#like he wants to see me in a hospital bed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kaliforniahigh · 2 days ago

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we'll try again, when we're not so different - n.s.

Exhusband!Noah and Exwife!Reader.

Warnings: angst, the end of a marriage, hurtful words, heartbreak, Noah's new "girlfriend", self-deprecating thoughts from both Noah and Reader, curse words, miscommunication, happy ending. Sorry if I forgot something.

I definitely don't want to end their story here. I feel like there's so much potential from this universe, so, feel free to send me asks to talk about their little life. Can be either pre or post divorce :)

WC: 9.6k

You still remember everything as if it happened yesterday.

You remember marrying him. You remember your improptu honeymoon that wasn't really anything fancy, but still held meaning to the two of you. You remember finding you you were pregnant, and even though you felt very scared of becoming a parent, you also felt very excited for the future.

But what you remember the most of all these things, is when everything started to fall apart. If you tried, you feel like you could recite word for word of what was said that day.

You were both in the kitchen. The kitchen island between you and Noah physically showing the rift that has grown between the two of you in the past years, as each one of you stood on one side.

The folder set on the counter was like a giant elephant in the room. It felt like it was staring, and mocking you. You felt like it was looking you in the face and saying "see? You failed. You failed at keeping this marriage together. And I'm the proof of it".

Neither you nor Noah have said anything since you handed him the papers and he looked through them. The silence felt like it was swallowing you two alive. You wanted him to say something, even if it was to get angry at you.

He sighed out loud, and ran a hand through his hair. And in that moment, you couldn't help but think about how your going to miss doing it yourself.

Because divorcing him didn't only mean letting go of your marriage. It meant letting go of him. It meant he was no longer gonna be yours.

You would go to bed alone. You would only cook meals for two people instead of three. And you would have no one to tell about your day. No one to let know when you arrived somewhere, or when you were headed back home.

But then you remember you've been feeling this way for a long time already. What different would it make? He was never home anyway, you felt like you were in a one person marriage.

"Y/N", he said your name, startling you out of your thoughts. "What the fuck is this?", he asked, pointing to the folder in front of you.

He didn't sound angry, he didn't raise his voice. You think he actually sounded betrayed.

"I think you know what it is", you whispered, but the silence was so loud, he could hear you clearly.

"Where is this coming from?", he questions you, and for a second you think he must not be serious right now.

Did he not remember all of the fights you've had? Did he not remember the countless nights you've called him, crying and frustrated because you couldn't put your son to sleep? Did he not remember when you got a call from his school, saying that Ezra fell from the monkey bars and needed to be taken to the hospital? And you couldn't even call him, because he was on stage somewhere halfway across the world.

"I think this is a long time coming, Noah", you point out and you can tell he's getting frustrated with your short answers.

"Long time coming? For how long have you been thinking of divorcing me? How come we never sat down and talked about it?", he was getting agitated now. Pacing back and forth.

The truth is, you knew that if you had sat down and talked to him, he would make you the same promises he's made you before, and then you wouldn't go through with it.

And you needed this. You needed to stop pretending like this is working anymore. And now you need to make him see it too.

"I don't think you want to know for how long I've been thinking about it", you answered, truthfully.

"No, I need to know. I need to know when you started to give up on us"

You whip your head to look at him when he said this.

"Give up on us?", you ask, incredulity seeping into your tone. "How dare you say Im giving up on us when I've been trying to make this work for four years? How dare you say I'm giving up on us when all you've ever given me is nothing but empty promises?", you question him, patience vanishing.

You didn't want this to become a fight. But you guess it was always going to be this way.

"Nothing? You're standing here saying that I give you nothing? I've given you everything for the past five years of my life"

"How can you tell me you've given me everything when I've been telling you tour after tour how fucking lonely I feel everytime you're away?", you question him. Has he forgotten everything?

"And I've told you that I can't change that right now!", he exclaims, frustrated. "Don't you think I'd rather stay here with the two of you instead of going away for months? You think I don't beat myself up for missing so much of Ezra's life because I was away somewhere in fucking Europe?"

"You can't change that and I can't keep living like this", you shrugged, understading where he's coming from, but tired of hearing the same thing you've heard so many times before.

"And you think this is gonna fix it?", he grabbed the folder and slightly slammed it on the counter. "You're running away from the problem instead of trying to fix it"

"I can't run from something that can't be fixed. I can't wait four more years for you to be here for us. I just can't"

"What about Ezra? Are you even thinking about him? How is he gonna take this? How is this gonna change his life?"

This was the breaking point for you, Noah talking about your son as if you're completely disregarding his well-being in this situation. The only person you had in mind was your son.

So, you said something that, to this day, you regret telling him. Because as much as you wished he was home more, that he called more, you couldn't deny that he was an amazing father. He cared for Ezra with his whole life, and you could actually see so much of Noah in him that it surprised you at times.

But, what was said can't be taken back.

"I don't know, Noah. Is it even gonna make much of a difference? You're never here anyway, so I don't even think he'd notice the change"

As soon as you said this, you could see the fight leave his body. His shoulders slumped and his eyes became downcast as the realization of what you just said hit him in the face.

He looked away from you, and you wanted to take it back immediately, but how could you?

"I'll get some of the guys to get my shit tomorrow", he said, turning his back to you and walking to the living room, grabbing the key to his car.

"Noah...", you called out, following after him, even though you have no idea what you could even say to him.

"I think you've said enough", he told you, and you haven't seen his face as cold as it was in that moment in all of the years you've been together. Actually, what brought you the most comfort was the warmth of his eyes.

Leaving the house, he half slammed the door behind him, leaving you standing there with your thoughts.

Sitting on the couch, you absolutely crumbled. Not being able to hold your tears anymore. You laid down in a fetal position, sobs racking through your body and reverberating in the emptiness of the house.

Your family was over. You were on your own now. And for a split second, you questioned if you did the right thing.

All of your friends were looking at you as if you had grown two heads. And you were desperately trying to pretend that you weren't affected by what was said just a few seconds ago.

After separating from Noah, you still kept the same friends. It just happened that your friends were also his friends. Or, they were friends, or significant others of his friends. Hearing about him and what he was up to was unavoidable. But you had to give it to them, they actually did try to keep his name out of most conversations.

It wasn't like you never spoke to him ever again. You did, because you had a kid together, after all. But the conversations were about Ezra 90% of the time. Never straying to personal matters and other topics.

You congratulated him on new music, or a new album when it came out. You told him when something happened at school with Ezra, or when something happened at the studio and you'd be late picking up Ezra from his place.

After being on your own, you went back to pursuing your dreams of being a tattoo artist, which is something you've started doing before getting pregnant. With the baby and the responsabilities you had, you started working less and less, until you stopped altogether.

You were happy to say your studio was thriving for about four years now. It took a while for you to get your footing back. Both emotionally and financially. And obviously, to fit everything into Ezra's schedule.

Today, you were grabbing lunch with a few friends, amongst them, were Matt, Davis and their girlfriends. The band had a final show of their tour here in California, and they were all excited about it.

Apparently, a few people from the industry were invited, and the venue was going to be larger than normal, probably their largest crowd yet.

You felt happy for them. The band deserved it and so did Noah. Especially after how hard they all worked for this.

It was when they were listing all of the people invited, that Matt let slip a very important information.

"Yeah, we're inviting the boys from Erra, and we're thinking of the possibility of Jesse playing guitar on stage", Lilly, Matt's girlfriend said.

"Crimson Halo is also going. I'll love to see how the internet is going to freak out about that", Matt pointed out, laughing at the idea.

"Why would the internet freak out?", you questioned.

Everyone started to look at each other funny. As if they shared a secret, an information you weren't in on. You started to feel uncomfortable.

"Guys?", you questioned again. "Is someone gonna tell me what is going on?"

"I don't know if you're going to like it", Lilly said, looking at Matt. You were now more confused than ever.

"Noah is dating Emery. The lead singer of the band", Davis ripped off the bandaid, and a heavy silence settled over the table.

You, on the other hand, was trying to act unaffected, but it was becoming more difficult as everyone was staring at you, trying to gauge your reaction.

"Oh, okay", you said, honestly not knowing the right way to respond to this.

You knew Noah must have been with other women after your split. You never heard about it, but five years have gone by, he must have been dating around in that time.

But this was the first time it was confirmed to you that he was in a new relationship, and you didn't know what to feel. It must be serious though, since she's attending his concerts.

Not to mention the fact that your son is going to be there. What is Noah going to say? Is he gonna tell him he has a new girlfriend? How is your son going to react? You hated this, since you knew you weren't supposed to know about it. But now that you did, you guess you'll have to talk to him about the situation.

"For how long have they been together?", you ask.

"For a couple of months", Davis answered, and you appreciated his honesty.

"I just wonder when he was planning on telling me this", you said, reaching for a fry and popping it into your mouth, needing something to do while you stewed in this information.

"I don't know. We also found out recently", Matt told you, and you could tell he felt bad about how the situation was unfolding.

"I was probably gonna find out from some fan account on Twitter, right?", you joked, but it didn't land. The show is in a couple of days from now, and if Noah thought this information wasn't important enough to share with you, it means you were going to find out from some blurry picture of them kissing or whatever.

The thought made your heart beat faster with anxiety.

After this, it goes without saying that the vibe wasn't the same. And in less than an hour, everyone was saying their goodbyes, and hugging each other.

Lilly enveloped you in her arms, but before parting completely, she held you at arm's length and leaned a little closer.

"If you're worried about Ezra, just know that Noah would never do anything to jeopardize the relationship with his son", she told you, and you saw sincerity in her eyes.

You knew this. You knew that Noah was a responsible father. But still, the fact that you were in the dark about all of this left a bitter taste in your mouth.

"Thank, Lilly. I appreciate it", you smiled, and everyone went their own way.

Back home, you sat on the couch while Ezra did his homework on the kitchen table. You pondered if you should do anything about this new piece of information. By now, Noah must know that you knew about it, since Matt and Davis most likely told him already.

You should just be quiet, and let this be. It was his relationship. It was his decision to tell you or not.

But, despite knowing this. You still send him a text.

You: If you are serious about her, let me know, so we can think of a way to tell Ezra.

Yeah, you were never good at keeping to yourself when it comes to him.

A few seconds later, your phone buzzes with a reply.

Noah: Can I come over later?

You sighed. If Noah wants to show up at your house, then the talk he wants to have must be important. You texted him back an "ok". Good thing Ezra is spending the night at his grandma's tonight. Your mom has been dying for a sleepover, and since it was a Friday, spending the weekend there would be the perfect opportunity.

You and Noah had joint custody, but a flexible schedule due to his job. Even though Ezra spent the most amount of time with you, you never limited for how long he was with Noah whenever he was not on tour.

After dropping off Ezra at your mom's house, you grabbed take out on the way back home. One rule that you kept even after the divorce, is that Fridays were the days for take out, and not cooking.

Grabbing your meal and thanking the server, you put the car in drive. But before you could start making your way back home, your phone vibrated on the center console. You saw it was a text message from Noah.

Noah: I'm on my way.

You didn't bother to answer, since you were about 5 minutes from your house. You would most likely arrive just in time to meet him there.

As you predicted, as soon as you set the food container on the kitchen counter, you heard a knock on your door. Opening it, you were met with Noah on the other side of the door. He was dressed as he usually was. Dark pants and a Bad Omens hoodie. You kept some of those in your closet as well. You got rid of the ones that belonged to him, and that for some reason, he had left behind when he moved out. The other ones were too comfy to throw in the donation pile.

"Come in", you told him, stepping aside to let him in the house.

There were few times when he actually came into your house, oftentimes, he stayed in the car while Ezra took his backpack and ran along the driveway to meet his dad. Whenever you were running late, he came in, but never went further into the house than the living room and kitchen.

You heard him closing the door behind him, as you made your way back to the kitchen, opening a drawer and grabbing a fork.

"Still doing no cooking Friday, I see", he pointed out, sitting in one of the stools in the kitchen island.

"Yep. You know how it is", you answered, as you sat down yourself. You pointed to the food in front of you, silently asking if he wanted some, but he just shook his head no.

Right now, you weren't too sure if you wanted to have this conversation with him eating. But, oh well.

"Matt told me what happened today at lunch", he started.

"To say it was a little uncomfortable would be an understatement", you pointed out. You really didn't mean to be petty about this, but as soon as he touched on the subject, it just came out of you. You decided to dial it down a little bit. You didn't want this to become a fight.

"I'm sorry. I was going to tell you. I was just waiting for the right time"

"You couldn't find the right time in the couple of months you've been together?", you challenged him. He was talking as if he started dating this girl last week.

"I was never going to introduce her to Ezra without talking to you", Noah said. And it was true. He knew how protective you were of Ezra, and he was never going to take a miscalculated step that could affect his son's life.

"I believe you. It would just be nice to know"

He nodded, showing you he understood where you were coming from.

"But now that I know, we need to talk about how things are going to be from now on"

"I still don't pretend to introduce her as my girlfriend to him, Y/N"

You ignored the way he said "my girlfriend" tugged at your heart in a way you were not ready to admit.

"Ok, but what about when you decide to do it?", you question him.

"We've been separated for a while now. It would be natural for us to start dating other people. He's 9, he'll understand", he said and you sighed. Your son was a very emotionally mature kid, you gotta give him that.

"Just be careful when you do it, ok? I don't want him hurting", you pointed the fork at him when you said it. "And please, only do it if you know for sure that this girl is going to stick around"

You knew that Noah was completely aware of everything you were saying to him. But he let you say it anyway, because he knew it took a weight off your chest to do it.

"You don't have to worry about it", he reassured you, and you nodded in response. "This is not the only thing I came here to talk about"

You stopped chewing the second he said this. You had a feeling that whatever it was, wouldn't make you happy.

"Ezra is coming to the concert next friday, right?", he asked and you hummed in agreement. Every time the band performed here, Ezra would attend the concert. "I need you there with him this time", he said and you almost choked on your food.

"What?", you ask, indignation in your voice. Ever since separating, you never attented one of his concerts again. It was actually something you told him you did not want to do. Whenever Ezra would go, Alana would pick him up and stay with him the whole time, so you didn't have to worry.

"Alana is actually very sick this time, and she can't go. Ezra is really excited and I didn't want him to miss it", Noah explained.

"And you don't have anyone else?"

"Not really", he shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone else is going to be busy, and I can't be with him all the time"

You knew how chaotic it could get while getting ready for a concert. The boys would all be running around, making sure everything goes to plan. And truth be told, you didn't expect any of them to stop what they were doing to take care of a nine year old.

"I already told you I didn't want to go anymore", you said, head low. You suddenly didn't want to look at him anymore. You also lost your appetite, so your hand just stirred the food around with your fork aimlessly.

The thing is, going to these concerts were one of your favorite things to do when you and Noah were still together. You loved to watch him go up on the stage. You loved to watch him sing his heart out, and command the crowd in the way only he knew how to do.

In the last stages of your relationship though, it was such a bittersweet feeling. Because you knew that no matter what you did, nothing could ever compare to the thrill he felt up there. In a way, you resented the stage, but you started to understand why he went away for months and months to perform.

"Listen, you don't have to watch if you don't want to. But he needs you there this time", Noah said. You knew he was right, and you hated the idea of telling your son he wouldn't get to go.

"Ok, I'll be there", you decided. Not too excited about the idea, but there's nothing you could do about it right now. "Can you tell your girlfriend I'm going? Just so it isn't awkward or anything", you add.

"I will. You don't have to worry about that", Noah reassures you, and you nod in appreciation.

You take another bite of your food, as a silence falls over the two of you. It was always like this. Awkaward silences, trying to find something to talk about. It felt like you didn't have anything in common anymore. It felt like you couldn't relate to each other anymore. And you weren't sure of what hurt more, even after five years.

After a few more seconds, he stood up.

"I should get going", he said, grabbing his car keys set on the counter in front of him. You abandon your food in order to open the door for him.

"I'll se you on Friday, I guess", you tell him, as he steps onto your front porch.

"I'll see you. I'll get Matt to text you the details, along with your backstage pass", Noah informs you, you say thanks and then he's back on his car, peeling off the driveway.

Noah waits until he rounds the corner to stop his car. He feels like he needs to catch his breath. Every time he's inside your house, it takes all of the energy out of him. And this time, it's no different.

He replays the interation word by word in his head. When Matt had texted him, saying that he let it slip that Noah has a new girlfriend, he knew he needed to talk to you about it sooner rather than later.

He was just avoiding it, and for many reasons. Emery was a nice girl, but Noah would be lying if he said he saw a future for them. A future further than what they had right now. He didn't even know if he could call her his girlfriend. He never really asked her oficially, but after a couple of weeks of them being together, going out together, going to each other's places, he thinks he doesn't really need to say much. Besides, other people around him just started to refer to them as boyfriend and girlfriend, and he didn't have the heart to correct them.

He knows he should say something. He should say he's not emotionally available right now. He should say he's not looking for something long lasting. But, the truth is, he doesn't want to look like a fool. Because, the moment he says that, he knows he'll need to talk about you. Because you're the reason he hasn't been available for the past five years, and, honestly, how can he say that?

How can he say he hasn't moved on from a relationship that's ended five years ago? How can he say that you're still the only that can get his heart beating faster every time you look at him? How can he say that after everything you've said to him that night, he can still feel like you're the only one for him?

He knows he needs to talk about it. Maybe with a professional, like the boys have hinted at many times. He just feels like if he gets rid of these feelings, if he finally moves on, he'll be losing that last piece of you. That last piece of how you were together, despite the bad times and the fights. And he's not ready for that.

Pulling the car in drive again, he sighs out loud before starting to drive. He's headed to Emery's place. Earlier in the day, she had invited him for dinner, and he had said yes. Right now, he doesn't really feel like it, but he also doesn't feel like cancelling last minute. So he just drives.

When he arrives, Noah turns off his car and hops off, making his way to her front door and ringing the doorbell. When she opens the door, she's wearing this cute apron, and she greets him with a smile on her face and a peck on the lips, ushering him in.

The first thing Noah notices is the smell permeating the house, and his stomach grumbles almost instantly.

"What are you making?", he asks, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting down, as he watches Emery carry on what she was doing before he arrived.

"I'm just putting together a lasagna. You like that, right?", she asks, and he could've sworn he froze right there. Before she could catch him though, he schooled his features and told her that yes, he does like lasagna.

The dish just happened to be your specialty, though. Making lasagna used to be your favorite thing to do in the kitchen, and the preparation could take days, since you insisted to make the lasagna sheets from scratch, instead of those you buy at the store and just boil.

Needless to say, it was Noah's favorite dish of yours. Nothing could ever compare to it, and every time there was a get together, the boys always requested you made it, and you always said yes, with the biggest smile on your face.

For a second, Noah wondered if this would ever stop. Would there be a day when he wouldn't compare everything to how things were before? Would you ever stop permeating his every interation? Would there be a day when he wouldn't remember you when something like this happens? If yes, then how long more would he have to wait?

They sit down on the couch and talk, as a movie is playing in the background, and they're waiting for the dish to cool down a bit, since it was just pulled out of the oven.

"How are the preparations for the concert on Friday?", Emery asks. Noah takes a gulp of the beer she offered him.

"It's going well. There's only so much we can prepare for, you know?", he answers. One of the things they bonded over when they met was music, and since Emery also had her own band, she could understand a few things Noah went through with his.

"Yeah, I know", she agrees. "Some stuff are still gonna go wrong, anyways"

Noah thought this was a good time as any to tell her you were attending the concert. He didn't talk about you often when he's with her, and whenever he did, he could notice the girl grow a but uneasy at the topic of conversation.

Part of him wanted to tell her to not worry about it, that you've been split up for five years, and there was no way you would get back together. But the other part of him couldn't lie. If the opportunity ever presented itself, if you could ever talk about things and make the wrongs rights. If in some magic land you decided to try again, he would take that opportunity and never look back.

"By the way, I wanted to tell you something. Just so you're ready for it", he started, and she nodded for him to keep going. "Y/N is going to be there to accompany Ezra. Lana is the one who's usually with him, but since she's sick this time, his mom has to go"

As per usual, at the mention of your name, her smile falters a little and he can see her trying to conceal it.

"Oh, ok", she answers shortly, and he can see her struggling with her words.

"She wanted me to tell you, so things aren't awkward", Noah explained it further, not really knowing why. You're the mother of his kid, he doesn't really have to explain himself when it comes to this.

"You talk to her a lot?", she asks, changing the subject completely. Noah has caught her asking these questions lately, and he's been usually good at answering - or dodging - them. This time though, after everything that's happened today, he doesn't really have the emotional intelligence to answer her without letting some annoyance slip into his voice.

"Of course I do. We have a kid together", he tells her, not leaving much room for debate.

"I know that. I was just wondering if that would ever be a problem in the future, for us", he says, and Noah has to do some mental gymnastics to understand what the hell she is on about. When he doesn't say anything, she keeps going.

"Are you going to introduce me as your girlfriend?"

"She already knows about us"

Noah wanted to tell her that no, he's not introducing her as his girlfriend, because that's not what she is, but decided that's an argument he didn't want to have tonight.

"What about other people?", she asks again, and Noah gets frustrated with her questions.

"If you want to ask me something, just do it. You don't have to dance around the subject", he is upfront with her.

"When are you going to tell your son we're dating?", Emery asks, and for a second, Noah regrets asking for honesty. He rubs his forehead and sighs. Now he remembers more than ever why he's been avoiding relationships all this time.

"For him, you're my friend. And that's it", Noah answers with full honesty. That's one subject he is set on making it clear with Emery. He doesn't play about his son, and he needs her to know that. He's not ready for this, and if she can't understand that, then too bad for her.

"I feel like that's all I am to you as well", she says and he wants to bolt out of this house and end this conversation.

"Listen, Emery. This is what I can give you right now, ok? I told you from the beginning that I have a kid, and that things were going to be very different. You said that was ok, and now you want me to tell my son that we're together? It really doesn't work like that", Noah is losing his patience, and she could tell.

"If this is going nowhere, I just want you to be honest with me about it, because I won't play second to a woman who has been out of your life for five years", Emery says, getting up to set the table.

Suddenly, Noah feels suffocated in this house. He is dreading having to sit at the table with her and eat, pretending that this is ok. It is not ok, and he wantes to scream in her face to never talk about you like that ever again. That she couldn't understand, not in a million years, what you meant to him. She couldn't understand how you made him the happiest man alive. How you gave him the best thing that has ever happened to him. His son.

Instead, he gets up, mutters an "I can't do this", and leaves through the front door.

You're doing your makeup in the bathroom when Ezra comes in, calling out for you.

"Mom, look at my clothes", he stands there, and you turn around to take a look at him. A smile immediately taking over your face.

"You look great, buddy", you compliment him, eyes going up and down his small - but ever growing - frame. "Is that a new shirt?", you ask him, since you don't remember him having this Bad Omens shirt in his closet the last time you checked. You always had to keep an eye on him, especially after he started putting together his own outfits. You never knew what combination could come out of that closet.

"Yes, it is! Uncle Davis gave me one, and he said it's not even released yet, and I'm the only one who has it", his smile is even bigger now, his energy almost overflowing. Something Noah was adamant on doing, ever since having a kid, was create a Bad Omens merch line for kids. It was a total succes and has been for a few years now. Ezra even modeled a few times.

"Well, that sure is nice", you tell him, turning around and going back to your makeup. "I think you're missing something, though", you observe, and you see the lightbulb going off in his head, as he bolts out of the bathroom and back to his bedroom.

A few seconds later, he's back, tugging his fake tattoo sleeves up his arms.

"Thanks for reminding me, mom", he tells you, and you let out a genuine laugh at the way he's so relieved you remembered.

You loved those damn fake tattoo sleeves he always wears so much. It started off with him wanting to look just like Noah. But then, as you went back to working in the studio, he realized both of his parents were tattoo enthusiasts, and the habit had a whole new meaning for him.

You knew Noah would lose it when he sees him wearing them, despite seeing it a hundred times before, it never really gets old.

"I'm just finishing here. Why don't you wait for me on the couch?", you instruct and watch him leave once again.

You take a look at the clock and see that you still have a few minutes until you have to leave the house. You opted for an all-black outfit, with the intent to blend in as much as you could. You actually thought about the possibility of wearing one of your old merch shirts, but ultimately decided against it.

Last night, when you were overthinking and debating on whether to cancel this last minute or not, you found yourself on Instagram. One thing led to another and suddenly, you were deep in Emery's profile.

You couldn't help but notice how gorgeous she was, and how much she fit in with Noah's lifestyle. Probably in a way you never could.

They probably bonded over so many things. Music, tours, albums, production. All of the things Noah came home trying to explain to you after a stressful day in the studio, but noticed you couldn't really grasp the idea of everything they did in there.

Their conversations probably flowed way easier too. She probably helped him during studio sessions, and he probably did the same. Hell, you wouldn't even be surprised of they collabed together.

Before you could go into a way deeper spiral of comparison, you looked in the mirror and decided it was enough effort for today. You were probably wearing the most amount of makeup you've worn in weeks, and that in itself was enough for you. Who were you trying to impress anyway?

Grabbing your purse from the couch, you put on your sneakers, turn off all the lights, and go around the house cheking one more time if everything is locked as it is supposed to be.

Calling out to Ezra, you grab you car keys, but before you could even do anything, the kid has already opened the front door, and is eagerly waiting for you to unlok the car. Once you did, he hopped in the back and strapped himself in.

Being Noah's son, Ezra didn't even need a booster seat around this age anymore, and you were 100% sure he would grow to be as tall, if not even taller, than his dad.

"Let's go, buddy", you tell him, getting in yourself and turning on the car.

"Mom, I'm so happy you're coming tonight. You're going to love it!", you looked in the rearview mirror and saw his smile, and for that moment, you weren't even conflicted about going anymore.

You had texted Noah about thirty minutes ago, telling him that you and Ezra were on your way. He was waiting in the bus area, since that's where he told you to park.

Meanwhile, Noah thought about how Emery was inside. They haven't really spoken after their argument a few days ago. But tonight, she did tell him she wanted to talk after the concert is over. Noah has decided he was going to "break up" with her, even though they weren't together officially in the first place.

Now, he needed to focus on you and Ezra. And if things went well tonight, maybe you'd let him take you guys to dinner after the concert. He was holding his hopes high.

After a couple of minutes, he sees your car parking not too far from where he's standing. The headlights turn off and you step out along with Ezra, who immediately runs to his father.

"Dad! Look at my new merch", he says, grabbing the bottom of his shirt, showing it off. Noah couldn't help but chuckle at the way he never lets go of the fake tattoo sleeves. They're even a little ripped in places, he's even offered to buy him a new one, but he refuses every time.

"You look awesome, buddy", Noah envelops his son in a hug, lifting him off his feet a little. "You ready to rock tonight?", he asks and his kid answers with a very enthusiastic yes.

"I'm sorry it took me a while, there was a little bit of traffic", you tell him, and he can't help but observe how you look tonight. He never fails to get startruck by your beauty.

"It's ok. We should be heading in", he leads you both inside the venue, through the halls and finally, you step inside the green room.

"You guys can stay in here. There's water and catering outside if you need anything", he tells you.

"I know how it works, don't worry about us. Soon, this little one here will want to walk around and explore the place, right?", you ruffle Ezra's head and he agrees with you. The kid can never stay in one place for too long.

"There's security outside if you need anything. I'll have to get ready since the concert is starting soon", you nod in acknowledgement, reassuring Noah that, once again, everything is going to be ok.

He leaves to get ready and in about fifteen minutes, you and Ezra are walking around the halls backstage. You see and talk to people you haven't seen in years, but they look well acquainted with your son, and you feel happy to see him fitting in Noah's life so seamlessly.

Soon enough, you're standing beside Ezra on side stage, the concert about to start shortly.

"I'm gonna grab us some water bottles, ok?", you tell him, signaling for a security guard to keep an eye on him, and he answers you with a smile that tells you that he's used to keeping an eye on the kid when he's watching the concert.

Back in the green room, you go through some notifications on your phone before grabbing the water bottles, knowing you won't have time to do it while the concert is happening.

You're standing there when you hear the door open behind you, and you're ready to tell Ezra he could've stayed where he was, before the words die on your lips when you're met with Emery.

Your mind had kind of scraped her from your thoughts since arriving. You hadn't seen her yet and you actually thought she might not be attending.

"Oh, hi", she greets, and you can clock the fake tone of her voice the minute she speaks. "I think I have the wrong room", she says, but makes no move to get out.

"Can I help you with something?", you ask her, and you can tell that she knows who you are. Suddenly, it doesn't really look like she got in here by mistake.

"I was just looking for some water"

"There are some in here, you can grab one if you want", you tell her, pointing to the mini fridge.

She makes her way over, opening it and grabbing a water bottle. Popping the cap, she takes a few gulps while you watch her.

"I think Noah has mentioned you before", she wonders out loud. "What's your name again?", she asks.

You know what she's doing, and you're 100% sure Noah has mentioned you before and that she knows your name.

"I'm Y/N", you tell her, not bothering to shake hands or anything.

"Oh, you're the ex-wife!", she exclaims, as if she's making a huge point by saying this.

"That's me", you don't bother to hide your annoyance with her. You knew she came in here with the intent to have this conversation, and to probably rile you up and make you feel some kind of jealousy of her relationship.

"So, you're the reason why Noah can't commit to anyone anymore, huh?", she points out and you have to do a double take to make sure you heard her right.

"Excuse me?", you question.

"Yeah, you heard me. Five years later and he still can't get you out of his head"

"Listen, my son is waiting for me, and the concert is about to start. Besides, I really don't want to be having this conversation", you tell her, turning on your back. You really needed to tell Noah his taste in girls has declined drastically over the years.

"You're the reason why he hasn't asked me to be his girlfriend", she half yells after you.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you're not gonna raise your voice at me", you throw back at her.

"Oh, you wanna act so high and mighty as if you haven't ruined Noah's life"

"You know nothing about me, and you know nothing about our relationship. So, I suggest you get you act right before I call security on you", you warn her, and you see her opening her mouth to retort when a voice speaks from the door.

"What the fuck is happening in here?", Noah's standing there, looking between the two of you, before his eyes settle on Emery.

"She was screaming at me, and threatening to call security on me. Can you believer her, Noah?", Emery says, voice calm this time. You sigh out loud at her fakeness.

"She won't have to, I am doing it myself", Noah tells her, and her face falls at his words. In seconds, there is a burly security guard scorting Emery out of the premises, as she's still throwing false accusations at you.

Once she's gone, and you and Noah are alone in the green room, a heavy silence settles over the two of you.

"That's your girlfriend?", you ask him, a hint of teasing in your voice. He only shakes his head.

"I can't explaing everything right now, because if I do, I'll be late to go on stage. But I'd really to talk to you when the concert is over. Is that ok?", he asks.

"Yeah, of course. We'll need to talk about this regardless", you agree with him.

Not too long after, you're back beside Ezra and the concert has started. To say you're focused would be a lie. You're not really absorbing anything that is happening before you. You can feel Ezra's presence beside you, absolutely rocking his little heart out. But you can't help but replay the conversation from earlier.

When Matt let it slip that Noah was dating someone else, you thought that Noah and this girl were official. And now you meet her, and she's blaming you because Noah doesn't want to commit? Why didn't he make it clear to you that they were not actually dating? You actually feel a little like a fool. For texting him about it, for questioning if he pretended to introduce her to Ezra, while they weren't even together.

You zone out for a little longer, until the music goes quiet and Noah is talking to the crowd.

"This is somewhat of a new version of a song you guys already know", he says, grabbing an acoustic guitar one of the techs hand out to him. Making his way back to the mic stand, his eyes meet yours for a second, before he's focused back on the crowd.

"You all will be the first crowd to hear the acoustic version of Just Pretend", he announces, and for a second, the noise from the crowd is so defeaning, you can't even hear the first couple of strums on the guitar.

After a few seconds, the whole crowd is holding up their flashlights, and Noah starts singing.

I'm not afraid

Of the war you've come to wage against my sins

I'm not okay

But I can try my best to just pretend

You've heard this song before. Of course you have. Especially after all of the discourse on social media saying he wrote it about your relationship. In one interview though, he did say it was just to show how easy you can make a radio hit. You decided to run with that excuse as well. It was easiar to cope with the words he wrote, and is now singing in front of you.

I can wait for you at the bottom

I can stay away if you want me to

I can wait for years if I gotta

Heaven knows I ain't getting over you

You couldn't help but connect the words to what Emery told you earlier. You always thought Noah would have an easier time moving on than you. He was always on the road, he had things to distract his mind. He had girls waiting for him at every tour stop. Now, as you look at him, with his eyes closed and so focused on every word from the song, you wonder if he really hasn't gotten over you.

We'll try again

When we're not so different

We will make amends

till then I'll just pretend

You're standing still, not able to take your eyes away from him, when his head slightly turns to the side, and he looks at you. The eyes you used to love so much, now looking at you with so much sincerity and longing, you were sure you could dissolve right then and there. You were always able to communicate with him through looks, with his eyes being so expressive, there were many times when he didn't even have to tell you what he was thinking for you to figure it out.

Now, you realize that ability never really went away. Because you saw begging in his eyes. You saw the tool that being away from you has taken on him.

Weigh down on me, stay till morning

Way down, would you say I'm worthy?

Weigh down on me, stay till morning

Way down, would you say I'm worthy?

He finishes the song, and before you know it, you're wiping tears from your eyes. It feels like the night has taken a turn, and you're not sure if you want to face what comes next, but, for the first time in a while, you feel like things could be ok again.

You're waiting for Noah in the green room you were in before. You were sat on the couch, fingers unable to stay still, as you pick on your nails, your cuticles, anything to distract your mind and quiet your anxiety for a few seconds.

Ezra is off helping Matt pack up his things, and you just know it's going to take a while, from what you can remember, especially with how meticulous Matt is with his equipment.

The door opens, momentarily letting in the noise from outside, and you turn your head to look at Noah. His hair is wet, and a few strands are clinging to his forehead.

You remember well how it was when he finished concerts, especially when you guys were younger, and couldn't keep your hands off of each other. You always thought he looked his best a little out of breath, voice a little hoarse from singing. Apparently, that hasn't changed.

"I'm sorry for what happened earlier", he started, leaning on the table set on the corner of the room, leaving a little space between you.

"You don't have to apologize for her actions. I just want to know why you didn't tell me you weren't really dating her", you question him, and he lowers his head. You could tell he was bracing himself and trying to be vulnerable to the best of his abilities.

"We started hanging out, and I guess everyone just assumed we were together. I never really asked her to be my girlfriend", he started. You didn't say anything, deciding to wait for him to gather his thoughts. "I haven't dated anyone since the divorce".

The admission shocks you a little bit. You were 100% sure there have been other people since you.

"Why not?", you ask, voice a little hesitant and quiet.

"Isn't it obvious? I mean, she told you why"

"I wanna hear you say it"

"You wanna hear me say that I haven't been able to get over you in the five years we've been divorced? You wanna hear me say that I blame myself for that goddamn divorce every fucking day of my life? Because that's how I feel"

"I don't blame you for the divorce", you tell him, and you really don't. Over the years, you were able to realize if it hadn't happened then, it would've happened later on anyway.

"I blame myself because I should've tried harder. I should've tried harder to make you stay. I should've told you everything that was going on. But no, I just signed the papers like a damn fool"

"What do you mean tell me everything that was going on?", you question him, that part of his speech cathing your attention.

"We were under so much pressure from the label. I asked them to make the tours shorter, so I could spend more time with you and Ezra, that was only just a baby back then. They basically told me that if I wasn't willing to put in the work, we could find another label to release our album", he told you.

This was new information for you, you never knew that Noah talked to the label, and that they denied his requests.

"How could I do that? If I was a solo artist, I would've let them drop me in the blink of an eye so I could be with you two. But I had the guys to think about. So many other people were waiting on the success of the album. And once it was out, everything just got worse. They were scheduling tours after tours, and we couldn't say no, because we had a contract signed"

You didn't know what to say. You had your forehead pressed to your palms. All this new information making your head spin.

"Why didn't you tell me?", you raise your head and look him in the eye. "This is the kind of shit that you tell your wife", you were growing frustrated over the fact that he didn't communicate with you back then.

"I was afraid I would push you away. I was afraid you'd realize this isn't the kind of life you wanted and you'd leave me eventually. Look where that fucking got me, huh?", he motions around him, hands falling on his sides in frustration and resignation.

"I thought you weren't trying. I felt so alone because I thought you weren't putting in the effort because you thought the road was so much more interesting than staying at home, taking care of a baby and cleaning up spit and changing diapers", you get up from the couch, your own frustration showing. "You should've fucking talked to me", you say, once again, as you get closer to him.

"Everything I've ever wanted was to stay at home, taking care of my baby, cleaning spit and changing diapers", he tells you and your eyes start to water from the intensity of the moment.

You don't know what to do with yourself right now. You were angry at him for not saying anything earlier. You were angry at yourself because you just assumed the worst from him.

"I don't know what to do", you confess to him.

"I don't know either", he confesses back to you.

In the second you lock eyes, all of the emotions spill over. You take a step closer and crash into his arms. He envelops his arms around you in an instant, holding you firm and sure as you cry in his chest.

You don't know why you're crying so much. You think it's because you finally get to feel him again after so long without his touch. Maybe because right now, in his arms, things feel like they felt almost ten years ago, and he was your safe haven. He was the one who could make all of the sadness and pain go away. He was the one who could shut your mind off and make you focus only on him.

"Shh, I'm here, ok?", he reassures you, running his fringers through your hair.

"I'm so sorry", you're sobbing as you part from him and look him in the eyes. "I'm so sorry. I feel like I ruined everything".

"You haven't ruined anything", he told you, grasping your face in his hands, and you lean on his touch. "I would never make you stay in a relationship when you didn't feel happy. Your feelings were valid and you made the decision you thought was right", he caressed your cheeks with his thumb, wiping away a few tears that still slipped from your eyes.

"You deserve so much more than what I gave you. You deserve someone who can see you as the amazing person that you are. You deserve....", he shuts off your rambling by pressing his lips on yours. You're stunned, and you don't move for a second. After realizing what is happening, and you register his warm lips on yours, just like they felt so long ago, you completely relax. He doesn't move, doesn't deepen the kiss. You just stay there for a second, feeling each other. And it feels so perfect, that you want to cry all over again.

"I had to stop you there. You weren't making much sense, to be honest", he tells you, parting from your lips, but keeping close.

"I'm sorry", you say, once again. And he nods, telling you that he knows.

You stay wrapped in his arms for a while longer, resting your head on his chest, and Noah revels in the feeling of you against him. He feels like he can finally breath easier for the first time in years.

"The boys and I are leaving Sumerian", he tells you, and you part from him to look him in the face.

"Really?", you ask and he nods. "Why?"

"Our contract is up and we're not re-signing", he explains, like it's the most logical thing ever.

"What label are you signing with?"

"Our own", he says, and you have a puzzled look on your face.

"Your own?"

"The boys and I are opening an independent label"

Your mouth hangs open in shock, and you feel happy for all of them. This is something they've wanted for such a long time now.

"This is so great, Noah", you tell him and he smiles at you.

"Now, we won't have that pressure anymore. Everythig becomes a little easier and we're able to control our schedule much better", he explains, and you know where he's getting at. A flutter of happiness takes over you. You were going to be ok.

"I was thinking that we could go have dinner after everything's packed up. You, Ezra and I", you tell him, deciding to start with baby steps first.

"It's like you read my mind", Noah grasps your face once again, placing his lips on yours for the second time tonight, and this time, you circle your arms around his neck.

You want to stay here forever, and now, you felt like you could.

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#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens imagine #noah sebastian imagine #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens angst #noah sebastian angst #exhusband!Noah #exwife!reader #divorce fic

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writeriguess · 20 hours ago

Note

Hello how are you? can i ask you for an imagine or headcanons please with Aizawa and Hawks (and Dabi or Fatgum if you can and want) if you don't mind where his girlfriend Y/N who is a pro hero (top 10 and with a strong quirk) got in the way during the fight with Stain (or another vilain) and the students of UA and was found injured

Aizawa Shouta (Eraserhead)

You were barely conscious when they found you. The sharp sting of pain in your ribs, the sticky warmth of blood on your skin—it was all secondary to the ringing in your ears. You could hear muffled voices, urgent and frantic, but the darkness tugging at you was persistent.

And then you felt him.

Rough, calloused hands gripping your wrist, checking your pulse. The shift of fabric as someone crouched beside you. Then—his voice. Low and steady, but frayed at the edges.

“Y/N. Stay with me.”

Aizawa.

You wanted to respond, to reassure him, but your body refused to cooperate. You felt a hand press against your cheek—warm, grounding.

“You better not fucking die on me.”

That was the last thing you heard before everything went black.

The steady beep of a heart monitor greeted you when you woke. Your body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, and breathing sent sharp pain through your ribs. The too-white hospital lights burned into your retinas as you forced your eyes open.

A figure sat beside your bed, arms crossed, eyes dark.

Aizawa.

His gaze snapped to yours the second you stirred. Relief flickered across his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by something colder.

“You’re a damn idiot.”

Your throat was dry, voice raspy. “Good morning to you too.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Don’t.”

You swallowed hard. “Shouta—”

“You almost died,” he interrupted, voice eerily even. “In front of my students. In front of me.”

The weight of those words pressed down on you. You had seen Aizawa mad before—at reckless students, at irritating paperwork, at stubborn higher-ups. But this? This was different. This wasn’t just anger. It was fear, buried deep beneath his exhaustion.

You tried to sit up, but he immediately pushed you back down with a firm hand.

“Stay still.”

You exhaled, wincing at the tightness in your chest. “The students—”

“They’re fine.” His fingers curled into his sleeves. “They wouldn’t have been if you bled out in front of them.”

“I had to step in,” you murmured. “They’re still kids, Shouta. You know that.”

His hands clenched. “I also know that you’re not invincible.”

“I never said I was.”

“Then why the hell did you act like it?” His voice rose slightly, raw with frustration. “Do you even know what it felt like? Watching you drop? Seeing you covered in blood and not knowing if you were going to make it?”

Guilt twisted in your stomach. “Shouta…”

“You were reckless.” His dark eyes burned into yours. “And if I hadn’t gotten to you in time, I’d be sitting in a morgue instead of a hospital room.”

You felt the bed dip as he leaned in, elbows resting on his knees. His hair was unkempt, his under-eyes darker than usual. Had he even slept?

“I can’t do this,” he muttered, voice lower now. “I can’t lose you.”

Your chest tightened, but not from the pain this time. You reached for his hand, fingers brushing his wrist. He didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before finally looking at you again. “Just… don’t do that again.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s not good enough.”

You squeezed his hand. “I promise.”

Aizawa studied you for a long moment before sighing. He let his head drop slightly, his forehead just barely touching your arm. His grip on your hand tightened, grounding both of you.

“Good.”

Keigo Takami (Hawks)

Pain was the first thing you noticed. It radiated through your body in sharp, pulsing waves, making it hard to breathe. Your limbs felt heavy, your mind sluggish. Distantly, you registered the scent of smoke, the crackling of fire, and the sound of distant shouting.

And then—wings.

A gust of air brushed over you, followed by the rapid thud of boots against the pavement. A voice��frantic, desperate—cut through the ringing in your ears.

“Y/N!”

A familiar warmth wrapped around you, lifting you effortlessly. You barely registered the red feathers encircling your body, supporting your weight as you were cradled against something solid and warm.

“H-Hey, stay with me,” the voice pleaded. “C’mon, baby bird, open those pretty eyes for me.”

You wanted to respond—to tell him you were still there—but your body refused to obey. The darkness pulled at you, and this time, you didn’t have the strength to fight it.

The steady beep of a heart monitor was the next thing you heard. The scent of antiseptic burned your nose, and your entire body ached like you had gone ten rounds with a Nomu. You forced your eyes open, wincing at the sterile brightness of the hospital room.

And then you saw him.

Keigo sat in the chair beside your bed, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. His golden eyes were fixed on the floor, but his wings twitched with restless energy. The usual lazy smirk was gone.

You licked your cracked lips. “Keigo…”

His head snapped up so fast you thought he might get whiplash. His wings flared slightly, his eyes wide with something raw.

“You’re awake.”

You tried to smile. “That obvious?”

The reaction you expected—his usual teasing, a cocky quip—never came. Instead, Keigo surged forward, cupping your face between his hands. His touch was gentle, but his fingers trembled against your skin.

“You scared me,” he breathed. His voice, usually so light and carefree, was barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard. “Keigo, I—”

“No.” His grip tightened, just enough to keep you there, to keep you looking at him. “You don’t get to pull that shit on me.”

Your throat tightened at the raw emotion in his voice. “Keigo…”

“I saw you bleeding out,” he continued, his wings drooping. “You were lying there, and I—I couldn’t get to you fast enough.”

You knew he was fast. Faster than anyone. But even Hawks had limits.

“You got to me,” you murmured.

“Barely.” He let out a hollow laugh. “I’m the number two hero, and I still wasn’t fast enough. What the hell kind of hero am I if I can’t even protect the person I—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply.

Your heart ached at the frustration in his voice.

“You did protect me,” you insisted. “If it weren’t for you, I might not be here at all.”

Keigo shook his head, golden eyes flashing. “I should’ve been there—”

“Keigo.” You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing his wrist. He immediately caught your hand in both of his, gripping it like a lifeline.

The room was silent for a moment, save for the quiet beeping of the monitor. Keigo bowed his head, pressing his forehead against your knuckles. His hands were warm, but they trembled slightly against yours.

“I can’t do this again,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t lose you.”

Your chest tightened. You had seen Keigo flirt his way out of countless situations, had watched him laugh in the face of danger. But this? This was real. Unfiltered. Raw.

You squeezed his hand. “You won’t.”

He let out a shaky breath. “Promise me.”

You gave him the best reassuring smile you could muster. “I promise.”

Keigo exhaled sharply before shifting forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His wings curled slightly around the bed, as if shielding you from the rest of the world.

“You’re never scaring me like that again,” he murmured, voice low and steady.

You closed your eyes, breathing him in. “I’ll try.”

Keigo let out a breathless chuckle, his grip on your hand never loosening. “That’s not good enough.”

You cracked an eye open, smirking despite the pain. “I promise.”

This time, he smiled too. It was small, a little broken, but real.

Dabi

Pain clawed through your body like a wildfire, searing and unrelenting. The world around you was a blur of destruction—smoke curling into the night sky, the acrid scent of burned concrete and singed flesh thick in the air. The muffled sounds of battle were fading now, distant, like they belonged to another world.

You weren’t sure how long you had been lying there.

Somewhere in the haze, you heard boots scraping against the rubble. The slow, deliberate pace sent a shiver down your spine, even in your half-conscious state. Then, a familiar voice cut through the ringing in your ears, rough and laced with something you couldn’t quite name.

“Oh, hell no. You are not dying on me, sweetheart.”

The warmth of calloused hands ghosted over your cheek, tilting your head ever so slightly. A thumb brushed against your blood-smeared skin, just light enough to ground you.

You knew that voice. You knew that touch.

Dabi.

You tried to speak, but your throat was raw—probably from screaming. The only sound you managed was a weak rasp.

Dabi’s hands twitched against you. His movements weren’t rushed, but there was a tension in his body, coiled tight beneath his patchwork skin. His breath was uneven.

“You look like shit,” he muttered, but the usual sarcasm was absent.

You let out something between a laugh and a cough, pain flaring in your ribs. Dabi’s jaw clenched. His fingers curled into the tattered fabric of your suit.

“Dammit, Y/N,” he growled. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You tried to blink the blurriness from your vision, swallowing hard. “Students… they needed help…”

Dabi exhaled sharply through his nose. “Yeah? And who the hell was supposed to help you?”

Your body felt impossibly heavy, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. “Didn’t… think that far ahead.”

A dark chuckle left his lips, but there was no humor in it. “No shit.”

A moment passed. Then another. The distant chaos of sirens filled the background, but Dabi wasn’t moving.

Your vision cleared just enough to see his expression—his usual smirk was gone. His blue eyes, always filled with mischief or malice, were stormy, dark.

You had seen Dabi angry before. You had seen him cruel, amused, even amused at cruelty.

But this? This was different.

His jaw tightened. His fingers dug into your suit. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Your breath hitched. “You… care that much?”

Dabi let out a sharp laugh. “Don’t act so surprised, sweetheart.”

His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. He glanced away for half a second, running a hand through his wild black hair. The soft glow of flames reflected in the staples lining his face.

“I thought you were dead,” he admitted. “For a second. And that second sucked.”

You exhaled a weak chuckle. “That bad, huh?”

His gaze snapped back to you, sharp and burning. “You think this is funny?”

The heat in his tone startled you. You had never seen him like this before.

“You don’t get it,” he murmured, leaning in closer. “You don’t get what it would’ve done to me if you actually died.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Dabi’s fingers traced the edges of your bruised cheek, his touch uncharacteristically soft. “I don’t do attachments,” he muttered. “Never have. They make you weak. But you?” He exhaled harshly. “You fucked me up, Y/N.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

“I don’t know how to do this shit,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I don’t know how to care about someone without it ruining me. But here I am, sitting in a pile of rubble, begging you to stay alive.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Then, after a long moment, Dabi scoffed. “Tch. I probably sound pathetic.”

You mustered whatever strength you had left, lifting a trembling hand to cup his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your fingers—always running hot, like he was seconds away from burning the whole world down.

“You don’t,” you whispered. “Not to me.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. Then, in one swift motion, he surged forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His breath was hot against your lips, his grip firm on your wrist.

“You’re not allowed to die,” he murmured. “Got it?”

You nodded weakly. “Got it.”

Dabi exhaled, his grip on you never loosening.

And for once, he didn’t try to hide the way his hands trembled.

Taishiro Toyomitsu (Fatgum)

Your body felt like it had been through a meat grinder. Every breath sent sharp pain slicing through your ribs, and your limbs refused to move the way you wanted. The ground beneath you was rough, littered with debris, and the distant sound of sirens barely registered through the dull ringing in your ears.

You had fought hard. Maybe too hard.

The students… you remembered them. You had jumped in before the villain’s attack could reach them. You knew you’d get hurt, but that didn’t matter at the time. You just needed to protect them.

Now, as the world around you blurred in and out of focus, you started to regret how reckless you had been.

Then, a shadow loomed over you. Heavy boots pounded against the broken pavement, followed by the sound of something massive shifting. A warm, familiar voice—usually so full of energy—was laced with something you had never heard from him before.

Panic.

“Oi! Y/N—! Stay with me, ya hear?”

You felt strong arms wrap around you, lifting you with almost ridiculous ease. The warmth of his body surrounded you, and even in your dazed state, you recognized it.

“Tai…” you murmured, voice hoarse.

His grip tightened. “Aw, hell—why’d ya have to go an’ do somethin’ so damn reckless?!”

You could hear the strain in his voice, the way it wavered ever so slightly. You had never heard Fatgum sound scared before.

“Had to… help,” you whispered.

Taishiro let out a sharp breath, adjusting you carefully in his hold. His usually cheerful expression was twisted into something pained, his brows furrowed, jaw clenched.

“Help? Y/N, ya almost died,” he gritted out. “What kinda help is that, huh?”

You managed a weak chuckle. “The good kind?”

Taishiro let out a deep, frustrated sigh, but his arms never loosened around you. You could feel the way his body trembled—something completely foreign for a man built like a fortress.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart,” he muttered.

Your eyelids grew heavier, exhaustion tugging at you. You felt warm—safe, despite the pain—but you couldn’t fight the weight dragging you down.

“No, no, no—hey, don’t you go closin’ those eyes on me,” Taishiro warned, his voice low and urgent. “You stay with me, Y/N.”

“Tired,” you murmured.

“I don’t care,” he snapped, his grip tightening just a bit. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere, ya hear me?”

You forced your eyes open, just barely. Taishiro’s face was close to yours now, his expression raw. His usual grin was gone, replaced with something that made your chest ache.

You had seen him in the middle of battle, had watched him take brutal hits with a laugh, but you had never seen him like this.

“C’mon, sugar,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “I need ya to hold on.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus. “I’m here.”

Taishiro let out a shaky breath, his arms adjusting around you as he pulled you closer. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s real good.”

The sirens were getting closer now. Help was coming. But Taishiro didn’t let go, didn’t shift his grip.

He just held you.

And for the first time in your life, you saw Fatgum without his usual smile—without his endless optimism. Just Taishiro. Just the man who was terrified of losing you.

“I got ya,” he whispered. “I got ya, Y/N. Always.”

And this time, you believed him.

#aizawa shota x reader #eraserhead x reader #keigo takami x reader #touya todoroki x reader #hawks x reader #dabi x reader #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #my hero academia #fatgum x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction

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womanofwords · 21 hours ago

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Frozen Heart (Part 5)

TW: hospitals, descriptions of injuries.

The first non-Alfred person to visit you was Dick. Sunshine boy, golden retriever Dick Grayson. Waltz-in-like-nothing's-wrong Dick Grayson. Baby talk big bro Dick Grayson.

Ick.

"Baby bird!" he trilled, sweeping himself into a chair next to your bed. "How have you been doing, little buddy?"

"How do you think?" you asked, staring at him with a bruised face. Dick looked at you with warm, large eyes. He looked at you like he wanted to fix you himself, bring down the swelling of your bruises and lull you to sleep.

"You know, Y/N, we're worried about you. We thought you were about to die. We had no idea what to do if we ever lost you."

You snorted. No idea? Was that the best he could come up with? "I already know what you would have done, Dick. Nothing."

Dick's smile faltered. "What?"

"You wouldn't have done anything. I was not your priority. I was a burden to be filed away. I tried talking to you guys about being bullied, and none of you cared. Why do you only want me now I've been broken? Are you drawn to things that are ruined?"

"You're not ruined," Dick placated. "You're just injured. And I'm going to find who did this to you, I swear, Y/N."

"Really? I doubt it. Maybe you're just saying you'll find them, but then you forget about it and go on with your life," you scoffed. "You aren't going to find anybody or anything. You'll just reschedule the investigation into oblivion."

"What? No no no no no, Y/N, I'll do it! Honestly, little wing, I-"

You cut him off. "Go home, Dick. Someone has to be the friendly face of the Wayne family, and it certainly won't be me."

Dick's hand clamped itself down over his mouth. Where had your happiness gone? You used to be such a sweet, happy kid, bouncing around the walls of the manor. But here you were, frail and almost deflated on a hospital bed, and your eyes had no spark in them.

But had you lost that spark because of the beating you'd received, or had it been absent for much longer than that?

Dick rushed out of the hospital crying his eyes out, not caring that he was being photographed. "Little wing," he sobbed, once he was safely in his room.

"Wasn't Y/N happy to see you, Master Dick?" Alfred asked. The wails grew louder, as if to answer him.

"I'll take that as a no, Master Dick."

First

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia, @kittzu, @justwannabecat, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @vanessa-boo, @jscrawls, @sirenetheblogger.

#creative writing #my writing #writing inspiration #writers #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #yandere #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #batfam

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abbotjack · 2 hours ago

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˚. ྀིྀི୧❤︎୨ ྀིྀི.˚ We know Jack writes letters.

They're the kind Robby can’t read all the way through without stepping outside to gather himself. The kind that cut clean and simple, because Jack doesn’t waste words—he means them.

So when he falls in love, of course he writes.

He works nights. You work days. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal—just a few missed dinners, a couple uneven weekends. But two years in, it’s become a rhythm neither of you like but both of you have learned how to survive. You brush your teeth while he’s lacing up his boots. He lets the microwave run too long reheating the dinner you left him. The sheets are always warm, but it’s rare you’re both in them at the same time.

You see him in fragments.

A half-empty beer left by the sink. His stethoscope on the kitchen chair. The smell of soap and hospital antiseptic lingering in the bathroom when you step out of the shower. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you catch him in the doorway before you head out and he gets home—eyes heavy, jaw dark with stubble, scrubs wrinkled. He kisses your forehead like he’s apologizing for the hours he missed.

But then there are the letters.

Tucked in the pocket of your coat. Folded into your planner between work notes and receipts. Once, wedged between the pages of the book you keep meaning to finish, like he knew you’d open it eventually.

They’re never long—just a paragraph or two, scribbled on the back of supply sheets or crumpled chart printouts, whatever scrap he could grab between calls. The handwriting is always the same: rushed, uneven, slanted like he was writing too fast to second-guess himself. He never rewrites them. Never polishes a word. And at the bottom, always that quiet little “—J,” like he’s hesitant to leave too much of himself behind.

“Didn’t sleep today. Kept thinking about the way you were breathing last night, arm over your face like you were shielding yourself from something. I should’ve held you. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“No letter tonight. Just wanted to leave a note saying I need to be near you. Wake me when you get in. Please.”

“You said something in the mirror yesterday—something about looking tired. I didn’t say anything then, but: You are beautiful. Even when you forget. Especially then.”

“There’s a receipt in your car from our favorite place. You went without me. I’m not mad. Just—next time, bring back fries. Or lie better.”

“You leave your rings on the counter and every time I see them, I think, ‘she came home.’ I don’t think you know how much that matters to me.”

“The plant you named after me is dying. Water it. Or don’t. I get it. But if it survives, I’ll take it as a sign you still love me.”

“You left the light on. Again. Which should annoy me. It doesn’t. The apartment feels like you were just here. Sometimes that’s all I need.”

“Tried to be quiet when I left. Still knocked over the shampoo bottle. Sorry. You flinched but didn’t wake up. I whispered goodbye anyway. It felt wrong not to.”

“You made the grocery list and wrote ‘Jack’s weird yogurt’ like I don’t have a brand. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

"Tonight was rough. Lost one. Didn’t want to bring it home with me, but I needed to tell you I love you anyway."

“You were talking in your sleep again. Said something about stealing a goat. If I come home and there’s a goat in the yard, I’m not asking questions. I’ll just name it.”

“You asked me last night if I’d still love you if I was a worm. I said no. You hit me with a pillow. I’ve revised my answer.”

“You bought four new throw pillows. We now have eleven pillows on a three-seat couch. I have nowhere to sit. I love you anyway.”

“You said you felt off today. Didn’t tell me what that meant. Just curled up under the blanket and didn’t talk much. I stayed quiet too. I just wanted you to know I noticed.”

“You made the bed this morning. I know you were late. You didn’t do it for you. You did it for me. I love you.”

You keep them all. Pressed flat in a shoebox under your bed, like tiny pieces of him that can’t fade with time. Some of them still smell like antiseptic and worn leather and faint traces of his cologne. Sometimes you reread them when the loneliness sneaks in, when the hours between seeing him stretch too long.

And the thing is—he never asks if you read them. He doesn’t bring them up. It’s not about the response. It’s not even about being heard.

It’s about leaving something behind.

A thread. A trace. A heartbeat in your drawer when he can’t be in your bed.

Because Jack Abbot may not say I love you in the hallway or across a crowded kitchen—but he’ll write it. Every damn time.

And he knows you’ll find it when you need it most.

#the way i might make the letters a series #they were fun to write #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot #dr abbot #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #shawn hatosy #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt #the pitt x reader

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thecheshireprincess · 3 days ago

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Let Me

Shuntaro Chishiya x GN!Reader (No pronouns mentioned)

Summary: Your best friend wants to help you carry the struggles you've had since the accident in Shibuya

Content Warning: Reader is in a little bit of a depressive episode, nothing that I think would be terribly triggering. Suggestive towards the end; making out, straddling/dry humping, suggestive words. Probably curse words, I have no chill. Mostly just another fluff bomb.

A/N: This story can be read as a standalone, but is technically written as a post-Borderland part two to Bad Day 💕✨️ I hope you enjoy 😉

Life had been challenging for you since the incident in Shibuya.

Finding yourself reflecting on that day for what must be the millionth time since it happened, you roll onto your back and sigh in frustration. You had just settled into a booth at your favorite diner with Chishiya after spending the afternoon with the Mona Lisa, the man having shared a piece of himself with you that you never expected to have. Your friend had allowed you to lay your head against his shoulder and soak in the tranquility of the museum, turning your bad day around in an instant. In a way only he could. That is until you saw the colorful fireworks dance across the daytime sky outside the window, unknowingly changing everything you'd ever known. It really must have been your worst day ever, right? With a bat of your eyelashes, you were somehow awake again in the hospital, crying out for your friend and demanding every passing nurse and doctor to allow you see him.

When they finally caved and wheeled you reluctantly to his room, your tired eyes lighting up upon meeting his chestnut ones; you felt like something had shifted in your relationship. Like it was somehow significantly deeper than you remembered it being before, even after the Mona Lisa. You just know that there was something more that happened to you between the fireworks and waking up in the hospital - you just couldn't bring yourself to confide in anyone about it. Especially Chishiya. What if he they thought you were crazy?

Even two months after being released from the hospital with nothing more than a handful of scars and some colorful bruising, your usual routine was still evading you. The siren song of your warm, comforting bed frequently dominated the need to get up and function as a productive member of society. Things had gotten so bad of late that you'd considered dropping out of medical school to stay cocooned all day and succumb to the suffocating tendrils of dark thoughts in your mind. It was the strangest thing feeling like you were missing a major part of your memory like this, despite doctors insisting your heart had stopped for only one minute. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were somehow away from this life for much much longer than that.

You drove yourself to the brink of insanity every day trying to untangle the messy strings tangled up in your mind. Not only did you feel like you were missing memories, but you also felt different after the meteor; changed in a major way. It went beyond just being a little more reclusive - like you wanted to be and do so much more with your life. To be honest, it was overwhelming. It felt easier to lie in bed and hide from the world than attempt to flip your life completely upside down. And so, that's exactly what you were doing.

Only furthering your suspicions, your best friend has been a completely different person since the accident. More attentive. Calling and texting multiple times a day, things you usually had to initiate with him. Bringing you your homework, sitting and studying with you to make sure you didn't fall behind in school. At this point, Chishiya was the only reason you hadn't fallen out of society completely at this point.

And now? Here he was sitting outside the closed door to your bedroom, trying to coax you out like a cat stuck in a tree. You were having yet another bad day, of which there were more and more with fewer good days in between to balance them out. It isn't really that anything bad had happened to you necessarily, it's just that you can't seem to push this heavy weight off your chest or lift the haze of your clouded mind. Would you drive yourself mad before ever figuring out what really happened to you that day?

"You haven't eaten a real meal in days," his monotone voice cuts through your oppressive thoughts, "I brought you your favorite." Your ears perk up the tiniest bit at that - not only had Chishiya known what your favorite thing to eat was, he went out of his way (all the way across the city!) to get it and bring it to you. You hum simply in quiet acknowledgement, throat scratchy from going so long without using your voice or really having much to drink.

"I even got you a milkshake too," his tone lilts - teasing - knowing exactly how to speak directly to your hungry soul, "If you come out here you can have it." You do want the food. And you do want to see Chishiya. He is the only person you care about spending time with right now, the one thing that's keeping you tethered to the real world and away from your more cynical thoughts. But the way the cozy abyss of your bed has lovingly smothered you in its luxuriousness speaks louder; drowning out the call of delicious food and spending time with your friend. You shift a tiny bit, yanking the covers higher without a word. Your silent captor had won once again, leaving you powerless to fight back against it. Would you drown alone in the thoughts flooding your mind?

Chishiya waits a few moments, patient as a saint, listening through the polished wood for a response that he knows will never come. Not when you're like this. "If you won't come out to eat, then I'm coming in there," he warns, ready to get to the bottom of what's been going on with you lately - whether you like it or not. The brass doorknob turns, the door slowly gliding open to reveal the blonde, hair pulled messily into a low bun. If you weren't so caught up in the middle of a battle against your inner demons, his appearance would have taken your breath away. His warm, chestnut eyes rake over your form, covers pulled up over your nose to reveal only your eyes blinking back at him. The corners of his lips quirk up into his signature smirk at your state.

"Hiding from me?" He queries, smirk falling slightly as he carefully rests the bag of takeout on your nightstand next to the untouched glass of water he'd brought you last night. Any sign of ice or condensation long gone from the glass, Chishiya clicks his tongue as he looks at it then back to your much paler than usual face. Disappointed that you hadn't drank it, despite your quiet insistence that you would. Scared that you really might not be alright anymore. Unsure of how to help you if you wouldn't talk through your thoughts with him. He moves to sit at the edge of your bed facing you, his weight sinking into the plush mattress. He rests his right knee on the bed, his thigh pressing comfortingly against your tense body; the sudden contact causing you to jolt involuntarily. He doesn't move away. You allow your puffy, reddened eyes to search his, finding something surprising nestled there - genuine concern. You aren't going to win this; it's time to address the elephant in the room. It feels like an eternity passes as you sit in silent standoff with the man, delaying the inevitable. Chishiya is patient, though. He'll wait all day if he has to. You finally let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding and shift a tiny bit closer to the warmth radiating off of him.

You clear your throat, trying to will the hoarseness away. "Not hiding from you . . . just the rest of the world," you force out the partial truth. His head tilts in that chracteristic way - telling you he's listening, urging you to continue. When you don't give him any more to work with, he speaks up instead, "You aren't okay, baby. We need to talk about this. Please."

You're not sure what does it, the unexpected nickname from the man or the outloud acknowledgement that you are not okay, but the tears flood your eyes fast. You blink your wettened eyelashes quickly, swallowing hard, trying in vain to shove down the emotions threatening to drown you once more. "I don't feel like myself anymore, Shiya," you croak in a shaky voice, "I feel like I've been missing a whole chunk of myself since I woke up in the hospital." Some stray tears fall against your face, dragging a sorrowful path down your cheeks, but you don't care anymore.

Chishiya's eyes widen slightly, so slightly that you would have missed it if you weren't so focused on his expression. He nods in recognition of your admission, boldly brushing his thumbs against your cheeks to chase away the tears. Your eyebrows furrow in momentary confusion, but you ultimately allow your head to lean into his shockingly soft touch; burning eyes fluttering shut. The blonde says nothing for a moment, soothingly stroking the sensitive skin of your face to allow you space to calm down. He's here.

"I feel that way too . . ." he murmurs after your tears have dried, trailing off into thought and then chuckling lightly, "Especially with you. LIke something changed between us but I don't remember how. I wish I could." You gasp, squeezing onto his wrist and sitting up so fast your head spins, sheets and blankets pooling around your waist.

"That's exactly what it feels like!" You cry, relief coursing through your veins for the first time in two months. "But it also feels like . . . the things that used to be important to me are so trivial now. Like we faced something so much bigger than ourselves previously and now I can't force myself to fit back into society's expectations of me." He smiles a little sadly at that with another nod, eyes shining with recognition. He feels that way too.

Chishiya gently pulls his wrist from your tight grasp, looping his arms around your waist instead and pulling you to sit in his lap. You'd expect your body to stiffen against the foreign contact, but find yourself melting instantly into him. Your mind and body suddenly more relaxed than you've felt since the day at the museum, loving the way your body molds against his in a perfect fit. The way that he looks up at you now with reverance, warm hands tenderly skimming your waist and ribcage, gives you the confidence to continue talking through the thoughts that had been plaguing you.

"I can't just walk around normally when I have to carry the weight of whatever this is," you say with a sigh, not having the right words to explain this feeling, but hoping that he understands anyway. "I've been trying to figure it out since it happened."

One of his hands moves from your waist to cradle your jaw between lean fingers, gently forcing your gaze to lock with his. Each one of you are suddenly searching for answers in the other's eyes, desperately seeking something. Apparently, Chishiya finds what he's looking for because he pulls your face dangerously closer to his, making your heart thunder against your ribcage from the proximity.

"Then let me help you carry it until we figure things out. Together," he whispers, his warm breath ghosting across your mouth as he studies you through lidded eyes. He hesitates, giving you a chance to back away; to put distance between if you want it. Breathlessly, you answer, afraid to shatter the sanctity of this moment you've been waiting for forever, "Shiya? What are we doing?"

"What do you want to be doing?" He asks, an easy grin brightening his face as he remains centimeters from you, gaze flickering down to your lips briefly. You know exactly what you'd like to be doing. Your eyes flutter shut as a wave of courage surges through your body, making the decision for you. Hesitantly at first, you press your lips against Chishiya's to test the waters. When he responds fervently, hands desperately trying to pull you closer to him, you tangle your fingers into his soft blonde hair and shift yourself to straddle him completely.

His plush lips move expertly against yours, the sensation feeling surprisingly comfortable, almost familiar to you. Like you'd spent hours of time mapping every inch of each other's mouths, though you were certain you would remember if you had. Chishiya cards his long fingers through your hair, cradling your head and pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. His tongue slides over your bottom lip, causing you to gasp; his tongue taking the opportunity to lick into your mouth. He tastes sweet like strawberries, and you nearly laugh at just how perfect this man is.

You feel dizzy, Chishiya's sweet taste compounding with his familiar clean scent overwhelming you as your kiss begins to take a desperate turn. Your hips involuntarily rock against his, the feeling of his hardened member making you whine against his lips. Suddenly, images of a different world come flooding back to you. One in which you were constantly in a fight for your life, held tightly and protected by the man currently underneath you. A world where this very man had already professed his love for you, finally taking you to bed with him and delivering you greater pleasure than you'd ever known.

"Shiya . . ." you murmur against his lips breathlessly, trying to find the words to describe the memories you had just seen like a movie of your own life. What you knew is undeniably what really happened while you were unconscious. He pulls back with a smile, eyes studying your face as his thumbs dance affectionately across your cheeks. The man in front of you nods emphatically, whispering, "I know, I saw it too. It's about time."

"We've done this before . . . done other things before," you murmur, pink dusting your cheeks as you think about the erotic flashes you'd seen. "I wish I could remember what it was like." He nods, peppering kisses down your jawline and neck, gently guiding you to lie down against the fluffy pillows. He leans over you, hands following the curve of your waist, coming to rest down on your hips as he plays with the hem of your shirt.

"Let me remind you?" He questions suggestively with a low growl, his tone shooting straight to your core and lighting your body on fire for him.

You do let him, several times.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

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Masterlist

Chishiya Tag List: @kimsrie @jjkxxy

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titans-and-jla-mini-fics · 2 days ago

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Batman gives a good example as to why he has the contingency plans he has to the Justice League. This isn't hate to any of the heroes in this either. I love the JLA, but after reading many of these comics and watching the shows I can see why Batman has these plans, prep times and slight paranoia of those he sees as friends or associates. Also I'm a big fan of Aquaman too so... Fair warning there's some Aquaman praise in this.

Batman turned his back on the Justice League members who were scolding him, their voices rising as they told him to get rid of his contingency plans or at least make them less brutal. Ignoring their protests, he whistled sharply, the sound cutting through the tension in the room.

With that, he strode purposefully toward the window in the JLA meeting room, determination in his step.

Batman: You know, when four of you got Jokerized and attacked me, I was recovering from fear toxin. That made things even worse that day.

Batman went silent for a second, the other members backing away until only Superman, Flash, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman remained front and center.

Batman: I don't like having to fight you, but I almost died that day. I actually feared some of you, and that’s saying a lot since I rarely take you seriously. You were in hospital beds for two weeks, wearing those sick, twisted smiles and completely unmoving. I could've been killed if I didn't have my plans. You could've died yourself from the Joker toxin and God knows the damage you four could do to your own cities.

Batman cracked his neck and took a deep breath. Wonder Woman looked down at the floor, ashamed. Flash frowned, his shoulders slumping. Superman struggled to find the right words, and Aquaman felt the same weight of the moment.

Batman: I have these plans so you don't kill me. I have these plans so you don't kill the people in your cities. I have these plans to protect everyone on Earth! I want to not have them and I do see you as... friends... Associates.. colleagues to a degree, but you haven't given me a good reason to put my life on the line for any of you.

No one spoke for a few seconds. Superman cleared his throat hopeful what he said wouldn't sound bad.

Superman: I mean if you could just make them less intense.

Green Lantern (John): Man, that was actually the worst thing you could've said.

Batman turned to face the group, his expression neutral, but the fury inside him was boiling over. He was at his breaking point, the metaphorical water slipping from the pot. While he regretted having to raise his voice, he felt he had no other choice.

Batman (shouting): I am a Justice League member and I will work with you, but if you don't stop pestering me about my contingency plans, I will go insane and I am taking you all with me!

Most of the Justice League: …

Batman: If the next person who talks says something that I find even a little irritating and makes me have those insane people's thoughts, I'm taking away every single vending machine in this building as well!

Aquaman: Hey, just speaking for the group here, but you seem to be going through some stuff and we're exacerbating that frustration. You're still mad at some of us for getting Jokerized and attacking you.

Batman: Which led to me contemplating death more and losing my memory.

Aquaman: Yeah, we said some rude things.

Batman (deadpan tone): Wonder Woman said she always hated me.

Wonder Woman: I wasn't in my right mind.

Batman: Superman talked like Bizarro and almost killed me.

Superman: I am really sorry about that, buddy.

Batman (glaring at the speedster): Flash… go to hell, Barry.

Flash (saddened): How come mine wasn't descriptive?

Batman (to Aquaman): And you ... I actually find you pleasant when you're not insane so I'm not that mad.

Wonder Woman: Why did that wound me?

Aquaman: While I appreciate that, you have every right to not trust us for a while. You saved us and kept us safe while we got better. I can't believe what I'm about to say... Batman, after what I went through, I get why you have those plans.

Batman: You do?

JLA members: You do?

Aquaman: I do now. Batman, first, thank you for saving us after we went Joker levels of insane. I'm sorry for attacking you and all the awful things I said which weren't true. The others are sorry as well.

Batman: You're forgiven, I wasn't mad at any of you since you weren't in your right mind that day, but my contingencies are what I keep for a reason.

Aquaman: I don't blame you, they came in handy; you got us an antidote before we got worse and although my face hurts from smiling that much, I'm glad that I'm better now. If it weren't for your incredible paranoia and quick thinking, I wouldn't be back with Mera and my son. For that, I am eternally grateful and again deeply apologize for dismissing your plans earlier.

Batman blinked, crossing his arms, secretly relieved to hear this, even if he did get called paranoid. That paranoia had helped him in the past.

Everyone else stared at Aquaman, some at how charming he was, the others annoyed he was siding with Batman. Superman was just jealous.

Wonder Woman: I often forget you're a king until you start talking like that. Impressive.

Aquaman: I'll take that as a compliment. Batman, if we hold back on criticizing most of your contingencies can you give us a tenth chance?

Batman closed his eyes, mentally debating what to say next.

Batman (clearing his throat): Apology accepted, Arthur. Thank you for understanding my plans. I can find it in my heart to give you all a hundred and twentieth chance. But don't mess it up.

The JLA members nodded, voicing their gratitude for the second chance. Batman sighed, feeling a headache forming.

Aquaman: Alright, thanks. Now, will I see you for movie night this Friday?

Superman: Movie night?

Batman: Yeah, I don't find you nearly as annoying as everyone else. Especially Hal.

Hal Jordan: I didn't even say anything! And I didn't even attack you!

Superman: You don't find him nearly as annoying as everyone else? I'm not included in that am I?

Batman: Most of the time.

Batman walked past the group, heading out the building.

Superman: Most... Most of the time? Okay I can accept that, but look at him! He looks like a surfer dude! No offense Aquaman.

Aquaman: That's not an insult to me, thanks for the compliment.

Flash: Hm, I see it now.

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formulaonecrumbs · 1 day ago

Note

junie could you do more osc comfort? him comforting reader before a surgery where they’re doing a d&c to check her out and the aftermath of him just being in the hospital and bringing her home

-🧸

i love you lots junie

right here when you wake up

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: oscar comforts reader through a d&c surgery and takes care of her after.

warnings: medical mentions, d&c surgery, implied fertility concerns, hospitals, post-op recovery

A/N: i didn’t know what a d&c was so i DID in fact look it up. also i don’t know if u wanted more on the fertility matter but i thought i’d keep it more soft. i love u, 🧸❤️. hope surgery goes well and everything’s alright!

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you’re cold when you wake up, even under three hospital blankets.

it’s the kind of cold that sinks into your skin, not sharp or biting—just… hollow. like something inside you has gone quiet.

you don’t even remember falling asleep.

but you remember oscar holding your hand while the nurse walked you back. remember the tremble in your fingers, the soft kiss he pressed to your knuckles, the way he said “i’ll be right here. when you wake up, i’ll be right here.”

and he is.

slouched in the uncomfortable hospital chair, elbows on his knees, head in his hands—but as soon as he hears the rustle of sheets, he looks up. eyes soft, mouth parted, relief blooming across his face.

“hey,” he whispers, coming closer. “hey, sweetheart. you’re okay.”

your throat is dry. “how long was i out?”

“a couple hours,” he says, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “everything went fine. they said you did great.”

you blink hard, biting back the sting in your eyes.

he notices immediately. “hey. none of that. you don’t have to be brave right now.”

“i’m not—” your voice cracks. “i’m just tired.”

he nods, hands warm as they cup your face. “i know. i know, baby.”

he kisses your forehead, lingers there, and for the first time since you signed the consent form, your chest eases just a little.

he’s quiet the whole ride home.

not distant—just tuned into you. one hand on your thigh, the other on the wheel. eyes flicking to you at every stoplight, checking if you’re still comfortable, still okay.

you sit curled toward the door, legs tucked up carefully, cramping dull but persistent.

you don’t speak until you’re parked in the driveway. “i feel empty.”

oscar doesn’t try to fix it. he doesn’t say anything stupid or sugarcoated. just turns the engine off, leans across the console, and wraps his arms around you like he’s trying to hold every broken piece together.

“you’re not empty,” he murmurs. “you’re here. you’re whole. you’re mine.”

he carries you inside—not because you ask, but because he sees the way you hesitate on the doorstep, the way your hands tremble when you reach for the handle.

you bury your face in his neck. “i can walk.”

“i know,” he whispers. “but let me, okay?”

he lays you on the bed, tucks the blankets in around you, then disappears for a minute—only to come back with a hot water bottle and a painkiller and the tea you like when your stomach’s a mess.

he sits behind you, legs on either side of yours, pulling you into his chest.

you don’t say anything for a while. just breathe.

after a few minutes, he speaks again, so quiet you almost miss it. “i hated not being allowed in the room with you.”

“wasn’t much to see,” you mutter.

“wasn’t about that,” he says. “it was about you being in pain. and me not being able to hold your hand through it.”

you don’t cry. you just… lean further into him, like if you try hard enough, you can disappear into his chest completely.

“thank you,” you whisper.

“for what?”

“for not leaving. for not making it worse.”

he huffs a soft breath. “baby, you could go through anything, and i’d still be right here. nothing could make me leave.”

you fall asleep with his arms around you and his lips pressed to the crown of your head.

and in the quiet, he holds you like you’re still made of something precious.

because to him, you always will be.

THE END :>

#formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #op81 fluff #pcos awareness #supportive oscar piastri #oscar piastri boyfriend #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri #op81 mcl #op81 x you #op81 x y/n #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 fic #op81 #oscar piastri fluff

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matchpointfaist · 1 day ago

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orpheus!finnick x eurydice!reader “how will you remember?” “that I love you?” “yes” “that’s easy i can’t help it.”

i’d tell them put me back in it

finnick odair x victor reader

tw for memory loss, violence (the hunger games), angst, smut, hurt no comfort for a while!

he loved you. the pain in his head was blinding, and the hands of peacekeepers were all he could feel, all over his body. he loved you. he trembled, truly terrified for the first time in his life as they blindfolded him, leading him to a room deep inside the capitol. he loved you. they had him hooked up to wires, pumping him full of chemically generated memories and falsehoods. he loved you. they twisted you into a monster, the antagonist at the center of his anguish. he woke up. he forgot you.

district 13 was a flurry of movement, dozens of people dressed just alike, footsteps echoing through metal hallways, not a lick of laughter amongst the groups. you were in a small room off to the side, kept away from the real work, left to heal, to rest. rest, as if you could relax when finnick had been taken, as if any of this was alright, as if your body didn’t ache with the knowledge that he was somewhere away from you, probably alone. finnick hated being alone, as long as you’d known him, and the thought of him somewhere in the capitol, lonely and afraid, worsened your condition by the second.

after the quarter quell, when plutarch and coin’s plan played out, they’d prioritized katniss, of course. you just happened to get lucky, really, the closest one to her when they took her away, freed you both from the arena. peeta came later, on their last trip down, by sheer luck. when they returned to district 13, finnick and johanna were missing. they’d told you to calm down, told you they’d find him, that he was safe, but nothing worked. katniss held you while you sobbed, comforted you while you screamed, but it wasn’t enough. you laid in that hospital bed, useless and scared, relentlessly tying a knot in a small piece of rope you’d managed to carry out of the arena; the last thing finnick had touched, besides your skin.

they told you this was the revolution, the path to a united panem, a new start for everyone involved. it just felt like betrayal, cold and metallic, plaguing every waking moment. they wanted to safe everyone, but they refused to send anyone to the capitol, refused to bring finnick to you. finnick, your finnick, hurt and terrified, probably being tortured for information, or simply for their amusement. as if half of his life hadn’t been spent under their thumb already. the nightmares kept you up at night, your screams echoing through the empty halls, your mind full of images you couldn’t erase. finnick broken and bleeding, crying for help, just out of reach.

the first time you see him again, he’s a ghost of the man you knew. they won’t let you in at first— they say he needs time, needs quiet, but quiet is all you’ve had since they took him. quiet and waiting and waking nightmares. so you wait just outside the door, listening. you think maybe hearing his voice again will be enough, but when they finally let you in, it isn't enough at all. he’s sitting up in bed, shoulders hunched, arms pulled in tight like he’s trying to fold himself into something smaller, less visible. his eyes snap to you the second you enter the room. those sea-glass eyes that once looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in the world now flash with fear, pure, unfiltered panic. you stop dead in your tracks. “finnick,” you breathe, and your voice cracks on his name. his whole body tenses, like you saying it hurts him. “stay back,” his voice is hoarse, like he’s been screaming, “don’t—don’t come any closer,"

you freeze, hands half-raised, not in defense but in surrender. “it’s me,” you say gently, like he might remember if you just sound right, if you say it the way you used to when it was just the two of you in the quiet corners of the arena, “it’s okay, you’re safe now," but he just flinches like the words are knives. “i know who you are,” he spits it out like it tastes foul on his tongue, “you’re one of them," his words suck the air from the room, out of your lungs, “one of who?”

“the ones from the capitol. the ones who—who hurt me. you were there," his hands shake, his voice rising in pitch, “you laughed. i remember—you laughed while they—” “no,” you whisper, your heart cracking in two, “no, finnick, they made you see that. they put those things in your head, they made you believe—” "don’t lie to me!” he roars, the sound ripping out of him, painful and raw, “they told me the truth, they showed me. i trusted you, and you—” you flinch, not from the volume, but from the pain, the pure betrayal in his voice.

“i would never hurt you,” your voice is shaking. you want, desperately, to reach for him, but you don't, not yet, “finnick, they changed your memories. they wanted you to hate me, because they knew—” “because i loved you,” he says flatly, “that’s what they said, that’s what they took from me," he looks at you, eyes wild and wounded, “so why does it feel like hate when I look at you now?” you don’t have an answer.

you stay frozen as the orderlies come in, gently, slowly, like they’re approaching a wounded animal. he doesn’t fight them, just sits there trembling, sweat shining on his forehead, breathing like he’s still drowning in it. they usher you out without a word, and you don’t resist. the door closes behind you with a final click, and you slide down the wall outside, shaking, trying not to cry too loudly. you press that stupid piece of rope into your palm, tighter and tighter, until it leaves deep grooves in your skin.

days pass. you’re not allowed to see him again, not until they clear him. psych evals, memory checks. behavioral risks. you hear the words like needles, cold and clinical. you wonder how long they'll treat him like something broken. a threat. as if he hasn’t spent enough of his life being owned. you ask plutarch once—“is he okay?” he just sighs through his nose and says, “define okay," that’s all you get.

you wait outside the medical wing every day anyway, silently. they bring you food, which you don’t eat. sometimes, johanna passes by and sits next to you without saying a word. her presence is blunt and solid like stone, a different kind of comfort. she doesn't ask how you are; you think she already knows. then, one evening, a nurse pulls you aside. she doesn’t say much, just nods toward a small surveillance room behind the infirmary. “he’s not ready for visitors,” she says softly, “but you should see this,” the screen is grainy, black and white, but he’s there. finnick sits cross-legged on the floor of his room, back against the far wall. his face is pale, drawn—like the color’s been drained out of him. he’s quiet, focused. in his hands is a thin length of twine, pilfered from a blanket seam or a laundry bag maybe. you don’t know how he got it, you don’t care.

he’s tying knots. slowly, carefully, repeating them over and over. his fingers falter, but he keeps going, like his life depends on it, like the motions are a language he doesn’t quite remember, but his body does. one knot, then another. you press your hand to the screen, tears silently slipping down your cheeks. he doesn’t know you’re there, doesn’t know what the knots mean. but something inside him remembers the rhythm, the purpose, the feeling. a mere whisper of you, still alive in him.

you don’t push to see him again, not yet. you leave things outside his door instead. a little paper packet with another piece of rope. a note with his name in your handwriting. just that, finnick. a reminder of who he is, before and far beyond this. the seashell he once strung onto a necklace for you after a swim in district four. you never know if he looks at them, but the nurse tells you he stopped having the screaming fits at night. that when he wakes up gasping, he holds the rope. that his hands remember before his mind does. you wait. you hope. you tie knots in your own room, every night. you wonder if one day, he’ll remember the shape of your hands.

it comes like a crack in the dam, a single thought breaking free from the crushing weight of lies. he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, the rope still clutched in his hands, the knots finally becoming smoother, more fluid. it’s a quiet moment, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound in the room. he’s not crying anymore, not screaming, but the emptiness in his eyes is still there, like something vital’s been erased. something important.

then, just when it feels like everything is hollow, it happens. he’s halfway through tying a knot when the memory hits him, sharp and sudden, like an electric shock. his hand jerks, the rope slips from his fingers. his breath catches, and his chest constricts. he blinks hard, as though trying to clear the fog in his mind, but it’s too late. It’s already there. a memory of you, of the two of you. he’s standing on the beach, water crashing against the sand, salt and wind tangling in their hair. you're laughing, head tipped back in the sun, and he’s beside you, his hand pressed to your back as you walk toward the ocean. his voice, full of teasing warmth, echoes in his head, “careful, love, the water’s colder than you think,"

you roll your eyes at him, but there’s that smile on your face—the smile, the one that always softened the hardest parts of him. he can hear your voice in his ears now, soft and teasing, “you think I can’t handle it?” he remembers how you had splashed him, grinning like you were ready to leave him in the wake of the waves. then, it’s gone. just as quickly as it came, it fades, leaving only a soft ache in his chest. his hands are shaking. he doesn’t know what that memory was, who that was, but the feeling of it sticks—like it’s something he should’ve held on to. something he’s lost. his hands move to the rope again, but they tremble so violently now, he can’t tie anything. he sets it down, frustrated, and rubs his face with his palms, as though he could just erase the confusion.

hours later, you’re walking down the hall, passing the room where finnick's been kept, and you hear it—the faint sound of his voice, quiet, hoarse, like he’s talking to someone who isn’t there. you freeze. “...i remember... the ocean, the waves,” he says, as if testing the words out loud, seeing if they fit, “there was someone... the girl. she... she was laughing," his breath hitches, “she—” a shaky exhale, “she loved me,"

the door is barely cracked open. you’re tempted to go in, to step forward. but something in his voice—something raw, broken, like he's afraid of even the memory itself—stops you. you press your hand against the doorframe, leaning in just enough to hear. “she... god... she was everything," the words hang in the air like a curse. then, finally, his voice breaks completely, "i can’t remember why i hate her,"

you spend days like this—waiting, watching, listening. but each time you step closer, each time you try to fill the silence with something that might remind him, you feel it—the distance. the thickening wall between the man you love and the stranger the capitol has made of him. the frustration swells inside you, churning like a storm in your chest. it’s a helpless kind of rage, the worst kind, because it’s not his fault. he didn’t choose this. but god, it hurts. every second. you tell yourself over and over that he'll remember, that he has to. but he doesn’t,not yet. and the longer you wait, the harder it gets to keep pretending like you have all the time in the world.

it’s late one evening when you can’t hold it back anymore. you’re standing at the window of your quarters, staring out at the dull, metallic skyline of district 13. the shadows stretch across the floor like they’re swallowing you whole. it’s quiet here, too quiet. the kind of silence that’s full of too much unspoken pain. your fingers twitch, almost instinctively, reaching for something—anything—to hold on to. but you don’t have anything anymore. The rope is gone. the notes are gone. and even though you know you’re still here, even though you’re still alive, all you feel is the crushing weight of absence.

you turn. the walls feel closer now, like they’re closing in on you. your heart pounds in your chest, louder than the steady hum of the ventilation systems. you want him, need him. you want him to look at you and remember, to see you again. but instead, you see him in your mind—eyes clouded, voice trembling, distant. when he remembers, he’ll remember the pain, not the love. and that’s the part you can’t undo. that’s the part that breaks you.

and then it’s too much, all at once. the tears hit first, too suddenly for you to catch them, and the sobs come right after. you double over, pressing your face into your hands, as though you could somehow block out the ache that’s splitting you wide open. it feels like you’re shattering into a thousand pieces, and you can’t stop it. you want him. you want to fix him.

but all you’ve got are the echoes, the empty spaces where his love used to live. you slide to the floor, your knees pulled up to your chest, curling in on yourself like a child. your body shakes with the force of it—of everything you’ve lost, of everything you might lose if he never remembers you. you hate this feeling. you hate that you can’t fix it, can’t just walk into that room and make everything right. you’ve been through so much, survived so much, and yet here you are—powerless. and somewhere, deep inside, you realize that’s what hurts the most. not the loss of him. not the memory of the capitol’s horrors, but the helplessness.

you don’t know how long you sit there, the tears eventually tapering off into quiet exhaustion, but the emptiness stays. finally, after what feels like an eternity, you whisper into the dark, barely a sound at all. “i can’t keep doing this. not like this," your throat aches. it’s raw, the admission—like you’ve just torn a part of yourself free, but it’s the only way to breathe. you don’t have the strength to chase him anymore. you can’t make him remember, no matter how much you want to. so you let go. you let it all go. all the waiting, all the fear, all the hope, and you let it burn down into the simplest truth you have left. he will come back to you when he’s ready. when he remembers. when the world inside his mind stops spinning in circles. until then, you’ll wait.

it’s early morning when the knock comes at your door. you’re not expecting it—no one’s ever come for you this early—but the sharp sound rattles you out of sleep. for a moment, you just lie there, the weight of the blanket like a heavy thing over your chest, your mind slow to catch up with your body. then, another knock, a little softer this time, almost hesitant. you blink a few times, trying to shake off the haze of sleep, and pull yourself up. the silence in your room is thick—suffocating, almost. you reach for the door and pause, your fingers hovering over the handle for just a second. then, you open it, and there he is. finnick.

standing in the hallway, looking as lost as you’ve ever seen him. he’s thinner than he was. his hair is unkempt, like he hasn’t bothered to comb it in days. there’s a tiredness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and something else—a flicker of confusion, maybe even a little fear. his body is rigid, like he’s bracing for something. you take a step back without thinking, your heart pounding in your throat, and his eyes follow your movement like he’s waiting for you to say something, anything. but the words catch in your mouth, and all you can do is look at him, waiting for the moment to break. he clears his throat, his voice hoarse, "i don’t know why i’m here,”

it hits you—this is it. this is the moment where it either breaks you or pulls you together. his words don’t make sense. he doesn’t know why he’s here, but you do. you know exactly why. it’s the moment you’ve waited for. the moment where he takes one step closer. your throat closes up, and you manage to choke out a single word, barely audible, “finnick,” he flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough to remind you that even though his body is here, the man you love is still somewhere buried under the rubble. the capitol’s poison still clings to his mind. “i remember,” he shakes his head like he’s fighting something off, running a hand through his hair, “i remember the ocean. the knots,” his voice falters, and his gaze drops to the floor, his fingers curling into a fist, “but i don’t remember you,”

your heart shatters. you want to reach out, but you can’t. you’re too afraid to move, afraid he might break further, and you might not be able to piece him back together again. he stares at the ground, his shoulders trembling, “i remember you, i think... but i don’t,” his voice cracks, raw with something close to despair, “how do i remember you if i don’t remember me?” for a long moment, neither of you move. the distance between you feels like miles. then, without thinking, you take a step forward, and then another. he looks up at you in surprise, his brow furrowed, “what are you—?”

you stop right in front of him, not touching him, not yet. just standing close, close enough that your breaths are the same, and you can feel the heat of his body—the warmth that’s always been him. you’re shaking too, just a little, but you can’t stop yourself from reaching for him. “finnick,” you say again, quieter this time, like you’re testing the name out, like maybe if you say it enough, he’ll remember, “you know me. you know me in here," you press your hand over your chest, where your heart is thundering, “you feel me, don’t you?” he doesn’t answer right away, his eyes searching yours like he’s looking for something he’s afraid to find. you take another step closer, just a fraction, but enough for him to feel it, for him to sense the truth in your presence.

“you loved me,” you whisper, each word weighted with years of lost time, “i loved you, and I’m not going anywhere, finnick. i’m not,” he stares at you, his face hard with frustration, but you see the struggle there—the war in his mind between what the capitol made him believe and what his body knows to be true. and in that quiet space, with everything hanging between you, you realize something. he’s not lost. he’s just been broken. and breaking isn’t the same as disappearing.

he takes a breath, the sound ragged. his eyes flick to your hand, which is still hovering, a fraction of an inch from him. and slowly—so slowly, like he’s afraid of the consequences—his hand moves toward yours. the air around you crackles. his fingers brush yours, hesitant, unsure. but then, he closes his hand around yours completely, as if your touch is the anchor he’s been searching for. you don’t say anything more. you don’t need to. his eyes are still wide, but the fear in them is softer now. he’s not fully back—not yet. but there’s something in the way he holds your hand, the way he lets himself feel you, that tells you everything you need to know. he's still there.

the first time he speaks your name again, it’s in the middle of the night. you’re lying in the bed they gave you, the one that still feels too cold even when you wrap yourself in the thick blanket. the room is dark, save for the dim light from the corridor creeping in beneath the door. it’s quiet, except for the soft, steady hum of the ventilation systems. and then you hear it. a whisper. his voice, hoarse, uncertain. your heart stops, and you sit up so fast you almost knock the pillow off the bed. his voice—so soft, so tentative—has a crack in it, like he's testing the waters. as if he’s unsure whether the sound of your name still means something. whether it still belongs to the same world.

you push the blanket off and stand. without thinking, you cross the room and open the door. there he is, standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, his face drawn and pale, eyes searching for something that makes sense. you don’t hesitate this time. you reach for him, your hand instinctively going out, and he looks at it like it’s a lifeline. “i’m here,” you say softly, almost breathless. “i’m here, finny, i’m right here,"

he flinches just slightly when your hand touches his arm, like he’s still not used to the warmth of a touch that isn’t laced with pain. but then, slowly, his hand comes up to meet yours, and he holds it—not tightly, but enough for you to feel that small connection. you lead him back into your room, wordlessly, and sit together on the edge of the bed. there’s a silence between you now—soft and awkward, but not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that feels like an unspoken promise. his voice comes again, quieter this time, “i don’t know how to fix this,” he admits, his eyes downcast, his hands trembling in his lap, “i don’t even know if i can.”

you take a deep breath, steadying yourself, “you don’t have to fix it,” you say gently, “we just need time to remember, time to heal,” he looks at you then, those sea-glass eyes searching your face like he’s looking for something hidden, “but what if i don’t remember everything? what if—what if you’re still just a stranger to me?” you squeeze his hand, your heart aching, “you’ll remember. i know you will," and for the first time since he came back to district 13, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. not the fear, not the confusion, but a spark—like he’s beginning to recognize the familiar warmth in your touch.

the next few days pass slowly, like the breaking of dawn, inch by inch. each time you see him, it feels like you’re meeting him again for the first time. there’s no rush—just patience. you bring him small things that used to matter—pieces of the life you once shared. you show him the knotting techniques again, with slow, careful fingers, and he watches, silently, as if trying to remember the rhythm of it, the feel of the rope in his hands. “you used to do this all the time,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, “i’d just sit there, watching you, and you’d make knots for hours,”

he tries, his hands fumbling, but he doesn’t stop. the rope slips through his fingers, but he doesn’t give up. “i used to like doing this with you,” he says, voice thick with something that feels like regret, “i’m sorry i can’t remember more,” but you just shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips despite the tears in your eyes. “you’re here, okay? that’s enough. you’re already remembering, little by little,” and little by little, he does. it starts with the small things—the laughter, the teasing, the quiet moments when you both sit together, when he leans his shoulder against yours without thinking, and you let the silence speak for you. there’s a tenderness now, a slow rebuilding, like rebuilding a house brick by brick.

then one day, after a long morning of training, he comes to you with a simple question. “do you remember the first time we kissed?” his voice is hesitant, like he’s afraid of what you might say. you look at him, feeling the weight of the question, but also a familiar warmth spreading through your chest. the answer is obvious, even though it’s been buried under everything that’s happened. “of course i do,” you nod, your voice soft, but filled with love, “you were so nervous, finnick. you kept saying you didn’t know how to kiss someone in a way that would make them stay. and i—” you pause, letting the memory flood back, “i told you it didn’t matter. i would stay anyway,"

his face softens, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “i don’t remember it exactly, but i think i believe you,” you reach out, cupping his cheek gently, and for a moment, the world feels still, safe. he leans into your touch like he’s searching for something. and in that moment, you know—it’s not just the memory that matters. it’s the feeling underneath it, the connection, the love that’s always been there, even when it felt lost. “i’ll help you remember,” you whisper, “we’ll do this together,” he nods slowly, his eyes dark and soft, “i want to. i want to remember you, remember us,"

he comes to you later that night, after everyone else has fallen asleep, his movements quiet and his face hidden under the vale of night. he knocks on your door, familiar by now, bright blue eyes meeting yours the second you open it. “are you alright?” you ask, brows knit in concern. he nods, quick and eager, “i had to see you,” he pushes into your room, closing the door behind him, unlike himself, “i remembered- we were home, in four, and we were in bed, you were reading to me. mags was there, she came in and brought us tea-“ he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “you had a ring, a silver ring on your finger,” he grabs at your hand, pulling it to him, “where’s your ring?” your heart aches, threatening to crack open, to spill out everything you’d been holding back, “i lost it during the quarter quell,” you tell him softly, “my hands were slick, it slid off. i’m so sorry,” “we were engaged,” he says the word like it pains him, “you were going to be my wife,” “yes,” you nod, eyes brimming with tears, “you remembered that all on your own?”

he doesn’t answer, taking a rushed step closer and pushing you back to your bed, catching your lips in a kiss. you gasp, hands on his shoulders, heart racing as he kisses you like he’d never forgotten how. “i love you,” he sounds like the words are tearing at his throats, “show me how, please, show me how i used to love you,” you don’t have it in you to protest, to tell him that this isn’t a healthy coping mechanism, finding yourself at a loss for words as he kisses you frantically, tears mixing with your lips. you’re unsure who the tears belong to anymore, if it’s one or both of you, fully overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands all over you, clutching and grabbing like you might slip away again.

“finnick,” you whisper like a prayer, running your hand through his hair, “maybe we shouldn’t rush it,” “not rushing,” he mumbles into your skin, “been waiting to remember, this is a good thing, right? show me, show me how i used to touch you,” you let yourself give in, leading his hands over you, his touch gentle and hesitant, testing the feelings resurfacing for each of you. you take it slow, getting used to each other again as you both peel off each others layers, soft kisses pressed to each others shoulders and shaky hands discarding each others clothes. “you’re so beautiful,” he sounds truly awed, his eyes shining as he looks you over, “never dreamed you’d be this beautiful,” “you’ve seen it before,” you flush, pulling him down to kiss you again. “not like this,” he mumbles into your lips, his hands sliding between your back and the mattress, arching your spine into his touch.

he’s patient, but when he finally pushes inside you, the sound is guttural, his voice raw and breathless, your name falling from his lips like he’s delighting in the memory alone. “i remember this,” he pants, dragging his lips across your chest, hips rocking just slow enough to have your eyes rolling back, “i remember how you feel, how beautiful you are,” he holds you tight and delicate, treating you like some sort of holy figure, like you’ll break if he’s a touch too rough. “i love you,” you bury your face in his neck, your legs locking around his waist, holding him close, “knew you’d remember,” “i love you,” he chokes out, hands gripping your thighs, “could never forget this,”

he takes his time with you, learning all the motions, absorbing the way you look as you come undone like it’s the first time. when it’s over, he stays wrapped up around you, holding you to his chest, kissing your head and running his fingers through your hair, his eyes brimmed with fresh tears. you wake in the morning to him still beside you, watching you as your eyes open, a soft smile on your lips. “hi,” you murmur, kissing his shoulder, “how’re you feeling?” “like i woke up,” he can’t wipe the smile from his lips, kissing your cheek, “thank you,” “mm, don’t have to thank me,” you shake your head, but you know he means it- you brought him back, whether you thought you could or not.

years later, when the war has been won, when katniss and peeta have little children running all over their fields, when johanna is in love with a woman she no longer has to be afraid to lose, people will ask. they’ll ask how he returned from that place, how he remembered when they’d tortured him so extensively. he’ll look at you across the room, a shadow of a smile on his lips, “i couldn’t help it,”

#finnick angst #thg finnick odair #finnick odair fic #finnick au #finnick fic #thg finnick #finnick oneshot #finnick fanfic #hunger games finnick #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #the hunger games #thg

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ashthesalamipiece · 14 hours ago

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hey ash can i please request soemthing? a katsuki bakugo x female reader they are married and reader is like extremely weak? like physically and she got pregnant-a high risk one the type where the doctor would say to consider a abortion? something like that? you dont have to do this Just a request from a fellow follower love your works they are chaotic and love them :)

Hii mll♡

Of you can request anything I appreciate ittt♡

I hope this is up to your expectations♡

---

"Stronger Than You Know"

Bakugo had never imagined himself the marrying type—at least not back when he was the hotheaded teen with a short fuse and a tunnel vision for victory. But somehow, you had wormed your way into his life with gentle hands and soft words, the exact opposite of everything he used to think he needed.

He used to think strength was everything.

But then he married you.

You weren’t strong like him. Not in the way that counted for most people. Your body was fragile, your energy limited, and your constitution was nothing short of worrying. Some days, he’d carry you from the bed to the couch because your muscles trembled too much. He always did it without complaint, though he grumbled under his breath just to keep up appearances. You’d laugh and call him a softie, and he’d call you a brat.

But he never once resented it. Not once.

Because you were the only one who could make him feel calm. Needed. Loved.

So when you told him you were pregnant, his reaction was… complicated.

He stared at you for a full minute before the words even processed. You were sitting on the couch in one of his old shirts, fingers wringing the hem, face pale and eyes a little wet. You’d looked scared—not of him, but for yourself. For the tiny, forming life inside of you.

And he felt like the ground tilted beneath him.

You were already so delicate. The idea of you carrying a child—his child—through nine months of hellish strain made his stomach twist in fear.

Of course, the hospital visit only made things worse.

“The pregnancy is high-risk,” the doctor said, voice carefully neutral. “Your body might not handle it. If complications arise, it could be fatal… for both of you.”

You’d gripped Bakugo’s hand then. He could still feel how cold your fingers were. The doctor kept talking, listing options, risks, and the word he hated more than anything in that moment: abortion.

Bakugo didn't speak. He didn’t trust himself to.

The moment you two left the office, you waited until you were in the safety of his car to finally whisper, “Katsuki… what should we do?”

He didn’t answer right away. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“Do you… want to keep it?” he finally asked, voice low.

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I want to try. Even if I’m scared.”

He looked at you for a long time. Your face was full of fear and hope, all tangled together. You weren’t strong—at least not in the way people measured it. But he had never seen someone braver.

“You’re not doing this alone,” he said, turning fully to face you. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together. I’ll be there for every damn second.”

You gave him a watery smile, and he kissed you before you could say anything else.

---

The following months were hard.

You were in and out of the hospital more times than either of you could count. Bakugo adjusted his patrol schedule, sometimes canceling it altogether just to sit beside you during check-ups. The staff got used to seeing the pro hero sitting with you, his scarred hands cradling yours, whispering quiet reassurances that didn’t match his usual brash image.

There were nights he’d sit beside your bed, wide awake while you slept restlessly. He’d talk to your belly when you were too tired to stay conscious, his voice low and steady.

“Your mom’s the toughest damn person I know, you hear me?” he’d mutter, fingers gently tracing circles on your skin. “She’s stronger than any hero out there.”

Sometimes the fear crept in.

Like when you collapsed while walking across the kitchen.

Or when the doctors said your blood pressure was too high again.

Or when they prepared an emergency bag “just in case.”

But you always pulled through. Even when your body screamed and the world felt like it was stacked against you, you kept going.

Because you had a reason now. A heartbeat you heard on fuzzy monitors. A future wrapped in warmth and baby clothes folded neatly in drawers. And Katsuki’s hand, always there. Always strong. Always steady.

---

The birth wasn’t easy. It was a blur of beeping machines, sterile white lights, and a level of panic Katsuki never wanted to experience again.

They rushed you in after you started bleeding—too much, too fast.

He wasn’t allowed in the OR.

He punched a wall.

Paced like a caged animal.

Nearly lost it when a nurse asked him to “stay calm.”

But then—

A baby’s cry.

And the nurse came out.

“A girl,” she said. “She’s healthy. And your wife… she made it. She’s going to be okay.”

Bakugo didn’t remember sitting down, but he did.

Didn’t remember the tears, but they came.

When they let him in, you were pale, exhausted, barely awake—but smiling. And in your arms was the tiniest, angriest baby he had ever seen.

“She’s got your scowl,” you whispered hoarsely.

He looked down at the two of you—his whole world in one hospital bed—and something in him broke open.

He kissed your forehead.

“You scared the shit out of me, idiot.”

You laughed weakly. “Worth it?”

He looked at the baby again, who had just punched the air in protest.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, it was.”

#my hero academia #reader #mha x reader #bhna #funny #bakugo #bakugou katsuki #fluff #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader

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iidesxreii · 2 days ago

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Fire, meet Medicine - E. Buckley

╔ Pairing: Evan Buckley x Plus Size!Black!Doctor!Reader

☆ Word Count: 3.2k

☆ Category: Fluff (near the end)/SMUT! (18+ YOU HAVE BEEN FOREWARNED)

☆ Summary: You find yourself at a halloween party with one particular person fighting to get your attention. And when he does, all hell breaks loose.

☆ Content: First meet, makeout, SMUT!!!!

╚ A/N: Since my first fic did so well (in my opinion) I guess I'm gonna keep going with posting my drafts. I have about 4 drafts that can be tied into this so I'm going to call this a series and just go through with posting these on Wednesdays. I'll post regular fics on Saturdays instead. This is written with a plus size, black female character in mind. I don't see a lot of Black!reader fics let alone PlusSize!reader fics so I decided to make one for myself as it is my ethnicity. At some point it will be VERY known, but hopefully it doesn't bother any of you! ALSO!! I know my smut scenes suck, I'm trying and working on them to get better. If you have ANY tips, and I mean ANY, please send them in or message me about it so I can get better. Literally anything to make my fics better helps.

As always, even if you hate it, let me know. constructive criticism is always welcome when it comes to my writing.

═══════ ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ｡･ ═══════

You check your outfit over once more before turning in the mirror and making sure your modesty is still intact. It was halloween and you were finishing up your outfit. Which consisted of a small green dress, some wings you found last minute and a whole lot of glitter. You flattened out your dress before grabbing the clutch you had packed before you started getting ready. It had all of the normal necessities. A card holder, keys, lip gloss, makeup wipe, compact mirror, a stain remover stick and a miniature deodorant. You grabbed your phone off the charger and checked the time. The party you were attending was across town and had started at 10. You on the other hand hadn’t gotten off your shift until 11 and rushed to get ready as quickly as possible. You knew the party wasn’t going to end soon since it was an LA party, but you still wanted some time to mingle about.

You make your way down the stairs of your loft and into your living room area to check on your dog. Cerberus was fully capable of protecting the apartment while you were gone, but you always made sure to check on him before leaving. Your heels click against the hardwood as you walk over to your dog and rub your hand against his head. He makes a little sound which has you poking your bottom lip out. You almost cave in and say fuck the halloween party. You could have your own. You, Cerberus and a bucket of candy from the store. You sigh and shake your head before heading into the kitchen. You check his automatic bowls before peeking back at him in his bed. You blink a few times before making your way to the door and heading out, locking the door behind you.

You put in for a rideshare and make your way down to the lobby. The rideshare app dinged and you were donned with a wait time of 3 minutes. You shuffled a bit as you felt the eyes of your doorman on you. Connor was nice, you spoke to him every once in a while but not like you spoke to Fredrick. Frederick was your favorite, he treated you like his own daughter. Asking about your residence at the hospital and making sure you were taking care of yourself. You spoke to him every morning and you were sure you wouldn’t miss another chat tomorrow morning. Maybe you’d bring him a coffee. Before long your phone is pinging and letting you know your ride was outside. You make your way outside and get into the car. Immediately your trek starts and you’re on your way.

You walk into the house of your friend who was hosting the party and sca around for her. You wanted to say hi before heading anywhere else. The minute you walked through the door boys looked your way. Some approached but others just watched, you could feel their eyes digging into you. Before long you find your friend and give a hug before thanking her for the invite.

“You look so good! I’m so glad you could make it. Hopefully residency isn’t so bad?” Your friend, Emara, gave you a hug before looking you over once. Emara was your dorm mate in med school. You guys clicked almost immediately and clicked even better when she found out you were 2 years younger than the preconceived notion she had placed on you. She wasn’t aware she was bunking with a ‘literal genius’. Her words, not yours.

“It’s just as I expected! How is yours?” You look over her costume and smile. She was of course dressed as a sexy nurse. She was waiting for residency before she pulled out all the stops. She was waiting for the chance to actually drop the bomb that she was a doctor.

“Calmer than North Med! Enjoy the party and the hotties! We’ll have to catch up later on!” She turns and heads off into a crowd with a handful of shots in her hands. You turn towards the makeshift bar and pour yourself something to drink. You turn around and lean on it before noticing the lovely, and very hot, man dressed as Robin. He had his eyes on you, and you were attempting to ignore him. You turn away from him and make your way deeper into the crowd and away from his eyes. A good 15 minutes later you find yourself talking to a girl that was also a student at your med school. Though you had never formally met her, you were excited to talk to her. You had also managed to avoid the blonde haired boy pretty nicely. Ever since the encounter 15 minutes ago he’s been trying to get to you, but you wanted to play the long game first.

You hadn’t let yourself experience a relationship in a while seeing as you were always busy with schooling, then med school came around, and then residency. You had no time for a relationship back then, or right now. But you could have fun in the meantime. You turned to the girl and said you were going to grab a drink and heeded off towards the counter. You stopped to grab another drink and managed to slip away to the backyard as you noticed the guy coming your way. You stayed hidden from him for a while before you caught him coming at me from a little ways away. You tried to hold back a smile before turning to him as he approached you. He stopped right next to you and made no effort to speak to you just yet. You sipped your drink and checked the time on your phone that you had pulled out of your clutch when you were getting that other girl’s number. 1:38. It wasn’t like you had work tomorrow, but you still wanted to be in bed by a certain time.

“Are you playing a game with me?” The guy turned to you ever so slightly and you giggled into the cup that was at your lips. You peeked at him for a second before taking another sip of your drink and turning to him fully.

“It’s my first night out in like a couple months. I just wanted to have a little fun is all.” He drank the rest of his drink and he sat it down somewhere. He turned back to you and asked a question.

“And why did you choose me to play it with?” You looked up into his eyes. He was taller than you expected and you kinda liked that. He had a birthmark above his eye, he smelled like alcohol and it was mixing with something so good. You couldn’t explain it. It smelled like something You needed in your apartment all the time. If you were being honest, you wanted him in your apartment all the time. The things you’d do if you had his scent near you all the time. Wait…no.

“I dunno. You were cute. And you caught my eye.” He shook his head and let out a low chuckle. It riveted into your brain and straight through you. It was hot, fuck that, it was sexy. You loved the sound. And you wanted to hear it again and again and again.

“Ah. Cat and mouse. Which one am I?” You let out a giggle and shook your head. He had a point. But you weren’t sure which one he was. You bit your lip and scanned his body, you didn’t know if this was the alcohol talking or if you genuinely thought this, but why were you running from someone as sexy as him? Instead of running you should’ve been getting your payback for the last few months. You were in desperate need and you had finally found something that appealed to you as much as your vibrator did.

“What’s your name?” was what came out of your mouth. You watched confusion pass by his face before his answer slipped out of his mouth with a quickness.

“Buck.” You raised your eyebrows at that answer. Who names their kid Buck? But like he read your mind he continues. “It’s a nickname. I-it’s my last name. Evan Buckley…hence the Buck…” You shook your head and smiled as you extended your hand. You think it was the alcohol hitting. Whatever you mixed in those few cups were coming back to bite you in the ass.

“(Y/N), nice to meet you Buck…but I have a proposition.” He made a face and you assumed he was listening. You placed both hands onto his shoulder, and leaned up to his ear. You were close enough to whisper but not to get lip gloss on it. “I’m not going to lie, this could definitely be the alcohol talking but, I’ve never met someone who appealed to me as much as my vibrator did. And I’d kill to have her right now. So instead, how about we get one more cup of whatever it is they have in that kitchen, get shit faced and make our way to the bathroom. That way, I get what I've been needing for 9 months, and you can learn my last name.” You leaned back onto your feet and winked at him. He easily grabbed your hand and beelined his way to the kitchen area. You both grabbed a cup each, and downed it in that same second. Then you made a direct line for a bathroom. You both make it to a bathroom and the minute the door closes your back is pressed against the door with his hands running all over your body. His hands felt so good running over your body, everything felt surreal. This is exactly what you needed in your life. Or at least right now at this moment.

He pulled away for a second and instead went into your neck. Sucking, licking, soft kisses, all of it was pushing you to the edge. His hands found your ass and gripped it tightly, which made you moan. In turn, you rake your hands down his back and he almost growls in your ear. He pulled away from your neck and quickly lifted you onto the bathroom counter. The feeling of the cold counter threw you off for a second making you gasp and arch your back. He took this as an opening and pushed his way in between your legs. He began rubbing your thigh with one hand and dipped his head back to meet your lips in a kiss. You felt him grind against you and your eyes almost rolled out of your head. There was a knock at the door and you both ignored it. You wanted this. You needed this. Nobody could stop you from going through with this right now. Then there was another knock. And another and another and another. It was constant at this point, and you knew it was only going to get worse. You pushed him back a bit before checking your phone. 2:10.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

By 2:27 Buck has you pushed up against his door and is trying to unlock it to no avail. You release him and he grumbles as you step to the side to allow him to unlock the door properly. You were sure that if he didn’t get the door unlocked he was going to have you in any way in the hallway of his apartment building. The lock clicks smoothly and Buck opens the door before bringing you in. Before you can get a look around you’re tugged into him and he’s picking you up with ease. Before you know it you’re being tossed onto a bed.

“Are you sure about this?” Buck is standing over you and your mind is anywhere but vanilla. You watch as he takes his shirt off and you almost pass out from how good he looks. Instead of marveling like you want to, you find his eyes again and smile.

“Thinking I’m going to change my mind Buckley?” You’re perched up on your elbows and Buck is eyeing you up from head to toe. You watch as his eyes darken and his pupils dilate before they find yours.

“I’m all about consent.” His smile is shit eating and you almost find it funny. He leans down and places both hands on the bottom of the bed. He’s leaned over almost primal looking. He’s cute, what else can he do?

“That’s hot.” you mean it towards him, but the consensual part is just as hot. You bite your bottom lip and motion for him to come to you. He crawls up the bed and you find it in you to take off the dress you’re wearing. As the dress passes your eyes you find Buck sitting back on his ankles undoing your heels. He takes one off, and then moves to the other. Your heels are soon discarded along with your dress and wings. His pants soon find a home on the floor with your costume and you both are back to kissing. His kisses trail down the valley of your breast, over your belly button and to the top of your underwear. He looks at you before watching for any type of wavering. When you nod he drags your underwear down and is faced with your soaking cunt. He all but groans as he licks a tender stirpe up your center. You shudder and reach for his hair. As you come in contact with his locks he dives into you licking recklessly. Sucking, licking, hot breaths passing your sensitive bud. Everything feels much better than you could’ve imagined. He hums something and your back arches. Your breathless moans push him over the edge and he finds every way to get you to react like that again. You feel the bud in your stomach growing and your grip on his hair gets tighter. He flattens his tongue against you and you immediately find release.

He doesn’t let go though, he moves and inserts two fingers into you making your legs wrap tightly around his head. He takes this as something you liked and continues digging into you. He takes his time exploring the inside of you and your moans become a mix of heavy breaths and incoherent words. He finds that ever loving squishy spot and picks up his pace. Buck watches as you fight the inevitable, taking pride in the fact that he’s doing so well you think you have to hide anything that falls out of that pretty mouth of yours. You, on the other hand, have to stop the string of curses that threaten to fly out of your mouth. Buck finds your bud once more and expertly licks at it with his tongue. He starts slow, picks up space and then slows it down again. You arch your back and pull him into you more as you find release against his face once more. Your legs begin shaking and you’re reluctant to let go of his hair. He pulls your hand from his head and kisses the back of your hand.

He lifts his head from you and pulls his fingers out, licking them clean. A devious smile on his face as he moves up to find your lips. He captures them in a kiss and you immediately taste yourself on his lips. You didn’t know what about it had turned you on, but it made another pool between your legs. Buck pulls back with your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs on it just a bit.

“Can you give me one more? You’re shaking and holding on pretty tight.” You nod your head and Buck bites his bottom lip before kissing you once more and heading back down. His fingers find that spot inside of you again and this time you hold nothing back. You let out every moan and whimper that graces your lips. It turns Buck on more as he finds your bud and licks at it relentlessly. From how good it felt you find yourself grinding into his face for more pressure. Buck tries to find release from his bed. He grinds his own hips into the bed as you moan from how good he’s making you feel. Your hips become sloppy and Buck knows you’re about to reach another release so he takes his free arm and wraps it around your hips. He locks you to the bed and continues his assault on your cunt. Within moments your moans become breathless gasps and Buck sits up to watch your face fully. Your eyes roll back and you cum but he doesn’t let up on his fingers and you find yourself squirting onto his chest. Buck in awe, cums in his underwear at the sight of you.

“Oh my god! I’m so sor-” you begin to panic. You had never experienced that in the many years you had been sexually active. No guy, or girl during your small phase, had ever made you feel like that. Buck immediately closes his eyes and you wish the bed would swallow you whole.

“No. No no no. Do not be sorry.” Buck gets off the bed and heads into the bathroom with a slight jog. You hear water running and then in seconds he’s back out and leaning over your trembling legs. “That was the hottest thing ever, oh my god.” His reassurance calms you almost immediately and you find it comforting that he wasn’t mad about it. He wipes at your legs and your core before making sure he’s got everything with another swipe of the towel. He immediately heads over to the dresser and digs into one of the drawers. He grabs a navy blue shirt and turns to head down the stairs. He comes back up and is holding sheets in his hand. You notice the wet spot, courtesy of you and a blush finds its way onto your cheeks. You grab the comforter and wrap yourself in it as Buck changes the sheets as fast as possible, then he turns to you with the shirt in hand and holds it out to you.

“I’m gonna go shower. Do you want to stay or do you want me to call an uber?” His voice is softer as you make your way back into the bed. He follows suit and places himself on the edge of the bed and his hand finds a place on your ankle. He’s rubbing soothing circles into it while your leg jerks ever so slightly.

“W-whatever you want…” You whisper it and Buck’s eyebrows crease. You had never been asked if you wanted to stay, let alone given something to sleep in. Buck smiles and his hand finds its way to your thigh and he pats it softly. He hands you the shirt before standing and heading towards the bathroom.

“It’s way too early to be kicking you out. I’ll drive you home tomorrow.” and with that he’s in the bathroom. You hear the shower turn on and then slight humming. You place the shirt over your head before fixing the duvet over the entire bed and lying down. Before long his pillow lulls you to sleep.

#evan buck buckely #evan buckley x reader #911 x reader #911 abc #9-1-1 fanfiction #9-1-1 LA #9-1-1 TV show #Evan Buckley fanfiction #Evan Buck Buckley x reader #evan buckley x black!reader #evan buckley x plus size reader

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louivv · 2 days ago

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1:27 am

Reaching out of his pants to get the keys, Zayne opens the door quietly too avoid the creaking noise of the door waking up his precious wife. Settling down himself and his things in the sofa, closing his eyes—manspreading as he let all that exhaustion out. He didn't expect this day to be that exhausting, he even texted you that he'll go home early today but lecture and meetings happened in the last minute and you know how that ends up. All he needed right now was a nice bath and the warmth of his wife.

Fluttering his eyes open, he flinched as he saw you right in front of him. "Its late. Why are you still awake love, you should be asleep at this time. " He breathed as he sneaked his hands on my waist. Standing between his legs I cupped his face "What about you doctor Zayne shouldn't you be cleaning yourself right now so you can rest." I lectured, pulling him to stand up. Taking of his coat he put his head against my shoulder, putting his coat in the laundry I start to help him unbutton his shirt.

"Your bath is ready Love, I prepared it earlier for you." I said as I pat his chest.

Soaking himself in the tub with the warm water prepared for him helping him to relaxe his mind and body for a couple of minutes before washing his body thoroughly, making sure not to spare a single germ in his body knowing how dirty it is to work in the hospital. After all of that he then decided to get out of the bathroom.

Sat down in the bed I see him with his towel around his torso, his body glistening, water dropping down in the tips of his hair as he just got out of the shower. Seeing him like that just makes me want to shut up as I have nothing appropriate to say.

"Hurry up, I miss my husband." I whined while watching him wear his clothes.

"I'm almost done. Be patient." He cooed.

Once he was done Zayne slumped forward, the weight of his exhaustion dragging his shoulders down. I immediately wrapped my arms around him, kissing him softly treating him like he's so fragile, his fingers gently sliding down the sides of my face and neck. Holding his head gently against my chest.

Zayne’s arms locked around my waist, clutching me with a desperate intensity, as if I were the only thing tethering him to reality. His face was pressed into my chest, where the steady beat of my heart echoed against his skin—a quiet, reassuring promise that I was here: alive, warm, and unshakably present.

"When everything gets too tiring, your presence is all I need. No one else's." He mumbled against my bossom.

Authors note—۶९ Zayne never beating the husband allegations

#lads zayne #love and deepspace #fanfic #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads rafayel #lads caleb #lads xavier #love and deepspace sylus #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #xavier love and deepspace

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persephone-writes · 1 day ago

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A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Daily Prophet

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Twenty-Seven ☆ Series Masterlist

Description: You are going to have to start getting used to more attention, and fast.

Word Count: 5.2k

“Are you tired?”

You shook your head despite the darkened sky, though it wasn’t an entirely truthful answer. Selfishly, you didn’t want to push James out of the Hospital Wing before he was forced to leave, clinging to his presence beside you in the stiff wooden chair. No matter how many times you offered, he wouldn’t share the bed with you, insisting you be solely blessed with its comfort. Instead, he shifted and bounced his legs, standing every so often to pace before coming back, always speaking in a whisper.

You reached out to touch his hair, soft in the light of the torch. “No,” you answered, smiling when he bent into your hand.

He took it away and kissed your palm, still holding it as he placed it back onto the bed. “Poppy’s gonna make me leave in a few minutes, but I’ll come back under the robe. Do you want anyone else, or just me?”

You smiled a different kind of smile at the unintended double-meaning, closed-lipped and impish. “Didn’t know you were content with sharing.”

His eyes narrowed, letting go of your hand to touch your knee, bent up towards him where you reclined.

“I’m not,” he said under his breath, though soon his own smile peeked out. “I hate when you do that. It reminds me too much of Padfoot.”

“If only he were here. He’d be proud of me.”

For most of the evening after your meeting with Dumbledore, your friends (mostly James and Lily) had been in and out. James was forced to leave for a time, though he was mostly able to talk his way into being the one to stay with you. You weren’t sure if the word was out to every single professor that you and James were a couple, though it was very likely McGonagall knew on account of her mercy. Sirius was coradled back into Gryffindor Tower not long before dinner, with Marlene, Dorcas, Remus, and Peter barred from ever leaving the common room the entire rest of the day, along with every other student. You were just lucky your boyfriend and best friend were Head Boy and Girl, you supposed.

Thankfully, James somehow found the strength within himself to rip himself away from you long enough to change out of his quidditch uniform. However, he seemed to have picked up what you could only assume was the first thing he found lying on the floor of his room, since it was Sirius’s T. Rex band shirt he now wore. His trousers, at the very least, were his.

“James, I think you ought to just come back in the morning. You need to sleep, you know,” you laughed. He pressed his lips in obvious disagreement, his fingers still rubbing along the curve of your knee. “Give the cloak to someone else, if you’d like,” you continued. “I’ll really be fine on my own for a few hours.”

“I don’t like leaving you,” he muttered, a recollection of the past day flashing across his eyes. You could almost see the fire, feel the heat in his irises.

“It’s all right,” you said, the words dragging out in a long pattern of tenderness, your chest twisting at the tense strain of his neck. “I’ll still be here in the morning, I promise.”

Begrudgingly, James stood, his hand lingering on your leg, his fingers just brushing against you before they fell away and left you cold. His eyes were cast down, drifting up until they met yours again. You could see his adams apple bob, something brewing under the surface of his weary expression.

When he didn’t speak you slid off the bed to stand in front of him. “What?” you asked, reaching for his shoulder.

His chest rose, then fell, uneasy and haggard. “Do you really think it’s all over?”

You knew he didn’t mean the war— no one could possibly think that was all over. No, he was speaking about your omens.

You told him about the crow and the fish you saw earlier that day, how you believed it to mean your omen had truly come to fruition. Now, you were almost certain you knew the full nature of the signs, confident they had been seen through. James had been joy, the same as you thought before. Your worries over Lily, you believed, were surely agonizing enough to constitute heartache. Your duel with Mulciber yesterday, the fiendfyre, the terror that gripped your every nerve, was your loss of innocence, a complete change in worldview, a shift in your being.

You had already come to the conclusion that you had been wrong about Mulciber’s first plan being your red and purple fish, though it was blatantly incorrect in the wake of yesterday's events. Before yesterday, even though the war outside the castle seemed to be growing ever nearer, it still felt as if it was a distance away. It crept on the outskirts of the grounds, though it never permeated the walls, never crawled under the nose of Dumbledore and the other professors, resisting detection. It made the prospect of joining the underground fight less terrifying, more reasonable. Now, you were quite sure you understood the gravity of it all, what it would mean to fight, to put your life at stake. Nothing could stop you, not even James, though your feeble hope of shielding yourself of the true horrors had burned up in the mouth of the fiery serpent. Horror, you recognized, would become a part of your life, but hope would always remain. Your world was irrevocably changed, and the omen had been fulfilled.

“Yeah, I do,” you answered with a sullen smile.

Instantly, he wrapped arm around your upper back, bringing you into his chest. You felt his nose bump against you, his cheek pressed to the side of your head as he breathed you in. His hand held your waist, tighter than he normally would have, as if you might float away. You thought of the pair of you before, when you used to wonder if he could never love you— perhaps in another universe, another timeline where the cards fell perfectly. But he had always been yours, your James, the entire time. The cards had fallen nicely in this life, even if they weren’t perfect.

“Enjoy the peace and quiet,” you whispered. Tomorrow will be chaos, July will be maddening.

“Peace is not my forte,” he said with a low, bitter laugh, adding after a moment, “not without you.”

“Are you wired every second you’re not with me?” you teased, smiling at the way he pulled you closer. You could feel his pulse where your thumb brushed along the side of his throat, your fingers inching towards his hair.

“Yes,” he grumbled, craning down to nestle himself against your shoulder, kissing your neck once and speaking into your skin, “You don’t know the half of it.”

You’d think he was prematurely lamenting the tortuous fate of having to return to his dormitory, as if it were some awful, undeserved punishment. You moved away enough for him to pick up his head and meet your eyes. He was, as you predicted, being dramatic for the sake of it, smiling at his own histrionics. In the flickering light of the torch you could see his cheeks rising with color like camellia petals crushed upon his skin, fading all the way down to his jaw. You kissed his blush and then his lips, your mouth moving slowly for the sake of being as quiet as possible. When you pulled away he chased you, kissing you one more time.

“Don’t want Pomfrey catching us,” you said, supremely thankful for the divider between you and her office door. “Two in one day would make a pretty shite record.”

He sighed, knowing you were right. “Get back into bed, then,” he said, though he still had yet to let you go.

You broke away first, sitting back down on the mattress and looking up at him. You said his name, still unsure what you meant to ask. “Who are we keeping this from—you and me, I mean? Are we still going to keep it from ‘the public’,” you quoted, laughing a bit at how ridiculous the phrase sounded out loud.

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about it.” He ran a finger in the neck of his shirt, pulling at the fabric. “You said Mulciber said something about us?”

You nodded, chewing your lip. “Yeah. He still thinks we’re a couple.”

“That means Wiles and Zephyr do too, along with the rest of the gang,” he said with no shortage of disgust. “Wherever they are, the pricks are probably telling that to whoever they’re with. They’ll also know that us and Sirius are the reason Mulciber is gonna rot in Azkaban for a while—-maybe forever, since he’s over seventeen.”

His words hit you straight in your chest, the significance of Mulciber’s capture making itself present to you for the first time. We’re the reason Mulciber was caught, a fresh recruit.

“So we’re fucked six ways to Sunday,” you said with a bitter laugh, a little louder than you intended. You corrected your voice, glancing at the divider in preparation for Pomfrey to appear, though she never came.

“They don’t know about Frank and Alice, or Dumbledore,” James whispered, leaning in closer. He placed his hands on your shoulders, his expression one of great resolve. “What they do know is that you’re not as easy of a target as Mulciber thought you were, and that the Ministry knows our names. It’ll be harder for them to get a leg up when the Ministry already recognizes us as possible targets. This might play in our favor.”

You swallowed, your eyes closing for a moment, letting yourself be taken by the black as you thought. At the present, three facts were most crucial: Death Eaters have unsubstantiated claims that you and James are romantically involved; you, James, and Sirius were skilled duelers for mere students; and that the three of you are the reason Mulciber was detained by the Ministry, who will most certainly obtain a conviction. Would proof of yours and James’s relationship make any real difference to the effects these facts had, or had the damage caused within the past day been so severe that nothing could make your situations worse? You knew James was pondering this very same question, though it was unclear whether he had any more of an answer than you did.

“In the morning,” he began again, your eyes opening at the sound of his voice. “We can worry about it then. Don’t think about it any more tonight, all right?”

You nodded, your heart aching as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t come back tonight,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm when he took his hands from your shoulders. “I want you to get some sleep, and I’ll probably be asleep myself. There's no use having anyone here when I’m unconscious.”

He still seemed unhappy by this suggestion, taking a step away from the bed as you each heard the sound of a creaking door. Pomfrey walked over around the curtain, looking between the pair of you.

“I’m afraid it’s curfew,” she said, much of her strict demeanor stripped away, though it was abundantly clear she was still unwilling to bend the rules.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” you said to him, smiling in a way that you hoped would convince him you’d be all right on your own for eight hours.

He continued to stare at you, his gaze bouncing across your face as if he were going on a long trip, trying to memorize your features.

“Mister Potter,” said Pomfrey, urging him to leave.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back in the morning. Madam Pomfrey, I can bring Y/N her breakfast. I know what she likes.”

“Yes, that will be all right,” Pomfrey said, shooing him towards the door. “Go along, now. Professor McGonagall will have my head.”

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You were up and dressed when James waltzed into the Hospital Wing, his tie hanging loose under his collar and two steaming mugs following behind him.

“Morning, darling,” he said, walking as quickly as he could without sending the contents of the two plates in his hand tumbling onto the floor in a heap of sausage and pastries.

“Good morning,” you laughed, watching as he set them each on the tray Pomfrey had brought you earlier, taking the mugs from the air and doing the same before he threw his bag onto the floor. He nearly jumped onto the bed, sending your book bouncing out of your hand. “James!”

He was still grinning, brushing the side of your face. “How’re you feeling? Did you sleep well?”

“I was feeling excellent until you made me lose my place,” you laughed, picking up your book again. You thumbed through the pages, putting in your bookmark when you found your spot.

“Is it good?” he asked, buzzing where he sat in front of you. It was as if he hadn’t seen you in years.

You shook your head at his energy, supposing you should have expected as much. “Yeah, it is. You can read it after me, if you want.”

“Me and fiction…” he said hesitantly, bobbing his head back and forth. “I’ll let you read it to me.”

“Well, if we’re gonna do that, it’s not going to be this. Maybe Three Men in a Boat,” you chuckled.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“Nothing,” you said, still smiling like a fool. “Now, did you bring me the entire selection?” you asked, raising your brows as you looked behind him at the plates. Each was so filled you hadn’t much clue which one was meant for you and which was meant for him. They were piled with everything you might want and more, fit with two sets of silverware.

He shrugged, hopping off the bed. “I got your favorites, but I didn’t know how hungry you’d be. I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starving.”

He rolled the tray so it sat above the middle of the bed, sitting by the foot with your little table between you, smiling at his ingenuity.

“I’m very proud of you, you know,” you said, taking a sip of your tea. He gave you a puzzled look, his mouth too full to speak. “You actually got some sleep, rather than coming here.”

He swallowed, nearly grimacing. “It was awful. Never make me do it again.”

You could only laugh.

You were already finished eating when the double doors flew open, a rush of footsteps scurrying inside the Hospital Wing. It was everyone, Remus lingering in the back of the frenzied group with deep bags under his eyes and a look that told you he felt sorry for the fact that you’d soon be subject to a bombardment of excitement. Lily was much the same, chuckling warily at the havoc.

“Poppy’s going to kill you,” Remus chided, though no one seemed to listen to his advice.

Marlene said your name in a gasp, bolting towards you as fast as her legs would take her, throwing her arms around you with such force you were nearly knocked off the bed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked hurriedly, letting you go to look at your face. “It’s been torture, they wouldn’t let us go anywhere. You look so much better though, just like yourself. I probably look a wreck, don’t I?”

“I feel fine, and you look lovely,” you said, glancing around at the others. “James says everything’s back to normal?”

“Just about,” Lily answered. “We’re resuming classes, but everyone’s still pretty on edge, especially the first years.”

Marlene huffed. “It’s total bollocks. We should get the day off, at least. There’s a man-hunt going on, for Godric’s sake.”

An awful feeling ran through you, quick to come and quick to leave. You had yet to think about Wilkes and Zephyr today, though you assumed this meant they hadn’t yet been found. You had also forgotten about the conversation you had with James last night, wondering if he told the others not to say a word about you two until you could decide on a game plan.

Still, those problems could wait for the time being. What concerned you most now was the fact that it seemed as though Marlene would never be able to get away from the memory of Zephyr, something you knew she was still mildly humiliated over.

“Marlene,” you said carefully, not quite knowing how to broach the subject of her ex, “are you all right?”

She shrugged, more peeved than anything. “If it didn’t potentially put millions of people in danger, I’d be happy the twa— twit was gone.”

Lily rolled her eyes at her clunky efforts to soften her language, looking even more exasperated when James and Peter snickered. Sirius, on the other hand, seemed distracted, his earlier liveliness upon seeing you all but drained as he drummed his fingers on the metal footboard. You thought of Regulus, who must have been what was occupying his mind, wondering if he’d spoken with his brother since the last time you two talked.

“I guess that means they haven’t found them?” you asked, recovering your train of thought.

“Not that I’ve heard,” Lily said.

James met your eyes, his smile faint, weightier than before. “The Ministry’s on it,” he began. “No one’s ever gotten into Hogwarts before, and they’d be mad to try now.”

You supposed the absence of Wilkes, Zephyr, and soon Mulciber from the premises was a much needed relief for James almost as much as it was for you. The sense of ease that came with their being gone was slightly soured by the fact that the rest of the world would now have to deal with their villany, though you were sure that was the furthest thing from his mind at the present.

“I’m not that worried,” you said. “They’re not that daft, nor do I think anyone else is, either.”

There came a lull in the conversation, long enough for Dorcas to look between you and James, raising her brows. “So,” she drawled, her smirk far too sly for your comfort.

“Don’t start with it, Meadowes,” James warned, though there wasn’t much more behind it than his quidditch captain orders.

You rubbed your temple, feeling your cheeks begin to burn. You hadn’t even thought to ask James about the fallout of your secret coming to light, though you were sure he hadn’t heard the end of it once he got back to the common room last night. You could only imagine what Dorcas had been saying to him, or what Marlene and Sirius had been revealing. They were probably having a field day.

“I’m just happy you took my advice,” Remus said to you, his smile small, somewhere between kind and teasing.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always right,” you said in a vain attempt to take some heat off of yourself.

Peter, shuffling his feet, shoved his hands into his pockets. “Congratulations on the Barnabus Finkley Prize.”

Peter, you thought, my knight in shining armor.

“Thanks, Pete.”

Marlene gasped again, grabbing your shoulder. “Oh, how could I forget! It’s so brilliant, Y/N. You deserve it.”

“It’s wicked,” said Dorcas, grinning. “And we’re a shoe-in for the house cup.”

“When the Ravenclaws saw the hourglasses they nearly fainted,” Marlene said, her smile just as waggish as Dorcas’. “It was fantastic.”

“Seraphina looked like she was about to be sick. I’m surprised she’s not here right now,” Dorcas continued. Sirius hung his thumbs in the pockets of his trousers, clearly displeased that her name had been brought up.

“When are you getting out of here?” Lily asked.

“Pomfrey never said, but sometime today, I think. She only mentioned keeping me for the night.”

“She will,” said James, mindlessly tearing off a piece of pastry. “She only kept me for a night when I broke my leg.”

“Speak of the angel,” Sirius said, standing up straight from where he had been leaning on the footboard, smiling at Pomfrey as she walked out of her office. Whatever had been bothering him, most likely his brother, had been wiped from his outward expression.

“Your entourage has grown,” she noted, surveying the group.

“Morning, Madam Pomfrey,” Remus said, which was followed closely by greetings from James, Sirius, and Peter.

“I hope it’s not too many visitors,” Lily said, fiddling with her sleeve.

Pomfrey didn’t seem happy with the size of the crowd, picking up the clipboard hanging on your bed with pressed lips. “Well, it may not matter in a bit. You are free to leave any time you’d like, Y/N. Professor McGonagall would also like me to let you know that your parents have been notified in-person by herself and by an official with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I’d expect they’d like to hear from you.”

You nodded, not quite sure what you’d even say to them. Going over the whole affair another time seemed exhausting, though you knew you’d have to do it at least twice: once for your parents and once for your friends, who’d surely want to hear the whole story from your lips.

“Did she say anything else about the Ministry?” you asked.

“No, just that,” Pomfrey said, sympathetic to your curiosity. “I’m sure Professor McGonagall will tell you everything she knows today. But, in the meantime, get your rest. No worrying about schoolwork today, either.”

“Don’t worry,” said Sirius, his smile too sweet to be sincere, “we’ll take good care of her.”

Pomfrey gave him a blank look before checking off something on the clipboard. “Mister Black, I’d kindly advise you never to pursue a career in healing.”

She walked away, your entire group, bar Sirius, erupting in a fit of hysterics when you heard the office door shut behind her. Sirius scoffed, crossing his arms and pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

James got rid of the dishes as you grabbed your book, though not before Dorcas and Remus picked off a few more things like teenage vultures. When you were ready to leave, you looked up to see the latter rocking back on his feet as he ate a piece of bacon, his eyes drifting around in a strange, hesitant manner. He met Lily’s, sharing with her a private exchange which you could not decode.

“What?” you asked, hating being out of the loop more than usual. You guessed it had something to do with being in the Hospital Wing while everyone else was up in the common room, the entire school likely talking about you. The very idea made your heart pick up in the most awful way, dread instead of excitement.

Marlene began to pull at her fingers with a nervous twitch of her mouth, Peter looking equally as anxious. James was the only one who seemed to have no idea what was going on, just as perplexed as yourself.

“There’s something we should tell you before you leave,” Lily said, her gaze darting back to Remus.

He sighed, reaching into his bag and pulling out the Daily Prophet. He handed it over to you tentatively as if the action took great pains, the others studying you with a similar apprehension as you opened to the front page.

DARK MAGIC AT HOGWARTS, STUDENT ATTACKED

Your stomach dropped. Below the headline was a photo of Mulciber, posing for a mugshot. His lip was curled, his eyes dark as they stared into the camera, begrudgingly turning for a shot of his profile. You nearly dropped it, your eyes shooting up to look at your friends. James grabbed the paper from your hands, staring down at it silently

“How did they find out so soon?” you asked, your breath all but taken from your lungs.

“Someone from the Ministry must have come and gotten him sometime last night,” Lily said, her expression filled with pity. “Once they book him, it’s public information. I’m not sure there was anything anyone could do about it.”

James threw the paper down onto the bed, making a harsh noise before spinning around, his head hung. His hand was pulling at the back of his neck, fingers digging into his spine.

“What is it?” you asked quietly, scared of what he might say.

He faced you again, fuming. “They know your name.”

Your eyes went wide. “How?”

“We don’t know,” Sirius said, his teeth gritting. You hated to see his smile gone—all your smiles gone—in what felt like an instant.

“It’s okay,” you said, trying to make yourself believe it. “I knew they’d find out who I was eventually. A student could’ve written to them before they forced everyone back into the common room, or maybe someone has a quicker way to contact someone outside of Hogwarts, like your mirrors.”

Before anyone could offer their own theories you picked up the paper again, skimming the article. They had yours and Mulciber’s names, knowledge that he had attacked you and used fiendfyre, though that was it. James and Sirius were notably absent, as well as any information of his earlier plan to poison you. You snorted when you read of your “miraculous survival”, feeling slightly better with the knowledge that you were the only one in the spotlight, not that James and Sirius would’ve minded half as much as you did. In actuality, if you weren’t so upset, you were sure Sirius would be complaining about the omission of his contributions to the event.

“It’s not bad,” you continued, handing the Prophet back to Remus. “I was expecting worse.”

“They couldn’t give you a few days,” James spat, his jaw clenched as he stared a hole into the white Hospital Wing blanket.

The air around him seemed to hum like a swarm of angry bees, all performing a synchronized dance of indignation. You reached through the invisible pandemonium, touching him in an effort to get him to look at you. He did, his features still distorted in aggravation.

“Look at me, James,” you said, smiling weakly. “I’m fine, okay? They can write whatever they want. I don’t care.”

“It’s not right,” he said, his voice strained and brittle.

“I’m an adult—legally, at least. There aren’t any rules against printing my name,” your tone had dropped to something more worn, though you were not allowing yourself to give in to your annoyance at the indifference of the editors who seemed more than comfortable sharing the name of a student who recently went through a near death experience. You couldn’t take any more stress, especially over something that wouldn’t begin to truly affect you until July. “Everyone in Hogwarts already knows everything that they printed,” you went on. “Actually, they know more. I can’t imagine it’s made the gossip any worse than it already was.”

“We could feed them false information,” Sirius offered, hitting Remus’s chest with the back of his hand. “Monny’ll write ‘em and say you were born in Nepal and tame dragons.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes. “It’s impossible to tame a dragon.”

“That’s what makes it perfect,” Sirius said, waving her off.

“If we’re making up lies about me, can I at least be descended from Merlin or something?”

Sirius grinned wickedly, leaning over the bed. “Better: Godric Gryffindor.”

“Your delinquency can wait,” Lily said, picking up her bag. “We’ll be late for Charms if we don’t leave now.” She looked to you, her eyes softened. “Are you sure you want to leave? Promfrey will let you stay—”

“Yes,” you answered immediately. “I’ll go mad being locked up here any longer.”

Instead of having a house elf bring it for you, you charmed the trunk to follow behind as you headed towards the staircase in the northeast corridor, hoping to avoid the heavy foot traffic near the Great Hall. Despite your insistence that they needn’t all come, everyone was set on escorting you to the common room, surrounding you in what seemed to be an unplanned circle of social protection. Even so, students still stared and whispered as you passed, their curious eyes following you down the corridor. Someone would always try to distract you, saying how happy Mary would be to see you, or that Lily and Remus had to comfort a flock of panicked first years last night, though it hardly worked. Their efforts, however, were much appreciated.

The seventh floor was far less populated, leaving you in relative peace until you turned towards Gryffindor Tower, the Fat Lady pressing a hand to her chest when she saw you.

“Y/N, my dear! I’ve heard all about it. Such a harrowing tale! But you look quite well, quite well indeed. Oh, but you’ve always been fetching, haven’t you?”

You were startled for a moment, taking a second to regain your bearings. “Uh— thank you.”

“Sir Nicolas says you were immaculate,” she continued, her voice fluttering as she made long, flowing gestures with her hand. “Oh, and you too, Mister Potter. Always such a gentleman.”

“I was there, too,” Sirius said, pointing at himself with an offended glare towards the Fat Lady.

Peter, Dorcas, and Marlene snickered behind him, clamping their mouths shut with childish smirks when he turned around to shoot them a look. James was still on edge, uncharacteristically silent in the face of an inadvertent dig towards his friend.

“We’ll tell you all about it later,” James said, his voice clipped. “Fortiter et fideliter.”

There were a handful of sixth years in the common room, mostly gathered around the red sofa. You tried not to look their way as you went towards the staircase to the dormitories, imagining it was just another day, that your name hadn’t been printed in a paper being read by nearly every witch and wizard over their morning cup of tea.

Lily hesitated, her mouth twisting as you stood beside the steps. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like one of us to stay with you? I’m sure Professor Flitwick wouldn’t give us any trouble about it.”

You shook your head. “No, I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Remus cleared his throat, pushing Peter’s shoulder as he turned away. “Lily and I will see you after Ancient Runes.”

“Yeah, and we’ll all be back right after Charms,” Marlene said, making a vague motion around to the others.

You nodded, not quite knowing what to do with your hands, clasping them behind your back before releasing them at your sides. It was plainly obvious Remus was corralling everyone away, everyone except James, that is. Lily followed his lead, saying goodbye and heading back towards the portrait hole, the rest trailing behind.

James nearly went to touch your face, his hand falling back down when he seemed to recall where he was. Through the dejection in his expression, he was staring at you with an indescribable affection, as warm as the color of his eyes.

“I’ll be back in an hour and a half— not even. An hour and fifteen,” he said quietly.

“I know,” you said, your voice the same as his. “Don’t get in trouble running in the corridors.”

He smiled lamely, taking a reluctant step back. “Impossible. I’m Head Boy, remember?”

“You never let me forget,” you said, glancing behind him to see that the others had already gone. “Go, before you’re tardy.”

He looked at you for a second longer before spinning around, jogging to the portrait hole. Before he pushed it open he stole one last glance, caught like a feather between blades of grass.

Notes: Sorry for such a short chapter this week! The holidays put me behind schedule, so I just wanted to get something out rather than nothing. Next chapter will have actual stuff happen lol

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