Sad - Blog Posts

SUNDERED

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...+

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, mean!gojo(kinda), babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments

word count: 3.2k

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo intentionally runs into you when you’re buying groceries just to show you his girlfriend. The woman was your classmate from high school. At the first meeting, she was shy and tried avoiding your gaze but Satoru just had to call you and ask something about your daughter. Completely unnecessary but he’s just that much of a jerk. Once was considered an accident. But when it happened two, then three times, you already know that you have to change your shopping schedule.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo picks up his daughter from your house an hour late, rubbing on your face that he overslept because he spent “some time” with his girlfriend last night. Distasteful and disrespectful, but you let it slide cause he seems happy. You don’t want to be a killjoy, right? You were never his girlfriend, to begin with. Just someone he got pregnant from a one-night stand. 

❧ babydaddy!Gojo posts pictures of his day out with his daughter online. His girlfriend carrying your kid as the three of them wear matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse headbands. You could only scroll past and continue your work to busy yourself. Maybe you should stop lurking around social media and just use your phone for important messages. Maybe you should also lose feelings for someone who never harbored genuine ones for you in the first place.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo always lets his girlfriend open the door for you when you’re picking up your daughter from his house on weekends. He leans back on the couch, watching you grab your daughter’s things, opening his arms to cuddle with his girlfriend before you even get to walk out the door. It made you feel pathetic and small but what can you do? There’s simply no place for you in that house.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo insists that you spend more time together for the sake of your daughter. You agreed to it and now, you had to sit in the back of the car with your daughter as he drives his girlfriend to work. It made you feel sick and nauseous that you were only able to spend half a day with them before you decided to go home and sleep the day away. Maybe when you wake up, you’ll find it in you to hate him.

“Mommy? Call her, love.” Gojo used a higher voice to encourage his daughter to call you. He knows that he was foul for what happened earlier. But what is he gonna do? He can’t reject his girlfriend’s request, plus it was only a ride. It’s not like she was with you for the whole day. Still, he doesn’t think it’s the reason why you left early. You might be feeling…tired. Even if it was Saturday yesterday and you have no work. You might still feel fatigued on Sunday, right?

“Mama!” The little girl mimicked pointing upstairs. Satoru sighed placing her little bag on a nearby chair as he made his way upstairs. He figured that if you’re still asleep, he could just wait for you to wake up and just look after his daughter here. You’re a single mother for 4 days a week, and on top of that, you also have work. You literally don’t have time to rest. He told himself that he needs to stop messing around just to get a reaction from you. 

Reaching your room, Satoru knocked on the door three times, calling out your name when you didn’t answer. “Wait a second.” You voiced out from the other side, “I’m just gonna call my mom, can you wait for her?” You suppressed a cough at the end of the sentence but it didn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. “Are you sick? I could take her back to my house, we’ll look after her until you feel better. ” The suggestion made your stomach churn. They get to play house with your kid and here you are, being miserable.

You shook your head, realizing how bitter you sounded. She wasn’t unkind in any way to your baby but something in you hurts when you think of them giving your daughter the family experience that you cannot provide. You and Satoru tried to work things out but you just can’t get on the same page. Instead of trying to be better for you and your daughter, he decided to fuck around and date someone else instead. 

You wouldn’t say that your name was clean. What with a couple of threats such as finding someone who could act right. You just didn’t think that he’d really leave. It hurt but now you’re getting yourself used to the feeling. Maybe he just couldn’t act right with you. Because why is he so good with his girlfriend now? She tamed him, as he once boasted to you during a fight.

“I’m stuck with a child that I have with you, but not with you.” He pointed out, leaving a searing pain in your chest. “There’s no way I’m letting that happen.” Tears were starting to form in your eyes as the words come out of his mouth. How could he say something so cruel to you, the mother of his child? All you did was tell him that his girlfriend was getting kind of too much after she told you what to do with your child. And now he’s making you the villain.

“I just told her that—” You tried to explain, voice starting to shake. “If that’s all you did, she wouldn’t come to me crying, Y/N.” You just can’t believe that you’re fighting over this. You already have so much to think about and now this, you also have to be cautious about his girl. “She told you herself, I just didn’t want her telling me how to raise my child!” 

“Of course, she wouldn’t tell me that you’re being harsh to her. Unlike you, she’s actually kind and considerate of other people’s feelings.” You looked down, letting out a strangled sob escape your throat before quickly wiping away the forming tears in your eyes as you turn away from him. Why was he never this defensive of you? He didn’t even try to fight for you when his girlfriend convinced him to take your daughter with them on a trip. Without your permission.

And now he’s talking as if you’ve been nothing but a disturbance in his relationship with her. Everything's just unfair. Yet, you just let it slide because you wanted nothing but peace for your baby. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you anymore, Satoru. You’ve said enough.” You sniffed, walking to your daughter’s room to check if the noises woke her up. Satoru was left standing there, processing all the things that he said.

He watched you disappear into the dark hallway of your apartment, shoulders shaking with your head hung low. Even if he can’t see your face, he can tell that you’re crying and it made him feel like shit. He went overboard, didn’t he? “Fuck.” He threw his keys on the couch, running his fingers through his hair. He wanted to apologize but at the same time, he wanted to prove his point. His girlfriend was only trying to help and you took it the wrong way.

At that time, Satoru thought that maybe she was right. You’re just getting kinda jealous that she could spend time with your daughter and Satoru more and now you’re being too sensitive, letting out your irritation on her. She said that it was a natural feeling for a mother to feel that way but Satoru can’t let you treat his girlfriend like shit just because of your pettiness and jealousy. You have to learn to adjust and accept that some things are gonna be the way they are because of your setup. 

As for you, you felt hurt. Neglected even when you know that you’re not supposed to receive as much attention, much less protection from him. His priority is your child, but not you. You have no choice but to talk and work everything out with them for the sake of your daughter. You know that you could start dating someone of your choice but you wished that it would be that easy. You just want to focus on your daughter and if you’re gonna find someone, you want them to love her as much as you do. 

You wonder what you lacked that couldn’t soften him the way he did to her. You started to think that you’re the problem and that is why you couldn’t fix him as easily as she did. 

You stood up, opening the door for him seeing your two-year-old, reach out to you. “Mama’s sick, love, sorry.” You covered your mouth, blinking away the heaviness in your eyes. Satoru watched you pack your daughter’s things. “If you’re gonna be busy, just tell me. I’ll just contact Mom. She can be with you for a few days, just until my cold is gone.” You murmured, counting the diapers to put in her baby bag. 

You don’t want to be away from her, but letting her stay with you when you’re like this puts her at risk and that’s the last thing you want. You can’t stand seeing your daughter through pain and you’re pretty sure it’s the same for his dad. Begrudgingly, you placed the bag in front of Satoru before reaching over for her favorite toy. You smiled at how she squealed when she saw it.

“You know we’re never too busy to take care of her. Just rest, so you’ll get better soon.” You swallowed, nodding your head slowly as you thought of what else they should take. “Yeah, I’ll be picking her up.” You kept your distance from her, sitting down as you felt your head spinning a bit. “Do you...do you have medicine, though? I could get some if you want,” Satoru can tell that you’re really sick and despite his situation with you, he can’t just let you be when you’re like this. You’re still the mother of his child. 

“No, it’s fine. I have some here. Just take care of her.” Your voice was hoarse and your daughter was starting to reach out for you again as if sensing that something was wrong so you urged Satoru to get going. “Be good, okay?” You waved as she watched you with her curious eyes but waved back, nonetheless. You wouldn’t admit it but you feel envious that they could be happy together with her. You’re afraid that one day she’ll prefer being with them over you.

As for your feelings for Satoru, you hated thinking or talking about it. You’re obviously in love with him, but you wouldn’t acknowledge that yourself, either. You fought too much, you hurt each other too much. Other than that, there’s no point for your feelings now that he has someone he really loves and truly cares about. 

You never experienced the boyfriend-girlfriend stage with Satoru. It’s like one day, you just woke up and you’re already parents. You can’t blame him for not having real feelings for you. You do your best to be as civil to them as you can be but sometimes his girlfriend’s just out of bounds. And after a couple of painful fights with Satoru regarding her, it just became too much for you. 

You’re just tired of feeling like a wedge to someone’s healthy relationship. That’s how Satoru makes you feel and you just can’t take any ache from that. 

Another thing that you deny to yourself is the hope that you might fix this all. There are always what-ifs in your mind, and you would never tell Satoru about them. He’ll probably laugh at you and your threats that you’re gonna be with someone who truly makes you happy. You would never destroy his relationship just because yours didn’t work. If you have to cover your eyes, look away and pretend to be deaf every time they’re around you, you would. 

You often think about what it would be like if he settled down with his girl; if they decided to get married and have a family of their own. You don’t want your daughter to feel left out. You don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have her own family in the middle of them. You also wondered if you’d have moved on by then. You hope so. You don’t want to be this pitiful and heartbroken forever.

------------------------------

After a couple of days, you’re finally feeling well. You got up early and sent Satoru a text that you’ll be picking up your baby in a few hours. You missed her and her giggles so much. The house was clean during the past days but you very much prefer it to be messy, as long a she’s there. You’ll never mind getting up in the middle of the night or waking up extra early for her. 

Arriving at Satoru’s residence, you rang the doorbell as you waited patiently for someone to open the gate for you. You were hoping that it would be your baby girl, extending her short, chubby arms to you but instead, it was Satoru’s girlfriend. “Come in, she’s still playing inside.” She smiled at you, opening the metal door wider. “Thanks, I messaged Satoru that I was coming to pick her up. Is she ready?” You asked her as you walked to their front door.

“She is, but she’s kinda fussy about it. Satoru bought her a huge playpen and she just wouldn’t get out of it. She’s enjoying a lot.” She tucked a hair behind her ear and you can’t help but feel conscious of how you look. Opening the door, you were welcomed by the sight of Satoru lying down with his daughter in the said enclosure. She was fiddling with a toy as they watched on the big screen. 

Her favorite toy was at the corner, and for some reason, it left a pang in your chest.

“Sweetie, someone’s here for you.” You hated the way she phrased it but you know that she doesn’t mean for it to be offensive or rude to you. The little girl looked up with her binky in her mouth, blinking before smiling at you. “Oh, you’re already here. She wouldn’t let me out of the playpen.” Satoru explained, probably thinking that you didn’t appreciate that it had to be his girlfriend opening the door for you. 

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” This place always made you feel like you’re an outsider. Probably because you are and it didn’t help that they’re making you feel like it. “Mama!” She waved at you, pointing at the screen as she sat down. “That’s a nice show, love. Maybe we could just continue watching it at home?” You know that she doesn’t have a big playpen there. The screen isn’t that big, either. She suddenly lied back down, whimpering as she kicked her tiny feet. You felt like telling her that you’d work hard to buy her that too.

She doesn’t want to go home yet and that’s what you feared. 

“Baby, mom’s here. She missed you.” Satoru called out but to no avail. He came to lift her up, trying to see if she was just being too lazy to get up. Her eyes were glued to the television as she sucked on her pacifier. She was too into it, pointing the show to everyone before smiling at you. Oh, how you missed that smile. “Let’s go, now.” You cooed at her, softly clapping your hands.

When you tried to reach for her as Satoru leans her close to you, she started wiggling around. “Down, Mama! Wait.” Her cute language never ceases to make your heart swell with joy despite the fact that she’s trying to get away from you. She runs away, stopping to look around before going to Satoru’s girlfriend and hugging her leg. She was in awe when she picked up your daughter. 

So… she’s who your daughter’s referring to by…Mama. You could almost hear your heart shatter at the realization. Since when did she start calling her Mama?

“You don’t wanna go home yet? But Mom’s here.” She talked in her baby voice and you don’t know if you’re gonna be happy that she treats your daughter really well or jealous that she came running to her when she don’t want to do something. Satoru went up to them, leaving you standing a few meters away. You don’t like what you’re seeing aside from your daughter.

“It’s not good to ignore Mama.” Satoru tapped her nose with his finger which she cutely swatted away, eliciting a chuckle from him. “Y/N, I was thinking… maybe I could just, uh, take her home later in the day. This playpen just arrived yesterday and you know how kids are…” He laughed nervously, struggling to find a nice way to say that your daughter won’t be coming home yet.

“Yesterday, I was joking about giving her playmates and she was so excited, she was running around.” His girlfriend giggled as she shared. It was a simple story yet it was a thorn to your heart. Why does it seem like your every nightmare is coming to life? You just smiled at her, understanding that she was talking about giving your daughter siblings. Satoru was silent, but you didn’t dare look at his face. You know that it’s in their future plans and you don’t have to see him smiling about it too. 

“That’s adorable..” You don’t know what else to say, so you just nodded your head slowly, blinking quickly so as to bring yourself back to reality. His place was huge compared to your apartment. The playpen looks so much more comfortable than the crib she has at your place. She has new toys and a mom and dad by her side. So, now she doesn’t want to leave. Suddenly, you can feel the weakness in your knees from when you were sick starting to come back. You cleared your throat as you straightened yourself.

“J-just take her home later. I, uh, bought something for her.” You lied, knowing that you still have to go looking for something you can buy for your lovely child. You wanted to snatch her away from Satoru’s girlfriend, her other mom, but the giggle flowing out of her lips are too precious for you to ruin; the smile on her face as she tickled her tummy was too priceless. Look at them, you told yourself as you started to feel farther and farther away from their little world. They’re a picture of a happy family. 

“I’ll see you later, honey…” You whispered, giving her head a pat as she looked up at you with her big, cerulean eyes. You didn’t wait for any of them to walk you out, you just let your feet take you out of their home, not daring to look back for the fear of breaking down. Your fingers tremble along with your lips and the tiny droplets of rain felt like acid on your skin. Maybe what they say was true. We experience people differently.

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

NEXT

i literally cant stop thinkin’ about highschoolbully!gojo who used to be your ride or die ‘til he started getting attention from those popular jock type guys who are always assholes to everyone. and him being.. well, him means he preens under attention no matter who it’s from, so naturally he started to gravitate towards that group and their little troop of cheerleading fangirls. and then he started distancing from you and without either of you really realizing it, you’ve slipped between the other’s fingers. but the way he acts towards you makes you think he let you fall without moving a muscle to slow you down.

soon enough, a year swings by and by the end of it he’s gone from your life, save as just another face in the gaggle of boys who make crude jokes and laugh at smart kids and pop milk cartoons during lunch just for the hell of it. but you’re minding your own business, ‘cause you’re mature enough to realize that people come and go, no matter how close you might’ve been and you think it’s unfortunate that so many memories could be thrown aside in a blink of an eye, but it makes a lot of sense when you walk past satoru and his friends bullying some random kid. you don’t know him, but you’ve heard enough to realize it’s his girlfriend satoru’s flirting with while his ‘gang’ kick at the kid. and it’s sickening, but you don’t say anything when you walk by.

and when you don’t ever see the kid afterward and catch the dark eyebags under his girlfriend’s eyes, you come to the cruel realization that satoru isn’t the boy who’d bandage the scrape on your knee you got from tripping in the playground or buy you a soda because he’s noticed your sweat when you were walking home and you don’t have any money left on you.

it’s a glass half empty, half full type of situation. on the one hand, you don’t have him anymore. on the other hand, you don’t have him anymore. that is, you lost your best friend, but you’ve also lost someone who has the potential to absolutely ruin your life. and you don’t know whether to be glad or not, so you just mind your own business even if it hurts a little when he ignores you, stops tossing paper at your head in class (unless it’s to embarrass you) and stops walking you to and from school.

but the cherry on top of the shit cake is that he doesn't get it. so when he approaches you in the library one day after satiating the need to tear pages from books and make them into paper airplanes to throw at people, he doesn't seem to understand why you try to ignore him, or put off his attempts to hold a convo. but the worst part is that he's just sleazy and clueless about it. it's like he took an eraser and wiped every single year of your friendship off the chalkboard with one fell swipe, and you wish he'd done that too to the less-than-appropriate messages he and his friends had written towards one of your classmates.

he doesn't understand why you're hesitant to talk, and that's what makes it the worst. he always thinks he's in the right, and he keeps setting you off and it sucks that he knows exactly what sets you off. "i'm an asshole? what're you talking about? really, you're in over your head. you never change." he laughs, and you ignore him, and he gets bored, and he's about to leave when he spots your wallet open next to your book, on the table. there's a polaroid peeking out, and he recognizes the tufts of white hair to be him. but there's a weird feeling in his chest, and he thinks he gets it from you, so he leaves because he thinks you're weird.

and it goes on; you practically become a nobody in satoru's eyes, because of that weird, weird feeling you give him. it's unfamiliar and he's never gotten it before and he doesn't like it. but it's unavoidable when your professor pairs you two for the end-of-term project. and of course, you're ready to do all the work, because that's how it always was between you when you were kids. but sometimes he'd surprise you by helping, and he'd show you that he was actually intelligent just to earn your praise because he liked it. but he ignored you, and you did everything, and it would've been okay if not for his friends egging him on to present your entire project when the day came and leave you with no content for a grade.

that's the first time it hits him: does he really want to do that? but it's not like it'll be the first time; you've always taken the hits for him, because you're naturally smart and you'll pick yourself back up in no time, and you get why he does it, so it'll be okay. so he agrees, and he enjoys the time he gets to spend with you through it, but the nagging weird feeling that blooms in his chest like a pesky weed only grows stronger. that's all his feelings ever seem to do around you.

but before you know it, presentation day swings around. you had coffee this morning (on his card), and you're ready enough to shoot him a small smile that sends his heart a-flutter. so you go up, feeling up to the task and ready until— he starts talking, and talking, and talking, and people don't think that he's taking your words out of your mouth because he's intelligent when he wants to make you praise him and you don't get the chance to get a word in and you notice the guys are laughing and hitting each other's shoulders to themselves in the upper rows and before you know it it's over. people are clapping but moreso they're looking at you and they're whispering— but it's terribly loud and they don't bother to hide it. they call you things that shouldn't bother you but they do anyway, because it's satoru's fault, and you're such a fool for thinking you could have it your way again.

so you leave class early, excusing yourself and ignoring the way your professor gives you a distasteful look and scribbles something next to your name. you're out the door in a second, neglecting your bags and satoru's a little lost because— didn't he just do good? people were clapping, and laughing with him and not at him, but it's attention either way so he doesn't mind. so why do you? why did you look at him like he stabbed you in the back? and his friends are calling his name, and he wishes he could chase after you and do something but he doesn't.

and it's a little sickening what they do next; one of their girls grabbed your bags and tossed it to them, and they've started rifling through it as if they own it, tearing up your shit and dumping everything onto the ground and he's kind of just... glued to the chair by his feelings. his heart feels like it's been patched together and the weird fuzzy feeling he had in his chest that's been cultivating has extinguished to be replaced with something he realizes he's only ever felt when it comes to you— guilt.

he's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize his friend is silently offering him something— nudging his side to get his attention. he takes it without really realizing he moved his hand, and his silent friend with the gauges in his ears and the dark hair gets up and leaves without another word. when satoru looks down, he realizes he's been given your wallet. "the reward for betraying your baby," they call it. like all you're worth is the money in your account.

he's a little curious. that's how he's always been; asking you questions, rummaging through your stuff, laughing sheepishly and shaking it off when you caught him red-handed. so he opens it up, ignoring your sad little cards and the funny look on your license. he's looking for something, subconsciously; but he doesn't find it. there's no white tuft of hair to suggest his presence in your life; just empty black leather. nothing else.

and he doesn't see you after. or the following day. or the following weeks; weeks that turn into months that turn into the end of school and he's graduating but you're not by his side. and neither are his so called 'friends'; the only thing he has to their name is your own ruined friendship. it's a shame; he feels alone. very alone. no fuzzy weird feeling, not even that thing people call guilt. no attention to chase, and connections are ever harder to make. it shouldn'tve mattered that much, right? it was just a presentation. why wouldn't you just come back to him like you always did? were you not still friends...?

but the blood is still on his hands, and he doesn't manage to ever wash it off. guilt has a way of festering; of weighing on the heart 'till there's nothing left to feel or think but unfortunate circumstance and what could've been done differently. it just sucks that he never tried hard enough to keep you from slipping between his grasp. and now, he doesn't even have a polaroid to your friendship's name.

pt.2

4-7-8; series masterlist

pairing: jungkook x reader

glimpse: you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you.

alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

warnings: semi-heavy angst (pls take a break when necessary!!), emotional constipation, no cheating happens here btw (neither physical nor emotional), self-loathing, miscommunication, based on the moral dilemma of whether or not it’s okay to be friends with ur ex, intense yearning + specified tags in each installment!

notes: thank you so much for all the love for 478 ♡ i rlly love reading all your feedback and thoughts!! send them in here :)

cross-posted on ao3.

01: part one 

02: intermission

03: part two

04: intermission 02

05: part three; finale

phase one drabbles:

the first meeting

the wedding band habit

miso meets yoongi

the hickeys

the jealousy

tiny bowls for tiny babies

the one with the doubt

maybe physical affection isn’t so bad

the everyday risk

the groveling

the anniversary (derogatory)

phase two drabbles:

the babymaking

jungkook’s birthday

couvade syndrome

the argument

jk fights with miso (real)

the comeback of slideshows

the false alarm

the nesting period

hwayoung_debut

yoongi’s visit

hwayoung’s first 100 days

Bakugou’s first love who’s temper and passion matches, no, exceeds his, because you had to fight twice as hard to earn things he was given, had to fight twice as hard to get a seat at a table he was born to. His first love, who’s outcast by hero society for carrying too much anger, for being too rough, too much. 

For being Quirkless.

He never said it was love, but it was. He could feel it, knew you could too. Or at least, he hopes you could. 

So after you disappear, there’s not a single day that goes by where he doesn’t think of you, well into adulthood. Little things like the flowers in the florist shop window that are the exact color of your old car, the way the city glows after a rainstorm.

He thinks it would be easier to forget you, to not have to carry the weight around with him all the time, and he hates himself for thinking it at all. Hates that he feels burdened by your memory instead of thankful he could tell someone exactly where every mole and birthmark sat on your skin, the different colors in your eyes.

It’s that perfect memory that confirms his worst suspicion when history begins to repeat himself, a new group of villains unhappy with society rising from the ashes of the last.

You’re clearly different, but he knows you. Knows the way you move, the tilt to your voice when you’re hiding that you’re wounded.

It’s the first time that his heart is at war with his sense of duty, but he keeps quiet about his suspicion regardless, needing to confirm everything for himself before he spoke up.

It’s a thin line he’s walking, but he assures himself he won’t cross it, no matter what.

And yet, when he finally catches you, unmasked and pinned beneath him, bloody teeth bared, he finds himself lifting enough for you to escape. He wants desperately to give chase, to catch you again, but he knows it’s not so he can bring you in.

It’s that realization that wakes him up, makes him take extended leave so he can track you down. Except he doesn’t have to.

You show up at his apartment one night, covered in shadows near the open window as he comes in, absently listening to Kiri worry about him over the phone. It takes everything in him not to hang up on his friend immediately when he sees you, freezing in place.

He should be angry, should be insulted that you, a wanted villain, had the audacity to show up in his home and silently watch him, but he’s not.

Part of him believes he’s finally lost it, chasing ghosts, so he calls out your name quietly, more of a breath than real words, but he can see the way your body reacts to it immediately, and all he can feel is relief crash around him.

There’s a heavy silence for a while, and then he takes a step forward. You stiffen, and in a blink, you’re gone, the only sign you were real to begin with a note telling him to stay away.

But he doesn’t. And neither do you. He knows you follow him, can feel watchful eyes on him, even if he can’t see you right away.

And then you show up in his apartment once more, clearly ready for a fight in the middle of his kitchen. There’s a glint of a knife in your hand, and he’s careful to move slowly as he sets down his groceries, hands splayed to show you he’s unarmed, as if he couldn’t kill you with one flick of his wrist. He calls out your name again, softly, like he’s talking to a wounded animal, and you can’t help the way your heart begs you to respond, even after so many years.

You shift, hesitate, and he straightens, takes a chance, and takes a step towards you. Your hand twitches, but you don’t raise it, don’t charge him. So he takes another. And then another. And then he’s within striking range, and your eyes are hard, angry in warning, but wide, like you’re lost. 

So he steps closer. And you step back, knife falling from your hand and clattering to the floor. He presses forward until your back hits his kitchen island, and he’s leaning over you, knuckles white with the way they grip the marble. 

You look panicked, fear brewing in your gaze when he raises a hand, eyes squeezing shut so you don’t see the blow coming. 

Instead, he brushes your hair away from your face, and your eyes fly open in surprise, the large pro drinking you in, his eyes flicking over your form. 

“I thought you were dead,” 

His voice is softer than anything you’ve ever heard, rolling over you and bringing back memories long since repressed. He cups your cheek, thumb sliding over your skin as if to make sure you’re real, and you hate how good it feels, how much you’ve missed him, and then his gaze dips lower and he freezes. 

Now that’s he’s able to be close to you, breathe you in, he sees what he’s missed before, hidden under stealth suits and large hoodies. From beneath your top curl ragged scars, curving and licking up along your throat and across your shoulders, more abundant than unmarred skin.

Your breath hitches as his fingers leave your face to trace over the scars on your collarbone, his face filled with anguish. His searching takes him lower, to the collar of your shirt where he pulls away, shaky hands falling to the hem as he begins to lift it slowly. 

Your hands circle his wrist in warning, and he spares you a glance, his pretty eyes filled with silent pleas, and you give in to him, as powerless to him as you were when you were stupid kids believing you were in love. Your fingers fall away from his skin slowly to let him continue, heart hammering as you let the man you came to kill undress you. 

He hesitates, inhaling deeply, steeling himself for what he might see before he tugs the cotton upwards once more. 

His stomach twists in knots as you’re revealed to him, arching scars covering most of your torso, some clearly old, but far too many new, deep, and he can only imagine what you went through to earn such markings across your skin. 

He can hardly find those moles and beauty marks he used to be able to map perfectly, now replaced with thick and jagged lines. He looks tortured, struggling not to let it show, but you see it anyways.

You can’t help the noise that bubbles from your throat when you lift your arms for him, a fresh wound beneath your left breast pulling painfully tight with the movement, and he clenches his jaw at the sound of your whimper, brows drawn low over his eyes. 

When his palm lays flat against your stomach, measuring the expanse of your scars to his hand, the former reaching out far further, you squeeze your eyes shut and tilt your head back. 

You never wanted him to see you like this, and in that very moment, you wished you were dead like he’d assumed, rather than a broken shell of who he used to love. 

He’s silent as his hands wander, their warmth seeping into your skin and settling on your hips, fingers splayed wide. He lets out a shaky huff and you finally peel open your eyes as he drops to his knees, his breath warm over your skin, moments before his mouth presses over your flaws.

He doesn’t miss the way you inhale sharply, hazy eyes focused down at him kneeling at your feet, mouth ghosting across your body. 

He traces a path upwards, his hands keeping you grounded as you arch against him, goosebumps rising in the wake of his ministrations. He deviates from his path only once, to press a feather soft kiss against your newest wound, and you hiss, fingers flying to tangle in his hair. 

It shouldn’t hurt so much, but his mouth feels like a brand, his nose brushing along the underside of your breast, lighting a fire within you that you had assumed died long ago. He murmurs out something you don’t quite catch against your skin before he returns the drag of his mouth between your breasts, up until he’s pressing kisses against your jaw, his forehead bumping against your cheek as he shakes his head. 

He exhales shakily again, and you tilt your head ever so slightly, needing to see him, needing to see the disgust, the pity in his eyes. You need him to give you a reason to push him away, a reason to hate him so neither of you start something you can’t finish. 

But all you see is a quiet fury buried in those crimson eyes, smothered by a emotion you’ve only ever seen in those very eyes the last time you’d seen him. You’re not ready to admit what it is yet, denial flooding you even as your mind supplies the word. 

Love. 

It’s like all the air rushes from your lungs, and you’re sure in that very moment, if it wasn’t for his firm grip, that you’d simply crumple under the weight of your realization. 

He draws you back to him, nose bumping yours when one of his hands cups the back of your head, fingers burying themselves in your hair. He opens his mouth and immediately closes it again, breathing in sharply through his nose before he speaks again, eyes shutting. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.” 

And just like that, you can’t resist his pull anymore, closing the distance as the first tear rolls down your cheek. 

Tacenda

Definition: Things better left unsaid

Summary: A continuation of this, this, and this idea. Bakugou knows you don’t share his feelings, so why does his heart pick up everytime he’s close to you? And why do you seem to gravitate to him just as much?

Genre: angst with no comfort

CW: pining, mentions of drinking, foul language, makeout, lip-gloss smearing, fondling, handjob, emotional makeout, both Bakugou and reader have been drinking

Word Count: 3,693

Bakugou’s friends joke that he’s always by your side, at your feet, or not too far behind. Always hanging on to your last word.

He’d never admit it, but they’re right. He finds that being around you is addicting and finds himself doing things he never thought he would, just cause it’ll make you smile. He can’t help it.

Things like hosting parties in the apartment. It’s not his scene; He doesn’t like many people in his space messing up his stuff or drinking his booze. But whenever you suggest it? He can’t figure out how to say no.

It doesn’t help that you’re especially affectionate when you’re a little tipsy, and he’s a little less guarded than he should be. He should be hiding his feelings, keeping them close to his chest, and yet, he finds his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see. And everyone does see. Except for you.

When you playfully jump onto his back when he won’t hand over the remote on the couch, he just laughs and stands, hands gripping your thighs around his lean waist, so you won’t slip off. You’re both a little drunker than you meant to be, and he tips over slightly after he spins with you, causing you to shriek and laugh, face buried in his neck.

He blames the blush that covers his cheeks on the alcohol when Sero makes a joke about it, and you brush it off, demanding he takes you to the kitchen so you can talk with the group gathered around Kiri.

He’s gentle when he sets you on the counter, and you expect him to leave again for the couch, but he doesn’t. He leans back into you, his elbows resting comfortably on either side of your thighs, fingers rubbing soothing circles on your shins. After a while, you find yourself leaning into his warmth, arms winding around his neck again as you tilt forward to rest your head on his shoulder.

His eyes slip towards your face every few moments, and he’s acutely aware that all he’d have to do for his lips to brush yours is to turn his head the tiniest bit. He finds himself wondering if the gloss on your mouth is the same as that one night after the last party, tuning out the conversation around him completely, even if you’re fully immersed in it.

Keep reading

pairing: suna x f!reader

warnings: angst, toxic!suna, suggestive themes(?), destruction of property, glass breaking, manipulation

summary: suna knew that he was doing something wrong, but he refused to acknowledge it. therefore, you slowly dropped five major hints for him, hoping that he would notice them and take action to fix your broken relationship.

status: complete

taglist status: closed! fcygh is over!

© 𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢

chapters

part one: the ghost of your laughter

part two: lingering touches

part three: limited interactions

part four: sleeping alone

part five: rin became rintarou; then it became suna

wastelands.

↳ suna rintarou x f!reader

— series masterlist.

summary. after a viral pandemic wiped out half of the world’s population, a group of abandoned young adults embark on a life-threatening journey in hopes of finding a safe permanent home. unfortunately, for you and Rin, love is only a temporary option.

genre. heavy angst, unrequited love, post apocalypse au, 18+

fic warnings. explicit smut, profanity, gore, infectious diseases, zombies, usage of guns and other weapons, smoking, blood, killings, suicide, minor and major character death

general masterlist + playlist + official art + group fanart + ko-fi

+ one + two + three + four + five + six + seven + eight + nine + ten + epilogue

status: completed

all rights reserved © 2021 saintobio. please do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

BROKEN RECORDS. [ masterlist ]

→ heartbroken after breaking up with his ex, suna rintaro hits up an old flame to ease the pain. or at least using you to get someone off his mind was what he intended, until suna realizes that maybe, you were the real one he truly wanted to forget.

content warnings. explicit smut. heavy angst. romance centred. fluff. slice of life. friends with benefits. friends to lovers. slight comedy. rich! reader. timeskip! suna. heavily smut series.

status : completed.

TRACKLIST ; CHAPTERS

[ TRACK 001. love to dream ] → i know what you mean, you don’t fuck with randoms. i got everything, everything but real love…

[ TRACK 002. too good at goodbyes ] → i’m never gonna get too close to you, even when i mean the most to you, in case you go and leave me in the dirt…

[ TRACK 003. dancing in the moonlight ] → we like our fun and we never fight, you can’t dance and stay uptight…

[ TRACK 004. ref:rain ] → i still can’t say the goodbye that I dreamed in the days when i’ve been counting … i’m still not familiar with the repetition of the same events from that season - if i had been a little more mature, what could i have said?

[ TRACK 005. eastside ] → my love is yours if you’re willing to take it, give me your heart ‘cause i ain’t gonna break it…

[ TRACK 006. crying over you ] → we had our flaws, i’ll be the first to admit, and we both struggled to commit. but, oh, was it really that bleak?

[ TRACK 007. adore you ] → you don’t have to say you love me, you don’t have to say nothing, you don’t have to say you’re mine — just let me adore you.

[ TRACK 008. savior ] → like fate, like destiny, we get along so naturally. you already have a piece of my heart which i have never given you — i could tell from the moment i met you that you are the savior that has come to ruin to me.

[ TRACK 009. for the lover that i lost ] → all of the memories feel like magic, all of the fighting seemed so sweet. all that we were, my love, was tragic — and you’re the last thing that i need.

[ TRACK 010. can’t help falling in love ] → shall i stay? would it be a sin if i can’t help falling in love with you? — darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be

[ ALT ENDING. ]

What We Lacked. (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: You and Bakugou break up after a short stint of dating. Having been best friends, you try to return to the way things were only to realize that whatever this is is taking a greater toll on you than you thought it would. 

“It’s a concerning feeling, but one you ignore in favor of pretending that nothing is wrong, in favor of imagining that whatever ache is in your chest is simply a figment of your overactive imagination. So each day starts the same, the same deep sigh and nearly painful roll out of bed before you immediately get dressed in hopes to feel just a little bit better. 

You’re slipping. You know you are. You can feel the fatigue creeping into your bones with each inconvenience, each minor thing that makes you feel like if this doesn’t work out, nothing at all will. It’s how you feel when you see them, Bakugou and his new girl.”

Content Warnings: Hurt/comfort, post-breakup, angst, descriptions of depression, mental health, feelings of worthlessness, jealousy, rumination, feelings of shame and embarrassment, self-depreciation, self-loathing, happy ending, recovery, slight depersonalization

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: This fic is really personal to me since i used my own personal experiences with depression and stuff. it’s also my first time writing hurt/comfort so i hope i did it well. also… did u guys know im in love w bakugou katsuki? like i am. anyway… here’s a new fic (finally). 

Keep reading

𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚

feat. katsuki bakugo x fem! reader

cw: ansgt

˗ˏˋ+ ´ˎ˗ leaving y/n a series a voicemails, katsuki regrets not telling her how he truly felt for her.

❝to see you walk away.❞

+ wherever you are by ulrich schnauss

shoto's version

you have one new voicemail!

"hey... it's... katsuki bakugo. you remember me? that one loud mouth that never knew how to keep his mouth shut, or at least that's what you'd say. always talking back to me like i wouldn't man handle your ass. anyways, yeah, everything seems off.

"... your funerals tomorrow. after a week of you being gone, they're finally putting you in the ground. everyone's acting different. everyone stares at the front door waiting for your grinning face to pop up at any moment. i don't know why, but, i'm also waiting to see your face.

"can i see you tomorrow?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"i gave my speech at your funeral. if you were here you'd say it's corny or some sappy shit. i think icy hot got a little mad. you remember him? your devoted little boyfriend. bet if you were here you'd be disappointed in him. he didn't even bother saying anything at your funeral.

"he just... stared at your empty casket. where you're supposed to be. i think he made himself believe that your body was still intact instead of... yeah. he didn't cry like everyone else did, i mean neither did i, but, he was silent. it was weird in a way. i couldn't stand the look in his face.

"do you see me?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"we got this new girl. it's eerie, she looks so much like you. half 'n half can't keep his eyes to himself. he thinks she's you. but i know better. she can never be you. she doesn't even reach where you're at. you two are on a completely scale. but you don't reach me.

"it pissed me off when aizawa had her sit in your seat. she probably thinks i like her because i keep staring back there. but it's not her that i'm staring at. it's your desk. because slowly, they're trying to replace you.

"what even pissed me off more, was when your dorm room, that used to be empty, was now occupied. for the new lousy american bitch. they're slowly getting rid of you. they're slowly getting rid of our memories.

"can you tell that i'll never get rid of you?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"aizawa can tell i've been slacking off. i can hear your sarcastic voice already saying, 'what, the katsuki bakugo, slacking off?'. he's trying to get us back into shape, not let another... mistake... happen again. but i can tell it's hard for him to. with his leg missing and his eye missing.

"i— this may sound corny, but, i kinda miss seeing your stupid face. i miss you talking back to me. did i tell you that the new girl talks back to me as well? i think she's trying to be you. the group, shitty hair, pink face, dunce face, and elbow guy don't like her.

"they said she's trying to be like you. i see it. i agree with them. she is trying to be like you. she's decorated her dorm room like yours. she even has that same poster from your favorite band. my instincts are telling me that your parents had left it by mistake and she took for herself.

"do you miss seeing my stupid face?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"i still come see your grave. i leave your favorite flowers. shitty hair told me to stop seeing you. that i need to move on and focus on my career. but how can i move on when i all i think about is you? yea, you're right, i am being soft.

"but if i had told you how i felt about you, you'd probably laugh in my face. it's why i never told you about how i felt. because i was afraid you'd reject me. i didn't want to look like a fucking idiot.

"but then i remember the way you would stare at me. the way i would catch you looking at me when you thought i wasn't looking. i know you know how i felt about you. and it hurts, because you never said anything.

"can i see you in my dreams like i do every other night?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"okay, don't get mad. yes, it has been a two weeks, but that's because the old hag took my phone away. she say's that you being gone has mess me up. i don't think so. she say's i need to get out there more. but she doesn't understand.

"don't get mad. i may or may have not kicked icy hots ass. before i hear you yelling at me, just listen. he took that american girl on a date. they're dating. how unfaithful is he. while everyone was congratulating him, i glared at him. how could he do this to you? if you were with me, i wouldn't do that. i would never move on.

"i told him off. shitty hair and elbow guy had to stop me from doing more damage. he just stood there and took it. i think he also knows that i liked you. 'liked'... i don't know what i'm doing, y/n.

"do you think you can tell me that everything is going to be okay?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"do you remember when that day i went knocking on your dorm? i had told you to turn of your shitty music because i could hear it from my dorm. but that wasn't true. i didn't come knocking at your door because of your music. hell, i couldn't even hear it.

"i knocked because i wanted to hear your ugly voice. i was also scared. ever since i got kidnapped by the league of villains. you comforted me and told me everything was going to be okay.

"then we stayed up talking about the randomness shit ever. and then you told me your secret. it looked like you didn't care when you pulled me down to your bed and covered me with your blanket. we huddled up so close, that i swear you could feel the heat radiating off my cheecks.

"can we do that again when i see you?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"everyone forgot about you. even your boyfriend, scratch that, your ex. no one calls your name out, no one mentions you anymore, the posters on the walls are no longer there. they completely gotten rid of you. it hurts. so, so bad.

"shitty hair wants me to go to therapy. i don't know. he's funny. he can tell i'm still clinging onto you. he catches me looking at photos of you. he got upset when he found the confession letter that i have planned on giving you.

"he says it's not healthy. he sounds like deku. oh, yeah, you remember deku? ever since he disappeared and came back, our relationship has gotten better. i think he feels guilty of you dying. we don't argue as much. you got your wish.

"do you think if i accomplish all your wishes i get to see you again?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"you know what sucks, n/n. is that your selfish ass left me all alone before i even got to tell you how i felt. you are so selfish to save some random civilian knowing you would get killed in the process. you saw it coming. why did you push me away!?

"... what sucks even more... is that your own family killed you. he knew and yet he still did it. yeah, if you're wondering, i kept your secret. i'm kinda glad you told me it, it was the only thing keeping me closer to you. you trusted me.

"can you tell me if you're okay wherever you are?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"be honest with me. and no fucking jokes. if you weren't with that bastard and if you never felt any feelings for him, would you have accepted my feelings? a part of me tells me that you wouldn't, because i'm harsh and rude.

"but another part says that you would have, because as you said it yourself, you didn't mind my attitude. you said it's what made me, me. i think that's why i was so drawn towards you. you accepted me for who i was and never once tried to change me.

"it's why i fell so hard for you. it's why i call you at midnight when i'm having panic attacks. your voice calms me down. yeah, okay, you can laugh. i'd do anything to hear your voice one more time. call me a big fucking softy.

"do you want to hear me say those three words?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"i came across your parents house the other night. ... i had a dream of you. you were sitting on your front porch, smiling up at me as you offered my hand. you were talking but i couldn't hear you. you sounded distant. then the next thing i know, you kissed me.

"maybe dunce face is right. i am down bad for you. he would always say that when you walked by and i'd always glance at you. he doesn't say it anymore and a part of me wishes for him to say it. he avoids your name like the black plague.

"i hope your family has moved on."

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"can i see you tomorrow? do you see me? can you tell that i'll never get rid of you? do you miss seeing my stupid face? can i see you in my dreams like i do every other night? do you think you can tell me that everything is going to be okay? can we do that again when i see you? do you think if i accomplish all your wishes i get to see you again? can you tell me if you're okay wherever you are?

"do you want to hear me say those three words?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"i don't know when your parents are gonna stop your phone services. so, before they do that, i want to let you know that... i, i love you. i know it's to late for me, but if you got a second chance i wouldn't hesitate to say those three fucking words.

"i wouldn't even care if anybody was around. i love you, y/n. i always have, since the first day i laid my eyes on you. i will always love you no matter where you are. i'm glad i got to met you. i'm glad you had bumped into me and talked back to me.

"i love you, y/n. i will always fucking love you."

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

i'm sorry, but the number you have dialed is no longer in service. please dial back again to make sure you have entered the right number. goodbye.

sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat

ph! katsuki bakugou x fem! (though i don't state pronouns) reader summary: katsuki realizes his feelings a little too late contains: mentions of sex, angst (with a maybe happy ending) word count: 2.8k words masterlist

Under the shadows of the coming morning—the sun rising through the blinds of the bedroom windows in your apartment—Katsuki liked to pretend that you were his. 

Just his. 

He tended to be up earlier than you anyways—with years of waking up for hero work instilled in his sleep schedule—but he liked that time. It was quiet in the mornings; only the sounds of the early morning traffic and the birds nested in the tree next to your apartment to keep him company besides your breathing: breaths that were soft and sweet and slow. 

He would curl his palm over your cheek, pressing your figure closer to his as he watched your chest rise and fall under him, stroking your skin softly with his rough thumb—because you were his in that moment. 

Just his.

In those times, he would forget what the reality of his life was—the way you would stare at him tiredly every time he knocked on your door past 1 am, the lingering feeling of your fingers on his cheeks when he leaned in for a kiss, how you would oblige him no matter how many times you’d called him while drunk and upset, the kisses he left on your forehead before he left you alone the next morning—

—That you were not his and he was not yours, no matter how many times he liked to repeat it to himself.

It’s because of my work—he said to himself in the morning, stroking your hair out of your face.

It’s because I don’t have the time to commit—he whispered, nestling himself into the crook of your neck so he could smell the lingering scent of mint, strawberries, and sex.

If only we met under different circumstances… If only my job wasn’t so demanding… If only it was easier… If only I could commit…

If only…

After a while, you only nodded when he whispered those words at three am and your head was resting on his bare chest—like you believed him. 

(Before you would get upset, turn away, tell him to leave—and the cycle would repeat.)

You’d kiss his neck in acknowledgment, curling up in his arms like a cat would—uncaring, unaware. 

He wished he could do the same; just accept the reality in front of him. 

But it didn’t matter, because right now, you were his. 

Just his.

It was the complacency that let the cycle continue; but it was the complacency that became his downfall. He realized this when he stopped leaving you after ten minutes of waking up—waiting for the pink sky to turn bright, watching your eyes flutter open under the light of forthcoming day, the small smile that creeped into your eyes when you realized he was still there—mornings spent in the kitchen drinking coffee and sharing laughs while you paraded around in the sweatshirt he left the first time he came over. 

(It was his favorite in school—black and oversized with a small embroidered insignia of All Might above the right breast.

He didn’t even know he’d lost it until you came out wearing it one morning—and some of his old cologne was still lingering on the collar.)

He let himself forget—deluded himself—into thinking it would last. That he wouldn’t eventually have to pull away, and the dream-like haze he’d lost himself in with you wouldn’t end.

Just his.

It happened five weeks later, after a month-long mission: the morning after, and you were standing in a shirt that wasn’t his with a coffee mug pressed up to your lips like it would hide what you were about to say.

“I think… I think we should end this here, Katsuki.”

The words didn’t register at first, and he stood there staring—trying to come up with an answer.

“This?”

“...us.” Your lips pressed together solemnly, as if whispering a prayer under your breath—and you let out a tired sigh. So very tired. “Our relationship.”

He grunted, unwilling to open his mouth in retaliation. The fear that had been festering in his head began to rise, ugly and thick like bile coming up his throat—and he stood still, silently, staring at the coffee you made for him with too much sugar in the mug he got you from a mission a couple months ago. 

“...I’ve been seeing someone,” you let out—but Katsuki didn’t dare look at your face; Venom sat at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spit out—

—Because you were supposed to be his. 

Just his. “Don’t call it a relationship,” he settled on—enough spite in his voice that he knew it would deter you. “It never was one.”

He expected you to look relieved when he finally stared up at you again, but your expression seemed more soured than before: like you were expecting a different answer to push past his lips. It was quickly replaced though, by a smile that didn’t seem to meet your eyes like they did when you’d wake up in the morning to still find him in bed next to you, before taking another sip of your too-sweet coffee.

“Thank you, Katsuki.”

He didn’t know what you were thanking him for—your time together? For letting you go when you’d both been hooking up like this for almost a year?

And he wasn’t even sure why it felt so bitter. He’d known from the beginning that, whatever this was, wouldn’t last forever. 

Why would you stay in something like this, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to give you more than the little bit of time he already did? Why wouldn’t you want someone who consistently woke up with you in the morning to give you breakfast in bed, or brought you flowers after work, or could take you out in the evenings for dinner?

You deserved that—you deserved all of it. 

So why did he think (hope) you would settle for the little moments he offered you when you could have the world?

He kept his face blank when he left your apartment that morning—drilling the hole in his brain that had been dedicated to you in silence—simultaneously missing the sound of sobbing that came from your apartment as soon as he stepped out the door. 

He thought he would be okay—that in a week or so, it’d be back to how it was without you. 

But it wasn’t.

One week turned into two; two weeks turned into four; and four weeks turned into sitting at the bar, drunk while still in his hero outfit, with Kirishima sitting next to him as he rambled on about you.

You were the only thing he thought about, the only thing he could think about—he missed the scent of your body wash, the warmth of your skin on his, the small teasing smiles you’d give and the dimple that only appeared on one cheek, the too-sweet coffee he’d subject himself to drinking, watching the sunrise while feeling you laying next to him…

Everything about you felt like home.

He’d even gotten distracted the other day during a villain attack because there was a civvie who looked just like you in the line of fire and he’d panicked. 

“It was such a fuckin’ rookie, stupid ass mistake, and I still made it,” he took the last sip of his pint before letting out a small, frustrated grunt because it was finished. 

Eijirou moved to prevent Katsuki from flagging the bartender down for a refill—he was drunk enough after two pints; instead, he signaled for the check while Katsuki groaned in response.

“I’m not fuckin’ finished.”

“Yes, you are,” Eijirou stared at him with a pinched expression. “You have patrol first thing in the morning—you’ll thank me for it then.”

Katsuki huffed under his breath in resignation—unfortunately Eijirou was correct. Not only that, but the upcoming lecture he knew would be coming from the higher ups would be infinitely worse with a splitting hangover. 

“I’ll pay for it,” Eijirou shooed him off his barstool. “Just go stand outside for a bit, maybe the cold will help sober you up a little before you go to sleep.”

Katsuki could only huff in response; his mind was swimming and blurred and his head felt heavy enough that he could only comply with what Eijirou had said—he’d have to pay him back for it later. Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he trudged outside. 

The late-winter-early-spring winds nipped against his skin as soon as the door shut behind him, and Katsuki pulled the scarf he was wearing higher up to fully cover his neck and chin—shifting uncomfortably in the cold while he waited for Kirishima. The street was basically empty except for the couple people walking in and out of the bar; he guessed that it was too cold for people to be wandering around at night. Most of the shops on the streets were closed too, leaving the only illumination to come from the blinking street lamps that lined the sidewalk and the gibbous moon above.

“What’s takin’ so fuckin’ long…” he muttered under his breath—trying to peer into the window to see what Kirishima was doing. 

When he turned back, he spotted a couple walking in the distance; though he couldn’t make out their faces, their intertwined hands and the closeness they exuded was enough. Katsuki could see his breath in the air when he sighed, loudly, mind buried in the memories of what could have been—until they were close enough that he could make out their faces: and he realized, it was you.

And you looked happy with the extra, he couldn’t lie—all cheeky, rosy smiles and giggles as he told you some joke that he could barely get through without laughing himself; you were holding a bouquet of pink and yellow tulips in one hand, with the other hand clasped in his (which he occasionally brought up to his lips to kiss the back of); he was carrying both the leftovers of the restaurant you both just went to and a shopping bag from a store you’d always liked.

You looked… at peace—with yourself, your situation.

But as happy as you looked, he couldn’t help the ugly, selfish feeling boiling in the back of his throat.

Because you were just his.

Because… that should’ve been him.

It should’ve been him—holding your hand, leading you through the night with confidence, and the other holding everything you wanted to buy while you smiled and giggled on his arm. 

You’d love teasing him. You’d loved spending time with him, as little as it was.

And though he’d refused it for so long, you’d loved him too.

He’d spent weeks, months, trying to ignore that fact when the two of you were together, if you could even classify it as that—and here he was, stuck in the same fucking position; he was destined to just watch you from afar as you moved on from the cycle he’d pushed you into, while he lost himself in it instead.

Maybe he was just selfish.

Katsuki didn’t even know when he started following you both, distantly (maybe he couldn’t help it, maybe he just wanted to make sure you reached home safe)—Eijirou was an afterthought at that point—and when you’d finally reached your apartment.

The extra even offered to come up and drop the bags off so you wouldn’t have to carry them up the stairs yourself, but you declined: kissing him shortly before waving goodbye and watching him leave. 

Watching you kiss him seemed to wake Katsuki up, his glazed over eyes finally seeming to register his surroundings: the streetlamps overhead, the light from the apartments lining the building, the little crack in the paint of the building where he’d once apprehended a villain to save you, you staring at him—

—you were staring at him? Katsuki didn’t shift from where he was standing as you walked up to him, leftovers and shopping and tulips forgotten on the sidewalk in front of your apartment.

“Katsuki?” Your lips barely moved, and your hands were pressed to your sides. You were trembling slightly—and he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or him.

He didn’t answer; he couldn’t will his mouth to open in front of you.

“Wh–What are you doing here?”

Even worse, he couldn’t bear to tell you the truth.

“I uh… I was on patrol nearby.”

You stared off to that little crack in the painted wall as if you were reminiscing, avoiding his gaze—your fingers rubbing together red in the cold with wobbly knuckles.

You were freezing.

“Here,” he grunted, slowly pulling his scarf from under his neck to hand it to you. Your expression instantly changed, and though you tried to dissuade him, the visible puffs of air coming from your nose were enough to tell him that it was something you needed.

“I… Thank you…” you whispered, letting him wrap it around you. “You always said you hated the cold, so…”

“Doesn’t matter. You clearly need it more than I do.”

This was his final act, he’d decided. He couldn’t hold you back any longer—not when he couldn’t give you what you wanted and needed out of him; no, it was what you deserved. Maybe his final act of stupidity would mean enough to him in the future that he’d be able to move on; and maybe one day the stupid scarf would just be a memento you had, instead of a reminder of the hurt he knew he’d brought.

And it was all so fucking dumb and poetic—standing in the spot you’d both met, saying your final goodbyes with your happy ending just waiting in the distance: waiting for him to get out of your life so it could be whole and right again.

But when you turned around, and started walking back towards the tulips he never bought you, leftovers from the restaurants where he never took you, and the clothes he’d never offered to buy—your apartment where his sweatshirt was laying in the first, top drawer of your dresser—the words were choked out of his throat.

Because you were supposed to be just his.

And maybe the alcohol in his system had the influence, but he couldn’t let you go: not when you were the best thing that’d ever happened in his entire life. 

The echoing sound of boots slapping loudly against the pavement and your name being called out by his heavy cries was enough to stop you in your tracks—and at first he thought it was because you didn’t want to see him again: but when he called your name once more and you turned around, he learned it was because you were already crying.

“I…I love you,” he whispered when he was close enough, fighting the urge to wipe your tears away like his own weren’t following quickly behind.

“Katsuki…” you smeared your cold fingers over your face, trying to wipe away the evidence that kept falling. “I-I…Y-You…Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for those words to come out of your lips?” you couldn’t really stop the tears from falling now—and he could only pathetically watch as they did. “Do you know how much I’ve fucking ached and cried over those three stupid fucking words? And now… Now that I finally feel okay, you’re standing here—pretending like you can make it alright again? How can you–”

“I love you,” he repeated, grounding his stance in the pavement. He couldn’t let you slip straight through his fingers. “I’ve loved you since I blasted that idiot against that wall to save you. I’ve loved you since you dressed my wounds in your apartment. I’ve loved you since we met at that coffee shop again down the street. I’ve loved you through every night spent together, and through every mission spent away…” He repeated your name once more, cradling your face in his rough, cold palms like he would an oath to his heart. “And—m’sorry… I-I know I was a fuckin’ idiot this whole time not realizin’ it, and you can hate me all you want but I… I just needed you to know, ‘kay?—I couldn’t let you walk out of my life without knowing.”

He couldn’t even face you anymore, not when he could feel the tear that’d begun leaking down his cheek at the thought of you rejecting his admission: a secret he’d kept close to his heart, burying it underneath years of repression and loathing.

And now it was out in the open, left for you to stomp on if you wanted to.

“You say that now, Katsuki,” you uttered, the tears now drying on your cheeks. “But we both know that whatever this is isn’t gonna last.” You scoffed bitterly, putting your hands over his—perhaps in an attempt to remove them from where they were plastered to your skin—but instead they just rested over his while your bottom lip wobbled dangerously. 

He knew you were right. He knew that everything you said was true.

And yet—

—he kissed you anyway. 

Because you knew: that you were just his and he was just yours.

if he's a serial killer, then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?—

dabi x reader

wc: 9.5+

warnings: 18+, ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT, explicit/crude language, reader is not doing well, angst, dabi is bad at feelings, also yandere by accident?

if he's as bad as they say, then i guess i'm cursed, looking into his eyes, i think he's already hurt—

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really.

It had been by some ridiculous coincidence that you attended Shizuoka Private School at the same time, in the same class and had the same peers. There was always an idiotic smile on your face; it made you seem so damn friendly that the other kids fought over you at lunch—who would you sit with today? But you sat with them last time! When was it my turn?

Even then you were pulled in different directions.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, only classmates. Sometimes he sat with you, sometimes he didn’t; more often than not he spent his time outside, counting out his breaths so he didn’t burn his stomach or his hands or his face—which is pretty fucking funny, in retrospect—but you talked to him, just like you did everyone. It wasn’t anything special.

A smile and a wave. How’s it going, Touya? Sure are working hard!

An offering, some of the leftover rice in the bento your dear mommy made you. Ugh, I’m so full! You need the energy, want it?

A chin perched on your knee, pulling them close to your chest as you watched him. That’s super cool! I bet you’ll be even better than your dad!

So fucking sweet. So fucking idiotic.

(He didn’t think that then. Nah, not back then.)

It always made you throw up, using that quirk of yours. Underneath the tree, the one in the front of the fence on the side of the school, he’d told you,

“You can be my sidekick! I’ll get them with Prominence Burn, and you get ‘em with Mind Freeze!”

There was blood in your teeth when you responded. “We’ll get the bad guys together!”

It’s not until after everything that he realizes what the problem is, not until you take that job in the hospital and put needles in veins and take temperatures and clean up shit that he realizes you can’t take it. Something about it ruining your own neurological whatever; if you had tried to be a hero, you wouldn’t have made it to your late-twenties. Brain would have ate itself, or something.

(In retrospect, he guesses that’s a good thing. If he ever ran into you out there, if he had to turn your bones to ash in an alleyway while you wore some cheesy spandex, you might not have recognized him—but you would have figured it out just before he carbonized you. You would have probed his mind all different ways, found everything out, even those things he shoves behind the door in his head.)

(Of course he could do it, smite you into fucking nothing, absolutely, no problem.)

Somehow you got blessed with good parents, the kind that supported whatever path you wanted, the kind that only exists in the movies. They said things to you like, “only if you want to” and “you can be just as much of a hero without your quirk”—which was a load of shit and you knew it. He knew it, too.

Those kids by the fence were supposed to be partners.

In retrospect, it’s pretty fucking funny. Every last bit of it.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, but you lit incense for him at least once a year. Most of the time on his birthday (he wasn’t sure how you figured that out; the idea that you went to his house to ask Enji was horrifying), but sometimes you wouldn’t show up that day. Sometimes you did it at Christmas, sometimes on Valentine’s Day. Sometimes on any random Saturday of the month.

Sometimes you showed up for a few weeks in a row.

So fucking sweet. So fucking idiotic.

Who the fuck even are you, anyway? Acting all sad and heartbroken because some kid from your class went and got himself incinerated to Hell. Acting like you cared, as if those conversations under the tree ever really meant anything. As if the future was ever gonna be up to him, as if he had any say. Acting as if you could ever do the Hero Thing, as if you had any say. As if the blood on your lips didn’t stain his when he kissed a girl at age ten, for the first time.

Grow up. Kids say shit they don’t mean all the time.

And without him, you had—grown up. After a while you stopped talking about him, stopped saying, “Oh, my friend Touya,” as if he was still there, waiting for you at the front of the school. You were an honor student, every year, and your parents bought you a car when you started high school. A normal one, not U.A. No one had figured it out yet, that your bouts of illness and fatigue, the Twice-sized migraines you got were all due to that quirk of yours, but you knew something was wrong. Even then.

Somehow you got blessed with good parents, the kind that paid your way through college, the kind that bought you a stethoscope as if you were gonna be some hot-shot doctor. So fucking stupid, in a world of quirks; someone could do what would take you hours, in seconds, but you still chose that job. Because you still wore that idiotic smile and people still flocked to you and you wanted to please everyone, just like always.

Yeah, he knew where you lived, but it’s not like he was a creep.

When he managed to unscramble his brain enough to use it, it was easy to find you. You lived in the same house you always did and he’d been over once, as Touya, and the curtains covering your windows were still pink, still had stars on them, when you were ten and when you were eighteen. Those parents of yours had to make a big ol’ deal of you moving out, to some shitty apartment closer to the hospital, closer to downtown, so it wasn’t hard for him to follow that moving truck.

And you still had those fucking curtains. Why wouldn’t you throw them away? Move on. Grow up.

To his complete horror, you kept a photo of him in the third drawer in your kitchen, the same photo Enji stared at. It was pathetic, all of it, how you kept him around and in your space. Sometimes you would open that drawer and see it and act surprised, as if you hadn’t put it there yourself, and you would say something stupid like, “How’s it going, Touya?” before grabbing what you needed and putting him back in the dark.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, and it was all so idiotic.

When one of your nurse friends asked about the picture, you told them everything. About the bento boxes and the tree, about the Hero to your Sidekick, about the one and only time he felt like a kid, in someone else’s home, while he watched some girly movie about a witch and her broomstick and a cat.

“—and my mom made me salmon, but he hates fish, so we threw it at a car in the school parking lot.”

Hates. As if he was still alive. As if you still cared. As if you could tell he was sitting against the wall in your dark bedroom, listening to every sip of that beer you took.

The worst part of it all was that you walked to and from work, like a big fucking fool. Mom and Pop bought you a car for a reason, stupid, and if you wanted to stay in shape so bad, you could just join a fucking gym, like the rest of the world. But no. You insisted, even when that cunt from the hospital cafeteria offered to drive you himself. “Fresh air is good for me,” you told him, which was a terribly lame response—one fit for you.

So fucking stupid, trying to be so perfect all the time.

The way you curled your hair and the careful hand you used to put on your makeup. If a bum on the street asked you for money, you’d come back from a coffee shop across the road with water and a sandwich, maybe even throw him a bill or two. People stopped you to ask for directions and you gave them, sometimes you would pay for the person in line behind you at some takeout place. If litter was on the ground, you’d carry it to the nearest trash can.

They told you that if you’d tried to do the Hero Thing, you’d be dead by twenty-three, and yet there you were, holding open the door for four people in a row with that smile, playing the good guy.

Grow up.

There were plenty of other women in his life better than you, women that understood his motivation, his rage, ones that left the door unlocked when he needed to get his rocks off. Some of those women had pierced nipples and wore spandex—not the cheesy kind—and let him do the whole BDSM thing because they liked it just as much as he did. They didn’t expect anything of him, they didn’t talk about him like he was still there or pretend to care. They liked him, Dabi (most of them, anyway, some of those fucking bitches couldn’t get over his appearance, but he didn’t care about them).

He didn’t care about any of that, least of all you. Least of all the skimpy dress you wore when that cafeteria cuck finally got your number, finally got the balls to take you out. Who cares that he brought you flowers and that you kissed him for it? It’s not some big, grand deal that a man took notes from a shitty romance flick to impress you. He didn’t care at all, because he was balls-deep in a girl he’d picked up at the bar, and it wasn’t some big deal that he pretended it was you moaning his name.

Yeah, you were kinda attractive. Whatever.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, and it wasn’t a big deal he watched you after that twelve hour shift you always pull. The walk home in the first place is dumb, but it’s nearly 3am and you’re stumbling on your feet (it’s your third night in a row, because, of course it is). The alleyways gets real dark, he knows this, and all it takes is for him to tip his head down and breathe in his nicotine for you not to notice.

There’s blood on your scrubs and you look tired, a different kind of tired than the one you usually wear, a sad-tired. All the mascara is gone from your eyes. Probably lost some poor bastard in the ER because you didn’t have a quirk that mattered, not in your profession, and now you’re crying because you’re soft.

People die. Touya did. Grow up. Throw away the picture.

It’s all so boring and lame, weariness eating at the edges of his own eyes, but he isn’t ready to go back to that shitty motel room he’s living out of. Toga is on his last damn nerve at the moment and Shigaraki is messing around with some losers, so he doesn’t care, not right now. The motel bed is broken and it creaks when he moves and he’s fucking over it, so that’s why he leans against the wall when you walk by, why he closes his eyes and lets the cigarette smoke swirl into the sky, and it’s why he doesn’t follow right behind you, not yet.

One would think he’d be familiar with the sound of a tire iron against a skull, but that isn’t really his style, so it’s only when you start coughing that he realizes something is weird. When he rounds that corner and looks down the sidewalk, the last thing he sees is the curtain of your hair disappearing into an alleyway too far from him.

“Fuck.”

He almost says your name out loud, he almost calls it out, but someone actually has the nerve to grab you right out from underneath him, so he’s shoving his hands in his pockets and hurrying down the sidewalk. The first thing he sees is one of your teeth (he kicks the other one and it clicks down the concrete, skittering over the curb and into the street) and then he sees the tiny pool of blood you’d spit up when you hit the ground.

Dabi isn’t some fucking pussy, so he really isn’t sure why it happens so slowly, why he lets it go so far. By the time the sound of your cries reach him, some fucker already has your scrub pants around your ankles and he’s slotting himself up against your ass, but you’re too out of it to really realize what’s happening. Blood is pouring over your eye and half your face is already bruised and knotted from where the metal struck you, but you’re awake.

Which is why he thinks this idiot hit you where he did, nowhere truly lethal, because some guys like when girls squirm.

You’re just moaning in pain, lying there while he looks at you in shock (someone is really doing this to you? Just out in the street like a fucking tool?) but you’re trying to drag yourself away, pretty nails scraping against the pavement without any real effort. When the alleyway begins to glow blue, you look up at him, and he sees the fear in your eyes when you meet his.

It’s ugly, but it’s over soon.

That alleyway fucking stinks now, with the smell of melted skin and hair and it’s too smokey for either of you to breathe. For some reason, you aren’t even screaming, which is absurd, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone attacks you, idiot. Your entire face is covered in ash and dirt and blood, sticking to the sweat pooling from you, and you’re still just rolling around like a headless chicken.

And for a moment, he isn’t really sure what to do.

For a moment, he has some idiotic thought, about gathering you up in his—

Nah, fuck that, he won’t even finish it.

There is a hospital up the street, your hospital, and they would probably find you soon enough. If he leaves right then, as you try and fail to reach for your pants, he could even run up there and call out about a woman in the alleyway. People flock to you; they love perfect, little, you, and they’ll find you. They’ll call the doctor with the quirk you don’t have and they’ll heal you. They’ll take care of you.

The two of you weren’t even friends, not really, but he won’t forget the way he felt when you used that shitty quirk of yours on him. As if someone was reaching in through his ears and his nose and poking around, trying their damndest to touch his brain with their fingers, and then it’s like a switch is turned on, one he didn’t realize was turned off.

Just before you vomit enough blood to knock you out, you gasp and reach a shaking hand out to him and then you say it. You say his name.

You say, “Touya, please.”

And then he has no choice but to entertain that fucking thought from before, because you’ve used that quirk and you’ve unlocked that door in his head and he’s the kid by the fence, under the tree, all over again.

At best, he should have left you for someone to find. Possibly should have left you for dead because he’s not ready yet, not for the big reveal. There is a timeline he’s working with, one that will hit Enji the hardest, and tonight isn’t the night for it to all start. You know the incense you’ve been burning has been for nothing, that the picture in your drawer is about as stupid as he’s always thought it was, and you know that Touya isn’t dead.

And no one is supposed to know, not yet.

Yeah, he knows where you live, but he can’t exactly climb the steps to your apartment with you, half-dead and covered in your own blood and grime, in his arms and expect none of the do-gooders in your building not to call the cops. The motel is gross, but it’s in a bad part of town; this sight sure isn’t the worst they’ve ever seen, will ever see.

Maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll just die in this creaky bed. Then he can blame the blood stains and the smell for the reason he needs to change rooms. Nothing about you seems alive, except for the pulse racing in your neck, for the heartbeat in your chest that nearly comes out of your skin. For once in your life, you aren’t wearing that fucking smile, not looking with those bright eyes or batting your eyelashes. For once you’re finally quiet.

Dabi has patched himself up enough times to do this, but he hardly has anything with him that can help whatever the fuck is going on with you. Will you die from the wound to the head? Have a concussion? Are you gonna puke blood all over the sheets, like he wants you to? After he pulled your pants up, your underwear were still on and intact, no blood on your thighs, so he doesn’t think that asshole actually got anywhere with you.

It’s kinda pissing him off, how long it took for him to do anything.

Not that he cares.

The towels in the motel are shitty and scratchy. The water is lukewarm and never cold, but he wets a hand towel all the same and tries his best to wash the blood off your face, off your mouth and your neck. There is probably blood in your teeth, just like there always had been, but he’s not about to pry your lips open and brush them with his only toothbrush, so you’ll just have to figure that out whenever you wake up.

There is a sorry excuse for a first-aid kit under the leaking sink and thank fuck you’re knocked out, because he’s got to cauterize that wound on your forehead (you still stir a little bit and tears escape your closed eyes), but he puts a somewhat sticky band aid over it.

In retrospect, it’s pretty fucking funny; your perfect little face, finally marred.

When there is nothing left to do but wait for you to wake up, he just stares at you. For a long time. Longer than he’ll ever admit, even to himself. Because he hasn’t been this close, not since the tree or that time he sat next to you in your living room, while you shared onigiri and watched that dumb movie. Enji didn’t even know—he’d been too busy with Shoto to realize he hadn’t gone outside to train. He’d been too busy to realize Touya had slipped out of the yard and down the street, into a girl’s house for the first and last time.

When he thinks about you, sitting beside him and touching the white of his hair, with your soft hands and your shy little face, he leaves to go get water from the store around the corner. There’s hardly any money in his pockets, but he uses it all to buy as many bottles of water he can, and when he gets back, you haven’t moved an inch.

“Are you dead yet?” He doesn’t look at you when he asks, only sets the water on the wood-chipped table by the door and waits. It’s nearly 5 in the morning and he’s dead tired, but he just sits on the ground and waits some more. About an hour goes by and he checks your pulse again, just to be sure.

He’s half awake when your fingers start twitching, when you start whimpering in your sleep. The bed creaks when you shift on your back, moving your legs in discomfort as you start rolling around again, just like you did in the alley. When your eyes finally open, you blink at the ceiling for a long time (he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath), before touching your head gingerly. At the first feel of the band aid on your forehead, tears immediately well up in your eyes and you let out a gasp, looking away from him and to the shitty bathroom.

Dabi is sitting beside the mattress on the ground, looking at you when you turn your head to him. Maybe you should scream, if you had the energy, maybe you should do what most people do when they see him and his fucking skin, the staples holding him all together. But you’re a big idiot, so you don’t. You only scan his face and look into his eyes (and he’s a man now and not a fucking kid, so he stares back), blink at him, just like you did the ceiling, and you don’t say anything for a long time.

It looks like there are a million thoughts running through your head and it’s pissing him off.

“Say something,” He spits, “Don’t just fucking stare at me like that.”

“Touya.”

“Don’t call me that.” No one has, not since the Hero and Sidekick days, not since Shizuoka Private School, not since Sekoto Peak. “And don’t ever fucking poke around in my brain again!”

"Am I dead?"

So fucking idiotic. "Unfortunately for me, no."

Your head is so heavy that when you try to sit up, it just lolls back on your shoulders, looking like it's gonna fall off and onto the sheets. After a minute of trying, you give up. "Are you dead?"

All your words are slurring. Maybe you are dying, after all.

"Unfortunately for me, no."

"Where am I?"

And you're still not screaming or freaking out, even though you'd been nearly whacked to death, nearly raped into the concrete. Even though a kid from your class—one you weren't even friends with—is alive right next to you, looking like someone left him in the oven too long.

Does he tell you where you are? Chances are, if you survive this thing, you'll report him to the police since you're such a goody-goody. A wannabe hero and all that. Once, he'd seen you carry an empty fast food bag for three fucking blocks because every trash can you found before then was full. Fucking pathetic.

On the bed, you're still shifting your legs and twitching. It doesn't seem like you realize it.

"Are you alright in there?" Maybe if he hits you upside the head, you'll stop. "'Cause you almost got your brains knocked out."

More tears. The skin on your forehead is real tight with that knot and your brows only pull down a hair. A big, fat pout. "What? What happened? Where am I?"

The scrub top is tucked into your pants because he'd been in a hurry to yank them up your legs, but you don't seem to notice. There's a good chance you don't even remember getting whacked, and the last thing he wants to do is pretend he cares enough to console you. So fucking soft, you'll definitely start crying if he tells you what nearly happened to you (seriously, what the fuck was he doing? Supposed to be some badass and it took him a solid six seconds to act. So annoying), so he won't.

"Some guy stole your purse."

That's not true, it's behind the toilet.

"What? Where is he?"

Dabi snorts and his eyes relax into an unimpressed stare. "Oh, well after he bludgeoned you, I thought I'd entertain a game of Shogi with him—where the fuck do you think he is? I lit him up like the Chinese New Year."

"Oh." Is all you say and then you're quiet. When he looks up from the stained carpet and back at your face, your eyes are closed and he snaps his fingers until you reopen them. "Am I dead?"

"No, now quit askin'."

Your equilibrium must be way off, because you try to raise your hand to touch your face but it just waves around near your right ear like you're drunk off your ass. When you try to sit up again, you manage it, but you still sway back and forth.

He still has no idea what to do. Finish the job already? Put you out of your misery?

The bed creaks every time you lean back and you swivel around dumbly to look down at it, down at him. That perfectly curled hair of yours is a wreck, all tangled in the back like some sort of bad sex hair, and in the light of the barely rising sun, he can see parts of blood he missed. You don't smile that smile, so he doesn't know if it's in your teeth. Probably is.

Maybe you aren't gonna croak right then, because you look at the door, the chipping paint on the walls, the who-knows-what colored stain on the carpet. You look at the water on the table, at the shitty desk, the flickering light outside the bathroom. Then him.

"Can I have some water, please?"

Please.

Oh, shut the fuck up.

Dabi gives it to you anyway, even unscrews the cap for you like some kind of gentleman, like some kind of hero you or he could never be. Half of it spills out of your mouth and runs all down your shirt, like you have no idea how to work your lips anymore. When it dribbles down your chin, he can see it's pink.

Every time you blink your eyes, they get heavier and heavier, one closing and opening before the other.

Maybe you are really dying, right there in some shitty motel room with the ghost of a kid you kinda knew. Those parents of yours will probably lose it, maybe your mom will even off herself when they find your body, decaying on this creaky bed. But he'll be long gone by then. And he doesn't care.

In retrospect, it's pretty fucking funny. Touya will come back and you won't.

It takes you three attempts to stand, holding yourself up with a weak hand on the bed. The second attempt has you nearly falling on your face back into the mattress, ass all up in the air like it had been in the alleyway. When you take an unsteady step forward, he jumps up, just in case you're faking it and are gonna make a run for the door.

But you don't, you just look at him and say it again. "Touya."

"Don't call me that."

"Am I dead?"

It takes him three steps to cross the distance between you and him, and he grabs your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks together and making you look at all the burnt parts of him. "I wouldn't be here if you were dead, you idiot. Stop asking."

More tears. That pout again.

Oh boo fucking hoo, he's being mean. Grow up.

Thoughts are flashing in your eyes again but you're not saying anything, you might not even know how to anymore. He shakes your face a little before letting go and you stumble into him, like the grip of his hand had been the only thing keeping you upright.

"I miss you."

The two of you hadn't even been friends, not really, not at all. The tree had been cut down, Shoto was the hero he was supposed to be, and you were fucked up, dying out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing is how it was supposed to be.

Maybe if he cared about anything other than himself, he would be worried about you, drooling like that because you can't keep your mouth closed. Maybe if he cared, he would give a shit about seeing your face up close and he would admit he's been watching it for too long, seeing how it changes and gets prettier every year, seeing the woman you grew up to be. Maybe if he cared, he would even say something stupid, like that it meant something to him that he meant something to you. Maybe he'd even smile, let you touch him, maybe he'd even bury his face in your neck and tell you he missed you, too.

But Dabi doesn't care, not a bit.

So he holds you at an arm's length, face twisting into that crazy snarl he gets sometimes. Miss, like he was still alive. Like you were the dead one, imagining it all in whichever layer of Hell you ended it up. What a load of shit.

"Get off me!"

When he steps back away from you, you catch yourself on the wall, turning so that your back is leaning against it. Your eyes close again, but he can see that they're rolling behind your lids, even as you slump down to the ground. All the blood left on you has dried and it comes off in flakes when you itch at your hairline, at your jaw, underneath your chin. There is dirt and maybe some leftover skin, a little bit of gravel, all embedded under your nails and pressed against your neck, which you finally seem to realize.

"I'm...disgusting."

"Yeah."

That pretty little head of yours looks like it weighs a ton, but you raise it so your eyes can meet his, and, he's not close enough to tell, but is one of your pupils dilated? That band aid is hardly clinging to your forehead and at the touch of your fingers, it just gives up, falls off and into your lap. It stretches between your fingers and you look at it like you've never seen one before.

"I don't feel good."

No fucking shit. That first aid kit has a small package of expired Acetaminophen—whatever the fuck that is—and he gives it to you, though you choke while trying to swallow it.

It takes you another few attempts to get to your feet, but you finally do and he steps out of your reach again. "I need to shower."

A laugh actually barks out of him. "This water'll probably poison you."

Maybe your ears are clogged with blood or something, because you just repeat yourself. "I'm gross, I need to take a shower, please."

Please.

Fine, if you want to die with a yeast infection, go right ahead.

Dabi has seen your tits before—not on purpose—but you don't know that, so he tries to be a gentleman and at least act like he's not looking when you peel that dingy scrub top off, when you nearly fall down trying to get out of your sports bra.

He does look when you ask him for help, though.

There is no way you can stand up by yourself in the fucking shower, and you want this UTI so damn bad, so he just runs a lukewarm bath. The water splutters and comes out at all different kinds of pressure, but you don't slip when you step in, so he just leaves you to it.

Maybe you'll drown in there—though this shitty tub isn't really big enough for you to do that—and it will all be over painlessly. Then he won't have to hold a pillow over your face or burn your flesh off while you scream and writhe.

No problem, he could absolutely do it.

Maybe he'll just come back and you'll finally be done twitching, looking as peaceful as you do when you sleep, underneath that blood-tinged water.

After it happened, Dabi wanted to kill you. Like actually kill you. A whole lotta people, everyone he knew, really, but you were somewhere near the top of the list.

Maybe because you made him feel something once, maybe because the little charm bracelet you gave him was the first thing that turned to ash at Sekoto Peak. Maybe because, if he couldn't rise up and do the Hero Thing, then he didn't want you to do it, either.

(Which, in retrospect—)

There wasn't gonna be any big show, no flames or anything, just him and his hands. It lulled him to sleep most nights, out there on the street, thinking of the ways he would do it. He planned to slip through those pink star curtains of yours and wake you up—because he wanted to see the light leave your eyes—and then he'd wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze until your eyes fucking popped. Maybe he'd even kiss your gasping lips again.

There was a time when he wanted it so bad, that it was almost hard to distinguish that desire from reality. Some days he would wake up and he wouldn't think about shoving his thumbs in your eyes, because, he'd already done it, hadn’t he? They'd already buried you, the world had already moved on without perfect, little you. Dabi sure had, Touya sure had.

Guess that's why you're still alive (well, somewhat) in that bathroom and he's just sitting against the door, waiting for the sound of you to start gurgling or something. Somehow he just forgot to kill you, became too wrapped up in a plan for Enji. If he pictures that list in his mind, you were number 4 or 5, but he'd never made it past the first name.

It kinda pisses him off.

There hasn't been any sounds, none. Not even of you moaning or crying, no water splashing as you drowned or even washed yourself. Just silence, from the minute you sat down in that tub. It's been at least 30 minutes and that lukewarm water must finally be cold, but you haven't said anything. You've got to be dead. You've got to be.

Maybe he can cross your name off that list, after all.

The scene from the alleyway keeps replaying in his mind and he's finally figured out why it makes him feel so sick: if he had followed behind you in the first place, you wouldn't have gotten whacked. And if you hadn't gotten whacked, he wouldn't have needed to bring you back to his base of operations here, in the fucking decaying motel room, and you wouldn't know he was alive. There would be no chance for his plan to be ruined because you'd be at home, in bed or actually taking a shower or something, and things would be safe. His plan would be safe.

That's why the sight of you there, bloody and beaten, half naked on the ground, makes his stomach hurt and twist in all different ways.

That's why the sight of you in here, disoriented and fading, blood hemorrhaging in your brain, makes him nervous.

That's why. No other reasons.

Still doesn't explain why he hesitates with his hand on the door, thinking of seeing you naked with far away glassy eyes, but, fuck it, Dabi doesn't have time to figure that out, too. Now he's got to get rid of your body, throw it in the dumpster out back or something before people start to notice you've gone missing.

When he opens that door, his lungs seize up as he looks at you.

But after a few, still moments, your still-filthy head swivels to look at him and he breathes (in disappointment, damn it).

"What the fuck?" He says, but your expression doesn't change. "I thought you needed a bath."

There is still a layer of dirt and grime on your chest and face, all the places the water didn't rise to meet because you didn't sink down underneath it. It's been a big fucking waste of time, leaving you in there, because now it's after 6 and you're as wrinkly as a fucking raisin and still alive and he still doesn't know what to do.

"I do." When you swallow, it sounds like your throat is as dry as his skin. Probably left your mouth open this whole time, just staring at the peeling paint on the wall.

"Then why didn't you take one?"

"My arms are heavy."

"Mother of—fuck!"

So fucking stupid. So fucking idiotic. The water is an ugly color, similar to the stain out on the carpet, and he reaches his hand right down in between your legs to pull the plug. It's the first time he's felt the water being cold and, so close to you, he realizes you're shivering. Teeth chattering, shoulders shaking, lips turning a little blue, all because you'd just sat in the damn tub for too long.

"Get the fuck—stand up." Though he says it, he knows you aren't gonna do it, so he just puts his hands under your armpits and hauls you to your feet. The second he lets go, you nearly tumble sideways out of the tub and he doesn't want to clean up anymore blood, so he stops you from bashing your head on the tile.

But he should have let you, oh boy, he should have let you do it. Then he wouldn't be in this stupid situation anymore.

This fucking situation, where he's standing in a grimy tub as water swirls around his feet, as you dampen all of his clothes with your pruned body. Dabi has been in a lot of bad situations, but this one takes the fucking cake.

"Like taking care of a fucking baby," He mutters, and he's looking at the shower-head and the knobs, he's looking at the water draining in the tub and feeling the coldness seeping into his socks, into his skin from his wet clothes.

It's fucking pointless now, might as well.

The rings of the shower curtain rattle when he pulls it closed, the water is lukewarm when it sprays him directly in the face and he jerks back, blinking it out of his eyes as you sigh against his chest. It doesn't stop you from shivering, but the little bit of heat against your back has you curling, arching like a cat and nearly purring at the warmth of it.

It's pathetic.

Almost as pathetic as him standing fully clothed, holding up a half-dead girl in the shower, some girl from his class. One he wasn't even friends with.

"Touya."

"I said don't call me that."

The two of you stand in silence for a while, your cheek against his chest, his hands under your arms. The front of his hair has flattened against his forehead and every now and then, a dark drop of water drips down on your nose and leaves an inky trail. Dabi has this thought, a scary one, that a lot of things are going to come clean in this shitty shower.

The giant sighs you heave are the only way he knows you aren't dead. And you're a fucking liar, because those oh so heavy arms of yours are raising, he can feel your hands at his hips, dragging up over his tightened stomach and at his chest. Then you loop your feather-light arms around his back and shuffle just a bit on your feet, like the two of you are just hugging, like friends.

"Why’re you wearing clothes?"

Dabi snorts and rears his head back, but you don't look up at him. "Because I've got a massive hard on and you're not in there"—he taps his finger against the top of your sopping wet head—"enough for me to fuck."

That's not true, he's not the slightest bit aroused by you.

In this state, at least; okay, so yeah, maybe he didn't look at your tits on purpose, but it was in the spank bank now. Get over it.

The last thing he wants is to be naked with you, anywhere near you. Maybe if he cared about something other than himself, he could admit that the very idea terrified him. Not even in this failing state of mind would you laugh at him, or be grossed out or scared. You'd probably still put your hands in his hair, still touch his face, put yours against his chest.

And no one has ever touched him that way, not the way you would.

"Then don't." You say, like it's the simplest thing in the world.

"Yeah, so," For some reason he feels awkward now, thinking of it all and it's so stupid. "I'm not taking my clothes off."

That knot is still budding on your forehead, so your brow still doesn't pull down very far when you look up at him. A big pout is on your lips, though. "No, I—I mean, then don't take them off."

"Yeah...I'm not gonna."

"Wait," One of your hands leaves his back to rub at your rolling eyes. Maybe he should keep talking to you; it makes you use your brain and maybe it will pull you out of this state.

Not that he really wants that, of course.

"No, I meant, you don't have to have sex with me."

"Yeah, I'm not gonna." Fuck, he knows you got your brain turned upside down, but you can't comprehend anything, it seems. You must realize you're having a hard time making sense because you give a little sigh, like you're giving up, and just wrap yourself back around him, a little closer this time.

The two of you are both soaked, no matter how far he tries to lean out of the water, and he wonders if you can feel the texture of his skin underneath his wet clothes. For a moment his brain shuts off, just like yours is currently doing, and he wonders what you think of him like this. Doesn't really matter though, he tells himself, you're going in the dumpster all the same.

The water from the shower-head is starting to get a little colder and he's not perfect, little Shoto, doesn't know how to use the fire for anything other than killing and melting, doesn't know how to use it just to warm you up. There's no telling how much time has passed with the two of you just standing there, like idiots.

"Gotta wash my hair." You say.

"So, wash it." He says.

"My arms are heavy."

"You're so full of shit."

Dabi thinks, he thinks, that he feels your lips shift against his shirt, like they're curling into a smile because you know you're a liar, too. And you must be using your quirk or something (though he doesn't feel any fingers in his nose or ears, not like before) because he does what he shouldn't and would never do, which is bend around you and grab the snot green bottle of motel shampoo that's sitting in the corner of the tub.

Eucalyptus, it says. That's all.

It should be called Push Over or Pathetic, maybe Burnt Idiot, Not Really Friends, Sorry I Looked At Your Ass, Too.

Maybe Nervous.

When he dumps all of it onto your hair and starts digging his fingers against your scalp, you tilt your head enough so that he can see that smile of yours, the bloody one.

"I'll wash yours," You say, with copper breath and dark red gums.

When he kissed you under the tree, your breath smelled the same. He had been so afraid then, of a multitude of things: getting caught by his teacher or his dad, classmates seeing, messing up or embarrassing himself, you, mostly you. There were other kids in his class he talked to, sure, but none of them sat outside with him when he trained on his own. None of them shared their rice and threw salmon at cars or held his hand while he turned his face—red as his fucking hair—at the grass because he couldn't look you in the eye.

Sometimes Enji kissed his mother. Sometimes she looked like she liked it. Back then, he thought maybe you would, too. He didn't know he had blood on his bottom lip until he got home and Enji asked him about it, until Rei inspected it like he'd bit it by accident. But he couldn't tell them, didn't tell them that all of it, every moment with you, had been on purpose.

Dabi feels a lot like he did then, when you smile at him.

“Ain’t none left.” For some reason, it croaks out of him, like he’s the one with the issue keeping his mouth closed. Maybe blood is still in your ears because you don’t answer, you only keep your face titled towards him as he massages your scalp, lips open just slightly with closed eyes. As if to prove it, he throws the tiny, empty bottle back towards the corner of the tub and it clatters, loudly, the way all things do in the shower. When you open your eyes and look at him, unfocused and half-lidded, he thinks maybe he could fuck you in this bathroom, if you wanted him to.

He hopes you don’t ask.

There isn’t any soap on your hands, but they leave his back to go into his hair. A ghost of a laugh puffs out of your lips and into his face, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, you, pretending to wash his hair while he washes yours.

A bunch of idiots, the both of you.

“Stop,” Dabi tries to yank his head away from you, but you sway a little bit. You don’t push him, though because you’re a goody-goody, and when you run a hand across your face, there is a light gray smudge over your nose. All his hair dye is washing down the drain, lightening him up, making him Touya again. The soap washes off one of his hands as he rinses it directly under the water and he wipes the smudges from your face, a little rough, too rough, so rough that your head easily moves from the left to the right with each swipe of his fingers. Underneath his hands, you’re really soft. Too soft.

The walls of the shower are closing in on him and that sick feeling is building in his stomach again, the one that swirls every time he thinks about what could have happened to you in the alleyway if he’d waited another stupid fucking minute. Such a baby, so fucking soft, what that kind of aggression would do to you. How it would impact you. How it would impact him. That dopey, bloody smile wouldn’t appear on your face for a long time, he might not have even seen it again before everything with Enji finally went down.

It’s probably too drying for your face, but he uses the shampoo to wash yours, rubbing against the blood stains on your chin and your neck. They come away easily, the texture from his hands perfect for scrubbing it all away.

The way he can finally be of use to you, as a fucking loofa.

“Touya,” You say again, but he doesn’t correct you this time. “Am I dead?”

That sick feeling builds, really builds, until it feels like he’s holding his breath (he probably is). There is a settling wave that washes over him, just like the cold water from the shower-head, and he realizes, holy fuck, you’re dying.

Right there in his arms. Blood is probably pooling in your brain, killing you every moment that he waits. The hour he spent watching you writhe on the bed, the 30 minutes he spent outside the bathroom, the few blocks it took to get from the alleyway to the motel room. The time he’s wasting here with you, now. All of it is just him, opening that dumpster, digging a deeper hole to put you in. The star curtains will come down, the cafeteria fucker will drive himself to work alone, the homeless guy will shrivel into nothing, and litter will fill the streets.

Just like the doctor said; if you tried to do the Hero Thing, you’d be dead by twenty-three.

When he’d unscrambled his brain enough to think straight, he planned to take Enji down. Since then, he’s lulled himself to sleep with the idea of it, the downfall of Endeavor, and, if he lets you go, it will just be the downfall of crazy, batshit insane Touya. All of it will crash and burn with him. It’s probably too late for you anyway, too much time has been wasted, and it would all be for nothing.

All the fucking pain, all the rage and the planning, all the blood and sweat and tears would swirl down a shitty motel drain like his hair dye. And you’d end up in that dumpster all the same.

“No,” He answers, tipping your head back so the shampoo can wash out of your hair, off your forehead and chest. There’s more words in his mouth, like not yet and almost and i’m sorry, but his throat feels all croaky again, so he doesn’t say anything.

Dabi only has one change of clothes. Water is dripping off him and all over the floor when the two of you step out, when he wraps that shitty towel around you and rubs up and down your arms, like some kind of idiot out of a romance movie. He even runs it over your head a few times, hair getting all ruffled up, and he grabs the spare sweater by the bed when you smile lazily at him.

He wonders how much time he has. Maybe if he knew, he would say something. But he doesn’t, so there’s no fucking point.

The air in the motel room is stuffy and has never been cold, but, drenched in shitty, piss-water, it chills him to the bone. Now he’s the one shivering while you lay back down on the bed, creaking and shit, and he just stands over you and watches you blink, one eye at a time. One of your pupils is definitely dilated.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, but you fix those fading eyes on him and open your arms, inviting him to lay with you.

(When he came over to watch that movie, he’d been nervous, but you had a blanket on your lap and you opened it to him, patting the space beside you with that smile until he felt comfortable enough to scoot closer to you, to share that blanket.)

He wonders how much time he has, but he’s got no fucking idea, so he just does it.

Yeah, he’s soaking wet and you’ve just put on his warm sweater, but this is his first chance, his last chance, to be this close as the man he grew up to be. He’s just Touya and you’re just you, lying in a shitty motel, waiting for the end. There’s a vision in his head, of you and him, of what might have been. There isn’t a mark on him, all smooth skin and soft, just like you, and you’re lying in a motel room, the both of you, naked. Maybe you’re still young, in high school, hiding from his parents just like he had been that day under the tree. Maybe you’re adults, this age, getting away for the weekend, away from the Hero Thing.

It’s a disgusting thought, one that has his lips curling down, one that has him choking on the ugliness of it all. It’s no use wanting like that, when your body is getting quieter and quieter, when you try to say his name again but can’t get the words around your lips. Maybe you’ve forgotten it.

When you're silent for a long time, he lifts his head from where he’s buried it in your neck, but your mouth is open, staring at the ceiling.

“Finally,” He pants, “Finally you’re fucking dead. Finally you’re out of my fucking hair and my life.” When you don’t respond, he snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Hey!”

But now you’re just a corpse. Now he’s just clinging to the body of a kid he used to know, one from his class, one he hadn’t even been friends with.

The picture he sets up is one from the hospital website, your employee picture. At some internet cafe, he’d printed it off, paid the extra change just to get it in color, and he’s lighting the incense (and his cigarette) with the blue tip of his finger. There are a bunch of pink flowers around this place, though most of them are fake, and he can sit out in front of the grave without a hood on. It’s so far at the back that someone would have to want to come back there to find him, which is why he’s sitting there in the first place.

Dabi isn’t really all that interested in the cigarette; he’s just leaving it between his lips, letting the smoke swirl in front of his face, letting the ash fall into his lap.

“How’s it going?” He grunts, just like you would say.

Every time he thinks of you in that shower, his stomach hurts again. How close you’d been, how real you felt under his fingers. The smudge of his hair dye across your face, claiming you in a way, like you were his. As if you’d always been, ever since Shizuoka.

Maybe he’s got it all wrong, maybe he’d always been yours. Every time he sat in the tree outside your window, every time he slipped through it, every time he followed you after work, lingering back like an ugly shadow. All that time, he’d always been yours. In the shower, in the bed, breathing you in as you died.

Always yours.

It’s a big, fat weight that should be lifted from his shoulders. Now he’s back with the League, that plan for Enji is in motion, and he doesn’t have to make up an excuse to Twice about why he’s gotta slip out at night, why he’s gotta head across town, why he suddenly wants takeout. There’s no following anymore, that’s been given up. And yet, now he feels like he’s got too much time on his hands, too much space in his chest. Scars on his body feel too rough, there is an insecurity he can’t beat back anymore, he spends too much time thinking about the what-if’s, which is too dangerous for a man in his profession.

It’s all making him soft, just like you had been. It feels like a fucking sickness.

Toga notices, because she’s so love-drunk on everyone that she can read his face as plain as day.

“Ooooh, you’re thinking about a girl!”

Yeah, maybe, but it's still annoying; he’d always been thinking about this girl, Toga wasn’t special for just now figuring it out.

Sometimes he wishes he’d gotten that sweater back. Not because it was comfortable or fit over his chest just right, but maybe because it might smell like you. Or the Eucalyptus shampoo. He’s a pathetic piece of shit, thinking crap like this, but it feels like a somewhat sticky band aid has fallen off, like that door in his head is open just a crack. Like it’s stuffed with too much stuff to get closed again.

It’s a fucking sickness, seriously. All those years away, too many steps behind, had kept the germs from him, made him feel like he was immune to it all, to your charm.

(That’s a load of shit, truly; he’d followed you for 11 fucking years after all. Dabi wasn’t immune to squat.)

The grave is so far at the back that someone would have to mean to come find him and he hears the footsteps far before they reach him, which should send him running, but it doesn’t. His hair is still white because he hadn’t found the energy to re-dye it, and if Toga says one more fucking thing about it—

There isn’t a blanket to hold open, no need to pat the space beside him; you sit so close, you’re nearly on his lap.

“How’s it going, Touya?”

Okay, so yeah, maybe he’d run out of that motel room like a man possessed, cradling you in his arms and whining like a fucking pussy, but whatever.

That doctor with the quirk you don’t have loves you, just like all your little nurse friends do, and they must have dropped everything for you. Not that he stayed inside or anything, just had to yell a little and lay your body on the front desk before hauling ass back outside, but you were knocking on the motel room door that night. Looking for him, actually looking, with focused eyes, pupils that were the same size.

The scar on your head was small (which is a load of shit; just a little bitty one? Come the fuck on) and shaped a little bit like a strike of lightning against your skin. Probably needed to stay home and in bed for a few days, not make any sudden movements or flip the light switch on too quick, but you were standing there, in that sweater, before he’d fallen asleep.

No, he didn’t fuck you.

He would’ve though, if you’d asked. Kinda wished you had.

Dabi has seen you twice a week for 11 embarrassingly long years, but you’ve seen him for half a day. There’s a lot for you to understand, a lot of things to catch up on, which he thinks is why you hadn’t gone to the police. Not such a goody-goody after all; when he’d told you that, you looked confused and a little hurt.

“What makes you think I’d give you up so easily?”

He doesn’t really mention it after that.

There are a lot of things you don’t understand, a lot of things you won’t understand. Lots of things he won’t tell you, but you’ll be there. Yeah, he knows where you live, and yeah, you said you’d leave the door unlocked (probably shouldn’t though).

You’ll be there whenever he decides to show up, or rather, he’ll be there, for you, whenever you want him. Because he’s yours.

Always has been.

can you please do some angst anything, like a one shot or just something, my heart hurts

Had been a while since I did a request, sorry I only just saw this bebe. Here ya go.

Bakugo has always had the prettiest eyes. Crimson orbs that some would find intimidating but to you, it looks like rubies that you can spend hours staring in awe at. They're fairly expressive too. What his mouth can't ever say, those damn eyes express.

That was why you can tell it's real.

He's happy. Really happy.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him as he talks animatedly on the phone. A small smirk tugging the corners of his plump lips. "Shut up, idiot." You hear him say, shaking his head. "I gotta go, Y/n is waiting- So stop bothering me already." But you know from his tone and the way he's smiling to himself that he doesn't mean it.

And then, you hear him say, "Yeah, yeah. I love you, too." His voice bleeding of sincerity and adoration that you had to look away. You scoff to yourself, a wry laugh escaping you as you train your eyes on the logo on the steering wheel. Doing, trying anything, to keep your mind off the ache growing in your chest.

You hear the car door open and you plaster a smile up at him. He mutters his quick apology as he straps in. "Thought you'll never hang up. Simp." You say teasingly, covering up for any trace of the hurt you're feeling inside. A chuckle escapes you when he playfully punches your arm. "I'm no fuckin' simp, shithead!" Bakugo says, laughing a little. "Step on it, we're going to be late."

You rub the spot on your arm that he hit. Not because it hurts but to ground yourself. That this is all you'll ever be. The buddy. The best friend he banters and playfights with, the sidekick he always choses to work with.

Nothing more, nothing less.

It didn’t help that your assignment tonight is surveillance. You don't think you could bear all the hours ahead with him. Knowing Bakugo, he'd probably start talking about her. After all, you had just gotten back from a mission with Todoroki. And usually, once you got back home, Bakugo would be telling you all about the things that happened to him. It had been that way for years. Something you looked forward to. Or at least, you used to.

You already know the things he'd tell you tonight, and you already know he's about to completely break your heart.

Bakugo notes the activity of the suspect you two had been watching from the building across the rooftop you two had set up on, while you softly mutter the details on the communication device in your hand, feeding the information to your police partners. When the person under investigation head to bed, you two relaxed a little.

"Hey, so you must’ve heard." Bakugo starts as you stretch your neck. Oh no, here we go. You blinked and put on the smile you've been rehearsing since you have taken the plane ride back home. "Yeah, it’s on every tabloid." The forced laugh you let out even had you impressed. "You're back together. Again. Woohoo. Big surprise." You say monotonously.

"Yeah. Fuckin' paparazzi won't leave us alone." Bakugo rolls his eyes. He stretches too, mimicking you as you roll your shoulders and crack your knuckles. "It just happened." He then says. You swallow hard, not really wanting to hear more.

"You know that charity shit we were supposed to attend together?" He asks and you nod numbly. Of course, you do. You were so excited that Bakugo asked you to accompany him to this charity ball as his date. You both even planned to match  outfits like how stupid kids would want to do with their best friends.

"Yeah, well, she came that night and she happened to be seated at our table."  He says it like he still couldnt believe his luck, stupid beautiful smile adorning his face. He then went on to say how she had moved to your vacant seat so he can have someone to talk to in the event filled with A-list celebrities and government officials he had no fucking interest in mingling with. "We got to talking and next thing I knew, we were the only ones left in the fucking ball." He laughs.

Normally, you adore this ugly laugh of his. And normally, you would have scold him for being loud and potentially giving away your position. If only your heart wasnt breaking into billions of tiny pieces in your chest.

"Wow," you roll your eyes and looked away, the fake smile you had on your face faltering. "Glad to hear you had way more fun without me." You say, laying the sarcasm thick. You hadnt meant to but you tremble, a soft sob almost escapes you.

Bakugo frowns and shrugged his jacket off, thinking you were just cold. He puts it over your shoulders and when you just stared at him, he takes your arms and puts it through the sleeves. Bakugo zips it up to the collar and puts the hood over your head, even pulling your hair free before smoothening it around your face. It’s his fucking actions like this that had you hoping. Had you thinking that maybe, just maybe, there's something there.

You look up him, thinking, why couldn’t it be me? Could it have been me if I were there with you that night?

"Y/n." Bakugo frowns as he says your name so uncharacteristically soft. You then notice the worry that paints his features as he slowly reaches to wipe your cheek. Bakugo's frown deepens when new ones replace the tear he had just wiped away.

A wave of panic rises in your chest as you replace his hands with your own, harshly wiping your tear steaked face.

"Shit, sorry." You force a laugh. "The fucking wind is too strong up here." You reasoned but you are not fooling him. "I'm gonna go in first, you take first watch." You got up, making a beeline for the door but a strong grip around your wrist stops you.

"Y/N, look at me." Bakugo says, his voice so low you barely heard it. He calls your name again but you still didn’t turn. Your face crumples and more tears flood your eyes.

Taking a deep staggering breath, you wiped your cheeks with your free hand and cleared your throat. "Bakugo, please. I'm tired." You tried to tug free again but he kept his vice grip on you.

He pulls you and made you face him. You can see Bakugo was breathing a little heavily too. "Y/n, is there something we should talk about?" He tries to meet your gaze but you kept your eyes on the ground. Bakugo asks again but you clench your jaw and shook your head stubbornly. "No, there is nothing to talk about."

Bakugo was getting frustrated you could tell. Still, he takes a deep breath and held your face with his other hand, asking, "Then what's wrong? Damn it, tell me." 

Everything, You think to yourself.

You're the one whose been there for him all this time. And it took one night for him to fall in love with her all over again.

You want to be happy for him because you can tell that he's truly happy. But you just can’t.

You love him but he loves someone else.

You know he loves you, but never the way you love him.

Everything is fucking wrong but there's nothing you can do about it so instead you say stubbornly, "Nothing."

To your surprise though, he grabs your shoulders and shook you. "What the hell is wrong with you, then? Why won't you fucking tell me??"

"Nothing. Is. Wrong."  You articulate, shrugging from his hold to take your seat back by the ledge. But he grabs hold of you again, this time catching your hand.

"Stop it." Bakugo grits his teeth. "I know something is wrong. I know you." He says and his eyes widened when you let out a bitter laugh.

"No, you don't." you deride, shaking your head.

"Bullshit! Of course, I fucking do!!" He yells at you. "We've been friends for years!!"

You glower back at him, feeling the stupid tears stinging at your eyes again and your breathing get shallow. "Some friend you are then!" You yell back. Bakugo grimaces, looking at you like he's never been so offended before in his life. He was actually fucking hurt.

"You don't know shit about me, Katsuki." You jab a finger at his chest. "You don't even fucking care about me enough to actually get to know me! You only keep me around because I standby you through everything!" Bakugo staggers a step back when you pushed him with all your might, tears endlessly streaming down your face and neck.

"God, if only you'd have really taken a close look, gave me even a shard of your fucking attention," you whimper, your hands balling into fists against his shirt. "Then you would have known," you feel like youre losing your strength, like your knees could give out underneath you, "that I stayed by your side all these years because, b-because,"

Bakugo swallows hard, his hands circling your wrists. Deep down he sorta knew but he was just denying it to himself. Because he knows he could never reciprocate your feelings.

Please don't fucking say it..

But you do,

"I am in love with you."

A gush of relief floods you, finally having said it after all this years. You closed your eyes so you wouldn't see his reaction. His silence and his hold slipping off of you were enough.

"Y/n, I-"

Bakugo didn't know what to say. His hand is twitching because he wanted to reach out and hold you but he doubts that that is a good idea right now.

"I'm sorry-" he starts, warily trying to reach for your hand again but you shake your head and slipped your hands in the pockets of your jacket. His jacket.

"Me too." You cut him off. "I.. can't be friends with you anymore." Your voice breaks as you admit the sad truth. Bakugo's eyes widened. You can't mean that, right? But the lifelessness of your voice made Bakugo's heart clench. You take a deep breath and bore your gaze to the ground.

You just ruined your friendship. But you guess that's good. You'll finally have a reason to not be by his side all the time anymore and endure the pain of this unrequited love you've had for him for years.

"Y/n-" he tries again. It’s the only thing he could do. Try. Because you're slipping away and he doesn't want you gone. But you scorn away when he tries to reach for you again.

"I cant," you whimper, "I'm sorry."

The days that followed consisted of you taking in other assignments that lead you to work with someone else. Whenever you'd bump into Bakugo, you'd keep your eyes trained ahead while Bakugo couldn't help but stare and long to talk to you again. But he lets you be, thinking, well, hoping that you just needed time. That one day you two will be alright again. Because fucking hell, it's only been days and he misses you so damn much already.

He realizes how present you were in his life. Realizes how badly he took you for granted. Realizes that every morning he wakes up, it’s your texts he first checks. Realizes that with even the smallest inconvenience, it's you he wanted to call and vent out to. Realizes you're that one person he can say anything to, things he couldn't tell even his own damn girlfriend.

Because you were his person. That one person who always listened without judgement and takes him as he is.

Because you got his back no matter what.

Because you.. loved him.

Fuck.

Bakugo throws his arm over his eyes as he feels that pang of longing and regret. He finds himself jumping out of bed. It was supposedly his day off but he comes to the office running.

But when he reaches your desk, you were nowhere in sight.

And on his desk, was your resignation letter.

"Look on Down From the Bridge" – Tommy Shelby x Reader

[ MASTERLIST ] 

SUMMARY: When Tommy’s about to jump off the bridge after seeing Grace’s ghost, a young girl walking by convinces him to change his mind.

[ REQUEST ] by @mrscherry​

AUTHOR’S NOTE: First of all, I loved this request, because it reminds me of one of my favourite songs that I associate with Tommy and that is “Look On Down From the Bridge” by Mazzy Star and I even included a lyric from it here. Second of all… I made my own self cry while writing this. It just felt extremely personal 😣 I hope you’ll like it 😅

TRIGGER WARNING: suicide attempt

WARNING: English is my second language.

WORD COUNT: 1,510

Keep reading

holyfuck okay i don’t know if you would be okay with writing this but like the last requester, the wedding scene just did something to my feelings and what if,, five and reader broke up in 1963 texas and during the wedding scene they ended up sitting in the same table and the reader says “don’t look at me like that” and five asks what look and she says “like you still love me” and it’s just mutual pining since they still love each other and angst and deargod my heart

I HAVE MORE ANGST TODAYYYYYYY

warnings: long for me; five says fuck a lot; swearing; five breaking the reader's heart; angry confession; reader being set; reader denying anything and everything; reader being hurt (emotionally); female reader; reader is a fan of chocolate

tags: @mad-elia

SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE

He had wrecked you.

“I don’t think… I-” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes scrunched up. “We can’t do this anymore. You’re my wife, and I love you. But I’m not… in love with you. Do you know what I mean?”

He had wrecked you, but you stood taller, agreeing with the man child. So he didn’t love you after every piece of you was offered to him on a silver platter. He didn’t love you after you nursed him back to health in the apocalypse. He didn’t love you after you assured him that it wasn’t his fault all of you were separated, stuck in time. 

He didn’t love you.

“No,” you laughed breathily, strained. “I get it. I totally get it. It’s no problem-”

“I’m glad,” he said, giving you a tired smile. “Now, I suggest we both go get some sleep. It’s been a hellish twenty days, hasn’t it?”

~*~

You had grabbed a tight-fitting sweater and overall shorts. It was much better than the uniform, you had to admit. 

You hopped down the stairs of the hotel, greeting your brothers and sister in law. 

Correction: Ex-in-laws.

“Good morning, peeps! How are we all doing?”

“Excellently, dear sister of mine,” Klaus responded. You stiffened; he didn’t notice. “And how are you this morning?”

You were crying all night.

“I’m amazing. Best sleep of my life.”

Allison’s shirt was soaked.

“Mimosa, (Y/N)?” Five called out from behind the bar. He was dressed in a t-shirt, a flannel and a vest…and a fedora. A plaid one.

“You look like you’re retiring and about to go on a fishing trip with the grandkids.”

“Oh ha ha,” he mocked, starting to pour you a drink. “You sleep well?”

“Best one yet. I don’t care if the mattress smells like sweat.”

His nose wrinkled. “Do you need me to run and grab you some new sheets?”

“I think I’ll take a trip today; I have nothing better to do anyway.”

He nodded. “Just be careful- there are a lot of alleyways that weird shit happens in.”

“Oh, well that makes me feel better.”

Before he could respond Klaus ran up to the both of you. “Okay, so I know that you’re retired Five, and I’m assuming your lovely wife-” You both winced; again, he didn’t notice…or he didn’t care. “-is also in retirement. What do you two say to a road trip? It’s what retired people do! You two, me, the countryside! What do you say?”

Five looked at you; you looked at Five and shrugged.

He won’t go. He would never.

“I got nothing better to do,” you said, smiling up at Klaus. He clapped his hands together in child-like joy, bouncing up and down slightly.

“Wonderful! And you, you old geezer?”

“I guess I’m in.”

Well, fuck me.

~*~

Five had pulled out a map of tourist locations in Pennsylvania, pointing things out to Klaus as he was driving. He ranted on and on about these things, just like an old man in retirement. He turned around and pointed them out to you, too, explaining things that may cater to your tastes.

“Okay, okay, listen to me, Five. Hold on.”

“Alright,” he said, smiling sarcastically. You felt bad; this was the first thing he was really enthusiastic about- the happy kind of enthusiastic. Not the obsessive, overbearing cloud of stopping the apocalypse. “I’m all ears.”

“So, I lied. We are going to Pennsylvania to find my birth mother!” he shouted, as if he were making an announcement. Your mouth dropped open. Well, now Five would be really pissed. 

“Are you kidding me?!”

“No! But if I told you, you wouldnt’ve come. (Y/N) would’ve because she’s just a sweetheart like that-”

“Thank you?” 

“You’re welcome, (Y/N/N), you beautiful soul.” You made a face- something between confused and unsurprised. “You would not have come! I chose you two for emotional support?”

“Emotional support?” Five hissed. “You-”

“I did.”

You buried your head in your hands.

“BIGGEST BALL OF TWINE!” you heard Five shout. You shot up, only to see the sign presenting the words “WORLD’S BIGGEST BALL OF TWINE.”

“No, Five!”

“Come on-”

Five leaned over the seat quickly, gaining control of the wheel. You squeaked as the car made a sharp turn, almost running into two others. One nearly grazed your door.

“We’re going to die!” Klaus shouted.

You agreed.

~*~

Five was impressed with the ball of twine. It wasn’t a bad trip, you realized. You’d witnessed wonderful things there, including the validation Five had been craving from his siblings.

It was so nice, in fact, that Five had held your hand lightly as he was looking at it. Your eyes were wide and staring at your hands, but he was just looking at the twine.

He’d broken up with you in Dallas about fifty years before, technically. But to you, it was a few days. 

You’d been crying every single night. You haven’t been eating as much. 

So you pulled it back, crossing your arms, playing it off as if you were cold. He noticed. He noticed nearly everything, really. He quickly looked down at his empty hand, and then back at the ball of twine, something unreadable in his eyes.

So, here you were. One of Five’s favorites was playing, and he was singing along. You were sitting on top of the car, looking out upon the cows in the field.

He kicked the top of the car.

“Yes, Five?”

“What do you think about Hershey Park?”

“Won’t we need money for that?”

“Not if I can jump us in-”

“That’s illegal. And, along with that, I was making plans to move to New York. There’s a few jobs in my department; I can go to high school there, apply to a couple colleges. I can start over.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, the silence fragile.

“I see.”

“What are you going to be doing with your retirement, Five?”

“Go to Hershey Park.”

You cackled, throwing your head back. “Yes, because you love chocolate so much.”

“No, but you do. I thought you might want to go.”

Your heart stilled. “Thanks for the thought, Five. I appreciate it.”

The wave came through then; you could feel it rush through your system. And gone were the cows. Five clearly realized that too, stumbling out of the car, immediately looking at you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, but I don’t think the cows are,” you said, looking at the empty field.

“Can’t I get one fucking day off?” he whispered to himself.

~*~

It had been days since then. Five had gotten you new sheets; you had thanked him; he’d been looking at you; you’ve been looking away.

And on and on and on goes the cycle.

So here you were, watching the happy couple dance, nursing your drink. Maybe your last one.

But suddenly he was in front of you, his hand outstretched, beckoning you forward.

Wordlessly, you took that oh-so-familiar hand, and let him lead you to the dance floor.

He held you closely, a little too closely, your chests pressed together, his chin on top of your head.

“What are you doing, Five?”

“I’m dancing with my wife, what else do you think I’m doing?”

“Uh- Five…I thought we broke up. You aren’t in love with me, remember? You just…I don’t know. Love me? I’m not your wife anymore, Cinco.”

“We’re not divorced yet, Sweetheart.” He dipped you, you looked into his eyes. You looked into them and saw everything. You didn’t understand any of it.

He hadn’t called you “Sweetheart” in a long time, either.

“Don’t call me that, Five. And don’t look at me like that, either.”

“Like what?”

“Like you love me.”

“Darling,” he whispered, moving one of his hands to your head, threading his fingers through your hair. He moved his head lower, too, burying his face in your hair. He pressed his lips to your head. “I do. I was wrong. I don’t know what came over me- maybe it was…I don’t know. What I do know is that I am desperately and wholly in love with a woman that deserves so much more than me. But, by some miracle, that woman fell in love with the scum on the bottom of her shoe, and that little shit took it all for granted.”

You stiffened.

“I’m in love with you, (Y/N) Hargreeves.”

“Not a Hargreeves.”

He pulled you in a little closer.

“We’re not divorced yet.”

“Yet.”

“And it won’t happen.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I don’t think there are any lawyers around here to make it official. Just because the ring is off doesn’t make it legally undone. And-” He stopped himself, pulling away to look you dead in the eyes. You turned your head away; he gently turned it back, keeping it in place. “-I will not be stopping until I earn that love back, even if I’m still about as much as the dirt on the bottom of those heels.”

You pulled away for the final time, abandoning the dance floor, leaving him alone.

~*~

You two were stuck together again for the first time since the wedding. None of you spoke, you just stood there, wandering the hotel.

You decided to break the silence. “So is this the other shoe, or did it drop a while ago? Oh my god, do you think these monster guardian things have multiple pairs of legs?”

He wrinkled his eyebrows, but answered. “I hope they don’t. More work for us.”

A noise erupted from the silence, he pulled you to him by your waist.

“Five, really?”

“I told you. I’m earning love back.”

“Protecting me isn’t gonna-”

“Then what will? I don’t care that we may have minutes to live and that everything outside of this God-forsaken hotel is destroyed. I’ll find a way to make it happen. Here-” With sure, and oddly steady, hands he reached into his pocket, producing something you thought you left behind. “I have this. Do you remember the day I gave you this?”

Your ring. The silver band you’ve worn since what felt like forever. 

“I remember.”

He slid it onto your finger; you let him.

“Then you remember what I said to you-”

“You don’t- Five, you meant it then. That doesn’t mean-”

“Oh, (Y/N),” he snarled, angry now. Your eyes widened at the change of tone. “You can’t honestly think my feelings have changed. I was a fool. I was being stupid. I don’t know what the hell was going through my head, but I broke you the fuck apart. I knew I was wrong the second I said it. I’ve been trying, (Y/N). I’ve been trying to work up again, but clearly you need for me to tell you because you are in such fucking denial that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. I am in love with you, Mrs. Hargreeves. And that’s not changing for shit, so you better get used to it, whether you want to stay together or not.”

You wanted to stay. You did. 

But his mind could change just as easily as it did before.

“Five, your mind-”

“Is set. You’re it. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

And then you laughed. It was breathy, and marred by your tears, but he began to laugh too. He pulled you into his chest, breathing you in.

“Please. Just… stay. Please. If we do this, if we save the universe in the million to one chance we have, I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“Starting with Hershey Park?”

“Most definitely.”

Sad comic of some very old oc's

Absolute tragedy happened today. (/j)

I bought some $12 doughnuts to support my school’s senior class trip (I have a lot of senior friends) and I left them in my last class of the day :(

I emailed the professor about it and now I’m just hoping they didn’t get stolen or thrown out by a janitor first

Wish me luck on the survival of my doughnuts or smthn

why are there fake transparent pngs. what kind of sick prank is this. some kind of looney tunes ass bullshit. i run at the gray and white checkered background and hit it like a wall.

Guys I did the story of evil Kristina and I’ll tell you guys the story of evil Kristina.

So it started when my friend Meagan frantz that we play around all the time, but then when she was going somewhere so I want to come with her. But then she told me to wait for her until she gets back so I did. And it took lots of years and then when I see my friend Meagan hanging out with her other friends, I ran to her but then she forgotten me and then I started to turn evil and then I kill my friends and my family.

If you guys want to do fan art for me? You guys can and I would love to see it!

See ya guys! 😋

My buss driver is retiring FUCK MY LIFFFFEEEEE

we as a society need band member!sero

Are you fucking kidding me

Y'all fixing to make me cry

WHY WOULD THEY END IT LIKE THAT. AAAAAAHHHHH

If someone asked me why I read fan fiction, it would have to be because it provides an escape from reality. Especially x reader fan fictions, where I feel like I can actually feel soft love Ig you could call it. Sometimes I just wish I had someone hug me and tell me ‘it’s going to be okay’, because I would absolutely BREAK DOWN if someone told me that. But I have no one to tell me that irl, all I have are my fictional comfort characters that I indulge myself in and get carried away. And sometimes reading yaoi fan fiction provides me with some sort of happiness because I feel like I can provide my comfort characters happiness.

I used to think that I wouldn’t make it this far. Being a senior in high school, or graduation HS. I always thought that I’d either kill myself or hopefully die of some other thing. I’d hoped I’d grown out of those thought sophomore year, but sometimes the sad thoughts come trickling back into my mind. I never truly got rid of it. I don’t like talking about this to people I know so I guess I just rant to people I dont know. Oh well.

Here’s a sappy thing for the end of the day after getting lectured by my parent and nearly crying cause I’m mentally weak 🥲🥲

TFW WHWN YOU NEED TO BUY THE NEW MARBLE HORNETS TIMPLUSH

(bc FUCKYEAHtheycamebackwithaplushie)

BUT YOUR FUCKING BROKE AND YOU SOMT HAVE $30 TO BUY IT

:((((((((