#unrequited love
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slondile · 2 days ago
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I wish i loved myself enough to leave you.
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aurynsia · 2 days ago
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Unrequited, Terrifying Chapter 4
James Potter x Reader
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Summary: While studying with the Marauders, you realise you misjudged them, rekindling feelings for your primary suspect…
Warnings: Extremely fluffy, nervous!james x shy!reader, some subtle wolfstar action in the background, idiots in love, oc!friends, lovesick!james, no use of Y/N, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, swearing, all fluff with a side of plot, intense pining and I mean INTENSE, James starts off scared of you but quickly learns to be openly in love, NOT EDITED!
Word count: 1.7K
Series Masterlist
Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
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Slipping through the aisles of shelves lined with books of spells and history, you made your way towards the tables and chairs scattered in the middle of the room. The furthest table was occupied by the four boys you were in search of: the Marauders.
Approaching the Gryffindor boys, you noticed the quiet passing of paper between Remus and James, both scribbling small notes in a hurried manner. “Ehem- hello…” you spoke softly once you were within hearing range. Four pairs of eyes shot up to meet yours, each looking more afraid of your presence than the last.
Remus graced you with a bright smile, mouthing “hey” in reply. Across from him sat Sirius, who wore a look of surprise that quickly shifted into a lopsided smirk, nodding in greeting. Peter was startled by your presence but showed no sign of genuine fright, unlike James.
The head boy sat at the end of the table, breath hitching when you spoke with eyes blown wide.
They had saved you a seat between James and Remus, which you promptly moved to, busying yourself to shift the attention off of you. You placed your material on the table, pulling out your notebook.
You were suddenly very aware of your surroundings, shifting uncomfortably in your seat and glancing at the boy next to you, meeting his gaze before turning red and glancing back down.
Remus caught your attention, calling your name and gesturing to the book he had placed in front of you. “I thought we could revise the content in chapter four and quiz each other,” he said.
You and Remus were thirty minutes into your study session, writing with intention as you took pages of organised notes in dark ink before Sirius struck up a conversation.
“Your handwriting is very pretty,” he looked at you with a grin, “Prongs, look how neat her handwriting is!” After a beat, James shifted to look over your notes and gave a shy smile.
“Oh, Godric, he’s right…” he spoke softly, looking intently as he admired your penmanship like an artwork in the Louvre. His look of curiosity shifted when he met your gaze, gulping as he pushed back into his seat with rose cheeks. Your face was burning too.
“Thank you…” you stuttered out. Sirius was watching the interaction with a snarky grin plastered across his face, ready to push James’ buttons some more.
“I only bring it up because James has awful handwriting,” he stated, “See? It’s practically sprawled all over the place!” You glanced at the boy’s scattered writing, letters not quite aligning with each other across the page. You giggled, mustering a sense of courage as you sunk into comfortable banter with the group. “Well, whatever he’s doing with his writing seems to work, James always gets great marks in class!”
Sirius smirked at your praise, eyebrows raised and laced with visual sarcasm, as if to say “bold move, sweetheart”. You found the table of boys to actually be very easy to talk to. You glanced at James’ direction once more, admiring the bashful grin he showed you in thanks.
Your eyes met his writing again, noticing the boyish quality with which he wrote. It felt familiar, like you’d seen the print before. You took this as a sign that your feelings for the boy must have never really died after all, finding so much blissful comfort in his presence.
Remus reluctantly interrupted the moment again, realising he should at least act like studying was the only reason he invited you here. “Right, think you can handle a quick quiz now, love? Test that big brain of yours?” You closed your books and met his eyes, harvesting a glint of confidence in your own. “Bring it on.”
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“I invited her to study.”
“What?”
“We’re in the same class for History of Magic, she’s very good you know.”
“You mean, she’s coming here? Now?”
“Who did you think the empty seat was saved for?”
James’ eyes flashed emotion after emotion, from hope to excitement to nervousness, before finally settling on fear. The note traveling back and forth between Remus’ pen and his own was losing space, and he began to flip it over in order to scrawl a series of exclamations and offensive names directed at his friend.
The soft call of a greeting from your position standing by the table made him pause his actions, his heart plummeting into his stomach and swimming aimlessly. He backed further into his chair, praying to Merlin that he could merge with the wood and disappear.
When his prayers weren’t answered, his eyes flickered to the boy who caused this encounter to happen, cursing him with his gaze.
You had settled into your designated chair, so close that he could smell the intoxicating perfume you had deliberately sprayed this morning. His lips parted at the scent, imagining you would smell even sweeter with his nose buried in your neck, unruly curls being massaged by your soft touch, waist encapsulated in his grasp.
Your eyes met his, catching him explicitly staring at you through lidded eyes. Your quick reaction to turn away pulled him out of his trance, beginning to focus on his work once more.
James’ writing manifested as a mess of nerves and lovestruck adoration. He continued to steal quick glances at your pretty face, wise eyes, soft lips, delicate skin and sweet hair that framed your face in such a perfect way under the library lights.
He mentally blessed the table for obscuring his vision of your enticing legs and providing a physical barrier between himself and your warmth, otherwise he might just curl up at your side and drift off to sleep in the comfort you emitted.
Sirius’ utterance of “Prongs” brought his attention back to the group as he explained that your handwriting was pretty and James should look at it. When are you ever not pretty? Merlin, he was whipped.
James shifted to look over your notes, the links and chains between each letter more mesmerising than the last. “Oh, Godric, he’s right…” he whispered, still staring at the perfection on the page. You were perfect.
Your small thank you sounded flustered, calming him in the knowledge that there was a chance he could make you feel the same way he did, buzzing and warm in your presence.
Sirius continued teasing the boy, motioning for you to look at his awful handwriting. James let out a silent laugh at the sudden attention, though it manifested as more of an infatuated sigh as you curiously peered at his notes.
You turned to face Sirius again, before nonchalantly glancing back at James and smiling as you said his writing gets great marks in class nonetheless.
James was grinning ear to ear with a smile that could blind a crowd of angels, cheeks pigmented with a red glow and eyes squinting from pure joy. He wanted nothing more than to bask in the warmth of your quick wit and charming softness.
When the Marauders arrived back at their dorm that night, James rushed to his desk to spill his feelings onto a page. He quickly folded the note into another baby blue envelope, running over to the girls’ dorms and slipping the note below your door.
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The night was quiet, a soft breeze flowing through your open window. Your friends were tucked in and sleeping soundly as you gave into temptation and reread the messages you had received so far.
A subtle sound of commotion from your door stole your attention from the notes as yet another one appeared at its base, baby blue and addictive.
You scrambled to your feet, scooped up the message and jumped back into bed.
Throwing open the envelope marked with your name, you began to read its contents with a lovestruck haze to your vision.
“I long for you. You’ll never understand the sheer desperation you spark within me with every breath you take. My heart feels ripped out of my chest and locked away by your subtle glances, your bright smile, your shy demeanour. I want nothing more than to exist in the shelter of your love, capturing the sickeningly sweet tune of your voice in my long term memory to keep me sane. To keep me alive.” The note continued on the other side of the paper, which you flipped.
“I’ve been blessed with a proximity to you recently that can only be described as intoxicating. I breathe your attention. It fuels me to act a little more confident every time I see you, for all that you allow me gives me strength in my lovestruck prison, whispering sweet nothings to me in my dreams at the dead of night. Speaking of dreams, it seems the grasp your minor affection has on my attention forces me into a state of sleep paralysis, and I’m starting to think the only cure is your lips on mine and your presence in my lonely bed. If you haven’t realised who I am already, my love, time will tell. I’m so fucking obsessed with you, it’s unmissable. Forever yours.”
You gasped at the pure desperation demonstrated in the new addition to your growing pile of love letters. This boy was smitten, and you were finally beginning to accept the fact that you wished it was the first boy you had ever loved. You had tried to stay neutral about the situation, open to all who demonstrated such infatuation with you, but you prayed to Merlin that this boy was the one you wanted in return, one James Potter.
Sick with affection and drunk on love, you placed the note on top of the others as you began to sink into a deep slumber. Tomorrow you would return to the library with the Marauders, and you would do everything in your power to decipher if James really was who you wished he was.
The note flickered under the weight of the pressing autumn breeze, rustling the pages of uneven text once controlled by a messy hand.
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A/N: AHH I meant to wait to upload this one but I couldn’t help it so I rushed to finish it! The dynamic between these two is addictive to write about and I’m ashamed to say I’m flustered over my own writing ;-; As always, reblogs and likes are appreciated and comment if you want to be added to the tag list for chapter 5! <3
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Tag List:
@1-queenofpotatoes-1
@caspiankingofnarnia
@thesuitelifeofafangirl
@moonydoodlez
@fionnalopez
@kawaiiarbitervoid
@kc2sstuff
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silent-insanities · 1 day ago
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I still think about you too much.
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aventurineswife · 2 days ago
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A kinda specific and maybe long but fun idea i had for a req:
Essentially, {and bare w me, i’m half asleep writing this lol} Reader x Sunday, and Reader is a childhood friend of his, who he loved, and someday when they were older, Reader was tragically killed in an incident. Sunday however, in a grief stricken state, decides to rebel against his original goal for the sweetdream paradise (penacony arc reference) and decides to shape it into a dream instead where he’s happily married to Reader, although for the sake of the dream he’s altered their memories. ending is essentially up to you!
{some additional ideas i had if you wanted to, were things like an argument between gopher and sunday, or robin and sunday, in whichever points of the story you wanted}
alternatively, a different Aventurine version would be interesting, mostly w the same set up but Sunday met Reader during Aventurine’s mission on Penacony, liked them, and Aven has to basically fight off the dream and Sunday.
but yeah, that’s pretty much it, everything else is up for creative liberties! i hope this one is at least somewhat interesting lol xx and srry if some of it doesn’t make sense 😓🤍
“Sometimes, the hardest part of letting go is realizing that the dream was never real”
Summary: In the idyllic yet hollow world of Sweetdream Paradise, Sunday crafts a perfect life with you—his lost love, altered memories and all—to escape the sorrow of reality. But as others begin to break through his illusion, and you start to remember fragments of a different fate, the dream begins to fracture. Torn between love and the harshness of truth, Sunday must finally face the choice to let you go, or remain forever in his self-made paradise.
Tags: Sunday x Reader, unrequited love, grief, loss, dreamscape, bittersweet ending, altered memories, memory manipulation, moral dilemma, angst, hurt/comfort, alternate reality, surrealism, slow unraveling, denial of reality.
Warnings: Grief, themes of manipulation, psychological trauma, implied death of Reader, reality distortion, emotional conflict, bittersweet resolution, morally ambiguous decisions.
A/N: Don't worry, anon! I appreciate all the details, the more details the more I can try to understand what you want exactly! Though I probably changed some bits of it here 😪
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Sunday had always been proud of his role within Penacony, the creator of Sweetdream Paradise—a place where sorrow could be stilled, where suffering dissolved into an endless realm of serene dreams. It was a comforting reality he believed people needed, a soft oblivion to cradle them. Yet, in the depths of his mind, his peaceful philosophy hid a darker purpose, shaped by the ache of a loss he could never endure.
You had been his friend, a constant light in his youth, a companion who grounded his dreams. For as long as he remembered, you were there, with laughter that melted his worries and eyes that could see through his layered philosophies. But the day you were lost, taken too soon in a tragic incident, the world itself had hollowed out for him. The pain of your absence haunted him like a shadow, feeding a grief so deep that he was willing to defy his original purpose. In that moment of desolation, he turned Sweetdream Paradise into something far more personal—a realm where you still lived, where you loved him just as much as he had loved you.
In this new dream, Sunday made alterations. He reshaped your memories, softened the sharp edges of reality, and wove a seamless history where you had married him, where together, you built a life free of tragedy. In this dream, he could protect you eternally, shielded by his crafted illusion.
You woke to sunlight filtering through the windows, lying beside Sunday as the golden morning glow danced over his features. His eyes opened, catching you with a familiar warmth, and he reached over, brushing his fingers across your cheek.
"Good morning." he murmured, voice low and rich, as if savoring the simplicity of that greeting.
Every day was like this—a gentle, perfect rhythm that never seemed to break. You didn’t remember a world outside of this home, this life with him. And as you looked at him, you felt safe, loved, yet there was always a faint unease, like a fragment of something forgotten.
But the days went on, filled with laughter and love. Sunday seemed devoted to making sure you never doubted this world, his every word a reassurance that here, you were whole and happy.
One evening, as Sunday worked quietly at his desk, a visitor shattered the peace of his dream. It was Robin, standing just inside the doorway, her expression dark with a kind of wary sadness.
“Brother, you need to stop this,” she said, folding her arms. Her gaze fixed on him, seeing through the veneer of the dream. “This isn’t right. This… this paradise you’re keeping isn’t reality.”
Sunday straightened, his face hardening at her words. “Who are we to deny people peace, Robin? Haven’t we seen enough pain? Haven’t they?” His voice broke slightly, the facade slipping as he glanced toward where you sat by the fire, unaware of the intensity in his voice. He softened, as if trying to protect the dream from any trace of discord.
“You’re keeping people trapped. Yourself included. And for what? A fantasy? Is that really what they would have wanted?” Robin’s voice grew more urgent, her frustration showing. “They’re gone. You have to accept that.”
Sunday’s fists clenched at her words, every fiber in his body resisting the truth. “How could you understand?” he whispered. “In this place, they’re alive. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m giving them peace. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Robin stared at him, her gaze a mix of pity and sorrow. “At what cost, Brother? You’re keeping yourself from moving on, holding them hostage in a world that isn’t even real.”
In an alternate version of Penacony, Sunday’s paradise faced an even stranger twist. Aventurine, the cunning Stoneheart known for his strategic mind, was on his own mission in Sweetdream Paradise, seeking information that only Sunday could provide. But as he delved into the fabric of this dreamscape, he found himself questioning the reality around him, the shimmering dream where Sunday lived an idyllic life with you.
Aventurine confronted Sunday one night, his tone half-amused, half-concerned. “Interesting setup you have here,” he remarked, eyes gleaming with curiosity as he took in the flawless surroundings. “I almost believed it myself… almost. But what happens when the dream can’t hold itself together anymore?”
Sunday’s gaze narrowed, his protective instincts flaring. “What do you mean by that?”
Aventurine shrugged, his gaze flicking to you, sitting quietly, oblivious to the tension. “Everyone in this place… it’s all too perfect, isn’t it? You’re clinging to a memory, one that doesn’t belong here.”
In a rare flash of anger, Sunday stepped forward, his eyes darkening. “This isn’t any of your concern, Aventurine. Leave.”
Aventurine met his glare, his smirk slipping. “You think you’re the only one who’s loved and lost? Reality has its flaws, Sunday. It’s messy, painful… but it’s real. This—this is just a prison you’re keeping yourself in.”
Sunday’s voice trembled, caught between anguish and fury. “Better a beautiful dream than a brutal reality.”
Aventurine’s gaze softened for a brief moment, though he couldn’t abandon his sardonic tone. “But at least in reality, they would have remembered you for who you are, not a god in a gilded cage.”
In the end, it was you—within the dream—who finally confronted him, feeling the intangible pull of memories you didn’t recognize. “Sunday… something doesn’t feel right,” you whispered one night, as he sat beside you. “I keep… remembering pieces of something different, something that feels like it wasn’t supposed to end this way.”
Sunday’s face grew pale, fear creeping into his eyes. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. You’re here. We’re together. Isn’t that enough?”
But as you searched his eyes, you could feel the truth breaking through, the dream trembling under the weight of reality. “Sunday, what are you not telling me?”
He looked away, his heart shattering as he realized he couldn’t keep you here forever. Slowly, he whispered, “I… I just wanted to keep you safe. To give us a life that didn’t end in sorrow.”
With a trembling hand, you reached out, brushing a tear from his cheek. “It’s okay to let go. You have to keep going… even if it means letting me go.”
Sunday’s shoulders shook, the dream beginning to unravel around them, pieces of the illusion fading as he looked into your eyes one last time. “I… I don’t know if I can.”
But in the final moments, he felt your hand slip away, leaving him alone in the vast silence of his own grief. And as he awoke from his dream, Sunday found himself in a world still plagued by loss, his heart hollow yet somehow freer. Though you were gone, he understood, at last, that he had to face reality, no matter how painful it was.
And in that pain, he found a fragile hope—a sliver of light breaking through the dark.
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*cutely posts all my drafts that have been dying to see the light* 😇💖
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archmagemeow · 2 days ago
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The Heart's Wilted Corpus
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"with hands emptied of you, the heart corrodes. veins twisting in the shape of absence, a hollow tether to shadows unmet..."
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Introducing The Heart's Wilted Corpus, a journey into the depths of longing, obsession, & decay. This collection is woven with poetry & dark illustrations, exploring the grotesque beauty of unrequited love & the hollow ache it leaves behind.
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In these pages, Amara drifts between reality & fantasy, becoming lost in a love that never truly was. Each poem pulses with visceral imagery, blurring the lines between body & soul, desire & destruction.
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🌹 For those drawn to shadows, who find beauty in the broken, & for anyone who's been devoured by a love that only exists in the dark.
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dance-on-the-moonlight · 2 days ago
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"stupid, emotional, obsessive little me" | M.R.
➵ summary: you're in love with your best friend, and he doesn't know it.
➵ pairing: mattheo riddle × fem!best friend
➵ warnings: angst, unrequited feelings, 1st pov, spelling mistakes
➵ song i'd like to imagine was played is solas
➵ masterlist
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I am not beautiful, but I could be.
If I changed my hair, or had darker skin, if my hair wasn't unruly and bleached, if my eyes weren't a weird shade between green and blue, they almost looked grey, if my nose wasn't as big and nostrils as wide, or my lips big and dry and if my teeth weren't small or if my gums didn't show when I smiled.
Maybe if I looked like her I'd be beautiful.
 But comparing is a shit thing to do, a bad virtue she had and couldn't rid herself off of, so instead of sulking and watching him whisper sweet nothings to the pretty girl, something that makes her quietly laugh, she turn her gaze towards the parchment in front of her. A blank page watched back, a few splotches of ink dropped from her quill that trembled slightly in her hand.
I am so failing at History of Magic if I don't start, at least, taking notes. I sighed deeply, sneaking a look at Hermione's paper to see her page already filled completely. Discreetly leaning in towards her I tried to copy her notes, thankfully she didn't say anything and just scoffed before resuming her writing.
My notes came out completely sloppy and messy, like they always did, but with the ink droplets it was completely illegible. I pursed my lips before ripping the parchment and standing up along with the rest of the students as the class ended.
Catching up to my friends, I wave to Hermione as she goes to find the rest of the Golden Trio. Theo and Enzo were bickering about something as we piled in the Great Hall, the chatter of other students went unnoticed to me as my thoughts swirled in my head. I sat on the bench, throwing my bag next to me, elbows on the table as I rest my head on my palms.
"What's up your ass today, Y/N?", Theo nudged me with his shoulder. "I'm failing History and the school year hasn't ever properly started." Not entirely a lie, but still not the whole truth.
Not sure how would it sound if I said that what bothers me is the fact my best friend already has a girl and it's only been a week since the school year started. But it's not like it's a surprise, really.
Theo's hand found it's way across my shoulders, pulling me into him as he chuckled. "No worries, we'll fail together, that way summer school won't be as lonely." I snort, slapping my hand across his chest.
"Why are we talking about summer school already?", my body went rigid at sound, every muscle in my body freezing, only hoping Theo doesn't notice. Mattheo moved my bag gently on the floor before sitting next to me, his body angled towards us as he leaned a bit to get a closer look at us. A scarred brow lifted as his eyes danced between Theo and me. Theo squeezed me gently before removing his hand, a teasing smile on his lips.
"We just like to make plans in advance, isn't that right, principesa?"  I roll my eyes at the nickname, he rarely uses it. Mattheo hummed, averting his gaze from us.
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I was looking through the window as the rain slowly fell from the sky. A few of the students that were outside ran inside as fast as they could as to not get wet. Eyes gliding over to the pair that stayed behind, slowly dancing in the rain, not caring who saw or how wet they'll get. 
My heart was gripped by two hands, crushed and twisted, a boulder of emotions pressed on my chest. It pushed and pushed on my lungs until it felt like I couldn't breathe. I tried to take a breath, but a rope around my neck tightened with every attempt.
I felt like I was drowning.
I raised my wand, my heart burning with jealousy at something I'll never have. A simple spell I learned last year with Hermione, made the rain stop in it's tracks mid air. The pair halted with their dancing, with giggles I swear I could hear all the way up here, they ran inside.
 When i couldn't see them anymore the rain fell again with the flick of my wand, but my heart still burned.
Shaking my head, I made the rest of the trek towards the Astronomy tower, it was cold up here. My teeth clenched as the wind whipped my hair, stray raindrops acted as the tears I refused to let flow down my cheeks. 
In the far left corner sat and old piano, it had a propped leg by some folded parchment, the chair squeaked under my weight and the tiles were out of tune. Nobody really knows how did an old piano end up here or why it was still here. There were speculations of course, but they were nothing more than that.
I like to tell myself it was left here for me.
With trembling fingers I played a song of my heart, an out of tune beat just like the piano tiles. My fingers were red, and my nose runny by the time I heard his voice.
"I didn't hear you play since last summer." His voice blended in with the thunder that hid the sound of me hitting the wrong key. My body trembled, despite the warm cloak that he draped over my shoulders. Eyes never straying from the dirty keys I let out a breath, thankful for the rain that left my cheeks damp. 
"Couldn't sleep?", I decide on saying, my voice coming out hoarse and wrong. "Yeah." His voice sounded broken, like the last key, in the far right that I needed to finish the song. Fingers hovering over it for a moment before I rested my hands in my lap.
 I want to ask him of what he dreamt, which nightmare plagued his mind now; even if I knew all of them by now. Instead I scooted on the creaking chair, making space for him which he gladly accepts. I rub my hands together, feeling the bite from the cold now that the son is over, his hand twitches as if he's gonna reach for me, but instead he puts it in his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. 
He took a deep breath, smoke whirling around us, carried by the wind as my eyes trace a raindrop that follows the slope of his cheek. Brown eyes find mind, a small smile on his lips and I blink away the fog in my mind. His curls are all over the place and I have to force myself to not reach up and run my hand through them. It's like he hears my thoughts as his fingers brush through his curls, the same hand drapes over my shoulders pulling me closer to him. 
My lungs were crushed by the weight of my unspoken words. But I'd rather choke on them than loose what I have here. The only sound I could hear, is the one I can't control when he's near, it's the beating of my wild heart.
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part 2?
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sleep-0-deprived · 2 days ago
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im not sure if you are taking any requests rn but I NEED to see some male reader Shigaraki heavy, hurt no comfort, gut wrenching angst just cause there is barely any Shigaraki x male reader and barely any angst in general
(you can ignore this request if you want!!)
Things that your dad doesn’t know (Tomura shigaraki x male reader angst one-shot)
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WC:. 1.6K
Tags: hurt not comfort, angst, internalized homophobia, past religious trauma, generational homophobia, unspoken feelings, religious AFO au
A/N: I have never written angst before, I have no clue if it’s any good but I think this is the only time I’m willingly trying to hurt my pookies! ໒꒰ྀི˃ ˕ ˂ഃ ꒱ྀི১
Being a villain wasn’t your first choice in life, in fact had you been told that’s what you would end up becoming ten years ago…well you would’ve been in shambles? After all your dream was to be a hero, to help those who needed it most and give comfort/security to those around you.
maybe that was just you wanting to be the person you wished was given to you but that doesn’t matter because it wasn’t who you became anyway. At the ripe age of fifteen you were a runaway, your parents had sent you off to a private academy in Japan. In reality it was just a fancy term for a boarding school for ‘troubled boys’ but those words tasted bitter because that place was just filled with naive boys questioning their sexuality.
That place left you filled with thoughts of things you’ve never worried about before, one moment you’re just a boy who has some silly crush in the boy next to you in class and the next you’re a thirteen year old being told the way you felt was ‘sinful’. You’d never forget the way your mom just stared at you blankly while your dad shouted at you “those thoughts aren’t normal boy, how’d you turn out like this?” God you’d give it all to forget those words, every remembrance of them felt like a puddle pulling you to the ground leaving you to wallow in shame.
By the time you were fourteen you started to fall for the words the headmasters of the school preached to you, you thought “if I could just deny it then it’ll go away” or if you didn’t accept it then it wasn’t there. By fifteen you knew you had to get out of there, you didn’t care how you had to do it but you felt an unwavering hate for yourself every second you stood in line for the daily mass at that place.
When you did finally escape you ended up on the streets, moving city to city across Japan, too afraid to head for the states out of fear for your parents getting you back. Then you met him, All For One was what he called himself, he found you in a dingy alley all littered in bruised and scars from the treatment you had endured from that school.
He took you in and gave you a place to live for as long as you did what he asked of you. He made you use your quirk for his own wants but you’d never tell him your past or where you came from because it was evident with his god complex that he wasn’t understanding, after all how could a man from his generation be.
Life wasn’t all bad, that was what you’d tell yourself but then you met Tomura, you two never clicked in the beginning. All he’d do is stare at you from afar and judge you, but you just accepted it because he was your leaders heir. Eventually by the age of seventeen the two of you had became friends, the league of villains was a new concept with barely five members
You didn’t know what you felt or how to feel it but all you knew was the days felt more bearable to live when he was there. When you two didn’t have tasks to fill or agendas to make you were teenage boys, you watched cheesy shows on his bed or video games in his room, energy drinks and late nights was the routine between you two and their was an unspoken blonde that came of it.
Eighteen rolled around for you and Tomura was nineteen by then, it felt like an extension of eighteen for you, nobody but Tomura even knew of your real birthday and maybe it was for the lack of care or the fact you never spoke to anyone besides AFO, Shigaraki and occasionally Kurogiri.
By this point you’ve realized that things aren’t totally platonic between the two of you but Tomura having spent his whole life enduring AFO’s standards and beliefs that he’s pushed onto him, he denies anything and everything. Tomura never had the most stable life to begin with even before he met AFO, his dad was the definition of a bigot, he looked down on him for not being manly enough, for crying when he got hit by him.
Tomura and you were closer than friends could be, the way you two held each other and cuddled in his bed at night, or spent free time locked away in your room away from the other’s gazes. But you were never truly together in the way you wanted to be, it was like being skin close with a thin barrier between keeping you two from fully touching.
The two of you liked being away in private the most, even with all of the denial in your head was better than the hurtful gaze AFO would give to Tomura when he was caught sitting too close to you in the bar. Over time it felt like you began to know Tomura less and less, the boy you once clung to like he was the air in your lungs became a man that hardly spoke to you unless it was about the leagues plans.
You were no fool you knew AFO had confronted and filled Tomura’s head with thoughts of how what he was doing was nothing less than “un-right” and those deep rooted memories of the past that always crept in when you least wanted found you again, reminding you of every word nailed into your mind on how you should feel in no regards for what you did feel.
All you wanted to do was run back to his room, to hug him and cling and not worry about everyone else but that wasn’t going to happen. You watch him become the second AFO knowing you can’t and do anything. Your once close relationship has a wedge in between, it was non existent and nothing you could say would make him accept you.
“What happened to our friendship Tomura?” You’d show up at his door late at night while the others were asleep, his blue hair gone and what looked back at you didn’t feel the same quiet man that used to be. “Nothing has happened, things change and people grow [name], you’re acting as though we were lovers.” You knew that he was only forcing his words but it never stung any less.
“No but we could’ve been Tomura” you manage to spit out, your voice cracks and your whole body feels like lava. “No we never could’ve, you’re a man [name] and no amount of emotions changes that”
“If I can’t be your lover why can’t we just be friends again tenko?”
You’re nearly to tears at this point standing in the entrance of his bedroom feeling your heart being squeezed.
“Because. Being close to you makes life hard, I can’t sit and pretend to be your friend when I know I won’t be the one that ends with you, and don’t call me that anymore, you’re just my subordinate…nothing else and you won’t ever be [name].”
There was the answer you knew would come, he pointed for his door clearly wanting you gone, and you quickly obliged in wanting of him seeing you break down. You hadn’t hurt this bad since you had first been sent off by your family, how were you supposed to be ok with this? Why did life have to be this way? Were you destined to always get close to what you love then have it slip away?
You had more pathetic questions than you did answers and the night was long, you weren’t sleeping anytime soon and you knew it. You’d rather have been his friend if you couldn’t be his lover, at least if you were his friend you’d still be something to him, you’d still be in his life, you’d still be the person he sat around and played video games with.
You were just doomed to a life of watching the person you love become unrecognizable. You and him had planned to stick together, he had promised you’d always be together, he always told you that you were the only person that understood him and now it was all gone.
When war against the hero’s began you couldn’t do anything to stop him. Your pleas fell on deaf ears, AFO was on his shoulder telling him every little move to make and what to do and his plan didn’t have you in it. You were forced to sit on the side lines unable to jump in when his final fight started, seeing his beaten form and his scared body broke you.
You had made Tomura your world, he was your reason to listen to AFO, if he did something then no matter how much it hurt you, you’d do it too. When Tomura started his fight against Midoriya, you were practically running to the fight trying to make way to him and trying to use your quirk to just stop it all.
You were three seconds too late. The final blow had been felt and you were right next to Tomura sobbing like a scared kid watching him decay away. All Tomura does is look up at you, red eyes glossy and you know he isn’t making it. “You can’t leave me Tenko! You just can’t!…you promised me?”
You’re hysteric when the police start dragging you away from his ash’s, you’re feeling your word shatter so fast knowing all the things you had planned won’t happen.
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flowrrs4u · 2 months ago
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I am good. I am loved.
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chuchaitiu · 7 months ago
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Feeling safe in someone's energy is a different type of intimacy. That peace of mind and security is very underrated and I cannot emphasize this enough.
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slondile · 2 days ago
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How long have you known that I wasn't what you had wanted?
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secshrimp · 1 year ago
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"wasted potential" you are still living!!! your potential is still here, you can carry on
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silent-insanities · 2 days ago
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Perhaps we were never meant to last.
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blabbershere · 5 months ago
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I'm a hopelessly romantic old soul disguised as a loner for this modern age love.
— Ruth Winters / Modern Age Love
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hopelessvalentines · 3 months ago
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on friends, who maybe want to be a little more than that
@fuckitloveu @mothicalspoken
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troyandabedsnewapartment · 6 months ago
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I DON’T KNOW HOW TO LOVE YOU AND I DON’T KNOW HOW TO STOP LOVING YOU.
1. unknown. | 2. ethel cain, strangers | 3. Melissa broder, skeleton glitter | 4. mitski, a pearl | 5. maggie nelson, bluets | 6. molly brodak, molly brodak | 7. rio romeo, nothing’s new | 8. becca de la rosa & maybell martin, mabel: matryoshka | 9. mitski, humpty
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letsbelonelytogetherr · 1 year ago
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– Juansen Dizon
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