#so now i’m all full of meds that are making my stomach hurt a fuck ton and fucking with my appetite and making me hot and flushed and angry

[petitgalaxy]

..

[scarletteye]

Who's Crazier, Scara or Childe?

As I'm writing and editing the final chapters of "Ornament of Heart" I realized I can't tell which of the two Harbingers is crazier. Here are little bits from both my Childe fic and Scara fic where they are just absolutely unhinged, so you go ahead and tell me which one is crazier and why. I lowkey want to say Childe, even though Scara is far more prone to hurting people. Childe is just a bit... how do I say this... he needs meds

And yes I call Childe by his real name. Ajax is just mmm you know?

Ornament of Heart, chapter 20

“Stay away from me.”

Your boots sank into the snow. Each step was difficult to make, but you kept backing away, nonetheless.

“Don’t you dare run.”

A shiver traveled down your spine; Ajax’s tone was far from kind. That was a full blown threat. You took another step back, putting your hands up as a shield.

His mouth opened by a little. He didn’t expect you to flat out ignore his threat. Head tilting, and lips twitching up, he looked at you as if you were a wild animal that he caught in the garden. He eyed you with pure fascination, daring you to move again. “Mila. If you run, I will chase after you. And I won’t be gentle.”

You were trembling. You pushed your arms further out. “Stop. Stop doing that, Ajax. This isn’t funny. You’re not helping your case. I’ll go back inside, okay? Just let me go there alone.”

“I’m being serious.” His body turned, following your direction with each step you took. You slowly circled him, until your back was facing the mansion. “Stop moving.”

There were two good meters between you, but you knew you couldn’t outrun him even if you tried. This was the last thing you expected. The last thing you wanted.

“Do you even hear yourself?” you shivered out.

His eyes immediately pressed shut. He realized how scary he sounded after your warning. His voice immediately turned sweeter, but the quick change only filled you with dread. “Mila. I just want to know who filled your head with such idiotic ideas.” 

“You’re threatening me,” you hissed out. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Please stop avoiding my questions,” he still tried to force a sweet tone. “It’s not difficult to answer.”

“And then what, huh? What do you plan on doing to them?”

He shut up. He glared at you across the garden. Something told you that you didn’t actually want to know the answer. “I just want to know.”

Goosebumps filled your arms. “Ajax.” There was no way in hell you were going to tell him. About any maid or any Harbinger that warned you about him. “Are you threatening to kill that person?”

“Why does it matter? Why would you care?”

Your eyes cracked wider. “You would not.”

He tilted his head curiously, watching your expression freeze with shock. Your heartbeat raised to your throat. You knew he was unstable. You knew he was dangerous. But you always gave him the benefit of the doubt because you trusted him. That trust was gone now. You didn’t believe his excuses anymore. Who knows what actually happened to Igor. Ajax never said that he fired him. He said that he was gone. And now he was threatening to kill the person who supposedly exposed his secrets to you…

Both panic and nausea filled your stomach, turning you completely petrified in front of the Harbinger who you used to call your best friend. Oh God. He killed Igor. He didn’t fire him.

“There is no person. I figured it out myself,” you tried, your voice breaking as realization forced heat to your eyes.  “Do you think I’m too dumb to do that? Is that what you think of me, Ajax? It really isn’t difficult to see through your bullshit.”

“My bullshit?” he raised his voice, pointing at himself and ultimately making you wince as he stepped forward. You wanted to run so badly, but you believed with every fiber of your being that he would chase you. And then what happens? What the hell would he do to you? The other Harbingers believed he is capable of hurting you. Hell. He said he wouldn’t be gentle with you.

“All of your fucking lies and schemes,” you hissed out.

“There are no lies or schemes involved. You know that.”

“No, I don’t.”

His eyes cracked wider. “Mila. Do you think I would do anything to you to hurt you? To trap you? To ruin you? Do you think I would hurt you? Is that what you think of me?”

You never said any of that. But he was well aware.

“You grabbed me a second ago.”

He hit chest with both of his hands. “Me?! You think I would hurt you? Mila. Me?”

“Yes you!” You snapped back, ignoring the fear that rose within you as she shouted. “Do you even realize how horrible you are to me!? Grabbing me and shouting at me and threatening me and interrogating me and forbidding me to have friends,” your breath hitched. “All of the Harbingers looked surprised to see that I’m still alive.”

“I told you not to trust a word that comes out of their mouths. They are liars, comrade. It wounds me to know that you trust them and not me. Your husband.”

“But you’re not my real husband. You don’t even love me. You know damn well what I am to you.”

“I’m not your real husband?” he growled, stepping close to you again. Your heart lurched, and you fought back the urge to run. He sounded completely out of breath. Both hurt and wrath present in his voice as he interrogated you.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

Blossom of the Divine, chapter 15

“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak.”

It was the first time he said something like this to you. You’ve heard him give the same order to his agents before, but you never imagined him giving it to you. It was too formal. Too distant. As if you were strangers. You already knew that he was mad at you, but this only solidified your suspicions. You were no longer under his care.

“Please,” you quietly tried.  “Let’s just talk it out.”

His hand raised to your chin. It gently landed on your skin, putting your head in his grasp. His thumb slipped to your lip. Your stomach sunk as you saw his expression shift to something much darker. “You never truly listen, do you? I just said that you don’t have permission to speak. Should I gag you instead?”

A shiver left your mouth. “What-?”

His thumb slipped into your mouth. Your eyes blew wide. As the fabric of the blindfold met your teeth, you jerked away from him. Your back crashed against the locked door. You slid to the ground, coughing, and pushing your tongue against the fabric until you ejected it out of your mouth.

Scaramouche’s knees appeared in your vision. Cold sweat coated your body. He stood right above you, glaring down at you with the same emotionless and tired eyes.

“Hey,” you peeped out. Your voice came out fragile – threading between a cry and between begging. “Please don’t. There’s no need. Right? Let’s just talk.”

He tilted his head. “You’re still not listening to my orders.”

Your breath got caught in your throat. He stared at you so coldly and harshly, that you feared even blinking at his direction.

“I know you’re desperate to explain yourself,” he said. “I know you have apologies upon apologies prepared for me. But I’ll be very honest with you, darling, I don’t want to hear any of them.”

All you could do was gaze up at him. You nearly had to break your neck to be able to look him in the eyes. Scaramouche loomed above you. You were practically trapped between his knees; cornered against the wall and the floor. There was nowhere for you to move. Nowhere for you to run. You were sure he could see your terror. You were sure he was doing this on purpose.

“Truth is, you tried to leave me in the middle of the night. You tried to run away from me, right after claiming that you care about me… No matter what you try to use an excuse, that fact won’t change.”

A bead of sweat slid down your temple.

“You are a liar,” he whispered. “My dear. That also won’t change, no matter how many apologies you sputter out. So save your words. There is nothing you can say to me. Nothing you can do, to change my mind.”

You couldn’t stand looking at his expression anymore. The darkness in his eyes made your heart beat with a manic rhythm. You were trembling like a wild animal in a cage. You averted your gaze, staring at his legs instead, and hoping you’ll eventually recollect yourself if you don’t see look at his face.

“Yet despite all of that…” his tone dropped. “I still can’t bring myself to kill you.”

Your eyes grew wider, but you didn’t dare break eye contact with the pale skin of his legs.

“So… there is really only one thing that I can do with you.”

His voice sent shivers down your spine.

He crouched down, getting his face to the same level as yours. You leaned as far back against the wall as possible. You couldn’t avoid looking at his face anymore. His smudged make-up emphasized the inferno in his eyes. They were full of something dark. Something twisted. Something that wished you harm.  

“I’ll just keep you by my side until you die,” he said. “Luckily, you humans tend to do that often, right? Or maybe…”

His hand gently enveloped your face. You trembled under his touch. You forgot how cold his hands were and how weirdly soft they were. The softness with which he touched you meant nothing at that moment. He was promising you harm.

 Seeing your terror, his lips twisted into a feeble smirk.  “Maybe I’ll just ask the Doctor to make you immortal like me and then I’ll force you to stay by my side for all eternity.”

Your mouth fell open. Your heartbeat was louder than your breaths. It drummed against your skull.

“What would pain you more, I wonder?” he whispered. “I’m inclined to do the option that is the most unpleasurable for you.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

But hey Scara got his redemption arc after that, all though it took some time, so maybe there is hope for Childe too. Maybe...

Both fics are on ao3 in case you are interested!

[frostmoths]

Might regret posting this. cw alcohol, suicide ideation

Let me preface by saying I wrote this, and a much more emo version before, over the course of a week, and I’m feeling a little better now. It comes and goes. It's everything I’ve been handling since late May, and I want to open up about it.

I have extreme depression and recent happenings have tipped the scale to make me nearly non-functional. I started therapy and medication a year ago because of the world’s most passive-aggressive rejection. I’m way worse now. I’m on my third med and if what happened Sunday (I was very ill) was a side effect, I’m going to have to quit it too. I don’t believe in antidepressants as a cure-all and I’ve only been conceding because I’m tired of wanting to lay down and die. Not kms necessarily, just stop hurting. Though I’ve got like 10 bottles of various prescription insomnia meds which don’t do any good on their own, so maybe if I take them all at once

One weeknight in early June I tried to drink myself to passing out and forgetting what broke my heart. Instead I threw up and went to work the next day hung over. And it was an embarrassingly small amount to drink. Just that it was cheap and I had it on an empty stomach because I was too enraged to make dinner. I haven’t had alcohol since. I dumped out what was left. 

My idiot father, who has dementia, has taken to dragging his guns around everywhere because he’s paranoid they’ll be stolen, and gets angry if he's confronted about it. I’ve alerted several authorities but unless my mother complies, nothing will be done. She won’t because she’s also insane. In May I had a full nervous breakdown expecting me or my cats to get murdered. It was probably the breaking point for my short-lived girlfriend dumping me two days later. Once again my shitty family has ruined any chance of happiness for me. 

When I saw a pistol on his chairside table the other day, instead of blind panic, I felt nothing. I kind of hoped it was loaded and he’d do it, so everything would stop.

My new house is a shitshow and I got ripped off. I have approximately 6 hours a week to work on it and zero help so I’m still not moved in. At this point I hope to sell it after a couple of years of improvements (if I can afford them), get my money back, then maybe flee this godforsaken country and go live in the mountains in. Fucking Iceland. idk. My mother promised assistance for certain things and took it back because that’s what she does. I’m about ready to cut her out of my life.

I can barely eat without getting sick in one way or another. I no longer enjoy things like cooking, EDM, watching anime, and, worst of all, writing. Last month I started poking at [redacted]’s outline as a way to keep my head above water, only to realize it’s way more vague than I remember and that some parts make no damn sense. This is a thing I’ve been bragging about for 3 years as proof that I know what I’m doing, so I feel like a fool. I deleted everything I ever posted about it on my sideblog. I’m tempted to wipe what’s started off AO3. Tempted to delete the entire account tbh, too many memories which are too raw right now. I’m not a skilled writer and the pros (plural) were right to call me out on it last year. And this has been the one thing about myself I was confident in my entire life, that I was banking on making a career now that I finally, finally have my own house with peace and quiet, and now I can see I was fucking delusional. I give up.

My therapist says I have trauma and that I never healed from what happened in 2020 (not Covid-related). I can only see her every 5-6 weeks because she’s that booked. She said she argued with administration because she can't focus on her current patients but they keep throwing new ones at her. Kind of like my job. Everyone everywhere is overworked.

To cope I’ve been indulging in something that’s frowned upon — not a substance abuse thing, but an ethical thing? I guess? Among creatives. I don’t care because it helps me. My psych and my therapist both told me to seek supplemental therapy in between appointments. I think they had something more like b*tterh*lp in mind, but that’s a proven pyramid scheme so lol no thanks. Psychology books and imaginary friends it is.

My employer is closed today and tomorrow for the holiday, and I’m on vacation next week. Much-needed extended time off for me. If I don’t make headway on the house then I don’t know what. I didn’t want to spend my one week off a year moving in the middle of fucking summer during the worst heat on record. At one point I had much more pleasant plans but that’s no longer happening and I can’t think about it. I can’t, but I still do. 

I wanted this house to be my success story. Having worked hard, she rescued herself, escaped her toxic family with her fur sons and flourished creatively, healthfully, and romantically. All was well. The reality is that I was likely conned as a first-time single homebuyer and I'm so mentally ill now that I may not be able to meet the demands of maintaining a 70 year old house with nonworking appliances I can't afford to replace, let alone my own well-being. How did I get myself into this. 

There's one last-ditch effort I can make to pull myself through, but not properly until I move. It sounds like a lame excuse and it probably is, but whatever. Better later than never. However, I tried this last fall, went too hard too fast and burned out after 4 months. I threw a lot of money away doing it. I keep hearing push yourself, go intense, you'll never get there with baby steps but I also think you have to take baby steps if you're starting from zero because otherwise you'll burn out? I'm so tired of conflicting information everywhere. One tells me one thing, another says that's wrong. I can't trust anyone. 

There are a couple of other things I’m looking forward to trying more than exercise. Which are probably less healthy for me. Who is going to stop me. hashtag yolo

I keep telling myself it won’t be this way forever. Just like summer. It comes around once a year, it feels like death, and then there’s relief. But it’ll happen again and again. Just like summer. You have to adapt.

I'm glad pride month is over. I don't know what I'm supposed to be so proud of.

[vykko]

welcome to me venting about my current health issues

if like weight lose and health issues are like not your thing, gonna want to skip out on this

soooo acid reflux

For almost 2 months I’ve had acid acid reflux

I hate it

so much

um but like my physical and mental health have gotten bad

not bad as in I’m dying or anything but as In

I’m in frequent pain I can’t get rid off and so far me finally get medical health has gotten no results yet

I’ve had to get a blood test where the nurse laughed at me

I’ve lost weight bc I one sometimes can’t keep eating and half bc I don’t want to anymore, it hurts when I eat or I’m uncomfortable

it has effected my sleep

my school work

I’m paler and skinner and I’m not happy about it

I’m always tired, and can’t think

I got a blood test to see if I have celiac (I don’t), and if I have heliobactor polyri

I have to go get another test for heliobactor polyri which meant I had to switch the stuff I take to reduce my stomach acid acidicy

like the one person I know who truly gets it is my best friend who has IBS, they probably have it way worse but it’s nice knowing someone gets having your guts hate you

I’m tired of having my mouth taste foul, and being bloated, and my chest hurting, and having food come back up. And not being able to eat food I like

and it’s not like migraines where I’ve learned to tune them out

it’s just gotten more painful

I don’t win no matter what it is

My teeth are all ready damaged

even if it’s not heliobactor polyri I have to wait 2 more months to see if I still have reflux after I finish the meds

I’m trembly and shaky bc I’ve not eaten enough or dizzy bc I’m so hungry

I want to eat but I can’t

I hate eating now

I want to feel full but if I’m full I hurt

I can’t lay down after eating even after 4-5 hours after eating without pain

I’m so tired of it

But for some unknown reason I don’t want it to stop, I’m so used to it now, the idea of not having it makes me upset

it’s not like I’m getting attention for it

like school makes me so tired I can’t stay awake bc all my energy is gone

I hate burping bc it’s loud and embarrassing, I just want my body to work properly for fucking once

I’m so sick of getting new health issues so often so fate I the last 3 years out of order

Inflamed toe joint, I can’t reverse it

Covid

inflamed joint in my spine, it’s gone now but it hurt for a month

Sinus infection that took me weeks to recover from and my asthma got so bad I have to carry my inhaler with me now which I haven’t needed to do in 8 years

i get sick now super easily

inflamed tmj, now every so often on of them gets upset

probably broken toe I couldn’t get treated till it already had healed

bwing sick over and over

migraines

now acid reflux

Low vitamin d

low potassium

now only just not anemic

Like can my body work for fucking once

[stardustinmyhands]

•••Trigger warning •••

Suicide talk.

5/6/24

Today my stomach is hurting as usual. I just thought of how long I will be waiting to find out anything. It’s gonna be months.

I feel good otherwise, my soreness in my joints in tolerable. I’m taking tramadol and atarax today to stay on top of what I’m feeling.

I’ve already journaled 10 pages, while I watch Return Of The King.

I see my PCP on Wednesday. I need a lot of prescriptions. And I also have a feeling she’s gonna put me on metformin for my A1C. I don’t eat a lot of sugar, but I eat carbs daily. More than I should. Saltines and bread are one of the foods that don’t make me throw up. My favorite used book store is across the street so I wanna go and spend some time there. Trade in some books. Just kill time.

I have my IVIG infusion Thursday . I’m still waiting for my new infusion lab to get the correct order. I got a call from my insurance company that my prescription was approved for my infusions. They just need the right kind of order cause they are an outpatient clinic, even though they are inside the hospital.

I’m peeing a lot today cause of the lasix. And I’m managing to drink water even though it hurts. So yeah I’m peeing a lot.

Every day I try and think of something I’m grateful for. This popped up on my fb memories. I write in journal what I’m thankful for. My insurance, my life saving infusions. I’m 43 and still have both my loving parents alive and they are in good health for their age. My wonderful girlfriend. My wonderful boyfriend. The services I get thru my insurance, like going to the art studio.

I’m thankful that I’m on behavioral meds that work beautifully on me. I take a seizure meds and an antipsychotic med. The seizure meds regulates my mood swings. The abilify keeps me from getting depressed.

Ironically the mood stabilizer causes me to have very low sodium. So I have to take sodium pills 3 times a day. My psychiatrist was willing to lower my mood stabilizer, but was weary to do so cause of my family history of suicide.

My brothers suicide “anniversary” is on the 29th of this month. I’m not upset over it. He was one of my abusers as a child. I think he is free from the troubles that haunted. I have had SMI for several years now. My brother finally got SMI the year he died. He also was put on a new medicine before he died. I think it was an antidepressant. They turn me suicidal, and my brother was my full blood brother. He also never got help for his issues till just before he died. I think that’s what happened to him. Cause he did it in a way he always told my mom he was afraid to. He also left no note. Antidepressants turned me suicidal within a week. I got help. Now I don’t want to sound like a bitch, but my brother was not a good person. He was lying manipulative person. Who used people, hurt them in various ways. And would do it over and over again. I don’t know what he had, there is nothing to find out now. I think he’s free from whatever haunted him. He was drug addict, drank heavily, was in and out of jail the last two years of his life.

My mom is still heartbroken. He was her son, her first born. My mom loves her kids unconditionally. She also doesn’t know a lot of stuff my brother did. My sister in law told me stuff after he died too. I will never get an I’m sorry from him. I’m at work peace with that. I know the suffering is with my mom. I don’t like that. I heard a mourning mother’s cry. It was fucking terrible. I love my momma, I’m gonna say it. I didn’t love my brother. Before I he died I hadn’t seen in 13 yrs. I’ve been with my gf for 13 yrs this summer. She’s never met him. I distanced myself for my well being. I’m upset cause my mom is, not because my brother died and the way he left earth. I went to his funeral cause I wanted to be there for my sister law, not my brother. I don’t like funerals or services. We all knew why we were there. I’m preparing myself for how my mom is gonna feel on the anniversary. She kinda trauma dumps on me. But I allow it cause she was there for me for so many times. Even to this day.

All I know is my brother free and there is nothing else to think about it.

[tuesdayisfordancing]

My partner’s body has been extremely long-term fucked up in a really significant way by stimulants he was legally prescribed. This was not clear until he stopped taking them.

One of the things I really think prescribers need to do better with basically all psych meds is take side effects seriously, beforehand and while patients are on the meds. Obviously this is a huge thing with anti-psychotics which have big side effects some of which are really hard for the patient to notice, but like. I’ve been handed with zero discussion of risks a prescription for an addictive class of drug that permanently fucked up my friend, because the prescriber completely ignored my statement “I have trouble being willing to go to sleep more than I have trouble falling asleep”. I struggled to explain why I wanted to stop taking my SSRI, and now I would say “I’m not sure it’s doing anything but even if it is the fact that I am at all times simultaneously hungry and nauseous, the way I never ever feel full even when I’ve eaten so much my stomach hurts, and am always uncomfortable, outweighs whatever benefit it may or may not be having” but at the time I put it in much less compelling terms and got told essentially that going off it because of minor weight gain side effects would be obviously dumb. A lot of that is in fact on me and my struggle to assert myself but also I wish my doctor had asked me more questions and I also wish “you should be on an SSRI and it makes me worried if you’re not” weren’t such a common default for psych professionals dealing with depressed patients given that a) some of us find “silly” side effects like weight gain and libido loss to actually significantly affect our QOL and b) a lot of us just find SSRIs useless and it becomes one more part of our daily routine that we have to keep up and that does nothing to help. (Ironically, I was on an atypical antipsychotic as a mood stabilizer for a few years as a teen, which scared the shit out of my mother but she went along with it because well the doctor thought it was a good idea, and I think that actually cost me less than the years of different SSRIs. I mean, it was a phenomenally shit move to put me on it for basically no reason and to keep me on it even though there was no obvious improvement, but I happened to get lucky with no obvious lasting damage whereas part of me suspects that the years of effort flushed down the SSRI toilet left me in a worse position than I would be otherwise. Who knows though I may have that backward - the Abilify did also fuck with me while I was on it.)

Not totally sure what my point is other than that while obviously the averages are different for different psychiatric treatments, rules of thumb make me nervous because we’re bad at thinking in averages.

I don’t relate to all the anti-psychiatry posts. But maybe it’s relevant that so many anti-psychiatry posts are from people with psychosis, and my positive experiences have been with depression treatment.

[meetmymouth]

out in the heartland : harry styles

summary: it’s harry’s birthday and you have a very special gift for him word count: 6k warnings: daddy kink, pegging, anal fingering & rimming

“Love, can you get us more crisps,” Harry calls from where he’s seated on the floor, a Playstation console in hand.

It’s another lockdown Monday where they turn Mitch and Sarah’s spacious living room into a gaming room slash studio– according to Mitch, bowls of crisps, cheese platters, wine glasses and other snacks decorating every surface as they play anything and everything from FIFA to Fortnite until their brains are too foggy and they can’t move their fingers properly due to alcohol in their systems.

Sarah and Mitch were kind enough to let them both quarantine at theirs for a while, and it’d been so much fun, spending time with Mitch and Sarah, cooking together, watching films and going on walks, and overall having a great time with their friends. As much as it was just another Monday in lockdown, it was a special one with today being Harry’s 27th. They’ve already cut his cake, one she’d made herself -and Sarah helping with the piping– decorated with maraschino cherries and sprinkles, and they’ve been spending the night drinking posh wine and screaming at each other while Harry and Mitch played FIFA.

With two bowls filled with more crisps, she makes her way back to the living room with a smile on her face as Mitch and Harry keep going on and on about the game, and Sarah teasing them both, asking whether they’d get a divorce soon since they’ve been arguing back and forth like an old, married couple.

They pause the game as Mitch says her name, “did you see the card Jeff sent Harry for his birthday?” He’s smirking as he takes another sip of his wine, and Harry throws a piece of cheese at him, earning a glare from the long-haired man.

“Not yet, what is it?”

“Jeff being a dickhead as per. He sent me a card, it’s between my book, there,” he gestures at his book on the sofa with his head.

She grabs the thick book, turns the pages until she finds the card with ease, and she feels her heart drop for some reason, eyebrows furrowing and palms starting to sweat as she turns to Harry. He’s watching her with a grin on his face, the others already laughing at what’s in front of the card as she takes it in her hands to inspect the shiny birthday card.

“’Happy pegging birthday’” she reads out loud with a monotonous voice. “Uh… okay. That’s– very funny.”

“He’s just being stupid,” Harry laughs, running a finger thorugh his hair. He sits up, mouth full of crisps, and extends his hand for her to hold. “Come here, let me feed you cheese.”

“Okay… uh, nice card.”

“I mean, I love you, Sarah, but–” Mitch starts, mouth full, and Sarah cuts him off with a glare.

“Do not finish that sentence,” she points the wine glass at him as the sounds of cackling follow behind.

They all laugh… except her.

It’s funny. It is. And she loves them, loves laughing with them. But now, with the card Harry labelled as ‘stupid’ in hand and a fancy, pink box with Harry’s name on it waiting for them, waiting for him upstairs, on the bed they’d been sharing since the beginning of lockdown, she can’t help but feel stupid, too.

Was that a bold move? Was she being too brave, or… stupid? Whatever it was, she couldn’t help but let a pang of shame and sadness engulf her for a moment, before Harry’s silky voice pulls her away from her thoughts. She accepts the hand extended and sits next to him on the floor, card now forgotten on the sofa, and she tries to occupy both her mind and hands with Sarah’s fluffy cat, giving his little head tiny pets as Harry rubs her back as if it would get rid of the tension she was feeling.  

“You okay,” he brings his mouth close to her gear and whispers, then presses the gentlest, softest kiss on her ear. “D’you need anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, H.”

It’s not until 2AM that everyone decides to go up to their rooms, not even batting an eye at the mess they made as they make their way upstairs with promises to clean everything in the morning. Now that she knows the box is there, on the bed where Harry can easily detect as soon as they open the door, her stomach begins growling but not because she’s hungry, but because she’s feeling anxious, and ashamed.

She has to do something.

“Hey, um…” she begins, stopping them both in front of the guest room they’d been occupying. “Could you– could you bring me water, I forgot to take my meds today.”

“Baby…” Harry says, hand going up to her cheeks to stroke there for a moment. “I thought you had an alarm… I filled your water bottle this morning and put it on the bedside table, come on.”

“No– Harry…”

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I am, I just want fresh water.”

“Are you– are you serious?”

“Yes,” it comes out as a question rather than an answer and she bites her bottom lip, feeling uneasy under Harry’s curious gaze.

“You’re being kinda weird.”

“I’m not being weird!”

“Is there something you’re hiding from me?” He says with eyebrows furrowed and hand on his hip. “In the bedroom, in particular?”

“Don’t be silly.”

And as soon as he turns away, she knows she’s done for. It’s too late. She’s fucked. Everything’s fucked, she thinks, and he will hate her. Will never want to see her face again and probably ask her to leave as soon as possible since he won’t be able to look at her ever again without being reminded of her disgusting “gift”.

He goes in, of course he does, and she can’t help but close her eyes for a few moments before she joins him, hands sweaty and heart beating like there’s no tomorrow. She finds him near the bed, eyes focused on the box sitting in the middle of the bed, and she looks up when he does, finding him giving her a bright, heart-clenching smile as the dimple gets wider.

“Well, what’s this then, bab?”

His socked-feet makes a comforting noise on the carpeted floor, and he stops when he reaches where she’s standing, hands immediately finding her hips to bring them closer.

“Harry, please don’t open it,” it’s pathetic, she thinks, how desperate and anxious she sounds. Though, she can’t help but close her eyes when Harry’s hand finds the back of her neck as he strokes there with his thumb. “Don’t open it. It’s just silly. It’s a joke.”

“Baby, breathe. What are you even talking about, hm? Why are you– oh my god, darling, you look like you’re having a panic attack. You’re sweating, are you…” he squeezes her flesh gently, then guides her to the bed. “Hey, look at me– look. I’m not going to open it unless you want me to. Do you really not know me? I would never do anything you don’t want me to. Who do you take me for, hm?” It’s so gentle, his voice, it’s like honey is dripping down his mouth and she can’t help but watch the way his pink lips move. “Baby. Look at me. I love you. You’re so special to me, you’re my whole world. I won’t open it– I won’t, I promise. C’mere, babs.”

“I love you too,” she sniffs once, twice, then rubs her eyes.

“Wanna go to sleep... hm? Come on, bab, let’s go to sleep.”

Nights chase each other away, Tuesday kisses Wednesday and Thursday is spent with laughter and too much smoke and Friday finally arrives and it’s like a breath of fresh air, but she also thinks it’s due to the open windows and fresh flowers in the spacious kitchen. The box, containing the cursed gift of hers is forgotten, placed under their bed besides their suitcases, and everything feels normal. Almost too normal. So, she does what most people would do: look for ‘trouble’.

When Harry’s in the shower, she gets the box out and sits on the bed as she thinks about what to do with it. But, apparently, the stillness of the room was too good to be true as Harry emerges from the ensuite, hair still dripping-wet as he adjusts the robe, eyes immediately finding what she’s got in front of her, and the box that is now open, and a black leather piece hanging from the not-so-tall box.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he’s testing the waters, she knows. His eyebrows are furrowed, only slightly, and mouth slightly parted. “What are you doing, darling?”

It’s not a threat, nor asked with the intention of intimidating her. Alas, she feels threatened.

“I…”

“What is it?”

She sighs, feeling the cold sweat dripping down her back, and finally gives up. “See for yourself,” the box is thrust into his hands, and she leaves the room, leaving behind a confused, semi-naked man and a very expensive looking strap-on.

It’s not another fifteen minutes until Harry comes downstairs dressed in only a pair of joggers, and finds her on the sofa as she chews on her thumb –a bad habit really– while reading one of Harry’s books. He walks up to her with a tiny smile on his face, and curls into her side, resting his head in the crook of her neck as he breathes in the sweet smell and the now all too familiar fabric softener.

He waits for her to speak first, not wanting to upset her further, but all she does is sit there, and pretend to read until Harry lets out a sigh, and presses a brief, gentle kiss to her jaw.

“Can we talk?” He says, hands now resting on her thigh as his thumb strokes the skin there.

She sighs too, and fidgets under his gaze. “Not really.”

“Why not, though? We’ve been together for years. Why are you so scared of me, hm? Have I ever done something to make you feel like you can’t be honest with me?”

“No, it’s just embarrassing to me, Harry. And… seeing that card. And you calling it… stupid. I just feel like an idiot, please stop.”

Harry sighs, his breath hitting the side of her face. “Look at me. Look–” he reaches and touches her jaw. “I love you. I’m madly in love with you. The kind that keeps me up at night. The kind that makes my heart hurt in the best possible way. I’m so gone, baby, so fucking gone for you. You got me. I can’t leave, now, I’d never want to,” he presses his forehead to the side of her jaw, the damp skin feeling cold against her flesh. “Jeff on the other hand… can we not talk about him when I have these– these images in my head. Of you. Wearing that.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to feel bad but too bad, I feel like shite and am so fucking embarassed, you don’t get it.”

“I do, I fucking do and I’m trying to tell you how much I’d love it if you fucked me in the ass. Now, you either come upstairs and finish what you started, or–”

They’re both startled when Mitch enters the living room and drops the book in his hand.

He looks up at them, clearly not phased, and they both notice the AirPods in his ears as he kneels down and grabs his book, giving them one last look before disappearing outside to join Sarah in the garden. Harry though, he lets out a chuckle and turns to her, dimple tugging at his cheek, and extends his arm to caress her cheek.

“Come upstairs, baby.”

He says it easily, words rolling off his tongue, just like that, and she does. Of course she does because what else was she to do? She lets him take her hand in his, interlocking their fingers as he guides them up the stairs. Once inside the room, the door is closed, locked, and Harry takes the time to walk towards the window to close the curtain, and she can’t help but stare at his long, beautiful fingers over the soft cotton. Other than the thick, silver band on his middle finger, his fingers are ring-free, and despite adoring his soft, pretty fingers with his equally pretty rings, there’s just something so soft, cosy and familiar about Harry without rings.

He catches her staring because, of course he does. He sees her. Every movement of her eyes, trembling lips, shaky fingers, scrunch of her nose; he sees it all. And now, he walks towards her, a big grin tugging at his lips as he stops right in front of her, both of them aware of the box sitting on the bed but neither of them say anything as they hold each other’s gaze.

And just like that, she feels like she can finally breathe properly when she’s being pulled into his chest, hands finding their place on each side of her head as he starts peppering kisses to her face, first her forehead, then nose, and at last, his plump lips find their way to the place they know by heart, her lips.

It’s not rushed, not at all, Harry thinks they have all the time in the world so he takes his time with her. He knows it’s impossible, foolish even, but he swears he can see the marks his tiny but lustful kisses are leaving behind when he briefly opens his eyes. They’re everywhere on her beautiful face, from her lips to the corner of her mouth, chin, the side of her jaw.

“How do you want me,” he mumbles and it’s an uttered promise, somehow submissive though not completely, but also one that is full of love, trust.

She freezes for a moment, hands still on his neck, holding each other’s gaze and she watches as Harry walks to the bed, and he grabs the box. The shape of the object in his hands feels unfamiliar to the eye, the dazzling, hot pink dildo at the front makes them both swallow in anticipation and she knows Harry is clueless about what his next move should be.

It certainly wasn’t their first time trying out things in the bedroom. They were both ‘kinky’, as some would call it, they liked rough sex, the kind that left bruises and marks behind, but never anything like this. Sure, she did give him a rim job a few times, his darker, puckered hole made her mouth water and she wanted nothing more than to get on her knees and kiss and lick the flesh until Harry was a mess, coming in long spurts. He loved having his ass licked, he loved sitting on her face, with his big cock stuffing her warm, tiny mouth as he forced her to take everything in, moving his ass back and forth across her mouth as she tried to lick every inch of the bitter flesh, wanting to please him, make him fall apart above her.

But, despite Harry letting her lick his ass could be considered as a vulnerability or submission to some, she was always his submissive. She loved it; they both loved it. She also knew today wasn’t the day she would give up on that submission. No, today was all about Harry, and what he wanted, how he wanted it, and it was about her giving it to him. So she gives him a tiny smile, hands reaching to grab the strap-on from his hands, and he watches with great intent, pupils dilated and mouth parted.

She swallows, and looks up at him with apprehension. “I want you to use me,” she lets out, a shaky breath following behind. “I want you to… I want you to do whatever you want with me. I know this,” her gaze falls to the pink dildo surrounded by black leather of the harness. “It’s something we haven’t done before, at least… fully–”

Harry giggles, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. “Fully.”

“Shh. I’m just saying that… we haven’t done this before but I still want you to be in charge, at least… at least–”

“You want me to be the Daddy, hm? You still want Daddy to tell you what to do, how to fuck him? Y’gonna be my little fuck toy? Is that what you want, darling?”

“Yes,” her breath hitches at her throat. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. You’re so good to Daddy, darling. Always spoiling me, always looking after me, taking care of Daddy… how’d I get so lucky?”

“Daddy deserves it,” she looks up, waiting for his command to get naked and she can see it in his eyes, the hesitant gaze as if he wants to make sure she’s okay still even though he’s the one who’s about to get fucked.

“Go on then,” he mutters, hands going to his own joggers as he lets them pool around his ankles. He reaches up, brushing the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. “Get naked for Daddy and put it on.”

And she does, oh, she does.

It doesn’t take long, considering she only has a ratty t-shirt on and a pair of joggers, and nothing underneath. It doesn’t come as a surprise to him, her forgoing underwear, but they both can’t help but hold each other’s gaze a minute longer. She notices the fiery look in his eyes, pupils now looking like a pair of black buttons as his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth.

She lets her eyes wander, gaze travelling from each puffy nipple that are now beginning to harden, to the hair on his chest, then the hair that’s following his happy trail, all the way down to his cock. She feels her heart clench in lust at the sight of his hard cock, slightly curved with a vein following underneath, and she just wants to get down on her knees and put it in her mouth. She remembers him asking her whether to shave or not a couple of weeks ago, and the thick pubic hair surrounding his perfect cock makes her mouth water, feeling content that she’d told him not to touch any razors.

She looks up at him again, to see the expression on his face and he smiles, hand reaching for her.

“Come.”

She walks towards him, the strap-on in hand, and a tiny whimper leaves her mouth when her hand finds her boob, long fingers trapping her pebbled nipple between them as he twists the darker nub, once, twice, and he lets it go only to slap it, causing her to gasp as she quickly tries to suppress the noise with her palm pressing against her mouth. It stings, but doesn’t hurt. Not at all. In fact, it frustrates her despite the tingling, stinging feeling between her legs. She needs more. She wants more.

“Get this on and get on your knees,” he mutters, hand now on her neck as he squeezes briefly, watching as she gets the strap-on on and tightens the straps. “You’re gonna get Daddy’s cock nice and wet before you can fuck his ass. Understand?”

She pairs her quiet ‘yes’ with a nod, mind too hazy to actually look into Harry’s eyes as her shaky fingers fiddle with the harness. The clasps make a clicking sound, very satisfying to their ears, and she swallows, getting on her knees in front of him. Clean, soapy smell of his skin chafes the tip of her nose very gently and Harry begins playing with her hair, hands stroking the side of her face before one finds the back of her neck, bringing her towards his hard cock.

“Take it in your mouth,” his thumb presses hard on her bottom lip, as if to remind her who’s in control despite the foreign object she’s been supporting.

Her gaze wanders, taking in his thick, leaking cock, and with one hand steady on his meaty thigh, she brings the other to his balls, humming when she feels them tight already. The wrinkly skin of it is soft and not at all unfamiliar to her. So, she leans in to press a flat tongue against his balls, not missing the way Harry’s thighs jerk in response, and she then takes them into her mouth. She hums at the feeling in her mouth as she alternates between sucking and licking them and Harry lets out a quivering sigh above her, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of her mouth around him.

He lets out a his when her teeth grazes over the area lightly. “Fuck, babe. You like my balls?”

Of course, there’s no time to respond, nor the possibility of her forming coherent words since he’s literally balls deep in her mouth, so she proceeds to hum around him, a few hairs there tickling her nose and lips as she sucks. With a pop, she lets them go and darts out her tongue again, travelling the warm, wet muscle from underneath his cock, to the tip. It’s a deep, pink colour, shiny and smooth, so she can’t help but wrap her mouth around the tip, earning a quick jolt of his hips from Harry as the action takes him by surprise.

She looks up, and sucks the tip as if it’s an ice lolly, and the salty taste of his pre-cum fills the insides of her mouth, fingernails pressing harder into his meaty thighs, and she wishes she could see the mark her nails left behind on his tiger tattoo.

Series of ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s leave his mouth as he guides her head down his cock, and as always, she obeys while taking him deeper and deeper, her warm saliva coating his thickness and she moans around his warm cock as she brings her hands to his ass. While still sucking, she squeezes there, fingernails digging into the perfect skin of his ass and he lets out a hiss first, then pulls her hair harshly before pressing her face down his cock, a shaky moan following as she takes him deeper, her throat welcoming the warmth and thickness of his cock like it always does.

“You’re such a cock slut for me, aren’t you? Can’t keep that mouth away from Daddy,” he pulls her away from his cock, hands immediately going to her mouth to smear the pre-cum and spit all over her mouth and chin. "You wanted to treat Daddy for his birthday, hm?”

“Yes.”

“You’re such a good girl, darling. Always spoiling me, making me feel so, so fucking good,” he squeezes one of her boobs, twisting the nipple between his fingers before his gaze falls to the strap-on and the dildo secured tightly to the harness. He gets on his knees. “Make me suck that cock.”

The words, they just sound so hot, so filthy coming out of his mouth, making her weak in the knees as she swallows, and she places her hand on his shoulder, squeezing there once before it travels to the back of his head. She feels in control, having him on his knees, at her command even though he’s still somehow in charge, and it drives her crazy, having this gorgeous man all to herself. 

She watches him as Harry’s curious gaze takes the pink dildo in. She knew it wasn’t his first time sucking a cock, despite the one now in his face being silicone. So when he goes in easily with her hands pulling him closer, she can’t help but whine at the expression on his face, eyes glittering and plump lips parted as he takes the cock into his mouth.

He coats the pink silicone with his saliva, eyes shut as if he’s trying to concentrate on an important task, pink lips looking like they belong there, around a cock. They look so sinful, yet so perfect as he bobs his head up and down, talking the cock further into his mouth and she tries to guide him but she knows he doesn’t need it. He knows what he’s doing.

“You look so hot,” she manages to let out, words coming out as a hum, low and quiet, and he opens his eyes, eyelashes fluttering at the whispered compliment. “You look so good, Harry.”

He takes it out of his mouth briefly, a string of saliva making a bridge between his bottom lip and the dildo, and she reaches there, smearing it all over his bottom lip just like he did to her earlier as she loved seeing him dirty.

His pink tongue darts out and he wraps his lips around the finger on his bottom lip. “Gonna get me wet now?” He hums around her finger and she feels her pussy clench around nothing.

“Get on the bed.”

As Harry gets on all fours, ass in the air, her eyes wander to their lube on the nightstand. Ignoring the heat in her stomach, she sits on her knees behind Harry and touches his ass, fingers caressing the soft skin, touching the tiny mole there before she leans forward and presses a kiss there. It’s a peck, a sweet kiss that turns into more as her mouth opens, tongue flat against the warm skin as she sucks the flesh, causing him to let out a happy grunt.

He whispers her name, the excitement making her nipples tighten once again, but she moves her lips towards the crack, not wanting to stop.

“That’s it,” Harry groans, “Get Daddy wet before you put that cock in him.”

It’s a godly sight. Him on all fours, at her mercy, it was exquisite, intense, dirty. But she wanted to get him dirtier. With her hand parting one cheek, she bites her lip, noticing his rim, puckered and surrounded by little hairs, and all of a sudden, she can’t wait to get her mouth on him, to see the hairs get darker with her spit as he squirms under her touch.

She gets closer, a grin appearing on her face when he lets out quiet whines and whimpers, and she exhales a sigh into Harry’s milky flesh. Her tongue, hungry and hot, darts out to lick his rim briefly, just to get him wet before she uses her fingers. His cock, now a deeper shade of pink, hard and thick, is peeking between his legs, moving left and right from time to time whenever Harry or she moves, and she can’t help but reach there.

Harry sucks in a breath as her warm hand meets his hard cock, and she lets out a moan when she feels the thickness of it in her palm. It’s hot, so fucking hot, and the smooth skin of his cock is still damp, so she brings her thumb to his tip and smears the leaking pre-cum all over it, then drags her finger down to his balls and squeezes once.

His perfect mouth lets out a pained whimper when she lets go and focuses on the beautiful rim in front of her. She leans forward, both hands now parting his cheeks, and spits on his rim before flattening her tongue and lapping across Harry’s puckered hole. It’s not sweet, far from it actually, but the salty, bitter taste makes her even wetter as she keeps licking and sucking around his hole, satisfied when she hears him whimper and moan. Once it’s wet and the hairs around his rim get darker, she pulls away and licks a finger into her mouth, then grabs the lube from the bedside table and places it somewhere by Harry’s feet.

It’s fire, when she presses her middle finger into his hole, and Harry lets out a groan, her finger sliding in with ease with the help of her spit. “So tight,” she mumbles when Harry pushes his ass backwards only a little bit to match the tiny movements of her finger.

“Move faster,” Harry says, voice low. “Add another one.”

The lube is now in her hand as she brings it to where her finger is, takes it out, and allows a generous amount to coat the puckered area where her finger has been. Harry groans at the feeling, hole clenching around nothing, and she rubs the area with the same finger she’s been using, and presses it in before taking it out. This time, her middle finger is joined by her index as she fucks into his ass slowly, taking her sweet time while admiring the way he’s been taking her fingers. The skin makes wet noises, and she knows if they weren’t so worked up, they would have a giggle about it, just like they often do whenever one of them makes a questionable noise while having sex.

This time, though, the sounds of her fingers pumping in and out of his ass makes her go crazy, and she knows Harry feels the same when he lets out a loud grunt, pushing his ass back in sharp movements, in hopes of getting her to fuck him harder and deeper.

It goes on like that for a while, and they stop when he’s opened up enough, Harry’s rim now looking sore and pink. Once the dildo at her front is lubed up generously, she taps his ass once, making him turn his head back to look at her, eyebrows furrowed in question and mouth still parted due to the tingling feeling at the tip of his cock.

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmurs, gaze lowering. “Fuck Daddy’s ass. I’m ready,” his voice, hoarse and low, rings in her ears as she lifts the dildo up to his ass, his now-pink hole.

One hand holding the pink dildo from the base and the other resting on Harry’s back, she starts pushing it in, whines and hisses leaving his throat as soon as he feels the silicone tip. She watches as the tip digs into his ass, slowly and with effort despite all the lube, and she can’t help but bring her other hand to her boobs, squeezing once before she places it back on Harry’s ass. He’s a mess, sweat dripping down his back, and she knows he’s trying to keep quiet as neither of them would want to get caught by the other couple despite having the door locked.

“Fuck,” he grunts, head lowering.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” he whimpers, ass trying to clench around the dildo but it fails due to how big it is. “Keep going, I want you to fuck me. Hard.”

She holds him by his love handles, fingernails digging into his milky, smooth skin as she moves her hips, the dildo now halfway in. With Harry moaning, she takes her time to admire how fucking hot he looks underneath her, with his ass filled with the pink dildo, and she sighs, continuing to fuck into his ass with the shiny dildo. It’s incredible how well he’s taking it, taking her, his puckered hole now a sore-pink, wet, and she feels like crying, not knowing how to handle what’s going on. She loves him. She loves him so fucking much, and she knows he does, too. She feels overwhelmed with love and hunger as she speeds up her hips, the dildo now fully inside him as she fucks his ass.

He gasps and jolts when the dildo presses right up to his prostate. “Fuckin’ hell. Please keep going, fuck Daddy hard. Fuck me, baby– god, I’m gonna cum soon. Keep going, keep fucking me,” he rasps.

“You’re taking it so well. You look so fucking good.”

“Oh fuck– it feels so good. Fuck me harder, come on, fuck me.”

Feeling brave, she presses her fingernails into his ass cheek, then lifts her hand, a loud smack landing on his left cheek and Harry hisses, fingers curling into the sheets as he lets out whimper after whimper. She watches as the dildo disappears into Harry’s ass, the pink mark on his ass becoming redder and angrier by the second and she decides to press her front against his back, laying down on him as she fucks into him deeper, nipples getting ridiculously hard as soon as they make contact with Harry’s sweaty back.

She finds it easier to fuck him in this position, and she likes that they’re much closer now, mouths searching for each other as he reaches behind and grabs her ass, squeezing hard as she keeps thrusting hard and deep. With kisses placed against his sweaty neck, Harry tries to turn his head to where hers is, and they meet in a rushed, teeth-clashing kiss, Harry’s tongue darting out to lick into her mouth, but missing in the end, and licking the corner of her mouth instead as she lets out a whine, hand searching for his cock that’s now trapped between his body and the sheets.

He helps her, lifts up his lower body and she starts moving her hand up and down on his hard cock, head resting on the crook of his neck as her hips move lazily. He’s so hard, and she knows he’s close by the sounds he’s making, his hips jerking forward from time to time as little ‘uh’s leave his mouth, and she wants to help him. She wants him to cum so bad. She wants to be the one making him cum so fucking hard.

“Are you gonna cum,” she whispers into his neck. “Please, baby. Cum for me. Show me how much you liked getting fucked.”

“God,” with cock still in her palm, he tries thrusting his hips forward to meet the strokes of her hand. “Please– I’m g’na cum so fuckin’ hard. You’re so fucking hot, so fucking good to me. Oh my god, baby, it hurts.”

“Yeah? It hurts?” She squeezes the base of his cock, then touches his balls briefly before continuing her strokes. “You’re taking it so well. Come on, Daddy. I need you to cum.”

“God, I’m– oh fuck. I’m gonna… Make me cum. Come on, make Daddy cum.” 

She squeezes his cock once again, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to his cock. When he lets out a choked breath, she knows he’s coming. It’s hot, sticky, and so fucking dirty, the cum coating her palm, creating more lubrication as she keeps stroking him lazily, dildo still filling up his ass, and with a groan, Harry reaches behind to smack her ass.

They stay like that for a while, with her still inside him as he tries to catch his breath, and she proceeds to match their breaths to the clock on the wall, feeling completely spent but still frustrated since the pool of wetness between her folds seems to be intensifying every passing moment.

After a while, Harry clears his throat. “Are you a dream?” It’s soft, only a whisper, and sickeningly sweet.

“Hm?”

“You’re a dream. You’re unbelievable– I love love love you,” he sighs, voice breaking. It takes him a few seconds to complete his sentence.

“No, thank you. I hope… I hope you liked it?”

“Fucking loved it. What about you?”

“I did. You did so good,” she touches his sweaty hair. “But,” she starts, legs starting to feel sore. “I’m still so fucking wet.”

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry, sweet girl–” Harry reaches behind and strokes her hip. “Can I fuck you now?”

“Yes, please.”

The strap-on now on the floor, Harry takes his time to admire her soft features, the sweat on her forehead and messy strands of hair sticking to her face. She rubs her eyes, and lets out a yawn, but her other hand reaches blindly for Harry, and he smiles, the gesture leaving his chest, his heart heavy and hot and full of love. He lets her hold on to him as she keeps rubbing her eyes, then he links their fingers as she opens her eyes to find him staring.

She gives him a lazy smile. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“All right, Shakespeare… mhm, come here,” she pulls him closer by his love handles. “I love you. Happy birthday. Again.”

“I love you so much. How is it possible to want you this much, hm?” He mumbles against her sweaty neck, not caring about the bitter taste of her skin. He watches as her smile widens, eyes tired and sleepy. “There’s a halo in your mouth.”

pls reblog if you enjoyed it! it only takes a second but it helps me tons <3 inbox is always open for your feedback!!!!! <3 lu

[jaehyunfirstlove]

hi! could u please write smth abt jaehyun taking care of his s/o thru her period and even offering to do the nasty 👉🏼👈🏼 u can also make it smutty if ur brain juices allow

Pairing: boyfriend!jaehyun x f.reader

Genre: smut (18+ only)

Warnings: mentions of menstruation, unprotected sex, shower sex, sex during menstruation, cum kink

Word count: 1.2k

Taglist: @jaehyunnie77 @mrg-jjh @keeach @the-universe-in-you-jjh @nootnoot-yoonoh @winniet @jaejoongiewifey-blog @iknowyuno​ @tamakikaname​ ​@ellethereal00 @michplusb​ @nctnews-main​ @deardayjm​ @yincotton​ @misschubswrites​ (send me a message/ask if you want to be tagged in future fics)

A/N: please heed the warnings! at any rate i didn't make it too graphic :) thanks for the request!

“Jaehyun, please hurry! I’m dying!”

“Hang in there, babe, I’m coming!”

The pain in your lower abdomen left you immobile, a heating pad wedged between you and a pillow and meds doing nothing to alleviate the discomfort you were feeling. Jaehyun, being the good boyfriend that he was, did everything in his power to help you feel better.

“You’re a godsend, thank you so much,” you sighed, when he came into the bedroom with the chocolate ice cream you requested. He got into position sitting back against the headboard, while you sat on his lap and he wrapped his arms around you. The warmth and comfort of his presence always helped you during this time of the month, and you already felt your body relaxing bit by bit as he rubbed your back gently.

“Is it helping?” he asked softly, planting kisses on your shoulder as he watched you take big spoonfuls of your ice cream.

“Yes, the ice cream is good,” you mumbled between mouthfuls, “but it still hurts.”

Jaehyun’s eyes turned soft as he looked at you, clearly concerned. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I wish there was more I could do.”

“You could fuck me,” you said half-jokingly, thinking he wouldn’t want to do anything of the sort while you were on your period.

“Would it help?” he asked in all seriousness.

You just shrugged, licking the last of the ice cream off the spoon. “I don’t know, never tried it.”

“Hm,” was all he said, but you could already feel his bulge growing beneath you.

“Jeong Jaehyun, are you considering it right now?” you couldn’t believe he was actually thinking about it.

A mischievous smile spread across his face, his eyes twinkling and dimples appearing in his cheeks as he nodded at you. “So what if I am? Would you want to?”

You had to admit you wanted to, when it came to your boyfriend you always wanted to fuck him, that wasn’t even a question. You’d heard from some of your friends that sex always helped them feel better when they had bad cramps, but you had never tried it, always just worried about the mess.

“I mean, I always want to,” you answered honestly, “but you know, it would be… messy.” You wrinkled your nose at the thought of the cleanup involved.

“We could do it in the shower,” he suggested, a little too eagerly as his face lit up when he said it. Clearly he had already been thinking about the possibilities.

It was a good idea, you had to admit, and with the way he was looking at you, like he wanted to devour you, it would have to do. “Alright, let’s do it.”

Excitedly he jumped out of the bed, almost pushing you off of it, and ran into the bathroom to get the shower running. When he was satisfied with the temperature of the water he brought you in, undressing you carefully and gently, and helping you step into the shower. While you relaxed with the warm spray of the water, he undressed himself and stepped in with you.

“How’s the water?” he asked, slotting his body behind yours and placing his hands on your hips, “is it helping with your cramps?”

“Mm-hm,” you nodded, but what was really helping you was his touch on your bare skin, made even more arousing by the wetness of your bodies and the heat of the water washing over you.

“How’s your tummy?” he asked softly before attaching his lips to your neck and sliding a hand around to caress your stomach. You leaned your head back against him and moaned, the warmth of his hands sliding over your skin heating you up.

“Better,” you answered, because you could already feel the pain easing up little by little, the more he touched you. “But I need more please.”

“Greedy,” he chuckled, before sliding his hand down between your legs and finding your clit. You moaned as his fingers rubbed circles around your sensitive nub, his other hand coming up to fondle your breasts and pinch your nipples.

“Oh god, Jae,” you moaned, the pain of your cramps forgotten as the feeling of pleasure took over. “More, please, I need you.”

You heard him whistle low behind you, and then you felt the tip of his cock teasing at your folds. You’d never had sex during your period before so you weren’t sure how it would feel, but when he pushed inside you the pleasure you felt almost knocked you off your feet.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” his voice was deep in your ear and it made you shudder.

“No, no, it feels good,” your breath was starting to come in small gasps, as arousal overtook all of your senses, “god it feels so good.”

This encouraged him, and he started to pick up his pace, holding onto your hips as he pounded you, your hands splayed against the tiled wall of the shower to keep yourself from smacking face first into it.

“So tight,” he murmured, “so fucking tight.”

You could feel your entire body tingle as the pleasure built up, your orgasm coming on so fast it was making your head spin.

“Jaehyun! Oh my god!” you cried out as he railed you, your moans and whimpers echoing off the tiled walls.

“You gonna come, baby? Hm? Come all over my cock then,” he growled, pounding you harder, his hands coming up to squeeze your breasts.

“Oh fuck!” you screamed, coming hard when he squeezed your nipples and thrust into you so deep you felt him in your guts. Your pussy milked his cock, but he wasn’t done with you yet, pulling you flush against him as he fucked you harder.

“Wanna fill you up, baby,” he said, his voice husky, “wanna fill you so full that my cum will be the only thing dripping out of your pussy.”

You gripped onto his forearms as he came inside you, hips stuttering as he filled you, a loud groan escaping his lips. When his body stilled he kissed down the back of your neck and along your collarbone and shoulder, before sliding his hand around to rest on your lower stomach.

“Do you feel better?” he asked, the spray of the shower doing a wonderful job of washing away the remnants of what just occurred.

“Yes, baby, I really do,” you sighed, squeezing his arms in gratitude. You felt the water starting to cool though, and you were suddenly struck with the feeling of sheer exhaustion. “But I think I want to go to bed now.”

“Of course babe, let’s go to sleep,” he turned off the water and grabbed a towel for you, helping you to dry off before he dried himself off. He helped you change into your pajamas, and then you slid into bed together, where he spooned you (naked, because you wanted to feel the warmth of his skin against you, even through your pajamas).

“Good night, Jae, thank you for taking care of me,” you said sleepily, placing his hand against your stomach.

“Always, my love,” he replied, and just as you drifted off you felt him kiss the top of your head, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your stomach.

[uwuwriting]

Boyfriend w/ Megumi, Itadori and Gojo

Request: hii I just read your jujutsu nightmares piece and oh my god I am indeed a very simple simp and your writing just makes my heart go uwu so may I maybe req a very soft, fluffy s/o for Megumi, Itadori Sato and maybe Sukuna if you write for him? I hope it's not too much, thank uu <3 - anonymous

I can’t get enough of the JJK content, I love them so much my heart can’t take it. Sadly I don’t write for Sukuna *I think I mention it in my rules but I’m not sure*, he pissed me off big time in the manga so yeah sorry about that. Really all the curses have kinda pissed me off but that’s a story for another day lmao. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: boyfriend things lol, fluff, maybe some angst sprinkled on top but not a lot. 

Fushiguro Megumi 

-Megumi reminds me of Suna from Haikyuu. 

-Like a lot. 

-He will put effort in the relationship of course but he won’t flaunt it around in everybody’s faces. 

-Yes he has a s/o and yes he is in love but in his book that should be mostly kept in between you two, no one else has to know. 

-So at first your relationship isn’t really acknowledged by the others. 

-It’s so subtle at casual that everyone around you thinks that you’re merely best friends and close to each other. 

-Only Makki knows that you two are a thing since she sees how you worry and take care of him after he has been injured. 

-It’s different from platonic concern and she knows what’s going on. 

-Plus she saw you steal a kiss one time and that sealed the deal. 

-Eventually the others figure it out and they are losing their shit, for completely different reasons though. 

-Nobara can’t believe Megumi got a s/o before she did. 

-Gojo is hurt because neither of you said anything and he has been trying to hook you up for the past two years now. 

-Itadori is just confused because he thought that you were like that to everyone. 

-Now PDA is non-existent with this one. 

-He doesn’t feel comfortable touching you in public even if it’s a small peck. 

-He prefers showing his love behind closed doors or through acts of service. 

-So expect to find multiple bentos waiting for you in the kitchen each morning or a hot bath on the ready when you come back from a long mission. 

-You are okay with the no PDA rule, your only request is that he at least hold your pinkie when you need it. 

-It grounds you and who is he to say no to that?

-During missions he doesn’t underestimate your strength and let’s you do your thing. 

-He only interferes when you ask for help or when he notices that you’re extremely overwhelmed. 

-He doesn’t smother you and you are eternally grateful for that. 

-Training sessions between the both of you are brutal. 

-Neither holds back and you're left a panting, sweating mess at the end, crawling to your respective rooms to change before you settle for a movie later that afternoon.

-If either of you gets injured it’s mama bear time. 

-You need to change your bandages? Megumi has already taken out the kit and all the essentials. 

-He needs to take some meds to calm the pain in his ribcage? You have the pills in hand. 

-He is a shy boy so even in private he hesitates to touch you. 

-Don’t get him wrong he loves holding you and feeling you close to him but he is also afraid he will make you uncomfortable or overstep. 

-So you will be the one initiating cuddle session during the first months of your relationship. 

-After a while he will simply pick you up and carry you to his bed for cuddles if he needs them without uttering a word the whole time. 

-Good morning/Goodnight kisses are a must. 

-It’s a ground rule that he follows religiously since day one. 

-It doesn’t matter if it’s a simple peck on his lips or a passionate kiss, he just wants to get a kiss before starting/ending the day. 

-Sleeps on his stomach with an arm always draped over your waist. 

-Isn’t really into the whole sleeping on each other thing but he won’t say no to being the big spoon or even better the little spoon. 

-He gets flustered when you kiss his knuckles or trace patterns on his palms. 

-He knows his hands are rough from all the training but after your touch they feel tender and gentle. 

-Prefers indoor dates rather than outdoor ones. 

-His favorite  is cooking dinner together and then cuddling on the couch *in hopes you won’t get interrupted by Gojo*.

-The only thing he dislikes about the whole relationship thing is the teasing he receives from Gojo. 

-He is ready to rip his ears off. 

-Boy has murder on his mind 24/7 and it is all directed to his mentor.

-Gojo noticed that Megumi had you as his wallpaper ONCE and now it’s game over for your boyfriend. 

-The thing is that you don’t get teased as much and he is *salty*. 

Itadori Yuuji

-He is such a lovable boy, how could you NOT fall in love with him?

-Your relationship is naturally effortless. 

-Everything flows so naturally and without even trying you two have formed such an unbreakable bond that not even Sukuna himself can tether even if he tried. 

-Many MANY spontaneous trips to the nearest convenience store at 3 am.

-Oh you are craving some popcorn? Well go on, get your shoes, we are going grocery shopping. 

-Won’t hesitate to do anything for you and when I say anything I mean it. 

-He ditched Gojo once because you had bad period pains and said you needed cuddles. 

-What cruel creature would he be if he denied his beautiful girlfriend her cuddles??? 

-Sukuna has cockblocked you two and has ruined your cuddles on multiple occasions. 

-From weird noises to rude comments to interrupting Yuuji’s thoughts with random shit. 

-Real party crasher. 

-Yuuji’s love language is touch mainly so expect a shit load of hugs and kisses. 

-Won’t let go of your hand while you are out in public. 

-If he can’t hold your hand he will place his palm in the small of your back or wrap his arm around your shoulders/waist. 

-It’s a physical need. 

-He has to be touching you at all times because that reminds him that you are truly here beside him and that you are okay. 

-The sorcerer's life has already taken a toll on his mentality and he hates leaving you alone so most of the time you go on conjoined missions. 

-Unlike Megumi he tries to protect you during fights by all means. 

-He doesn’t do it because he sees you as weak and in need of protection it’s just an instinct that he can’t control at all. 

-He will put himself in immense danger, taking all the blows just so you can leave the scene unscathed. 

-You have scolded him on his complete disregard of his own life and the tears that pooled in his eyes as he explained that his body moves on its own when he sees anything darting towards you, breaks your heart. 

-If you kiss the little marks under his eyes all his worries fly out the nearest window. 

-He forgets about everything around him, about the looming threat of his imminent execution, the only thing on his mind are your lips on his cheekbones and your thumbs rubbing circles on his cheeks. 

-If you pepper him in too many kisses he will begin his own assault by first tackling you to the floor or the bed and capturing you in a hug before the smooches begin. 

-He has a tendency to leave hickies on your neck which you struggle to cover each morning and you are always real close to glaring at him when he beams like the sun itself at you in the morning but your mild anger fades the moment his lips meet yours. 

-You have your suspicions that he knows what he is doing with that, he knows his kisses make you weak so he uses them to his advantage. 

-Will never admit it but it always places a small smirk on his lips every time you clutch his shirt for balance or rest your forehead on his shoulder to regain your composure. 

-An I love you a day is required for good vibes. 

-Won’t hesitate to shout it even in front of others, he just has no filter and no shame. 

-Makes you turn tomato red and he snickers. 

-Fuck him, literally. 

Gojo Satoru

-This fucking tease. 

-He has no chill!!!!!!

-How are you with him?!?!?!?!!

-My man fine af and he drinks his respect for y/n and y/n alone juice every morning. 

-That doesn’t mean though he won’t try to fluster you throughout the day. 

-It’s his main goal really. 

-Full blown make out sessions in the hallways of the school, ass smacks in front of others and trying to leave hickies on your neck during your lunch break. 

-It simultaneously pisses you off and turns you on so you can’t decide if you should smack him or jump his bones. 

-It’s a never ending debate and his chances of getting the quawk quawk 5000 are 50/50. 

-He respects your boundaries when you give him a sign that you really don’t want him to be like that on certain days. 

-He is a very observant individual in general so it’s not hard for him to take note of the signs of pure discomfort or awkwardness. 

-True he loves flustering you but the moment things get out of hand and you don’t feel okay with how he is acting, he is throwing his attitude out the window and becomes respectful Gojo in a flash. 

-Likes having his arm draped over your shoulder. 

-He is super tall so chances are he towers over you. 

-He has used you like an armrest several times which resulted to a trip to Shoko for a dislocated wrist/shoulder. 

-You make him bentos almost everyday and he waits for them like a lost puppy. 

-No matter the time, he doesn’t care if he is late, he will wait for you to make him a little bento to take with him. 

-Curses can wait, he needs to receive his first dose of y/n love of the day. 

-Brags to his student about you and to Nanami, much to the blonde’s dismay. 

-Talks everyone’s ear off. 

-He becomes super protective when an elder shows up or at the mere mention of them. 

-He will grasp your hand, keeping a firm grip as those pretentious fucks stare down at you. 

-They really don’t care about Sato’s happiness and they will never show you a fiber of respect despite being chosen by the strongest sorcerer. 

-You are not part of one of the three clans so you are worth nothing in their eyes. 

-Gojo hates them for that. 

-Deep rooted hatred that could turn into a mass murder if one of them call you a distraction or a slut one more time. 

-You are really grateful for him in those moments. 

-You are grateful in general but during those times when you are being bombared left and right with rude comments, he will remind everyone in the room that he doesn’t give a flying fuck about what they believe. 

-He fell in love with you because you are your beautiful self and not because you are a powerful sorcerer. 

-He wants to imagine your kids as a sign of your love and not as an item of power, as a weapon like many of these people see him. 

-He has ditched the elder meetings on many occasions just because he wasn’t in the mood of listening to their bullshit so he came home to you and spent the rest of his night cuddled up under the large comforter, watching a movie while peppering your shoulders with kisses. 

-Adores seeing you in his clothes. 

-They are so big on you that you wear them as dresses around the house. 

-He especially loves the sight of your bare legs peeking from underneath his black t-shirt. 

-99% of the time this ends up in you getting your guts rearranged. 

-Surprisingly remembers all the important dates and he makes it to as many dates as he can. 

-Being a sorcerer is difficult man, give him a break curses he has a date at 8 and he needs to get his formal glasses. 

-All in all he loves you to the moon and back and would do anything to keep you safe and next to him. 

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[pascalpanic]

so i read this scenario on reddit and i thought it would be a cute and fluffy fic idea if you want to write it :)

one of the Pedro boys (i was thinking frankie or marcus moreno but you can put any one of them that you feel like would fit the story) lands himself in the hospital and the reader visits him often cause they’re friends. they notice that every time they visit, his heart rate monitor speeds up, like not enough to cause alarm but enough to be noticeable, and that’s how she finds out that he likes her and they decide to date (after he gets out of hospital)

Appendicitis (Frankie Morales x f!reader)

Summary: ^^

W/C: 2.4K

Warnings: talk of being ill, vomit, pain, lots of talk of hospitals and that being a major setting, Frankie is a dad, language

A/N: welcome back to Josie’s quest to clean her inbox! This idea was so precious!! I hope you guys like it!!

Frankie is in fucking agony. Never has he felt something as painful as this, never has such pain radiated through his body so intensely that he has no choice but to vomit out his stomach’s contents.

He spends the day at home, occupying his daughter as best he can while he’s in such suffering. He figures that maybe it’s just really bad gas cramping or constipation. Marisol plays quietly, at her daddy’s request, watching her favorite Disney movies on the couch while nuzzled into his side. Frankie has never been so grateful to get her into bed at the end of the day.

After a full day of the pain, and realizing that it wasn’t going away no matter how many painkillers he took, Frankie gave in around midnight. Lying in his bed, skin turning gray and the pain now decisively in his right side, Frankie called you.

After a few rings, you picked up. “Hey, Fish.”

“Hi.” His voice sounds agonized. “How much do you charge for babysitting again?” He asks, the strain clear.

You’re confused, pushing the phone closer to your ear and thinking it might be the distance that makes him sound so odd. “Uh, you’re my friend, so free. You need me to take Mari?” You ask him.

He nods. “Yeah; how much for like a week though? I don’t want to impose though, and-“

His voice sounds terrible. “Frankie. Shut up. A week? What’s wrong? I can take Marisol for as long as you need, but I gotta know what’s going on.”

Frankie is quiet before he grunts softly in pain. “I think my appendix might be fucked up. It hurts like fucking hell. Mari’s asleep, I don’t wanna wake her or anything, but could you-“

You cut him off once more, sitting bolt upright. “I’m on my way over. Do you think you can hang on until I get there? I can drive you to the hospital, or we’ll get one of the boys.”

“That sounds good,” Frankie agrees. “Fuckin’ ambulances are so expensive.”

You chuckle softly. “Hang in there, Fish, okay? I’m gonna call Will, see if he can drive you and I’ll stay with Mari. How’s that?”

Marisol loves you. There’s no better solution in Frankie’s eyes: she behaves better for you than she does for him. She’ll be in good hands, happy for as long as he needs to be in the hospital healing. “Perfect. God, you’re a fucking angel. Don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve better than me,” you snort as you pull on a hoodie and slip on some shoes. “I’m gonna call Will. You got this, Fish. Distract yourself. I’ll send you updates.”

When you arrive at the Morales household, Will’s truck is already in the driveway. He lives closer, so it makes sense. Be quiet and don’t wake Mari, you remember as you slip off your shoes and head up the stairs of Frankie’s home. It’s quiet, unsurprising for this time of night, and you know Mari is a light sleeper. Frankie would never want to wake her at this hour.

Wandering into his room, you find Will standing next to the bed and an incredibly worn-looking Frankie. His skin holds barely any color, his face almost green in nausea. You rush to his side. “Frankie, holy shit,” you exclaim in a loud whisper, taking his hand. “You’re okay?”

“I will be if Miller mans up and gets me out of this bed,” he says, followed by a chuckle with no humor.

Will sighs. He’s wearing pajamas too, looking as exhausted as you are. Frankie groans as he hears Mari’s tiny voice over the baby monitor. “Fuck. You’re staying with her, Will’s bringing me?” He clarifies, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes.

Nodding, you squeeze his hand. “Give me directions quickly and I’ll go get her. You gotta sit up first, Frankie,” you reassure him.

He squeezes your hand back tight and sits up, his face contorting in pain. There’s a flush of redness to his cheeks, and it makes him look more human for a moment until it fades again. “She won’t fall back asleep unless she’s in this bed with you. She needs the attention. Uh, food is in the fridge, you know emergency shit,” he says, with surprising coherence for the pain he’s in.

You nod and ruffle Frankie’s soft bedhead. “Benny- fuck,” you wince, knowing the Miller brothers hate being mixed up. Somehow, even with their distinct personalities, you do it all the time. “Will. Send me updates,” you remind him as you stand. “And you, Francisco,” you murmur and press a kiss to his sweat-beaded forehead, “get some strong pain meds and get better for me and Mari.” You smile softly and walk out of the room.

The room next to Frankie’s is beautiful, a sage green paint and lots of woodland creatures painted on the walls by Frankie’s surprisingly artistic hands. There’s a crib covered by a creamy white canopy and the little girl pokes her head up, tilting to the side in confusion as she sees you.

It’s not fear, of course. Mari loves you, absolutely adores you in fact. She’s just… confused. Her little brain can tell it’s the middle of the night. “Where’s Daddy?” She asks, making uppy arms at you.

You walk over to her crib, picking her up and kissing her head. “Daddy’s got a tummyache, cutie,” you tell her and tickle her tummy gently, making her giggle and bury her tiny face in your chest. “He’s gonna go see the doctor and get it all fixed up, okay? You and I are gonna have so much fun,” you assure her, and she giggles again.

You can hear two sets of feet, slowly moving. “Let’s go give Daddy a kiss goodbye, okay?” Mari nods and rubs her little eyes.

Frankie’s got an arm around Will’s shoulders in the hall, looking absolutely agonized. He smiles a little as he sees you and his baby. “Hey, patita,” he chuckles. He dubbed her duckling from the soft tufts of fluff on her head as a baby. “Be good while I’m gone.”

Mari nods and puts a hand on either side of Frankie’s sweating face, making a little pout and giving him a kiss. “Love you, Daddy,” she says, a yawn overtaking her tiny face.

“Love you too,” he nods and looks up at you. “I owe you.”

“Friends don’t owe each other,” you shake your head. “Now get your a… butt to the hospital, Morales,” you tell him and pat Will on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

He nods at you and the two men shuffle along through the house until they can get Frankie into the car and on his way to (hopefully) sedation and a cure.

Yawning again, Mari’s big brown eyes look up at you from where you hold her on your hip. “Snack?” She asks you, pointing towards the kitchen.

Her little voice and tiny, pudgy fingers are too much. “I suppose. Only because we’re having special girls’ time,” you tease and boop her nose. Setting her on the counter, you grab some cubes of cheese and some berries, which you make sure are in small pieces.

Mari’s content to eat her snacks with you, and you can see her growing sleepier again as the plate empties out. “Sleepy?” You ask her, and she nods. “Alright, cutie pie,” you sigh and lift her, holding her to your chest as she wraps her arms around your neck and her legs around your torso. “Do you want me to cuddle with you?” You ask.

She nods. “Gotta snuggle for late sleepies. Daddy says that.”

The words melt your heart. Frankie’s always been so good with her, so warm and skilled and precious. It only makes your crush on the man grow every time his little girl babbles about how much she loves her daddy. “Does he?”

She nods. “Daddy sings for me.”

Frankie singing Marisol to sleep. The idea melts your heart. You need in on that. “What does he sing to you?” You ask. “What’s your favorite song that daddy sings to you?”

She thinks for a moment as you sit on the edge of the bed, allowing her to clamber off your lap and into the cozy king-sized bed. “Rocket Man.” It’s hard to decipher in her baby-talk, but you get it.

“He sings that for you?” You ask as you get under the covers, into the blankets that are still warm from Frankie’s body heat, that smell like his cologne.

Mari snuggles into your chest, and nods softly. “Can you sing Rocket Man?”

“Of course,” you nod and trace little circles into the toddler’s back, singing the Elton John song to her in a soft voice. It doesn’t take long, now that she’s in her daddy’s bed and got a snack, for her to fall asleep. She snores softly, and you follow suit not too long after.

-

It did turn out that Frankie had appendicitis. The doctors weren’t entirely sure what caused it, but you and the Miller brothers rotated your time with Marisol at home and the hospital with Frankie, as his stay was painfully long for such an active man. Santiago video chatted often, but being out of town prevented him from physically seeing Fish.

It took him about a week to recover, and that time was mostly spent napping or watching the television in his room. He’d bullshit with the guys or you when you were around, and he especially loved the time of the afternoon every day where one of you brought Marisol to see him.

Usually it was just you or one of the Millers who stayed in the room with him. The other two either stayed with Marisol or got to stay at home and rest for themselves. It was a lucky day when you and Benny got to both be with Frankie for a while, telling stories and laughing. It was your turn to be off-duty, but all you wanted from your free time was to be with the man.

Your presence has always made Frankie’s heart rate a little faster. It’s always made his palms a little clammy, and his pants a little tighter sometimes. At least now he can attribute it to the pain.

Every time his eyes catch yours, his heart monitor gets a little louder. It’s odd, but you shrug it off. It can’t mean anything. It’s just your Frankie. After an hour or so of spending time with the guys, you run to get fast food for the three of you. While you’re away, you receive a text from Benny.

Benny Boy: you’re fucking with his head, bro

You: what?

Benny Boy: the heart rate monitor is nearly silent right now. every time frankie looks at you it spikes, don’t tell me you haven’t been noticing that

You: do you want nuggets or a burger?

You: thats ridiculous, Benny.

Benny Boy: always nuggets. but seriously, his heart rate is at like 54 right now, he’s just chilling and kind of dozed off. let’s check it when you come back.

You: be prepared for the most boring science experiment ever. also, what dip do you want?

After you receive your bulging bags of food, stuffed from both Benny’s and Frankie’s massive appetites, you return to the hospital.

You: walking in. pulse status?

Benny: 60. he’s a little more awake now.

As you enter the room, Frankie turns to you and grins. “Hey. What did you get?” He asks.

You plop the bags on the small table overhanging Frankie’s bed and grin. “Just your usual order. I know what you like,” you shrug as you unpack the food.

Beep beep beep beep. HR: 77

Smiling at the rate of Frankie’s heart, more than you should really, you sit down back next to Benny and the three of you eat your food. It’s somewhat quiet, the chatter dying as you devour the fast food, savoring the grease and salt.

After everyone is finished, you stand and clean up the garbage, tossing it all away. You sit back down on Frankie’s bedside. “So, macho man. How’s the pain?” You ask, your fingers tracing his good side.

Beep beep beep beep beep. HR: 86

He shrugs. “It hurts like a bitch, and they said it’s gonna keep hurting like a bitch.”

“Poor baby,” you chuckle, cupping the side of his face and kissing his forehead softly.

Beep beep beep beep beep beep. HR: 96

Benny groans and stands. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom.” He smacks your arm as he walks past, as if rubbing in the evidence he’s found. “And then take a walk, I think.”

You’re still seated at Frankie’s side, on the inflatable hospital mattress. “Oh Benjamin,” Frankie rolls his eyes. “Why’d he leave so quick?”

You shrug, though you know the answer. “Who knows? Benny can’t even predict himself,” you chuckle. Frankie’s hand rests over his chest. You slide your hand over his torso and lace your fingers through his until you’re holding it. You can feel his heart thumping steadily against it. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Beep beep beep beep. HR: 104

He smiles. “I’m lucky I have you.”

You sigh softly as you look up at the heart rate monitor again. “I gotta say, you have a really high resting rate,” you say nonchalantly, as if you believe it.

Frankie’s face warms. “I, uh-“

“I’m kidding, Frankie,” you mumble softly to him, smiling a little. “I really like you, and I think that monitor is helping me know you like me too. When you get out of here, can we maybe go on a date some time?”

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep. HR: 112

Nodding enthusiastically, those floppy curls move with his head. “I would love that,” he tells you with a beaming smile. “God, have you been able to tell all day?” He asks as he looks up at the monitor, his ears burning with heat as he reads the pulse rate. It’s embarrassingly high.

“Yeah,” you finally admit and smile down at him. “But it’s cute. And it makes me feel all warm inside because I finally know you like me too.”

Big brown eyes stare up at you with all of the love in the world. “If I wasn’t wearing a hospital gown, I’d kiss you right now,” he promises. “But that’ll have to wait.”

“Yes it will,” you nod and kiss his forehead again, easing him back against the mattress he’d lifted up from slightly. “Now I’m going to go find Benny, and you slow down that heart rate,” you tease and ruffle his curls.

“I’m not gonna be able to slow it down with you around,” he says with a soft smile, his eyes slipping shut.

-

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[sugarybitterness]

always home - natasha romanoff x reader

word count; 1,688

warnings; gunshot, injuries, blood

a/n; a little angsty but there’s fluff i promise! feedback is always appreciated <3

the mission had been a bust. there were more enemy agents than you had anticipated, meaning you and wanda could barely hold them off even with both your powers. as the two of you fought under the dark sky with only the moon providing a small source of light, you were seriously considering a retreat at this point. a loud cry broke through your concentration and your heart sank when you saw wanda crumpled on the ground with a hand on her side. you growled angrily as you quickly created a barrier around wanda and used your telekenisis to push away the agents surrounding you before running over, pushing back anyone who tried to intercept you or get near wanda.

“y/n/n, it hurts,” wanda gasped out as soon as she saw you, one hand was pressed against her side while her free hand was glowing red, pushing back the agents.

“i know wan, i know. come on, we need to leave,” you told her gently as you moved the barrier to accommodate the two of you as you pushed her hand firmer against the wound to try and stop the bleeding. why was there so much blood?

“but the information-“ wanda tried to protest but a pained gasp fell from her lips again. you felt the telltale burn in your eyes, wanda was like a younger sister to you and you have always been protective over your family.

“fuck the information. you’re hurt and i’m getting you home.” you stated firmly before helping wanda up. the sokovian let out a final wave of magic to knock out the remaining few agents nearby but the shouts and heavy footsteps from the base meant that you really had to hurry.

once the two of you reached the quinjet, you helped wanda onto the makeshift medical bed and instructed her to keep pressure on the wound before running to the control panel. you quickly keyed in the coordinates of the avengers tower, letting FRIDAY take over pilot controls and instructing the AI to let the team know that wanda needed immediate medical attention.

once the quinjet was in the air you hurried back to wanda’s side and replaced her hand with yours to apply pressure, mumbling soft apologies when the younger girl cried out in pain. a quick check showed that there was an entry wound but no exit wound, you cursed quietly as you check with FRIDAY how far out you were from the tower.

“i’m going as fast as i can miss y/l/n but it will still take another 20 minutes. the team has been notified and medical staff are on standby to receive miss maximoff once we land.” the AI’s words did little to reassure you. with one hand still on the wound, you moved another hand to gently wipe away the tears from wanda’s face.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t protect you better wan,” you apologised quietly, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. wanda did her best to smile at you, but you could tell she really was in a fair bit of pain. after the longest 20 minutes you’ve experienced, FRIDAY finally announced that you were landing. with one hand still on her side, you used your magic to lift the now semi-conscious wanda up gently. the moment the doors opened, you flew out with her and placed her on the waiting gurney. allowing a nurse to take over your position, you quickly placed another kiss on wanda’s head before tony, bruce and the rest of the med team wheeled her away quickly. once she was finally inside the compound you allowed your full wave of emotions to overcome you, tears finally falling and knees buckling. before you could hit the ground you felt a familiar pair of arms quickly wrap around you, bringing you to sit on their lap as they sat on the floor.

“there was so much blood nat.. i thought- i thought we wouldn’t make it back in time.” you whimpered out quietly as you continued to sob into your girlfriends chest. arms hanging limply at your side as you didn’t want to hug natasha back knowing that your hands were still stained red with wanda’s blood. natasha ran one hand up and down your back as her other hand rested on your neck, holding you close. she knew that there really wasn’t much that could be said to ease your worry or quell the guilt so she simply let you cry it out. when steve came over, mouth opening to ask about the mission, he was quickly shut down with a sharp glare from natasha. raising his hands in surrender, he left to go check on wanda in the med bay, throwing one last concerned look at the way you seemed so small in natasha’s lap (even though you were supposed to be the taller one.)

once your sobs finally subsided, natasha quietly asked if you wanted to take a bath or shower, or if you needed to go get yourself checked up. when you quietly asked for a shower with her, natasha smoothly stood up with her arms tucked under your legs, carrying the two of you into your room in the tower.

setting you down on the sink in your shared bedroom, natasha grabbed the things she would need to clean you up. while you had managed to fight off most of the agents with your barriers, you ended up engaging in a few rounds of hand to hand combat which meant that you had way too many bruises and cuts for natasha’s liking. as gently as she could, natasha took your bloodied hands and ran them under the tap allowing the water to wash away wanda’s blood. the thought of your teammates blood on your hands made you feel sick to your stomach, even though you weren’t the one that caused it but the fact that she had gotten hurt still made you feel like shit. you closed your eyes when you felt another wave of tears hit you, wishing desperately that things had gone differently and that the girl you called your sister wasn’t currently in surgery. your friendship with wanda had always been a little rocky, considering she made you and the rest of your team relive your darkest memories and fears. but then again, all of you had done some not so great things in the past- yourself included. wanda worked hard, pushing herself to be better in more ways than one and in some way trying to prove that she really did belong in this slightly dysfunctional family called the avengers.

“she’s a fighter, she’ll be okay.” natasha spoke quietly, smiling softly at you when you opened your eyes to look at her. you nodded in response, knowing that the redhead was right.

“you can feel the guilt detka but you cannot allow it to consume you.” natasha reminded you gently, drying her hands on her sleep shorts before moving to wipe away your tears. nodding again, you pushed your cheek against your girlfriend’s hands. despite her hands being slightly rough from all her time training and handling weapons, she always held you with such tenderness.

after you were cleaned up by natasha and the two of you had a warm shower, natasha bundled you up in your favourite sweater which used to be natasha’s until you took it. as you tried leave your room to make your way to the medical wing of the tower, you were quickly stopped by the redhead who stood in between you and the door.

“going to wait at the medical wing won’t do you any good detka. you need to rest.” natasha knew that the two of you had planned to strike at night and knowing how stubborn you were, instead of sleeping at the safehouse you probably went over the plan with yourself several times and made sure you had the blueprint of the building committed to memory.

you opened your mouth to argue but natasha gave a compromise, “we can ask FRIDAY to wake us up when wanda’s out of surgery, i promise i’ll wake you. but i need you to sleep, please detka.”

“fine.” you grumbled and went to lie on the bed while natasha talked to FRIDAY as she followed suit, lying next to you on the bed. you turned on your side to look at natasha and once FRIDAY stopped talking, the redhead shifted her attention back to you.

“cuddles?” you asked quietly, though you really didn’t need to.

“always.” was natasha’s reply as she pulled you closer to her and planted a soft kiss on your lips which you returned with a soft sigh.

“i love you my natty, thank you for taking care of me.” you mumbled against your girlfriend’s lips before give her another kiss.

“anything for you my love, i love you too.” natasha responded, kissing you again before readjusting your positions so your head was against her chest, allowing her heartbeat to lull you to sleep.

true to her word, natasha woke you up a couple hours later when wanda was out of surgery and the two of you made your way to go check on the sokovian. thankfully the bullet hadn’t hit anything major and the doctor managed to get it out quickly before closing up the wound. with the help of some advanced medical tech, wanda would be back to normal in a week or so. knowing that you would want to be there when wanda woke up, natasha quietly guided you to the couch and pulled you to lie on her.

“sleep detka,” natasha whispered, one hand wrapped around your waist while the other stroked your hair softly. too tired and relieved to fight back, you melted into the embrace. just as you were about to fall back to sleep, you thought about how extremely lucky you were to have someone as wonderful as natasha to come home to. even after a shitty mission like this, she managed to you feel so much better and so much safer. natasha will always be your home.

[inkykeiji]

i’ll keep you in mind, from time to time

cactus anon said: had a little dream about daddy tomura, but it's when his princess gets sick... like very sick. seemingly out of nowhere. we know he's always cautious about your health and well being, so this is odd to say the least. you could have got it simply from getting the mail or sitting out on the balcony. well you see, daddy has a very strict rule when he's working - you mustn't disturb him when he's in a vital meeting. and you feel so ill that you know you can't just wait until he's done (whenever that will be - it's hard to tell sometimes). you feel like you have no choice but to ask for help 🥺 and there's not many people daddy would allow in his home to come see you when he's not present. except for... dabi...

genre: angst

notes: is this set in the bmb universe????? tbh, yeah, probably. i wrote this with bmb tomura and bmb dabi in mind (my mind just goes straight to bmb tomura the moment i see daddy tomura ehehe). do you need to read the monster that is bmb before reading this? absolutely not, since it’s technically a prequel of sorts! | title credit: moose blood’s first album ehehehe

warnings: sad boi dabi, very sick reader, it’s implied that tomura has cut her off from everyone she knows, pining, daddy kink, mention of drugs

words: 2.9k

Nestled under Tomura’s fluffy comforter and curled in on yourself in his mammoth bed, your silk babydoll sticks to your damp, sweaty skin, teeth clattering together so violently it’s almost painful, even though your flesh is scalding to the touch. It’s a surprise that Daddy can’t hear it, that incessant clackclackclack echoing down the vacant halls, a surprise he didn’t come running immediately—like he always does—at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers as you burrowed deeper into his mattress.

He must be really, really busy today.

And you know better than to interrupt him when he’s really, really busy.

But—But it all hurts so much, head pounding with such vigour you can barely see straight, muscles aching and weak, a loud whine escaping your lips as you roll over, groping around in the blankets for your phone. It’s too bright when you finally locate it, eyes squinting and a hiss catching in your throat as you bring the screen too close to your face, quickly scrolling through your contacts in a desperate attempt to find someone—anyone—to come to your rescue.

You know you should wait. Really, you should. Your Daddy is jealous, and protective, and possessive, and there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he’s going to be upset when he finds out that you called someone else to take care of you.

But—But it could be hours until Daddy’s done with his work—sometimes he spends the entire night in that stupid wood-paneled office, and you can’t risk it. It’s terrifying, this nightmarish illness that seemingly appeared out of nowhere, with its sudden onslaught of concerning symptoms worsening by the second, and you’re beginning to wonder if something is seriously wrong, the thought sending icy spikes of anxiety shooting through your veins.

No, you can’t risk it—you can’t wait.

A thumb hovers over your mother’s name in hesitance, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider. Her place isn’t necessarily close, but she’s the relative that’d be able to reach you the fastest—even so, it’d take her at least two hours to get here, and that’s assuming there’s no traffic on the roads. But she isn’t exactly fond of your boyfriend, and the last thing you want to deal with while feeling like you’re dying is a fight between the two of them. You know how nasty they can get.

So you keep scrolling, fingers halting for a second time as your best friend’s name flies past your eyes.

It’s been months since you last spoke—Tomura being the topic of your last conversation, of your last fight. You’re spending too much time with him, they had claimed, eyes cloaked in a glossy sheen of tears as they frenetically searched your face, almost begging you to understand. It’s unhealthy! It’s unnatural! They had said with a vicious shake of their head. He has you in a fucking chokehold, can’t you see that?

Eyelids squeeze shut tightly against the familiar burn of tears, their last few words echoing through your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull and reverberating, louder and louder and louder—

No. You can’t do this right now, your head throbbing in retaliation, a painful lump nestling into the column of your throat. It’s too much, too much, and you don’t want to think anymore, can feel that neediness rooting deep at the core of your body, a longing to just be taken care of and nurtured, frantically scrolling back up as urgent eyes search the names blurring by on the screen. A gasp falls from your lips as his name whirs by, fingers scrambling to scroll back down and find it again.

Dabi.

Daddy trusts Dabi, doesn’t he? Daddy likes Dabi, right? They’re friends, aren’t they? Out of all of the people you just scrolled through, Dabi is evidently the best choice, the most correct choice, is he not?

Your thumb trembles a little as it levitates over his name—you don’t know him well, have only spoken a mere handful of words to him in the six months you’ve been dating Tomura, but...but he appears to be your only hope.

His voice is rough when he answers, abruptly cutting through the dull second ring, evident surprise bleeding into it when you whimper out your name, mumbled against the receiver. He regains his composure a moment later, tone hardening as he asks you why the fuck you thought it’d be a good idea to call him, of all people.

Tears blur your vision, sniffling a little as you explain the situation, frail voice breaking as you tell him about how you’re terrified you’re dying, and Daddy’s too busy, and last time—last time you interrupted him you got in real big trouble, and he’s your only hope, you need him, and please, Dabi?

And God, he’s chuckling into your ear, low and hoarse and inspiring a flock of butterflies to soar through your stomach, a sensation you swear is from whatever sickness has infected your body. You’re so lucky you’re fucking cute.

He hangs up directly after that, doesn’t spare you a second to respond, arriving at in penthouse in ten minutes flat, and you’re not sure you’ve ever been happier to see his tattooed face.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes when he sees you, curled up beneath the fluffy comforter, strands of hair shining with sweat and sticking to your skin. Pace quickening, he places his knuckles against your forehead, your sore eyes slipping shut at the cool relief his skin provides. A sharp hiss slips through his clenched teeth and he yanks his hand back, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat as you try to follow his touch.

A head of inky tousled hair shakes back and forth as he hastily leaves Tomura’s bedroom. Glass and ceramic clink together, the sound echoing down the hall, as Dabi roots around in the kitchen, swearing softly to himself when he can’t find what he’s looking for.

A cup of water is in his hands when he returns a few moments later, aspirin clutched in his other fist, still muttering under his breath about the thermometer not being where it’s supposed to be, and why the hell doesn’t Shigaraki have any cold and flu meds like, at all?

Perching on the edge of Tomura’s bed, he acts as if it’s such an inconvenience to him, as if he’s so annoyed that you’re sick and needy, but he really doesn’t hide it well enough. Because you see through his thinly veiled act even in your inebriated state—see the concern in his sapphire eyes as his eyebrows push together just a little, a tiny crease forming between them, see the way the corners of his lips keep pulling downwards with every single one of your pathetic little noises. A heavy sigh leaves his chest a moment later, body shuffling towards you, cobalt eyes still saturated with worry.

A large hand pets your sweaty hair, soft and gentle as the other tilts a glass of full water towards your lips, Dabi’s deep voice startlingly soft as he orders you to drink, princess.

And he doesn’t mean for the nickname to slip out, tells himself he only used it because he’s so accustomed to hearing Tomura use it—accustomed to hearing Tomura overuse it—panic’s sharp claws gripping his heart the moment it leaves his lips. But you seem too sick, too delirious, to notice or care, obediently swallowing the pills just like he told you to.

Good girl.

The praise just slips out too, those two simple words falling from his lips unconsciously, involuntarily, uncontrollably, and he chooses to focus on the fact that you drank the entire glass instead of the cute noise you make in response to his commendation, a trembling hand placing the empty cup on the oak bedside table.

The mattress dips as he prepares to get up, to move away, to put some much needed, necessary distance between the two of you, but a small, clammy hand catches his forearm, his entire body freezing in shock, stiff and still like a marble statue.

Sapphire eyes snap to the tiny hand gripping his arm, hyper-aware of the heat radiating off the sticky palm and seeping into his skin, and then dart to your face, wide and frenetic. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? he wants to snap, words turning to ash on his tongue. Because, Christ, you look like you’re about to fucking cry, staring at him through your lashes with those terrified eyes, begging him softly, shyly, not to leave.

“I’m not leaving,” he says with a roll of his eyes, yanking his arm free from your weak grasp, a soft whine escaping your lips as you grope the air for him again. “I’m 90 percent sure you have a dangerously high fever—there’s no way I’m going to leave you on your own until your asshole of a boyfriend is done doing whatever the fuck he’s doing. I’m just gonna move to that chair over there—”

“No!” you gasp, coughing on the word in your haste to reach for him again. “Please, stay, here,” you look down at the bed pointedly, gazing drifting back to his a moment later. “H-Here, with me,”

Dabi isn’t stupid. He knows Tomura will be seeing red the moment those scarlet eyes meet ice blue when he re-enters his bedroom from a day full of sifting through documents and yelling on conference calls. But when your boss’s plaything, his most prized possession, calls you in tears blubbering about how she’s sure she’s about to fucking die, well—coming by to take care of her is the lesser of two evils, don’t you think? Really, Tomura should be thanking him.

But Tomura returning from a day full of sifting through documents and yelling on conference calls to meet ice blue in his bed, next to said prized possession? Well, that’s a different story entirely.

He’s frozen as he mulls over it, your blunt nails digging soft, tiny crescents into his flesh, little marks that will fade only a few moments after you let go.

“I can’t do that,” he says softly, almost regretfully, and his tone of voice surprises him, startles him, scares him. Clearing his throat, he steels himself, pulling free from you again. “It isn’t right,”

“Please, Dabi,”

He’s sure you don’t miss the sharp, sudden intake of air sucked through his mouth when those two words leave your lips. He’s positive of it, because then you do it again.

“Please, Dabi,”

Your voice is softer this time, and the look he gives you is nearly heartbreaking, the perfect picture of a man being torn apart from the inside out, tortured and beautiful all at once.

“I—”

“Just until I fall asleep?” You try to bargain, bottom lip pushing out into an involuntary pout. Crystal eyes hold yours for a second longer before he sighs, chest heaving with the force of it.

He isn’t happy about it, about his apparent inability to say no to you, grumbling about it the entire time—you’re such a little fucking brat, y’know that? and only until you fall asleep, understand?—as he settles back against Tomura’s stupidly massive headboard, body going rigid and words hitching in his throat the moment you latch onto one of his thighs, nuzzling your face into his hip.

And really, he should tell you to get the fuck off of him. He should push you away, scold you for such behaviour, remind you that it’s wrong. He should. He wants to.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

The realization has his heart pounding against his rib cage, breath stilling in his lungs and then accelerating, escaping his nostrils in short, quick huffs, lithe fingers curling in the cotton sheets underneath him. Don’t be a fucking coward, his inner voice growls at him, berating himself for such disgusting weakness. It doesn’t matter if she’s fucking sick, that isn’t an excuse!

Because that’s why he can’t find his voice, right? That’s why his fingers are twitching with the need to comb through your hair and caress you jaw, right? That’s why your cheek, burning hot through his black jeans as it snuggles into his upper thigh, sends a whole slew of unfamiliarity—excitement and terror and all sorts of things he doesn’t know how to explain, can’t begin to explain—rushing through his body, right?

Yes, that’s why. Of course that’s fucking why.

The thoughts cycle through his mind like a mantra, as if repeating them enough times, branding them into the tissues of his very brain itself, will make them true.

That’s why he allows you to sleep on him. That’s why his stomach flutters at the way your tiny fingers curl in the denim of his jeans as they readjust, pulling him closer. That’s why it feels like a zap of electricity buzzes through his veins as you murmur his name in your sleep, whimpering a little as your leg hitches over his calf.

That’s why. He’s sure of it.

His head snaps up the moment the double doors fly open, and he’s never been more relieved to see his boss’s face in his life.

Those crimson eyes scan the room twice—the first time quick, frantic and furious, the second slow, cold and calculating—before they finally connect with cobalt, gaze blazing.

“Care to explain to me what the fuck is going on here?”

“Oh thank God,” Dabi breathes, words slipping from his lips subconsciously, body shooting off of the bed as if the mattress had pierced him, his movements jolting you awake. “She called me,” he snaps before Tomura can speak again, bewildered ruby eyes darting between the two of you. “She’s sick as a fucking dog, boss,” the words are spit between clenched teeth, all those nasty feelings, the feelings delayed by you, no doubt—anger, hate, jealousy, melancholy—finally surfacing, bubbling and boiling in the center of his chest. “She was too scared to interrupt your work, so she called me,”

And Dabi can see it, the vicious jealousy that flashes in Tomura’s eyes, can see the way it makes his jaw clench, makes his molars grind together, makes his breath slice through the air with each sharp exhale through flared nostrils.

“Daddy,” you whine, tears collecting in your eyes, glimmering in the golden sunlight as it sinks beneath the horizon. “D-Daddy, it hurts, it hurts so much,”

All of the derision etched so deeply, so firmly into Tomura’s face melts away in an instant as you make grabby hands for him, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and leaving gleaming trails of salt water in their wake, little half-sobs of that stupid pet name hitching in your throat.

“Now that you are no longer preoccupied,” Dabi draws Tomura’s attention back towards himself, raising an eyebrow in challenge, daring his boss to retaliate. “I’ll be leaving. I trust that you can take care of her now, yeah?”

The words are practically snarled out, almost patronizing in tone, but he doesn’t wait for a response, tucking his head down as a shoulder knocks against his boss while stomping out of the room, heavy boots echoing throughout the quiet penthouse. Eyes squeeze shut tightly as he tries to ignore Tomura’s gentle coos, tries to ignore your cute, pathetic little wails and whimpers of Daddy, Daddy!, tries to ignore the sudden inexplicable ache that sears through his chest, settling deep at the core of his body and throbbing.

He can still smell you on his fucking skin, dainty notes of tiger orchid and toffee clinging to him. He promises himself he’ll hop in the shower and scrub any remnants of you off his flesh the moment he steps foot in his own apartment. He vows to himself that he’ll will this stupid, irksome feeling away—that he’ll rid himself of this irritating worry and unfamiliar concern the moment he gets home.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

Because no matter how hard he tries, he’s unable to get you out of his head, soft needy whines of his name and perfect pouty lips invading his mind like a virus, infecting all of his thoughts, worming their way through his brain like some sort of invasive parasite.

The whole excursion lasted a mere two hours, even though Dabi was sure he spent the entire day with you in that bed, leaving nearly his entire evening free, just like he wanted.

That is what he wanted, isn’t it?

Of course it is. Of course.

So why does he spend the entire night wondering if you’re okay, if Tomura is taking good care of you, if he called his personal doctor to come check and diagnose you? Why does he waste hours typing out a short text message to send to you, only to erase it and type it out again, over and over and over, chewing his bottom lip raw in the process? Why does he dream of you that night, of soft smiles and glittering eyes, cute giggles and tiny palms burning his skin, gentle whispers and Please, Dabi?

Why?

And he should be shoving these feelings away, should be burying them deep within himself, should be numbing them with soft white powder and pretty white pills, should be forgetting them.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

[esseastri]

hi I just need to scream into the void I know it’s been a while but just...

fuck. fuck. this year.

please don’t reblog this, I just need to--god, I just need to make a list.

january opened --literally day 3-- with me and my coworkers doing inventory at the store and one of them, A, having a covid-positive stepdad who didn’t tell her he was positive despite the fact that they live together which means the first week of the year was Schrödinger’s Covid.

middle of January, my best friend, E, had a shouting match with my shitty coworker, R, in the store. we all know how I feel about confrontation.

february opened with the Return of my Chronic Pain

february middled with E quitting work--good for her to no longer be in a toxic environment, shit for me because working with her made that job so much better

february closed with my dad dying.

march opened with my dad’s funeral, and cleaning out his room and dealing with my mom in the aftermath and the bureaucracy of death

E and R had another shouting fight which basically ended any chance of reconciliation

L had a full-on work-stress mental breakdown the day I got back from my trip home that lasted two days.

I had panic attacks about going into the store, the mask mandate dropped, and I started my absolutely intolerable “class”

april opened with the QH campaign, which was awesome but holy fuck stressful. shipping/processing 550 books in three days and hosting the event was. too much.

had hideous migraines for several days

E found a lump in her breast, had a biopsy, and found out she has cancer.

beginning of may was K in the hospital for a week with an unidentified virus and them doing tests on her heart. her heart. she’s fine now but like. what the fuck.

my grandmother died.

E scheduled her surgery, and we all know how I feel about surgery/hospitals.

I didn’t go home for my grandmother’s funeral because the mere thought of dealing with an airport made me fully nauseous, so I spent a week feeling terribly about not going home despite it being the right decision and everyone at home telling me so

L had a few days of health concern and she’s ok now but like. jesus fuck.

my other grandmother’s blood pressure is doing weird shit and they’re messing with her meds.

I’m struggling with really bad insomnia again

one of the members of my ttrpg group canceled game bc they were going to the doctor for what they thought was a severe stomach bug and was, in fact, ““concerning”“ blood work and being admitted to the hospital for more tests on what is probably cancer in their colon and liver.

plus, of course, there’s still a global pandemic that everyone is ignoring, and the numbers in our county are going steadily up; there’s a war in ukraine; roe v wade got fucked; queer persecution is on the rise again; there have been several mass shootings and not even the cursory talk about gun control those used to engender; books keep getting banned plus the industry that I’ve given my life and all my hopes and dreams to is a fucking dumpster fire; climate change/disaster is ongoing and getting worse

and none of this is happening to me but all of it is happening to me and--

and goddamnit, it’s not even june yet.

I cannot drag myself out of this depression and my entire body hurts. I hate this. I hate this year. I’m so tired all the time. I’m just supposed to go to work and do my stupid job, I’m supposed to eat food and drink water and I just. god. fuck. I don’t know what to do. there is nothing to do. everything feels incredibly pointless and stupid and everything tastes like dust and everything hurts and I just want to sleep. I want to put down everything I’m carrying and just fucking sleep. what am I doing? why am I typing this, why am I not--i don’t know, helping. what am I doing? how am I supposed to keep going under all this weight?

[bluejayblueskies]

can i be gentle?

Words: 7.1k

Relationships: Jon & Tim, Tim & Martin

Tags: Canon Divergence, Tim Lives, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Post-Unknowing, Injury Recovery

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/ideations, blood, injury, hospitals and hospitalization, survivor's guilt, body horror, minor gore, gun and knife violence, mentions of death, mentions of canon-typical worms, implied child abuse, meat, alcohol, swearing, crying, smoking

Ao3 link in source

.

Tim aches. It’s full-body, radiating through his arms and back and legs, and he wishes more than anything that he could go to sleep, to chase away the pain for at least a little while. It feels like he’s been hit by a bus.

 Or been on the receiving end of several kilos of C4 igniting all at once. But that metaphor’s a bit too on-the-nose, in his opinion.

 He should be dead. He should be dead. 

 (Does he wish he were dead? He hadn’t cared, in those few moments of clarity before he pushed the button on the detonator and the colors solidified into black nothingness, whether or not he would wake up when the smoke cleared. It’s hard to tell. He’d attached so much of himself to revenge, before, when it was easier than feeling everything else bubbling up underneath, and now that it’s been ripped away from him, he doesn’t know what emotion should be filling the gap. Probably relief.

 He doesn’t feel relieved.)

 The nurse is speaking to him. Her lips are moving, but he can’t hear her. His ears ring and ring and ring, and it sounds like spirling, mocking laughter.

 They do some tests. Blast-induced hearing loss, the pamphlet they give him proclaims. Prognosis is good. Most patients recover in 6 weeks. Hearing aids can help with high frequencies.

 His ears ring and ring and ring, and he’s alive.

 He’s alive.

 Jon is not.

 .

.

.

 “It’s because of him, you know.”

 Martin startles badly at Tim’s voice. Tim wonders if it had been too loud; the ringing in his ears is incessant, and every word spoken sounds as if it’s coming from a very, very far distance. He moves a bit further into the room that they’ve placed Jon in, his hands shaking where they grip the wheels of the wheelchair they’d given him. Hard to walk when your leg is shattered. And some ribs as well. 

 Martin says something, Tim thinks, as he’s turning. His eyes are wide and rimmed with red, and he’s looking at Tim expectantly. Tim sighs, then winces as the motion sends tendrils of pain through his ribcage. “I can’t hear you, Martin. Either speak up—way, way up—or just… move your lips more or something. I don’t care.”

 “What?” Martin enunciates, and it’s so ridiculous, Tim wants to cry.

 He answers anyway.

 “Me. Being here. I’m alive because… because of him.”

 It was stupid, thinking he could protect Tim from an entire building collapsing on top of them. But his hand had gripped Tim’s wrist and he’d pulled him to the floor and he’d covered Tim’s body with his own, so when the shock wave had hit, Jon had gotten the worst of it.

 Tim refuses to feel guilty about it. He does anyway. Because they’d argued, and Jon had stalked him, and Tim had cultivated his anger and fear into a simmering ember deep in his chest, but at the end of the day, Tim wasn’t supposed to survive.

 Jon was.

 Tim swallows, hating the bitter taste in his mouth, and says, “Do you… do you think he’s going to wake up?”

 Martin says something, too softly for Tim to hear. His mouth twists into something small and pained, and he looks at the floor.

 It’s answer enough.

 Tim doesn’t ask again. 

 .

.

.

 They arrest Elias a few hours later, after Martin’s collected himself enough to bring his plan to completion. Tim’s only regret is that he isn’t able to see the look on Elias’s face as he’s dragged away.

 Knowing Tim’s luck, he’d probably have just looked smug.

 The name Peter Lukas crosses Martin’s lips, spelled out in exaggerated motions when he visits Tim again. Tim thinks, absurdly, of the hydra. Cut off one head, two grow back.

 Lukas probably won’t be better. Knowing their luck, he’ll be much worse. But Tim thinks of the way Melanie had shaken after she’d come out of Elias’s office, of the haunted look in Martin’s eyes when Tim had asked how his plan went, and can’t find it within himself to care.

 .

.

.

 They release him from the hospital with a hefty prescription of pain meds, small plastic hearing aids tucked in each ear, and a thick folder of discharge papers. Martin’s there when they do; the bags under his eyes are dark and smudged, and he nods mechanically as the nurses talk to him, outlining Tim’s care regime for the next few weeks. His eyes keep flicking to the side, to the corridor that leads to the long-term care section of the hospital. Wordlessly, Tim reaches over and takes Martin’s hand in his, giving it a single squeeze before holding it tightly.

 Martin lets out a breath through his nose and squeezes back.

 “Do you want me to, er. To take you back to yours?” Martin asks once they’re out, his voice on the softer side of muffled and overlaid with that constant ringing but audible enough now that he doesn’t have to shout. 

 Tim feels something almost like embarrassment curling in his stomach. “I, uh. I don’t have a place anymore.” Tim drums his fingers on his thighs, looks at the ground, and says, “I canceled my lease. About a week before we left for Great Yarmouth.”

 There’s silence between them—or at least, as close to silence as Tim can get right now. Tim thinks Martin says something, a word or two brushing up against the edges of what the hearing aids allow him to hear, but he can’t grasp any of it. So, Tim looks up at Martin, at the pinched, pained expression on his face, and says, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know.”

 “Know what?” Martin says bitterly. “That you never expected to come back? Yeah, I got that part. I even got why, you know? Doesn’t make it better, though. I didn’t want to lose you, Tim.” Martin pauses, then says, so quietly Tim can barely hear it, “I didn’t want to lose anybody.”

 “Yeah,” Tim says. But that’s not how this works. We were never going to all survive. Everything is fucked, and it still is, and it always will be.

 “I’m sorry,” he says and finds he means it. Then, to clarify: “For hurting you. And… and for Jon.” He doesn’t elaborate on that point. He doesn’t know what he would say even if he tried. “But I’m not sorry for going, and I’m not sorry for pressing that button. If I would have died, I wouldn’t have been sorry for that either.”

 “Right,” Martin says slowly. “But you didn’t. And the Circus is gone now, so do you…?”

 “Do I still want to kill myself?”

 Martin winces.

 “Hey, your question, not mine,” Tim says, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. After a moment, his hands drop back to his lap, and he gives a small shrug. “Don’t know. I knew I would do what I needed to in order to destroy the Circus, and I did. Thought I would die in the process, but I didn’t. I’m still trapped in the world’s shittiest job, and I don’t really…”

 Tim shrugs again. “I don’t know,” he repeats. Then, because it feels true: “It was never… it was never the dying bit I was chasing, you know. I didn’t do this because I thought it would be a good way to get killed. I did it for Danny, and that’s it. Plain and simple. So if you’re asking if I want to die, the answer is no. But I can’t guarantee that I won’t make the same decision again if I have to.”

 Martin’s quiet for a long moment. Then, calmer than Tim expects, he says, “Okay.”

 “Okay,” Tim echoes. Then, with a levity that only feels slightly forced: “I suppose it’s back to your place, then. Just be sure to buy me dinner first.”

 Martin doesn’t smile at that like he used to, but his face does soften a bit. His voice is lighter when he says, “Oh, I will. Within your dietary restrictions, that is. Which means no alcohol.”

 Tim groans. “You’re no fun.”

 “Uh huh.”

 They begin the commute back to Martin’s flat, and the atmosphere between them grows more lighthearted than it’s been in months. Tim feels something warm and familiar curl in his chest, and he realizes just how much he’s missed this. It’s not quite easy conversation, not like it used to be, but it’s nice all the same.

 Tim’s ears ring, and his entire body aches, and he still feels a numbness in his core in the shape of suspicious glances and calliope music and a face he can’t remember, but for the first time in a long, long time, he allows himself to smile.

 .

.

.

 Tim doesn’t visit Jon often. At first, it’s the guilt, acute and cloying and weighing him down. Then, it’s old hurt and stale anger, resurfacing and driving away any passing thought of Jon that isn’t tinged with bad memories and broken trust. After that, it’s just habit.

 It also hurts, if he lets himself admit it. To see Jon lying there, motionless and clad entirely in white, the heart monitor attached to him reading out a constant horizontal line even as his eyes move in small, jerky motions behind his eyelids. 

 See? a part of him whispers. He’s not human. Maybe he never was. Maybe he was always a monster, and you just never noticed. It wouldn’t be the first time.

 A newer part of him, one that gets more prominent by the day, recognizes that even if Jon isn’t human anymore, he never would have chosen this. This stasis, this half-death. Not what came before, either. That part of him remembers the way Jon’s hand had gripped his tightly as they’d opened that trapdoor, and how it had continued to do so even as the worms had begun to bite into their skin. He’d tried to protect Tim then, too, putting himself between Tim and Jane Prentiss. For all the good it did, when the worms began to come from all directions. But Tim remembers the way the terror and pain in Jon’s eyes had been tinged with sadness, with a silent apology as he gripped Tim’s hand hard enough to bruise and they both accepted that this was it.

 It hadn’t been, in the end. And now it is, with Jon all-but-dead and Tim still here, wheeling his way into Jon’s hospital room for the first time in weeks. 

 He’s halfway in before he realizes he’s not alone.

 “Oh,” he says. “I… I didn’t know you’d be here.”

 Martin lets out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Where else would I be?” he says, and it’s tinged with something bitter and broken that takes Tim a bit off-guard. It’s become almost routine now, for Martin to visit Jon, and usually, he comes back looking drained but otherwise fine. Sometimes, when Tim asks him for status updates on our resident medical mystery, Martin even manages a small smile and responds, still dreaming.

 Martin scrubs a hand across his face, and Tim realizes belatedly that he’s crying.

 “Martin?” Tim says carefully, moving a bit closer to where Martin’s sitting. “Are you… did something happen?”

 “No,” Martin says, his voice catching in a way that indicates that something very much did happen. “It’s fine.”

 “Is it…?” Tim pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is it about Jon?”

 Martin’s laugh this time is more like a whimper. “Nope, he’s- he’s the same as always. Still asleep.”

 Tim moves closer but doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically in the background, and he waits. Patience has never been his strong suit, but it’s been something that’s been required of him as of late, and he’s getting better at it.

 He likes to think he’s getting better at a lot of things.

 Martin doesn’t speak again for a few minutes. He stares at his hands where they rest just shy of one of Jon’s, his fingers restless against the sheets, coming up occasionally to fiddle with the thin black ring that rests on the middle finger of his right hand. Then, so quiet Tim almost can’t hear it, he says, “My mother died today.”

 Oh.

 “I’m sorry,” Tim says. They’re empty words, but they’re better than the good riddance and about time and you’re better off without her sitting on the back of his tongue, begging to be released. He doesn’t think they would be appreciated right now, no matter how true they might be.

 “Yeah,” Martin says. He’s still staring at his hands. “They called me a few hours ago. She… she passed away in her sleep. Natural causes. From- from her illness.” He falls silent for a few moments, his fingers twisting in the sheets. Then: “I… I think I should be sad?”

 Tim studies Martin’s face—the tear tracks down his cheeks, the unhappy set to his mouth, the way he’s shaking ever so slightly where he sits. His face is one of grief, but Tim doesn’t ask. He waits for Martin to continue, and after a moment, Martin says, “She was the only family I had left. She- she was my mother. I took care of her, I- I did my best to be a- a good son.” He takes in a shaky breath, curls his hands into fists, and says, “I haven’t seen her in months, you know. I- I visited at first, but she… she never wanted to see me. So I just stopped going. I’d call, every Saturday, but it was the same every time. She’s resting. She doesn’t feel up to talking right now. Call later, and we’ll see what we can do.” 

 Finally, Martin looks at Tim, and the guilt in his eyes is so acute Tim can feel it cut through him to his core. “I should be sad that she’s dead, but… but all I can feel is relief. And that hurts. I- I don’t know… why am I relieved? God, she was right, I- I’m horrible, no wonder she- she never wanted to see me, I- why can’t I- I can’t—”

 Martin cuts off with a wet sob, and all at once, Tim understands.

 “It’s okay,” he says, and he collects Martin’s hands from the sheets, holds them tightly in his own. “You can feel however you like, it’s- it’s okay.”

 He squeezes Martin’s hands, just once, and repeats, “It’s okay.”

 He knows Martin won’t believe him. But still, he sits, and Martin cries, and he says, It’s okay.

 It’s okay.

 .

.

.

 The hearing aids are a permanent fixture in his ears now, as most people have full hearing restoration after six weeks apparently doesn’t include him. The tinnitus is still particularly bad some days, but they help with everything else. It’s not perfect, but it’s a small price to pay for living, he supposes.

 He’s not sure when, exactly, he decides that he’s glad he’s alive. But he does. 

 He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear at all, when the Flesh attacks. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the wet, sticky sounds of things that shouldn’t be able to move without bones slipping through the vents, shattering the relative peace they’d begun to cultivate. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the pops of Basira’s gun, bullets burying themselves in things that barely flinched at the contact. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear Melanie’s screams of anger, the responding screams of pain from things with too many eyes and teeth and limbs as her knife carved a violent path through them.

 There are yellow doors and hands slick with blood and a sudden quiet as the last of the twisted, mangled creatures falls, sliced neatly in two in a way that’s just a bit too clean. 

 Melanie is breathing heavily, but her hands are steady and her eyes are hard with something raging and violent. When Basira reaches tentatively for her knife, saying, “It’s over now, Melanie. We’re- we’re safe,” Melanie stiffens but doesn’t resist.

 “This isn’t right,” Tim says after Melanie comes back to herself in bits and pieces, enough to shudder at the blood coating her arms up to the elbows and mutter something he can’t quite catch before disappearing into the toilet. “None of this is. God, can we ever catch a fucking break?”

 “We can deal with it later,” Basira says. She’s calm, but she can’t quite hide the tremor in her voice. Her Al-Amira is splattered with viscera. “Right now, we need to make a call. Get this cleaned up.”

 “What,” Tim says bitterly, “so we can continue hiding away in the Archives? You’re the one who said we should start sleeping here. Should have known it wouldn’t be safe. It’s not like it was before.” 

 He rubs at one of the small circular scars on the back of his left hand, his skin crawling with a phantom itch that makes him vaguely nauseous. 

 “We stay here,” Basira says, leaving no room for debate. “We make the call, and we stay here.”

 Tim makes a low, frustrated noise, and bites out, “Fine. Because Basira always knows best. Whatever.” He unlocks his wheelchair and says shortly, “I’m going outside for some fresh air. The smell of rotting meat is making me sick.”

 Basira doesn’t follow him.

 Martin does.

 They situate themselves just outside the glass doors, and they don’t say anything for a long time. Martin still looks vaguely ill. His face is pale, and his hands are fidgeting at his sides. His fingers are resting on his ring, twisting it back and forth, agitated. His shoes are stained a glistening red.

 Finally, Martin tilts his head back so it hits the wall behind him and says to the air above him, “Is it horrible that I wish Jon were here?”

 Tim snorts, anger still bubbling under the surface of his skin. “Because we’d have done so much better with our own flavor of spooky bullshit?” He bites out a bitter laugh. “Maybe he could have compelled them to explain exactly why every single monster out there has a personal vendetta against us. Working for an eldritch horror of voyeurism doesn’t give you much in terms of an offense.”

 “Stop,” Martin says sharply. “You know what I mean.”

 Tim does. He’s just not particularly inclined to wax nostalgic about the power of friendship and comradery when he’s got bits of meat stuck in his hair. 

 Still, he finds that he means it when he says, “I wish he was too. For what it’s worth. Which isn’t a fucking lot, but it’s what we’ve got.”

 “Yeah,” Martin says. His hand brushes against Tim’s, and they fall back into silence.

 The police arrive, followed closely by the ECDC. It’s a messy affair, even messier than the last time Tim had been in this situation, and Tim wants nothing more than to get away. Forever.

 He doesn’t make any jokes this time. He just nods in the right places, and when they’re finally released and he and Martin return to a flat they haven��t seen in weeks, he can feel weariness cutting through him to the bone.

 When he wakes the next day, Martin’s gone. His note, stuck to the door of the fridge, says, At the hospital. Be back around noon.

 It’s ten in the morning, and the sunlight is bright as it streams in through the kitchen window.

 Tim digs out the bottle of rum that Martin keeps tucked in the back of his cabinet and pours himself a drink.

 .

.

.

 “Peter Lukas wants me to be his assistant.”

 Tim looks up from what’s turning out to be quite an impressive doodle of the little figurine of a frog in a top hat he’d purchased back in research from a charity shop and says, “Absolutely not.”

 Martin sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, holds it there for a moment, and then says, “I don’t know if I have a choice in the matter, really. It’s… it’s not safe here anymore.” Quieter: “He said he can help. Off- offer protection.”

 Tim audibly scoffs at that. He sets down his pencil and notepad and crosses his arms across his chest. He can already feel a headache coming on. (More than the usual, that is. He’s almost able to tune out the constant ringing in his ears now.

 Almost.)

 “What’s he going to do, isolate them to death? It’s not like the Lonely’s any better of an offensive force than the Eye. We’re doing just fine without involving him.”

 “Are we?” Martin’s voice is hard and a bit choked when he continues, “We’re living down here because it’s not safe to stay outside for too long. We’re still finding bits of- of flesh in- eugh.” Martin shudders and folds inward on himself. Quieter, enough so that Tim has to watch the motion of his lips to make out the words, he says, “Jon’s not waking up.”

 Tim feels something inside of him twist. “We don’t know that. We don’t know what’s happening with him.” A touch bitterly—old habits die hard, he supposes—he says, “Maybe he’s just not done going through his monster metamorphosis yet.”

 “Tim.”

 Tim sighs. It’s a profoundly weary sound. “Yeah, yeah. I… I miss him too, you know.”

 He’s surprised to find that it’s not a lie.

 “Right.” A small, shaky smile crosses Martin’s face, and he says, “I- I suppose they’re right, then. Distance does make the heart grow fonder.”

 “Somehow,” Tim says, “I don’t think whoever coined that phrase had this situation in mind.”

 Martin’s smile fades as quickly as it had come, and Tim feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry,” he says, pushing away from the desk and wheeling across the room to where Martin sits. He hesitates, just a moment, before placing his hand on Martin’s where it rests on his knee. “I… I suppose I’ve forgotten how to be lighthearted about all of this.”

 Martin nods. It’s a small motion. He’s silent for a long moment; Tim squeezes his hand and says nothing. Finally, Martin looks down at his hands and says, “It’s been four months, Tim. Nothing’s changed.” He pauses again, his mouth pinching around the edges. “I… I visited him today. I begged him to wake up, to- to do anything to indicate that he’s even still there. I don’t know why I expected him to answer. It’s not like anything’s different now. He- he’s never going to wake up, Tim.”

 Martin’s voice cracks, and he repeats, wetly, “He’s never going to wake up.”

 Then, Martin’s crying, heaving sobs that overtake him completely and have him hunched over, dripping salty tears onto the back of Tim’s hand. “Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says, leaning forward as far as he’s comfortably able to and wrapping Martin in as hard of a hug as he can manage. He rubs his hands in circles across Martin’s shoulderblades, feeling Martin’s shaky breaths against the side of his neck, and says, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

 He repeats it, again and again, as Martin cries into his shoulder and says, over and over, words thick with grief, “He’s dead, Tim. He’s dead.”

 “It’s okay,” Tim says. Maybe if he says it enough times, he’ll start to believe it.

 Eventually, Martin’s body stops shaking and he pulls back, the tear tracks on his cheeks already beginning to dry. His eyes are red-rimmed and glistening, and he looks tired, grief apparent in every line of him.

 “I said I’d think about it,” Martin says, in a voice rubbed raw and hoarse. “When Peter called me. I- I said I’d think about it. I- I don’t know why…” He cuts off, makes a small, distressed noise, and says, “What do I even have left? If- if this can help, what- what do I have to lose?”

 Tim feels a pang of hurt flash through him, but he suppresses it. He squeezes Martin’s hands, gives him as wide a smile as he can without breaking, and says, “You have me. And I’m not leaving—you’re stuck with me. So don’t think for a second that if you take Peter’s deal, I won’t be there still. I’m like a bad penny, or, I don’t know, a- a fungus or whatever. The point is, you’re not going to get rid of me. Whether or not you decide to work for Lukas—which you shouldn’t, by the way, in case I haven’t made that abundantly clear—you’re not going to be lonely, okay? Not on my watch. I can be very persistent when I put my mind to it.”

 Martin looks at Tim, eyes wide, and another small, hiccuping sob escapes him. “You really mean that?”

 “Yes, Martin,” Tim says, exasperation and fondness filling him in equal measure. “Christ, just because things got… rough for a bit, it doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. Honestly, don’t know if I could. You’re a very lovable person, you know. It’s not like being your friend is a hardship.”

 Martin laughs a little at that, his voice still thick with tears. “Well, when you put it like that…”

 Tim gives him another smile, and this one feels easier. Like it would be harder not to smile. Still, he’s careful with his words when he says, “So, then. What are you going to do? I’ve made my opinion more than known, but…” Tim swallows around the lump in his throat and continues, “It’s your decision.”

 “Yeah,” Martin says, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah.”

 Peter calls again. And when Martin hesitates for a long moment before giving a quiet yet firm no, the relief that sweeps over Tim is enough to make him feel weightless.

 .

.

.

 Two months later, as a man who smells of death shuts the door behind him, Jon takes a rattling breath and finally opens his eyes.

 .

.

.

 “Tim?”

 Tim raises the hand that’s not holding a rather large bouquet of white daisies and baby’s breath in a half-wave. “Hi, boss. Been a while.”

 The look Jon gives him is half-shocked, half-nervous. “I… I suppose it has. Six months, apparently.”

 Tim makes a sound of affirmation before wheeling himself fully into Jon’s hospital room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “You know,” he says, allowing a blanket of levity to fall over him, “when we said you should get more sleep, this isn’t exactly what we meant.”

 Jon just stares at him for a moment, face blank and eyes wide. Then, a laugh escapes him, a small hiccup of amusement. “Yes, well. I can’t say that I feel particularly well-rested.”

 Tim imagines what it must have been like, to be locked in a dreamscape stasis for six months. He can’t say that the idea sounds particularly relaxing. “Yep, sounds about right. Guess we can cross ‘spooky coma’ off our list of possible cures for sleep deprivation.”

 Jon folds inward on himself a bit, hugging one arm to his chest and gripping the other tightly. “Right,” he says, his voice small. He looks away from Tim, focusing on the small window in the corner of the room, and says, “I… I’m sorry, Tim.”

 Right. Jon still thinks Tim hates him.

 Tim lets out a long, weary sigh and makes his way to Jon’s bed. He practically shoves the flowers into Jon’s hands; Jon takes them, more out of surprise than anything, white petals tickling the bottom of his chin. “It’s been six months, Jon. You’ve been… honestly, a bit dead? No offense. And I’ve been alive. And we both know it was meant to be the other way around.”

 Jon opens his mouth, and Tim holds up a hand. “Don’t. I know. I already hear enough about it from my therapist, I don’t need to hear about it from you too. The point is that I’ve… I’ve had time to think. And some of the things you did, I can’t forgive you for. But some of it…”

 Tim shrugs. “Martin would always go on about how it wasn’t your fault. About how you were suffering just as much as us. And maybe I didn’t believe it because I was already angry, or maybe I didn’t believe it because all I could think about was finally getting a chance at the revenge I’d chased after for years. But then you were gone, and the Circus was gone, and I just… didn’t have anything left for the anger to hold on to.”

 Jon clutches the flowers tightly in his hands, looks down at the petals. “But you were right,” he says quietly. “A- about me.”

 Tim casts himself back six months and sifts through a metric ton of bitter remarks and angry assumptions. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

 Jon lets out a slow, shaky breath. “About me not being human.”

 Oh.

 “Jon—”

 “Do you know what I was dreaming about?” Jon cuts in before Tim can say anything else. “I- I don’t remember, not really, but… but I can guess. I… I Know, somehow, that- that they were the same dreams, over and over and over again.” Jon takes one of the flower petals between his fingers and rubs it back and forth, a nervous gesture. “I started having them soon after I took this job, you know. Naomi Herne was the first one, and I- I didn’t understand why. Every night, she was trapped in the fog, forced into her own grave, and I would try to move, because it- it felt like I should have been able to, but it- it never worked. So I… I stopped trying after a while. I would stand and watch as she relived one of the worst experiences of her life, every night, and I- I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

 Jon crushes the petal between his fingers. “She was the first one, but- but there are so many more now. Lionel Elliott and Jordan Kennedy and- and, Christ, Georgie—”

 Jon makes a small, unhappy noise. “I don’t know when I realized that they could see me in their dreams too. That in trying to help, I- I’d just made myself another source of terror.”

 Jon falls silent for a few moments; the quiet is filled by the familiar tick tick tick of the clock in the corner. Then, so quietly Tim has to focus on his lips to catch the words, he says, “I… I think I made a choice. Before I woke up. I don’t… I don’t know what it means for me, not really, but I know it means that I’m worse than I was before.” He lets out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. “So, you were right. I’m just- just even less human now.”

 Jon falls silent again, and for a few moments, there’s just tick, tick, tick. Tim rolls the words over in his mind, looks at Jon’s pinched, unhappy expression, and says, “Okay.”

 Jon looks at him then, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Okay?”

 Tim shrugs and repeats, “Okay. You’re not human. I’m not going to pretend like that thrills me or whatever, but it’s… honestly, it’s a lot less of an issue for me now than it was back then.”

 “I- I don’t…” Jon trails off with a frustrated noise. “What?”

 Tim sighs. “A lot’s changed, Jon. Things have… well, things have kind of gone to hell. Honestly, we could use a few monsters who are on our side for a change.”

 Jon blinks at him in stunned silence for a few moments more before saying, bewildered, “... Right. Uh, I- I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you’ve been, then.”

 A wry smile cracks across Tim’s face. “I’ve been just peachy, thanks for asking. Blow up one Circus and suddenly every spooky monster out there wants to kill you. It’s been one big, long, horrible sleepover in the Archives. But hey, at least Elias isn’t there! Now we’ve just got Lukas, and if one or two staff members disappear every once and a while, well—that’s just how it is at the Magnus Institute. Nothing to be concerned about. Sometimes, we still go out for drinks.”

 “Tim,” Jon says flatly. The exasperated expression on his face is so familiar—so Jon—that Tim feels a tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding slip away. 

 “Yeah, yeah,” Tim says, waving a hand absently in Jon’s direction. “Point is, I’m not disappointed or angry or whatever that you’re back in the land of the living.” He pauses, and then, more sincerely: “Martin’s not the only one who’s missed you, okay?”

 Jon’s lips part into an O. Then, his mouth twitches up into a smirk, and he says, “Mm, you’re right. Basira did stop by earlier, and then of course Georgie, and I bet even Melanie—”

 “Unbelievable. And here I was nice enough to come all the way over here, to bring you flowers.”

 “Mm, they are very nice flowers.”

 “Damn right they are.”

 Jon smiles then, a fragile thing, and says, “Thank you, Tim. I… I’ve missed you too.”

 Tim could point out that Jon had been asleep for the majority of the time in question. But he knows that’s not what Jon means. So instead, he offers Jon a smile in return and says, “Be honest: more or less than the Admiral?”

 Jon shoots Tim a flat, unimpressed look. “Tim, don’t be ridiculous. Of course less than the Admiral.”

 .

.

.

 Tim’s been out of the wheelchair for a week when he finally manages to make his way to the roof of the Institute, still learning how to maneuver the crutches he’s moved on to. He swears he can feel every motion of the pins and the rods in his leg—skin covered with even more scars for the collection—as he finally heaves himself through the door and into the cool night air. 

 The view is just as good as he remembers.

 There’s the faint smell of cigarette smoke hanging in the air, and Tim’s entirely unsurprised to see Jon silhouetted against the glow of London, leaning against the wall that rings the roof with his back facing Tim. The cigarette glows a dull red as he raises it to his lips and breathes in.

 Jon doesn’t say anything, even as Tim painstakingly makes his way over to where he’s stood. Tim props his crutches against the wall before leaning his weight heavily against it, arms crossed atop the wall in a mirror image of Jon as they both look out onto the city below, humming with life and light.

 Finally, after a particularly long drag of his cigarette, Jon says, “I’m going to get Daisy.”

 There’s no room for argument in his voice. But that’s never stopped Tim from trying anyways. 

 “I thought you were done doing stupid shit that’ll get you killed,” Tim says, turning his head to look at Jon. Jon’s staring forward, but Tim gets the distinct impression that Jon isn’t looking out at the city at all.

 “It won’t kill me,” Jon says quietly. He moves his hands as he talks, surprisingly competent sign language that he’s begun using tentatively in his conversations with Tim. When Tim had asked him where he’d learned it, Jon had been quiet for a long moment before telling him that he hadn’t.

 Well. At least the Eye was being useful for once.

 “Yeah, whatever,” Tim says. “Dead or not, you’ll still be gone. You know people who crawl into that coffin don’t come back.”

 “I don’t—” Jon cuts off with a frustrated noise. After a moment, he continues, “I have a plan. I- I read a statement, and it said that I would need an anchor. A- a piece of myself to keep here. I can find it when I’m down there, and- and use it to guide me back.”

 “Right,” Tim says dryly. “Because our plans have always gone so well.”

 “What would you have me do, Tim? I- I can’t just do nothing.”

 “Why not?”

 Jon affixes him with an expression that’s half-affronted, half-stunned. “Tim.”

 “What? Jon, we barely know Daisy. She tried to kill you. No, don’t give me that look.” Tim jabs a finger in Jon’s direction. “You know I’m right.”

 “I…” Jon trails off. After a moment, he hugs his arms to himself, his snubbed-out cigarette still smoldering slightly on top of the wall. “I know. But I… I still have to go. I… I’m still going to go.”

 Tim exhales slowly and says, “Right. Suppose I should have expected that.”

 There’s silence between them for a moment. Then, Jon removes his hands from his arms and signs as he says, quietly, “Why don’t you hate me?”

 Tim stares at Jon for a long moment before saying, “What?”

 Jon sighs and repeats, the motions of his hands larger and more emphatic, “Why don’t you hate me? Basira and Melanie, they- they keep looking at me like I’m some… thing, and- and maybe I am. No, not… not maybe. I’m not… I’m not human anymore, and I- I know what you said, but what happens when I—?”

 Jon cuts off with a small, choked noise, like the air’s been sucked out of him all at once. Weakly, he signs, “I’m so hungry, all the time. What happens when I… when I can’t take it anymore? When I- I become dangerous, a- a monster, will you—?”

 Jon’s fingers curl into fists, and he drops his hands to his sides, angling himself away from Tim and staring at an arbitrary point in the distance. “It’s better this way,” he says, loudly enough that Tim can make out the words above the hum of London at night and the ever-present ringing in his ears. “I… I don’t want to go. I don’t want to lose this, to- to lose you and- and Martin. But maybe it’s better than becoming something that will hurt you.”

 Jon won’t meet Tim’s eyes. Carefully, Tim reaches across the space between them and takes Jon’s hand in his, uncurling Jon’s fingers gently in an attempt to release some of the tension. Slowly, he says, “You know, I… I shouldn’t be alive right now. Back after the Unknowing, when I woke up in the hospital, I… I didn’t want to be. It was supposed to be whatever it takes, and to me, that was always going to mean my death. Revenge and poetic justice and all of that. I should have died, but I didn’t. And… and you did. And it’s not something I feel guilty about, because we both made the same choice in the end, but that… that doesn’t stop me from feeling, sometimes, like it was my fault somehow.” He lets out a sharp laugh and says, “Well, I was the one to actually blow the place up in the end, but, you know.”

 Tim holds Jon’s hand carefully in his like it might break otherwise, the mottled texture of the scar tissue firm against his fingertips. His eyes find the thin white line slashed across Jon’s throat, the stark white bandage poking out from the collar of Jon’s shirt where it covers a fresh scalpel wound in his shoulder, the pale pink spots that pepper Jon’s skin in a mirror image of his own. He can’t see the splash of jagged scars across Jon’s back, a memory of shrapnel and white-hot explosions, but he knows they’re there. “You asked why I don’t hate you?”

 When Jon nods mutely, Tim says, “I just… ran out of reasons why I should. I still wanted to, but…” He shrugs and gives Jon a wry, humorless smile. “We’re all just stuck in the same shitty situation. And I guess at some point, I just decided that you hadn’t chosen to be here any more than I did.”

 “Oh,” Jon says, barely audible. 

 Tim takes Jon’s other hand in his, squeezes them firmly, and says, “And I’m sorry. Not for- for how we used to be, because I think the blame for that falls pretty evenly onto both of our shoulders, but… but for everything else. For what’s happened to you. Figured I’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for myself, I might as well extend you the same courtesy.”

 Jon’s fingers tighten around Tim’s, and he mumbles something Tim can’t quite catch. Then, he extracts his hands from Tim’s and signs, shakily, “I’m sorry too. For everything. But for what it’s worth, I… I’m glad you’re here. That you’re not dead. I- I know it’s been bad and- and I wish I could fix that, but I… I don’t know if I can.” Jon’s eyes when they meet Tim’s are sad but determined. “But I can fix this. I- I can get Daisy back. I can find my way out.”

 Tim looks at the firm set to Jon’s mouth, the furrow of his brow, and says, “Okay. But I’m going to hold you to that. Otherwise, I might have to go in after you.”

 Jon looks horrified. “Tim.”

 Tim holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, come back in one piece and we won’t have to worry about it.”

 Jon opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s a long pause before he finally says, decidedly, “I will. I- I promise.”

 Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Tim wants to say. Instead, he shuffles closer to Jon and leans against the wall again, crossing his arms on top of it and looking out over the city. “Good,” he says softly. 

 After a moment, Jon shifts to face the city as well. His arm brushes against Tim’s, and Tim lets that point of contact ground him as he looks up and up and up at the stars above, pinpricks of light on a satin black sky. 

 “Thank you,” Jon says, just loud enough for Tim to hear. 

 Tim moves his hand to cover Jon’s where it sits on the wall and squeezes once. “Yeah.”

 They stand there until sunlight begins to tickle the edges of the horizon. And when Jon gives Tim’s hand one last squeeze, the other holding the lid of the coffin open, and says, “Be back soon,” Tim believes him.

 .

.

.

 Three days later, Jon climbs out of the coffin with dirt caked underneath his fingernails and a thin, sharp hand clutched in his. “Tim,” he says, and Tim ignores the pain in his leg as he lets his crutches drop to the floor and hugs Jon tightly.

 “Looks like I’m staying above ground after all,” Tim jokes, his voice light even as his words come out wet and choked.

 Jon’s laugh vibrates against Tim’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, burying his face in the fabric of Tim’s shoulder to hide his smile. “Yeah.”

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts

Part 25:

You blinked blearily, rubbing the sleep away from your eyes.

For a minute you were disoriented, head spinning in confusion until you pieced together where you were. Who’s apartment you were in. Who was currently still fast asleep in your lap.

You flushed, still just as affected by his proximity as you were earlier. Except- it was slightly different now. Those little kitten snores? The ones you’d previously only heard over the phone? Well, now they were falling from his mouth in real time- in real life. In front of you. He was so close and warm and soft and uncharacteristically quiet and all you wanted to do was kiss him. 

The past few days, you’d been so focused on how he’d lied and his injuries that you’d almost forgotten just how much you liked him. You couldn’t forget now. Not with the way he had a hand under his cheek, fingers just barely curling your sweatshirt in his sleepy grip.

Your fingers itched with the need to touch him- to somehow expel all that rolling fondness and affection that was boiling over in you. You couldn’t help yourself, your fingers beginning to once again move lightly through his hair, scratching idly at his scalp as you went. 

You knew he’d be mad at your actions if he was awake- or flustered and embarrassed at the very least. But you just wanted to be nice to him. To show him how much you cared about him, and you were determined to do that- even if he seemed absolutely allergic to it. 

So you sat and stared shamelessly and soaked up the proximity and warmth radiating off his body. And it was perfect and serene and so sugary sweet for a while- until you realized how much your legs hurt.

They hurt and ached and were sore because Katsuki was heavy.

Absurdly heavy.

And the thing about him was, you were only supporting his head and his shoulders! On your legs too- not even your arms! Even so though, the honest to god weight of him was just ridiculous. He was a solid mass of nothing but strength and power and, quite frankly, ludicrous musculature. And if he wasn’t murdering your legs right now, and not in the fun way, you’re absolutely sure you’d be much more thrilled about these facts.

As it stands now though, nothing but an escape plan was on your mind. Even if the rest of you was only screaming to pull him closer.

“Katsuki.” You tried once more, prodding at his cheek lightly. “Katsuki, c’mon-time to get up.”

He had no reaction. Not even an eye twitch when you ghosted your hands over his face. In all honesty it seemed like he was dead. His breathing was so deep and slow it was almost non-existant and when you called him name, no matter how many times you said it, there wasn’t even a mumble- now whether that was effect of the pain meds or just him ignoring you, you had no idea.

Sighing with finality, and a genuine apology, you lifted his head. It was a struggle, and his unresponsiveness surely didn’t help, but eventually you escaped. You slipped a pillow under his head, patted his cheek fondly, and left towards his kitchen.

Now, was the easy part. Or was supposed to be the easy part- but considering this was Katsuki you should’ve known better.

His fridge was packed to the brim, overflowing with ingredients, but they were all ridiculous health foods. You wanted familiarity and comfort and grease- not green. Not the terrible, bitter, dark green vegetables that seemed to be the only thing he had.

What kind of guy doesn’t have junk food? You thought, shaking your head in utter disbelief. And he tells me I’m the weird one?

With a sigh, you begin rifling through the drawers for something at least a bit fattening, and you can’t kid yourself, it does soothe that itch from earlier. That weird, tingling, constant itch to pick apart every little detail and mix and match them together until you knew every possible thing about Bakugou there was to know. Until you knew things about him that no one else did- until you knew him better than he even knew himself.

And maybe that was selfish, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care all that much. If talking to him, knowing him was intoxicating before, just over the phone, than it was an addiction now. Here in this apartment, surrounded entirely by pieces of him, Katsuki felt real. He felt tangible and honest and complete, and you’d never be satisfied with just texts and phone calls again.

Grinning widely, you grabbed the blocks of cheese, and a few different freshly-cut herbs. Inspiration had struck, and within the weirdly hearty contents of his refridgerator lied your saving grace.

Grilled cheese- because at the end of the day, you were a child through and through.

Gathering the rest of the ingredients, and searching for a pan, you couldn’t contain the warmth in your chest. Not only were you going to be eating good food, but you were sharing it. With your soulmate. It was a weird little bit of domesticity, preparing a meal for him, but you couldn’t say you hated it.

Apparently, you’d made too much noise with the pan, because suddenly you hear shuffling. Glancing behind you, Katsuki is grumbling under his breath as he clambers into the kitchen. He’s all loose limbs and sleepy grunts, grumpily throwing himself down into a seat at the counter, just a few feet away from you.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ, sunshine, could you be any goddamn louder?”

You’re not sure if it’s the combination of the nickname and his crackling sleep-laden voice, or maybe it’s the way his cheeks are stil warmed from sleep, but you melt. Practically dissolve into the floor beneath you. That feeling- that aching one from earlier where all you wanted to do was kiss him silly? Yeah, it’s back now. Back in full-force and unleashing a hellish barrage of butterflies in your stomach.

“Nothin’ to say? Yeah. Thought so. Idiot.” He barks.

“Not a morning person?” You recover, quickly turning back to the stove. Hopefully it’ll cover up the absolute hearts you currently had for eyes.

“It’s 8 PM.”

“It was a joke, angry man.” You laugh. Turning back, you sneak a glance at him, completely unable to help yourself. “Don’t be so grumpy.”

“I’m not fuckin’ grumpy.”

Bakugou mumbles it so quietly and petulantly that you almost can’t hold back your squeal. There he is, just feet away, currently holding the title for World’s Most Adorable Pout and you couldn’t do anything!

Well, maybe you could- if you were bolder and stronger. But you weren’t. Right now you felt weak.

“You could just go back to sleep, you know.” You finally say.

“And let ya fuck up my kitchen unsupervised?” He yawns widely, rubbing at his eyes. “No fuckin’ thanks.”

“It’s only grilled cheese, I think I’ll manage.”

“Grilled cheese? Am I five or some shit?”

“No- but I am. And it’s what I’m making.” You supplied, an easy smile gracing your lips. “So it’s either you have one too, or you starve to death. Your choice, Katsuki dear.”

He blushes when you look at him, hiding it behind his hand. “Yeah. Whatever. Just make sure it’s fucking edible.”

“That’s a tall order, angry man. I might not be able to do it.” You say teasingly, terribly high on a mixture of him and your own fuzzy feelings. “We’ll see, huh?”

Katsuki just nods, dropping his head into his hands. He still looks tired, his eyes half-lidded and eyebrows drawn low, but he’s fighting sleep. Every time you turn to glance at him, he’s blinking himself awake, and every time you turn away you can feel his eyes on your back. It was sweet- until it wasn’t. Until he ruined it.

“Your knife skills are fuckin’ terrible, idiot.”

“Wow- thanks.” You snort, but your motions don’t cease. You’re steady and sure with your chops, even in the face of his ridiculous criticism. “And to think I went to all this trouble for you.”

“You’re just chopping stupid onions.”

“And caramelizing them!” You defend, adding the diced onions into your pan full of oil. You turn back to him, brandishing your knife playfully. “Which you’d know if you let me get that far!”

“A knife! In my own fuckin’ kitchen? That supposed to be a shitty ass threat or somethin’?”

“No, if I was gonna threaten you, I wouldn’t use a knife. That’s just a bad battle tactic, really”

“Yeah?” He takes the bait, perks up a little bit as an easy smile rolls across his face. “What’d you fuckin’ use then, idiot?”

“Fire extinguisher.”

Katsuki’s amused- you know he is, can see it in the way his eyes shine, but he’s fighting it. He’s pulling his mouth into a half-hearted grimace and scowling at you when he replies.

“You’re not fuckin’ funny. That wasn’t funny.”

“I am and it was, but that’s okay.” You shrug, going back to carmelizing the onions. They’re nearly done now, and you add a few spices and a dash more oil in with them. “Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.”

“You’re talking like you can win any.”

“Hey! I’d be careful there, angry man. I know where you live, you know.”

That does elicit a snort from him, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. “You plannin’ to kill me in my sleep?”

“Now if I told you that wouldn’t very much of a plan, would it?”

“No. Guess even a dumbass like you can understand that much.”

“Katsuki,” You sigh dreamily, turning your head to bat your eyelashes at him dramatically. “You have such a way with words! Makes a girl feel so special.”

He seems stunned for a moment, before he blushes and averts his eyes. Recovery for him takes a second- but only just a second.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re so fuckin’ funny.” He grumbles, mouth drawn into a thin line. “What’s got you so goddamn cheery anyway?”

“Took a nap. Feelin’ energized.”

“When?”

“When you took one?” You say, idly stirring the ingredients in the pan. “What- you thought I was awake the whole time? That I did nothing but just pet your hair and watch you sleep? For hours?”

He doesn’t say anything, and that seals it for you.

Katsuki had to be the cutest thing on Earth. Just the most adorable little rabid thing who you wanted to keep forever and hug super close and maybe kiss all over. He was precious, and when you looked over to see that he was indeed blushing- well, those feelings only multiplied 1000x over.

“N-no! I didn’t! Fuck no! Don’t be fucking stupid!” He defends, all sleep now gone from his features. “I didn’t! I didn’t and I don’t so shut the fuck up about it!”

You’re not sure if it was the nap or his flustered state that gives you strength, but you’re crossing the room before you can help it. Standing just on the other side of the counter, you lean across it on your elbows, catching his gaze. There’s feelings fluttering wildy in your chest- warm, blistering, uncontainable feelings threatening to burst through your skin and you find you just can’t help yourself.

“Would you like me to pet your hair and watch you sleep for hours? Huh? Katsuki?”

He damn near jolts in his seat- back ridgid and jaw set and eyes so very, very, alive. Flushing, red gathers around his cheeks and his neck and the tips of his ears. Your ears ring prematurely in anticipation, in pure sympathy for the way your ear drums are seconds away from being burst entirely.

“Why the fuck- I didn’t! Why the fuck would you even say that?” He screams, voice tearing from his throat with a feral growl. “You think your funny or some shit? Asking weird shit and being fucking weird in my goddamn kitchen? Tryna start a fuckin’ fight with me? I’ll start a fuckin’ fight!”

Bakugou square his shoulders, mouth set into a determined line through his harsh words. He’s pushing away from the counter, just barely swinging his legs over the chair when you reach him.

“Sit back down, angry man.” You laugh, the sound uncontrollable as it tumbles from your mouth. You push at his rising shoulders until he relents. Watching as he sinks back into his seat, you smile widely. “No fight! I was joking!”

“Well I don’t think your jokes are very fuckin’ funny!”

“Mhm, I know.” You say indulgently, unable to keep the fondness from your tone. “But don’t worry, grumpy, I think that’s all I have. No more jokes for tonight.”

“Now you’re just fuckin’ lying to me.” He barks, but even through the bite you can hear his smile. “You really are askin’ for a fight, aren’t ya?”

“No, I’m not. Seriously.” You soothe.

He doesn’t say anything, just goes back to watching you cook. You’re dropping bread into the pan, watching it brown and adding cheese. Some of the shredded cheese hits the pan, burns quickly- makes a popping sound.

The smile captures your face before you can stop it. Again, you find that you really just can’t help yourself around him.

“And even if I was starting a fight,” You start again, laughing lightly with your back turned to him. “I wouldn’t get very far now, would I? You’d blow me up in a second, huh, angry man?”

You hear him shift in the chair, hear his sharp exhale and his arms hitting the counter. You expect an angry retort, hell, maybe even a cocky one- but that’s not what you get when you turn to face him.

“I would never blow you up.”

His eyes widen, shoulders tensing immediately. You weren’t fairing any better- just as surprised by his quick statement as he was.

In all your life, in all your soulmate fantasies, you had never imagined the words “I would never blow you up” to be the tipping point for you. You never imagined that those words would be what sent you over- what broke the weird dam of feelings that had been welling in you since the day you texted him. But it was.

You were crossing the kitchen before you knew it, careful, sure, strides carrying you to his side. You hands fell around his cheeks, tilting his head up to meet your eyes, and suddenly, all at once, it hit you.

“I like you.” You admit breathlessly, your fond laugh erupting from your chest and raw and unfettered and real. “I- I like you so much, you asshole. You know that? Right?”

He looks winded, his eyes widening as you draw slow circles with your thumbs on his cheeks. You can just barely see it, he only just hardly lets you, but you watch the way he leans into your touch. Just the barest bit of extra weight in your hands, only for a moment, before he pulls back just a bit, smirking up at you.

“Fuckin’ said that already, dumbass.”

“Katsuki!”You whine in protest, rolling your eyes as you let go of his cheeks. “I was being nice!”

You had planned to retreat after that, but the way he suddenly smiles keeps you rooted where you stand. It’s confident little smirk, sitting just at the edge of his mouth- it’s so coy and immature and playful and so very much him that it pulls you in. You’re stepping closer, just a little, and that only makes him, as if he understands, smirk a little more.

He’s like a magnet, you realize, blushing wildly. A dangerous magnet- and I’m an idiot for letting myself get this close.

“I was bein’ nice.” He finally says, grin absolutely shit-eating at this point. “What the hell are you complain’ about, woman- that was nice. You don’t like me bein’ nice to you?”

“That was not nice!”

“I think it was.” He shrugs, so very self-assured and taking the piss. “Think maybe you’re just too fuckin’ sensitive? Hah?”

It’s the way he says it- so cooly and calmly and almost smugly. Like he’s got you backed into a corner and just waiting under his finger. And, truthfully, he does, but you’re much too competitive to just accept that. Much too familiar with the way he’ll blush and scream and fluster at even a hint of pushback. So even with shaky breaths, and a heart fluttering out of control, you challenge him.

“Out of the two of us,” You start, a shaky hand ghosting feather-light under his chin, just barely tilting his face up. “I’m not the sensitive one.”

He takes the bait, just as you knew he would, and rises to it. Even blushing as he was, Katsuki only inches closer in challenge, catching your gaze in full. “Big fuckin’ words, sunshine. Be careful.”

The nickname was playing dirty, and he knew it. You could see it in the careful set of his jaw, the way that incredibly irritating smirk was still sitting unbidden across his stupid beautiful face. You couldn’t let him win. You just couldn’t. 

“Yeah, you’re so angry, aren’t you? So scary, pop rocks.” You tease, desperately trying to move past your breathlessness. Your hand moves on it’s own, threading carefully through his hair. “But not around me.”

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’ve gone soft, Katsuki.”

His hackles raise at that, and he clenches his jaw, eyes raging like wildfires. Bakugou doesn’t move away though, only gets closer, his hot breath hitting your face. “I’m. Not. Fuckin’. Soft!”

“Really?”

He nods, so very determined and offended and focused that you laugh. Your giggle makes him angry, you can see it in his eyes, but that only draws you closer. Only a few inches separate the two of you, but it’s like you can’t get close enough. It’s his magnetism, the way he’s still provoking you -despite being so red- that has your hands dropping from his head, crossing together behind his shoulders. You giggle again, warm, happy, heat flooding you at the proximity.

“Prove it then, Katsuki.”

Your defiance only seems to make him angrier. To make him boil because then he’s snarling, eyebrows creasing sharply, and he’s surging upwards, pressing his lips to yours. There’s no grace to it, no soft romance, just brutal pressure and his sharp teeth and his rough hands on your face. All things considered, it was the most aggressive kiss you’d ever recieved, but maybe you should’ve expected that. Still, it takes your breath away, nearly knocks your feet out from under you.

“Still think I’m fuckin’ soft?” Bakugou pulls away, so red he’s about to explode, but he’s still sitting there smirking like he’s won. “Hah?”

You can’t help it- you’d never heard his voice, felt it against your skin this close before. You shiver. That only seems to amuse him more, but then he’s looking past you. 

“Bread’s gonna fuckin’ burn.”

“Y-yeah!” You’re shocked out of whatever hold he had you in, shoulders straightening as you backed away. “Yeah. I know. I got it.” 

You felt winded, nearly weightless and fuzzy and flying as you turned back to the food. Your lips still tingled, fire sitting unrelenting in your cheeks as you finished. Part of you wondered where the hell that Katsuki came from, but then again, you figured that was part of him all along. He wouldn’t lose to anybody- and definitely not to you. 

You plate up the food, and when you turn around he’s still smirking. You want to kiss the smugness right off his idiotic gorgeous lips and you promise yourself you will. Later. 

“It’s hot, so be careful.” You say, sliding his plate across the counter to him.

“Obviously, dumbass. You think I’m that fuckin’ stupid?”

“No, but I’d hate for you to burn your taste buds off before you could really eat.” You smile, rounding the counter with your own food and taking a seat next him. “You’d really be missing out!” 

“What- you make it special or some shit?”

“Mhm. Just for you, angry man!” You laugh. “Figured you deserved something good after all your hard work and heroics.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen, so comically large and bright as he blushes and bites his knuckle. He turns away so quick, nearly cracking his neck with how fast he averts his eyes. “D-don’t just say that shit to me. Fucking weirdo.”

You took a deep breath, physically willing yourself not to turn away and squeal as loud as you could. He just had no right to be that adorable. Katsuki had fully kissed you, hands on your face and biting pressure, but he drew the line at being served food? At being served kind words? 

Oh- oh. You realized. It was words for him- affirmation. That was his real weakness. You filed it away, incredibly excited for the next time you got to test that little theory out on him. 

Dinner was an interesting affair- it was quiet and relatively calm, at least for everyone but the poor grilled cheese you’d served to him. He’d torn into it the second it was cool enough, nearly demolishing it in his sharp teeth. You figured you should’ve guessed that, that he’d eat the way he did everything else- aggressively.  

“You want anything else?” You ask, gathering the plates and cleaning up the counter.

“No. I’m good.” He grunts. “Thank you for the food, but if I want anything else I’ll get it my fuckin’ self.” 

“A simpler thank you would’ve worked just as well.”

“It’s- I’m not,” He grumbles, stubborn as ever. “The food was good. Thank you. I’m just saying you didn’t have to go to all the fuckin’ trouble. If I need somethin’ I’ll get it. I’m not a fuckin’ invalid who can’t do anything.”

“Oh my god.” You mumble under your breath, spinning around to face him. “Will you please just let me help you?”

“I don’t fuckin’ need it.”

“Katsuki- c’mon, just let me take care of you. Help you. Please.”

He looks stunned, maybe even vulnerable, as you near. You take one of his hands in yours.

“Don’t be so stubborn, angry man. I just want to take care of you.” You plead, not letting him look away. “Somebody’s gotta right? Especially since you’re still sore.”

“‘M-’m not that sore. I’ll be fuckin’ fine. Done it before.”

“Yeah, maybe, you have, and I’m sure you still could. I know you’re strong.” You supply. “So strong- but you don’t always have to be strong all by yourself anymore. We can be strong together. I’m here for you, you know?”

Something in his eyes seems so tiny and small and unsure at your words, and it breaks your heart. There aren’t enough words in the world for all you want to say in that moment, so you just take his head in your hands, kiss him with every bit of care and concern you hold for him.

Well you pull back, he won’t look at you, his cheeks gone nearly as red as his vulnerable eyes. His shoulders shake, and he takes a deep breath, turning his head to place a tiny little kiss into the palm of your hand. He doesn’t say anything, but the tiny action communicates almost everything you need to know.

“I saw that fall, alright?” You soothe, thumbs rubbing over his cheeks. “It was pretty nasty, and you’ve gotta be feeling shitty right now. I get it, and I don’t think less of you for it, and I’m not taking ‘pity’ on you or whatever you’re thinking so much about- I really just want to help you feel better. Because I care about you, and I’m so proud of you of saving that kid, and you deserve so many nice things. You gotta let someone help you, okay?”

He nods slowly, but you can see the resistance in the grimace of his mouth. It wasn’t easy for him- accepting help and admitting to any sort of fragility. You’d knew he’d fight you every step of the way- but that was okay. You’d never backed down from one of his challenges before.

“Now, I’m gonna ask you again, and I want you to just listen. Just listen and answer.” You tap a finger against his cheek. “What can I do to help you right now?”

“I-I fuckin’- I can’t.” He breathes, stuttered and anxious, frustrated eyes flitting between every object in the room. “Embarrassing- you’re fuckin’ tryin’ to- I don’t need stupid special treatment! I’m not weak!”

“I know. I know. I’m not saying you are.” You close the distance, pressing a light kiss into his hairline. “Being hurt isn’t the same thing as being weak. Being injured doesn’t mean you’re weak- and accepting help due to those injuries doesn’t make you weak either. You survived that fall because you’re strong, but you don’t have to be right now. Not unless that’s what you really want- not unless being alone right now is really what would help you best.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares up at you with eyes so guarded that it makes you want to cry.

“Is it? Is that what you want?” You ask tenatively. “If you’re really not feeling up to it, just want to shut down and sleep instead, I don’t have to be here. I want to, because I care about you, but I won’t force you. I can leave if-“

Bakugou suddenly grasps at your wrist, fingers twitching on your skin. His eyes are closed and his eyebrows are pinched, but he presses your hand into his burning cheeks.

“Yeah. Okay.” You whisper, the fondness and affection dripping from your words, thick and heavy as they leave your mouth. “I get it. I understand- you don’t have to say it.”

He just nods tightly, eyes still closed.

You stay there for a moment, just breathing in the rare vulnerability that was rolling off of him. Then you find it’s not enough- that you need more contact. You’re surging forward, tucking his head into your neck as you wind feather-light arms around him, careful to avoid his injuries.

Bakugou fights it, going rigid and stiff and resitant at first. He hardly looks at you, just barely, but you catch his gaze and nod. It’s all it takes before he’s allowing himself to sink into you, his arms pulling you closer.

It’s hesitancy, than acceptance and than desperation, and suddenly he’s holding you so tightly, clutching at you like you’re gonna fade. Like you’ll slip through his calloused fingers. It makes you ache. Sends volts of throbbing pain through your chest that have you squeezing him tighter.

It makes you want to sob- the way he seemed so resistant to softness despite being so obviously starved for it. You wondered if anyone else had stuck around this long; if anyone else had noticed just how desperate he was for someone to finally hear him.

It was alright now, you figured. He had you now and you’d listen for as long as he allowed you to.

“You don’t have to say anything,” You start, voice quiet, turning your head to whisper against his hair. “But I want you to know that I think you’re good. That I think that you’re so strong, the absolute bravest, and that you did a really good thing saving that kid. I believe you- when you said that you were working on it. You’re not so angry anymore and I get it. I know I haven’t know you that long, but still, I’m so proud of you for it.”

He just melts into you further, a shuddering breath against your neck. You think you can feel a smile- just the tiniest little twitch of his lips. A hesitant, honest, thing that has unbridled fondess tearing through your chest.

You stay like that for a few minutes, so close and warm and connected, before he’s pushing you away. Just barely pressing away from you until he can look you in the eyes.

“I- uh, I fuckin’ like you too.” He stutters out, so very red and exposed and genuine. He seems to struggle with the eye contact, but he holds it anyway. “And think you’re okay. Or whatever.”

Truthfully, you wanted to tease him. Wanted to giggle and laugh and pick apart the words because he just added a “Or whatever” to the end of his declaration. It was quite possibly the lamest possible phrase to tack onto the end of an emotional statement and you wanted to say something- but now wasn’t the time for that. You didn’t even want to imagine the walls he’d put up if you laughed at him right now.

So you didn’t, you just pulled him close again. Hugged him tight and hid your pleased smile where he couldn’t see it. Bakugou stills then, resting his head against you and shutting his eyes. His anxiety fades from his shoulders and his breathing slows; if you you didn’t know any better you’d swear he was falling asleep.

“You want more pain meds?” You ask after a while. “Think it’s probably about time.”

He just nods. You begin to move away, and he follows you for a second. Just a second though- and then he’s catching himself and fisting his hands tightly shut in his lap, cheeks flushing.

“The nightime ones look pretty intense.” You comment, reading the label on the bottle. You give it a playful shake. “You wanna get high, angry man?”

He’s scoffing and rolling his eyes but he’s smiling too. Katsuki holds a hand out and you toss him the bottle.

“Not a fuckin’ baby.” He grunts, twisting open the bottle. He dry-swallows the pills; you he does it just to prove a point. “I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know, those pills kinda look like horse tranquilizers. Worringly so.” You refill his glass of water, shoving it towards him before he can protest. “Now drink up. Then you’re spending the rest of the night on the couch, where you should’ve been. The whole time. Resting.”

“Jeez, pushy woman. I get it. Chill out already.”

“How am I supposed to chill out when you keep not listening to me, huh?” You take the empty glass from his hands. “Now, c’mon, go- back to the living room. I know you’re not gonna let me help you, but I swear to god, if I don’t see you hobbling away in a few seconds, I’m gonna be really angry at you.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, all petulant dramatics and huffy sighs, but gets up anyway- actually listens to you even if it seems like it physically pains him. Actually, knowing him, it probably does.

He collapses into the couch as you bring another water over- just in case. You meant it when you said you didn’t want him getting up again.

“So, I’m thinkin’ you’ve got, max, maybe 30 minutes? Possibly 45?” You say settling in on the other side of the couch. “So pick a movie.”

He looks at you a little weirdly. “Why?”

“Because those meds are gonna knock you the fuck out.” You laugh, unable to hold it in. “And because watching movies is a relaxing activity. And that’s what you’re supposed to be doing right now. Relaxing.”

“So you’ve fuckin’ said. I get it, woman. Put whatever you want on, I don’t care.”

“Really? No preference at all?”

“No.” He puffs out his cheeks, averts his eyes. “Normally don’t have time for that shit.”

You can’t help it- the way you find yourself sidling right up next to him. You’re careful, sure to avoid all his sore limbs, but you take a chance and poke at his chest lightly.

“No time, huh?” You say, catching his eyes. “I’ll find a way to change that.”

His eyes widen and his cheeks redden, and as usual, he doesn’t say anything. Katsuki just hides his face over your head, tucking you into his chest as he huffs.

“Course you fuckin’ would. You’re the most irritating woman I’ve ever met.”

“I’m gonna choose to take that as a complement.”

“You fuckin’ shouldn’t. It’s not.”

“Well, I think I will anyway.” You giggle, sinking into his hold. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you like me- you did kiss me first, you know.”

Bakugou goes ridgid at that, face heating as he forcibly shucks you from him. He looks appalled, absolute disbelief covering his features.

“T-that’s not! I fuckin’- I did that shit to win! Because you said I was soft! I’m not fucking soft, you shitty woman!”

“Mhm. I know.” You laugh, nearing him again and stopping just inches from his red face. You’re blushing too, horribly so, but you can’t help teasing him. Nothing could stop you from riling him up further- it was your favorite past-time after all. “You wanna try winning again? I’ll promise I’ll let you. Katsuki.”

Pop.

He shrinks back in his seat, jolts like he’s the one who just got shocked. He isn’t. You are- and you’re laughing and smiling and breaking the tension all at once.

“That’s- Don’t fuckin’ do that to me! Goddamn witch! What the hell is that? Fuckin’ breaking my quirk? What the fuck?” He roars as he tucks his hands under his legs. “You know how long I been workin’ on controlling that shit? Just to have you walk in and fuck it up? Stop it! I fuckin- you make me so mad! Stop laughing!”

“I-I’m not. I’m not! It’s just,” You begin, breathless and gasping. “I was wondering, you know, why that hadn’t happened in a while, but now I know why. And it’s adorable.”

“Shut up! It’s not and I’m not- I’m fucking cool as shit so don’t go running your fuckin’ mouth about it! You don’t know what you’re talking about, damn dumbass, you don’t know shit!”

You sober a little bit, admiration shining clearly in your eyes when you look at him. When you look at his red face- the way he flustered. Because that’s the secret, you discovered; he only popped when you embarrassed him.

“Stop yelling already.” You giggle, pressing closer to him. “It’s not a bad thing, angry man. You make me nervous too, you know?”

He spares a look at you, blinking dumbfounded at your statement. Like he couldn’t believe it. It was such a ridiculous, oblivious look on his face that you couldn’t stop yourself- you just had to kiss it away.

As much noise as he was making, it all dies away the second you meet his lips. All the resistance fades and he melts into it, hands grasping under your chin to keep you close to him.

The first kiss was about winning, and the second one about validation, and those were good, amazing, but this one was nothing but fondess. A torrent of burning, boiling, affection as your lips moved against his. It was a tender kiss, much softer and slower than the first one, and a lot more delicate but you liked it just the same. Liked being able to finally act on all the feelings you’d been storing up for weeks.

The completion you’d felt from this kiss far surpassed the charged kisses from earlier. This was kissing him just because you could, because you wanted to, and you were sure this was heaven- at least, as close to heaven as any one human should ever be allowed to get.

It felt like flying, like hurtling above the earth and surging through the clouds. Like you were Icarus and you breached the atmosphere to soar against the surface of the sun. His hands fell to the base of your spine, pressing you firmly against him, and suddenly you knew. Knew it for sure, in your bones like it’d always been carved in there-you might’ve been Icarus, but he’d never let you fall. You would get to blister and scorch and burn for as long as you’d wanted but your wax would never melt. There was no fear when falling with him. Falling for him.

You pull away, but you don’t go too far. Don’t think you could separate even if you tried. Katsuki was an addiction, a powerful, potent thing and the only salve for that itch in your skin was being close to him. As close as you could possibly manage.

He didn’t say anything, just ragged breathes as he pulled you close. That was alright, you figured, you already knew he wasn’t a man of many words. At least not of many nice ones. The thought made you giggle.

“What the fuck are you laughin’ about, idiot?” He huffs, cheeks still bright red. “What’s so fuckin’ funny, hah?”

“Nothing. I just like you. A lot.”

The statement was easy, falling from your mouth like it was seared into your tongue. You’d knew the affect it would have- that he’d jump in his skin and go shy under your touch. That was half the reason you said it after all.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, dropping a quick kiss to his heated cheek just because you could. He only seems further embarrassed by your action, hands unconciously scrunching the material of your sweatshirt. “You’re killing me.”

“Good.” He mumbles juvenilely, looking anywhere to avoid your eyes. “Die then. Fuckin’ burn, you witch.���

The laugh that tears from your chest is full and heavy and so very filled with joy that it sucks the air out of you. Has you grasping for breath as you clutch your stomach, a hand braced on the cushion behind you as you absolutely lose yourself. When the tears finally clear from your eyes, you see him smiling, apparently very pleased with his joke. Which, to be completely honest, you were too. It was a very funny joke, after all.

“You can’t- you shouldn’t call your soulmate a witch, Katsuki!”

He just shrugs, smile still stretched across his face as he watches you.

“Jesus christ, what am I gonna do with you?” You ask, heaving a breath as your last giggles fade. “You’re a real handful, you know?”

He nods, looking once again all too pleased with himself. You see his pupils though- the way they’ve slowly dialated from the meds. You had to hand it to him, being that present while fighting heavy narcotics? He really was the best at everything.

“Alright, alright, enough jokes from you, Mr. Funny Man.” You say, standing quickly to grab the blanket across the room. You sit back down, setting it to the side as you pat your lap. “Lay down.”

“I’m not-“

“Just lay down, you stubborn idiot.” You sigh. “I can see your eyes. You’re tired, aren’t you?”

“Not that fuckin’ tire-“

“I said, you’re tired, aren’t you?” You interrupt sternly.

He just looks at you, rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that night, and collaspes into your lap. You spread the blanket over him, nearly cooing when he pulls it up to his chin and closes his eyes. He then abruptly shifts, movements jerky and aggressive as he turns onto his side and wraps his arms around you stomach.

“Aww, Katsuki-“

“Shut the fuck up, woman.” He bites out, not even bothering to open his eyes. “Say a goddamn thing and I’ll fucking bite you.”

“Ooo kinky.”

True to his word, he does bite. Not a cute bite either- it’s all pressure and sharp teeth and locked jaw against your stomach, all ridiculous force through your sweatshirt, and you swear to god if he wasn’t so cute you’d slap him.

“Katsuki!” You shrill, hands pushing his head away. “Ow! Stop! That hurts, you bitch!”

“Told you. Fuckin’ warned ya.” He grunts, relenting with a smug smile as he nuzzles back into your stomach- this time without teeth. “Now turn on the TV. Need background noise to drown you the fuck out.”

“You’re so mean!” You whine, but you’re still petting his hair fondly, shifting as minutely as you could to grab the remote.

He doesn’t say anything as the TV clicks to life, filling the room with soft instructions as the cooking channel drones on. You watch it for a while, perfectly content and sated as you scratch at his scalp. You wouldn’t pick the cooking channel on a normal day- but let’s face, you weren’t really paying that much attention to it.

Katsuki shifts suddenly, sleepily prods the base of your spine with a single finger until you jump.

“God.” You huff. “What?”

“You should stay.”

“S-stay?”

“Tonight.” He slurs, eyes just barely sliding open to display his glazed pupils. “Here.”

He’s trying to blink himself away now, hardly able to keep his eyes open. You see his blown pupils and feel his sluggish limbs- that medicine really was doing a number on him. Turns out, even the great Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t stronger than literal drugs.

Your stomach sank as you continued to look him. You wanted to stay- truly you did. But you couldn’t. It was a sunday, you had class in the morning, and your university was over in the next city.

You should stay.” He insists again.

“I’m can’t stay.”

“Fuckin- why?” He pokes your cheek with a sluggish limb, just barely missing your eyes. His own are coated in mild irritation. “Hate me that much or somethin’?”

“No.” You laugh fondly, batting his hands away and gathering them in your own. “I have class tomorrow morning, angry man.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but you watch his lips pull into a pout. He pokes your cheek again. “Drop out of school.”

“I’m not gonna drop out of school.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m almost finished.” You supply indulgently, cradling his sleepy face in your hands. “I can always visit tomorrow.”

“No. Now.”

“Katsuki,” You giggled, unable to contain it. “I really can’t. I can’t just do everything you say, you know.”

“Never fuckin’- never do anythin’ I say.”

“I know.”

He’s quiet again, head lolling to bury itself back into your stomach. You look at the time, and laugh- you guess 9:47 was past his bed time even when he wasn’t sky high off of pain meds.

“Stay.” He orders again, arms winding tighter against your stomach.

“You’re so loopy, my dear angry man.” You coo, catching his face in your palms, tilting his head until you meet his glazed eyes. “God, I can’t wait to tell you about this tomorrow morning.”

“When you’re still here.”

“I’m not- Katsuki!” You giggle. “What has that medicine done to you, oh my god.”

He just shrugs, closing his eyes as he drops his head back further into your palms. At this point, so flustered and outright giddy at his adorable actions, you were sure that your hands had to be shaky- but if they were he certainly didn’t seem to mind.

“Are you serious, right now? It’s- that’s all your weight! What’re you gonna do; just break your neck if I move my hands?”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ probably.”

“That’s not a good answer.”

“Mhm. Don’t move ‘em then.” He slurs. “World’s- world’s gonna be real fuckin’ mad if you kill me.”

You want to retort, want to argue with him and his ridiculousness, but he wouldn’t be awake to find out. He’s fallen asleep almost as soon as he finishes the thought, head falling completely into your palms, even more dead weight than before. Surpressing a squeal, you set his head back down on your thighs, heart pounding wildly when he nuzzles into your stomach.

His kitten snores start again, those same adorable little ones from earlier, and it’s like you had no choice. Mid-terms were coming up soon, and it was a terrible choice to skip class tomorrow morning, and your back would kill you when you woke up, but your grave was dug the second he’d cuddled into you.

Bakugou Katsuki always got his way after all- always won, even when it came to you. So you didn’t fight the sleep gathering in your eyes, letting your head fall heavy against the cushion behind you.

You stayed. You would stay, and you knew it was just because he asked you to, because he had you wrapped so tightly and completely around his explosive fingers- no matter how much you wanted to deny it.

//-//

enjoy the fluff kissy kissy :))

[dipyronegirl]

i got waaay too drunk last night (which led me to have an awful time w awful ppl in a nightclub), went home at 4 am, ate way too little yesterday, and had way too much food for dinner tonight, i’m probably dehydrated, forgot to take my meds both yesterday and today and generally have been vaping waaay too much and sleeping either too little or too much for a couple of weeks now, and i’m too old for this. i’m just so, so old for this. my body can’t take this kind of thing anymore. i used to be fine at 14, going to nightclubs and drinking and smoking and having the worst sleep schedule possible, popping a pill every now and then, drinking coffee until my hands shaked, but i used to be fine?? but i think my body just can’t take it anymore, i think maybe if you live your adolescence with enough intensity, you’re 46 by the time you hit your 20s. i’m 20 years old and i’ve had enough. i just took a few too many hits of this fucking grape ecig that i hate with all my heart and got dizzy, which is fine, but then it didn’t pass, and my hands started moving way too much like on their own and i realized i was really jittery, realized my stomach was a little too full and it’s uncomfortable, and got nauseous. started pacing around the house, just pacing, walking around like i have somewhere to be, messing with my hair, gathering my shit as if i was actually doing something, but i’m just taking random objects and placing them somewhere else?? realized what i was doing and sat down, still a little nauseous, felt my chest hurt (?) and started breathing faster on purpose to try to make myself cry. it worked, cried a bit, which is why i feel a little better i think. what is wrong w me. i think i’m gonna take 3mg bromazepam and just hope it fixes it for tonight, no more than that or i’ll be numb all day tmr and i have shit to do. ok i’m a little relieved that i got this out thanks everyone