” you grin, cupping his face, turning it towards you so you can see his bright, shining eyes.

“Yeah? You liked it?” he shyly asks, his finger grazing on your belly, tickling you a little in hopes the little one inside is still up, or went to sleep just like his mommy. “Mm, loved it,” you grin, pulling him down for a sweet kiss, one he was waiting all night to finally get. “And I love you.”

“Love you too, baby,” he hums against your lips, his palm coming to connect with your bump. “How are you feeling?” he asks, nuzzling his nose against yours.

He knows how this third trimester has been on you, the swelling and back pains killing you but you never complained as much as he knew you could have. He admired your strength all through this pregnancy, from the way you handled morning sickness, all the mood swings and changes in your body to the point where you are now carrying a literal watermelon at this point, having left only three more weeks until the baby arrives.

“I’m good, a little hungry maybe, but what’s new,” you chuckle.

“You want me to make you something?” he asks right away, ready to get out of bed to make you a sandwich or bake you cookies even if that’s what you wanted. But you push him down back shaking your head at him.

“It’s fine, I can wait until the morning. I just want to kiss my Grammy winner husband stupid right now,” you grin before leaving a sloppy kiss on his chest, chin, nose and finally, his lips. Pecking your lips a few times he makes you lie on your back as he slides down and pushing your shirt up, his adorning eyes fall to your belly, hands coming to gently cup it.

“Hey there, little one,” he murmurs as he leans closer and kisses your stretched out skin just above your belly button.

“He hasn’t moved in a while, think he’s asleep,” you smile, fingers running through his curls as you watch him pepper your belly with more feather-like kisses. Harry has been ecstatic since you found out you’re having a boy, though he would have been just the same if it was a girl.

“S’alright, I’m just gonna wish him goodnight,” he smiles, pressing his cheek against your bump before he kisses it one last time, pulling the shirt back down over it. Climbing up he pulls you back into his arms, knowing how much you like being held normally, but since you’ve fallen pregnant, you’ve become especially cuddly, which he doesn’t mind a bit.

“I love you, H. So proud of you,” you huff, feeling your eyes closing. Harry grabs the remote and turns the TV off, placing it to his nightstand along with your phone before kissing the top of your head.

“Love you too. Thank you for being here for me,” he huffs, the smile never leaving his lips. He has never felt happier and more complete ever in his life.

“Always,” you whisper before drifting back to sleep.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[antonhousehold]

so let's love

summary: sometimes, katsuki let his insecurities get the best of him. and sometimes, you get hurt because of that.

song: so let's love - day6 (click the song, its totally worth it!)

warning: angst. bakugou being toxic. reader is touch starved. yelling and cursing. insecurities. reader is in love with bakugou but he's afraid!! no fluff end!

reader: gn!neutral (or i tried to be neutral!)

note: this is my first time writing angst, so im sorry if is shitty. also, i would like to let know that english is not my first language, so im sorry if i messed up with the grammar and stuff like that!

loving bakugou was kinda... hard.

sometimes he's sweet in his own way. you remember the times when you fell asleep in his arms. the way his heart almost ran away from his chest. the warmth of his body against yours. it was simply beautiful.

he was beautiful.

everything started when you met him in that street. the sky was pouring and some thunders were lightning up the clouds. the city was dark and the stars were the only ones in the scene. he was smoking a cigarette and the smell of the tabaco and the rain was a very unique fragrance to you. you tried to cover him from the rain with your umbrella. gladly, he didn't stop you.

«have I seen you before?» you asked. those vermillion eyes were as deep as the ocean.

«i think so, [name]»

you remember the first time he asked you out in a date. it was simple but nice. just like him.

you remember the times when you were with with him in highschool. the way his words were harsh towards everyone. you thought he overcome that.

«i told you before, dumbass. i can't stand when you touch me like that in public! it makes me look fucking weak!»

we sometimes fight, and get hurt by each other's sharp words

«i didn't even hug you! i just leaned on your body. i can't help it, I'm your partner!»

«my partner would fucking understand and respect my boundaries! or are you too dumb to actually get it?! »

and you tried to be understanding about him. you tried to give him the space he need it. you stopped showing affection towards him in public. it was kinda hard, but if this was the best way to keep him happy and comfortable, you were completely down for it.

then, in your shared apartment, he started to accept your love. you believed in the soft kisses, the hugs, and the fuzzy feeling of his words in your heart. You wanted to believe in the memories of happiness and beautiful moments that you locked in your mind. the promises and the not so often sweet words. it made you feel special. he always made you feel special, or that's what you wanted to believe.

i can't possibly erase all the wounds you left in me

everything was going on very well, at least at the beginning. until those ethereal moments started to get serious. katsuki realized how much in love he was with you. how his heart almost ran away from his chest every time you looked at him.

it was overwhelming.

so he started panicking. you were just too good to be with him. he didn't feel worthy of your love. why would you even love someone like him?

i'm too afraid that you might leave me

«hey katsu, wanna shower together? i thought it was a good idea since both of us are exhausted»

«shower first. i'm not joining»

sometimes, he just didn't even consider your dates or plans with him. every time was the same. 'i have stuff to do, maybe tomorrow', 'i need to study for this test, i'm not gonna throw my career just for you'

you just wanted a little bit of his love.

you know me, please hold my unstable heart

«can you stop looking me like that? it's giving me goosebumps»

«i'm sorry»

it was hard to him as well. every time he saw your disappointed face and the teary eyes of you, his heart sinks. he didn't want to hurt you, but the feeling of loving you were scarier than hurting your feelings.

saying harsh words was so much easier than accepting the fact that he was feeling vulnerable when you were with him.

«i'm not gonna go to that shitty party. go by yourself»

«it's going to be so much fun! come on, grandpa!» you tried to play it cool. you just wanted a little of him.

«are you deaf? im not fucking going. i have stuff way more important than getting drunk with you»

i want your love, please love me. that's all i wish for

«why the fuck are you so clingy around him?!! do you like him or what?!» he asked once you walked through the door.

«what? what are you talking about?»

«don't play dumb with me. answer the fucking question!»

«i don't even know what are you talking about?!» his eyes were staring at you so furiously, that you even felt the goosebumps in your skin. bakugou always looked scary when he was this mad.

«i'm talking about that shitty extra!» he pulled out his phone and let you see the bright photos of the party night that was all over his social media.

even one word, i need to say it carefully. even this sentence with a trembling heart..

in fact, you were with that green haired boy, hugging him and smiling so softly that bakugou wanted to throw up. it was totally disgusting. 'how can they be so lovey dovey with that piece of shit and bitching all the time with me?'

«why are so mad about it? you hate when i touch you or kiss you, then why are you so obsessed when i show affection towards someone else?!» this whole situation was getting on your nerves. it was hard to keep a conversation about this with him, because he'd always yell the same thing about you.

«because you're my fucking partner!! i didn't expect you to be such a whore just for a damn hug!»

his words got stuck in your head as he started walking near you, just to look at your eyes with those deep vermillion eyes. for a moment, you thought he wanted to cried, but his screams blinded his emotions.

his scent stills reminds you fo cigarettes and rainy days. thunders and fire. it was hard to keep all those emotions in your chest.

i thought we were still fine, but i was wrong

«what the fuck is wrong with you, bakugou?!! you don't want me to even look at you but you get jealous when i have a good time with my friends. what the fuck do you want from me??!» you tried to fight the urge of crying. your eyes were begging to let them cry, but the knot in your throat was suffocating you at this point.

«i want you to fucking LEAVE! i'm so done with this shit. i can't stand you anymore. i don't want your shitty 'affection'» he yelled. you jump in your place of how unexpected his words came out. «i don't think i ever loved you! you're so fucking annoying with the same shit. 'please katsuki, love me please' so damn annoying. you wanna know what?! nobody wants your fucking affection, not even me, get over it!!»

we were shaking as much as we could. we were getting that cold

the words he said, the way he screamed, everything felt so out of him.

you felt your hot tears walking down your face so painfully. even felt your blood run cold against your skin. there's no way he was your boyfriend. katsuki was a jerk, totally, but he would never hurt you like that. he's not your katsuki. something happened to him.

you tried so hard to believe that he didn't mean those things. you thought it was just another fight, that tomorrow everything will be normal again. nothing changed, it wasn't real.

«i-i know you didn't mean it»

«i did. fucking leave. take your shit out of here soon»

i'm incomplete. i'm only complete with you

you know me so please, hold my unstable heart

«this is my apartment too»

«then i'll leave! throw all my stuff. enjoy your apartment, you can be free again»

he walked to the door with his phone and wallet, leaving the place with a heavy silent. you stared at the door, expecting to see him trying to apologize, but that didn't happen. you even imagined everything was a really mean joke, that he didn't mean something like that. you can't lie of loving someone for almost six months.

you tried so hard to keep him happy. you tried everything, but at the end, he didn't even love you as much as you did. all your wishes were just a pure thought of hope. it wasn't real. you just wanted a little of his love.

a last kiss.

a last hug.

a last minute of his life.

i want your love, please love me. that's all i wish for

so let's love more in the future

[ameliora-j]

what a lie // ts x reader

words: 1.5k

warnings: angst, smut, mcd, blood, mention of injury, nipple play, pull out method (pls don’t use this irl), pregnancy mention

a/n: this is only half proofread but as always, lmk if i missed any warnings pls. italics is a flashback :)

“you’ll be okay, little dove,” thor whispered as he set a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“we’ll all be okay, y/n,” steve added, accompanied by a hiccup and a small sniffle from his spot next to you. you could no longer contain the loud sob that raked your body as you set down the flower reef that held your fiance’s arc reactor in the center and read: proof that tony stark has a heart.

the blonde super soldier pulled you into his chest and allowed you to harshly sob into his suit coat. tony was your forever. and he just got ripped away from you.

⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊

you walked into the grandiose building called “stark industries” one--very sunny--monday morning. you went to the desk and were greeted with a very pretty blonde woman. “can i help you?” she asked you.

“yeah i um... have a meeting with tony stark. he... he told me to come and meet him here,” you stuttered shyly. 

“ah, you must be y/n,” you nodded and she offered you a smile, leading you into tony’s office. that day, he hired you as his personal assistant. however, at the time, you had no idea what was to come of that one fateful day.

in the coming weeks as tony’s assistant, you picked up his coffee, and scheduled his press conferences, and answered e-mails, and scheduled his meetings, and answered the phone. in that time, you had also become closer to the man you called your boss. you might even go as far as to call the two of you friends.

tony was really funny. whether it was intentionally or not. he told a lot of jokes, and he was nothing like the media painted him out to be. he was nice and caring. he was also very attentive. he stopped turning the ac so high when he noticed that you would always bring a jacket into the office, and he kept little candies laying around for your sweet tooth, and he always had your favorite pack of pens delivered weekly because you were always losing your’s and stealing his. he even let you sign all of his important documents with your pretty, purple glittery pens because he knew you liked them the best. 

not to mention, tony bought you a whole set of y/f/c office supplies for your desk after you called his decoration “bland and boring.” everyday working for mr. stark was a brand new adventure and you absolutely couldn’t wait to see what the future held for you at stark industries.

you learned a lot about tony while you were working. you were the first person that he revealed his identity as iron man to. you, of course, freaked out, lecturing him on safety and being careful while fighting literal aliens, all while he chuckles and assured you that he was fine. one night--or early morning is a better term for it--there was a knock on your window. when you checked your bedside clock, the numbers “2:23″ flashed across it in bright red. when you looked over to the window, you noticed tony in the iron man suit, floating outside of your window.

“what the hell stark?! it’s half past two in the morning!” you complained as you opened the window and allowed him in. he grumbled loudly as he took off the suit and stumbled his way into your bathroom. he ignored you as you flung a million and two questions in his direction. untill finally, you noticed the blood running down the left side of his face. “what the hell!” you exclaimed before leading him to sit down on your toilet seat. you took the small first aid kit from underneath your bathroom sink and began to clean him up while simultaneously muttering what an idiot he was and how he could have been killed.

once you were all finished, you looked down at him. you had seen tony monday through friday for ten hours a day and sometimes on weekends if he had a press conference on a saturday or needed you to come in quickly and do something on a sunday, but this was the first time that you had truly noticed him. cuts and scrapes and bruises over his face, his hair sweaty and some falling into his eyes. those eyes... pretty, brown, and tired. the way that his facial hair had begun to grow on his jaw as a result of not shaving that morning. tony stark was gorgeous... ethereal even. you knew your boss was an attractive man, the media said it every day. hell, your boss said it himself every day. but now, actually looking at him, you saw it. you truly saw it, anthony howard stark was quite possibly the prettiest man you had ever laid your eyes upon. 

you and tony sat in silence. it was in that silence that you realized your current position. the only thing donning your body was a very short pair of black sleep shorts that really didn’t cover much and a black tank top with no bra. you were standing above tony, straddling his left thigh and your faces were mere centimeters apart. the silence was long and loud as you stared, unblinking, into each other’s eyes. it was a hairs breath of a second when tony’s eyes flicked from your’s to your lips, and then back up before he was hungrily pressing his lips to your’s.

the kiss was nothing but the clashing of teeth and tongues. it had you moaning into his mouth as he stood and quickly pushed you against your bathroom counter. he wasted no time as he quickly rid the both of you of your clothes. “you have protection?” he asked from his place, sucking dark hickies into every inch of your neck.

“just pull out, please i want it,” you whimpered as you tugged on his chocolate locks. your whimpers and begs were all the encouragement the man needed as he pushed his cock into you, making you release a loud moan.

the way tony fucked you was a stark (no pun intended) contrast to the way he kissed you. his thrusts were slow and deliberate, hitting spots you never even knew existed, while his kisses were rough and hungry. “feel so good wrapped around me, princess. fuck,” tony moaned into your mouth.

“fuck, tony please. more. give me more,” you whined, causing him to chuckle as his lips traveled down, sucking your nipple into his mouth as his hand came up and twisted and tugged the other one. “feels so good. ‘s so big,” you whimpered as he fucked his cock into you even harder. he moaned at your praise as his teeth scraped across your sensitive nipple before he pulled off of it with a small ‘pop’ and began giving the same attention to the other one.

“always knew your little pussy was made for my cock, princess. knew it from the day you stepped into my office. looking all innocent, just begging me to bend you over my desk and make you mine,” you moaned loudly at this, causing him to smirk. “that what you want? come on, use your words, princess.”

“wanna be your’s. make me your’s tony please. want you to corrupt me. ruin me for anyone else’s cock.” you whined out pathetically as the head of his cock abused your gspot.

“who’s pussy is this?” he asked as he began to rub harsh circles onto your swollen clit.

“your’s. your’s ‘s your’s please let me cum,” you whimpered as you arched into him. 

“cum on my cock princess, go ahead,” that’s all it took for you to cum with a loud shriek of his name. he continued his assault on your clit to fuck you through your orgasm as he pulled out and used his free hand to stroke his cock untill he came with a groan of your name, all over your stomach.

that night, after tony took care of you and made sure you peed and were cleaned up, as he pulled you into his chest, you whispered, “can i really be your’s?” 

“you can be mine forever if you want princess.” you fell asleep with a wide smile on your face.

⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊

you stayed at the lake after all the avengers had left. you sat against the tree with your left hand on your stomach, staring down at the large ring that tony presented you with just days before going to fight on titan. the one that was supposed to symbolize forever. the one that made tony stark your official future husband. 

“i’m pregnant tony...” you whispered as the tears collected on your waterline. “you promised forever. you promised that everything was going to be okay five years ago,” you took a deep breath as you rubbed the small, three month bump that was forming. “what a lie that was.”

how the hell were you going to raise a baby by yourself. how were you supposed to go on without your other half? how were you supposed to heal your heart? your baby would never know how amazing their father was. and your husband would never know how amazing his baby was. it still didn’t feel real. it never would feel real.

but you would figure it out. after all... you were a stark now. and stark’s are nothing if not strong-willed.

[burnedbyshoto]

sleeping beauty

— You struggle to find a time to have sex with your beloved Aizawa. Unfortunately or fortunately, the only time you can fuck him is when he’s deep asleep.

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pairing: aizawa shouta x yandere fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, pwp, yandere!reader, non-con somnophilia, hairy aizawa rights, recording

word count: 4,201

a/n: mark ur calendar, im getting my nipples pierced nov 8. you bet ur ass imma write a bunch of nipple pierced readers from there on out. pray that my family never finds out about my nipples tho LMAO if they do,,, it;ll be ripped out of my boobies without a seconds hesitation

kinktober day 19 main kink: somnophilia | kinktober masterlist

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Aizawa was always busy.

Over the past ten years of knowing him, the two of you had been close. You were a good friend to him, someone he wouldn’t absolutely avoid at all costs when you walked through the hallways of UA, someone he wouldn’t mind rambling to him about their long day. Of course, you knew that you weren’t his closest friend, and to a certain degree, that upset you.

You had met Aizawa when you had first been a high school student; at the time, you were merely fifteen years old. He was twenty, only five years older than you, but he took your breath away from the first team-up. He had been tall, dark, and brooding, and your little coming out of an emo phase heart stood no chance. But, due to the age discrepancy, he was never anything more than a team member. Still, you held on.

You graduated from high school, made your impact as a sidekick, graduated to a Pro Hero, and offered a job at UA by the time you were twenty! So, for the past five years, you and Aizawa had been actual co-workers, and better yet, friends.

Aizawa indeed was one of a kind.

He still held the key to your emo school girl fantasy daydream, but you also discovered new sides and angles of him. You learned he was incredibly kind, thoughtful, and looked out for everyone, even if his gruff and sometimes rude mannerisms spoke otherwise. Although he tried to avoid any type of nonsensical drama like the plague, he was always caught up in it, which often amused you.

There was so much about Aizawa that you loved, so much that you adored and looked up to that it was no surprise that you figured your feelings of respect and admiration became love. 

True, deep love.

As a third-year teacher at UA, you found that your interactions with Aizawa were quite limited. Not only because he was always being placed with a first-year class and said class moving on without him — something that only happened because he kept expelling the damn students — but because he was incredibly close with the first-year teachers.

You loved Present Mic and Midnight and All Might, don’t get it wrong! Your admiration, love, and respect for them were unprecedented, but you hated how much of Aizawa’s time they took.

“Sorry, Mic needs help with lesson plans for my class,” Aizawa apologized for postponing your lunch date, not a date.

“Sorry, Midnight needs help separating the problem children. Apparently, they’re growing an immunity to her quirk,” Aizawa grumbled, shoving his phone into his pocket before leaving your office where you both had been talking and drinking tea.

“Sorry, All Might—”

“It the class, your problem children, I get it,” you force a smile onto your face, trying not to show just how irritated and disappointed you were on how these days were going. Aizawa pauses for a second, his tired, dried out eyes trying to read and uncover the depths of emotions swimming in your eyes before he sighs and runs off. 

But it went without saying that the people you hated most were Class 1-A.

The damn stupid, fucking, ungrateful class had already caused your beloved Aizawa to be hospitalized. The scar under his eye, a numbing reminder that you had nearly lost him, almost had to cry at his coffin with your feelings never once being uttered. They, without a doubt, took up his time the most.

He saw potential in all of them, none of them being failed or expelled by him thus far.

He spent countless hours up in the dead of night tracking each and every one of his student’s potential. Slaving away at his tablets to make sure that they all were feeling safe, heroic, and above all, they were headed to their individual greatness. So, although it would be two more years before you would have the opportunity to teach this class, you already had a vendetta against Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki. Those little shits always taking up your precious Aizawa’s time! He had never been this tired prior to them showing up!

But you never tried to think about it when you were with him.

You tried to openly accept your Aizawa’s new, incredibly busy schedule, and the moment the dorms appeared within UA, you found yourself more at ease.

To be frank, since you acknowledged your love for Aizawa at the mere age of twenty, and now at twenty-five, you had never taken on a lover or a one night stand. For years you had not allowed a person to grace you in bed or in their arms. It felt like you were betraying your love, and you would rather die than let that happen. 

But the thing is, you are human, entirely susceptible to waves of uncontrolled horniness and lust.

In the beginning, sex toys worked.

You would press a vibrator to your clit, your toes digging into the mattress as your other hand shoved a silicone dildo into your aching, needy cunt. At first, it worked! You would cum with the thoughts of Aizawa being the dildo buried deep within you. 

But eventually, you would find yourself at the peak of that orgasm, you knew the orgasm was right beyond the bend, just a step more, but you couldn’t get there. For weeks you realized that the vibrator, the dildo, and your fantasy thoughts weren’t enough. So, in your frustration, you began to search up audio plays of his narration at UA Sports Festival. Listening to his voice, ignoring Mics’ voice, to help coax you over that bend.

For a while, you were back to normal. Your highs and juices splattering all over your bed, a symbol of your lust and love for Aizawa as you gasped his name, wishing that the audio was real. But eventually, even the audios weren’t enough.

You craved Aizawa’s warmth, the feeling of his rough stubble against your sensitive skin, the throbbing of his cock buried deep within your womb, undoubtedly kissing your cervix. You wanted him; you needed your beloved.

As if by the grace of God, the moment you could no longer bring yourself to cum through that alone, the dorm system was put into place. And you, a teacher, were required to live on campus too. You tried not to think of Aizawa being a dorm away, tried not to feel the warmth fluttering under your skin when the two of you bid goodnight for the day.

You definitely tried to stay out of his room in the middle of the night.

God, you wish you could say that you stayed out of his room, but that would be a lie.

A big fat fucking lie.

It had started out innocently enough, you will claim.

You would see the exhausted man wave goodnight, grumbling that he needed to sleep now or else he would not wake up on time for homeroom tomorrow morning. You waved goodnight to him, trying to stay engrossed in a conversation you were having with Hound Dog. But an hour after Aizawa had gone to bed, you found yourself rushing away from the common room, explaining you had something to grade as you bid everyone goodnight.

Without a doubt, you ended up in Aizawa’s room that night.

In the darkness of the night, you watched the moonlight barely breach the thickness of his curtains to fall onto his face. You felt so warm as you stared at his slumbered face, your cheeks flushed as you watched his parted, chapped lips. You felt so light watching his chest rise and fall in a hypnotizing rhythm, reminding you that he is real, so very, very real. A part of you aching, knowing that he was entirely real and yet not yours. But still, you admired the way he looked so young, so intense, so ethereal as he dreamed.

You loved him.

Eventually, when you decided to leave, you pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling at the way his lips were exactly as you had imagined:

Supple, warm, and tasting of his mint toothpaste.

But the nightly visits didn’t stop there.

Most nights, you found yourself in his room, laying by his side, merely watching as he slept. No orgasm in the world felt quite as fulfilling as the quiet that came with just watching the over-exhausted Aizawa sleep. 

But this is not a story of simple love, no, not at all.

Eventually, you began to grow bold. Your fingers sinking into your wet cunt, playing with your sensitive clit as you watched him sleep. You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning as a rasped breath expelled from his mouth. You nuzzled into the warmth of his body heat through at you and only prayed he would one day acknowledge and return your affections.

To be quite honest, you’re not sure when you began to suck him off too.

Maybe it was the first time his cock grew long and hard in the middle of the night, his mind undoubtedly having a wet dream. So, as his beloved, you only thought it was appropriate to give his body what he wanted. With the skills and intentions that could only arise from being a gifted Pro Hero, you pulled the blankets from his body and pushed his cock through the slit in his boxers, and took him all in your mouth.

His cock was absolutely mouthwatering too.

So big, so thick, so incredibly veiny that you nearly lost all control the first time you saw it in all its glory. He was better than any dildo you owned, his scent alone driving you crazy. And so, as you should, you began to fuck him, completely addicted to his aroma, taste, and touch.

After the first night, you continued to blow him. Continued to suck him off as Aizawa let out sleepy moans, grunts that were strained, his body shifting unknowingly as you continued to go up and down his length, continuing to relieve him of his stress. 

But you were human.

A human with needs and desires, and eventually, his cum coating your throat and filling your stomach wasn’t enough anymore. Which is where we find ourselves now, unashamedly fucking Aizawa each and every night, your cunt swallowing him whole, without a single shred of doubt of what was wrong with this.

There wasn’t anything wrong with this, and you knew that even if he was asleep the entire time you fucked him, it was for the better.

“Wow, Eraser!” Mic yelled from your side as you sat on the couch next to your beloved best friend. “You look like you’re glowing!”

Looking up from your phone, attempting to portray yourself as curious and unknowing, you found your gaze falling onto Aizawa, who had returned from an early evening training session with his class. As a matter of fact, Aizawa’s face was glowing; he looked incredibly much more relaxed, much more than he has been since the beginning of this semester.

“What do you mean?” Aizawa asked, evidently unimpressed as a lone eyebrow raised.

You watched on quietly, lips pressing to your cup as you took a drink of your tea as he sank onto a seat in front of you. 

“Wait, don’t tell me, listeners!” Mic gasped dramatically, his hands pressing to his cheeks as he stood up. His expression of shock and disbelief curling and becoming one of knowing and understanding. “Does our grouchy, one and only, Aizawa Shouta, a.k.a. Eraserhead, have a special someone?!”

“Mic—” Aizawa snapped, his eyebrows furrowing.

“There definitely has been an after-sex glow that Eraser has had for the past few weeks. He did say that he’s been feeling more… ahem, relaxed,” Midnight gasped, seemingly appearing from nowhere, incredibly interested in the rumor of Aizawa having sex. 

“Just because I’ve been feeling less tense doesn’t mean that I’m having sex.”

You giggled into your cup as the three of them began arguing, Mic and Midnights naturally loud noise quickly drowning out Aizawa’s fruitless attempts to shut down any sexscapades they were coming up with. 

“Y/h/n, what do you think?!” Mic yelled, his hand pointed at you as if holding a microphone as Aizawa had him pressed and tangled within his capturing weapon. “Is Shouta-chan having sex?!”

Yes, your mind begs to say, but your mouth curls into a teasing smile, eyes locking onto Aizawa’s annoyed golden ones. 

“I don’t think there’s anyone on this earth that Aizawa currently wants to fuck six feet into the mattress when he’s so busy,” you chide, your smile never entirely disappearing. At the same time, you take a long slow drink from your cup while everyone else (Mic only, really) continued to scream.

But you stayed there for the rest of the evening, working in silence with the rest of the group as next week’s lessons were laid out. Through a persistent, entirely stubborn will, Mic managed to get Aizawa to admit that he hasn’t had sex since the time he lost his virginity, to which Mic admitted to having had sex via orgies only. Midnight proudly announcing that she had a side piece at her disposal. 

So as you checked through your lesson plans for the ethics book your students would be reading next week, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see their expectant gazes on you.

“I had sex last night,” you admit, unable to lie under their amused gazes.

“WITH WHO?! ARE YOU SNEAKING SOMEONE ON CAMPUS?!”

For the rest of the night, you smiled brightly, laughing with the rest of them all as talks and stories revolving around sex filled the air. It lasted until past midnight, and with a heavy sigh, Aizawa excused himself first. You waved goodnight, and soon Midnight left, followed by Mic.

You stayed on the couch, your own attention focused heavily on the time and not what you were supposed to be doing. It didn’t take much before the time faded from 00:00 to 01:45, and with a brush of your skirt, you headed precisely where you wanted and needed to be.

The walk to his second-floor room filled you with lust. Your body, like some Pavlovian dog, trained and knowing that you were about to fuck the love of your life while he slept. He was so beautiful while he slept, a true sleeping beauty. You especially thought he was stunning when he bit his lower lip, stifling a moan despite his heavy slumber.

Without so much as a second thought, you apparated into his room, your feet cushioned by the soft carpet of his room. And with a smile that was dripping with your love, you stared at Aizawa’s sleeping form. He was already deep in sleep, his body positioned on his back as if he knew what you were doing, accepting the inevitable actions you would take tonight as you did every night. He just looked so calm, so beautiful, so youthful when asleep. The scar under his eye almost invisible 

But unlike most nights where he slept in a soft cotton long-sleeved shirt and sweats, you froze at the sight of the tight black t-shirt on his sleeping form, the shorts that were riding just the slightest bit too low on his sturdy, muscled hips. Your bit your fist, a bubbling heat of lust, and a whine tickling the back of your throat as you take in his sleeping form.

He was doing this on purpose.

Teasing you with this outfit on his sleeping body.

You huffed, inexplicably turned on as the small puffs of air past his lips seemed to thunder around the room.

You were wet already, so very wet.

“You’re so mean, Shouta-kun,” you whimper softly, your voice silent and unheard by his sleeping form. You walk closer to the bed, lips pulled into a pout as you sit on the soft mattress.  “Dressing up like that, I know you did that to tease me!”

Aizawa doesn’t respond because, of course, he’s asleep. But you smile regardless, imagining a million and three things he would say in response, each leading to what you wanted to do so desperately.

“I hope you know you were lying when you said you haven’t had sex since you were twenty,” you sigh, your fingers expertly removing his shorts and boxers from around his waist, using your quirk to make them reappear to the side of him. “We have sex practically every night; you’re so horny, my angel.”

You watch with a curling smile as his cock immediately begins to stiffen against your warm breaths, his face scrunching in his slight discomfort as his cock grows and grows. His cock is undeniably one of your favorite parts of his body. It’s pale in color, paler than the rest of his body, but as it extended to the swollen thickness of his head, it grew darker, the flushed brown pinkness of his head making you salivate at the memory of the first time you ever saw it. His cock, unlike the rest of his scarred body, was unharmed, unmarred by the horrors of the job the two of you held. The thick, beautiful smoothness of his skin, making your eyes flutter in unadulterated lust, his cock a symbol of your pure, unmarked love for him. You hum, hand grasping his length and lazily stroking him as your head tilts, reading his sleeping features for any sign of him enjoying this as much as you do.

“Aww, Shouta-kun, I wish you knew I fuck you. I bet you would turn bright red, knowing that I ride you every night. Maybe you’d use that weapon of yours to teach me a lesson or two,” you mumble, your hand gripping his cock harder as you stroke him.

A small glistening drop appears at the slit of his dick, and you shiver in excitement; he was already leaking pre-cum. 

“Look at you, already ready to have my cunt wrapped around that big cock of yours,” you mewl, absolutely ready to mount him, prepared to have his sleeping form cum deep within you. You stand up, removing your shorts and panties, and climbing onto the bed.

With the balance of a pro, you get yourself hovering over him, your already wet cunt shivering with the expectance of having him deep within you. Your hand on his cock never once stopping as you tease yourself against his swollen head, your voice a pathetic whimper as your slick mixes with his clear pre-cum.

“S-See how embarrassing you are!” you huff, rutting his length between his folds, lubing him up for the initial entrance because, by god, it still hurt. “Making my pussy so wet! I’m practically dripping all over you!”

There’s only a soft breath from his lips, but you grin as if he was speaking to you.

“You want me too, huh?” you giggle, and without further adieu, you sink against him.

His cock entering your tight cunt was still as mind-numbing as the first time. His cock easily buries into the small, thin wall of your cervix, and you tremble as his length stretches and pulls at your throbbing core. You can feel every curve in his cock, every vein, every gentle throb.

“Glad t-to know you find me… nnghh… find me i-irresistible,” you pant, face flushed with your desire to adjust quickly around him.

The conversation from tonight had made you entirely weak in the knees and hot at your core, knowing that you were the only one to really have claimed Aizawa, the only one who would ever know how his sleeping body craved you as much as you desired him.

You give a tentative swirl of your hips, your eyes trained on Aizawa’s relaxed ones, testing to see how tired and sleepy he was. There was no reaction, no movement outside of the typical grunt at the back of his throat. It was a noise he always made when you first moved with him, a noise that quickly seared in the back of your memory forever.

Shifting your weight to be more comfortable on your knees, your hot hands fall onto his tight chest, and with a sigh of pure relief, you begin to fuck him.

Your straddling aided the deep penetration, allowing for the gentle kiss of the tip of his leaking cock to your thin cervix wall. You clenched tightly around him, unable to keep yourself from doing so as you rode him, the feeling of his throbbing member within you absolutely breathing taking as you placed your claim on him again, again, and again.

Aizawa was fully sheathed within you, and your fingers twisted and pulled at the tight fabric of his shirt, raising it up so that you could admire his taut, tense abdomen, mewling at the way he’s happy trail was thick and bushy. You wondered how he would react to your fingers threading through his body hair, if he would love it; if he would hate it. 

“I want you to know how much I love you, how much I would give everything to you!” you whimper, your head fighting the instinct to throw itself back as you begin to drop onto his still cock faster and faster. “I wish you knew that you fuck me so good, Shouta-kun; I need you to know that! But you won’t even look at me! You won’t spare me a single second of your busy day, so that’s why I have to fuck you at night!”

Tears of both pleasure and hurt well into your eyes; you sniffle as you fuck him faster, dropping onto his awaiting cock with more significant, more aggressive slaps. The sounds echo throughout the room, the musky, sweet smell of your sexes is the only thing keeping you sane — that and the grunting noises that Aizawa keeps emitting, it makes your toes curl and belly flutter in a funny way.

“I bet you’ll fuck me so good once I get you to love me! You’ll never stop fucking me, you’ll never want to leave me because only I know how to fuck you correctly!” you snap, anger and lust licking through your tone, making your eyebrows furrow and your walls to clench even tighter around him. The building tension in your stomach is like a fire, and you can feel your high coming. “But you fuck me so good, baby, so good and you’re not even awake!”

And for the first time, you watch in electrifying pleasure as a low, husky, raspy moan leaves his throat as you fucked him. The sound alone was something downright pornographic to you, and the whine that spills from your mouth is nearly inaudible with the pitch it vibrates at. So without so much as a second thought, a bubbling smile spreads on your face, and you continue on, energy and excitement doubled in your joy.

Your hips roll, rise, and fall against his with growing force and speed. The small creaks of the mattress completely ignored by you as the throbbing and twitching of his cock buried deep within you keeps you pushing for more. The heat and pressure in your belly grow exponentially, festering and burning until you can feel yourself at the tipping point until you can’t do anything but focus on Aizawa and only Aizawa, or else you would scream his name in your euphoria.

The veins on his cock and the overall girth of his length send your mind spinning, not at all helping your predicament, and in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from crying so loudly you would wake up even the dead, you lean forward. Your sweaty body leaning down to his parted chapped lips as you kiss him to keep yourself silent as your orgasm crashes through you in a blissful wave. Your body spasms almost uncontrollably, the nerves and firing axons through your body uncontrollable as you lay there, allowing for Aizawa to cum before you leave. You shudder at the feeling of his cum emptying out within you, his cock immediately softening as you lay there on top of him. His heart racing with his orgasm, and you sigh contentedly.

“God, I love you so much, Aizawa Shouta; I’ll make you mine one day,” you swear, your nose nuzzling his stubbled cheek.

You lay there for some time, enjoying the way he feels in you, content with the pooling cum from your still spasming cunt. But eventually, you pull away. You pull on your panties and shorts quickly, not wanting a single drop more of his cum to seep out of you. Unable to help yourself, you lick the leftover cum on his cock clean with your tongue before wiping him down with a towel to prevent the smell from clinging.

Your eyes study Aizawa’s face just before you leave, and your smile.

He really does look less tired after orgasming.

But the entire time you were there — the whole night you fucked him and spoke to him — you missed the red blinking light of the camera recording in the corner of the room.

[halfpint55]

Feels Like We Only Go Backwards - Chapter 16:

by @oldpotatoe on AO3

"Hina claps with awe at the eruption of flames from Zuko’ skin. It is yellow, yes, orange too, but there is purple in the fire, and green, and red, blue, white, pink and more, all dazzling and brilliant as they burst from Zuko’s palms.

“Cool!” she yells, but Sokka hears her as if from a distance, finds his heart catching somewhere between his throat and mouth at the sight of Zuko’s shy smile, the rainbow reflected in his eyes. The light flickers over both their faces, vibrant and ethereal.

...

Sokka turns on his heels slowly, awestruck at the colourful warmth surrounding them. Zuko’s taken care to keep the flames a safe distance away, but Sokka can still feel the gentle heat of the fire flowing around him. It sinks into his skin, pushes all the way through to some unknown, untouched part of him that resides deep within his chest, making it unfurl until its blossoms peek out like the first buds of spring. And when he comes to a stop right back where he started—staring at Zuko’s cupped hands, his upturned mouth, his hair shimmering a thousand different shades, the way he looks up at Sokka just then with his unscarred eye squinting at its corner, bright and effusive and striking— the blossoms spread wide in his chest, trailing up and down and throughout him, catching at his seams. Coming alive.

And he thinks, oh.

And he thinks, oh shit."

Note: This art has a very specific song to go with it!

“We’re not equal parts / light and dark / we can be brilliant”

I literally had this song on repeat most of the time that I was drawing this and this particular lyric just hoofs u in the chest as you look at Zuko SOFT AS ANYTHING bending dragon fire so pls, feel free to play it while you peruse the art.

There’s been a lot of really amazing but oh my GOD PAINFUL art from the flwogb fandom recently so in these trying times may I offer this happier piece to remind you of the magic moment Sokka fell for Zuko for the second time in 5 years. I title it “Oh Shit”. 

I'm such a sucker for a character realising they're in love with the italicised "oh shit" I go FERAL for that every single time and ms oldpotatoe fucking DELIVERED on that (even though she delivered an emotional sucker punch almost immediately after thank u ma’am). This moment just made my breath hitch as I read it and I was thinking “of course, of course they just make their way back to each other. of course they do”. It was such a gorgeous moment I had to put my phone down for a moment and BREATHE.

something that really inspires me to create from Ruby’s fic is the perfect clarity of the writing - I can SEE these gorgeous moments she writes as already made paintings in my head and I gotta DRAW. This one was clear as day, so I’ve spent so long trying to achieve what I saw in my head and I think I’ve come pretty close.

Not gonna lie I drew his expression and immediately got emotional about my OWN GODDAMN ART, (but I have been assured that this is completely normal).

Now I can’t post this without talking about the goddamn hair. I wrestled with his hair on this for MONTHS - I always thought that I'd struggle with hands, or even anatomy and proportions but NO. Hair seems to be my drawing nemesis and makes me wanna snap my tablet in half but nonetheless i have persevered (but for the love of all that is holy please zoom in I beg u I spent too long on the little details).

In terms of the shading and colour, the hair is very much An Experiment and I haven’t played with hair and light much before, but i was so intent on capturing the colours of the fire reflected in Zuko’s hair, i wanted it to be so ethereal. ethereal enough to just make Sokka fall headfirst down the stairs, two at a time, in love. So I gave it a go. It’s possibly too shiny and not quite how real hair would behave, and i’m probably gonna go away after posting and keep fiddling with it, but you know what I think it’s pretty, and im gonna challenge my perfectionist self to just... leave it be. 

Ruby, I love u and I offer u this humble art as a small bribe to treat my boys well in the coming chapters (please, we don’t always have to go backwards do we?). <3 <3

[aminiatureworld]

A Sea of Fragments

Characters: Scaramouche, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,524

Warnings: Swearing, Fainting, Slight Violence

Premise: You just wanted to get away from a situation that was becoming untenable. Knowledge isn’t always a blessing, especially when it comes with the emotional toll of thousands of futures. Unfortunately however things don’t always go well, and soon you find yourself in a peculiar situation.

In which the reader is clairvoyant and Scaramouche takes an interest.

Author’s Note: Okay but I could write a whole series based off this premise. Ahh Scaramouche you petty drama king. Who is also a bit of an ass but oh well.

Scaramouche can be very entertaining to write but also very difficult. It’s tricky writing a romance with him that isn’t in some ways suspect, though I think that when you manage it he can be surprisingly soft. Really I think a lot of it depends on your interpretation of his character. I really like how this turned out though and I hope you enjoy!

You wanted to be helpful, you really did. Helping people, making your gift something more than an odd sort of burden, it gave you sense of purpose; but it was becoming too much. More and more you hardly knew yourself, whether you were living in your reality or in one which may yet come to pass. It was pressing down on you, causing you to spiral. You couldn’t do it anymore.

Stealing out of the village that had been your home since before you could remember, you couldn’t help but take a glance back. The picturesque houses that clumped together glowed warmly, shadows of people visible in the windows. You wished you could help, you really did. But the burden had become too much, and now it was time to go. Taking a deep breath you turned back towards the road. In a few steps you’d finally be free. And if it was a bittersweet kind of freedom, so be it.

_______

“I hardly expected to be dragged out here to listen to the fantastical rumors of a group of farmers.” Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. The Fatui Agent facing him shifted slightly, seemingly uncomfortable with the Harbinger’s scrutiny. Good. He deserved it.

“I understand the sentiment, but this is hardly an ordinary rumor –”

“Then what is it?” Scaramouche’s acerbic tone cut off the man, making it clear that he wasn’t going to be fooled into complacency. What nonsense people believed. That some of those people were members of the Tsaritsa’s elite army only made it more infuriating. Still, what could you expect of ordinary people? How easily they believed their own lies.

“At first we thought nothing about the rumor as well,” the mage who’d been silent for the duration of the conversation spoke up, “we were just planning on leaving it alone. But then the famed fortune teller vanished. They disappeared, despite no one doubting their claims. Rumor is that the whole thing was making them ill.”

“And now I’m to look into this because our little psychic got tired and ran away?” Scaramouche let out a dramatic sigh, pausing just long enough to see the underlings in front of him squirm. Finally, he shook his head. “Ah the things Signora asks me to do.” Standing up from the chair he was sitting in he turned his back on the messengers. “You’re dismissed. Don’t bother me with this again.” There was some shuffling as the Fatui bowed and left. Scaramouche always loved listening to the way people scuttled away after talking to him. No one had any backbone, they all cowered and slunk away, as if that would make him forget them. Well he never would.

Alone he couldn’t help but scoff once more at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. Honestly he expected more of Signora – who could usually be relied upon to possess a little more common sense than the rabble around them. Who would’ve thought her weakness was something as simple as someone pretending to see the future? Really it was quite sad.

“Let’s see what comes out of this little treasure hunt,” Scaramouche mused to himself, grabbing the pack he’d already made up once he’d first heard the rumors swirling around the camp, “they should hope it’s worth my time.”

_______

The village was terribly dinky, as one would expect of a community that was barely above the status of farming commune. Scaramouche wrinkled his nose, overwhelmed by irritating sounds, smells, and sights. How people could live in such a state? It was pitiful, how low humans could sink. Stepping around a cart laden with cabbages Scaramouche ducked inside the leaning structure that comprised the village center. Hopefully he wouldn’t be here long.

Awaiting him was the leader of the village. Her skin was cracked and tanned from the sun, and one couldn’t tell whether her wrinkles were a sign of old age or of the hardship of living a life devoid of luxury. One could almost feel pity for her, Scaramouche thought. Sitting down on the cushion across from her he gestured for her to talk. Hopefully this would be over soon.

“It was six nights ago that they left.” The woman’s voice trembled slightly, there were tears staining the corner of her eyes. “I don’t know why, we never made them unwelcome. They were simply there one day gone the next.”

“Did anyone see them?” Scaramouche attempted to hide his yawn. Usually he kept the tedious work in the lower ranks where it belonged. Still, this was turning into quite an outlandish story the more he heard about it. Apparently you really weren’t some ordinary charlatan, at least not to those around you; some even called you the reincarnation of a powerful spirit or a god. Of course all that might’ve been par for the course, but you refusing all money and gifts was certainly not. What kind of act were you peddling, the Harbinger wondered. Certainly not a very smart one.

“No,” the woman shook her head mournfully, “they lived alone, and often would be out at odd hours of the day, supposedly going to somewhere with less noise and purer air. We all suspected they really just wanted to be left alone. It seemed to annoy them when we asked too much, they often got headaches from it apparently. Once we even had to call in a doctor from the city, after they collapsed mid-vision.”

“I see.” Scaramouche didn’t bother to keep the scowl off his face. What was going on? There was an odd conventionality to this story, and if it weren’t for your roots here and your odd independence he’d certainly be dismissive. And yet…

As if mirroring this thought he raised his hand, standing up and walking towards the door. “Thank you for the information, I’ll be sure to tell you if I find them.”

“Don’t hurt them!” The woman shrank a bit as Scaramouche turned back to her, and he could see her hand trembling slightly as she set it back down.

“Why would you say that?” He said, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Why I wouldn’t dream of doing anything but bringing them home, safe and sound.” He didn’t bother adding anything else, both of them knew it was a lie. For what member of the Fatui does something with expecting anything in return?

Exiting the cramped structure Scaramouche immediately made for the path that led away from the village, out towards the vast wilderness of which folk tales were comprised of. You hadn’t gone far, that he could be relatively sure of. Someone disappearing suddenly like that, taking nothing but a sack full of food and a few weapons? They wouldn’t make it more than a few miles before stopping. Especially since the night watch had confirmed no one had left in the direction of the city. Luckily the Harbinger was more prepared.

_______

The sun had set long ago, and now Scaramouche watched as the moonlight danced upon the only lake in the area. He knew that his best bet was here.

The area was surprisingly beautiful, so much so that even Scaramouche could find some worth in it. The villagers had called it a valley, but really it was more of a canyon, most likely carved out from a glacier, back when gods walked the earth and humans still cowered in their caves. The grass around the lake was so green it seemed surreal, as if it were painted onto the earth, and an cattails and various grasses dotted the edge of the water. A miniature sort of lagoon lay to the north, the dense, low hanging trees obscuring it partially from view. Ethereal was the only way to describe it, anything more would’ve been pretentious and anything less would’ve been somewhat lacking.

The view was so mesmerizing that at first Scaramouche barely registered the shadow dotting the field. Quickly however he regained his senses. The figure was moving quickly, not erratic enough to be without a purpose, not staid enough to be dismissed as a cloud or a piece of flora. No, it was definitely a human, and definitely one who didn’t want to be seen. Smiling to himself Scaramouche leapt into the air. This was going to be at least somewhat interesting.

The figure jumped as soon as he hit the ground. Whirling around Scaramouche knew instantly it was you, the mysterious mystic he’d been looking for. Although, looking at your appearance it seemed more likely for you to be an invalid looking for someone with power, rather than being the source of said magic. The pallor of your skin was ghastly, and though you furrowed your brow and reached for your weapon your eyes were slightly glazed, your movements heavy and unsure.

“Well, what have we here?” Scaramouche smiled as you shrank back for a second. Despite his stature, he knew how to command a room, or a valley, when he needed to. You shook off his theatrics quickly enough though, scowling in response to his declaration.

“If you want me to do something for you, I’m afraid I’m fresh out of visions.”

“Oh? That’s not what I’ve heard. From what I know it seems like your talents never fail you. Unless, of course, you’ve given up on your scheme.” Instead of shock painting your face however you simply raised your hand to your face. Wobbling slightly on your feet you shook your head violently.

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m not doing business, not before, not now, not ever. So if you could please leave me alone…” your voice faded. By now Scaramouche was sure something was wrong.

“What? Did you manage to get bit by something during your three day wildlife trip?” He sneered. You didn’t seem to hear him however. Staring him straight in the face the expression you wore could almost be described as a smirk.

“I’m going to faint now.” You deadpanned, before your knees buckled and you hit the ground so hard Scaramouche was sure that it was going to leave a bruise.

_______

Unfortunately the oppressive haze of passing out is much more difficult to handle when one is left stranded with an obnoxious stranger in the woods, a stranger who evidently has no intention of helping you. By the time you’d become properly aware of your surroundings they’d become so foreign as to be barely distinguishable from when you were fading in and out of consciousness.

You knew that you were in a tent, one so grand as to basically be a structure on its own. This, along with the cacophony outside, led you to the conclusion that whoever had picked you up – and you still weren’t sure who that odd purple haired man was, though asshole certainly seemed an apt term – they weren’t working alone. A peek outside proved you right, and to your horror you realized very quickly that not only were they not working alone, but that they were with, if not part of, one of the most despicable groups to ever walk Teyvat.

The hours passed, and the light from outside had significantly faded by the time the man came back, this time wearing something much flashier than before. The hat gave you all the information you needed.

“Harbinger.” You spat, glaring as hard as you could. For his part the man said nothing, only making the ghost of a bow, a smirk on lips.

“Feeling better are we? Really for someone supposedly blessed by the gods you have terrible stamina.”

“Try living through hundreds of fragments of fate and come back to me.” You shot back. Although you’d heard frightening stories of the Fatui, and especially of those who led them, you found irritation to be your main emotion. Apparently even fear can be bypassed if one is disgruntled enough. “What do you want anyways?”

“To see if you’re worth the reputation you’ve earned.” The man sat down on a chair so ornate it was almost comical. He stared right back at you, and if you hadn’t felt so drained you might’ve been uncomfortable. Still, you stood your ground.

“I’ve no interest in showing anything to the Fatui.” You kept your voice matter-of-fact. He was like all those other clients that ran to the village, only more vain and perhaps better with a weapon. Otherwise, well wasn’t he nothing at all?

“I’m not interested in your personal opinions. I have a duty to the Tsaritsa to make manifest her wishes through any means possible, and that might be quite a bit easier with one who can see the future.”

“I see many futures, not just the one that will pass. Besides, even if I could tell you exactly what will happen, I wouldn’t.”

“I could make you.” The man sneered, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. Frustration welled up inside you as you stood your ground. You wouldn’t lose.

“No, you can’t.”

“Why not? Plan on fighting me?”

“I could just wait until you left for your Harbinger duties.”

“I’d tie you up.”

“I’d escape.”

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

“This conversation is getting nowhere.” The Harbinger leaned back in his chair, sighing in what appeared to be mock annoyance. You smiled, despite yourself.

“I very much agree. So, how about you let me go and I in turn pretend that you never neglected to give me emergency medical attention.”

“Who’re you going to complain to?” The man snorted. You just shook your head, smiling morphing into a smirk.

“Who says I’m going to complain? I could just burn down your tent instead.”

“Ah yes, I forgot you’re a vision user, in both senses of the word.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” You wrinkled your nose. “If so it wasn’t very funny.”

“I think what’s not very funny is the way this conversation is going.” The man leaned forward once more. “For all your talk, I doubt you could do half of what you threatened, considering you could barely survive on your own for three days.”

“And I think you’re underestimating me.” You replied, continuing to smile as if this was a perfectly normal conversation. “It seems we’ve reached an impasse.”

There was a pause, and as the Harbinger’s face grew cold you wondered if he might storm out. You hoped he would. You wanted to be left alone, to think, to process, perhaps even to look into the future. Not that you tended to look into your own. Divining one’s own path was notoriously taxing, and often it was nearly impossible to wade through the fog of diverging paths.

“Look into my future.” The words took you out of your reverie and you shot a confused look at the person sitting across from you. Seeing the look of suspicion on your face he laughed, and though the laugh was sharp and slightly ugly, it seemed somehow more genuine than the theatrical tone which he’d been employing beforehand. “Look into my future,” he repeated, “and if you see a fragment which is to your liking, then work for me.”

“I don’t work for the Fatui.”

“And I don’t lose an opportunity. Besides,” he raised an eyebrow, “I specified you’d work for me. There’s a difference.”

“Hardly.” You replied, but nevertheless you closed your eyes.

The feeling of falling enveloped you, and when you opened your eyes you weren’t in a tent but rather surrounded by fragments of glass. Each reflected a piece of the future, and as you reached out to look at them you found yourself almost overwhelmed by the emotions they carried.

The first path of the future was one of death. There he stood, bathed in blood, purple eyes glowing with magic, a sadistic smile plastered upon his face. Around him lay the mangled bodies of those you knew he had slaughtered. Sometimes they were warriors, sometimes they seemed to be the most ordinary sort of people. There was a pressure in your ears and for a moment you couldn’t breathe. These futures were dead ones, and their rot now seeped into your skin, filling your throat.

The second path was different, although one would be hard pressed to call them pleasant. In those he was the one who had fallen, eyes which had once been bright now dulled by the shadow of death. A maniacal laughter filled the air in one fragment, a triumphant cry of having murdered a monster; in another fragment there was weeping, and though you couldn’t place who it was the voice sound distinctly familiar. In those fragments you felt an emptiness, and though you knew the tears sliding down your cheeks were par for the course, you were still ashamed by them.

The third path was oddly detached from the rest. You could still feel the crackle of darkness in the air, one who had become a Harbinger would never be able to escape such a thing. But there was something else too. There he stood, staring off into the distance, expression opaque, eyes seeing not the landscape around him but something inside himself. There was the familiar muffled tones of someone speaking – you could never truly hear what anyone said – and he turned around. The ghost of a smile passed his face and he stepped towards whoever was calling him. You focused on one specifically, that in which he seemed happiest. The feeling of contentment, of happiness, enveloped you, mixing with shame when you found yourself staring back at you. Shock running through your system the fragments shook around you, shattering like glass at your feet as you fell back to the present.

“That seemed like quite the experience.” 

There was amusement in the Harbinger’s voice, but you found yourself unable to answer him. Breathing heavily you tried to wrap your head around what you’d just envisioned. What in the name of the gods was that? Never before had you doubted your abilities, but now you prayed that you were wrong, prayed to anyone who could hear that you were mistaken. The residual feelings of the shard you’d just witnessed lingered, deepening your sense of unease, of shame. Happiness, how could you feel happiness? This man was a Harbinger, a menace to Teyvat, and you might… you couldn’t even finish the thought.

Wrenching your eyes shut you took a few deep breaths. Leave, you should just leave. Refuse his offer, what could he do? But now you couldn’t unsee the future, couldn’t erase the image from your mind. And though you scoffed at it, deep down inside of you something wished to reach out to that bit of the future once more, to ensure its survival. Exactly why, you couldn’t tell. You could tell yourself it was the horror of the rest of the fragments, but even that wouldn’t be quite accurate. This was the issue with looking into the future. It always ended up affecting the past. Wasn’t this one of the reasons why you’d wanted to leave? Now you’d carry the burden of knowledge with you forever, this one more painful than most.

“Are you going to faint again?” The words were rough but the tone was less so. Opening your eyes you stared into the man’s eyes. Was this what would set you on that path? It seemed so surreal. And yet you knew that it might still come to pass.

“No.” The word came out softer than you’d hoped. “I’m alright.”

He said nothing for a moment, while you in turn calmed yourself down. Finally though he grew impatient. Leaning his head on his hand he spoke once more.

“So, will you work for me?” You glared at him but said nothing. How could you answer it now. You couldn’t tell him what you’d just witnessed, it seemed taboo. Still, the situation had changed. Even if he didn’t know it, it had changed very much.

“Fine.” Your words surprised you, but only for a moment. You’d known, you’d known the moment you’d look into that sea of futures and felt that sense of happiness. It was too late. You’d folded. He’d won.

“Good.” At first the Harbinger stayed still, but soon enough he was standing up, moving towards the entrance of the tent. “I’ll get you what you need. Like I said you’ll be working for me, not for the Fatui, so we can work out the details of your contract ourselves.”

“Whatever you say…”

“Scaramouche.”

“Scaramouche.” You finished. Scaramouche smiled, and in it you saw a ghost of the future.

“And your name?”

“You’ll have to wait to get that answer.” You replied, feeling somewhat contrary.

“As you wish. Well then, mysterious clairvoyant, I look forward to our work together.” Scaramouche replied once more before stepping outside. You sighed, feeling the exhaustion of everything that had just passed. s

You’d taken a gamble with fate, for the future was still uncertain, and the days leading up to it were sure to be full of pitfalls. Still you were resilient. You’d make that future happen. No matter what.

And, if worst came to worst, you wouldn’t be the one crying when the world fell apart.

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Lazy Mornings - 5

Lazy Mornings:  A Captain America Fanfic

Lazy Mornings Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  1696

Warnings: smut (MF, vaginal sex)

Synopsis: Steve Rogers has trouble taking time for himself.  When his friends set him up with a person with a very unusual skill, perhaps he can learn that the quiet moments are just as important as everything else.

Chapter 5

There was something a little magical about the way the sun crept through the curtains as Steve slowly woke.  It fell in a clear beam over the bed, and dust motes floated in it, glowing brightly like they were alive and filled with their own kind of magic.  From the beam the light diffused through the room, blanketing in a soft white haze that made everything seem like it was wrapped in cloud.

Steve had slept well.  Better than he could ever remember sleeping before.  It was the good, deep, restful sleep that most people just long for.  There was no urgency to waking either, so he did it gradually, appreciating the scent of coffee, linen, and fresh-cut grass, along with the warmth of your body pressed against him.

You slept so close to him - practically buried into his side.  Sleeping with another person usually brought with it some minor discomforts that were a trade-off to the intimacy of sharing such a space with another person.  Hair that got in your mouth.  Awkward arm placements.  Overheating from the shared body temperature.  Accidentally getting kicked in rather tender areas.

There was none of that with you.  The bed which would normally be too soft for him to be truly comfortable was somehow perfect.  The air temperature was cool, but the bed was perfectly warm in that way that made it hard to leave.  The way you tucked in against him felt like the two of you were made for each other.  Like two pieces of a puzzle, or Lego bricks.

You made a soft sound and your arms tightened around him.  “Good morning,” you mumbled, in a sleep-heavy voice.  “Will you stay?”

Steve hummed and pressed his cheek against the top of your head.  “Mm-hmm.”

He wasn’t even quite sure what he was agreeing to.  Now?  Forever?  He didn’t know, but either way that answer felt right.

You hummed and nuzzled at his neck, kissing his throat and gently grazing your teeth over his skin.  “Good,” you whispered.  “I have plans.”

He pulled back and looked down at you, smiling a lazy smile.  You looked ethereal in the soft morning light.  You returned his gaze and reached up and ran your finger along his jaw so that his morning stubble scratched over your fingertips.  For a moment that’s all either of you did - just lay there gazing at each other - and then he broke.  He leaned in and kissed you deeply.  Your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled yourself tightly against him.  There was a slowness to your movements that seemed to translate to a deeper intimacy.  There was no rush.  No desperate need.  The two of you took your time to just kiss and caress each other’s skin.  He ran his hands over you as you raked your fingers through his hair.  Your hips moved slowly against him so your cunt rubbed against his morning erection.

The pressure of your body against his, the warmth that radiated from your skin, and the way his body buzzed under your fingers, made that lazy, cozy feeling start to blend into his desire and need.

He kissed your throat and massaged your ass as he slowly rutted against you.  Your fluids dripped from your cunt and coated his cock.  He hummed and when the head of his cock caught on your entrance, he pushed, slowly sinking into the warm passage.  The movement was met, not with a moan, but a soft contented sigh.

He rolled so he was on top of you and the two of you began to move together.  He rolled his hips penetrating you deeply, taking his time to feel every ridge and contour of your internal walls.  You counter, arching your back and rocking under him and clenching around him. The kissing was a constant tender caress.  Lips against lips and necks, collarbones, and chest.  It added to that soft buzz inside him, and the world became fuzzy and far off as the two of you made love.

“You feel so good, Steve,” you hummed against his throat.

He moaned in response and brought his lips to yours.  You nudged him and he rolled over so you were straddling him.  You broke the kiss and sat up, closing your eyes and letting your head loll back as you twisted and circled your hips while staying seated on his cock.  He watched you, mesmerized by the way your body moved as you rode him.  He ran his hands over your breasts and down your sides, letting one settle on your hip and the other over your pussy, working your clit with his thumb.  You moaned and moved a little faster, your lips parted in silent pleasure.  Your cunt began to clench and flutter and with a deep moan, you came, your body seizing up.  Steve grabbed your hips and began to thrust up into you, chasing his own release.  When it came, it was like his orgasm washed through him like a wave, he closed his eyes and groaned as his muscles clenched and he spilled inside you.

You stayed sitting on top of him for a moment, just letting yourself relax and come down from your orgasm high.  As your breathing returned to normal, you climbed off him.  “I’m going to make breakfast,” you said, grabbing your robe and sliding it on.

Steve stretched and watched you leave the room as he debated what to do.  He hadn’t ever had breakfast in bed, and he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t comfortable right where it was.

His need to be up and participating in the world ended up winning out, and he dragged himself out of bed.  He tried to keep in the spirit of the lazy morning though.  He used the bathroom and pulled on his boxers and t-shirt before coming out to find you.  The kitchen smelled of coffee, bacon, and maple syrup, and you stood at the stove singing to yourself.  He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Really giving yourself to it, huh?”  You asked.  “I can feel it.  Makes me feel a little more real.”

“If that’s all it takes for you to feel that way, I’ll have to do this more often,” Steve said.

You laughed and turned, kissing his cheek.  “If you really want to spoil yourself, the paper should be on the doorstep.”

Steve let you go and went to the door.  Sitting on your welcome mat in the hall was a copy of the New York Times.  He picked it up feeling a little bewildered.  Since waking up from the ice he’d seen newspapers being sold, but he’d never known anyone who bought them.  He’d been dropped into a world of leading-edge technology where the new was delivered digitally in an instant.  It was all tablets and holographic screens in his world now.  Having an actual honest-to-god newspaper felt a little like he was stepping back in time.

He took it to the reading nook you had by the window and reclined back on the window bench, pulling the plush blanket you had sitting there over his legs and unfolding the paper.

It was strange how strong the scent of fresh-cut grass was, even though he wasn’t sure he could smell it as much as he formed the idea of it in his head just from being around you.  If he looked down through the window, it was just another busy New York street below him.  You lived across from Central Park though, and looking right ahead he had views of trees and grass he could sink into the illusion of a Sunday in the suburbs with neighbors mowing their lawn while he took his time to read the paper.

“Don’t you look comfortable here,” you said, bringing over a tray.  Sitting on it was a plate filled with pancakes, eggs, and bacon, a mug of hot coffee, and a glass of orange juice.  He shifted a little and took the tray, placing it over his lap, and you took a seat in the wingback chair beside him.

“You’re spoiling me,” Steve said, picking up his coffee and breathing in the aroma.  “You’re not eating?”

“When I have someone who’s really giving themselves over to what I have to offer, I don’t actually need to eat,” you replied.

Steve surveyed you, raising his eyebrow.  “Thor always needs to eat.”

You laughed.  “Thor and I are slightly different entities.  And I don’t pretend to understand it.  I am feeling it very strongly from you right now though because this is not something you let yourself do very often.  It’s nourishing.”

“For us both,” Steve said and started to eat.  He took his time to savor it all.  It wasn’t the best food he’d ever had, but it seemed to hit the spot exactly.  The coffee was hot and brewed just how he liked it, bitter but not burned.  The eggs were sunny side up but the white had cooked through while the yolk was still runny.  The bacon was salty and crispy and mixed with the maple syrup on the pancakes perfectly.

“Do you think we can actually work long term?”  Steve asked as he ate.  “We seem to need such different things.  And what would happen if I stopped fighting and just retried?  Would that affect how this worked for you?”

You shrugged.  “To answer your second question first; no it wouldn’t.  Eventually, you’d stop appreciating the lie-ins and it’s really in the desire and appreciation of them that gives me my power,” you said.  “As for the first, I couldn’t say.  No one knows what the future brings or how long people can stay compatible.  It’s working now, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Steve agreed, and sipped on his coffee thoughtfully.  Maybe he needed this.  A reason to balance his life so he took something for himself once in a while.  Maybe appreciating the quiet moments more would help him get through the chaos of his everyday life.  Maybe his friends had been right, it was time for him to get a life too.

// NEXT

[hyucks-archive]

blue.

word count: 2,666

genre: angst, female!reader, ex-boyfriend!mark

member(s): mark, jaemin, jeno

warning(s): none

author’s note: did you know that blue is supposedly the #1 ‘favourite colour’ in the world? :o

“Why are you seated here alone?”

You turn in the direction of where the voice had come from, looking up to meet eyes with Jaemin, who is looking at you with a tender, sweet smile. “Mind if I join?” he asks, to which you shake your head, patting the spot next to you. He seats himself down beside you, dipping his legs into the chlorine-filled pool water. You kick your legs gently, watching as your subtle movements form gentle ripples on the surface of the light blue water.

“Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend?” you ask. Jaemin’s smile widens at the mention of her; would the mention of you, put a smile on his face too? You scoff internally – in what world would that be possible? There’s a reason you’re seated here alone. “She couldn’t make it today,” Jaemin shares, taking a sip from his blueberry mocktail. “Why aren’t you hanging with the boys?” he questions. You have your eyes fixed on the blue water in front of you.

Johnny’s Suhmmer Party has always been an annual tradition for you and your friends. Every year, Johnny would host a massive summer party, welcoming the start of summer at his beach house. While you aren’t one to dig parties, you’d still attend, just because it’s a friendship thing. And, even when you’d sit by the pool, away from the crowd, you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be beside him. But this year, marks the first year, that things are different. You had considered skipping out on attending the party altogether, but you knew that it’d only invite unwelcomed questions. You didn’t want your friends worrying for you, at least, not after how much you tried to convince them that you were fine.

Instead, you made sure to arrive early, and steer away from the main house, where most of the guests would be. That probably makes it a thousand times clearer that you’re avoiding something. But Jaemin is the sweetest boy out of the lot, the only one who’d be willing to play dumb and act as though he doesn’t already know your answer to his question.

You smile, turning to make eye contact with him. “It’s stuffy inside,” you lie.

Jaemin leans forward, looking at the area surrounding you. “You didn’t even get yourself a drink?” he asks. You wouldn’t risk it. Jaemin lifts his legs out of the pool, pushing himself off the ground, into a standing position. “I’ll go get a drink for you. What drink do you want?” he offers. You maintain the smile on your face, replying with, “Blue lagoon.”

“Non-alcoholic?”

You nod your head. “I’ll be right back,” he says, turning on his heel to head back into the main house to get your drink.

You refocus your attention on the pool water beneath you. There’s music pumping in the background, but all you seem to be able to capture are the subtle sounds the water makes as it dances with the gentle summer breeze. You breathe a sigh, eyes travelling upwards, towards the night sky. The night sky is always said to be a dark shade of blue, but all you see, is a blanket of black. You wonder if it’s just you, or if the blue is just not striking enough to the naked eye.

Taking in a deep breath, your eyes continue to travel around, browsing through your surroundings. You smile when you spot Jungwoo in the distance, showing off his ‘perfect’ re-enactment of that one move he loves from Tom & Jerry. The group of friends he’s with bursts into laughter, and despite the shy smile on Jungwoo’s lips, you know how smug he’s feeling inside, having succeeded in being a comedic relief to his friends.

Then, unexpectedly, or perhaps, with a tiny sense of hope that it would happen tonight, your eyes land on the one being that would make up the sole reason as to why you’d get up and make a beeline for the main house. Yet, you remain still in your position, eyes lingering on his silhouette for far too long. He turns his head to look at Yuta, granting you the perfect view of his side profile. Even from an angle, you can still see the sparkle in his eyes.

The sparkle, that was once solely elicited by you.

You’re still able to recall the first time you had met Mark. He was loud, but he was also shy. He giggled often, and laughed at almost every little thing Johnny would say. When he met eyes with you for the first time, you couldn’t deny the jittering feeling that spread throughout your entire body. He was charming, to say the least. And when he introduced himself to you, you were pretty much sold on how ethereal he seemed to be. At least, in your eyes, he was.

Looking at him from a distance like that, you’re only affirmed that Mark Lee is indeed, and will always be, that ethereal being in your heart. Nothing can change that.

“What are you staring at?” Jaemin’s voice interrupts, bringing you back into reality. You shake your head, reaching for the beverage in his hand, “Nothing,” you lie, again. Jaemin glances in the direction of where you were looking, his eyes immediately meeting Mark’s. Jaemin reclaims the seat beside you, jumping straight into conversation, to ensure that he engages your attention. He knows that it’ll only leave you overthinking, if you knew that Mark’s staring.

“What are you going to do over the summer?” Jaemin begins, drawing up a topic of discussion. You hum in thought, “I haven’t really thought about it,” you say, pressing your lips into a thin line. “I was thinking, laying in bed and rotting my days away,” you inform, a proud smile punctuating the end of your sentence. Jaemin chuckles at the information.

“Come on, you have to get out of the house,” he says.

“And do what? Rot under the sun?”

“I don’t know, maybe spend a peaceful reading day by the beach? You love to read, don’t you?” he suggests. Your mind goes blank at the word ‘peaceful’. Indeed, sitting by the deep blue sea, under the clear blue sky sounds extremely pleasant and tranquil. Yet, all your brain seems to be able to think about at the mention of a peaceful day, is Mark Lee.

Mark has always been your peace. On days that you were overly anxious for your final examinations, his presence alone served in every way you needed, to calm you down. On days where it felt as though the world would cripple and fall down on you, his presence alone provided you with the serenity you sought for. Mark was always like your personal, bright sky – he was always there for you, no matter where you were. You’d look up, and you’d see him smiling down at you.

Mark Lee was always like the light blue hue of the sky; he was peace, and he was serenity.

At least, he was all that, when he was yours.

Jaemin waves a hand in front of your zoned-out face. “Hello?” he calls out. You snap back into your senses once more, meeting eyes with Jaemin. “Sorry,” you murmur. Jaemin’s shoulders sink slightly when he sees how you immediately reach for your blue lagoon, sipping at it as you continue to be lost in thought.

“Hey,” Jeno greets, taking a seat beside Jaemin. “What’s going on?”

Jaemin tries to send a signal to Jeno, by gesturing towards you with his eyes. Jeno frowns, raising a brow. “What?” he mouths. “Do something,” Jaemin hisses, nudging Jeno. Jeno blinks a few times, still failing to grasp the situation. He calls for you, and you turn to face him. “Let’s go get a drink. An alcoholic one, this time,” he says, flashing his signature eye smile at you. Jaemin nods his head enthusiastically, encouraging with, “That sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it?” He places a hand on your shoulder, smile sincere as he urges for your agreement.

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “You guys go ahead,” you say.

It’s weird. It’s funny how dependent you’ve become.

In the past, you could drink as much as you want, because you knew you had someone to fall back on, someone who’d ensure your safety, someone who’d take care of you. You’ve gotten so used to having that pillar of dependability, that you’re no longer able to drink, without knowing that he’d be there for you. Now that he isn’t, drinking will never be an idea you’re able to go along with. Sounds ridiculously stupid, but no one would understand something like this, unless they’ve been put in the same situation themselves.

You stare at the bright blue, medium hue blue lagoon mocktail in your hand. If it contained alcohol, and if you were drinking it a year back, in this very spot, Mark would’ve rushed to your side, chiming at you to watch your alcohol intake, because of your low alcohol tolerance. You chuckle bitterly; it’s as though you’re able to see the reflection of Mark so clearly in the drink – somehow, someway, Mark always seems to be able to plant himself at the back of your mind.

Mark resembles what medium blue is supposed to represent – dependability.

“Mark!”

You whip your head around – damn, the reflection in the glass was an actual reflection of Mark.

Jaemin and Jeno exchange looks. “What are you doing here?” Jaemin begins, laughing almost too awkwardly.

You remain in your position, eyes on Mark. Perhaps a part of you wanted this encounter to happen. You can’t just erase a person from your heart when they walk out on you. Then again, perhaps a part of you isn’t ready for this at all.

Cold. That’s the only word you can use to describe Mark’s gaze.

Mark always looked at you with nothing but love and affection in his eyes. When you needed assurance, all you had to do was look at Mark, and he’d send endless messages of reassurance and security through his gaze. Mark’s presence used to be like a blanket of security; his eyes would resemble the dark blue of the night sky – no matter how late it might be, no matter how alone you might feel, you can always trust that he’d be there for you.

Mark was your dark blue all this while; the most trustworthy presence in your life.

Yet the same pair of eyes that once looked at you like you were the most precious thing alive, is now looking at you, like you’re no different from the grass that people trample on day and night. You swallow. Mark keeps his eyes locked on yours, as he answers Jaemin, “Saw you guys hanging over here. Thought I should stop by to say hi.”

From what point, did Mark lose his warmth?

Blue was always your favourite colour. To be under the dark blue sky, a bright, medium blue beverage in hand, with your feet dipped in the light blue pool; blue is supposed to make you feel at peace. But somehow, tonight feels unsettlingly cold. Is it because you lack the one most important blue in your life?

“Can I sit?” Mark asks. You can feel Jeno and Jaemin’s stare, so you turn towards them. With a soft smile, you reassure, “I’ll be fine. You guys go ahead, okay?” Jaemin makes sure to leave an encouraging squeeze on your arm, whispering, “I’ll run back here if you need me,” before taking his leave with Jeno. Mark takes a seat on your right. He mirrors your position, dangling his legs over the edge of the pool.

“I didn’t think you’d be here tonight,” he says, almost too gently. He isn’t wrong. Former you would’ve refused until the end, unwilling to show up at a party where you’d potentially bump into your ex. But present you was too attracted to the colour blue, that you couldn’t stay away. You miss having the sense of trust, the sense of loyalty, and the mutual understanding that required no words at all. You smirk pitifully; it’s all still here. At least, it is for you.

“I didn’t think you’d come and talk to me. I guess we’re both full of surprises tonight, huh?” you say, mustering the courage to look at him. He’s staring at you with his doe eyes, except, they don’t light up the way they used to. It serves as a reminder – the Mark before you is different from the Mark you’re used to. The Mark before you, is cold and distant. At what point did Mark become like that? It still baffles you ’till this day.

“How have you been?” he asks, showing too much concern for your comfort. You wish he had that in him when he was minutes away from walking out from your life.

“I’ve been fine,” you lie, for the nth time tonight. “What about you?”

“I’ve been busy,” he replies, looking away. “So much has changed, it’s nice to be able to come back and see all these familiar faces.”

You take a pause, mentally dissecting his words. Furrowing your brows, you question, “You moved?”

Mark looks back at you, a soft smile on his lips. “I moved,” he says. “Why?” you ask. “We both know why,” he tells you. Your brows knit together. Do you?

You shift your gaze to your feet that’s distorted because of the water. You were both young, with your own goals that you were individually working towards. While you were passionate about achieving your goals, Mark was tenfold as passionate as you were. He worked hard, day and night. It got so serious to the point that he was barely there for you. But you didn’t mind. The process of reaching one’s dream is never easy. What mattered was that the two of you were still supportive of each other. When he was present, he was still the same sweet, dependable, trustworthy Mark.

But to Mark, he was a good-for-nothing. Who cares if he had a dream, a passion, when he can’t even make his significant other happy? He knew you were struggling. He wanted to put an end to that.

At some point in the relationship, you began to feel sad. You felt lonely. Far from peace and tranquillity.

But Mark was always your blue. He was the blue that spread in your heart, that made you feel understood, that made you feel security. You understand why they say blue is wet now. At what point, did the blue spread so much, that it began soaking your heart? Too much blue results in feelings of melancholy, negativity, and sadness. At what point, did Mark become so overwhelmingly blue?

Mark left because he knew he was too much for you. He couldn’t find the right balance. You deserved someone who could.

Unknowingly, the two of you have been sitting by the pool, staring into each other’s eyes.

Was blue always this depressing of a colour?

“Did you move permanently?” you ask.

Mark nods his head. “I’ve settled down,” he says.

You’re about to probe further, but both of your attentions are captured by the sweet voice that yells, “Mark!” from a distance. You look in the direction from where the voice had come from.

“That’s my fiancé,” he informs, voice soft. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

Your lips part slightly at the revelation.You can’t even pretend that you didn’t see the way his eyes brightened up at the mere sound of her voice.

That’s right. A heart that’s gone, can never be caught again.

You force a smile. “Congratulations.”

“We’ll catch up again?” he says, already getting up.

“Sure,” you manage out, feeling the sting in your nose as the tears begin to well in your eyes.

Maybe it is time to let go of the colour blue.

[hecallsmehischild]

Recent Media Consumed

Books

The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien. About ten or fifteen years ago, I tried to read this and was totally overwhelmed by it. I kept it around, hoping maybe someday I might be able to read it. I finally have, and here are my impressions: WHY SO MANY NAMES. WHY YOU HAVE TO NAME EVERYBODY, AND EVERY TRIBE OF PEOPLES, AND EVERY INANIMATE OBJECT, AND EVERY LANDSCAPE FEATURE. WHY. *ahem* So. I have a general comprehension of the events of The Silmarillion, but I dealt with it by doing what you do for an impressionist painting. I (mentally) stepped way back and let all the names flow by me, and if there were names that were repeated a lot, then I mentally attached appropriate plot points and character details to those names so I could track with who they were and what they were doing. And, actually, I found myself able to hang on and enjoy the book for the most part. This is going to lead into a re-reading of the Lord of the Rings books, since I haven’t read those in about as long…

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. I haven’t read some of these books since pre-teen years, with one required re-read of The Two Towers in high school (i.e. it’s been many an age since I’ve read these and my memory of the stories has been far more heavily influenced by the movies). In re-reading the first book, I was struck by the extreme tone shift for the Elves and Dwarves. Elves seem much closer to happy, mischievous fairies than these ethereal, solemn pillars of elegance and grace the movies show them to be. And Dwarves are far more bumbling and craftsmanlike than the movies show. Aside from that, The Hobbit was a pretty solid adaptation from the book, and the book also reminded me that this story was the first time I experienced “NO, MAIN CHARACTERS DON’T DIE, HOW DARE YOU,” and probably was the first book to make me cry. I must have been 8 or 10 years old. I FORGOT HOW MUCH THIS STORY INFLUENCED ME.

A Conflict of Visions by Thomas Sowell. I have a longer-than-usual list of things to say about this book. First is that it was just that level of difficult that I was struggling to understand while reading it (on Audible), but I think I got it. Sowell has several base concepts that I see repeated throughout his books, though he does like to dedicate whole books to specific aspects of the same topic. He is pretty damn thorough that way. So, for example, I would put this book in the middle of a three-book spectrum of similar concepts: Intellectuals and Society (most concrete and easiest to read), A Conflict of Visions (next-level abstraction, a little difficult to read), Knowledge and Decisions (root abstract concept, very difficult, I have not been able to get past chapter 2). The second thing I have to say is about a couple interesting concepts it proposes. Its whole point is to help readers understand the roots of two ways of seeing the world that come into severe conflict politically, and he calls them by their root titles: the constrained and the unconstrained visions. He traces the path of each back through the intellectuals that most spoke of them (tending to contrast Adam Smith with William Godwin and Condorcet). Though he leans heavily toward the constrained vision (based on reading his other works) he does his best to make this book an academic study of both, with both of the visions' strengths and flaws and reasoning and internal consistencies fairly laid out. In doing so, he helped me understand a few things that make this situation really difficult for people on opposing sides to communicate. One of them is that root words and concepts literally mean different things to different people. I had some vague notion of this before, but he laid out three examples in detail: Equality, Power, and Justice. It was kind of astounding to see just how differently these three words can be defined. It makes me think that arguing about any specific issues rooted in these concepts is fruitless until first an understanding has been reached on terms, because otherwise two parties are endlessly talking past each other. Another really interesting idea he brought up is the existence of “hybrid visions” and he named both Marxism and Fascism as hybrid visions. This was especially fascinating to me because I have seen the accusation of “Nazi” flung around ad nauseam and I wondered how it was that both sides were able to fling it at each other so readily. Well, it’s because Fascism is actually a hybrid vision, so both sides have a grain of truth but miss the whole on that particular point. In any case, this was a little difficult to read but had some fascinating information. For people who are wondering what on earth this gap is between political visions, how on earth to bridge the gap, or why the gap even exists in the first place, this is a really informative piece.

Movies

The Hobbit & Fellowship trilogies (movies). I mean, it’s definitely not my first watch, not even my second. But I went through it with Sergey this time and that means the run-time is double because we pause to talk and discuss details. This watch came about partly due to Sergey’s contention that Gandalf’s reputation far outstrips his actual powers, so we ended up noting down every instance of Gandalf’s power to see if that was true. Conclusion: Gandalf is actually a decently powerful wizard, but tends to use the truly kickass powers in less-than-dire circumstances. That aside, this movie series was always a favorite for me. I rated The Hobbit trilogy lower the first time I saw it but, frankly, all together the six movies are fantastic and a great way to sink deep into lore-heavy fantasy for a while. And I’m catching way more easter-egg type details after having read the Silmarillion so it’s even more enjoyable. (finally, after about a week of binge-watching) I forgot how much this story impacted me. I forgot how wrenchingly bittersweet the ending is. I forgot how much of a mark that reading and watching this story left on my writing.

Upside-Down Magic. Effects were good. Actors were clearly having fun and enjoying everything. Story didn’t make enough sense for my taste, but it was a decent way to kill flight time.

Wish Dragon. So, yes, it’s basically an Aladdin rewrite, but it’s genuinely a cheesy good fluff fest that made me grin a whole lot.

Plays

Esther (Sight and Sound Theatres). < background info > This is my third time to this theatre. There are only two of these in existence and they only run productions of stories out of the Bible. The first time I went I saw a production of Noah, the second time I saw a production of Jesus. My middle sister has moved all the way out to Lancaster, PA in hopes of working at this theatre. My husband and I came out to visit her. < /background info > So. Esther. They really pulled out all the stops on the costumes and set. I mean, REALLY pulled out all the stops. And the three-quarters wrap-around stage is used to great effect. I tend to have a general problem of not understanding all the words in the songs, but I understood enough. I highly recommend sitting close to the front for immersive experiences. This theatre puts on incredible productions and if you ever, ever, EVER have the opportunity to go, take it. Even if you think it's nothing but a bunch of fairy tales, STILL GO. I doubt you'll ever see a fairy tale produced on another stage with equal dedication to immersion.

Shows

The Mandalorian (first two seasons). Well. This was pretty thoroughly enjoyable. It felt very Star-Wars, and I’d kind of given up after recent movies. Felt like it slipped into some preaching toward the end? Not sure, I could be overly sensitive about it, but I enjoyed this a lot (though I did need to turn to my housemate and ask where the flip in the timeline we were because I did NOT realize that the little green kid IS NOT ACTUALLY Yoda).

Games

Portal & Portal 2. Portal is probably the first video game I ever tried to play, back when I had no idea what I was doing. Back then, I attempted to play it on my not-for-gaming Mac laptop. Using my trackpad. Once the jumping-for-extra-velocity mechanic came into play, I just about lost my mind trying to do this with a trackpad and gave up. Later I returned to the game and played it with my then-boyfriend on a proper gaming computer. Now, after having played several games and gotten better at "reading the language" of video games, I decided I wanted to see if I could beat the Portal games by myself. Guess what. I BEAT 'EM. Yes, I remembered most of the puzzles in Portal so that's a little bit of a cheat, but I'd say a good 2/3 of Portal 2 was new puzzles to me. It is crazy how proud I feel of myself that I could beat Portal 2, especially. Learning how to play video games at this age has really knocked down the lie, "You can't learn anything." Though I still suck at platformers and games that require precision. Since I find those types frustrating, I probably won't be playing many. Games are about enjoyment, so I'll push myself a little, but not to the point where I can't stand what I'm playing.

The Observer. I like the concept and the art but I don't think I could keep trying to play this game. It's really depressing. My in-game family members all died of illness or accident or committed suicide. I also kept getting executed by the state. In order to keep us all alive I'd have to do pretty terrible things that I have a hard enough time contemplating even in a fictional setting.

Baba Is You. Fun and interesting concept, but I got stuck pretty early on. Don't think I want to push as hard on this one.

[redqueen-hypothesis]

overdose ➳ lucien (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x lucien xu (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 3401

➳ GENRE: angst, questionable good ending

➳ SYNOPSIS: contains spoilers from chapter 25, angst, angst and more angst!

He’s shaking.

Trembling, his fingers reach out for a tiny glass bottle. He misses the first time, grabs it on the second, drawing it towards him and inserting a syringe into it, filling it with clear, crystal liquid.

His hands twitch involuntarily, causing the level of liquid in the syringe to shoot up far past a normal dose, but he doesn’t care about that right now. Releasing the remains of the empty bottle, the glass falls to the ground and shatters - joining the other broken shards on the ground in iridescent smithereens.

He collapses on the bed in a mess of clammy skin and cold sweat, yanking up one sleeve to reveal his forearm. The silence is deafening in his ears, almost unbearably so. He can’t stand another second of it.

This empty world, this aching loneliness.

The needle breaks skin, silver sinking into his arm. The press of the syringe feels almost cathartic, a release from the torturous longing he’s had to suffer since that day.

Tossing the emptied syringe to the side, he allows himself to lie back on the bed, exhausted. His heartbeat slows, monochrome world before his eyes swimming in shades of black and grey. Disembodied echoes of laughter, that of a man and woman, tug at him from the recesses of his mind - an old memory wrapping its claws around his throat.

He closes his eyes, abandoning himself at the edge of insanity, and lets himself fall.

He’ll see you soon enough.

>>>

You’re dressed in white.

A summer dress of lace, hem flirting with your knees, the vision of innocence and purity even in the darkness of his room. Untainted by the ugliness of the world, bold in kindness and enduring in your own right. Lucien’s always admired that about you, perhaps more than he should.

His ruin has been brought about by his own hands. He destroyed himself the very moment he fell for you.

You’re crouched beside him, barefoot on glass shards scattered across his bedroom floor, and yet you do not bleed nor cry out in pain. Instead, your expression is serene, a mere white canvas. His eyes drink in the sight of your face like a man parched from wandering deserts without a drop of water, from the tilt of your mouth to the softness in your eyes.

He’s missed you so much. He misses you so painfully that it’s difficult to breathe. There’s a gaping chasm in his chest that just refuses to be filled no matter what he pours into it, leaving him an empty, hollow shell of a man.

You had once asked him this question, standing on opposite ends of a press room, if the advancement of the world was worth the death of someone precious to him. At that moment, he hadn’t replied your question.

But now, he knows the answer.

He wouldn’t. Not even if it cost him the entire world.

And yet you, nothing but a silly, weak fool who knew almost nothing about EVOLs and the workings of Black Swan, had decided to sacrifice yourself instead. He can’t bear to think about how afraid you must have felt those very seconds before death, and worse, he wasn’t there for you when you’d needed him the most.

“I’m sorry.” The words fall from his mouth before he can stop them, spilling out of his throat and made ugly with grief. Guilt claws at the inside of his chest, an unrestrained, rabid beast, shredding his lungs with white hot knives and rendering him unable to breathe. A single tear streaks down his cheek, a burning trail against his skin. “I’m so sorry.”

The phantom of you only smiles in response, eyes empty and devoid of warmth.

Dead people can’t forgive the living.

“I trusted you.” Your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper, but he catches every single word. They lodge in his chest, more painful that any physical wound. “I trusted you and you betrayed me.”

I didn’t mean to, he wants to scream, but the words won’t leave his mouth. I didn’t want to, I wanted to save you, no matter the cost. I was ready to throw everything away, if only-

“If you want to see me again, then die.” Your eyes are blank, indifferent. Perhaps that hurts more than the burning anger of your hatred would, because it reminds Lucien that this isn’t really you. “Die and join me in hell. It’s the least you deserve, Ares.”

With every word you say, it gets harder to breathe. Lucien feels like he’s suffocating, gasping for breath. But even worse is when you get to your feet, still with that chillingly emotionless smile on your face, turning around to leave. “Stop calling me back to you when I’m already dead. I don’t want to see your face ever again.”

No. Don’t go.

“Please, don’t leave.” Lucien gasps breathlessly, stumbling out of the bed. He doesn’t feel the pain of the glass shards digging into the soles of his feet, only the hot blood that spills out from punctured skin. His fingers grasp your wrist, trying to stop you from departing.

You can’t go. Not now. Not ever.

You turn around slowly to meet his eyes, and Lucien’s heart plummets into the pit of his stomach.

Blood spills from the side of your mouth, eyes empty and glazed over. Your blood, black in his sight, falls onto above your heart in a chilling visual - the very place where you’d been stabbed. The stain spreads before his very eyes, a black, twisting butterfly undergoing metamorphosis, the colour of your dress turning midnight within seconds until the last hints of white vanishes from his sight.

His heart stops in his chest. It is the Black Queen smiles back at him now, eyes alight with maniacal delight. Her laughter is high and cold.

“This is what you wanted all along, wasn’t it, Ares? The evolution of mankind you wanted so much... isn’t that your greatest desire?”

“No!” Lucien shouts, voice cracking, releasing her hand as if burned. This isn’t what he wants. But it’s too late now, and she smiles back at him with bloodied lips. She wears your face, but the cruelness in her eyes sets the two of you apart - the moon and the sun, night and day. “I never wanted her to die. Never!”

The Black Queen coos, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “I thought you of all people should know this, Ares. I’m disappointed. In your own words, sacrifice a few to save many, isn’t that right?” Her voice is tender, but the hands comes up to touch cup Lucien’s cheek are vicious, sharp nails digging into his skin. “You should be pleased by this.”

Lucien rips her hand from his face in fury, his fingers locking around her throat. Stop talking, stop speaking, just stop- Black blood drips down onto his wrist, leaving inky trails along his forearm. The Black Queen only laughs, tilting her head to the side as if regarding some interesting specimen before her.

“You won’t be able to do it.” Each word is poison sprouting in his chest. “I’m still her.”

Lucien’s breath comes out in a ragged cry, a choked scream ripping itself from his chest. His fingers tighten around her delicate neck, crushing her once and for all. “You can never be her. You will never be her.”

Her smile is triumphant. “And that’s why you will never see her again.”

Before his eyes, the Black Queen shatters into a million pieces, falling to the ground in a shower of black shards. The pieces of her scatter across the wooden floors, joining the rest of the broken glass on the ground, leaving nothing but the echo of her cruel laugh in his ears.

Yet, Lucien feels no joy nor satisfaction at the sight. Chest feeling just as vacant as before, he simply stumbles back to the bed, collapsing onto it and burying his face in his hands.

Raw screams tear from his throat, tears and blood mingling on his face and hands. His throat is raw with agony, and yet he can’t seem to stop - there’s so much pain in his chest that he feels like he’ll shatter if he tries to keep it in.

He doesn’t stop until he’s exhausted himself completely, physically and emotionally. In the end, dreamless sleep finally takes mercy on him and drags him under.

He wonders if he’ll remember any of this when he wakes up.

>>>

The sound of his apartment door unlocking rouses Lucien from his slumber.

An intruder, he thinks dazedly, but can’t really bring himself to care. He lies still, unmoving on the bed, thoughts drifting back to the Black Queen that had appeared in his dreams.

You will never see her again.

A fear, so intense, creeps through him like ice cold water trickling through his veins. What if he won’t even be able to see you, even in his dreams? Frantic, he bolts upright, desperately scrambling for the syringe he’d left on the sweat soaked mattress - and stills.

There’s someone standing in the doorway. His breath catches in the back of his throat when he realises who it is.

It’s you.

The moonlight washes over your form, bathing you in an almost ethereal glow. Lucien doesn’t dare to breathe, or even blink, afraid that your mirage will disappear with even the slightest of disturbance. Your eyes are wide with shock, mouth slightly parted as you look at him - that’s a new expression he’s never seen before in his dreams.

He must not have woken up from the previous hallucination, his internal subconscious reasons. It must have been the increased dosage, his exhaustion, something. His hands tremble, clenching into fists at his sides. Your name leaves his lips in a hushed whisper.

“You’re here. You’re not gone.” His voice is hoarse, throat burning.

At his words, you finally move, taking a tentative step forward. Your usual dress is streaked with dirt, slightly frayed at the edges. “Yes... I used the spare key to get in, I hope you don’t mind. I know we parted on bad terms but... I just thought I should see you.”

You’re a figment of his imagination, and yet you’re apologizing for entering his house without telling him? His mind is really getting better at constructing nightmares in the form of your likeness to torture him with, he laughs deprecatingly. It’s a bittersweet feeling.

Just a few steps, but forever out of reach.

“You look terrible.” You observe aloud, taking a step closer. Your pink lips are pressed together in concern, and he wants to run his finger over them, feel their softness, but he knows he’ll only find emptiness. “Lucien... are you alright?”

At your words, Lucien can’t help the chuckle that starts deep in his chest, before it rising to his throat and spills out of his mouth. His laughter shakes his chest, before it dissolves into painful coughs. “Lucien!”

“I’m not alright.” He answers honestly, when the hacking dies down. His eyes burn with it, and your own widen at the sight of it, as if it’s your first time witnessing him break down in front of you. “I haven’t been since the day you died.”

He hears your breath hitch in your throat, the shiny sheen of your own eyes filling with tears. So much like you, his chest tightens painfully at the thought. “I thought... I thought you only cared about me because of the Queen gene. Because of Black Swan.”

The naked hurt in your eyes seizes him by the throat, and instantly he’s desperate to deny this. He needs to make sure the ghost of you knows what he couldn’t tell you when you were still alive. “Never. I loved you, I still love you. I-” Pain spikes through his throat, still raw from screaming and he gasps a ragged breath, hand instinctively raising to his neck.

“Lucien, please stop talking, I’ll-” Your hurry to him, concern written all over your face before you come to a halt, expression a mixture of horror and shock as you glance down at the myriad of shattered glass at your feet. “What’s all this doing on the floor?”

Now that Lucien looks down, he can see the floor stained with red, the same colour tracked over the mattress. You must see it as well, because your lips part on a gasp, brows furrowing as you make the connection. “You’re hurt!”

A fitting punishment for what I did to you, he thinks. But then, instead of mocking him for his pain or reminding him of how he’d betrayed you, you swipe the tears from your eyes fiercely, a soft sniff escaping you. “Wait here, I’ll get a broom and sweep this up-”

You’re going to leave.

“Don’t go!” The shout escapes him in a desperate cry, and you flinch at the sheer volume of his words. Seeing the hesitation on your face, he makes to rise from the bed, to stand closer to you, but you hold a hand up, looking visibly distressed and worried.

“Don’t move another inch! There’s glass all over the floor and you’re hurt.” Your voice is laced with near tangible pain, as if his afflictions are your own. “What happened? Why are there pill bottles all over the floor?” Bending down, you touch a label on the shattered remains of a glass bottle, little white pills spilled across the wooden floorboards. “Hallu... hallucinogens!?”

He doesn’t flinch at the accusing tone in your voice, leaning back against the wall, limbs suddenly leaden, exhausted. His eyes remain fixed on you, unwilling to tear themselves away even for a second. “Please... stay.” His voice breaks at the end, hoarse with emotion. “I don’t know when it’ll wear off, so please... just stay a little longer.”

The shock on your face melts into realization, before it turns into something resembling fury. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so angry before, tears glistening at the corners of your eyes. “You mean, you’ve been taking hallucinogens this entire time to see me again? From the time I’ve been dead, all the way until now?”

“I couldn’t bear not seeing you again.” Lucien breathes, a shaky exhale escaping his mouth. The corners of his lips lift in a sad, self deprecating smile. “I’m sorry I’m unable to let you rest in peace because of my own selfish desires.”

If you want to see me again, then die. Join me in hell, Ares.

A long moment of silence stretches between the two of you, filled by nothing but moonlight and shadows. Lucien shivers, cold sweat still beading on the back of his neck and wonders for a second if he’s trembling so feverishly from the increased dosage. Perhaps he really might join you in death soon. The thought doesn’t sound so bad to him.

“Do you really still think I’m a hallucination?”

His head snaps up to stare at you in shock, an emotion that he doesn’t quite dare to name nearly sprouting in his chest. Your eyes are fierce with emotion as you stare back at him, and he almost, almost, lets himself hope that the impossible could have happened somehow, that you’re alive-

And yet he knows, deep in his chest, that you aren’t. The worst nightmares don’t begin by taking you from him, they lull him into a false sense of security and make him hope that it all could have been a bad dream - until the world collapses and burns into nothing but fire and ash. “You’re going to disappear the moment I close my eyes, just like every other time. So please, don’t-”

Your gaze is unwavering, a determined hand extended to him. “Touch me. Touch me and see if I’m real or not.”

Black blood and a cruel laugh flash in the back of his mind. The sight of your face shattering into glass replays over and over, your neck crumbling in his grip, the light dying out in your eyes.

You’ll never see her again.

“Don’t.” His voice is more like a moan of a wounded animal, a pathetic, begging thing. He buries his face in his hands, unable to look you in the eye. “I can’t want to watch you fall apart again.”

“I won’t.” Your promise hangs in the air between the two of you. There’s no lie in your voice. “I promise, Lucien. I’m real, I’m fine, I’m alive. Touch me.”

He doesn’t want to. He’s scared.

“Damn it, Lucien-” There’s the sound of glass crunching under feet, and then his mattress dips under an additional weight. Before he can fully comprehend what this means, a pair of arms suddenly wrap around him, pulling him into the embrace of a small, soft body.

Lucien can’t remember how to breathe. It’s like time has ceased to flow, and nothing is real except for the warmth that emanates from the body pressed to his. A choked sob struggles in his throat, trying to wrench its way free, trapped in place by disbelief.

“I’m real.” You repeat, fingers lacing with his tightly. He grips them hard, recalling the shape and feel of them in his - they fit together perfectly, key in lock, just like he remembers. “You’re real.” He says, in a daze.

“Mmmhmm. Your other hand reaches up to brush his hair out of his eyes, and he finds his eyes tracing your features hungrily, desperate to commit every part of you to memory. “You’re really terrible at taking care of yourself when I’m not there, you silly man.”

That’s when he knows it’s really you.

He opens his mouth to laugh, to speak, to say something - it leaves him in the form of a choked sob. More and more start to spill from his mouth, inconsolable. He’s shaking from the force of them, fingers clinging to the fabric of your dress. There’s so much he wants to tell you, but he can’t find the words.

I’m sorry, he wants to say. Over and over again, until you can forgive him. Nothing is more precious than this tiny body in his arms.

“I wanted you to come back and tell me off.” Lucien finally croaks, voice a broken whisper, still staring. He can’t tear his eyes away, too afraid to even blink. Your smile is sad, hurting for him as you kiss the tears from his eyelashes - so tender that his heart feels like it’s ripping itself in half. “I... I-”

Suddenly, pain spikes through his head and he groans, slumping against your body. His body is breaking out in feverish chills, temperature running dangerously hot. “Lucien! What’s wrong?”

“O-overdose...” He manages, gritting his teeth against the agony - his vision swims before his eyes and it takes all his effort not to pass out on the spot. “It’s just too much in my body, that’s all. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Stupid scientist, what’s the use of that brain if you can’t even take care of yourself-” You mutter under your breath, hushed with anxiety as your hands grip his shoulders to support his weight. “Lie down, get some rest. I’ll go get you some water and a towel.”

“No!” Lucien clutches you to him the second he hears those words - he’s terrified that you’ll vanish like a good dream the second he wakes up. “Don’t go, please-”

It’s pathetic to beg like this, stripped of any sense of pride and self dignity, heart bared in an ugly, gaping hole in his chest - and he doesn’t care.

Your face paints over with pained tenderness before you finally nod, wrapping your arms around him once more and tucking his face into the crook of your neck. There, he can feel the flutter of your pulse against his lips - strong and steady, a sure sign of life.

“You’re alive.” Lucien repeats again, just to make sure. Your fingers tangle in his hair, stroking over his back. He shudders at your touch and buries his face tighter against your neck.

“Alive.” You confirm. Your breath is warm against the shell of his ear. “Go to sleep, now.”

Finally, he allows exhaustion to take him, eyes slipping shut as darkness replaces his vision. The last thing he’s aware of is the warmth that envelopes him, too acute to be false, too good to be real.

Your promise echoes in the last vestiges of his consciousness.

I’ll be here when you wake up.

[sukiglycerin]

cherry-blossomed lookalike || yo shindou, izuku midoriya.

* pairing: yo shindou x reader x izuku midoriya (gender neutral!)

* genre: angst, fluff (for deku), canonverse

* words: 1,275

* warnings: high school!au, mentions of dead bodies/corpses & blood for a metaphor (google “under the cherry blossoms” by motojirou kaiji) but nothing graphic at all, i’m breaking shindou’s heart, i’m sorry bby ily

* a/n: so this is based off of two pieces of media: “lookalike” by conan gray and “under the cherry blossoms” by motojirou kaiji. i've been trying to maintain weekly posts! so, i hope you like this.

yo shindou was not the protagonist. no matter how he tried to convince himself he was, he knew he would never be. no matter how he put himself up or how many people he surrounded himself with, he was not the protagonist.

there was a gentle summer breeze as the sun fell away and warm hues filled the sky. he can vividly remember the sensation of grass tickling his palm as he sat next to you on a hill overlooking the city. it was so simple then; undefined by courses or schools. he can remember how the wind dragged through his hair, how he smiled at the sinking sun and hoped you didn't see it. he can remember how much it felt like his moment in his own coming-of-age movie; with the way you glowed under the sunset - you, his first love. he can remember what it felt like to feel important. he can remember so many memories on that hill, but none were quite like that one.

he can remember how when you met eyes, in that split second, he knew that was his movie moment. he can remember the taste of your lips against his, your chapstick sweetly lingering on his lips. he can remember the small, timid smile on your face as you touched your lips in wonder; he can remember feeling the same.

this was not his coming-of-age movie, and he was not the protagonist.

that fall he was accepted into ketsubutsu academy, and he can remember how close your warmth was as you hugged him and bid him farewell. how you resolved to take the exam when the time came, just for him. 

oh god, did you make him feel important. you were his courage whenever he felt small, his dopamine when he felt blue. it was because of you that he could walk into the classroom of kids and smile. it was because of you that he could greet the students happily, without a worry of when he'd end up inevitably disappointing them with his true personality.

(of course, it's not like you really knew what laid behind that smile. he always tried to hide it. you didn't deserve to see such an ugly side of him, and he never wanted to disappoint you.)

he can remember your shy, sweet smile as he asked you on a date, his very first, the summer break previous. because you were you, and he'd fallen in love sometime in the many years he'd known you. because you were you, with your enthusiastic words and welcoming scent of linen and mint. 

but now here he was, the summer break of his first year at high school. everything was so radically different from the summer break of his final year of middle school, but you were still the same. he still loved you the same, still got the same butterflies in his chest when he saw you. because you were the constant in his ever-changing life, the person he could depend on. how foolish he was to allow himself to relax, believe you were the one. because he thought maybe, just maybe, you'd be there for him, to stay.

you became his confidence. he could approach people because of you and he could befriend them.

you were the pillar in his psyche. you were the reason he could lead so fearlessly in his hero training, the reason he let his strategies roll off his tongue no matter how sly his classmates said they were. 

maybe it was a naive thing to do. no, he knew it was a naive thing to do. he knew it was stupid of him to rely such a sensitive part of himself on such a fragile thing; yet he'd done so, allowed himself to be weak, and get stabbed in the heart instead. he couldn't let this happen again.

because somehow, he let you drift away from him. somehow, he could predict all of his enemies' strategies but not the meanings behind your actions in front of him. 

after he'd obtained his provisional license, he became busier. maybe it was the 'hero' mindset driving him or the school responsibilities that came after the exam, but he saw you less and less. rather, thinking back on it now, maybe his responsibilities weren't the only thing that kept you apart from him.

in that time, you met izuku midoriya. midoriya, who was in your year, was a bright-eyed student who attended the prestigious ua academy. he could vomit.

what was it that that kid had that he didn't? he was innocent, naive, and emotional. and now, that kid had you. you were no longer shindou's. you, who'd built up shindou for so long; you, a pillar that came crashing down. there was nothing he could do.

he remembers when he first met you. you were maybe five, walking under cherry blossoms that covered the sidewalks like snow. you'd stared at the blossoms in awe, the innocent shine in your eyes similar to the purity of the blossoms' hue. untainted, and beautiful.

there's a novel that says dead bodies are buried under cherry blossoms, that the blood is how the flowers gain their ethereal pink hue; now shindou can believe it. 

as petals fall on your and your date's green hair, he can swear they're a shade darker; he can swear that buried under the cherry blossom tree, his old, weak self lies there. and he swears he'll never allow the same thing to happen again.

love is a weakness, the blood dripping from the sakuras. love weakens.

because shindou can swear that kid looks like him; he can swear, when you look in the kid's eyes you see him instead. he swears the radiant smile you have today is for him; he swears he's still in your life though he can't remember the last time you said his name.

oh god, he swears you still love him. it's in the way you brush past him in the halls. you still love him; that kid resembles him so closely, there isn't a way you don't love him anymore. 

he hears you in the halls going on about love, but he knows that it's not. he knows that you still love him, he swears; that as the cherry blossoms fall your eyes see the kid as him.

because in your head, you see him instead; that kid looks a lot like he did then. he can't be replaced, and that kid is only a lookalike.

izuku midoriya was a lookalike to replace shindou, nothing else. your relationship meant nothing. because the kid's just a lookalike, shindou thinks as he watches your eyes sparkle in the light. 

he watches you as you radiate that contagious joy; as you laugh a twinkling melody that's music to his ears. he can almost pretend that he's there, rather than midoriya. he can almost pretend that your glow is for him, that the heart that's captivated him is his. almost. in the same way, he can almost convince himself that midoriya was just a replacement for him. he can almost fit the pieces of two different puzzles together; if only the pieces of his heart could be put together.

he watches as a blossom falls into his hand. spring had followed him once again. but now, the flower path he walks is suddenly much different. lined in pink petals, he can only see the dead bodies that lie beneath. when he drops the petal and looks up, you're gone, and so is the wonder of cherry blossoms lining the pavement.

maybe it was time he found a lookalike.

[fallinnflower]

pretty baby

jeonghan x reader (established relationship, non-idol!au)

a/n: this fic is a part of the intimacy anthology project. 

warnings: mentions of insecurity, jealousy, petty coworkers with snide remarks, and implied mature content

Being with someone like Yoon Jeonghan wasn't easy. His ethereally good looks could make it impossible to feel like you were up to his standards — or, rather, the standards imposed upon you by being with someone as beautiful as him. Pretty people were supposed to be with other pretty people, right? 

Although nobody ever said anything explicitly, there were always the subtle jabs, the little comments meant to stick like thorns in your side — things you tried to ignore but piled up over time. Airing out your dirty laundry was never your strong suit, and so you just pushed it all further into a darkened corner, hoping one day it would just disappear. 

Of course, things don't just vanish into thin air, not even emotions. In fact, if anything, they halve like cells and reproduce, over and over and over until the mole hill is a mountain you can't even attempt to move. 

Usually, you can convince yourself things are fine, you can get over your insecurities and issues on your own. 

And then, there are the days where everything just feels, well, yucky. When no amount of your favorite things can keep a smile on your face, and faking one feels like far too much work. Those days that creep up on you and bury you under their weight. 

It's the end of a week that's felt incredibly long, with seemingly unending gray skies and a workload that just keeps piling up so that it feels like it won't ever get done. 

The day started with the zipper on your favorite pair of jeans busting, leaving you scrambling to get ready in time for work. Throughout the day you feel sluggish and yet hyper-aware of every little flaw about you — the frizz of your hair, the discoloration on your face, everything. And you can't shake the feeling that other people are noticing it, too, picking you apart behind your back. 

Your worst fears come to life around lunchtime, when one of your coworkers rolls her desk chair over to your side. 

“Y/N, who’s this guy on your Instagram? He’s stunning.” Her motive is instantly clear to you, and there’s a bitter taste in your mouth as you force yourself to smile politely at her.

“Ah, that’s my boyfriend, Jeonghan.” You swear you see anger flash in her eyes for a second before she goes back to looking at your post. She surveys the photos you’d posted of Jeonghan on your date this past weekend with a mixture of jealousy and clear admiration for your boyfriend’s good looks. On a good day, you might feel yourself swelling with pride at someone noticing his ethereally good looks — hell, you’d probably be boasting — but today her words only make you feel smaller. 

A couple of your coworkers, returning from the break room with their lunches and fresh coffees in hand, stop by your desk to see what the fuss is about, peering over the shoulders of your coworker in her rolling chair. Even though it’s your desk, you somehow feel like an intruder as your three officemates gather in your space. One of them lifts their gaze from the phone, eyes slightly narrowed and gaze sharp as they very obviously give you a once-over. You feel as though you’re frozen solid beneath their gaze, your grip on the pen in your hand tightening like your throat. The third coworker doesn’t even bother to look up at you,

“Wow, I had no idea your boyfriend was so attractive, Y/N. How’d you get so lucky, hm?” The one with the sharp gaze cocks their head to the side, leaning their weight back onto one foot, hip jutting out sharply into your space.

“Yeah, Y/N, how did you get so lucky?” 

You can feel your face heating up, and wonder if you’ve misheard them — did they mean to put the emphasis on you? You lick your lips nervously and let out a laugh, smoothing down your hair self-consciously. Suddenly, you can’t bear to look at them anymore, and so you shrug and turn back to your paperwork.

“I’m not sure,” you say, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “I suppose it’s just that — luck.” You’re aware of the three pairs of eyes on you, but you don’t dare look up, even as you hear one of them huff slightly in annoyance at your answer.

“Maybe you should share some of that luck with the rest of us, then,” someone laughs, and you feel the sharpness in each of their words. On any other day, you’d probably just square your shoulders and joke right back — you’re accustomed to the petty games some of your coworkers enjoy playing, having worked here long enough — but today you feel as though your skin is no thicker than a rubber balloon, and their barbed words have you deflating rapidly.

“Maybe,” you reply, far too quietly. You don’t bother looking up at them, forcing yourself to keep filling in the blanks on your paperwork, trying to keep the shaking of your hand from being noticeable. Eventually, probably tired of your meek responses, the trio finally leaves; as you hear the chair finally rolling away, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Your phone lights up with a reminder that you should take your lunch break, and with it comes Jeonghan’s smiling face on your lockscreen. His hair slightly ruffled by the wind, his eyes curved into happy half moons as he holds his coffee in one hand and your own hand in the other, looking back at you as you walked down the path framed with cherry blossoms. His hair had been blond then, and the pinks and whites behind him made him seem all the more ethereal. 

You stare at the screen until the notification disappears, plunging the image into blackness, and bite down hard onto your bottom lip. Your words from earlier echo in your ears, leaving your heart feeling heavier by the second.

I suppose it’s just that — luck. 

After all, why else would someone as beautiful as Jeonghan want to be with someone as plain and difficult as you?

You can’t find another reason, much less so when you spend far too long standing in front of the sink rubbing the soap on your hands as you stare into your own face in the mirror. You don’t think you’ve ever hated the thought of being lucky more in your life.

By the time you drag yourself home, you're quite aware that you've had far better days. You feel miserable, your head stuck up in those rain clouds overhead, trudging up the stairs and into your apartment. 

You're so caught up in your own downward spiral that you hardly notice the second pair of shoes by the door, only fully realizing Jeonghan is home when you hear the sound of sizzling from the kitchen. 

"Baby?" Jeonghan calls, his delicate voice carrying over the sound of his cooking straight to you. You feel like your tongue is lead in your mouth as you hang your raincoat on the coat rack by the door,

"Hey."

There must be something in the tone of your voice, despite how hard you try to hide it, that alerts Jeonghan to a change in your mood, because you find him peering out of the kitchen to catch the first sight of you he can. His brows are puckered in concern, and somehow seeing him — hair out of place, standing in a hot kitchen and still looking impeccable — makes you feel like you're going to cry. You tighten your jaw, trying to will the tears to go back where they came from, but before you can Jeonghan has turned off the burner. 

"What's wrong?" He walks out of the kitchen to meet you in the hallway, wrapping you tenderly in his embrace; softly, as though you're delicate, breakable. You wonder if that's how you look to him now. 

You shake your head, looking down. 

"Nothing," you say, snaking your arms up around his shoulders. For a moment, you allow yourself to melt into his arms, but it only causes your chest to tighten further. As you feel the tears building you pull away from Jeonghan, letting out a watery chuckle. 

"Just— work, you know?" Jeonghan lets you step away, but not far from him. His hands continue to seek you out, one ghosting across your forehead and down the side of your face to brush any stray hairs away that may be hiding your expression from him. It isn’t fully a lie, but you know that he can read you like a book, and lying while looking into his eyes is a skill you don’t think you’ll e

"Are you sure?" The softness of his tone makes the tears well up in your eyes, and Jeonghan puts an arm around your waist. He leads you to the couch, sitting you down  and grabbing the box of tissues from the coffee table just in time for the waterworks. 

To his credit, he does just let you cry it out for a bit, which you hadn't quite realized you needed so badly. He opens his arms to you, offering you his shoulder to quite literally cry on until you finally feel capable of talking. 

"What's been going on outside of work?" He asks delicately, rubbing comforting circles into your back. You avert your gaze with a sniffle, thinking on the knot of emotions currently residing in your stomach. It suddenly feels impossible to even get to the root of it all, but you clear your throaty and try. 

"I just feel down." He hums in response, his hand still on your back. 

"What about?"

There's a long pause during which you try to think of how to say what exactly is at the core of what's wrong. In the end, all you can manage is a feeble,

"Myself."

Jeonghan seems almost equally as upset as you, but far more confused than he was when you first came home. 

"Why do you feel bad about yourself? Did someone say something? Was it someone at work?" You shake your head rapidly, but it only takes Jeonghan giving you a particularly searching look to finally get you to spit out what's really on your mind. You sigh,

“I mean, not directly, but… they saw my latest Instagram post and they were asking all these questions about you, and us…” He tilts his head to the side, brows puckered in confusion.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“God, Jeonghan— it's because you're pretty, okay? More than pretty, honestly, I can't believe a person can look like you, and— and you're with me, of all people, and sometimes I just don’t know why— a-and it's just been a terrible week”— You force yourself to take a deep breath, blinking rapidly to try and force the tears away. Jeonghan gently reaches for you, pushing your hair away from your face and tipping your chin up to look into your eyes. 

"Ah," Jeonghan says, sighs, and you feel the pain in his eyes when they meet yours, as he realizes you're being honest. 

"What do I say to make this better...? I love you so much." As he gently murmurs his own thoughts aloud, he swipes the pads of his thumbs beneath your eyes, catching the tears preemptively. Eventually, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, causing your eyes to flutter shut. 

"My pretty baby," he says. "The prettiest in the world. Do you know what I love about you?"

You shake your head, feeling physically incapable of speaking. Jeonghan only smiles, bringing one of your hands up to his lips. 

"I love your hands"— kiss.

"And your arms, your shoulders, your neck," he says, pressing a kiss to each part of your body he mentions, ghosting his lips against your skin. You can't help but giggle when he kisses a slightly ticklish spot on your cheek, and Jeonghan immediately breaks out into a broad grin. 

"I love your smile, and your nose — I love your whole face"— before you can react Jeonghan has taken your face in his hands and begun peppering your skin with kisses, leaving you feeling flushed and giddy. He presses one final, lingering kiss to your lips before surveying you with heavy-lidded eyes. 

"Should I continue?" Jeonghan asks, and you let out another laugh as you shake your head. 

"No, no, I feel much better now."

"Mm, good," he says, smoothing down your hair with a smile. "Now how about I run a nice hot bath for you, and once we've worked up an appetite I can finish dinner, hm?" You feel your face warming up again at the mischievous glimmer in his eye, and you gently push at his shoulder. 

"Aish, don't be dirty," you scold, and he gives you his most innocent look. 

"Dirty? What are you implying, Y/N? I just said I'd make dinner once we got hungry." 

"Just go run my bath!" You look away, pushing at Jeonghan to try and get him off the couch as he laughs at your antics. 

"There's my baby," he says, pinching your cheeks gently as he stands up. Once he has your attention his grip slackens, leaving him merely cradling your face in his hands as he gazes at you fondly. He leans in and presses one last kiss to your lips, sweet and slow and heart-warming in the best of ways. You can't help but smile, giddy with his love when he pulls away. He lets out a contented sigh at the brightness of your expression and gently taps his finger against the tip of your nose,

"My pretty, pretty baby, who’s the prettiest when they’re happy. How did I get so lucky?" 

And as he says the words you really, truly feel just as he describes.