#and every time you greet his cold lifeless form | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

obiwanobi · 4 years ago

Note

Catch me thinking about sith Anakin who got in a fight w/ Palps (did Palps cross a line? Did Anakin decide he had nothing to lose? Idk), barely managed to win and is now seriously hurting and a little freaked out winding up outside Obi-wan's quarters and Obi-wan doesn't have time to draw his saber let alone figure out how a sith lord managed to get so far into the jedi temple unnoticed and Force is that blood? before Anakin's passing out with only a murmered request for help.

LISTEN you can’t keep sending me perfect prompts, how do you know I can’t resist bloody men on their knees begging for salvation, how do you know me so well??? anyway here’s 2.3k of always-a-sith!Anakin who could have been the new ruler of the empire but said ‘no thanks, this is too much responsibility, I would like to be pampered by my favourite jedi now’ (with a bit of Ahsoka as Obi-Wan’s padawan!)

He didn’t mean to kill him.

Well, not at first.

He didn’t mean to kill Sidious, but pulling his lightsaber from his lifeless corpse only felt like complete satisfaction. A weight on his shoulders he didn't know he carried disappeared, letting him stand up above the body of his master— former master, and gaze upon what was left of him. A shapeless form on the ground. A dark cape around an old man playing at being a god. A begging mess of futile promises when he realised it was the end for him.

As mindless fury leaves him, his ragged breathing slows down and his fist unclenches around his saber. Sidious is dead. Now that the adrenaline rush is gone, his knees start shaking. His Master is dead. His face is wet with sweat and blood and tears. Dead and now Anakin has no one.

And then... And then fear.

"You know," Ahsoka groans as the water starts boiling, "I don't understand how you got your reputation of Cool Jedi Master. Other padawans think I'm lying when I tell them you wear the ugliest slippers at home and gets excited by new tisanes."

"You gifted me those slippers."

"As a joke. And you still wear them."

"I'm not going to throw away perfectly good slippers." Obi-Wan wiggles his toes under the red and yellow fuzzy monstrosities, just to see his padawan rolls her eyes. "And they're really comfortable."

"So you're just going to stay there, then? Your whole battalion is out celebrating our first day of leave since forever, but you prefer to drink your tea alone and go to bed at 22:00?"

"No one wants an authority figure around when they're letting loose and celebrating, Ahsoka," Obi-Wan says, pouring hot water in his cup. He raises the kettle towards his padawan as a question, to which she shakes her head. "I thought you would be happy to see me putting sleep before work for once."

"I am, Master, but I thought it could be..." She trails off, fidgeting with the hilt of her sabers. For once, she looks like a typical padawan, just like he was at her age, dying to enjoy one night away from the temple and any kind of responsibilities.

"It's alright my dear," he sighs, "you can join them if you want."

Ahsoka suddenly perks up. "I can?"

"If you're old enough to be sent to the front, I think you can handle yourself for one night on Coruscant."

"Thank you Master! I promise I'll be careful and not come back too late!"

"You do that, and-- wait, Ahsoka," he adds as she's already halfway through the door, "make sure to stay around Cody! And no alcohol of any kind! And don't lose your lightsaber at sabacc again!"

"That was you!" she yells from the end of the corridor, "don't worry, I'll be fine! Don't wait for me to go to bed! Goodnight Master!"

Obi-Wan smiles, blowing on his cup. He already sent a message to Cody earlier to keep an eye on her, so he knows she's in good hands.

He has his herbal tea, his ugly slippers, no reports to read or write, and no immediate Separatist menace to plan for. For once, a perfectly good night to catch up on sleep and meditation.

So, of course, something has to be wrong.

The Force is bright. The Force is lighter than it has ever been for the past few years.

And Obi-Wan can't understand why.

It's not just him that can feel it: Ahsoka has acted chipper since, more like the teenager she is, laughing with the clones and playfully teasing him the whole fly back to Coruscant. The temple has felt livelier than ever when they arrived, Jedi from all ages going about their day with a new spring in their step, greeting each other warmly in the corridors. Even Master Yoda has taken a few minutes during their Council meeting to note the shift in the Force. No Master could pinpoint the origin of this change, but all agreed that something good happened somewhere in the galaxy, and they were just feeling ripples of the effect in the Force.

Still now, the whole temple feels a bit more like it used to, before the war, and all Jedi are a bit happier without knowing why.

Only Obi-Wan feels like a noose tightening around him. Whatever it is, it's slowing making its way around his presence in the Force. Focusing on him and him alone. Doesn't matter how much Obi-Wan tries to hide himself, it's getting closer and never slowing down or losing interest.

Needless to say, Obi-Wan has a bad feeling about this.

But after almost three years of war, sullen faces and grim expressions, he doesn't feel like dampening the sudden good mood around the Temple just with a few words. He can probably deal with whatever it is by himself.

His tisane is cold when he finally emerges from his meditation. Nothing is clearer than when he started: the Force is deaf to his questions and inquiries, still light as a breeze. An airy unconcern for his restlessness. And yet, a thick pressure still looms around him, getting heavier each passing second now.

His fingers start pulling on his collar.

The clock on the wall indicates that he lied to Ahsoka when he said he was going to bed at a respectable time today. No diurnal Jedi would still be up right now, but he still considers going out to knock at Mace's door. Narrowed eyes and a very long sigh will be his first answer, but Obi-Wan knows that Mace would never refuse to hear him out. Yes, he finally decides when the pressure seems to creep even closer to him, it's worth waking up Mace.

He opens his door, wondering if he should take his robe with him, and instantly stops walking.

There, in the empty corridor of the Jedi Temple, at his door and on his knees, is a Sith. He knows it's a Sith only because he recognises this specific mass of hair, the large shoulders, the dishevelled dark robe. He knows it's a Sith because he has crossed path with this one enough times on the battlefield to recognise him anywhere. Outside of it a few times too. He isn't sure it's a Sith when the Sith raises his head up, bloody and bruised face torn in an agonizing expression, and his eyes are blue.

"I— I didn't know where to go," Darth Vader says quietly, with the kind of voice expected from a lost child. It gives Obi-Wan a second shock to hear his voice, making his presence suddenly real. "You said... You said if I ever wanted to, if I needed help one day, you would— I could—"

Obi-Wan remembers it. He remembers all the times he offered his help. His pleas for him to stop the violence, the appeals to reason, the multiple suggestions of a gentler path. His hand continuously outreached but never taken. He remembers the burning gold of the Sith's eyes too, and his black cape floating above the dead clones at his feet.

His laughter the first time Obi-Wan brought up the idea of lowering their blades and talking around a cup of tea. His sneer the third time Obi-Wan tried to change his misconceptions about the Jedi Order and play-flirt with him in the same breath. The silence the fifth time Obi-Wan asked him his name, his real name, the one a parent gave him.

The tears the last time he gave it to him.

"And you're always trying to save me," Vader adds more forcefully now, like the words anger him, "you're always here, showing up almost every time I'm sent somewhere with your stupid smile and stupid words, and you're always nice, and... and teasing, and disappointed when I kill someone, like you expect me to be better, and I don't understand you, but..."

Vader raises his hand towards him, and it's only this sudden move that shakes Obi-Wan out of his stupor. Before the Sith can touch his leg, Obi-Wan calls his lightsaber to him, ignites it in one fluid motion, half-expecting Vader to be up and swaying his saber in his face by now. But the Sith is still on his knees, and it's only now that the blue light of his blade is above him that Obi-Wan realises the state he's in. His face isn't the only thing bruised and battered: his dark tunic is stained with blood and ripped in more than one place, one of his arms is bent in an unnatural way, and it looks like a cut above his hairline is still bleeding, making his curls stick to his face in a mess of wet hair and burned skin.

"Vader," Obi-Wan says slowly, when his thoughts finally regain a semblance of coherence. A rapid investigation through the Force assures him that no other enemy is around and the calm and quiet of the night in the Temple isn't a prequel for a storm. "How did you get in here? What are you doing here? How—"

Vader's hand, stuck in the space between them, reaches once again for Obi-Wan. Foolishly, Obi-Wan lets him. His fingers twist themselves in the fabric of his pants.

"He made me killed them all.” Vader wobbles on his knees for a second, the hand on Obi-Wan's leg gripping it tighter. “No platoons, no battle droids. Just me. He sent me to the power station and I cut through them so easily, so quickly, they didn't even fight back, and I didn't think that..." he trails off, panting. "Until.... until I saw the electro-whips."

"Are you talking about Naphtla?" he asks when Vader doesn't seem to be able to continue.

Naphtla. Outer Rim. Barely on the Republic radar until this afternoon, when nearby troops answered a distress signal and found a hidden Separatist power station operated by slaves. A third of them were dead, killed only a few hours before, and the survivors turned to the Republic for immediate support. Slaughtered like animals, the rescue team reported to the Council only a few hours ago, by one single man wielding a red lightsaber. According to witnesses, the darksider cut through the slaves like bantha butter, killing everyone in his path without discrimination, until he stopped for no apparent reason and abruptly left.

"You were the one who killed the people at the station there," Obi-Wan realises out loud, horrified, "the slaves from Zygerria."

Vader snaps his head up and his fingers tighten painfully around Obi-Wan's knee. "I DIDN'T KNOW!"

All Obi-Wan's senses and logical thoughts urge him to back out, put an end to this nonsensical charade, raise his lightsaber between them, get away from the dark, hungry void Vader generates in the Force.

But his eyes are looking up to him. Gripping his gaze with the same intensity as his hand on his leg. Bloodied face and pleading, on his knees. Full of tears.

Obi-Wan doesn't push Vader's hand away.

"I didn't know they were slaves, I didn't!"

"Vader."

"He never said! He sent me without telling him, he knows I don't—" A small noise sounding suspiciously like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

"Vader, who sent—"

"When I came back," he tries again, quieter. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to ask about this he, but Vader's head lolls for a second, too heavy to support, before butting gently against Obi-Wan's leg. Vader makes no effort to move, content to stay there, and after a second, a small, almost timid nuzzle against his thigh sends a series of shivers through Obi-Wan's spine. It shuts him up instantly. "When I came back, he looked at me for so, so long, before saying that he knew, he knew I was going to fail, that I was... just like them after all, and that I could never... And I was so mad, so angry at him, so I... I..."

The last words are muffled by the fabric Vader clings to. Hides into. There's blood on Obi-Wan's pants now.

"What have you done, Vader?" Obi-Wan asks, softer than he intended. "Vader," he asks again when no reply comes, without success. The hand not holding his lightsaber moves, hesitates for a moment, then settles lightly on Vader's hair, mindful not to touch any open wounds. His fingers nudge him to tip his head back, gently, carefully, and settle on his cheek to hold his face up, looking at him. "Anakin." His name, his true name, makes him blink a few times. "Anakin, what have you done?"

"I killed him," he finally admits, barely audible. He looks exhausted, more like a child in need of rest than ever.

"Who did you kill?"

"My master."

"Dooku? You killed Dooku?"

"No," Vader— Anakin frowns, like Obi-Wan should know better. "Sidious."

It's a bit much to process in one day. Another Sith Lord, Vader's master, concealed and kept a secret, now dead, killed by his apprentice —and does that make Vader the ruling Sith Lord now? Do Sith have rulers?— the lightness in the Force the same day, a half-dead Vader begging for help in the middle of the night in the Jedi Temple, and all of that while Obi-Wan is still wearing his ugly slippers.

He's so glad he sent Ahsoka away for the night.

Anakin doesn't let him time to feel the migraine coming.

"I can't do it, I can't be my master, I can't— and Dooku hates me, he will never help me, even if I let him have it all, he will never..." Vader seems to run out of steam, and lets his eyes close as his head falls once again against Obi-Wan's thigh. Closer. "You said you could help me. You said I could come to you at any time. You said you would always be there if I didn't want to... do this, anymore."

"I did," Obi-Wan assures him, his hand lightly petting his hair again.

Anakin lets out a long breath. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Obi-Wan's pants, loosen, and tighten again.

"You're the only one I trust," the Sith quietly tells the Jedi, and it's the saddest thing Obi-Wan has ever heard.

#appleslakesandeuchre #(I changed the end of your prompt a bit I hope it’s fine with you)#asks #obikin #clem's aus #fic i will never write #always a sith anakin au #ahsoka the next morning is HORRIFIED to find a sith on the couch #like 'I knew you had a huge soft spot for him but really master? REALLY?'#obi-wan 'shh don't raise your voice at him'#fic i did write

2K notes · View notes

violettelueur · 4 years ago

Text

— FUSHIGURO MEGUMI || THANK YOU FOR STAYING

↳ featuring : fushiguro megumi from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of blood, mention of injury, mention of death and grammar issues

↳ form : imagine

↳ published : 18 january

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 1.6k

↳ request : AAAA YOUR FINALLY OPENN <3 um so for starters i was thinking abt the same scenario for the s/o, where the s/o was megumi’s gf. team tokyo was seeing your *dead* body lying on the ground, not knowing that your actually trying to use the reverse technique slowly. megumi felt he failed at protecting you, when you’re actually still alive but reviving. eventually he came to you, crying, and just kept saying “please dont leave me” “i cant afford to loose anything” “please”. IM SORRY IF ITS TOO SPECIFIC 😭😭 i really want some fluff+angst rn LMAOO. thankyou!! <33

↳ barista’s notes : hello hello hello ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ i had to remove a tiny bit of your request because it is a spoiler for non jujutsu kaisen manga readers ʕᴥ·　ʔ and don’t worry if you think you’re being too specific, i will try my best to make the perfect cup of coffee for you ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆ but other than that, i hope you enjoy you cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and you’re welcome back anytime!

“Y/N, wake up please”

However, no matter how desperate he sounded nor how loud he was. You were non-responsive.

The grass below your body was struggling to soak up all the blood that had been spilt from your unknown wound caused by the special grade curse that you were fighting against.

No one knew how the curse was able to get into the premises of the battlefield of the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event, let alone how it managed to get anywhere near Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. However, right now, all Fushiguro knew was that you were in critical condition as you continued to stay silent to his pleas.

“This ain’t some joke Y/N, wake up!” Fushiguro shouted in agony as he lifted your body into his arms, searching for any source of warmth from you that he was desperate to hold. Yet, you were just stone cold.

Frantic, Fushiguro began to search around your body to see if he could find the injury that was the final blow that you took, but there was no visible presence of one leading to the shikigami sorcerer’s anxiety to heighten as he began to wonder what really happened to you. What could have the special curse did that causes you to fall into a coma? A coma right? You were just in a coma? You weren’t dead? You couldn’t be dead?

“Megumi, she’s….Y/N is..” Maki began to stutter, afraid of the junior’s reaction to what she would have to announce as she began to reach out to him, leading Fushiguro to turn to look at her with tears welled up in his eyes which led Maki to look at him with widened eyes.

Never once she ever saw the green-eyed sorcerer have a single tear in his eyes as well as the rest of the sorcerers behind her as they stared at the situation that was happening right in front of them. On the other hand, they weren’t really surprised at the fact that you were the one that brought those same tears into his precious eyes.

You were the first person to ever make them see Fushiguro smile.

Itadori remembered it as clear as day. It was when he had first met you at Harajuku around the same time when he first met Kugisaki. To his surprise that day, you weren’t the new student that they were meeting but rather a current student at the school he newly attended, it was just that you weren’t the one chosen to collect Sukuna’s finger at Sendai that day due to you having a mission of your own.

ꕥ

“So, you’re the infamous student that ate Sukuna’s finger?” you commented, as you walked towards the two students who were waiting in front of the station Gojo has told you to meet everyone at - but to no shock or surprise from you, the said teacher was not there to greet you.

“Oh? Are you the new student we are waiting for?” Itaodori kindly asked, as he took another bite out of his ice popsicle leading to your boyfriend, who was standing next to the salmon-haired boy, to have a say in the newly started conversation.

“No, this is L/N Y/N, she’s a first-year student like us, she enrolled at the same time as me,” Fushiguro informed the boy leading you to kindly smile at him while holding up a peace sign to seem more friendly.

“I’m Itadori Yuji, I’m from Sendai,” Itadori greeted you as he pointed at himself, causing you to nod your head before asking both the boys where your extremely tall teacher was, only for them to shrug at you indicating they had no idea on where Gojo was at all.

‘He probably is buying snacks or something ha?’

“Now it ain’t just the two of us ha Megumi?” you playfully asked your boyfriend as you poked his cheek, leading him to send you a side glance only for a giggle to be your response. Although it was a small interaction, Itadori was able to instantly pick up on something that confused him slightly.

“L/N, why did you call Fushiguro by his first name and not his family one?” Itadori asked in curiosity as he wondered how you were really friendly with the usually grumpy sorcerer. Turning to look at your new classmate, you smiled at him and quickly answered by saying, “no reason really, he just allowed me to since we’re really good friends,”.

Knowing Fushiguro, you knew he probably didn’t want to reveal the fact that you and him were in a relationship to Itadori too early into his newfound friendship with him, so you decided that it was the best for now to tell your new classmate that you two were really good friends.

On the other hand, what you didn’t see was how Fushiguro was looking at you. The shikigami user really appreciated the fact that you weren’t the type to tell the whole world about the both of you since he was a person that thought that not everyone needed to know if he was in a relationship or not leading to a small smile to dawn his face with a hint of adoration in his eyes as he stared at you.

Which was caught by the sights of Itadori Yuji.

ꕥ

However in his sights right now was not the same expression Fushiguro had that day. But how he wished it was. All Itadori could see right now was fear, desperation and regret in Fushiguro’s emerald eyes as he was holding onto your body like he was gripping the small amount of life that you could possibly have left in your body.

“Please don’t leave me,” Fushiguro muttered in a brittle tone, as he gently shook you, not giving up on the fact that you could have a chance of waking up. Not giving up the chance that he gets to see your beautiful eyes. Not giving up the chance that he gets to see your bright smile. Not giving up on the chance that he gets to see you alive.

“I’m sorry for not protecting you, please just wake up, I can’t lose you too,” Fushiguro begged as sorrowful tears began to lightly hit your cheeks with his throat slowly closing up leading to a slight struggle in breathing. Fushiguro slowly and regrettably came to the realisation that you were now gone, leading to a river of guilt that uncontrollably began to flow down to which caused the grade two sorcerer let out a pained scream as his friends from behind looked at the scene with a broken heart.

Gripping on to your body, Fushiguro held your body against his chest and his face was hidden in the crook of your head wanting to hold you for one last time before you were fully taken away from him.

“Hey….Mimi”

Now he was hallucinating. Fushiguro was now hearing your voice as if you were calling out to him. He couldn’t help but fully accept that fact that you were dead and there was no chance you could possibly be calling out his nickname that he hated so much but was so desperate to hear again if he could.

Suddenly to his shock, Fushiguro felt a light but tight grip on his school jacket leading him to slowly pull away with widening eyes to a hand on his jacket causing him to look up to notice your eyes slowly begin to open, showcasing the coloured orbs that the shikigami user was so desperate to see.

“Mimi….it’s really hard to….concentrate using reverse curse energy….when you’re tightly gripping on to me,” you slowly commented with a small smile on your face, to which then you slowly began to sit up only to fall back into his arms due to exhaustion of using a magnitude of your curse energy to heal the injury that the special curse managed to wound you with.

“Y/N!” everyone shouted, as they crouched down to have a clear view of what they were seeing. To their complete astonishment, you were fully awake with a smile on your face leading everyone’s hearts to fill with joy as they were relieved that you were here right in front of them alive and well.

Kugisaki couldn’t help but instantly let tears of complete joy flow down her cheeks as she launched herself on top of you, tightly hugging you close to her releasing all the agonising tension that she was holding in the second she saw your once lifeless body in Fushiguro’s arms.

Gently lifting up one of your arms to Kugisaki’s body to comfort her, you slowly turned your head to stare up at the pair of emerald eyes that were looking at you with such relief and radiance, leading to your other hand that was previously gripping his jacket to then be placed on his cheek as you used your thumb to caress it to help him slowly come back to reality.

To be honest, you could tell he needed it right now. At the beginning of the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event, you, Fushiguro and Kugisaki were utterly dumbfounded at the fact that Itadori was alive and well after 2 months of assuming that he was dead after Sukuna ripped out his heart and now you somehow you ‘came back alive’ after sustaining a serious injury of your neck being slashed - you knew seeing two people being revived was not what you saw every day.

“I’m sorry for scaring you like that,” you whispered to Fushiguro as you lightly brushed the remaining tears he had on his cheek leading to the stoic sorcerer to softly place his forehead against yours as he began to savour the warmth that he thought he had lost.

“Thank you,’ Fushiguro muttered as he closed his eye tightly, holding in the new coming tears that were threatening to flow down leading to your hand that was on his cheek to be now placed on the back of his neck as your fingers began to caress his hair to help calm him down even further.

“Thank you for staying”

1K notes · View notes

liliansun · 3 years ago

Text

One last breath

synopsis: choosing to live out a dream you dreamt with your boyfriend seemed endless. dreams can become reality, but at what price?

genre: slight fluff, angst, lovers au, competitive figure skater!reader x sick boyfriend!sunghoon

tw: hospital setting, character death, mentions of kissing

2k wc

part of @jensrose‘s memories collab!

It hit you when you walked through the doors, the same smell that haunted your dreams; the smell of sickness, the smell of vinyl gloves and cleaning products. The hospital always smelt the same and it tortured your mind every time you walked these halls, the scent that was attached to him. As usual, you entered through the front. “Good morning miss y/n!” the nurse at the desk greeted you. She was always so chipper for where she worked, trying to keep the darkest place bright. You smile, signing your name on the guest chart as you greet her. “Good morning.” You replied, trying to be as cheerful as she was.

Leaving the desk, you took the same path you were shown the first time you came to visit. Each step down the hall being the same as the others, stay to the right to avoid running into the other patients. Keep your head low, but greet the staff when they pass. Don’t interact with anyone unless you have to, there was already so much to handle. Thankfully for you, his room was towards the front of the hall. Although, that was never a good sign in the hospital. When you caught a glimpse of him through the window on his door, he looked peaceful. To anyone else, he would look like he’s asleep or at least trying to sleep. You knew he was just waiting for your arrival and like clockwork, he started to sit up as you entered his room. “You came.” He said, a smile that never failed to brighten up his poorly lit room. You returned his smile, walking to the edge of his bed. “Of course I came, I always come.” You said, grabbing his hand that laid almost lifeless next to him.

It was cold, his long, slender fingers felt like ice in your hands. Of course he didn’t know that, he never could tell the difference anymore. “How was it yesterday?” He asked, staring at you as if you were the keeper to all his wishes. Your smile never faltered as you sat on the edge of his bed. “It was okay, the usual.” You said. He scoffed, giving your hand a soft squeeze. It was weaker than the last time he held it, making your heart flood with guilt and worry. “C’mon, give me details. How was it really?” He asked, his eyes begging for more.

“Well, since you’re so eager, my partner and I are doing pretty decently. He is good at keeping up, I’ll give him that.” Sunghoon seemed satisfied with your reply, leaning back into his pillow. “You’re gonna make it to finals and I’m gonna watch you.” He said, his voice growing weak at the end of his sentence. You shook your head, looking down at his hand that was now entangled with yours. “No, we’re going to make it to finals, remember?” You said, trying your best to hold yourself together. Sunghoon laughed, giving your hand another gentle squeeze. “It’s okay y/n, you don’t have to pretend.” You wanted to look at him, wanted to tell him he was wrong, but instead you nodded as the tears began to roll down your cheeks. Sunghoon tried to sit up, but you turned to grab onto his unsteady form. “W-what are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting.” You said, worried he’d overwhelm himself. He replied with a simple tsk before raising his other hand. When his fingers touched your cheek, you shivered from how old they felt against your warm skin.

“I’m trying to comfort my girlfriend.” He said, doing his best at leaning closer to you. You saw the struggle he was having, scooting closer to him. He leaned his head forward, resting his forehead against yours. “I can’t kiss you yet, but I’m gonna get better and I’m gonna kiss you so much.” He confessed, earning a laugh from your end. You couldn’t say anything back, holding onto the hope that he would get better. Instead, you closed your eyes and let him absorb the warmth your body admits. The moment seemed to last forever, until a knock on the door stole your attention.

“I’m sorry lovebirds, but it’s time for your dosage Mr. Park.” His nurse said as she peaked her head through the door. You hated this time of day, but you knew the good never lasted forever. With a soft sigh, Sunghoon leaned back onto his pillow and watched you get off his bed. “Come back tomorrow?” He asked, still holding your hand with the little strength he had. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” You replied as you gave his hand a squeeze. Your response made him smile as he let go of your hand. Just before you could leave, Sunghoon pulled something from beneath his blanket. Weakly, he held it out for you to grab. You smiled tenderly, grabbing the polaroid of you two the night the first asked you out. “This way I’ll always be with you.”

As his nurse made her way in, you stepped aside till you found yourself standing in the hallway. You couldn’t help, but to look down at the picture in your hand. Looking at you two in that light filled a little bit of the hole your heart had carried since his diagnosis. With one final wave goodbye, you left the hospital and went about your routine. A routine you always followed, as if it was the part of your life that never seemed to change. The walk from the hospital to the stadium wasn’t far, making it convenient for you to go straight to practice after visiting Sunghoon. When walking through the doors, it felt almost nostalgic, but never the kind you wanted.

The following weeks had been just that, a type of nostalgia you didn’t find comfort in. It felt more as if your life was on repeat than you living each day as a new one. Each time you felt yourself giving into the pressure, you always pulled out the polaroid he gave you. It always eased your mind, letting you feel the comfort as if he actually was here and could watch you skate. Finals were coming in close and with every competition weighing harder than the last, you found it harder to drag yourself out of bed each day. Thankfully for you, today was the last day of competing and you’d finally get to feel relieved- The feeling of knowing you worked this hard to get where you are for not only yourself, but for Sunghoon. That’s what drove you to skate as if it was your last, as if his life depended on it, as if it was him you skated for.

The air in the rink was stiff, the last few teams to have tried new moves seemed to have succeeded and climbed their way to the top of the judges' score board. You and your partner were the last to go up, leaving you uneasy. Although he tried to ease your nerves, your partner only seemed to add to them when he reminded you about the special move you two had been rehearsing. It was hard, it could either make or break your score and the only thing your mind seemed to focus on was when you tried it with Sunghoon for the first time.

Memories seemed to invade your thoughts, making your stomach feel like it was upside down. You knew this was your only chance, so you took the risk and gave it your all. Before the two of you went on, you took a final glance over the picture you had now carried with you to each practice for good luck. It made you work harder, skate faster and perform as if he was your only audience. Now, hoping he was watching you from his room, you gave the picture a gentle kiss before you took to the ice. For your first skate, the panel seemed to enjoy the performance the two of you put on. Your mind kept going back to Sunghoon, hoping he was watching and that he was proud of you. Your second skate seemed to go over well, although you felt shaky when it ended. You tried to shake off the nerves, but the next skate was haunting you like a bad dream. You had practiced it many times, but the room for error seemed larger than life. When it came to your final skate, you used all what you were holding out for. The move was risky, the entire skate was risky, but you pushed past your limit and successfully landed the move.

It was over, the last 2 years of hard work was over and now you felt relief. The relief that you had worked hard to get where you were and you were proud. That relief paid off, successfully putting you and your partner over the top. What seemed like the first time in the last few years was that maybe life was on your side. That you had won, you finally got your chance to breathe and with that final breath, you ran. You fell into a state of shock, not fully grasping the fact that you were able to pull that off the way you did. Your partner placed his hand on your shoulder, whispering amongst the screams in the stadium. “Go to him.” He said, giving you a sympathetic smile. That’s exactly what you did, gathering up all your things as soon as you could and left. You ran, each step filled with the joy of knowing you won the competition, the joy of knowing that you won for him and you were finally able to tell him.

People in the streets looked at you as if you were crazy, and maybe you were, but you didn’t want to waste another minute not being by his side. As soon as you caught sight of the hospital, your tired body pushed further as you entered through the same two doors that held the one you loved most. So many thoughts were going through your head. How would he react? How would you start the conversation? All while trying to sign in, you didn’t notice the sudden dread on the nurse who always seemed so happy. You wanted to ask what was wrong, but your mind was too focused on getting to Sunghoon and telling him about the success of the night. But you were too late. When you got to his room, he had nurses and doctors all surrounding his bed. The noise of his machine was loud, almost like an echo that would never end. Your body shut down, freezing in place as you watched the same people you saw almost every day try so desperately to save his life. Your heart was caught in your throat, shattering all around as you clutched onto the fabric of your costume.

The line was flat, the room went silent and the team of doctors and nurses all took a step away from his bed. When one nurse left the room, she saw you standing there and gave you a gentle hug. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t speak, you stood in place and waited. “We did all we could.” His nurse said as she left your side, leaving you to watch them remove all that he was hooked up to. You didn’t know how long it had been before someone stepped out of his room, but the doctor invited you in to say goodbye.

With one last breath, you walked into the room that once held your boyfriend's light. You turned to notice the television had been on, set to the channel that broadcasts your competition. For the last time, you grabbed his hand, feeling the coldness of his fingers intertwined with yours. As the tears streamed down your face, you pulled the polaroid from a hidden pocket and gently laid it on his chest. “I’ll always have you with me.”

©️liliansun 2022

permanent taglist: @luvrjn @hobistigma @gongiz @jensrose @cahiwo @kyleeanne @missmadwoman @shysakuno @jaeyunify @jaylaxies @candidupped @icywhatim @kac-chowsballs @mykalon @ja4hyvn @hooneam @hooniesoul @todorokiskitten @jayk2025 @msxflower @rutowonz @soobin-chois @acciomylove

#ficscafe #enhypenwriters #k-radio!#enhypen #enhypen angst #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen au #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon au #sunghoon au #sunghoon angst #park sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon fanfic #angst au #figure skating au

142 notes · View notes

sorryimanon · 4 years ago

Text

Pairings: Bakugou x fem!Reader

Tags: 18+, dirty talk, explicit scenes, mutual masturbation, penetration, bakugou being a switch, reader is a dom, lots of back and forth between characters, slow burn

A/N: this was supposed to be divided into two parts but surprise, surprise! i got lazy :) i had so much writing this. this might be my favorite fic ive written so far! this is a loooong one. enjoy!

P.S this is the unedited ver. I will posting the final on my AO3 account (sorryimanon)

Katsuki disliked her. No, he absolutely loathed her. Ever since she stepped foot into the classroom, it was destined for there to be a hostile barrier between the two of them. Granted, all she did was sweetly greet him like the rest of her fellow classmates, but Katsuki completely saw through her fading facade and ignored the kind gesture with a threatening showcase of his quirk.

"Being nice won't get you anywhere, baka," he snarled, glaring intensely at her all the while everyone watched the whole scene unfold.

He treated her like a foolish peasant after that initial encounter, disregarding her in any way shape or form as disgust shone through his eyes.

Y/N persevered the oncoming school years despite the blonde breathing down her neck consistently everyday. Katsuki's aggressive nature towards her subsided once graduation commenced, alluding to the blossoming maturity each student should have endured before branching off into hero work.

Not long after the celebratory succession, y/n bounced to several agencies that offered the same beneficial agreements for her. None caught her attention. Until one day she received a recommendation from Endeavor himself to work full time at his agency. Of course she accepted it and immediately wrote her sloppy signature down on the contract. Unbeknownst to her excitement, a separate copy of the contract was sent to another uprising hero around her age group.

So when she strutted in that morning of orientation, she never expected to see the very infamous Katsuki Bakugou slouched on one of the many chairs in the meeting room. Her throat tightened as she took a seat next to him, his height still freakishly tall even when they were just sitting. Staring straight forward to prevent from any means of eye contact with him, he lowered his head at her eye level and crooked a half smile.

"I'm gonna make you regret for even considering joining here, extra." A fleck of his spit hit the side of her face. Learning from her past encounters with Katsuki, y/n held her tongue in hopes for him to feel satisfied enough to leave her alone.

Thankfully their office hours were inconsistent to where they didn't intervene with each other, neither of them awkwardly meeting in the lobby or an elevator. However, sometimes y/n and Bakugou would desire the same craving for a caffeinated beverage and find themselves standing shoulder to shoulder by the coffee machine.

Bakugou likes his coffee black, she mentally jotted down as she intently watched his usual routine of preparing the beverage.

Like the asshole he is, Bakugou would purposely tip the mug and let a few trickles of the hot liquid burn her hand. He's done this every single time before he leaves y/n alone in the break room. Deep down, he relishes in the strained expression on her face when he inflicts the pain upon her. Thoughts danced across his head. Some involving him blasting y/n into the stratosphere to her kissing the tips of his boots for mercy. Either way, her being so submissive and, dare he say, a pussy to stand her ground sufficed him enough for the time being. But sometimes it pissed him off.

The constant harassment by the angry blonde went unnoticed by their other colleagues, including Endeavor, leaving y/n to prepare every morning to face the wrath of Katsuki Bakugou. His verbal abuse never wavered, occasionally whispering under his breath "weakling" or "stupid girl" whenever the pair were in the same room together. One time he sent her on a wild goose chase to find a missing case file that miraculously disappeared from her desk while she was copying something in the other room. Hours later, she soon discovers the said file tucked behind Katsuki's arm, snatching it from his grip and not once reprimanding him for wasting her time. Y/N eventually got used to it. Adapting to the annual insults of her work ethics and anything he could muster up from his sleeve. Both finally accepted their twisted dynamic, and became accustomed to the work lifestyle.

Months later, the dynamic soon changed when Endeavor announced an emergency meeting with everyone in the building. Apparently a new wave of villains have been reigning terror over the city, causing major damages and fatalities in a matter of weeks. Rumors started to circulate that the new generation of heroes don't have the capabilities to apprehend this group of evil doers. In the meeting, Endeavor made it clear for everyone to be partnered up before he dismisses them to patrol for the night, suggesting that pairing up with someone who is complimentary to your quirk is efficient for when dealing with these kinds of villains.

That's why y/n didn't voice her complaint when she inevitably got matched with Bakugou. His quirk alone was powerful already. With both of their quirks combined, there's no telling how the mission will go, but she surprisingly feels safe knowing he'll be sticking by her side throughout the rest of the night. It'll be a quick mission, then they'll return back to their previous mundane duties in the office. Back to Katsuki's mental and verbal torment.

"Could you move any slower?" Katsuki barked as both he and y/n were taking a quick stroll through the public park, scoping out for any signs of danger.

She was a step behind him, careful not to bump his shoulder or invade his space. She mumbled out a quick apology and fastened her pace, catching up to the man in gear. Tonight he wore his alternative hero costume, the design made specifically for when the temperature reaches an undesirable degree. The collar touched below the tip of his chin, his chiseled chest covered with the thick black material, and his arms protected from the cold with the addition of sleeves.

"Fucking weakling..." she heard him mumble once they circled the perimeter again.

Bakugou insisted for them to scout out as many places as possible in hopes for an encounter. He desperately needs any excuse for some action, to use his quirk out of anger. Previously, they patrolled the empty plaza of Tatoone shopping center. Other heroes were there as well, but still no signs of any villains lurking in the dark. For the third time, they met up at the center of the park after making another round, both already tired of the tedious task.

"Just our fucking luck. Still no signs of those stupid villains. I guess we should patrol the outskirts of-."

A bright luminescent beam struck the middle of Bakugou's chest cavity, ricocheting him backwards to slam against the trunk of a large tree, knocking him unconscious instantly. Startled, y/n's eyes frantically searched for the perpetrator, only to meet a pair of glowing green orbs staring right back. She shifted her stance in preparation for their next attack, blocking Bakugou's lifeless body from the villains view. Another beam shot from the darkness, only this time y/n counter balanced the blow by rolling to side, the blast missing her by a couple of feet. Y/N quickly raised to her feet and ran head first towards the dark figure. Without preamble, the figure shot multiple beams at the hero, each one emitting from the void of their chest.

Y/N dodged the bright suffocating strips of light, her feet shuffling and heart racing due to the adrenaline rush. However, she miscalculated her next move which allowed the figure to strike her left shoulder when she was distracted for a split second. Pain shot throughout her shoulder blade. Eyes drawn to a close, her hand shot up to cradle the injury. The intense sensation started to spread from the upper half of her body to below. Everything suddenly became numb, including her sensors. She couldn't feel the tips of her digits nor move any part of her face. The muscles in her legs soon stopped contracting, resulting in her knees giving out. She felt the hard, coarse ground beneath her as the darkness began to swallow up her line of vision. The last thing she saw was a scuffed up Bakugou laying face flat on the drenched grass.

- Y/N stirred awake, lifting one of her half lidded eyes expecting to see the villain looming over her tired body. But all she saw was the popcorn ceiling sheltering her, an overhead fan turned on and the curtains tightly shut. She slowly inclined her body upright and peeled the covers from her clammy figure. Still in the process of waking up, she made her way to the attached bathroom by the bed and located the sink. She splashed the cold water on her face, letting the droplets drench the clothes she was currently wearing. Turning off the facet, she craned her head to view the damage on her shoulder in the mirror. But how come she couldn't recognize herself?

Tuffs of blonde spiked out from her head. Her eyes weren't the same color either. Red crimson irises replaced the ones she had before. The injury from last night on her shoulder wasn't there no more, but she took sight at how broad they became. And she wasn't wearing her typical pajama top and bottoms. This morning she was clad in a black tank top and a pair of soft sweat pants.

No, this can't be true. This has to be some sick nightmare. Jolting backwards on her heel, she let out a terrible shriek. After screaming for a good minute, she calmed down and rested her hands on the bathroom counter, transfixed on the reflection in front of her.

"I-I somehow transformed into Bakugou!" The deep timbre voice of bakugou replaced her own. She tugged on the unkept hair and knitted her eyes shut. "This is only a dream. I'm dreaming right? I can't possibly be in Bakugou's body."

A loud ringing noise alerted y/n to open her eyes again. It was coming from her bedroom. Correction, his bedroom. She glanced at herself in the mirror one more time before retrieving the phone that was stuffed in a green duffel bag. Her eyes widened. She recognized her phone number on the screen. Knowing the circumstances, she pressed answered and awaited for the receiver on the other end to speak.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"

"So, we somehow switched bodies because of being struck by that villains quirk the other night. How long did they say this will last then?" Y/N questioned Bakugou the following morning once they agreed to meet up somewhere in private. Right now they were sitting across from each other on a stone bench by the lake, the morning sun peaking through the tall skyscrapers behind them.

Bakugou shrugged his shoulders, technically hers, and said, "Endeavor informed me it'll probably linger for a good week. He also wanted us to not be on duty till we recuperate from this, saying that the side effects will drain our bodies." He couldn't muster up the courage to stare at her, because all he would see is the reflection of himself. "Unfortunately the villain fled the scene before the others arrived to retrieve us. They're still out there causing havoc."

"This is freaking weird."

"Fucking."

Y/N tilted her head in confusion. Across from her, Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in frustration.

"If you're gonna be me for a whole week then you might as well not sugar coat my vocabulary-dumbass."

Right, she now has to devote her time and effort into mirroring Bakugou's explosive personality. But that also means he too has to put on a show in order to persuade everyone he was her.

"Oh, okay..." she started but tensed up when realizing Bakugou was gazing expectantly at her. "D-Dumbass?"

Katsuki groaned as he rolled his eyes at her failed attempt of portraying him.

"This is going to be a long ass week."

- Bakugou grunted in disgust as he scavenged through y/n's closet for something to wear. Every piece of clothing so far hasn't met his criteria of approval to put on his body. There was an unnecessary amount of yoga pants and the most ugliest oversized graphic tees he's ever laid his eyes upon stored in her drawer. Growing up in a household of highly praised designers, the influence shifted his taste in fashion over the years. So, he made the rational decision to make a quick trip to the mall and purchase a few outfits for himself. Considering he's going to be in this body for a whole week, maybe even more, he might as well present himself looking ten times better than she ever has.

He tittered around the mall window shopping, entering store after store leaving with a handful of clothes in plastic and paper bags. So far he bought some outfits that edged a little on the fancy side, but paid no mind to his bank account. Bakugou guesstimated y/n's size during the venture, not wanting to pry or see what's underneath these restricting fabrics. He was about to leave when a frilly-pink themed store caught his attention.

It's a lingerie store, Bakugou thought as he neared closer to the entrance.

Posters inside the displays showcased attractive half naked women clad in nothing but the delicate material. Not to mention they were all posing seductively. An involuntary image of y/n flashed across his eyes, her imitating the same lustrous pose as well as wearing the sheer lingerie like the women behind the glass. Steams of heat practically blowed out from his ears, along with the embarrassing shade of pink panting his cheeks. He clamped a hand on his mouth, eyes widen in disbelief.

The fuck did I just imagine? There's no way in hell that just happened!

He must've been loitering there for awhile because a young girl, possibly his age, was standing in the threshold of the store wearing a pastel pink apron, giving him a welcoming smile.

She spoke, "Looking to shop for something, ma'am?"

Remembering back to y/n's distasteful clothing, he noted that she also lacked having any 'pretty' undergarments. It wasn't that he intentionally raided through her underwear, he just so happen to have stumbled upon the almost empty drawer by accident. In retrospect, he's doing her a favor. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Yes actually. Can you show me your most expensive set?" - "To your left! That dudes been camping by that spot since the match. He'll snipe you in the open!" Kirishima informed y/n as they both sat criss cross on the cushioned couch.

They've been playing the same game for hours. Y/N prayed for at least one water break or grab something quick to eat since they haven't moved an inch from their spots. Kirishima promised after this match he'll order some takeout for the both of them, but he said the same thing 8 matches ago. All she could do for now was pretend to be immersed in the game, getting a couple of impressive kills here and there, subsequently ranking her to a bronze level. Her digits were beginning to cramp up due to the repetitive moments of smashing down on the labeled buttons on the wireless controller. The screen across from them suddenly went dark and flashed the scoreboard from the recent match. Another successful victory.

"BOOYAAA!!!!" Kirishima clapped his hands and did a celebratory dance. "Ah, good game Bakugou."

Y/N flinched from hearing the blondes name.

"Kirishima, it's Y/N," she reluctantly reminded him.

Kirishima's whole demeanor went south. He chucked out a dry laugh and nervously started rubbing the back of his neck.

"R-Right sorry. Couldn't help myself. I mean, I am looking at Bakugou. Same face, voice, hair, and scary eyes."

After being battered by the villains quirk, Kirishima and Sun Eater were the ones to retrieve them before law enforcement shortly arrived once the perpetrator fled the scene. They were all under one strict oath to not mention this to the public, or else everyone’s image will tarnished and skew the potential of our future rankings.

"I know. I'm still trying to process this whole thing. I've been avoiding all the mirrors in the apartment since I came back." Y/N stood up from the couch and sauntered over to her designated bedroom for the week. She reached for the door handle but stiffened when a pair of hardened hands rested on her broad shoulders.

"Aye, don't worry so much. I bet you Bakugou is thinking the same thing. This week will be over before you know it," he absentmindedly began massaging the area between your shoulder blades and neck.

Does he always treat Bakugou like this despite that nasty little Pomeranian being a complete asshole to everyone?

"Kirishima?"

"Yeah?"

"What is Bakugou like around you?"

The red head hummed to himself at the random question, thinking of a perfect answer to her curiosity.

"The same how he was in high school except more tamer I guess. But I enjoy his presence none the less."

Then why does he seem to unleash his untamed feelings towards me specifically?

Y/N sighed, obviously not satisfied with that answer.

"Out of everybody, he seems to despise me more and more like it's a game," she said without realizing.

"You know how he is Y/N. He's very abrasive and blunt when it comes to other people's emotions, but deep down I know he only acts like that because he wants to present a strong image in front of everyone," he started. "He's scared of others looking down on him, I know that for sure. But I always looked up to Bakugou from the day I personally got to know him. So, I guess he just stayed by my side because of my admiration for him."

Bakugou is always putting up a front then.

"Interesting...well I'm gonna go to bed now. Thanks for keeping me company," y/n said once again reaching for the knob and opening the door, ignoring the red heads pleas for her not go to sleep on an empty stomach. -

The next day Bakugou found himself inside y/n's bathroom, feet firmly planted on the tiled floor not daring to move an inch. Even though he wasn't in his own body that didn't stop him from paying a visit to the gym this morning. He went extra hard on every machine, not caring about the wandering eyes men gave him while he dead lifted weights. Drenched in nothing but his own glistening sweat, Bakugou entered y/n's small apartment as he dragged his tired feet to the bedroom he was now familiarized with.

Something foul wafted into his nostrils, almost making him teary eyed to the stench. He tried to recall the last time he took a shower. Vaguely he remembers washing his body the morning before he got attack by the powerful quirk. It's been several days since then. This was one thing he didn't want to endure during his experience of switching bodies. He's been neglecting his own hygiene to avoid seeing y/n's exposed body parts. Changing out from her clothes with closed eyes was difficult enough, but taking a fucking shower?! Such a shitty predicament. But he can't smell like this for the remainder of being stuck in this body. He'll die of suffocation.

Ah fuck, that must mean she has to take a shower as well. Or worse, she already has and saw everything.

His eye twitched, lips trembling in fear at what he's about to witness.

Fuck it, I can't go out smelling like shit!

With shaky fingers he began stripping, eyes trained on anything but y/n's figure, the faint sound of the water streaming white noise to him. Her gym clothes piled on the floor, Katsuki slipped into the shower, head titled slightly to view only the shower head. He messed around with the chrome handle, indecisive on what temperature he wanted. Settled onto cold to awaken his sluggish state, he positioned himself under the shower head, goosebumps prickling his skin due to the sudden drop of temperature. Water droplets streamed down and canaled to his lower regions, the sensation relaxing his anxiousness just a smidge. He surveyed the options y/n had laid out for hair care products and grabbed the nearest one. Rubbing the body wash into the palms of his hands, he caught himself, arm mid raised getting ready to wash each crevice of his body.

Shit shit shit shit

The hand in front of him began shaking.

She won't know. It's not like I'm touching her sexually, I'm just keeping her clean for fucks sake!

As gentle as he could, Bakugou washed away the soapy residue, fingers cautiously ghosting over anything perking out. A moment too soon, he accidentally skimmed over her chest a little too fast, the tips of his fingers touching something that was hard and protruding. His breathing hitched.

I just felt her fucking nipple!

But fuck, it strangely felt quite pleasant. Pleasurable even if he had to admit.

He continued on with his previous ministrations, cupping her boobs like a madman and swiping one thumb over the taunt surface to test the waters. A fierce, tingling sensation surged shivers down his spine. An unsolicited low moan spurred out from the blonde.

"Hah!"

What the hell?! Why am I still touching her tits? And why am I enjoying it?

Finishing up his routine quickly, Bakugou snatched a towel from the cabinet and rubbed away all the sinful thoughts desperately from his head, a constant fight between his morals and neediness. Nobody will never know what he committed in the confines of her own apartment. And it'll fucking stay like that till on his death bed.

I practically assaulted her. I'm so fucking disgusting

For the rest of the remaining day, Bakugou planned on meeting up with Kirishima to hangout. He wanted to coerce the red head into talking about anything other than y/n. His mind needs the relief. He needs this spell to be over with.

He can't stand trying to fit into women's jeans any longer - Kirishima woke up that morning to a chorus of shrieks. Girlish shrieks, might he add. He thought maybe the neighbors were selfishly doing not-so-holy-things at the peak of dawn. But him and Katsuki were resided on the highest level of the penthouse, them being the only residents on the empty floor. It clicked once he heard his name through the thin walls.

"Ah! Y/N I'm coming!" He leaped from his bed and reached y/n's, technically Bakugou's, room in a matter of seconds.

Y/N's body twitched to the sound of the door being slammed open, the impact rattling the very few wall decorations in the blondes space. Standing in the threshold was the friendly red head, huffing and puffing air out of his chest like he just got done running a marathon.

"K-Kiri! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to wake you up!" Her words afterwards became a jumbled mess, realizing the predicament she pushed herself into.

"Hey, hey, calm down! Tell me what's wrong. It sounded like you were in pain. Did you hurt yourself anywhere?" The red had to remind himself this was indeed another person inside Bakugou's body, because Bakugou would never apologize repeatedly for the sake of apologizing in his entire life.

Y/N was looking quite pallid now, sheepishly tugging on the black covers of the bed, trying to find the easiest way on how to lay this out to her new roommate.

"Well...I just...I woke up to - ah crap."

Instead of explaining her situation, she pulled back the blanket to show kiri the thing protruding between her uncommonly, muscular legs. Kirishima's eyes widen instantaneously, eating up the pitched tent inside her basketball shorts. Oddly enough, this wasn't his first rodeo upon seeing the blonde with a boner. They were dudes. And dudes living together were bound to witness each other's 'flesh swords', he'd like to put it.

"Oh, morning wood? That's pretty normal. Nothing to fret y/n!" He dismissed her with the wave of his hand. "Bakugou gets them all the time! In fact, I remember he'd get them after sparring sessions back in our U.A days-."

"Okayyyyy, Never mind that! I know I have a boner. Just exactly how do I get rid of it?!"

"You mean, you don't know? Haven't you been taught this in Sex Ed class?" Kiri was actually curious as to why she doesn't know nor remember. He surly does. Learning about the human body by the infamous sultry teacher, Midnight, engraved so much information into his tiny-teenage brain.

"That was considered an extra curricular class. I took a CPR class instead."

"Right well, from what she taught us and from my own personal experience, you gotta rub one out."

Y/N's whole face contorted into a confused mess of disgust.

"Rub a what now?" She asked, although she had a feeling what the euphemism meant.

Kiri's face blotched red, the tint flushing to his chest as well. The man was evidently embarrassed about having this conversation with someone who wasn't Bakugou.

"I essentially mean you gotta masturbate. Ya know, in order to calm down your boner," he paused seeing how distraught y/n became. "It won't hurt I promise you! Don't worry, it feels really good! Like, eating ice cream good! Ah no that's not a good analogy!"

"This is so fucking horrifying..." Y/N poked at the thing, rightfully known as his dick, and kept starring as if it might miraculously subside to its original size.

Kiri coughed, grabbing her attention away from Bakugou's dick.

"He has lotion stashed in his drawer," he started, but malfunctioned seconds later. He revealed something private to someone that bakugou condemned as a 'weakling'. "That is if you need it for lubricant. It's kind of tough to jerk off dry..." his sentence fell off midway.

Y/N mumbled out an "Ok", and retrieved said lotion from the lower bunk of his drawers. She felt a pair of eyes on her. Kiri was still standing awkwardly by the doorway, unsure wether or not if that's his cue to leave.

"Um, thanks Kiri. You can leave now," she plopped back onto Bakugou's king sized bed.

This man sleeps alone. He doesn't need a ginormous bed all to himself.

"R-Right! Well, enjoy jerking off- ah no I meant - I didn't word that correctly! Ah geez, see ya later!" He sprinted out the door like his life depended on it.

Locking the door behind her, y/n forced herself into the attached bathroom, the lotion burning the palms of her hand each second. Once she settled down on the lid of the toilet, she shimmied out from his loose basketball shorts, letting them pool at her ankles.

If there's one thing she learned that morning, it was that being a man had its weird benefits. - "Slow down Bakugou! Let me at least catch up before you black out!" Kirishima was on his third shot while Bakugou just downed his sixth one for the night.

The blonde growled under his breath and tugged the red head by his collar to his mouth.

"Fucking idiot, don't call me that. It's y/n when we're out in public," he loosens his grip and snatches kiri's shot and tips his head back to drain it all down his throat, the burning sensation long gone.

"Ugh, my brain can't keep up with this whole switching body shit. It's been so hard back at the apartment." He internally cringes from the recollection of y/n popping her first boner this morning.

"What do you mean? Has that dumbass been giving you a hard time? If she has, I'll give her a piece of my mind."

"Not at all! She's been a saint while living with me. Which by the way, how come you can't just live at the penthouse while y/n stays at her place?

While Kirishima was talking, Bakugou ordered another round of shots. The bartender shoved a whole bottle of Fireball towards the man, saving him in the future to not ask anymore. The young server gave Bakugou a sly wink and returned back to serving other customers down the line. Cheeks flushed red, Bakugou thinks the man behind the bar was being too nice for his liking. He poured two more shots while keeping an eye on the average looking employee. If kirishima kept babbling, he might as well funnel the entire bottle in one sitting.

"I'm just following endeavors orders. We're not supposed to gain attention from those stupid reporters that camp outside our penthouse," he takes another swing of the warm liquid. "I'd rather fucking be quirkless than mistaken for having any rumored relations with her."

"Can I ask a genuine question? How come you hate y/n so much?"

"I don't hate her, I dislike her. There's a difference."

"I don't know man. Sometimes I mistaken your dislike with love."

"EXCUSE ME? IM NOT IN LOVE OF THAT BITCH?!"

"C'mon dude, I'm sensing a lot of denial from you. Also, shouldn't you be acting like her right now? She's very soft spoken if I'm not mistaken,"

"I'm not in denial idiot. I hate how soft she speaks. I hate how sickeningly kind she is even though nobody deserves it. I hate how she wastes her talented quirk and doesn't see the potential. She's a lost cause Kiri. She won't last for much longer in this field if she keeps this up."

"Wow, for someone who dislikes her as such, you surly sound like you care about heeeerrrrrr," kirshima drawled out in a sing-song voice.

"Shut up and finish your shot, shitty hair."

When the blonde was driving back to her apartment later that night, he slammed his fists against the steering wheel when an afterthought came to him.

His whole reasoning as to why he went out in the first place, and he can't seem to restrict himself from talking about the girl he's trapped in.

Even in this goddamn body I can't seem to steer clear from y/n talk! - Izuku had to do a double take when he entered the small coffee shop. Something about seeing the pensive blonde sitting patiently in a booth by the corner really made him feel like he was sucked into another dimension. Today y/n was wearing a white v-neck with a wool green cardigan and tight black jeans.

Kacchan owns cardigans? He thought, clearly amused.

Upon hearing the ding coming from the door, Y/N raised her head from her phone and waved Izuku over to her table. The poor man seemed like he was going combust right there. It's been awhile since he's spoken to his old classmate.

The green haired hero slid into the booth across from her and immediately started speaking Deku language.

"H-Hey Kacchan! Boy it's been awhile hasn't it? I was a little stunned seeing your message this morning asking to hangout. I'm sorry that I couldn't meet up sooner. I had an early patrol shift from 9 to 5. You might know how that feels, right?! Oh gosh I'm sounding like an adult. Can you believe we're adults-."

"Midor- I mean Deku, I called you up to ask about if you have any leads on the villain with the body switching quirk?" She cut him off.

"Oh yeah, that villain has been spotted a few times since the last attack. Of course most of my team hasn't been able to reprimand them. A few close calls though. But I heard two people from your sector got hit by the quirk! Are they doing okay?"

I hate lying to those big freaking green eyes.

"That's not true. They got hurt, but no one was attacked by their quirk. I just need to know if you have any information on the quirk in particular and what to do in order to reverse it."

Underneath the table, Izuku fumbled inside his pockets in search for his mini notebook. He still obtained the habit of jotting down everything, literally everything, in hopes the information will provide any source of aide. Izuku became all jittery and excited at the thought of sharing anything with Kacchan!

The small, crinkled notebook was slid across the table, hitting the tips of y/n's knuckles.

"Page 124, the first indent I wrote. It's mainly about my own conspiracy on what the villains quirk is. That was before their first debut of course. But now since we know it's a type of body switching quirk, I tried to pin point on what exactly lifts the quirks effect on the victim," Izuku explained casually while y/n skimmed through the notes and passages. "I did a little detective work on my own and contacted the people who were attacked by the villain. From what I gathered, let's just say- it's a bit taboo ."

This piqued her interest.

"What do you mean by, taboo?"

The man began to wave his hands around fervently in attempt to steer the blonde away from prying more. But y/n swatted Izuku's hand and continued reading the sloppy inscriptions.

Her eyes popped out from her sockets.

"I have to what?!" A few civilians stared in their direction, obviously gravitated to the familiar gruff voice.

"Calm down Kacchan! Why are you so angry for?"

Y/N rubbed her temple all the while wanting to slowly die than endure anymore of this.

"Nothing. Just- Ugh...Is it alright if I borrow this?"

"Y-Yeah! Kacchan can borrow anything from me as long as he returns it!" There was that gleam again in his eyes.

"Thanks Izuku, I owe you one!" She squeezed the greenettes freckled hand before leaving the booth and the shop all together.

Still in the cafe, Izuku sat frozen as if someone walked in with gun. Internally though, he was screaming. -

Y/N: Please call me. It's urgent

It was a Friday night when Bakugou received the cryptic message from her. He was in the middle of watching his true crime show when the annoying ding from his phone went off. For once, he just wanted to relax his mind and go on auto pilot without stressing his already strained body. It's the whole principle of Friday's. To fuck off and ignore everyone. What's so fucking important for her to text him out of the blue then?

Another acute ding.

Bakugou peeked over his shoulder to see who disrupted him this time.

Y/N: Bakugou, we need to talk. This isn't something to ignore.

He rolled his eyes and retrained his focus on the tv screen.

Ding Ding Ding

"FOR FUCK SAKE!" He released an animalistic growl from the depths of his throat, scratching his voice box even more. His fingers typed away aggressively, not bothering to read her previous messages.

BK: Leave me the fuck alone. You're to only text me if it involves with the reverse of this stupid quirk 🖕🏼

Three dots appeared immediately after he sent that. Bakugou started losing his patience while waiting for her response. He hated wasting precious time, especially if there was a second party involved. Her message finally delivered. Bakugou's eyes grew larger in size as he read the text.

Y/N: that's why I'm texting you idiot 🙄 I met up with Midoriya today and he may have given me the solution to our problem.

He bit down hard on his bottom lip as he typed out his last text message to her.

BK: fine. come over then. we can talk about it when you get here.

This time he didn't wait for her to respond back and began cleaning her apartment. - Feeling nervous was an understatement. Y/N felt like she was driving herself to her own execution. Bakugou being the one to carry out the death sentence. She didn't doubt the blonde would be elated at the idea of her being put under a torture device.

Okay, maybe he wasn't too malice to actually do it, but he probably entertained the thought.

Thankfully Bakugou's penthouse wasn't far from her own apartment, saving her much needed gas in case he goes ballistic on her.

The door flew open when she arrived shortly after one knock, revealing a very sluggish looking Y/N shooting daggers at her. Well, at least her body wasn't dressed in bruises or burn marks. That's a win. Bakugou paired herself with a cute crop top and silky pajama shorts. He's got taste she'll give him that.

Her apartment remained exactly the same as she left it when they both were ordered to switch residency's. Only a few traces of Bakugou were found. Mainly in the kitchen, where all his fancy cooking equipment and utensils were laid out. Unlike him, she ate out almost every night due to the red head being incompetent in the kitchen. He almost burnt down the complex last night. He relied upon his friend to do most of the cooking in their household.

The blonde briskly brushed passed her to sit on the couch, slinging his feet on the coffee table to make himself comfortable. Too comfortable, she noted.

"Well, spill it. What did the damn nerd tell you that could help us with this shit?" He inquired without preamble.

Like a hero, she was here on a mission. A mission that needs to be completed as soon as possible, even if the mission itself was ludicrous. She reached into her jacket pocket to retrieve the mini book, and flipped soundlessly to the page Izuku marked for her.

"On here it says that the quirk can last up to a week, maybe even more, depending on the victim(s). The effected will experience dry eyes, nausea, insomnia, painful migraines, and uncontrollable shaking due to being inside another persons body. They must let the quirk take its course then," she read out loud, ignoring Bakugou's groans of annoyance. "But, for rare cases, there have been reports of one's libido being greatly impacted. The victim will be in constant, insurmountable pain unless they relief themselves, then the two bodies will return back to normal."

To her surprise, Bakugou didn't show an ounce of indignation after hearing this piece of information. He seemed almost indifferent.

And there's no denying the truth. Both of their hormones have been off the rails. Ever since the incident in the shower, Bakugou has caught himself numerous times touching Y/N's boobs. Coping a sly feel as he cooked, cleaned, and even while he scrolled through his social media. Sometimes her ass as well to see if it felt good in his hands. Y/N was no saint either. Sporting boners every hour for no particular reason. All the blood rushing to her lower region became unbearable when she didn't take care of it. Kirishima kept reassuring her that it's natural for a man to get them a lot. But how much was too much?

He threw his hands up in the air and scoffs. "That's it? I just gotta jack off and then we're free from this curse?"

This is the part she dreaded the most. An uncomfortable heat flash roused up her face, a deep shade of red inching across her cheeks and nose.

"No. That's not what it means. We basically have to...ya know...," she paused mid sentence, too bashful to finish, desperately wanting Bakugou to put two and two together.

She shrunk in her position as the blonde narrowed his eyes at her.

"We have to fuck each other?" He profoundly acclaimed.

"Don't put it like that! But yeah, technically, we have to...help relief each other in order to switch back."

"If you wanted to jump my bones so bad you could've just asked." He leans back against the couch, arm draped lazily over the shoulder of the furniture, along with a playful smirk tugging up on the corners of his mouth. Y/N's blood ran cold when she felt the tiniest twitch down below. Her borrowed reproductive organ is betraying her!

"Do you want to be in constant pain till this all wears off? Or do you want to get this over with and never talk to each other again?" Y/N shuffled more towards the abrasive man, a strong tidal wave of anger rising within her.

"It won't matter because you always wound up in my presence anyway. Like a fucking pest that won't leave me alone." Without realizing it, Bakugou got up from his spot on the couch and marched over to Y/N, who at the moment looked like she was about to pop a blood vessel.

Another thing he hated about switching bodies was the fact that everyone towered over him, despite him being on his tippy toes. The woman in front of him acclimated his height, giving her the upperhand if they were to battle it out right now. If anything he could kick her shins at best.

"Whatever...I'm leaving," was all she said before storming off to the front door, grabbing her things along with her as she grew farther from him.

Katsuki's legs were moving on their own. His hand reached out and grabbed Y/N's forearm, halting her movements altogether. She's clearly enraged, thrashing her body back and forth to loosen his grip on her. He eventually grew tired of her stubborness and secured his grip on both of her arms, trapping her between the door and his body, producing a loud 'thump!'. Although he was in her body, he still carried his strength. In a matter of seconds, both Y/N and Bakugou were chest to chest now, their centers tapping aganist each other. She averted her gaze to the floor, as if their shoes were more interesting than this whole shitshow of a dilema. Bakugou squeezed her shoudlers, a little too much for her liking, to gain her attention again.

"I didn't say no, did I?" he asked hotly, his warm breath hitting her collarbones. An ice cold shiver ran down her spine, causing her breathing to hitch. Bakugou noticed her sudden stiffness and began rubbing gentle circles into the tender flesh of her skin. "Hoho, someone's excited aren't they?"

Confused, Y/N furrowed her brows and backed up further into the wooden door. But her question was soon to be answered as she followed Bakugou's hungry gaze to the prominent bludge taunting from her pants. Betrayed once again by her unstable horniness!

"Guess I'm not the only one," she accuses once spotting the definite wet stain around Bakugou's crotch. He smirked at that.

"Take care of it then," his voice oozed of seduction and want, rewarding him another twitch in your tight pants. The libido was taking full effect now, any animosity they had before was thrown out the window. Past arguments also long forgotten. Their main priority at the moment was to experience the sweet relief of coming undone.

Y/N darted her hand down to the spot Bakugou needed attention from, and cupped his crotch with her abnormally large hand. Bakugou lets out a shaky exhale as her fingers danced around the sensitive area. One of her fingers moved instinctively, feeling how drenched he was in his panties, and rubbed the underside to get a better feel of the sex.

"You're so wet Bakugou," Y/N mused softly. She leaned forward, searching into Bakugou's eyes for any signs of him wanting this to end. But the pool of his irises were blown out, no tint of your original color in them anymore. "Do you want more?"

He nodded quickly, his hair bobbing up and down. Y/N chuckled and removed her hand from its previous position to the hem of Bakugou's shorts, teasingly toying the waistband. She slipped smoothly into his shorts, tickling him in the process, and toyed with the corners of his panties before moving them aside so she could have access to the thing she's been craving to touch. Wetness lathered up her fingers with just one swipe, causing Bakugou to purse his lips and shut his eyes tightly.

"Is Bakugou embarrassed? Are you mad that I have the upper hand now? After all those years of verbally tormenting me, you can't handle my simple touch?" She whispered dangerously close into his ear. During this, she couldn't tell if he was pissed or turned on. Maybe a mixture of both, but she took pride in his strained expression.

"W-Watch your goddamn mouth. Or do I need to shut you up myself, eh?" By shutting her up, he meant mirroring her exact ministrations. The petite hand of Bakugou's latched onto the zipper of her jeans, and impressively dragged it down in one swipe without getting anything caught. He reached into the tight restraints of her boxer briefs and pulled out the hardened dick. He clicked his tongue. "Not to sound like a narcissist, but you gotta admit, my dick looks pretty."

"Just shut up and jerk me off you asshole. I'm starting to see stars," She wasn't lying to speed up the process. Her body felt like it was on fire, including her dick. If Bakugou keeps stalling for the sake of punishing her, then he's going to be seeing white for days on end.

Bakugou tentatively began pumping her, his grip not too tight nor loose on the flesh. Y/N sighed in relief as he swiped his thumb over the slit, covering his fingers in her precum. Seeing that he's giving into her needs, she returned the favor by inserting her index finger inside, not allowing him to adjust once she massaged the velvety walls.

Bakugou arched into Y/N's body, panting harshly against her chest. "H-Hah fuck, slow down. Shit!"

"Take it like a champ, Mr.Dynamight."

"F-Fuck you."

Oh no. Probably shouldn't have patronized him, because Bakugou sped up his languid motions to pure vigorous jerking of the hand. A wave of pleasure shot up through her body, jolting backwards due to the intense sensation. Of course he's a pro at this. What isn't he good at?

Bakugou rested his head onto the crevice of your shoulder since he could only reach so far, and ghosted his lips on the skin, carefully restricting himself to not engage in kissing the area. While doing so, he cupped the underside of your balls, rolling them around in his small hands. They looked so big when being manhandled in her grasp. Y/N stifled her moans as he kept messing with them, all the while stroking her simultaneously. She felt him smile. The cheeky fucker! Two could play it at this game.

Y/N used one of her thumbs that weren't preoccupied inside Bakugou to massage the only place she knew that could make him cum in seconds. Two fingers inside, one thumb attentively on the clitorous. It was enough to make Bakugou bite down on her shoulder, trying to prevent any moans from escaping his mouth.

"Moan for me Bakugou. I know you want to," she tried to persuade him with more strokes to the clit, occasionally pinching it with her unoccupied fingers. She can feel he was close. So was she. But she needed to coerce him into helping her to finish too. They need to be a team. "Say something Bakugou. Don't you want to cum? If you don't speak your mind I'm going to stop." She couldn't believe the words that were spewing from her mouth. Y/N has never dirty talked before. Nor has she gotten this far with anyone without freezing up. Definitely the libido effect.

Bakugou detached his teeth from her shoulder and stared deeply into her eyes. Pleading.

"Go faster. Please." The want and neediness in his voice said it all.

He indeed felt vulnerable and exposed right then and there when confessing his desire, but he couldn't care less. Her fingers inside him were heavenly. A mantra of ,"yesyesyesyesyesyes", left his throat as her ministrations didn't falter.

"Fuck! Keep going. Just like that- shit - just like that... yesssss." His moans were beautiful. Not because they sounded like hers, but the way how he vocalizes his pleasure made sense in the world. Every whimper or moan puts her closer to the edge.

"Are you- are you about to?" He asked quietly, as though he was afraid you might stop at any rate.

"Yes! So close, just keep stroking," it was difficult to form sentences after that, the build up tension in your stomach tightening like a ticking time bomb, making your pleads indecipherable.

But Bakugou didn't want to hear that. He wanted to her to say those three words of encouragement.

Make. Me. Cum

And then, as if his thoughts were broadcasted live, she snaked her hands into the locks of his hair and pulled him close to where the tips of their noses touched briskly.

In a small voice she whimpers out, "Make me cum, Katsuki."

Listening to her instructions, his grip tightened around the base of her shaft and began teasing the slit, never once averting his glare from her own. Y/N's legs turned into jello. It became harder and harder to stand any longer. She needed to release. She quickened her pace and brutally scissored his pussy, the erotic sounds of their wetness reverberating in the tiny apartment.

"Cum then baby. Cum for me only."

Baby

Next thing she knew a strip of white shot out from below, dirtying the hands of Bakugou's. Her body began to spasm. Katsuki didn't loosen his grip, the stimulation becoming unbearable at this point.

The coil within him loosened, the evidence of his climax coating her fingers, allowing his orgasum to reach its full potential.

The pair blacked out for a split second, but recuperated once the light hit their corneas again.

"Shit." "Fuck." "..." "..."

Silence. Then the realization hit.

"I'm staring at you and not me! It worked! Hallelujah!" Y/N exclaimed, feeling herself to make sure it wasn't a hallucination.

"Gross. You got cum all over my expensive shirt," he said, wiping away the white substance with his sleeve.

Both of them went into the kitchen to clean the after math. Bakugou would grunt occasionally in disgust, sponging away the grime. Y/N throughly washed her hands and towel dried them, thoughts stiffly empty and vexed. She broke the awkward tension.

"Well, I guess we should call Endeavor and inform him that we switched back."

He hummed in agreement.

"And we should probably exchange our things tomorrow or tonight, but preferably soon since we're going to be on duty again."

Another grunt.

"Don't worry about me mentioning this to anyone. We can just keep whatever happened minutes ago between us-

Bakugou cut her off entirely by smashing his lips against hers. Shell shocked by his action, Y/N kept her eyes wide open whilst Bakugou's were knitted shut. She laid her hands on his chest and shoved him away harshly, putting their distance at arms reach.

"Bakugou, what the hell? All of sudden you want to kiss me?" Y/N's face fell, contorting into a mixture of sadness and confusion. "You only kiss people you like. Not hate."

Bakugou moved towards Y/N slowly, a hint of a smile forming as he neared closer.

"And that's exactly why I did it, idiot," he proclaimed confidently, cupping the side of her face. The touch was so tender and gentle she forgot that it was Bakugou at first.

"You're toying with me, aren't you? The libido is probably still lingering. If you really liked me, then tell me the exact moment you did."

Without hesitation he said, "The first day of school. When you walked in."

Y/N slapped the hand from her face, her skin flushing red by his blunt confession.

"Stop lying. You were mean to me the first day of school. And every day after that. I don't think calling people a "weakling" or "stupid" constitutes as liking someone."

All he did was chuckle and continued scooting closer, eventually towering above her. She squirmed underneath him. She secretly missed having his height.

"You're absolutely stupid if you think I really meant any of that crap. I may have gone overboard on the whole berating thing, but that was just my way of pushing my feelings away, in hopes you'd improve better and not take shit from people like me."

"Ya know, it's kind of hard to detect that when you were practically spitting on my face."

He leaned down and pecked a chaste kiss on the crown of her forehead.

"You can call me all the names you want later. Kick my ass if ya want, but for now let me make it up to you," he whispers before planting his mouth to hers again, only this time she didn't protest.

Heat swirled within her as she watched Katsuki's eyes flutter close, enriched in the moment to open them, and gripped the base of her neck to apply more pressure into the kiss. The man guided her as he moved his plushed lips ontop of hers, consuming the pretty noises she made. And my, were they absoultey rich coming from her.

I want to hear more, the selfish thought banged repeatedly inside his lust filled mind.

Y/N nervosuly closed her eyes shut when Katsuki's wet tongue prodded the entrance of her tight, lipped mouth. Letting him take full control, Katsuki managed to enter the strong muscle into her wet mouth and explored the canvernous place with such eagerness, such tenacity. Like he's been dying to do this for as long as his skillful mind can remember. Y/N found herself moaning as Katsuki grabbed her waist and forcefully collieded their bodies together, her soft breasts pressed up against his hard chest. Her perky tits put him in a trance, remincseing back to the day when first touched them, the guiltiness eating him up from the inside-out. Katsuki slithered one of his hands to the taunt boob and gave it a firm squeeze, causing Y/N to squeak out in embarrasement. They still feel fucking amazing in his hands.

"You're so fucking cute," he drew back from her, already out of breath. Everything was hitting him like a tsunami. He can finally admit to himself that he's been wanting this since they became co-workers. Hell, since the fucking beginning. Younger Katsuki would deem him as a horny loser who lost at his own game, but he wasn't a damn kid anymore.

"K-Katsuki...bedroom?" her hands found their way back into his crisp locks, futher egging him to comply. The small action made him moan.

"Fuck yes," Katsuki growled out and in a haste hooked his arms underneath the back of Y/N's thighs, hoisting her in the air to lead them into the bedroom they're both familair with.

Journeying to her bedroom became a difficult task. If only she'd stop giving his neck, the most sensitve spot out of his entire body, kitten kisses then he'd be plowing her back by now. He grew weaker by the second as the shy, acute kisses trandsitioned into full on sucking and biting. Not that he was complaining.

Katsuki threw her down onto the bed, unable to contain his smile when she hiccuped a chorus of giggles. God, even her giggles are fucking contagious. Strong arms scooped her up momentarily, bringing her to the center of the bed. Grazing her aching spot was Katsuki's growing buldge. Y/N circled her arms around his tiny waist squeezing him closely as Katsuki rolled his hips downwards to meet hers. She seized Katsuki's bicep, whimpering, and rythmically pushed her groin towards his, the tin material of her shorts scraping the surface of his jeans deliciously. His head dragged down to her collarbones, panting softly, wetting the skin from the condesation of his breath.

"I want you so fucking bad, please," he managed to choke out in between the continous grinding.

Gaining a newfound confidence, Y/N mimiced the way how Bakugou unzipped her when they were still in opposite bodies and peeled back his briefs till his inflamed member popped out, smacking his lower belly. He cursed under his breath noticing the immense amount of pre-cum leaking from the head. As much as she wanted to lick it all up, there were other things to tend to. She shimmied out from her skimpy shorts and crop top, not wasting any time for lingering touches. But Y/N caught a menacing glare in his eyes. His attention was focused on something else. Looking down, she saw that she was sporting a sheer laced bra with matching panties. She definitely doesn't remember having these in her personal closet.

"You bought me lingerie?" Y/N tried to sound unfazed at the thought of Katsuki willingly purchasing these pretty undergarments for her. That must mean he's seen her boobs!

"Yeah? So what if I did. Your sense of fashion is nonexistent. I pitied you that much to where I bought you shit with my own money."

His face was stern, scarily resembling the times he'd be bashing someone's head on the concrete during a bloody battle. But his eyes told a different story. She couldn't quite pin point the time or place when she witnessed the same gleaming spark in those vermilion orbs, but she felt safe and wanted all in one.

So she began teasing the straps of her bra, head still in disbelief that the blonde underneath her bought it, and let the material slip off her shoulder seductively. Bakugou's breathing quickened as he watched y/n toy with the next strap. He stopped her midway.

"No," his fingers were ironically cold.

"No?" She questioned him, awkwardly frozen still on his lap. His evident boner pushing up against her sex, making her wet even more.

Numbly, Bakugou pulled up both of the straps to her bra and chuckled lightly to himself.

"I wanna fuck you with this on. It's been on my mind since I bought it," he admitted out loud.

Y/N held back a moan, his words carrying so much weight to them all the while directing it straight to her drenched pussy.

Without saying a word, y/n left acute kisses on Bakugou's neck, trailing it down further and further till she reached the leaking head of his member. He became antsy as she wrapped her petite hand around the base, fingers tracing the topography of his veins. Y/N saw the desperate look on his face and took all of him in her mouth, holding in the breath of oxygen she took before doing so. Bakugou hissed, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip nearly ripping the skin apart. This feels way better and more appropriate. He prefers her wet mouth over her fingers any day of the week.

Y/N sucked in her cheeks, allowing herself to take more of his member. The tip of his head eventually hit the back of her throat, causing her to gag and choke due to the sudden pressure.

"F-Fuck. Holy shit, keep going," Katsuki begged, tears swelling in his ducts already.

The saliva from her open mouth created a natural lubricant, making it easy for her to bob her head up and down. Bakugou's ears picked up the erotic wet squelching sounds coming from her as she kept up the brutal pace, the noise alone making him want to come undone. The sight of y/n slobbering on his dick is now engraved in his head. He let out a wanton moan when she played with his balls, recalling the memory of him performing the same ministration on himself with her beautiful hands.

He can feel the familiar sensation spreading down below, his throat constricting as the stimulation of her sucking and licking becoming too much. Before she could continue, Bakugou reached over and lifted her head by her hair.

"I can't hold it in any longer. I need to be inside you now," his voice was strained to point where it came out as a whisper.

Pushing her back gently, Bakugou latched his mouth onto hers as he spread her legs wide apart. Revealing a canal of her wetness dripping from her panties to the inner thighs. Bakugou licked his lips hungrily. Mentally slapping himself for not tasting her before she gave him head. He'll make sure to explore that endeavor later.

Lips still locked, Bakugou tugged the bottom half of her laced panties aside, strings of her glistening wetness shimmering, and positioned himself at her aching entrance. The tip of his cock teased her folds, coating it even more. He agonizingly went in slow circles, occasionally slapping her clit with it. Y/N's arms were above her head, clutching the linen sheets in anticipation. Katsuki smirked against her lips at her wrecked expression.

"Bakugou please...," y/n pleaded with her full chest. She wants to know how it feels to be wrapped around him. To be one with him. "Don't hold back. Just fuck me."

Bakugou's eyes grew darker after the demand, pure lust taking control over his body now. He sheathed into her quickly without taking his eyes off of her face. A quiet whimper left her throat when he fully bottomed out. He checked for any signs of y/n looking displeased or uncomfortable, but he got his answer when he felt her legs wrap around his torso, pulling him in as close as possible. Bakugou basks in at the sight of y/n sucking him completely, her legs fully bent back in an awkward position. He decides to pull his cock halfway out. y/n whimpers due to loss of friction but gets rewarded seconds later when Katsuki rams his cock inside again, pushing all his weight onto her.

"Oh, fuck, Katsuki!," she whines, instinctively clutching her walls around him.

"You're so tight for me huh baby? Can't help but to clamp around this dick," Katsuki sneered while pumping tentative thrusts into her.

His hands clasped both of her thighs now, pulling her towards him, urging her to move in a harmonious dance with him. Finding somewhat of a rhythm, y/n fucked Katsuki back by rolling her hips, a synapse of heat exchanging between them. Sweat starts dripping down from the crown of his forehead onto the peaks of her breasts. Lost in thought, he tipped his head forward and lapped up the remains of his salty musk, tongue expertly twirling around the taunt nipple. Y/N mewled, hands searching - reaching - for anything to ground herself, settling on interlocking her fingers with Katsuki's nitroglycerin drenched hands. She titled her head and took a whiff.

Caramel and soap

A popping sound went off in her ears. Katsuki released her swollen tit only to look up with hooded eyes, his infamous smirk on full display.

"Open your mouth," was all he said before raising one of his fingers that she was so embarrassingly fixated on moments ago. When she didn't obey Katsuki grabbed her by the jaw and shoved not one, not two, but three fingers in her mouth. Like with his cock, she couldn't handle the intensified pressure in the back of her throat, gagging instantaneously.

"Atta girl. Just take my fingers like a good bitch. Oh? You like it when I degrade you huh? Don't lie, you tightened instantly when I said that." Katsukis pace sped up rapidly, pumping into her cunt like a madman, fingers still lodge down her throat. Each thrust left her shuddering for more, his hips meeting hers to create a loud song, the noise drowning out her muffled screams.

It became hard to see now, a tunnel vision of just a crimson glow. Soon she feels herself becoming light. Katsuki grew impatient and flipped y/n on her stomach, a tiny oof rocked out from her, and inserted his member back into her stretched out cunt.

Y/N yelps as Katsuki's cock hits the sweet spot - fresh tears flooding down her flushed face, babbling nonsense into her pillow.

She caves, sobbing, "yes, yes, ohgod. you feel so good. you're so fucking good -ah katsuki!"

Looming over her trembling body, the blonde slows his harsh thrusts to a savagely slow grind. He lowly chuckles watching her writhe and wiggle her body in desperation.

"You think you can just come that easy? Beg for me to let you come!"

Smack!

A harsh sting rattled her lower back, causing her to bite down harshly on her lip to avoid showing any pain.

"Such an asshole..." y/n huffed out, oblivious to the way how Katsuki was preparing for her next punishment.

Smack! Smack!

"Not good. Ask nicely for me to fuck this pretty pussy into the mattress."

More whimpers into the tear stained pillow.

"P-Please Katsuki..." she begins, frustration growing exponentially with every word. "Fuck me. I need your cock. I always needed your cock Katsuki. Make me scream out your name when I come!"

She didn't even have time to process what she said before Katsuki enclosed his hand around her throat, forcefully dragging her writhing body to his chest, cranking her head in a 90 degree angle. Cock still warming up her insides.

"That's my girl," he said before kissing her lips again, devouring the sweet noises she made.

Her neighbors were in for a long night. - Both of their bodies the next morning faced more damage than any crusade of a patrol. Bruises painted the outskirts of y/n's body, trailing from her thighs to the divots of her breasts. Katsuki paid no mind to it, seeing how he can make a bloody lip a trailblazer look.

Even though no one wanted speak much about the issue at hand - last night was a pivotal moment for their relationship.

Because y/n wouldn't be making a fresh batch of coffee for the Katsuki Bakugou in her kitchen right now.

Because Bakugou wouldn't be lounging by her washing machine, waiting for the timer to go off so he can put her bed sheets in the dryer.

They found themselves sitting comfortably in silence - the soft whipping of car horns outside her cracked window - Katsuki blowing on his coffee before taking a sip. It all seemed unreal to her. In any other circumstance they'd be at each other's necks by now, screaming nuisances in the air. She considers this whole ordeal a ruse. But it isn't. Thank god it isn't. Because Katsuki never looked calmer or relaxed in his entire life till now. And she wasn't going to bat an eye away from this ground breaking phenomenon.

Intently watching him drink from across the table, she ponders if Katsuki liked her from the get go, and maybe just disguised his feelings with disgust towards her later on. The question will go unanswered, possibly until he confides and tells the story himself, but for now she was content not knowing the what if.

"How did you know I like black coffee?" Katsuki asks, quirking up an eyebrow at her.

Y/N takes a long drag from her mug, indulging in the sweet taste of the caramel creamer.

She smiles and says, "I don't know. Just took a wild guess."

#mha smut #mha imagines #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki smut #bakugou fluff #bakugou smut #bakugou imagine

814 notes · View notes

lemons3ason · 4 years ago

Text

HOW THE VINSMOKE BROTHERS REACT TO LOSING THEIR S/O BECAUSE OF THEIR FATHER!

Warning: Mad Angst, Lowkey long I got kinda a little to into these scenarios, mentions of death and torture, I cried and lowkey need to make a part two for fluff TT-TT

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

Ichiji Vinsmoke

You were missing from bed this morning, of course Ichiji was curious of it since you were practically 8 months pregnant but he thought you were just back in the kitchen cooking with Cosette again. You were a chef for the Germa Kingdom, the only reason he had met you was because Niji had thrown a plate of food at Cosette and you shielded her from it before striking Niji in a nerve and knocking him unconscious for over 36 hours. Since that day Ichiji had claimed you as his, his cute firecracker, and yet for some reason you were never enough for his father. You made his son human, which in turn made him weak, sooner or later you would’ve had to be dealt with. Judge had summoned him to the throne room to speak with him alone, with his shadow casting over the young red haired man he spoke with a cold heartless tone, “(Y/n) has been executed. She was taken down to the dungeons before daybreak, so you won’t find her.”, he turned to his son to make sure he emphasized his point, “She wasn’t good enough for you anyways.”

Ichiji felt his heart shatter, something he once never had, and felt his lips quiver at the news. Nothing held him back, so why?! Why didn’t he just kill his father where he stood! Judge had sent you to the dungeons to be executed, all because he deemed you unworthy of the Vinsmoke name. Ichiji’s fist ignited into flames as his rage boiled in his blood. He was always cold and collected but right at this moment he was afraid! Afraid and enraged, Ichiji left his father alone and stormed down to the dungeons. Memories of his days tormenting Sanji replayed in his mind causing his stomach to churn. The dungeons were for the weak, only the strong could laugh from the other side of the bars and unfortunately you were just a weak powerless human compared to the monsters that lived right by your side.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n) answer me! Answer me right now!”, Ichiji’s voice roared through the cold dark cells of the dungeon.

Soldiers in charge of the chambers emerged attempting to calm their leader but their skulls simply met the hard brick walls as he punched them. Flames flickered from his fists and feet with each of his movements, even without his raid suit Ichiji was a force to be reckoned with.

“(Y/n)!”, his screams were desperate at this point, his emotional heart couldn’t handle the stress of the situation anymore.

Then he saw it, in pure disbelief he threw his glasses to the side taking in the pale lifeless battered body that laid before his eyes. Everything stopped, y-you were gone. He was to late. Ichiji didn’t want to believe it not now, not ever, he raced to your side scooping your cold form into his arm and holding you tight almost mistaking his own body heat as yours in broken hope that you were still alive. He was heartbroken, as he stared down at your beautiful sleeping face his vision became blurry. He had lost it, he lost you, tears and screams of agony poured out of Ichiji’s body. He couldn’t handle this, not (Y/n), not you of all people. His wails became louder so much so that his siblings could hear him, even Judge who stared out over the sea with no regret to his decision could hear the heartbroken wails of his precious son. Ichiji’s raw emotions triggered his powers, his tears evaporated from the intense heat his body produced and like an inferno eating at a dry field his flames engulfed the dungeons setting fire to half of the Germa Kingdom. Even as your body seared to ash in his arms he held onto you desperately his wails becoming noiseless gasps until his brothers pulled him out of the flames and away from your ashes.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n)! (Y/n)!!!!!”, He screamed fighting against his brothers strength as soldiers rushed in to put out the flames.

Even if he showed weakness because of his heart Ichiji mourned your death, he couldn’t handle it anymore because every little thing reminded him of you. For a whole week he had locked himself in your old quarters and he wouldn’t budge...not until Reiju appeared with the only thing that would pull him out of mourning. She kicked the door open holding something small in her arms and sighed seeing her brother collapsed by your bedside.

“She’s gone Ichiji, get over it.”, Reiju growled.

“How do you expect me to do that? Tell me Reiju! Every woman I’ve ever seen was merely a toy of amusement for me until I met her! She reminded me what it meant to be human, how do you expect me to get over her!”, the red haired male growled grabbing his sister by the fabric collar until a soft cry caught his attention.

The sudden rough movement had awaken the slumbering (h/c) haired baby that rested in Reiju’s arms. Ichiji’s body trembled from shock and he once again collapsed to his knees. Reiju smiled and kneeled down in front of her younger brother carefully placing his child in his arms, “(Y/n) fought till the very end, I noticed them take her down to the dungeon and the stress from them beating her drove her body into labor. Father’s word was absolute to kill her but nothing was said about the baby. All she asked was that I took her.”, Reiju sighed tears of regret falling from her blue eyes.

This little baby girl, with Ichiji’s curly little eyebrows, and your sweet eyes, was all he had left of you and he wouldn’t let his father take her from him like he took you!

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

Niji Vinsmoke

That night you hadn’t returned to bed, after a heated argument about his cruel behavior towards the staff of the ship you had left Niji alone in his quarters. The young prince waited impatiently for you to return but after midnight struck the clock he decided that it would be best to go find you instead. It wasn’t your first fight but truly he let himself go, he said things that he regretted and sucking it up and apologizing to you only seemed fair. He called your name loudly, not caring about the others and their sleep since he needed to find you quickly.

“(Y/n)? Hey little brat come on, it’s late we can continue this argument tomorrow just come to bed.”, he sighed running his fingers through his blue hair in frustration.

He noticed several guards talking amongst themselves and decided to question them on your whereabouts. All the soldiers froze up once they felt the intense anger radiating off of their general, they quickly stood at attention greeting Niji as he glared down at all of them. He noticed your necklace hanging out of one of their pockets and quickly snatched it back as he began to interrogate the soldier.

“Where the hell did you get this? A piece of gravel like you shouldn’t have been able to get this close to (Y/n) in order to take it. Where did you get this?”, Niji growled electricity discharged from his body with each passing second.

The soldier stumbled over his words trembling in fear as he looked death in the face, “I-I’m sorry sir! I-I found it in the dungeons it’s from the most recent kill. I-I didn’t know this b-belonged to Ms. (L/n)!”, the soldier squeaked in fear as Niji’s electricity made all the lights in the hall pop, his body glowed a dim blue in the dark corridor as he stormed down to the dungeons. Something didn’t feel right, for once an unsettling itch was making Niji nervous. Why would you be in the dungeons of all places? His steps echoed the farther down he went, but the eerie silence of the dungeons made his stomach ache. Something wasn’t right.

“(Y/n)? Hey brat, where are you? Come on this is enough, it’s not funny, (Y/n)!”, Niji yelled, his voice broke as he called your name, “(Y/n), come on I’m sorry! I don’t hate you, I love you so come back.”

For the first time ever fear was coursing through his blood and he didn’t know what to do. Every call of your name drove him crazy, you didn’t respond no matter how loud he got. He searched every sell desperately for you but he couldn’t find a thing, he was clueless on your whereabouts until one of the many prisoners in the dungeons spoke up.

“Niji?”, the old man called quickly grabbing the young prince’s attention.

“Who the hell do you think your calli-“

“That’s the name the young lady was calling when they were beating her. Niji, at the top of her lungs, it was painful to have to hear her.”, the old man sighed tears falling from his eyes.

Niji’s arms reached for his tattered clothes slamming him against the bars as he demanded answers, “What girl? Where did they take her?”

“T-this young lady with short (h/c) hair. They took her to the torture chamber just down the hall!”

“Her hair wasn’t short! Liar!”, Niji growled.

“I-It was! Lord Judge cut her hair with his spear to show her how little she meant to the family. Then ordered her execution, I haven’t heard her voice for the last three hours.”, the man admitted crying in fear of being punished.

Niji released the man and ran as quickly as he could to the chambers, but the pool of blood was enough for him to understand your fate. He stared down at the pool in defeat and fell to his knees as his vision became blurry. Bloodied whips and clubs littered the floor but Niji couldn’t see a thing, he screamed in anguish to the situation. His heart couldn’t take this, his head was splitting to the very thought of your death. His sadness quickly turned into rage, it’s was his fault, his father was the cause of all of this! Using his powers he appeared in his father’s room in a mere matter of seconds, his electricity burning hotter then ever before.

“WHERE IS MY (Y/N)?!”, Niji roared ripping his goggles off so he could see his father properly.

Judge, completely unamused by his favorite son’s outburst, simply scoffed and returned to his paperwork. Having been ignore Niji slammed his fist into Judge’s desk scattering and burning the papers throughout the room. He glared up at his father and repeated his question, “Where is my (Y/n)?”

“Tossed out to sea, it’s not like she was alive anymore. By now she’s being digested by some stray seaking that found her battered corpse.”, Judge sighed in frustration, “It’s not like I would’ve considered someone like her eligible to be your wife. A prince shouldn’t bother with a mere nameless slave.”

Niji was heartbroken, tears that had been ready to fall from his eyes from the past 20 years had finally started to fall. He couldn’t see, not even an inch in front of him as he grieved your death. He was to late, he fought with you and made you leave and when you needed him most he wasn’t there for you.

“It was pathetic how desperately she called your name, she was to reliant on you, it made the torture so much easier when she finally gave up. Hopefully the next woman you fall in love with is more suitable to be a Vinsmoke.”, Judge sighed lifting his son by his collar and throwing him out of his room.

Niji was forced to stumble back to his room, no matter how much he called you you never returned to his side. You were gone, all because he was to late.

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

Sanji Vinsmoke

“What happened to her? (Y/n)!”, Sanji yelled caressing your face as you slept.

Your body was covered in bruises and cuts from your recent fight with Niji, you had snuck onto the Germa ships to find Sanji and drag him back but unfortunately you had ran into one of his monster brothers. Reiju had stopped her beastly brother from killing you but you presence on the ship didn’t go unnoticed, Judge was now aware of you and he wasn’t happy. Reiju allowed you to stay in her room with Sanji but Judge had other plans for you.

“(Y/n) you idiot. You should’ve stayed with the others back on the Sunny.”, Sanji sighed holding your hand in his, you woke up seeing him softly kiss your knuckles.

“Takes an idiot to know one. Come back stupid, I miss you.”, you sighed turning to him.

Sanji frowned at you but he couldn’t help but smile seeing you awake. You were such a handful, always had been and always would be but that’s what he loved about you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead making you smile but once again you both forgot that you were prisoners to the family. Sanji carried you back to his room and kept you there by his side, you both softly whispered to each other declaring your love like children. Having you in his arms again made Sanji forget about his worries, all he needed was you and that’s all he wanted. Eventually sleep claimed you both but you both slept comfortably together sharing dreams that a promising future would hold. The next day Sanji was forced to meet Big Mom. He hoped that you’d be left alone in his quarters but hope was for fools, while he was gone one of the soldier’s had slipped a sleeping drug into your food and dragged you down to the dungeons.

“(Y/n), I’m back. Have you eaten I’ll make yo-(Y/n)? (Y/n)?!”, Sanji’s blood ran cold seeing you missing, you couldn’t move around with your injuries which meant someone had taken you. He raced through the halls of the ship searching for you desperately, not one soldier told him where you were but a feeling in his chest told him exactly where you were. His legs carried him to the dungeon chambers but he found himself unable to even open the door. Memories of the caged abuse he went through drove a cold sweat through his body, but he had to save you. He swallowed his fears and opened the door but his fears were realized when he heard your voice scream his name. He hurried, he rushed, as quickly as he could but he was seconds to late. With his father looming over your battered body Sanji was forced to watch the spear pierce through your back,

“S-sanji.”, you cried as the injury killed you instantly, your outstretched hand fell to the ground as you passed away.

“Why failures stick together I will never know, but at least there’s one less of you vermin.”, Judge growled pulling his spear from your corpse as he turned around to see his mortified son, “It’ll teach you better then to let fools get in the way of my goals.”

He simply scoffed at him and walked back up the stairs while Sanji fell to his knees just inches away from your body. “(Y-y/n)...(y/n).”, Sanji croaked holding the hand that you had been reaching for him with.

“(Y/n)!”, he screamed to no one in the cold depressing dungeon as he pulled your body towards his chest to hold you.

He sobbed into your hair, crying until his voice ran dry. Sanji couldn’t accept this, “Not like this, p-please not like this. Not her!”, he begged staring down at your bruised face that still looked like a beautiful Angel in his eyes.

“(Y/n) please don’t leave me. Not like this my dear.”, he whimpered pressing his forehead against yours.

This dungeon had caused him so much pain and now it was the place that had taken you from him. Why did life have to hate him so much? To be married off to a stranger, to be taken from his crew, and worst of all to lose the only woman he had wanted to marry. His family brought him nothing but agony, he cried until exhaustion forced him to sleep. Reiju was ordered to fetch him for dinner but the sight of her younger brother asleep against the wall while holding your dead corpse was enough to move her to tears. He truly did love you but now you were gone.

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

Yonji Vinsmoke

From the start Yonji knew that his father hated your existence, but Yonji just couldn’t help it. He had fallen for you, the way his name rolled of your tongue and past your sweet soft lips made him crave your presence. The way you reached your small hands up to him to hold his face in your hands made his heart face, but your eyes, your beautiful passionate shimmering eyes made him fall head over heels for you. Even when he was disrespectful towards others Yonji would always keep an eye on you smiling when he saw you doing the simplest of tasks. The prince that loved a peasant what a cliche love story. Even if he was a genetically modified human in your eyes he was just him, and you were just the perfect normal little human girl.

“Prince Yonji I made cookies today. Would you lik-oh heehee.”, you giggled watching Yonji eat the cookie from your fingers.

His crumb covered lips pressed against your cheek making you smile, but your soft moment together was spoiled by the all to familiar scoff of Lord Judge. The tall giant glared down at you while you sheepishly smiled up and greeted him, Yonji scowled at his Father’s glare and wrapped his arm around your waist protectively.

“Keep moving old man.”, he growled much to Judge’s disgust.

Cosette called you back to the kitchen, you excused yourself hesitating to give Yonji a kiss in front of his father but the green haired man wouldn’t let you leave without a proper kiss. As soon as he got his kiss he let you go, your face flushed red and smiling as you returned to your duties.

“Why you bother with a failure like her irritates me, you deserve a princess not a dirty servant Yonji.”, Judge growled down to his youngest son.

Yonji scoffed in annoyance to his father and simply walked away leaving his father to his own complaints. Judge decided that if you were the one his son wanted then he’d modify you so that you were actually useful to the family. Every night you would come to find Yonji and kiss him goodnight, it was a ritual that he became dependent on but tonight you didn’t show up. Far past midnight sleep was finally beginning to take over his body but he tried to stay awake hoping that you’d just been busy with chores. He woke up angry the next day because of your absence and went to search for you to give you a piece of his mind but no one had seen you. You always presented yourself to work even if you were exhausted or sick meaning something had happened to you. Yonji growled under his breath knowing that his father had something to do with it. One of the doctors appeared before him asking for his presence in the dungeon chambers, Yonji didn’t want to bother with it but his father was waiting for him. Just entering the room he could hear torturous screams resonating from down below, his father must’ve been furious.

“What do you want old man?”

His father simply pointed into one of the screaming cages and smiled, “Now she’s worthy of you. A soldier ready to give her life for you.”, he chuckled.

That’s when Yonji saw it, his eyes widened in shock seeing your blood stained body killing a prisoner. You held the knife above your head ready to kill them but Yonji’s hand caught your wrist as he called your name. You responded but the look in your eyes was enough to tell him what had happened. Cold, lifeless, dead (e/c) eyes, looked into his there was no spark in them anymore.

“What did you do to her!?”, Yonji growled sending his mechanical arm right to his fathers face.

Judge was unimpressed by his son’s rage and pushed his hand away, “Simply made her worthy of you. An annoying woman like her wasn’t fit to be a love interest for one of my precious sons but with her genetic enhancements now she is. Surprisingly she was able to stay sane for about 7 hours before the electrical charges finally fried what little brain cells she had. The only sacrifice was her mental sanity, her emotions, and her heart. She’s the perfect little puppet now.”

Yonji’s face dropped to the news of your torture, he turned to your frozen form and kiss your lips hoping that you’d react, hoping that it wasn’t true but nothing happened. Your cheeks didn’t heat up, your eyes didn’t sparkle with love, you didn’t call his name sweetly, he lost you.

“REVERSE IT! REVERSE THE EFFECTS RIGHT NOW!”, Yonji ordered holding your head softly in his hands.

“She’d really die this time, if we bothered trying. This is how she stays if you want her by your side, once you’re tired of her dispose of her. She’s no longer human she’s just an empty shell.”

Yonji couldn’t believe it, he held you calling your name over and over until you responded but you never did. You never made a noise you were just silent. “N-no...(Y/n)...n-not like this. Please not like this come back to me.”, Yonji pleaded through his tears but from then on it would never be the same.

#x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #vinsmoke yonji #vinsmoke ichiji #vinsmoke niji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #Niji x reader #Yonji x reader #ichiji x reader #angst

544 notes · View notes

scribblingfangirl · 4 years ago

Text

WITH LOVE, THE GHOSTS | Julie and the Phantoms - Part One

not my gif!

.•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•.

Author’s Note: Gah… I'm such a procrastinating butterfly. I should be writing my Billy Russo series which I'm so excited about, but I just want to be able to read it already instead of having to write first + I'm currently writing each and every chapter instead of the next one (struggles of a fanfiction writer - am I right?). So, what do I do instead? I flew from one of my obsessions to another and got inspired by this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt.

Anyways... This fic will be a little to late for some of you guys, but still: Merry Christmas everyone! And if you do not celebrate Christmas I still hope you have a wonderful day and a rest of the year filled with love and happiness. You did it, you fought through it. I’m sure you had your own pair of himbo ghosts taking care of you.

word count: ~ 1k

summary (and basically background info): Y/N is Julie's & Flynn's friend who doesn’t know about the ghosts (let’s just say she believes that they’re holograms). The boys become attached to Y/N due to her kindness and positivity and do everything in their (ghostly) powers to keep her days sunny and bright, especially in winter. Or: Two times Y/N is oblivious to the boys 'paranormal' activities and the one time she notices it

prompt: Comfort in the Cold by @flashfictionfridayofficial

warnings: english is not my first language, therefore, typos

| Part Two | Part Three |

.•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•.

#1: Luke

Slowly and quietly you made your way down the stairs of the Molina household, leaving Julie's and Flynn's sleeping forms behind. Even though you had just watched multiple Christmas movies and probably eaten double your weight in popcorn, your stomach was still asking for more. As Julie knew about your habits of needing a midnight snack and since Ray repeatedly told you to make yourself at home you weren't feeling bad about stealing some small bits and pieces out of their fridge or cupboards.

Which is why you were straining your ears to hear any sounds that might indicate that you had woken up either Carlos or Ray, but you were only met with silence. Releasing the breath you were holding you hastily hopped down the last few steps down to the living room, grabbed the stair railing and used the momentum of your movement to swiftly swing yourself in the direction of the kitchen, freezing at the sight that greeted you.

A quick glance at the clock told you it was 2 a.m. and the continuous silence indicated that nobody except you was awake and around. Yet, as you hesitantly took a view steps towards the kitchen counter, pulling your blanket like a shield tighter around your body, there was a perfectly fine peanut-butter/jelly sandwich waiting for you, a smiley made out of Nutella painted onto it. Your favourite midnight snack.

A small note peaked out from under the plate and it took you some time to decipher the chicken scratch. Can't have our favourite groupie going to bed hungry!

Smiling and shaking your head, thinking that either Julie or Flynn must have sneaked out of the room sometime earlier to make you this sandwich you happily bit into it.

If you'd known that there was a brown-haired ghost with hazel eyes sitting opposite to you and watching you with a smile, the sandwich would have probably gotten stuck in your throat.

#2: Alex

Doing multiple Christmas movie marathons would be fun they said. No need to worry they said. Only Christmas cheer and joy they said. Well… long story short, even fun movies can make you bawl like a baby!

A few days after the midnight snack incident, which you completely forgot about, you were once again sitting on Julie's bed. With her and Flynn to your left and right, you had been watching different movies on her computer. Currently, however, you were only trying. Tears were blurring your vision and your sniffles were the only sounds reaching your ear.

Pressing the plushy's soul that Flynn had won you at a fair out of its body and sobbing into it, you felt Julie shift beside you and lay her head in your lap and mumbling something while Flynn was searching for a handkerchief.

"Whose idea was it again to watch this movie?" you tried to ask, but your voice came out all thick and full of emotion, so you weren't sure if they understood or heard you at all.

What you didn't know was that the boys were watching the movie, and now mostly you, with big eyes.

"Remember the day when Julie was crying in the garage and then Flynn came in crying too? Remember how I said that two girls crying are worse than one girl crying? This… this is way worse!" Luke pointed exaggeratedly at every single one of you and moved quickly out of Flynn's way when she left the room to get a box of tissues.

"Dude… they're not actually crying crying. It's just a really sad movie," Alex said and sighed quietly when he heard Reggie whisper, "Do you think that's what Willie meant when he said Caleb floods the place during movie night?"

"That's... no, okay." Shaking his head Alex moved towards the bed and sat carefully at Flynn's place to not alert you of the shift beside you. Then he gently took a paw of the plushy that you weren't currently pressing into an embrace and lifted it to wipe away your tears and free your sight.

You sniffled, too confused and full of emotion to realize what just happened and that it couldn't possibly have been Julie or Flynn, and whispered a small, "Thank you".

Alex smiled, proud of his action.

#3: Reggie

You didn't even bother to take off your shoes or wipe away the residual snow still sticking to your hair as you flopped yourself down onto your bed, groaning into your pillow. Everything was already grey, wet or at least soggy anyway. To say your day had been bad was an understatement.

It's the most wonderful time of the year With the kids jingle belling And everyone telling you be of good cheer It's the most wonderful time of the year

Confused you lifted your head and starred at your computer who apparently decided to become sentient and cheer you up.

It's the hap-happiest season of all With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings When friends come to call It's the hap-happiest season of all

The next thing that happened would forever be burned into your brain. Your favourite pen suddenly lifted itself up into the air and started to scribble down onto a nearby paper. Slowly and unsure you stood up and inched closer to your desk, but as soon as you were able to sneak a peak onto the paper the pen stopped and fell down.

Shaking your head you rubbed your eyes and turned back to your bed. "This is the weirdest lucid dream I ever had." The moment you flopped back down onto your bed you heard the familiar scratching of pen on paper again. Turning your head there it was again - the floating pen. "What?"

However, once again, as soon as you reached the desk the pen fell down, lifeless. “Alright... alright. I understand! Don’t worry, I won’t sneak a peak.”

"I am dreaming... right?" You weren't. Pinching yourself hurt, trying to breathe through a closed nose didn't work and your pointer finger would not move through the palm of your hand.

Shakily, yet weirdly motivated by the happy Christmas music still playing in the background, you picked up the note laying beside the now still pen. "Merry Christmas Y/N! Lots of love from Reggie, Alex and… Who?"

"It told you, Luke… I should just have signed for us all."

"Shut it Reg, I know my handwriting sucks."

704 notes · View notes

iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Bloom // H.P.

Summary: Healing doesn't happen overnight. It’s a process that can take months, if not, years to come to terms with. It’s been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Second Wizarding War. Harry finally feels ready to confront feelings that have long been sat, growing unattended in the recesses of his mind and soul.

A/N: This was inspired by the made-up fic title that I did a few weeks ago. I got so stuck on this, I couldn't get any further, but inspiration somewhat struck and here we are. I know this is long, but I am so so proud of this, I would love some interaction with this. Take a chance, please.

Warnings: feelings of sadness, grief, worthlessness, more visits to graveyards, talks of death. This sounds dark, and parts are, but there is so much fluff and comfort and pining in this.

Word count: 9.4k

Harry’s Flat, London, England, October.

For the fourth night this week, sleep evades him. Deciding to surrender this particular battle, Harry sits up in bed and reaches for his glasses on the bedside table.

With clearer vision, he turns to the digital clock next to where he places his glasses. He hangs his head in his hands when he reads the time. not even two hours of sleep before he awoke; his mind unwilling to alleviate him long enough for him to fall into a dreamless sleep.

He supposes it could be a good thing, or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he throws the covers off his body and swings his legs out of bed. As he sits on the edge of his bed, Harry gives himself a moment.

He gives himself only a single moment to give into the tidal wave threatening to drown him. A single moment simply to feel everything before he packs it all away into corresponding drawers in his mind.

A heavy sigh leaves him as he plods into the living room and through to the kitchen. As he boils the kettle, he thinks of you and your ingrained belief that everything can be put to rights over a cup of tea.

Settling in the living room, he grabs the remotes for the television. Turning it on, he switches the volume to mute, not wanting loud noises, but rather the comfort of monotonous moving pictures. Harry cannot tell what the programme is; a muggle show dedicated to archaeology, he thinks, but he pays it little mind.

He runs a hand down his face; feeling the tiredness deep within his bones. The insomnia had started in the months after the end of the war; beginning with repetitive nightmares in which he would suffer through the deaths of his friends countless times before being awoken by the sounds of his own screams. From there, it shifted into a fear of sleep, a terror of closing his eyes and seeing Hermione’s or Ron’s lifeless bodies. He knows – he knows they are alive and well, but the fear remains.

He wonders how long he’ll continue to feel like this should do nothing; how long he will deal with the sleepless nights and the nightmares that greet him when he does close his eyes.

However, as he watches the soundless pictures play on the television, he cannot help but feel an urge to get better. To do better and to be better in all that he does. At the age of eighteen, he defeated the darkest wizard to have ever walked the earth in the last century. At the age of twenty three, five years later, he feels close to laughter that he has let his life come to this.

But no-one warned him of the aftermath of the war. No-one readied him for the feelings of guilt that twists his stomach; leaving him unable to eat. No-one explained to him just how long the nightmares would last; seeing the faces of those that fell at the battle of Hogwarts and before as he tries and tries to dream of happy things.

Harry’s bottom lip begins to wobble. The tears won’t fall. It’s been years, Harry thinks, since he had cried in earnest.

As Harry sits on his couch for the fourth night that week, he readies himself to start putting his life back together again.

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, October.

The Burrow had always, to Harry at least, been a place full of happy memories. The home of the Weasley family physically exuded warmth and happiness. To put it bluntly, it was Harry’s safe haven; the place he could go where he would find no judgement for his state of sleeplessness or lack of appetite. He would catch Molly watching him worriedly, but she knew not to press, and for that, he was thankful. To appease her worries, or at least to lessen them slightly, he visits the Weasley matriarch once a week.

Immediately, Harry is wrapped up in hug after hug. Molly keeping her hands on Harry’s cheeks as she moves his head side to side, getting a good look at him. She clamps her lips together to keep the frown from forming on her face; worry rises in her gut, but she does not voice it.

The food cooking on the stove has Harry’s mouth watering as he walks through the kitchen to the large table in the dining area. There, he finds your eyes. They remain on the door as he walks through, as if you knew it wouldn’t be long before he entered.

“Mate,” Ron greets; pushing a drink into Harry’s hand. Harry nods at Ron, taking a swig of his drink before smiling at Hermione.

He moves to sit next to you; wanting nothing more than to sit by your side so he can tell his plan of which he came up with by himself. All around him conversation continues as if he had never walked in in the first place. He supposes that’s bit big-headed of him to think, but as he looks around those he classes as his family, he comes to realisation that they’ve all started to move on.

It hits him then and there; just how terrified he is of being left behind.

“How have you been?” You ask; voice gentle and caring as you lean into him.

Harry smiles at you; spooning vegetables onto his plate but feeling no pangs of hunger. “You just saw me last week,” Harry reminds in humour; his attempt at avoiding the twinges of fear ravaging his gut.

You roll your eyes, “That means it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. So, how have you been?”

Harry hears the meaning in your words; he hears the undercurrent of worry in your voice, and it only adds to the pit growing in his stomach. After his decision the other night, it was as if all the realisations hit him at once and he came to see just how much of a bad friend he had been to you all. He’d had been so caught up in his self-loathing that he failed to see just how much you were struggling with it all; he hadn’t even noticed that Ron and Hermione had also sought out help too.

Harry nods; reaching for his knife and fork, “I’ve been okay.”

Even he can hear the lie in his voice, and it makes him sick to his stomach. Thankfully, you don’t address it. You simply nod; patting his hand twice before turning your attention to your own meal.

Cutlery scrapes on plates as happy conversation lightens the atmosphere. It isn’t mentioned, but it is there – the absence of Fred’s laughter and his smile, the pointed comments, and his love for his mother. It is there, and it only adds to the guilt pooling in Harry’s stomach and invading his bloodstream.

It’s as if you sense it; as if you sense Harry starting to spiral, his thoughts turning to that dark place that he so often finds himself in. It’s as if you know; changing the hand in which your fork sits to free up your other hand so you can take Harry’s under the table and squeeze. A silent reminder if there is any.

I’m here, you remind him, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.

Harry squeezes back; unable to do or say anything else, meeting Arthur Weasley’s pained eyes from across the table, and beginning to wish that he had in fact done and said more.

At the age of eighteen years old, harry defeated the darkest wizard in a century. Yet, he had lost a friend he had classed as a brother, and now finds it hard to look Molly and Arthur in the eye.

There is a lapse in conversation and Harry slips his hand free of yours, needing to leave the room before the guilt he’s sitting in drowns him. He smiles apologetically at each Weasley, eyes lingering on the empty chair across from George and promptly leaves the room.

The night air is cold against Harry’s bare arms as he sits on one of the many benches littering the Weasley’s gardens. It’s so cold that his breath is coming out in white puffs, but he doesn’t feel the need to fetch his coat. In fact, he would rather feel the cold against his skin. It reminds him that he’s alive and that he’s breathing. It reminds him of those are who no longer living.

He stiffens at the sounds of footsteps behind him; his hand immediately reaching for his wand kept in his back pocket.

Harry relaxes somewhat when he realises it was you who followed him outside, and not Ron or Hermione. He doesn’t turn, but he smiles when he hears you swear quietly, having tripped on a rogue stone.

You sigh as you sit down on the bench next to him; rubbing at your sore knee.

“How are you not freezing?” You ask; rubbing at your clothed arms, not happy with the chill seeping through to your bones.

Harry releases a breath; it puffs white, “I don’t feel it.”

You raise an eyebrow; running a finger over his arm which is covered in goosebumps, “I beg to differ.”

Harry doesn’t reply; he flashes a smile your way before returning his attention to the night sky and all that he can see of what the Weasley’s own. For a few minutes, no words are spoken between you both. Sinking into a silence that could only be described as comfortable; he doesn’t feel the constant need to reassure you that he’s okay. You check in on him every now and then, but no true pestering takes place.

Truthfully, Harry basks in your attention. He rather likes the fact that you do make a fuss of him when you check in on him because he’s sure that without you, he would be doing a lot worse than the nightmares and insomnia.

Breaking the silence, you broach the subject of Harry’s health, “Harry, can I give you the name and number of my therapist? I’ve made real progress since working with her, and I think you will too.”

Harry smiles at you; feeling grateful for your help but feeling like an awful friend for shaking his head and declining your offer. “I just… I don’t feel ready yet to speak to someone.”

You nod your head, “I get that, but Harry, it’s been five years since the end of the war, and you know how I worry.”

He nods, letting the conversation collapse into nothing in front of him. This is the time, he realises, to tell you his plans for getting better that don’t involve divulging his deepest and darkest secrets to a stranger, even if they are a trained professional.

“I have a favour to ask you,” Harry prompts, “And I’ll understand if you say no.”

“If I can help you, Harry, I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t want to speak to anyone, not yet at least, but I do want to start moving on.”

“So what’s the favour?” You ask; your curiosity piqued with his mystery.

“I want to visit the places where things have happened, whether they’re good or bad. I want to go back, and I want to see them in a different light.”

“That,” You pause; thinking of your next words, “That sounds like a really good idea, Harry. Where do I come into it though?”

Harry smiles at you sheepishly; running a hand through his forever messy hair. “I want you to come with me,” He states as plain as day.

“What?”

“I’d like for you to come with me,” Harry amends, “I don’t think I can do this on my own.”

“What about Ron or Hermione? I’m sure they would help.”

Harry shakes his head, “They’re both so busy, and they’re starting their lives together. I don’t want to dredge up bad memories for either of them if I can help it.”

You sigh, picking at an invisible thread on your sleeve, “How were you thinking of doing this? I have to work too, you know. Not everyone can inherit a fortune, Potter.”

Harry blinks, letting your words settle before a small smile breaks across his face, “You’d come with me?”

“Harry,” You start, “I don’t think there was any chance of me saying no to you. If I can help you in any way, I can. I’m always here for you.”

The familiar burn of tears starts at the back of his throat. Harry has to avert his eyes; glancing up at the night sky as he swallows past the lump in his throat. He should have known you would say yes; you’ve been by his side for everything since Third Year, but the small voice in the back of his mind had him doubting whether you would.

“Thank you,” He whispers eventually.

“So,” You begin, “Where too first?”

Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, November.

Upon the untimely death of Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had been passed down to Harry through Sirius’ will. Sirius had no children for the house to go to, but Harry was as good as.

Standing on a residential street in Islington, you watched as the house appeared as if from nowhere. Appearing amongst number eleven and number thirteen as if it had always been there; as if it was part of the furniture at this point.

Thick dust covers each and every surface. Simply opening the door sends a cloud of dust into your face; leaving you coughing and sneezing as Harry battles the enchantments placed upon the home after the death of Albus Dumbledore.

Turning your gaze to Harry, you could remember the last time you had stepped foot in the ancestral home of the house of Black. It hadn’t been long after Sirius’ death; Harry’s gut-wrenching screams still echoing in your ears as you had bundled him up in any blankets you could find and sat him down at the kitchen table.

He hadn’t spoken much; he hadn’t even cried. Instead, his face set in steely determination, his desperate need to avenger his godfather overriding any common sense. That night, instead of comforting him and drying his eyes, it had been argument after argument, trying to make Harry see sense.

It took hours; the both of you tired not only from the arguing but from the grief sitting on your shoulders. It took hours, but Harry eventually agreed with you, choosing to sit back and wait for the right moment instead of lunging headfirst into attack that would surely get him killed.

Memory after memory washes over you, dragging you into its grips. If the memories are this strong for you, it was not hard to imagine how it must be for Harry.

You focus your attention on him, watching him warily as he wanders further down the hallway, heading for the kitchen where you still expect to hear Sirius’ raucous laugh despite years having passed since his death.

“How are you feeling?” You ask; running a finger across the now clean surface of the kitchen table.

Harry releases a shuddering breath. “I thought,” He starts, “I thought by coming here it would help me come to terms with Sirius and what happened in the Department of Mysteries but being here simply makes me hate his family more.”

“What makes you say that?”

Harry gestures to the large room. “He hated being here. He despised being locked up in the house that he left at sixteen, but he wanted to help the Order, so he stayed here and let it be used as the headquarters.”

“That… That is a very noble thing to do,” You murmur, eyes fixed on the man in front of you, taking in his tight fists and clenched jaw.

Harry laughs without humour, “The noble house of Black.”

Silence lapses and the tension in the room only increases. Biting your lip, you can only think that this was the wrong thing to do, that this is only pushing Harry further away instead of helping him come to terms with the last years of his life.

“We can leave, Harry,” You remind him, “We can leave right now and do this another day, when you’re more ready.”

He shakes his head, shaking himself out of his funk but also steadfastly refusing to go. He’s made this far; he’ll see it through to the end. He throws you a smile; it doesn’t reach his eyes and your heart cracks a little.

Holding a hand out to you, Harry states, “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

The room he enters is one he has told you about countless times; describing it with so much detail that as you enter the room behind him you feel as if you’ve already been inside.

It cannot be denied that the tapestry is nothing short of piece of art. It cannot be ignored that the depth of detail to the Black family tree is not breathtaking, but at the same time it is so utterly heartbreaking to see the scorch marks litter the walls. The consequence of turning against one’s own family, you think as you step further into the room, taking in its beauty but also its darkness.

“The noble house of Black,” Harry spits, gesturing to four walls, pointing at each scorch mark before settling on the one that once showed the portrait of his beloved godfather.

“He got out,” He states brokenly, “He left his blood family to live with his found family. He had a life ahead of him. He had my father, he had Remus. He had his family, and it was all taken away in one night. In one night, Sirius lost his best friend and then his freedom.

“And all I feel when I think about Sirius is anger. At how he was treated. He was good, (Y/N),” Harry states, his tone pleading, full of emotion, “He was good, and he was treated like shit. His real family didn’t care but his found family did and then he lost all of it.”

“He found you, Harry,” You remind him, “Sirius found you. You didn’t have half as long with him than what you should have, but he made sure to be involved in your life. After the Triwizard Tournament and you had come back with Cedric, Sirius would not leave your side in the hospital. I remember seeing him every morning and he would stay every night. He loved you, Harry – remember that.”

“And what did I do?” Harry laughs, “I got him killed. Some godson I am.”

“Harry, you are not to blame for Sirius’ death.”

He scoffs, disbelief and derision echoing off the walls. You stalk over the green eyed man, your determination growing with every step. You grab his face in both your hands, bringing his face to your level, “Listen to me, Potter. Are you listening?”

He nods, eyes wide and voice silent.

“Good,” You smirk before turning serious. “You are not to blame for Sirius’ death. He knew what was happening in the Department of Mysteries. He knew that there was a chance he was not going to come out of there alive and he still went in to find you, to protect you.”

“If I had paid more attention to what Voldemort showed me though… I could have figured out it was fake…”

You shake your head, “You were a sixteen year old boy, barely trained in occlumency and legilimency. You weren’t to know that what you had seen was fake. All you saw, Harry, was someone you care about being tortured. You acted on instinct.”

“Foolish instinct,” He argues.

You roll your eyes, “Not foolish at all. More brave than foolish.”

Harry remains silent; letting your words sink into his skin, binding them to his bones. It isn’t going to be as simple as one speech and all is forgiven, it is going to take time to forgive himself for the death of his godfather. There is always going to be an element of himself that believes strongly that he was the cause of Sirius’ death; if he hadn’t acted so rashly, if he had stopped to think things through, to go over exactly what Voldemort had shown him, Harry might have been able to delay Sirius’ death.

If, if, if.

If, if, if. He repeats that word; hindsight is a wonderful thing. If he had done this, if he had done that. Hindsight was going to be the death of him.

Harry focuses his attention back on you and the warmth of your hands on either side of his face. Gently, Harry places his hands on top of yours, “Can you let go of me now?”

You smile before pursing your lips, pretending to think through the answer. “I don’t know,” You ponder, “Are you going to continue to argue with me?”

“Probably,” Harry admits, “But I’m ready to go now.”

Harry lets his hands drop from yours, his eyes running over your face before stepping back. Your hands drop to your sides, clenching as if they wished to be touching him some more. His face feels cold now that you’ve let him go, as if all the warmth his body carried was in your hands.

“Do you think you’ll come back?” You ask, unable to help yourself.

Harry pauses, closing the door to the Black family tree behind him. He looks up and down the hallway; thinking of the memories he has cherished over the years. He had Sirius in his life for far shorted than he deserved, but he had Grimmauld Place to help him discover the man he idolised.

Meeting your stare, he nods. “I think I will eventually.”

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands, December.

It didn’t matter how long it had been since your last visit; it didn’t matter how long it had been since you roamed the corridors of the place you once considered your second home, seeing Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry rise out of the Scottish Highlands would never be something you could get used to.

From your spot in Hogsmeade, you can just make out the turrets of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers. Slight unease spreads through your chest as you think back to the last time you had been at the school; still a student, hurling curses and jinxes at any Death Eater that happened by you.

Reflexively, you curl your hands into fists, your fingernails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. You gasp slightly as the pain; your mind becoming clearer and your focus becoming sharper. Harry’s hand takes yours; unfurling your fingers and replacing them with him, tangling your hands together.

“(Y/N), are you okay?”

You take a deep breath; mentally working through the exercises given to you by your therapist,. Shakily, you smile at Harry, “I’m okay, Harry, don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”

His eyebrows furrow as he squeezes your hand. “I’ll always worry about you,” He says gently before continuing, “I’ll be okay though. I have you.”

You smile weakly; letting yourself be led through the well-worn path from Hogsmeade to the school. Small conversation is made; Harry bringing up happier memories of your education at the magical castle. The time when Ron received a Howler from his mother; the time when Hermione punched Draco Malfoy in the face.

Happier times now turned to memories; each one tinted with age.

Hogwarts soon looms in front of you both. Harry’s hand tightens on yours, fingers squeezing to the point of cutting off blood flow as he leads you into the grounds of the school.

It feels like coming home, but it also feels like facing your worst enemy. The Battle of Hogwarts had been hard on everyone who found themselves there; it had been hard for students and teachers. You would never forget the screams and the sound of breaking stone. It would be a long while until the sight of dead bodies could be scrubbed from your mind.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall greets from the stairs; voice warm and fond, “To what do we the pleasure of this visit with Miss (Y/L/N)?”

“I was hoping to walk the school and its grounds for a bit, Professor. If you don’t mind, that is. I’m trying to get better,” Harry states; sincerity ringing in his voice so much so that even McGonagall looked to be taken aback by his words.

She nods; finding her voice but needing to clear her throat first of all the emotion he had brought up, “Of course, Potter. Take as long as you need.”

Harry smiles at the beloved Professor gratefully, stretching out a hand towards you. You take it, resisting the urge to tangle your fingers together as Harry leads you to the Great Hall. “Where do you want to start?” You ask; eyes scanning the familiar walls, lingering on the Gryffindor table.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits, sounding lost as his eyes dance around the repaired room.

“It’s strange for me too,” You whisper, voice loud in the cavernous hall.

“It was entirely destroyed,” Harry recalls, sweeping his gaze over the large wall of windows by the Ravenclaw table.

You hope up on the closest table, crossing your legs as you watch Harry work through it all in his mind. He hadn’t been in the hall too long, but even that was long enough to have to branded into your memories.

“The tables were pushed back against the wall,” He states, gesturing to both walls before sweeping his hands above the floor, “And bodies were laid out on the floor, resting on blankets and towels,” Harry turns towards the staff table, pointing to a flagstone just in front of it, “That was where Fred laid – Molly and George crying over his body,” Harry spins, his finger now pointing back in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, “Remus and Tonks rested there. Teddy, my Godson, now an orphan… like me.”

“So many lives lost,” He whispers brokenly; eyes lined with tears that won’t fall, no matter how sad or broken he feels.

You slip off the table, going to his side and clutching his hand. “We lost a lot that day,” You whisper, “There isn’t a person here who doesn’t feel that same loss, Harry.”

“I was terrified of finding you laid out in the Great Hall,” Harry admits though not for his own good; he’s coming too close to admitting his feelings for you, but this is something he had never told a living soul, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to tell you.

“What?” You ask, all thoughts emptying out of your head as you focus on Harry entirely.

“I was terrified of finding you in the Great Hall. I was so scared that I even hesitated at the door, wondering whether to walk in or walk away. I have dealt with a lot, and will continue to deal with a lot, but if there is one thing I cannot cope with the idea of, it is you hurt or worse,” He takes a deep breath, “The Battle of Hogwarts brought that out of me.”

“I’m here, Harry,” You reassure, “I’m here and I’m whole.”

“I know that now, but then I didn’t and even thinking of it drives me close to madness.”

“I wouldn’t leave without saying anything,” You laugh, “You know that Harry.”

Harry laughs, but there’s no heart to it. “I have you now, that’s something.”

Your heart skips a beat; thudding in your chest so loud you believe that it is entirely possible that Harry could hear it pounding away in your chest. You lean in, hiding your face in Harry’s shoulder – a rare moment of tenderness from both of you. Harry’s hand slips from yours to wrap around your waist, holding you to his body.

Hiding your smile in Harry’s shoulder, you murmur as loud as you dare, “You have me now, Harry. You have me forever.”

Neither of you make it further around the grounds of the castle; sticking to its interiors, wandering the corridors when students are firmly placed in classrooms, not wanting to be a distraction to their education.

Harry’s words continue to play through your mind; how he would not be able to cope if he lost you too. It makes this all more important for you, helping him come to terms with what he has experienced in such a short amount of time.

However, a small part of you rejoices in his admission, the words echoing in your head with a hint of hope. A hope that Harry may feel the same as you after all.

Hogwarts is left with a wave to McGonagall and a promise to write soon. Harry’s muscles relax the further he gets from the castle; the tension leeching away as he breathes in fresh air and Hogsmeade comes into view. He adored Hogwarts; it was his home, but he had to admit that it would be a while before he could face the whole castle without wanting to scream at the walls.

It’s a start however, Harry thinks as he grabs your hands and apparates the two of you back to his flat. It’s a start, he thinks, and now for the rest of it.

Little Hangleton, England, January.

Little Hangleton resides six miles from its paired village Great Hangleton. Little Hangleton was very much a village that was powered through gossip; the rumour mill only grew upon the deaths of the Riddle family. By the time an arrest had been made, the town had become judge, jury and executioner – sentencing poor Frank Bryce to a life of social exclusion even after being proven innocent.

Little Hangleton is made up of one main high street; five or six shops with a pub near the middle. It has a small village green where the local cricket team likes to practice every Saturday morning. It isn’t an extraordinary village; plain in comparison to other dwellings, but it’s history with the Riddle family would go down in wizarding lore until the end of days.

Harry continues to hold onto your hand long after you apparate into the village, landing in side street rather than in the high street as not to attract too much attention from the villagers. You refuse to be the first to let go; admitting to yourself that you rather like the way his hands fits in yours, how it feels like a steady anchor holding you in place.

Taking one look at the dark haired man next to you, you knew in your gut that this was going to be a hard day for him. Harry doesn’t talk about his nightmares often, but form what he has told you, this picturesque village features enough that you can see the tension line Harry’s jawline.

Nudging his shoulder, you smile softly, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry’s hand tightens on yours. He doesn’t reply verbally; nods his head and focuses on finding his destination. He can’t verbalise his gratefulness; he cannot put it into words just what this means to him because Harry is fairly certain there are no words to cover the scope of what he feels for you in this very moment.

He knew he was asking a lot of you to keep doing this; to visit these places and relive his darkest times with him. He knew it affected you more than you admitted, but he still was selfishly grateful you choose to come every time.

He thinks that he wouldn’t have been as half as productive with his feelings if it wasn’t for you. Harry’s feelings for you only having grown through these visits; he remains in awe of you, as he always has been, but now he can no longer deny himself the depth of his love for you. To deny himself that would be a grievous crime.

However, even Harry is aware that he is nowhere ready to confront the idea of a relationship. In the last few months, he has only been able to accept that Sirius’ death and your injuries at the Battle of Hogwarts were not his fault.

He has to keep working on himself; he has to keep healing so he can be worthy of a love like his parents had.

So for now, Harry is more than content to hold your hand with each apparition, to savour the way your hand fits in his perfectly and how each squeeze of your fingers sets his heart racing.

For now, Harry is happy to remain in the throes of puppy love, but still eager for the day when he can proclaim his love for you in the hopes that you feel the same.

Such thoughts are thrown out of his head when his eyes catch the sign for graveyard. His steps falter, before coming to a brief stop by the sign. Your free hand touches his arm and Harry turns to you, seeing the question reflected in your eyes.

“Are you ready?” He asks, voicing the unspoken question.

You nod, “Ready when you are.”

The graveyard looks just as it did all those years ago; dark and miserable.

You shiver as Harry pushes open the creaky metal gate. He holds the gate open for you out of politeness, but he does not return your smile of gratitude. Harry keeps his facial expression neutral as he turns to face the memories that still plague him all these years later.

His eyes run over the gravestones as he puts one wary foot in front of the other. You follow behind him timidly, footsteps slower as you too read over the names written in marble, granite, limestone.

It doesn’t take long to find the place. Harry’s feet take him there automatically despite the fact that the last time he was here, he had been apparated in and did not walk out.

The Reaper stands proudly among the gravestones; his scythe crossed against his body in readiness. Harry stills, coming to a stop in front of it. He tilts his face; staring into the faceless stone hood of the figure that had him trapped like prey all those years ago.

Harry doesn’t turn from the figure as he points directly behind him. “That is where he killed Cedric,” He states bluntly, hearing the thud the Hufflepuff’s body made as he landed lifeless at Harry’s side.

Your eyes leave Harry; body tensing as you make eye contact with the patch of grass that would be the last thing to touch Cedric’s body.

Harry finally turns; gaining control of the anger and upset that had been raging in his body since landing at the graveyard gates. He needs to approach this carefully; he needs to approach all of this carefully, so he doesn’t fall back into the dark pit he found himself in months ago.

Harry gestures to the centre of the small copse and then to the Reaper, “That is where I had to watch as Voldemort rose again.”

“Oh Harry…” You whisper, voice breaking as you say his name.

Harry’s eyes shutter closed, and his bottom lip begins to wobble. He had been fourteen years old; he had not had his first kiss and yet, he had to duel the darkest wizard to have been produced in a century.

“I thought I was going to die that night,” He confesses after a moment; opening his eyes to once again focus on the faceless depiction of Death himself. “I thought I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

Resolve steels your nerves and once again, your feet find their way to Harry.

“You did make it out, Harry. You made it out alive.”

“Two of us went in, (Y/N).”

“It can’t be ignored,” You start, “Cedric’s death was an utter tragedy; completely unexpected and blindsided everyone in the school, but you cannot blame yourself for this, Harry. Cedric died at the hands of a madman – not you.”

“I could have done something!” He screams, finally losing all grip on his temper, “I should have done something. Instead, as Wormtail murdered Cedric, all I did was shout his name as if it was going to help. I did nothing, I as good as murdered him.”

Breath leaves your body in one fell swoop; you had never seen Harry like this. He runs both hands through his hair in frustration as he tries to get a hold on his temper, reigning it in. You remain silent as Harry works to control himself; you watch him pace the small copse, flattening the green grass under his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, breaking the silence, “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“Harry,” You sigh, “I am more than capable of handling you shouting at me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong though, and I just take everything out on you.”

You laugh, short and sweet, “I think this is the first time you’ve ever shouted at me, Potter.”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I try not to make a habit of shouting at my friends,” Harry states, throwing you a look that states the obvious.

Wringing your hands together, you brace yourself for your next words. Meeting Harry’s stare, fixing your gaze on him, you politely demand, “Tell me more about that night, Harry.”

So he does.

It comes rushing out of him in a torrent; words flying so fast that his speech gets muddled up and he sometimes has to say his sentences again. For so long he has been holding this in; there are very few people who know what happened that night in this very graveyard and out of those, many are dead or imprisoned so Harry has been left to deal with the pain.

It feels like a confession. It feels as if he is seeking forgiveness from his crimes; seeking repentance from a priest of his choosing because he needs to get it out, he needs to know whether penance is possible for the sins committed that night.

Harry feels as if a weight is being lifted off his chest as he tells you about duelling Voldemort and the spell that had taken place beforehand. Harry seeks solace in your comforting gaze and reassuring smile as his voice breaks when he speaks of his parents, not having seen them in any physical form since that night with the Mirror of Erised.

Once he starts, he finds it hard to stop. He stutters over his feelings over Cedric’s death, pausing once in a while to let you interject a thought and for the first time since starting this exercise, since asking you to come along with him, Harry feels as if it is starting to work.

Eventually, his voice falls quiet as does his mind.

“How do you feel?” You ask; an expected question that accompanies each location visited.

Harry nods, “Better. Happy to have finally said what happened that night.”

“I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell you.”

“I trust you with my life,” He states honestly and plainly.

You bite your lip, averting your gaze to wander across the dark graveyard once more before finally turning to face Harry. “Are you ready?”

Harry nods: more than happy to leave this place and never return. What happened in Little Hangleton will always remain a heartbreaking tragedy; a life cruelly taken before it even got the chance to begin. The village would always be stained with such misfortune, but now, Harry feels that part of his life come to a close.

As Harry reaches for your hand, readying himself to apparate you back to your flat, his heart soars at the words you utter with conviction.

“You’re a good man, Harry.”

--------

Landing back at his flat, Harry takes a seat on his couch and hangs in his head in his hands. He had dropped you off at your flat; needing to be alone to deal with the emotions that had been threatening to suffocate him from the inside out. Whilst Harry had accepted that he played no part in Cedric’s death, he still had to confront the magnitude of what had happened to himself.

It hits him all at once; the scale of what he had been through throughout his education. From the ages of eleven to eighteen, Harry hadn’t seen a school year through without injury or battle. It’s as he sits there that he realises the extent to which he was used by the headmaster he looked up to; used as a pawn to further the game of chess being played by Dumbledore and Voldemort.

The waves never cease; his parents, Sirius, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, and Cedric.

No tears fall; he isn’t sure he has the capacity to cry anymore. Tears haven’t fallen since they fell out relief for the end of the war, but out of sadness for the deaths of Fred, Remus, and Tonks.

Sitting on his couch, shivers overtake his body. His teeth chattering as he reaches for the blanket kept across the back of his couch, wrapping it around his shoulders. Harry bites back the scream that is slowly crawling up his throat; he pushes it down as he fights for control of his mind.

Collecting his thoughts, Harry comes to a conclusion.

He needs to return to where it all began.

Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England, March.

Spring blooms real and true, and Harry feels ready enough to return to Godric’s Hollow. Harry could count on one hand how many times he has stepped foot in the village his parents once called home. He had been born in Godric’s Hollow; at the end of July to two loving parents who adored him just as much as they adored each other.

Out of respect for James and Lily Potter – murdered at the age of twenty-one – the house in which they lived had never been repaired. The thatched roof remains caved in; a large hole in the middle of it, letting the elements now batter the house.

It had been twenty-two years since Harry had stepped foot inside the house he was born in. It had been five years since he stood outside of it with Hermione; only beginning to feel the grief for the parents he never truly knew.

It was this that had plagued Harry from the moment he turned eleven and arrived at Hogwarts. How does he grieve for those he never truly knew?

As crass as it is to say, Harry didn’t know his parents outside his need for food, comfort, and love. The memories of his mother and father are so clouded; he can no longer tell whether they are his own or whether he’s simply simulated a story told to him by family friends.

He was fifteen months old when they were murdered. He was fifteen months old and barely aware of his own shadow.

Whilst he hadn’t visited the house much – it being too painful to see the sight of his parent’s murder – he had visited their graves in the years that have passed.

With you in tow, Harry leads you down the worn, familiar path. He slows his pace every now and then; warning you of an upcoming dip that may make you lose your balance.

All too soon, however, you stand in front of the grave of James and Lily Potter.

Quietly, he asks, “How do I grieve my parents when I never knew them?”

Your heart breaks for him; unable to stop yourself, you wrap an arm around his waist offering any form of comfort you can. Shakily, you answer, “I guess you can mourn what could have been or you grieve the fact that they were so young. Either way, Harry, they’re never going to leave you.”

“I know that,” He whispers; gaze fixed on the grave of his parents, “All I know of them is what I’ve been told. I feel as if my memories have been tainted, and I know that they all mean well, but sometimes-”

He cuts himself off with a huff; kneeling down and drawing out his wand. Silently, Harry conjures a bouquet of Orchids, Chrysanthemums and Lilies and then bows his head in silent prayer, continuing to grieve the parents he would never know.

You place your hand on his shoulder, “Sometimes you what, Harry?”

He sighs, “Sometimes I wish they would stop. I was so young when they died – any memories I have of them are practically gone but sometimes I have these flashes. I have no idea whether they’re real or not, but I feel as if they are. Yet, when friends tell me stories of what it was like to go to school with them or to fight alongside them, it’s like they’re pushing they’re version of James and Lily Potter onto me. Does that make sense?”

Squeezing his shoulder, you answer, “It makes perfect sense. The James and Lily you knew is different from what Sirius knew or what McGonagall knew.”

“I just worry that the more stories I hear, the quicker I lose what I know of them.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Harry.”

“You don’t?” He asks, shifting to his feet and facing you.

You shake your head, “I don’t. I think you’re going to remember your parents for the rest of your life; their morals and values make up yours, Harry. You might not think, but you are a lot more like them than you realise.”

Harry bows his head, feeling the familiar burn of tears at the back of his throat. He clamps his mouth shut, begging the feeling to go away. Quietly, almost ashamedly, Harry asks, “Do you think they would be proud of me?”

Then and there, your heart breaks, cleaving itself in two for the man standing before you. It’s the only dream of a child; to make their parents proud, but what about children who do not have parents – who grew up in a home that did not cherish them like it should have?

Silver lines your eyes; tears threatening to make an appearance as you reach for Harry’s hands, pulling him into a hug. Against his shoulder, you state with conviction, “They would be extremely proud of you, Harry. So proud of you it would shine out of them.”

Harry sniffles; ducking down somewhat to tuck his head against your neck, hiding his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. From the outside, it looks as if two lovers are embracing, unable to keep their hands off the other for too long. However, you know that Harry is trying his best to maintain his composure, to try and gets to grips with the emotions that follow never knowing the ones who were supposed to raise you.

Minutes pass and neither of you move; neither of you willing to be the one to break this moment, but for the day to progress, you need to step away from the only man you have ever loved.

Releasing Harry, you send what you hope is a reassuring smile in his direction, “Come on, Harry,” You prompt, “Show me the rest of Godric’s Hollow?”

Framing it as a question, you offer Harry the choice. He is in control of this moment; h can choose whether he shows you the rest of the wizarding village or whether the two of you apparate back to his flat and spend the rest of the day mooching about.

Harry smiles: it’s watery, but fixed as he nods, stepping around you to lead you out of the graveyard.

Hands brush every now and then as the both of you wander back to the high street. A simple brush of hands, a simple twitch of fingers and your heart would start to race, practically shouting for Harry to take your hand and tangle your fingers together.

“I think I’m going to live here,” Harry murmurs; eyes scanning the high street.

“Are you sure?” You ask; worried not only for the fact that you may miss him while you remain in London, but also for any potential setback this may cause him.

Harry nods; his eyes now focused on a small café straight across the road from where you stand. He gestures towards it with an open hand, “Let me explain over some food.”

The bell above the door tinkles as you follow Harry inside. He chooses a table on the left hand side of the shop; sitting at the seat that faces the window and the door. It’s with stark realisation that you come to see that he’s chosen this exact spot so he can have eyes on each entrance and exit point.

You sigh as you sit across from him; old habits die hard, you guess.

Menus are placed in front of you by a teenaged witch looking as if she would rather be anywhere else but here. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in Harry’s form; the menu in her hand shaking as she places it down before him.

You bite your lip to repress the ever-growing smile on your face as you watch the waitress grow flustered under Harry’s smile and green eyes. She walks away in a daze after having taken your drink orders – coffee for Harry, Yorkshire Tea for you.

You shake your head fondly at the young witches departing figure; noting how she bumps into numerous tables before making it safely to the kitchen. Harry follows your gaze, wanting to know what’s taken your attention from him, “What is it?”

You shift your gaze back to the wizard, “You still don’t see the effect you have on people, do you?”

Harry frowns; his hand reaching up to touch his forehead self-consciously. He had grown his hair longer in order to cover the scar that mars the centre of his forehead; his black hair now fell around his head in curls he didn’t know he had until you had found an old picture of his father. The glasses and the curls along with the smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts; he was the spit image of his father.

“Not your scar, Harry, nor your name. I meant how you look; you have to know you’re handsome.”

Blush paints Harry’s cheeks as your words settle. The last thing he expected from today was to be told he was attractive; least of all, from you. He’s never had the chance before; to act upon his feelings for you. He realised just what he felt for you at the end of Sixth Year, and then the war happened, and he absolutely refused to let anything happen to you. He couldn’t tell you his feelings for you should it put a target on your back, and if anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself.

He laughs, shaking his head, “You’re a flatterer.”

You hold your hands up in playful surrender, “Only speaking the truth. You’ll see it one day.”

“One day,” He promises; eyes earnest as they gaze into yours.

It’s too much; just like that, it’s too much and you have to avert your stare before you end up blurting your inner most thoughts and scaring him away for good. Clearing your throat, you wait for the teenage waitress to place your drinks in front of you before you change the subject, “Why do you want to move here?”

Harry shrugs, picking up his coffee and taking a long drink, thinking over his words. “I think,” He begins, “I want to be close to them, but I also want to start carving out my life properly and this place is so peaceful. It’s so peaceful and it’s beautiful. I think it’s one of those places that if I don’t move here now, I’ll still move later on.”

You nod, “I get that. It is gorgeous here.”

Harry hums, “I’d still be in London every week.”

“You’d commute?” You ask, puzzled in terms of train schedules.

Harry barks out a laugh that turns into silent shaking of his shoulders as the teenage waitress returns, her pad in hand as she waits for your food order. Harry continues to repress his laughter throughout his order. As the waitress walks away, you fix Harry with an unimpressed stare. “Are you going to let me in on the joke?”

Harry smiles at you; as in, he really smiles at you. He beams as he whispers somewhat in awe, “I love you. You’re one of the smartest witches I know, and you still forget about the fact that we can apparate.”

You reel back in your chair, knees knocking into the table as the air leaves your body in a single breath. “What? What did you say first?”

Harry’s smile, if possible, grows as he shrugs his shoulders, “I love you.”

“Since when?” You demand, wondering how on earth he could discuss something as important as this as nonchalantly as one would discuss the weather.

“Sixth Year,” He confesses, blush beginning to paint his cheeks.

“That long?” You ask, voice hushed, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Harry finally frowns, finger tracing the lip of his coffee cup, “There was a war, and then I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.”

Of course he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to confess his love for you, you admonish yourself. He had defeated the Dark lord and then had to cope with the survival guilt for years. It had only been in the last year that he finally let himself let go of the guilt surrounding the casualties of war.

“I love you too,” You admit, chewing on the inside of your cheek from nerves.

“You do?” Harry asks, about as breathless as you were when he confessed only moments ago.

“I do,” You confirm, smiling.

It isn’t much in the way of confessions, but the look on Harry’s face says it all. His green eyes remain bright and the smile wide on his face even as the waitress returns with your food. He looks as if no wrong could be done in that moment; the food could be the worst he has ever eaten but it wouldn’t matter.

You love him.

You love him as he loves you, and suddenly it all makes sense. His motivations through the war; not only wanting to rid the world of Voldemort but wanting to secure a safe future in which he can love you.

The food is eaten quickly; the both of you rushing to make it outside where you can talk more, and in private.

The bill is paid. The waitress wanders back to the till; stunned at the sight of Harry’s smile – and you couldn’t blame her.

Harry stands from his seat, reaching for his jacket and waiting patiently for you. Electricity thrums between you; holding promises of more to come, the headiness of it having you gripping the table tightly as you rise to your feet. One look at Harry’s face and you know he’s feeling it too.

Pausing outside the small café, you hold your hand out for Harry to take.

A soft breeze blows through Godric’s Hollow, disturbing your hair and the trees around you. Harry holds onto your hand tightly as the both of you begin to wander down the high street; the blossoms of the trees fluttering around you as they fall to the floor. Harry inhales deeply; the floral of the blossoms mixed with the sweetness of your perfume providing the perfect backdrop to his future.

Harry’s Flat, London, England, September.

Healing is a process. It is neither quick nor slow; it follows its own pace.

Through this process, Harry has realised that he is in fact getting better. He has his bad days; days where he seldom leaves his bedroom and refuses to stare at anything but the wall.

However, those days are becoming scarcer. Harry can sometimes go weeks before he has an episode that leaves him bedbound, and for that, he is proud of himself.

He doesn’t do it alone; he has you by his side through it all as you both prepare for the move to Godric’s Hollow. For both the good and the bad days.

********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @probably-peeves @darlingdelacour @big-galaxy-chaos @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @stupxfy @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theweasleysredhair @theonly1outof-a-billion @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @storyisnotover @missmulti @himooonlight

#harry potter x reader #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry x reader #harry potter imagine

544 notes · View notes

rotshop · 3 years ago

Text

hello welcome to another half baked idea, this time i am listening to the off soundtrack and crave nothing but misery and suffering

please ignore how pretentious this whole thing sound it just happens whenever i try and put meaning to words !!

tw ; talk of death, some self loathing, general mental unwellness, and brief talk of blood

---

Phobos always knew this was coming. He always knew one way or another this day would come along and he would have to greet it with his head held high. He was so acutely and painfully aware of it ; nights spent mentally preparing and wondering about how he'd busy himself afterwards. Time spent on his lonesome with an unfocused gaze as he lost himself in the tangles of his own mind and questions that -despite his efforts- would never receive a real answer.

A part of him turned their head up and sneered as the depths crawled up his limbs in waves. They bared their teeth in a grin, remarking how he should've known, he should've known that as a god he'd face this emptiness one way or another. He should've known that he was best on his own, tainting and souring himself when he'd grabbed and held onto you for something.

Part of him looks back on those memories with bitterness and anger, mocking his past self for having held onto some mere mortal with such desperation. Mocking him for having held onto you as though you weren't dust in the start and wouldn't be dust in the end. It claws and screams and bites endlessly like a trapped animal, vaguely hoping for release in the form of the void or freedom. All those regrets tangled together in sharpened thorny bushels, writhing and lashing in anguish.

Another part of him admits that you weren't just some other person, admits that you were a tether to reality for him and a shoulder to lean on. It admits that there's so many words he wish he'd spoken clearly when you'd looked to him with energy in your eyes and the light casting a halo around your figure rather than whispering them in the dark of night when you were resting. It admits that he wishes he'd pressed his lips to yours more when they'd perked up and smiled at him. It admits that you made him feel like more than a caricature of a man and a vague shadow that dragged along with no object to cast it. All these regrets wrap around and grasp tightly onto him, pulling him down further into an unsure sea of white noise.

He just wishes he'd said more then rather than now where it all hangs behind his teeth and makes his tongue feel like lead. He just wishes he'd done more, fulfilled some of those promises and plans he'd carefully crafted with you. Those same plans all crumble into heaps around him now, while he would've snapped to fix them, attempt to hold them up on shaky legs back then he's found a sick contentment in sitting and watching quietly. He doesn't make move to salvage what's long gone, instead, he just stays quiet with straightened posture falling and lets himself fall apart along-side them.

He can still remember it all so vividly, the memory hanging over and resting its head on his shoulder to whisper to him when his mind goes blank once more. He remembers you'd been separated briefly, sending each other a brief glance before you'd parted paths. You'd rushed off to go deal with a few out-of-order grunts while he'd made haste to go deal with an uncontrolled mag. He'd never enjoyed fighting unless he absolutely needed to, perhaps that's why he was drawn to you.

You were fiery and quick on the draw, you'd impressed him with your raw talent and skill. He'd always enjoyed watching you fight, eyes watching every movement you'd make carefully. You were well taught, you'd even shown him a thing or two (he's sure he tried to insist he didn't need help at first before he'd fallen into it, listening intently as you showed him how to do something). He trusted you could handle it on your own, you trusted him he could handle this on his own.

He remembers catching his breath and hastily wiping the blood off his hands as best as he could at that moment. The sound of his heels clicking on the tile as he headed back to the direction you'd gone off in. He was too set on checking up on you (though -he winces- he never would confess that to you, that he sincerely worried about you) to notice the way a few stray agents warily looked away from him. He didn't even notice how quiet it was, brushing off the distant ringing in his ears as nothing more than a side effect from the loud roaring of that old mag.

He remembers looking up in a bit of confusion when you hadn't responded to his question- it was something dumb, some half-baked joke he'd expected some witty response to. You were always clever, at first his pride had hated how well you were at holding an argument with him, your power over him. Over time though, he'd grown fond of it, chuckling under his breath as he imagined little responses you'd make to little questions on his mind. He remembers looking up and feeling that confusion, then feeling nothing at all.

It took a moment or two for him to really process much of anything at all, the scene a blurred mess before him. That part..he can't remember very well. All he remembers is red smeared about the room, him walking forward, and then your weight. His minds eye seems to regain his vision as he's walking again, heels clicking on tile with the occasional drip of something falling beside it. He can feel your weight against his chest, almost perfectly mirrored by the weight that rests on it as he stares at the ceiling.

He recalls vaguely how numb it all felt, he carried you off to a medical station for..some reason. He knew there was no point, your pulse was long gone and your body was creeping with cold already. Yet he'd done it anyway, out of some fleeting hope or simple desperation he wasn't sure. All he knows is the way people viewed the sight of him holding your lifeless corpse in his arm and shied away, turning their gaze. He could barely hear what one doctor had said to him, something about how they would see what they could do.

Humiliation crawls up his throat as he thinks about it. Pity. Everyone in that room filled the air with pity over him, both refusing to look in his direction and watching with careful eyes. That god that had been built up and up reduced to a statue that simply sat down and waited pointlessly. He wasn't shocked or stunned when that same doctor had hesitantly walked out, voice hesitant and strained as they apologized that there wasn't much they could do.

Phobos lets go of the recollection with a sigh, internally cringing with guts tying further at the shakiness of it. He feels it all and feels nothing at the same time, humiliation and regret, despair and decay, an ugly mix of emotions he'd never associated with himself. You had knocked him down from his detached state as a god, both in life and in death. He can feel himself reach out to your side of the bed, he can just barely feel himself actively doing it at this point ; it's more of a reflex or routine that he's fallen into, doing it mindlessly without question or purpose.

The feeling of the sheets greets him, empty and cold ; he chokes back a sob.

#director phobos x reader #phobos x reader #madness combat imagines #madness combat x reader #madcom imagines #madcom x reader #rot writes

89 notes · View notes

titlemewickedwonderland · 2 years ago

Text

Broken Homes - Jim Hopper One-shot

Summary: You lived with a monster. Living a lie and killing yourself to survive. But that all changed when your prayer was finally answered in the form of a police officer and an anonymous tip-off

If you like my work consider reblogging this!

You wipe those stubborn tears as you stare at yourself in the dirty ass gas station mirror that barely was clean enough to show your reflection. You didn't realize just how much of a hot mess you looked as you stared at yourself. Your eyes were sunken and dark bags heavy beneath visual opticals that once held a spark of life in the color of them. But not now. Not in a very long time. Your face was thinner than it normally would have too; a telltale of just how far you'd fallen from caring about your own health. When was the last time you'd had a proper meal? What was the last thing you ate? Right, Benny had made you some waffles from the left over batter that he had after closing. God, you were just so tired. But not in the ways of physicality; well that too. But you were exhausted from the mental battle you struggled with every fucking day. Ever since HE came back into your life you felt the weight of a stone lugging you deeper and deeper into the depths of an ocean you couldn't swim. It was noticable too. Your close friends didn't know what was going on. You feared bringing them into the circle of what you were going through in fear that they wouldn't understand or better yet they'd get involved and HE'd hurt them or threaten them just to get to you. Sadistic bastard that you once called your father. That's who you were thinking about right now as you stared at the reflection of what you should never have gotten yourself to the point of. Those damned lifeless eyes so much like HIS.

You reached out to turn on the tap and gathered the cold water in your palms only to splash it on your face in hopes to lesson the redness and tightness of your skin. You didn't look much better by the time you raised your head to stare at your face but it'll have to do. Drying off with some rough paper towels you fixed yourself together as best you could and fixed the name tag on your uniform as you turn and leave the small one person gas station bathroom only to take your spot back behind the register where a familiar figure stood tall and patient on the other side of the counter. Blinking a moment you took a moment to type in your employee code into the computure; a safe mechanism that was recently implanted in case of a robbery.

"Hi Hopper. How's it going?" your voice greeted the older male in false cheerfulness as you began ringing up his snack packet of peanuts and a cold can of beer.

"I'm good. How bout you kiddo?" Hopper replied before pointing across your shoulder towards the display case behind you silently.

You absently turned and grabbed his favorite pack of cigerettes without needing to be verbally asked and rung those up to before placing them into the black plastic bag with the other purchases as you reply in that same fake smile and voice; the customer voice as you'd often come to call it nowadays.

"I'm good! Just working as much as I can to save up money for school. You know how it is!" you reply as you take the handed cash the chief of police was holding out to you.

Hopper gave a hum as his dark eyes watched you from beneath his bushy brows. You didn't like that stare because you knew those eyes saw more in one day than anyone should but that's just what a police officer did. They had to be smart and well Chief Jim Hopper of the Hawkins Police Department was one smart cookie when he wanted to be. Like right now. He'd noticed you didn't make eye contact with him; not once at all since you'd come from the bathroom and you're head was always turned away from his one way or another.

"So how's your mom doing? Haven't seen her around recently." he commented conversationally as he dug into the black plastic bag for his pack of cigerettes.

He'd noticed the way you're shoulders tensed and the way your smile tightened further as if a puppeteer was pulling the strings. You knew he knew because he knew everything and you hated it. So much those damned tears were threatening to come back.

"She's good Hop. Just feeling under the weather recently. You know, being a night time nurse takes it's toll on people." you shrug your shoulders and handed back the change.

The officer took the coined change but shoved the paper bills left over back into your hands without a word. You hated that he'd do that. As if you couldn't work hard enough for your own money; you hated the hand outs. But no matter how many times you'd protested in the past the man wouldn't take no for an answer and the weight of the money would always end up sitting like a rock in your pockets. But you were thankful for them. Hopper was a kind soul even when he was rough around the edges without much patience. He was always there for you whenever he could be.

"Does she know about that?" a finger pointed towards your face and instictively you slap his hand away while at the same time your eyes finally meet his like a deer in the headlights of an on-coming car.

"I have work to do Hopper." your voice came out a little bit harsher than it needed to be as you waved to another customer standing behind the officer.

Glancing over his shoulder the large man nodded slowly. "Alright, i'll see you around kiddo. You should consider stopping by tonight! El wanted to give you some cookies she learned to bake." You just gave him a small nod; not expecting to be going over there and he damn well knew it.

After you're shift was over with for that night and everything was locked up you had to make the trek home. It was maybe half an hour walk away but you didn't live in the most comfortable of places. At least you could get some good weed from your trailer buddy Eddie Munson. You considered it but ultimately chose against it because you knew you couldn't afford to lose the little money you had. So you went home, dreading the thought of seeing your dad's car in the drive. But of course, he was and you knew it was going to get ugly. He hated you out past a certain time but you couldn't help it when you were the only one able to close the gas station. You had spent what little money you had to get him a pack of cigerettes and a case of beer in hopes that he would be in a better mood but of course, you were never that lucky.

It was the shouting that happened first; the man didn't know how to be quiet for the life of him. You're mother didn't look like she faired well either. Wait why was your mom home? She should have been working. Your questioning gaze her way was deflected by your father's fist connecting with your cheek. The impact made you drop the case of beer and the small baggie that held his smokes as you stumbled back against the front door of your trailer home with a rattling thud.

"Stupid kid! I told you not to come back home past 9 o'clock. Do you know what time it is?!" You raised a shaky hand to touch the cut on your lip as you felt the warmth of blood trickling down your chin and soaking into the collar of your uniform shirt. Swallowing the rest of the iron that lingered on your tongue you tried to defend yourself.

"I-It wasn't my fault sir. I-I was scheduled to close tonight. No one else could do it and I-we need the money a-and-" you cough when a heavy boot lodged its self beneath your ribcage

"H-Harold that's enough…" the meek voice of your mother tried to console the enraged man. The scent of liquor just then hitting your nose as the man crouched in front of your sprawled form. He was drunk. Of course he was drunk.

Despite the aclohol in his system the man was quick to rise to his feet and turn on his wife; one meaty hand swing in an arc as it made a painful collision with her face and you watched from the floor as your mom's smaller frame staggered against the kitchen counter behind her. It was soon your turn and you damn thought you'd have to be picking up your missing teeth by the way your father grabbed the collar of your shirt and hoisted you up; pinning your much smaller frame to the surface behind you; the blinds that dug into your back crackled and crunched; parting to show the reflection of red and blue lights flashing outside of your trailer home. Relief and fear flooded your system as you saw the rage and confusion plastered on your father's face as the front door was kicked open and three officers with guns drown stormed inside.

In seconds the man in front of you was roughtly pulled off of you and your body slid to the floor in a puddle of exhaustion and pain. You felt those damned tears well at your waterline as a blurred figure stepped up in front of you blocking the view of your dad being handcuffed and forced from the house. Hopper's tall frame knelt in front of you; eyes dark and brooding as they stared at your battered face and the blood smeared on your skin. His stubbled jaw was clenched so hard you swore he nearly broke a tooth. But he was there. He was really there as if your countless prayers for relief were finally answered. As soon as his heavy hand rested on your shoulder the sob that was lodged in your throat escaped. You didn't fight as Hopper's hand raised to pull you into his shoulder by the back of your head.

"It's okay kid. You're safe now." his voice was rough as he held you against his shoulder as your tears soaked into the tan uniform. Your form shook as if you were left out in the cold in the dead of winter but through the sobs you felt relief. So much relief as your hands gripped the fabric of the man's sleeves feeling his arms wrap around your body to hold you comfortingly.

Turned out having a drug dealer as your next door neighbor wasn't such a bad thing. Hopper had told you later that an anonomys tip had come to their station about domestic violence noises coming from the trailer part and when you'd walked outside onto your front steps to watch your dad's enraged self be driven away from the house; you saw the blinds across the street peek open and a pair of familiar dark brown eyes watching from between them. With trembling lips you sent a small smile before turning away to go back inside where Hopper was talking with your mom about what happened and file a police report of domestic abuse. You were happy to hear that your dad would be doing some jail time most likely since there was so much evidence against him just from witness testimonies. When the rest of the police had already left Hopper was the last of them to leave. You'd walked him out after making sure your mom was okay and tucked into bed. Leaning against the man's open driver window a more genuine smile graced your features as you gazed at the chief of police as he lit up a cigerette behind the wheel.

"Thanks for tonight Hopper." your voice was softer than it had been as your tired frame leaned against the side of his car.

"Don't thank me kid. Thank your neighbors. They seem to like your enough to watch your back." there was a slight smile on the older man's face as he blew out smoke. "Oh and here." he reached to the passanger side of the car to grab something before handing it over to you.

You grab the tin container; it was an old one with a christmas theme picture on it despite it not being anywhere close to christmas in Hawkins. A slight smile crossed your features as you open the tin lid to find some oddly shaped chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies inside. You grab one and bite into it. Surprised that it was actually rather good as you chew on the dessert.

"Tell El I said thanks for the cookies. She did a good job."you tell him and he only gave you a wink as he put the car into drive.

"Come by the cabin sometime and help her make some. She'd love the company." he offered before he was driving away down the gravel road

You stood there in the dimming lights of his car biting into the cookie; your face splitting into a thoughtful smile as you finally felt the peace of knowing that you were going to be okay. That your mom was going to be okay. That you didn't have to worry about the monster that lived beneath your roof because you did in fact have a bunch of people in this run-down trailer park that cared about you. You weren't alone anymore and you didn't have to worry about fearing for their lives. You learned a valuable lesson that night. One is that never underestimate the power of a community and two, El Hopper made some damn good cookies. You couldn't help but leave a few of them on Eddie's trailer window sill as a thank you right before you headed inside your own trailer feeling the weight of the world finally settle off your shoulders.

#stranger things fic #stranger things one shot #Jim hopper #stranger thing hopper

6 notes · View notes

restlessfandoming · 4 years ago

Text

“ice fishing” (pt. 6: FINAL) (chilumi fic)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5]

“Childe invites Lumine to the annual Snezhnayan holiday dedicated to the Tsaritsa. There, she meets his entire family, and all the conflict that comes with them.”

[Fic Masterlist] // [AO3 Link]

“ice fishing” (pt. 6: FINAL)

The lightning cleared and floating before them was Tartaglia: complete in his Foul Legacy Transformation.

“What...what is that?” Alexei gasped out in disbelief.

Tartaglia’s cyclops eye glinted in his direction, and before another word was uttered, he rushed towards Alexei. Tartaglia brutally grabbed him by the neck, lifting him up in the air.

“This,” the Harbinger garbled, “is true power. Your cowardly toy is no match.” With his other hand, he grabbed the black market delusion—still sparking with immense Electro energy—and tossed it away, like a child’s toy.

Alexei’s dangling feet weakly kicked around. “Come on, Ajax…,” he managed to strain out. “Are you going to kill me? Your brother?” His hand grasped Tartaglia’s monstrous armored claw around his neck. “I thought...I thought you loved your family.”

There was a brief moment where neither of them moved. A tiny smirk crossed Alexei’s face, believing he had convinced his brother to let him go.

But Tartaglia’s grip tightened.

“You,” he said loudly above Alexei’s desperate sputtering gasps, “are no family of mine.”

He turned and threw Alexei out of the room, through the hole in the wall the eldest brother had created earlier. There was a loud THUD as he landed on the ground below, followed by a painful groan.

He’s still alive? Lumine wondered in shock.

Upon hearing that his brother lived, Tartaglia flew out of the room as well, his dark galaxy cape billowing behind him.

Lumine ran to the edge of the room, looking down at the two brothers in the snow. Alexei was on his back, coughing, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth. Tartaglia slowly stalked towards him.

“You were never strong enough, Alexei,” Tartaglia said. “You were never going to be strong enough. You were always a coward.” He raised his hand up. “And now? You will die like a coward.”

Massive amounts of Hydro energy began gathering on the ground, forming a large circle around Alexei.

“May the gods never forgive you.”

From the ground, the Hydro energy formed into a whale, a grandiose being that blocked the moonlight, casting a dark shadow that loomed over the home.

The whale cried out—a long, deafening tone—before it came crashing down. Tidal waves rippled through the snow, water flooded the ground. Lumine raised her arms to shield her face from the torrents of mist raining down.

When her arms came down, Tartaglia was there, in front of her.

Without thinking, she scrambled backwards, an innate fear spreading through her veins. She knew when entering Foul Legacy he became even more unpredictable, uncontrollable than normal. They had nearly killed each other the last time she had seen him in his transformation.

He floated towards her, slowly still, and Lumine forced herself to stop from continuing to back up.

“Lumine…” His voice was still distorted, and it sent chills up her spine hearing her name being called from that voice.

Then, there was a flash of lightning, and the armor dissipated. Childe was back.

He stumbled for a second, then fell on his knees weakly.

Lumine came to his side right away, wrapping her arms around him, supporting him so he wouldn’t collapse.

“My...my mother,” he whispered between heavy pants. “Let me...let me see her.”

Lumine nodded, and together they crawled to Galina’s lifeless form.

Childe sat there, still as a statue, his blue eyes impossibly dark as he looked at her. Then, he closed his eyes, and put his head on Lumine’s shoulder.

She felt water on her shoulder. He’s...crying. One of her hands softly stroked his hair in comfort.

With her other hand, she took Galina’s hand and held it.

If only...If only I was strong enough. If only the Unknown God hadn’t taken her powers away. Lumine was certain she could have healed Galina.

She remembered purifying Dvalin’s tears. That was a while ago…But maybe...now…

Lumine closed her eyes focusing on her hold with Galina.

She pulled any magical energy from every corner of her body, imagining sending it through to Galina.

She thought of the light of the sun’s rays, the warmth of a fire. She thought of Aether, the familial love of clear skies, clouds, and wings. She thought of her friends—Jean, Lisa, Venti, Zhongli, and countless others—how they were meadows of flowers and warm blankets on cold nights.

And most importantly, she thought of Childe. The sweet, honey taste of love; roaring fires of passion; calm ocean waves of tranquility and understanding.

Her chest felt like it was glowing, her heart was resonating with happiness and love.

…

...

There was a gasp of air.

Lumine and Childe both looked up. Galina had her eyes opened, taking in deep breaths of air.

N-no way. Lumine thought in disbelief. I actually did it?!

Galina sat up, looking around the room in shock, before turning to Childe and Lumine.

A small smile broke on her face. “Ajax?” she asked.

The color drained from Childe’s face. “You...you remember who I am?”

“Of course,” she said. She chuckled. “How could I forget my son?”

Childe let out a shaky laugh. More tears leaked from his eyes.

Galina’s own eyes widened. “Oh my goodness! Ajax, what’s wrong?”

Childe let go of Lumine, and collapsed in his mother’s arms.

Lumine’s own eyes began watering at the sight of their reunion.

Without her noticing until it was too late, however, the sounds of the mother and son started fading out, and the room spun around Lumine. Energy was quickly leaving her body.

The healing took… a lot of power… she realized sluggishly. Too much, maybe. But it was all worth it.

Then, she blacked out.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lumine opened her eyes. Her eyelids felt heavy, as did the rest of her body. Sunlight streamed into the room, and there was the faint smell of flowers. She was in bed, alone, in Childe’s room.

She tried sitting up, but every single muscle ached as she shifted her body, and she fell back in pain. She let out an exasperated sigh, and tried once more, excruciatingly slow, until she finally was able to sit up, her back resting against the mountain of plush pillows behind her.

She didn’t have much time to think to herself, before the door opened. She turned, expecting Childe, but instead found Galina there.

“Oh my! You’re awake!” she greeted cheerfully, she set down a bowl of soup on the table next to the bed, before sitting down on the edge next to the traveler. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

Lumine blinked at her. “Oh, uhm, fine. A little sore.”

Galina smiled. “Do you need anything? Would you like anything to help with the pain?”

The blonde shook her head. “How long have I been out?”

“Hmmm,” the mother put a finger on her chin, thinking. “I think around a month?”

“A month?!”

“Oh yes, it seemed like an eternity! Every single one of my children have been so worried!” she answered, her eyes twinkling. “Ajax especially.”

Lumine’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Where is he?”

“No worries, they’re all downstairs eating lunch; I can go get them whenever you’re ready.” Galina looked at Lumine’s bedridden hair. “Let me fix up your hair first, darling.”

Galina hummed to herself as she softly brushed through the Outlander’s golden locks. Lumine could’ve fallen back asleep right then and there.

“My children have told me a lot about you,” Galina said. “You sound quite incredible, Lumine.”

“Thank you.” Lumine smiled. “Your children are all quite incredible themselves.”

“Yes, they are all so sweet. Despite everything that’s happened.”

“They are all very strong in their own ways.”

“And you may be the strongest of them all, Outlander.”

Lumine’s eyes widened and she turned to protest.

Galina gently put a finger on her lips and one on her own mouth. “Shh. I haven’t said anything about what happened that night. But what I do know is that I saw you. Healing me.” She tilted her head. “That is no ordinary magic of Teyvat.”

“You’re not...You’re not suspicious of me?”

She laughed heartily. “Of course not! You saved my life. Cured me of my illness.” A soft smile. “You’ve even managed to capture the affections of Ajax, which I didn’t think was possible.” She turned Lumine back around, continuing to brush her hair. “Ever since he was young he was obsessed with fighting, and getting stronger, protecting his siblings. I was so worried he’d never find love. But I’m so glad he found someone. Especially with that someone being you. How lucky!”

Lumine’s face heated up even more. “I’m glad I found him too.”

“He seems much more peaceful than before. Full of love. So, thank you, Lumine.” Galina turned her around. “All done!” She looked over the traveler. “Wow, you truly are stunning.”

“Th-thank you. Thank you, Galina,” Lumine said, sincerely.

Galina kissed her on her forehead. “No matter what happens, you’ve got a family here, Lumine.”

Family. Lumine’s eyes watered.

Galina rubbed Lumine’s cheeks, in a tender motherly way. “I’ll go get the rest of the family so they can all see you’re awake now.”

As she left the room, Lumine let a few tears fall.

Family. Family. Family. Her heart chanted.

When she found Aether, she was going to bring him here. And here, they’d find things they’ve never had themselves: a father, a mother, little ones. It was a future Lumine absolutely looked forward to. And she knew Aether would love it too.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When the family crowded into the room, Lumine was swarmed with tight hugs and cuddles from Tonia and Teucer; Anthon and Misha stood to the side of the bed, just as excited to see her awake and well. Feliks and Galina stood a little further back, and Childe stood in the doorway, all watching with a smile.

The elders had told the children that Alexei had done some bad things and needed to go away for a long time—no telling when he would be back. The children were sad, but they understood. The real, dark truth would be told when they were older. But for now, they were children, who didn’t need to know. All they knew was that their mother was no longer sick, and the family was whole again.

Feliks seemed a lot more cheerful than before, the dark circles gone from under his eyes, his posture now a lot more upright. He kept an arm around Galina constantly now, afraid to let her go.

After a while, Galina shooed everyone from the room, and the door closed, leaving Childe and Lumine alone.

Childe still stood at the door, regarding Lumine from afar. Her golden eyes waited on him.

What’s he thinking…?

Eventually, he came to her, pausing, before collapsing on top of her, arms winding tightly around her.

“I thought I had lost you,” he said quietly.

“You’re going to have to try a lot harder to get rid of me,” Lumine joked as she wrapped her arms around him, hand running through his hair.

“Never,” he breathed. He pulled himself up, his eyes seemingly looking straight into her soul. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what?”

“You know for a while I was completely dumbfounded by what happened. I had no idea how my mother was healed.” He closed his eyes. “But then I thought about it, really thought about it. It had to be you,” he said. “No one else in the world could’ve done it.” He opened his eyes again, softly looking at her.

“I…” Was she going to tell him? Who she really was? Would he trust her? Turn her into the Tsaritsa?

He has to know. her heart murmured. If you love him, he has to know.

“Yes, it was me,” she told him. “I...I’m not from here. I’m not of this world. An Outlander.” She took a deep breath. “That was...a fraction of my power. I was banished here, powerless for many years. I’ve been slowly gaining my powers back, while trying to find my brother.”

Childe’s brows furrowed slightly. “An Outlander…”

“Are you...is that...bad?”

“No, it’s just...everything makes a lot more sense now.” He laughed. “Of course I’d fall in love with an Outlander.”

Lumine rolled her eyes. “And I fell in love with a Harbinger.” She suddenly remembered something. “Is it true? You told Teucer you would quit being a Harbinger to join me on my adventures?”

Childe’s eye twitched. “Tonia and Teucer…” He let out a sigh. “If it were that easy...I would love to.”

“Oh…” Lumine found herself disappointed. What did I expect…?

Childe noticed her expression. He sat up, pulling Lumine up as well. He held her hands. “Tell you what. One day...I will absolutely join you—devote myself to you.”

Lumine’s face flushed. “You don’t have to—”

He kissed her hands tenderly, silencing her. He then proceeded to slip a ring off his pinky finger, and put it on her ring finger. “It’s a promise.”

She looked down at the ring, heart racing. But she was overjoyed. “It’s a promise,” she echoed.

Childe kissed her. “I love you, Lumine.”

“I love you, Childe.” Lumine kissed him back.

With the ring on her finger, the two had vowed their love, happiness, and family—all for the future, together, one day.

[t h e e n d]

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

scene with the rings inspired by the amazing @majunju as always <3

thanks for reading everyone! <3

onto the next fic we go!

#genshin impact #genshin childe #genshin lumine #genshin tartaglia #childe #lumine #tartaglia #childe x lumine #lumine x childe #chilumi #lumichilde #genshin impact fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #me

454 notes · View notes