#and then eventually they fall into a comfortable normal that is still not fully recovered and still bitter but they can
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I didn't like Mekt much but I do hate seeing him only utilized as a villain, as if Legion Worlds didn't happen.
Where is the Mekt who admitted that he was wrong to let his loneliness and jealousy dictate how he acted? Where is the Mekt that worked to be better? Where is the Mekt who welcomed Ayla home and put himself in harms way to help her save their parents farm? Where is the Mekt that delighted at the idea of seeing Garth again and was sad to hear he wasn't really coming back?
I don't know. Maybe it's just me but Mekt works so much better as a character of redemption and reconciliation than as one who stays bitter and antagonistic. He's more interesting that way
#this is just about post zero hour mekt i dont know much about other mekts'#losh#legion of super heroes#mekt ranzz#inkytalks#AND I AM NOT EVEN SAYING YOU AHVE TO LIKE HIM#OR THAT HIS SIBLINGS *HAVE* TO FORGIVE HIM#this still works if THEY are still bitter to HIM for what he did#BECAUSE THEY WOULD HAVE A RIGHT TO BE#but he doesn't deserve the watered down one dimensional asshole characterization I've seen in a few fics that are ABOUT pzh#my ideal rannz sibling dynamic is ayla being bitter and hostile to mekt garth being wary and hurt and at first unable to be around mekt#while mekt himself just feels so guilty for what he did and desperate to make up but willing to give them however long they need#even if that means he doesnt get to be in their lives ever again...#and then eventually they fall into a comfortable normal that is still not fully recovered and still bitter but they can#have breakfast togther without incident#they can talk about things like the weather or town gossip#they can work together on the farm in comfortable silence#ayla slowly grows less suspicious of mekt and begins to trust him a little more#garth stops feeling like mekt is going to lash out at any given moment and can spend time around him alone#things arent great and they probably wont ever heal all the way their relationship will always be strained#but he's trying and thats all they care about#and things are kinda sorta okay
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Hello! I’m a little embarrassed to ask this, but hey, my love for murderous women triumphs over my fear of judgement.
My request goes like this: A few weeks prior G!P Cassandra had accidentally severely injured her fem S/O (the reader). Obviously, Cassandra was very distraught by this and stayed with the reader during the whole recovery period. However, even after the reader had fully recovered from this incident, Cassandra still wouldn’t touch her because she’s scared of unintentionally hurting her S/O again. Eventually, the reader decides to fix this problem by cornering Cassandra and fucking her fear away. (Sweetly). Sorry for such a long ask,
Sincerely, a very touch-starved Anon.
There’s no need for embarrassment at all hon! :) Of course! Decided to settle on bottom/switch Cass for this one, though might do a continuation of top Cassandra🙇♀️ Let’s get into it! ;)
Masterlists
You eye her curiously, her golden eyes adamant on avoiding you as she walks past wordlessly.
It has been weeks since the incident, when Cassandra, in a blood-induced frenzy, accidentally swiped her sharp claw-like nails at you.
You can still see her expression, the shock and regret immediately replacing her bloodthirsty one. How she pulled back her hand entirely and freaked out when blood poured from your arm.
Thankfully, she didn’t hit your chest, or any vital parts. Her nails sliced through your skin effortlessly, leaving nastily slashes with blood pouring through.
Immediately, she covered the wounds to stop the blood from running down your arm. It’s the last time since then you’ve felt her touch.
During your recovery, she stuck close, yet never close enough to come in contact with you, as though you were fire and she was made of water. Or perhaps, as though your skin was feathery soft and she was nothing but razors.
She brought you all you needed, and with her tender care, you recovered fast.
Still, days passed and she still won’t touch you. Won’t even kiss you. Won’t hold your hand. Wears her gloves constantly.
Cassandra gasps when you grasp her wrist tightly, her eyes widening as she, at last, looks to the side and at you.
She attempts to tug her hand free, and yet again you hear a sharp intake of breath when it comes free- together with her glove, still under your fingertips.
Her nails no longer drip with your blood. They’re normal now, painted in black. Upon taking a step forwards, she steps back.
Two can play this game, you decide.
If your lovely girlfriend won’t touch you, you will make her. You know just how, too.
With a smirk strangely confident for you, you keep walking towards her. As expected, she walks backwards, her eyes wide and lips parted, wordlessly trying to escape the contact your skin is about to make.
“What are you doing?”, she asks breathlessly, her bare hand behind her while her gloved one reaches in front of her, as if to block you off.
More steps. More backing away.
Cassandra gasps when her back makes contact with a doorframe. Just before you can come in contact with her, she slips inside, gulping when you follow and close the door after you.
You’re in an empty guest room now, with her still a good meter away from you and eying you cautiously.
“What do you want?”, she asks, looking you over. She takes another step back and gasps when she hits the edge of the bed with her legs.
“You”, you whisper only.
With a single push that has her yelp softly, she falls, her elbows digging into the comfortable mattress as she catches herself.
Golden eyes are wide as you immediately straddle her. You smile down at her, blushing and wide eyed, hands digging into the mattress as if scared to touch you.
No, that won’t do.
“I’ve missed you, Cass”, you coo. She shivers as your hands trail alongside the seams of her dress, up and down her hip and stomach.
“I haven’t been away”, she counters. Another gasp is pulled from her when you tug on the strings of her corset, teasingly so as you cut off her breath with them.
“Not quite the same. You’ve been so painfully worried recently, my sweet Cassandra”, you explain. She gasps for breath when you let go of the strings again.
As she attempts to speak again, you lean down and brush your fingertips over her bloodied lips. She feels them, a featherlight touch against thick, dark lips.
You hum when you inspect the blood now smeared on your thumb and index finger.
“Open up”, is all you say as you hover above her, and to your surprise, she listens. Her lips part and her tongue sticks out a little, the nails of her bare hand digging into the sheets and tearing them slightly.
You tsk. Still so stubborn, still so worried about touching you. An idea comes to your mind. If she won’t touch you, you’ll merely have to “encourage” her until she begs to touch you.
The thought is sweet.
Cassandra hums when your bloodied index finger and thumb is smeared against her lip, colouring it a deeper red.
You practically feel the tension between you two, her dark eyes wide as she looks up at you. You feel her below you, the tent that builds up under her dress by your actions and proximity.
“Such a messy girl…haven’t I told you to tidy up when you have a snack?”, you whisper. A single whimper is pulled from her.
The poor thing, too, is touch starved.
Cassandra jumps when you grab her wrist, worry and fear flashing in her eyes for a moment.
She watches as you bring it to your face, the tip of her glove sliding against your lips while her tongue wets and cleans your bloodied fingers.
With your eyes on her, you bite gently into the tip of her glove, and pull. Cassandra watches wordlessly as it comes off, revealing sharp, black painted nails yet again.
Immediately, she attempts to tug her hand free. They’re by far too close to your pretty face! What if she’ll hurt you? Again.
You tsk at her, and when you pinch her lip, she yelps and stops her struggles for a moment.
“Be good now, don’t fuss”, you whisper.
Cassandra groans as you push down with your hips, your clothed center rubbing against the bulge in her dress. She whines, brunette hair falling off her shoulders and down her back as she throws her head back.
You understand, the sweet thing is deprived of your touch, sexual and innocent. You wonder; is she thinking of taking you hard again?, her worry the only blockade in her mind? You will tear it down for her and fuck all those nasty thoughts out your pretty girlfriend.
Cassandra gasps when you reach for her other wrist, wet, strong fingers closing around it. You pull them above her head and with a squeeze, urge her to keep them there. “Don’t move for me, and you’ll get what you want, Cass”, you whisper.
She watches your fingertips move down with cause, the strings from her corset untangled as you drag the piece off her slim waist. She squirms slightly below you, face adorably flushed and breaths coming out as small pants. You feel her grind up against you, how her bulge is rubbing against your covered clit and tests your patience and control.
She raises an eyebrow as you tie her wrists first to one another, then attach them to the wooden bars at the headboard.
Cassandra’s panting when your hands slide back to her cleavage, fingertips hooking under the tip of her dress and pulling it forwards. “You don’t want to touch me, Cass?”, you whisper with a faked coo and pout. “Then I hope you won’t mind me taking what I want, pretty girl”
Your arm still aches slightly as you drag her dress down her shoulders and breasts, and she releases a small, surprised shriek when you manage to lift her hips enough to pull her dress down.
You lick your lips filthily at the sight in front of you.
Cassandra Dimitrescu, her wrists tied above her, her beautiful, cocoa hair sprayed out around her, her chest heaving and her nipples barely covered by her black lace bra.
Cassandra shivers when your fingers find her round, large breasts and your thumb brushes over her erect, covered nipple.
She gasps when you slide your hand down further, over subtle muscles on her stomach and down her sensitive thighs. She hisses when you drag your nails over them, knowing these are her most sensitive spots.
Black underwear is the only thing still in your way, bulged and hiding her needy cock.
You smirk when you pull them down just a little bit and Cassandra’s pre-cum drooling tip pokes out. She’s blushing for you, squirming and moaning below you. A sharp smack to her thigh makes her still again and gasp. What the?!
You smirk at her flustered expression, having never thought to receive this from you.
“You’re not giving me what I want, so have the manners to stay still while I take it, Cassandra”, you whisper, a kiss placed to the bulge in her panties. She squirms yet again, and groans lowly at another smack to her thick thighs.
You lick your lips and quickly undress- at last you get to touch her again. She watches with wide eyes as you straddle her again, your bare cunt pressing against her stomach.
“I’m not made of glass you know”, you whisper. “I’m not breaking when I am touched”, you promise. She whimpers below you, her nails still dug in the mattress again. You tsk at her.
“Very well, Cassie”, you coo. Sliding your hands from her heels to her stockings, you at last find her flimsy underwear again.
She groans when it is pulled off her slim hips, and blushes even more upon having it thrust against her face. “Smell that?”, you coo, your index fingertip pressing the fabric inside her mouth, effectively gagging your girlfriend.
You never thought seeing her this submissive and flustered would be so erotic.
“This is how much you want me”, you coo. Even you smell her arousal on her underwear.
“You can deny me your touch all you want, back away from me all you want, Cassie. But I know you want it so bad, my pretty girl”, you whisper. Her eyes roll back, a moan sounding against her own panties. Your words really do a number on her.
She too, smells your arousal.
“Maybe it’s time to show you, how good your touch is making me feel”, you coo.
Cassandra groans when she feels you cup her erect cock, moans and mewls dragged from her throat when you move your hips and grind down against her soaking tip and long, thick shaft.
Her hips wiggle, her arms twitch. You know she can rip her restrains without much effort, and yet is doing the opposite- she still tries not to touch you.
With her hands, at least, you notice with a smirk. The needy thing is thrusting her hips up helplessly, humping your wet pussy and hoping she’ll get the angle right enough to slip inside.
You won’t make it easy for her until she sees, she can touch you.
“Do you like this? You could get so much more if you just touched me. You feel this?”, you coo, your hand stroking alongside her cock, then cupping her full balls. Cassandra groans, eyes shutting as her hips twitch.
“This is my touch. I’m not going to die from yours”, you coo.
Cassandra groans when you at last push her inside of you, a moan falling from your lips. She’s thick, and fills you completely.
This is the first time, you realize, you’re riding her properly when she is on the bottom.
The poor, flustered thing notices this too. She’s groaning and moaning, attempting to thrust up eagerly. You see her sharp, fang-like teeth dig into the panties and smile at her.
Yes, Cassandra is dangerous, but you would never be scared of her.
She whimpers when you lean forwards and take the string from the bedpost, instead use it to guide her tied arms to her stomach.
Cautious eyes watch as your fingers intertwine with hers. You notice her attempt to pull away, as though scared she will cut you again. You allow no such thing.
Cassandra watches nearly frozen, her cock twitching inside of you as you lift her tied hands and kiss each finger gently. “You’re so perfect to me”, you whisper, with a kiss to her thumb and first knuckle.
“You would never want to hurt me”, you add, with a kiss to her index finger and knuckle. She’s blushing and wide eyed under you.
You moan when you start to move, her cock rubbing alongside your inner walls.
“You’re breathtaking”, you add, with a kiss to her middle finger and yet another knuckle.
Cassandra moans, spit covering her lips.
“You feel so good. I crave your touch”, a kiss to her ring finger, and her knuckle. Cassandra mewls underneath you, her cock sensitive after being deprived of you for so long, her thighs quivering as you keep sinking down on her and ride her gently.
“You’re my everything”, you moan with a kiss to the last finger and knuckle. Cassandra pushes the underwear out her mouth, her sharp teeth flashing at you.
“Please..!”, she moans, her hands at last easing their struggle. No longer does she attempt to tug away, nor does she hold onto you yet.
This must change, you decide.
She gasps when you ride her a little faster, your hands pulling down her bra hungrily and your warm fingertips immediately find her nipples.
“A-AAaah, yes! F-Fuck…!”, she groans, her brows furrowed as she receives the pleasure and grants you yours. Her chest is arched off the mattress when you tug her sensitive nipples, the dusty pink buds warming up under your fingertips.
She jumps when she accidentally tears the strings of her corset and her wrists fall beside her head.
You hum at her defiance. Perhaps, you simply need to fluster the pretty woman a little more.
Cassandra shrieks in surprise when her thighs are lifted and pulled to her chest, bent at her knees with your hands holding onto them.
You’re riding her faster in now, and her cheeks are completely flushed pink at the humiliating new position. Her groans mix with your moans and gasps, her tip hitting the back of your womb and her cock rubbing against your G-Spot intensely.
You look divine on top of her, your hair shining in the dim light of the room, the bed creaking under both of you.
You feel your own wetness coat her and she shivers as it drips to her full balls.
It seems, the sadist is too close to orgasm to hold back.
It’s your time to gasp in surprise when she lunges for you, her hands on your hips as she flips you and buries her warm face in your neck.
“Good girl, Cassandra. Show me how bad you want me”, you whisper.
She moans as she bottoms out inside of you, her balls slapping against your ass cheeks and her fingers grasping your hips tightly.
With lidded eyes, you think she’s beautiful as both of you cum.
#cassandra dimitrescu#daniela dimitrescu#bela dimitrescu#resident evil village#cassandra dimitrescu x reader#touch starved anon
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Is is alright is I ask for a romantic eridan concept, with a fem human darling please?
Of course! I love to write for the brat, lol :) AU where at least Feferi and Eridan are alive for plot reasons I guess ^^;
Not proofread fully, it is what it is.
Yandere! Eridan Ampora ♒️ with Fem! Human! Darling
Pairing: Matesprit ❤️
Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Implied rebounding, Manipulation, Troll/Human pairing, Jealousy, Slight internal conflict, Dubious relationship/Matespritship, Possessive behavior, Brief mention of troll reproduction (it isn't NSFW at all, trust me), Stalking, Biting mention, Brief violence mention.
Eridan would be pathetic with just about any partner.
He'd be the same as he would with a troll darling wants he gets into it.
At first, however, Eridan has little interest in a human.
While his friends, like Feferi, are interested in them he doesn't get into them at first.
He just... doesn't get it?
Feferi may actually be the one to introduce you to him.
Eridan notices she's been chatting up this female human recently and is a bit bothered by it.
When he asks, Feferi takes this as interest.
As a result the fuchsiablood gushes about you and how you two are friends.
"wwhat do you evven like about this specific human?"
"O)( come on, -Eridan! Look at )(er, isn't s)(e just t)(e cutest 38D? You s)(oald c)(at wit)( )(er... and be nice!"
Reluctantly, Eridan listens to her and gives it a shot.
He begins to talk to you through the chat client because Feferi urged him to.
He'd normally not bother because humans are land dwellers and just won't understand him.
Although it appears you and Feferi understand each other....
Eridan would be a troll that would take time before he feels comfortable with a human obsession.
An example of a troll who'd have the same issue is Karkat.
He tries to be considerate and understand you to appease Feferi, who he's having relationship trouble with.
By the time Eridan meets you in person he's grown invested in you and your journey.
He's impressed you reach God-Tier, he's actually a bit envious.
You've actually been a way he's been recovering from his falling out with Feferi.
He never would've thought it possible but he's actually considering a quadrant with a human.
He actually finds himself excited at the idea of meeting this female human.
When you eventually get to the meteor he even gets a bit upset that he's not the first troll you come to greet.
Of course you go to see Feferi first.
Although, while both flushed and pale quadrants didn't work with Feferi, she still introduces you to him.
Perhaps in an attempt to heal his broken bloodpumper or something.
"T)(is is -Eridan! )(e's been rat)(er attac)(ed to your w)(ole journey! You s)(oald talk to )(im! I'm s)(ore )(e's been looking forward to meeting you 38)"
"d-don't say that...! um... hey-"
He mentally face palms when he stutters in front of you.
At first, Eridan would try to keep up his usual personality.
He's dramatic and sometimes acts like he's better than you.
He tunes it down when he realizes he's losing your interest, however.
The two trolls you talk to the most are actually Feferi and Eridan.
Eridan understands that you've met her first... yet he wishes you'd spend more time with him-
Naturally, your conversations tend to dip into more personal territory.
Eridan asks about you and what exactly makes female humans different from males.
This is due to the fact reproduction with trolls doesn't really take the gender into account.
You also ask about this "quadrant" thing he brings up frequently.
It's expected with Eridan that he often vents about relationship issues.
You try to listen to him bur sometimes you need a break.
Feferi tends to give advice on how to deal with him.
Eridan struggles with how to admit he's into you.
He isn't sure what to say?
He's rebounding from Feferi and wants to fill his quadrants....
Yet he's unsure how to tell a human he wants you in his flushed quadrant.
He guesses it would be similar to a human "boyfriend" while you'd be his human "girlfriend" but he's a bit nervous.
Eridan can be a bit of a creep when he scopes out how to tell you.
Some may notice him following you around and watching you.
Others notice him silently seething when you talk to other trolls.
He's even tried to suggest dueling to win you over.
He's... a bit bloodthirsty.
It takes a lot out of him to finally tell you what he wants with you.
"look, i knoww you're a human but i'vve been thinking.... did you possibly wwant to be my matesprit? y'knoww... my red lovve? don't laugh it's taken me forevver to ask you because you're a human!"
If you reject him then he'll just be a pain.
He'll pester you, he'll get aggressive with trying to show you he loves you.
He's clingy and pleads with you to give him a chance.
He'll stop being so stuck up! Please just give him a chance!
He's desperate....
If you say yes then you still get barely any time alone.
Eridan's ecstatic that you said yes to being his Matesprit.
Any other human he finds to be not his type.
When it comes to you? He slams into you to have your attention.
Feferi is happy that Eridan has found someone, even if it is her cute human friend, although he seems to be very clingy as usual.
Any past feelings for Feferi is mostly forgotten as Eridan prefers to look for you.
At first he was reluctant to like a human, one not even part of the bloodcaste or aquatic in nature.
Now he doesn't care, someone likes him.
Even if you rejected him he'd somehow force you into it.
In private he's affectionate.
In public he acts like he doesn't want you to shower him in affection, still trying to keep up his ego.
Private? Hugs, kissing, nipping, nuzzling, you name it.
He'd do anything for you.
Eridan admittedly wants to explore you in any way he can, as intimate as that sounds....
For being a prince, if you say just the right thing he's bratty putty in your hands.
He acts like he's tough but in reality he's just happy you're paying attention to him, one way or another (even with a bit of force).
Eridan would be one to decorate you in his sign and color like some Highbloods.
It's a way to show you're his and gives him an ego boost.
He's possessive and other than violence displaying his color on your keeps you as his in his mind.
Feferi begins to feel bad when she sees you covered in Eridan's symbol.
He's taken this Matesprit thing a bit too far... like he fears to lose you.
You're God-Tier unlike him so you can keep him in his place if he decides to try and kill another troll for you, like Feferi.
Although, like some pathetic yanderes, you may just feel bad?
Eridan has so many issues when it comes to relationships.
After losing Feferi you one way or another gave him a chance.
Now you have a clingy troll who refuses to let you go.
Overall, Eridan would be hesitant to engage with a human obsession due to his ego...
Although once he catches flushed feelings... he just can't get enough of you despite his ego.
"i'd do anything for you, you're mine and i'm yours! i'd kill for you, i'd conquer for you... you're my matesprit and i'd do it all just for you. i lovve you... don't you dare reject me!"
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catch me becoming a daily on this blog lol but if i may: how about some angst/comfort headcannons where Caviera, Lion, Rook, Doc, and Smoke have their memories of their S/O wiped, but they manage to recover them and seek their S/O out? i imagine it was out of the blue, so they werent warned of it beforehand, hope this makes sense!
I think I understand. I made the scenario that they lost their memory due to being in the field, hope that’s alright! I also included Smokes daughter for his and there are mentions of Lions son in his section.
Caveria
- It was just supposed to be training. Which in Taina’s opinion made this all the worse. She didn’t even get hurt out in battle, but during training.
- Apparently if you hit your head with just enough force at just the right angle, it can seriously fuck you up. Thankfully, Gustave says she’s still functioning properly besides her memory.
- Seeing her in such a state, it was normal to worry was it not? She looked at you like it wasn’t.
- When Gustave pulled you aside and informed you she had some short term memory loss due to the impact, it all made more sense. It hurt a lot more too.
- It didn’t take long for you to head out after that. You had worked so hard to get Taina open to trust you and build an open and loving relationship. You didn’t know how you even did it, never mind do it all over again.
- You at least needed some time alone.
- … You didn’t mean this much. It’s been almost a month with barely any contact with Taina. Some bittersweet check ups that she was still so guarded about, even when you tried to explain that you loved her so.
- It was late. You were snuggled up in your couch, the bed feeling so uncomfortable ever since the thought that Taina might never lay in it again came up.
- But ever at this hour, there she was, at your door, dressed in a some lay around attire… but at your door. You hesitated, then opened it.
- “Coração, I’m sorry it’s taken me this long. I hope… we haven’t lost anything here.”
Smoke
- James is always itching for excitement. He lives for the gunfire and smoke… and his weird chemicals he throws in.
- It finally came to stab him in the back.
- In the hospital bed of the clinic, his daughter and a woman, stress written across their faces, were sitting in the chairs along the wall.
- As soon as he shuffled, they were up on their feet, moving towards him, gently hugs and questions of “are you alright?”
- It took him a minute to fully process what was happening and why he’s ended up here. He then looked at his daughter then you, then his daughter, then you.
- “Heh… yeah I’m alright’.. I’m glad my daughter wasn’t alone during this but… who are ya?”
- Puzzled, you were looking over him for any signs of joking or teasing… but there were none. He genuinely didn’t know who you were anymore.
- His daughter seemed just as confused as you, looking at her dad before explaining that you two were together and of the such.
- You just needed to take a leave for a minute, patting her shoulder gently before you did so.
- his daughter was the one to smack some sense into him eventually. She knew her father needed to rest, but she knew that he’d also let someone good for him walk away.
- She would help him feel more himself again, then force him to go out and get you some pretty flowers and finally, send him your address. She would make sure you two at least stayed in each other’s lives.
- James would thank her later.
Lion
- Oliver didn’t have much family to visit him if he would ever fall ill or have a tragedy happen on the field. Apart of him doesn’t know if he’d even want them to visit him.
- But he has you and his son. He’s created a better life for himself and hopes to make it with you.
- Yet he had forgotten all about you. There were some missed phone calls from over a month ago in his phone. Only a few more recently. What had happened?
- Upon losing his memory, you got to see him a few times. He never remembered. He was skeptical, now in the same state he was before you two got together of feeling overwhelmed with his son, his job, his life, and struggles of his past. He didn’t believe he would add another thing on top of that.
- After eight visits it was just too painful and you decided for the better of yourself to keep contact minimal. Some calls here and there. Eventually another visit. Soon, it felt hopeless.
- Three months is how long it took for Olivier to show up at your door, holding his breath and biting his tongue. Just looking at you. You just looking at him, in utter shock.
- “I… I don’t even know what happened still.”
- Those were the first words he uttered to you. A desperation in his tone.
- How were you supposed to be mad at him when he was like this. So torn and confused about everything.
- You couldn’t help but just let the tears flow. He definitely teared up as well. Bringing him into your arms again felt like your world had finally been pieced back together again.
Rook
- Julien is one of the youngest and most optimistic operators on the team. His state made many on the force feel guilty in some capacity. Especially his fellow GIGN operators.
- It only got worse when they realized he forgot about the one he loved. Julien liked to talk about you quite a lot. He had many hopes of what his life could become with you. He even talked about getting married to you a few times with his coworkers.
- Now, Gustave had to talk to you as Dr.Kateb, it sucked.
- You took your time to mourn, sitting there in the clinical office chair. But none of it would make him remember you. Looking over at him and back to the floor. It was hard. Yet, you agreed and walked out.
- He was a solider before anything else wasn’t he? You had to respect that.
- You two had a small apartment in Tours together. You stayed there practically 24/7. It wasn’t the same anymore and it got to the point where you thought about moving. If he forgot everything you would just have to try to.
- Your phone rang out. It was too far away. You’d just call them back later.
- Your phone rang out again. Really? Calling again?
- Fine! You were getting up now!
- Going over to the phone, you snatched it off the counter, annoyed and ready to sassily tell them to leave a message next time,
- “But I missed you a lot.”
- You swear your whole stomach did a backflip. You started asking a million questions, getting answers felt like a weight off your chest finally.
- “I’m sorry, I didn’t know!… I finally remembered again though… what do you think about marriage?”
Doc
- One of the most valuable operators, fallen down with a type of memory loss wasn’t good at all.
- So though it sucks, it wasn’t that much of a surprise when Harry put some strict guidelines in place for how things would go with Gustave.
- You would be kept mostly in the dark.
- It was heartbreaking. It felt like you were leaving him when you could help him the most. You knew he would never leave you if you had suffered the same. It felt so wrong. But Harry assured you this needed to happen.
- Working on the frontlines is what he loved. He hated being tied to a desk and such. He had his passions and who were you to get in the way of that?
- You agreed. You wouldn’t have contact with Gustave while he was recovering. You could only hope he would remember again.
- Soon, he’d be on his feet in the field again, training or working from the sidelines as he got better.
- And at the dead of night before going to sleep,
- “Goodnight, mon ange.”
- He leaned down and closed his eyes without thinking, then registered what he had said and threw the covers off himself like a madman.
- Gustave had forgotten about you. How?! Oh god why?! At the speed of light he started looking for your number in his phone, he did, pressing call. It went straight to voicemail. He did it again. Straight to voicemail.
- Pissed, concerned and confused, he stomped his way up to Harry’s office.
- soon the office was filled with aggressive arguing (mainly from Gustave) and long sighs. Harry called you up himself, asking you if you’d like to come see Gustave. That he finally remembered.
- You didn’t need to be told twice and arrived as fast as you could. Practically running up to Harry’s office and slamming the door open to see your gorgeous lover again.
- “Mon ange.. oh I should’ve known, I should’ve remembered..”
- a few bittersweet laughs and kisses made it all better eventually. You’d find a way to work through this.
#r6s#r6s x reader#rainbow six siege#headcanons#r6#doc x reader#caveria x reader#smoke x reader#rook x reader#lion x reader#doc#Caveria#smoke#rook#lion
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tmi maybe? just some thoughts i had after seeing a tweet just now. nothing unique but just wanted to voice out what i felt about this especially after having lived in a healthy space for a while now.
but honestly it feels so good to now be in spaces that affirm me when it comes to discussions about sex and relationships. like i used to be in spaces and on apps where hypersexuality and hooking up was so normalized that u were the odd one out or straight up bizarre for not doing the same. or u would be viewed as odd for not being comfortable to send those types of pics or vids so freely either. sometimes even to the point where i'd be labelled as asexual for not wanting it on a daily basis which isn't a bad thing but it isn't what i am. and u shouldn't label somebody for them when they know their damn selves better than anyone else in that regard.
sex positivity comes in many forms. just because ur definition of sex positivity is more, more, more does not mean that its the same for someone else and vice versa. just because they aren't the same in their definition, doesn't mean that they are prudes either and it absolutely does not give u the right to alienate someone as well.
in general, people crave at different levels which isn't bad. what makes it a shitty feeling is when people start to make u feel alienated and invalidated your own personal preference and that's not right. i may have had people pleasing tendencies in the past but i'm certainly glad i never fully caved into that culture that i know is not for me even if i tried because i know i would've gotten hurt in many ways to a certain degree if i had. i only caved a bit and honestly? i think i'm still recovering from that because in retrospect, i never wanted it but because i forced myself into it because of these past pressures, it has become a dark and hollow memory for me instead.
same with relationships. i used to have this whole mindset of oh no everyone keeps getting into a different relationship immediately after another and u start to worry that ure the problem and that ure an outlier for not developing feelings all that quickly for people which then drives u to force urself into relationships that u don't really care about or u force urself into liking certain people in order to "catch up" with the spaces ure in. which then end up turning into rushed, painful and similarly hollow experiences. that's until u actually start to put urself in spaces that are more diverse and u come to realize that that isn't the norm and u were just seeing life through only one lens. and it sucks that i put myself or ended up falling into that mindset in the past. but i'm glad i'm able to move on from it and view the world in a more understanding and forgiving perspective in relation to the life i choose to live in these regards. it's not a race and no one should have the right to tell u to speedrun ur way through experiences ure not necessarily chasing at the moment because at the end of the day, when u eventually get to the end of it, the prizes u end up winning will just feel all for naught.
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One Of The Hardest Things I’ve Ever Been Through
AKA Sam and Daniel, Season 7
They find Daniel lost, alone, no memory of who he is or who they are. Sam’s the first to approach, and you can see how much it hurts her to have him back away from her touch. Then he’s off again, sadly turning away from these strangers. Jack has limited success in getting through to him, leaving the next attempt to Sam, and oh boy, she gets through.
“(You’re) one of the most caring, passionate… You’re the type of person that would give his own life to save someone he doesn’t even know.” It’s essentially a continuation of her speech at his deathbed, just revised. And still completely from the heart.
“Let us show you who you are instead of just telling you.”
He promised to think about it, but the way she was talking, he himself almost had a hard time believing there was never anything between them. But he trusted her, ultimately deciding to go home, see who he really was, as much as it kind of scared him.
His memory slowly returns, and they’re back, just like old times. They have that sam playful nature, the same always have each other’s back dynamic.
She’s the first to catch his distant nature in Orpheus, bringing him back to reality and helping him try to fully recover the memory haunting him. (This all right after she was bickering about the lack of reality in sci fi movies, normal nerdy things). Suddenly they’re teaming up to take over the ship, saving everyone on the planet.
She’s requested to help with the space race, and he’s having fun with her being so giddy. He knows it's worth it, but he’s still concerned about the actual mission here, but hey, what’s a girl to do if the race turns out to be a little fun. Nobody is gonna keep her from having some fun, least of all Daniel. Then of course he’s got that same light at the end of the ep, asking what she’s gonna do, knowing she’s sore she lost.
Then he goes missing again in evolution, and while the search for him doesn’t fall into her court, it doesn’t stop her from immediately checking his status when she returns to SGC.
Then she’s missing in Grace, and he’s the one making a list of planets she could be on, convincing Jack it’s their best shot. Meanwhile, she’s having hallucinations, but it’s the one of Daniel that leads places initially. After she finishes bickering with him (We love to see silly little scenes), he’s clear in the fact that he’s not real, and she resigns to the fact that she could use the help. He, just as Daniel typically would, wants her to check it out, it’s important, trust him, and that in any other situation she’d be excited to be where she was in that moment. And he’s not wrong. He knows her well and her subconscious clearly knew that. He later suggests the cloud is sentient, which eventually leads her to the answer she needed, saving her.
Back to the bond Daniel has with her father, we see him visit Jacob in the infirmary, making small talk but Jacob sees right through it, his main concern also being Sam. That being said, his little joke about Jacob healing in like a day, love to see it.
Sam briefly thinks Daniel is messing with her when he’s yawning away to her sciencey speech until she realizes he’s not at 100%, then she instantly jumps to concern. She suggests he talk to someone (About his dreams and other issues) And she does what she can to comfort and help him (little backstroke my beloved). She wants to take care of him but more importantly for him to take care of himself. (Who needs Pete? She's got this lovely right here. And other lovelies for that matter. I digress).
He’s back they’re back defending each other, defending the galaxy, sticking up for each other’s opinions of how certain things should be handled. Nothing’s changed, really, except that they’re closer than ever.
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Random downer headcanon time!
I headcanon that there is no ‘happy’ ending for Lance post canon, no matter how you spin it. And isn’t that funny because I lost my shit when they didn’t give him a ‘happy ending’ in the second movie, because I do believe he deserves it. But when you really start thinking it through, there’s just no real winning this for him.
Sure enough, I headcanon that he killed Friedkin aka his abuser and burned Collingwood to the ground, that he got out of there and beat the game. That could be considered a happy ending in a ‘traditional’ sense, but my definition of a happy ending for him specifically is something else - it’s one where he’s truly at peace with himself, happy and content, facing a future he’s excited about and happy with. I don’t think he can get that and that there is a winning scenario, simply because he has so many interesting and contradicting character traits and especially because he is not a hero and neither is he a villain.
There’s like, two main scenarios that could be considered a ‘happy ending’ for him, but both don’t really work.
Scenario 1 - he somehow gets rid of Azathoth, is no longer possessed while still being himself and not falling victim to his brain trauma. And in an ideal world, he manages to heal and recover from the psychological trauma, reintegrates himself into the real world and its society, maybe even gets back to being a filmmaker. Basically a second chance. ---- I don’t think he’d be happy in this scenario. I headcanon that he’ll try a lot harder to be a better person. To do good, use this second chance. At the same time, he’s still a flawed character. He won’t ever be a true hero. He won’t ever be 100% selfless. He fought to hard for his life to now stop thinking about himself. Eventually, he’d be bored. He’d feel like something’s missing. He’d feel ‘average’, maybe even less than. For a while, he traveled through time and was possessed by a demonic outer god. He faced demons and ghosts and defeated a hell dimension that defied physics - and now he’s back to his old life? Back to a ‘normal’ job, no matter how exciting and creative he’d make it as a filmmaker? He still has protagonist syndrome. And people kept telling him he was ‘the chosen one’, that he was special. There is no way in hell he’d go back to his old life in a linear timeline to having a job and worrying about money and taxes and whatnot. Even if he started traveling, made even crazier shows, went on adventures...he wouldn’t be happy. He wouldn’t be satisfied. I headcanon he’d start to miss Azathoth, miss being possessed and having powers. After years of neverending trauma, fear, and leaving off of his survival instinct in its purest form...he doesn’t know how to deal with a comfortable, carefree and safe life anymore. And to top it all of - a part of him, survivor’s guilt mostly, truly believes that he doesn’t deserve this, especially in comparison to all the people he got killed. In a way, being possessed and tormented by Azathoth is his way of thinking that he’s atoning for his mistakes. And Azathoth and what he experienced with it is still a huge point. Sure, I could see him maybe try to become an actual ghost hunter. Or a hunter. Because after everything he went through, he loathes monsters. At the same time, a part of him’ll always sympathize with them, too. Consider himself one, and he’s just done with blood and guts and killing and running running running - from cops or other hunters or monsters and what not. So I can’t see him as a hunter in this scenario either.
Scenario 2 - he doesn’t get rid of Azathoth, he fully embraces their symbiosis, he lets it corrupt him, he embraces the powers it gives him and everything Friedkin and his cult wanted to raise with him. Deep down, this’d actually be the more comfortable ‘happy ending’ for him. He’d get to live out his protagonist syndrome and being ever so ‘special’. He would be elevated past his previous life, which, no matter how much he wanted to get back to and missed - he knows he won’t ever really fit in anymore. I don’t think that’s a happy ending for him either. Because he’s not a villain character. He has good traits to him. He has a moral code, no matter how scewed. There is a line he won’t cross. Or that he’ll break apart over if he were forced to. (see canon)
Deep down, in this scenario, a part of him would always feel like he actually lost. Like, he gave up, that Friedkin, Collingwood, Azathoth won in the end, something he’s spent years fiercely fighting against. I headcanon that this is the most important thing for him - holding his head high and saying that he’ll always keep going, always keep fighting, that no matter what they do and try, he won’t be broken, he’ll always be himself, he’ll win. However, if he fully embraces Azathoth and what they are - he won’t be himself anymore. He’ll be a distorted version of himself. Something Friedkin wanted. Something a part of him still despises - being a monster himself. Someone who has killed and will keep killing to keep himself alive. In a way, he’ll be dead.
All in all, he’s just constantly torn between all those traits and wishes. He wants to go home and forget everything ever happened, but miss it the second he gets that. He’ll try his hardest to tell everyone that Friedkin and Collingwood DIDN’T win, didn’t break him, yet will be desperate to keep the very thing they forced onto him inside. He’ll never truly be happy or at peace, he’ll always be running and chasing, he’ll always keep walking, wandering. One thing IS certain though - he’ll survive. He’ll be alive. He’ll keep fighting. He’ll keep trying, even though he honestly doesn’t even know what he’s aiming for anymore.
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Dating advice | Part one
Summary: It’s been months – ok, it’s been years – since you last went on a date. And you’re sick of it. Sick of seeing couples kissing and holding hands in the street. Sick of your friends settling down. Sick of everyone buying houses and having families. You’re going to do something about it. You’re going to snap up a man, you’re going to tie someone down, you’re going to finally commit, you’re going to – you’re going to need a bit of advice.
Pairing: Yoongi x reader
Genre: fluff; angst; smut
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: Drinking, low self esteem, eventual smut, I think that’s all for this chapter.
Authors Note: Here’s part one! I hope you enjoy :)
Next | Series masterlist
“You’re a man.”
“A keen observation.”
“What do men look for in women?” You say the words as if he hasn’t spoken, eyes firmly on him as if his face may also hold answers you don’t want to miss.
He looks a little taken aback by the question but recovers quickly. You’re not really surprised, you have only just entered this place, don’t even know this man’s name let alone him. It’s not a question you’d normally ask a stranger, in fact, it’s not a question you’d ask anyone but it’s been playing on your mind so much recently that you can’t help but ask.
The cold glass of cider the man poured you a few moments ago is between your fingers. You fiddle with the beads of water perpetrating on the glass waiting for an answer.
“I don’t think there’s just one thing.”
You sigh, deflate in disappointment, eyes falling away from the man as if he’s a lost cause, as if he was really going to give you the answer to a near impossible question. What had you really expected? The answer to life itself? Some simple answer that would solve all your troubles? No, you knew the answer, and yet hearing it said so plainly doesn’t help.
“I mean, different people are into different things,” he carries on, undeterred by your reaction, if anything he seems to be elaborating because of it. Your eyes flick back to him, slightly curious. “I for one would say personality is more important than looks. If I can talk easily talk to someone for hours, if I can have a laugh with someone, if I feel comfortable enough with someone to fully open up, then I think that’s where attraction blossoms.”
And here in lies your problem.
You sit up a bit straighter on the bar stool, the man’s eyes tracking your movements. It’s quiet in the bar tonight, a few other customers dotted around the room. A woman further down the bar managing the only customer ordering. He could easily make some excuse to get out of this, but for whatever reason he’s indulging you. It’s probably just good customer service, or maybe it’s a way for him to waste some time.
“But how do you get to that point?”
He raises an eyebrow at you. “You date?”
“Yeah, but how do I meet people I want to date?”
“Uh, apps?”
You sigh, pull a face that shows that you’re less than impressed by his answer.
“Listen, I’m really not an expert on this topic,” he turns defensive.
“Yeah, you and me both.”
You slump back into your chair, slouch over the bar as you take a swig of your drink.
You’re not really sure why you came in here, were just walking back home from seeing a friend when you saw the sign The Old Rectifying House, it looked nice and though you rarely do anything like this alone, for whatever reason you found your feet carrying you inside. The theme, it seems, carried on, asking strangers questions, especially ones so personal is also something you don’t make a habit of.
“Why do you ask?”
You didn’t realise the man was still there, you assumed he’d walked off when you flopped over the bar, probably glad to be out of whatever it was you were dragging him into. But as if his voice wasn’t confirmation enough, when you look back up, there he is.
“Oh,” the question caught you off guard as much as his presence. You may have been the one to start the topic of conversation, but you hadn’t anticipated this question. “Well, I’m single.”
A smirk appears on the mans lips, small, only the corner curling up. And though you’ve never met him before you can tell that it’s more than he would normally give. The amusement glinting in his eyes, his full attention directed at you making something weird flip inside you, heat flaring to your skin.
And now you look at him again, feeling like a complete fool, you start to actually take him in, as if you hadn’t properly looked at him before.
He’s attractive, like really attractive. Skin pale as if he doesn’t get much sun or when he does he slathers on factor 50 to protect himself, but it’s smooth like marble, still has a healthy glimmer to it. He’s wearing a long sleeved black top, loose but he’s dragged the sleeves up to his elbows, blue veins popping out of his forearms. His hair is dark and has obviously been styled but through the night he’s been running his hand through it causing a slightly more ruffled look now. His eyes are nearly the same colour as his hair, such a dark brown they’re near black, eyelashes thick as they flutter against his skin.
You flush harder, if possible. Why the hell have you even engaged in conversation with this beautiful man?
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re at least not looking to cheat on someone,” he says, his tone reflecting the amusement in his face.
“Yeah, well, it’s hard to find people to date,” you mumble, embarrassed.
It’s true though, it is hard. You know there are apps, you know you could ‘put yourself out there’ more, but honestly the thought scares the hell out of you. You don’t want to have to sell yourself like some sort of used car. You don’t want to have to talk to men only to find out they’re not for you. You don’t want the effort of it all. But you do want someone.
You’re sick of being alone. It’s not that you hate it, in fact you enjoy nothing more than your own company. But you hate seeing all your friends with people; dating, getting engaged, having children, settling down, just generally being happy. Everyone happy with someone else except you. You may like your own company, but that doesn’t mean you’re not lonely. You want someone to share your life with, want what your friends have, someone who you tell everything to, who you’re wholly yourself around, who you trust with everything, who has your back. You just don’t want to do all the bits to get to that point.
You don’t really fancy saying all of that to this man you don’t know though.
“Dave over there’s single, I can ask him if he’s interested if you want?”
You look over to where he points, regret it instantly seeing the near ninety-year-old man he’s pointing to. When you turn back to frown at him, the smile is wider on his face, small teeth and gums showing.
“Sure. He may be more interesting to talk to then you.”
He laughs, eyes closing, skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes. You have to bite back a smile, focus going back to your drink to hide how proud of the retort you are.
“Come on then,” he says when the laugh dies. “What are you into?”
You take a sip of your drink, attempt to swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat. Here you were thinking he would be wanting to run away from you and yet here he is not letting the conversation die.
You raise a questioning eyebrow at him and watch as his cheeks tint pink. He manages to keep a cool look on his face though, acting unbothered.
“You know, if you’re going to date you probably should set yourself up on some sort of app. Just trying to help you think what you could write.”
“Right,” you nod but don’t fully buy it, he’s probably getting a weird kick out of this. “Well, I’m not sure I want to go on any apps.”
He levels you a look, remains silent. You get the message, humour me.
“Uh. Well, I like to read. And I have lots of plants. And, urm, I run sometimes and play rounders in the summer. I drink too,” you hold up your drink as if he needs evidence and then immediately feel lame and put the glass back down. “I guess I really do sound like Dave’s type.”
You deflect with humour, nodding your head at the old man at the end of the bar with a smile. And while the man in front of you smiles it’s not wide and genuine like earlier. He’s not taken the bait.
“All perfectly good things.”
“Thanks?” You question unsure if he’s complimenting or insulting you.
“But you’re going to need something better in your bio,” he says, ignoring you.
Now you know he’s offending you. You sit up straighter, open your mouth to shoot something back at him but he must see the look in your eyes and is quick to clarify.
“I just mean you want people to match with you. They don’t want to read an essay. You want something short and snappy.”
“You asked me what I’m into,” you defend.
“And like I said, all great stuff,” his tone is synonymous to someone walking on eggshells or holding their hands up as if to show they have no weapons. Please don’t shoot.
“But not good enough.”
“It needs work.”
Well, at least he gets to his points. And he’s being honest, that you can appreciate.
“This is why I don’t date,” you sigh, taking another sip of your drink.
“What’s he said?” A new, higher pitched voice asks. “Whatever it is, ignore it all. Yoongi likes to pretend he’s smart but he knows nothing.”
When you place your glass back down you see it’s the only other person behind the bar talking, the girl that was serving a customer has come over. She looks happier than the man she referred to as Yoongi, a genuine looking smile plastered on her face, hair plaited down her back, dark skin almost sparkling.
“I was giving advice,” the man, Yoongi, grumbles.
“Again, ignore him,” she says with a smile, making you chuckle.
“Whatever. I was only trying to help.”
The girl rolls her eyes while a pang of guilt goes through you. You had been the one to ask him and while he could have easily said nothing he didn’t.
“And it was good, thanks,” you say, drawing his eyes to you.
“Yeah, sure,” his tone implying he doesn’t believe you.
“Well, good advice for someone I’m sure, just not for me,” a smile curls on your lips as you tease him.
He shakes his head, rolls his eyes as if annoyed, but you can see that he’s not. The amusement is back in his eyes, that small smile tugging at his lips however hard he may be trying to suppress it.
“Priya is better with this sort of stuff anyway since she actually dates.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself Yoon, you went out with that girl once, like months ago. Or was it years?” The girl is teasing him, gaining a scowl from Yoongi and a giggle hidden behind your glass from you. She looks satisfied by the response as if it’s exactly what she wanted.
“Don’t call me Yoon,” is his only reply, voice deep and dark and you worry he’s actually annoyed so pull yourself together, reminding yourself you don’t know these people.
“Yeah, whatever,” Priya brushes him off, unbothered, focus drawing to you instead. “Now, dating. What is it exactly Yoongi told you to do?”
“Urm,” you stall, become unsure now all the focus is on you. Eyes flick between Priya who’s waiting patiently to Yoongi who looks a little less bothered, though he’s still hanging around, eyes on you waiting to hear what you’ll say. “He just asked me what I’m in to. Said that I need to make sure I don’t write an essay.”
“True, a valid point,” Priya nods and you think you catch a look of pride cross Yoongi’s face, though it’s too quick for you to be sure. “But it’s the pictures you need to focus on.”
“Well, I’m screwed then.”
Priya laughs, a small chuckle as if humouring the joke you weren’t fully intending. It’s not that you think you’re unattractive, more that you aren’t beautiful, at least not enough to stand out against the many girls you know you’ll be up against.
“You just need some swipe worthy pics.”
“You say that as if it’s easy.”
She looks at you, eyes hooded, head tilting to the side as if completely done with you and again you have to remind yourself that you’ve only just met these people.
“You’ll already have lots of great pictures, you’re beautiful,” you feel heat creeping to your cheeks, the comment is said so frankly that it’s as if it’s something everyone knows, as if she’s not purposefully complimenting you, but more stating facts. “But if you don’t, get a friend round, have a photoshoot. Or go out somewhere one day, make it look like you’re not a hermit.”
“Ok,” you elongate the word, still not completely sold on the idea.
“Or, you could give me your phone now and I can snap a worthy pic.”
She holds her hand out and you stare at it as if you’ve never seen the gesture before and don’t know what to do.
“I’m not really dressed –”
“Ridiculous, you look great,” she cuts you off, wiggling her fingers.
You’re sure there must be pure panic in your eyes and that’s why Yoongi steps forward and says, “Stop harassing the customers.”
You’re grateful for him intervening even if a look of disappointment crosses Priya’s face. You don’t know how to react, don’t want to shoot Yoongi a look of thanks in case Priya sees and don’t want to shoot her a look of condolence in case she gets the wrong impression and continues on her mission. You end up staring blank faced between the two of them.
Yoongi lets out a low chuckle, patting his hand on the counter drawing your eyes to him.
“We’ll leave you alone, but good luck with the dating. Remember, no essays,” you nod at him as he turns to Priya who looks like she’s about to continue on with her 101 tips for dating. “You have tables to clear.”
She looks like she’s going to protest before she meets Yoongi’s eyes. “You got it boss,” she says instead, walks away after wishing you luck.
Yoongi shoots you one last look, eyebrows raising as he gives you a gum filled smile, and then he’s turning and heading through the door behind the bar.
#yoongi x reader#yoongi fic#yoongi scenarios#yoongi imagine#yoongi fanfic#yoongi fluff#suga fic#suga x reader#yoongi fanfiction#yoongi series#yoongi x y/n
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Hello! If it's ok, can I please request canonverse hcs for Zeke, (post-s4) Reiner, Colt, Porco, and Erwin as new dads? S/o is also a fellow Warrior/Scout and so they encourage the dad to spend time with their newborn as their time is limited. How would they care and coddle for their respective little beans? I just want fluff amongst all the angst the current season is handing out by the bucket >< Thanks!
This is such a cute idea. Writing it made me all soft 🥺🥺
Headcanons of Zeke, Reiner, Colt, Porco, & Erwin as new dads.
CW: None
Zeke was not planning on having a child. He never saw himself as the type that could be a father, he had barely had one himself growing up. But, when his child was born, everything changed. As soon as your baby reached up it’s little hands and grabbed at his beard, he knew he could do this. He would give this child everything he missed growing up.
He’s scared to hold the baby for more than a few minutes at first. What if they start crying or he doesn’t hold them right? Only after reassuring him multiple times that he’s doing fine will he keep the baby in his arms.
The thought that he might mess up terrifies him, so he goes to his grandmother to ask for help. He wants to know all about what’s best for babies, and how he can improve so he can be a good father.
Only you and him can hold the baby, no exceptions. Others, including family, can look at the baby but he doesn’t trust anybody else with holding it.
When both of you are forced to leave the baby for warrior duties, he’s besides himself with worry. What if something happens? What if someone hurts his child? As soon as the two of you get back from your mission you go to get your baby. As you hold your child, he’ll hug you both, pressing a kiss to their little head.
Zeke takes the baby to meetings. He’ll be swaddling them softly in his arms while he discusses battle plans like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
He’s definitely teaching the baby to misbehave by tempting them to grab his hair. It’s just so cute to him to see them determinedly ball their little fist while giving him toothless smiles.
He likes watching the baby while they sleep. Their face so peaceful and their little legs kicking softly now and then. Having a child with you has changed him, and in those moments he can feel the change the best. He feels that with the two of you by his side, he could let everything else be.
Reiner is a sobbing mess from the moment you tell him you are pregnant, and when he finally gets to see his little one it just gets worse. He’s just so amazed by how he created something so beautiful and pure.
He’s a very active dad, taking the baby off your hands whenever you allow it. He loves all the time he gets to spend with his child, even if it means changing a diaper.
He wishes you both could just settle down with your little family, but he knows that isn’t realistic just yet. Your encouragements to make the most of the time that you both have makes him feel that every little moment with the baby and you is special.
Very proud dad. The two of you have created the cutest little creature, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t show them off a little. His mother and your fellow Warrios get shown off to the most. He’ll tell them all about the baby’s progress and point out even the smallest detail he is proud of.
“Do you see that? That little hair is a perfect curl.”
Many days he’ll fall asleep while rocking the baby. It’s incredible that even the baby falls asleep while Reiner’s slumped against the back of the chair, the baby resting against his shoulder. It’s the most sound sleep Reiner gets, your little one repelling his nightmares.
Buys anything the baby even points a chubby finger at. You tell him he’ll make them spoiled, but he can’t help it. He wants to give them everything he can.
When the two of you are taking care of the baby, he’ll often thank you for giving him the greatest gift.
Colt is oh so nervous, but also excited, for the birth of your baby. He doesn’t leave your side, and when the moment is finally there, he barely believes it. Seeing the baby, so tiny and crying as the doctor places them on your chest makes tears well up in his eyes. He’ll kiss your forehead, praising you for doing so well and laying a hand on the back of his child’s back.
He’s all over you and the baby, showering you in love and care. At first you think it’s just after the hospital, but no, it sticks around. When you are recovered you have to remind him that you too are a Warrior, so though you appreciate it you don’t need him to hold your hand at every step.
He’s overbearing in the sweetest way, trying so hard to do everything right for the baby. If it coughs once he’s already running to find you.
Colt knows a thing or two about kids already since he helped with Falco, but every baby is different so he still gets surprised. Like when he accidentally spilled some water in the babies face while washing them. He was sure they would cry their eyes out like Falco had done when young, but the baby had just stared at him with wide eyes. Perhaps your genes had made them a tougher breed.
He loves making the baby laugh. He’ll play peekaboo with them or dance a stuffed animal around them, booping their nose. Hearing his child laughing and babbling never fails to make him smile.
Porco sees himself as a not easily shaken guy, but the baby showed him how wrong he was. He could act tough around others all he wanted, but the sparkling eyes of your child melted him instantly. He was smitten with them since the first look.
He wants to carry the baby all the time, keeping it close to him. He’s a sucker for the classic baby scent, smelling the baby’s head and giving it kisses.
Pinches the baby’s cheeks. They are just so chubby and squeezable. He looks a bit evil while he does it, grinning widely as the baby tries to wiggle away, but he does it all in good fun.
He doesn’t just show off, he brags. Look at how beautiful his child is, how well behaved they are, bet their kid cries all the damn time huh?
“That nose? Clearly got it from me.” He’ll say, proudly putting the baby’s face next to his, looking smug. “Handsome produces handsome.”
Porco is painfully aware of what being a Warrior could cost you, having lost friends and family. What if the two of you don’t return from a mission? It keeps him up at night now and then, and when it does, he goes to get the baby, laying them down between the two of you. It comforts him to feel the baby’s warmth, it’s little hands right at his face. He’ll enjoy having you and the baby as long as he can.
It’s the funniest thing to see him scurrying about after the baby puked on him. He mumbles about them being a little bastard, but he can’t stay mad.
Erwin had been dedicated solely to his mission for years, and he had assumed a family wasn’t in the cards for him because of the life he chose. When he met you, he saw what could be, and eventually the two of you decided to have a child. Erwin was still nervous about the idea of juggling a family and his position as commander when your baby was born, but holding them for the first time convinced him he could make the change.
He reads to the baby every night. He loved the worlds he could explore through books when he was young, and he wants to pass that on to his child. You allow him to only read from an encyclopedia once a week, not wanting your child’s brain to overheat.
The way he changes diapers is a skill. His face doesn’t even twitch while he does it, and he has the technique down so well he’s done within a minute.
Erwin holds the baby close while being on a mission by keeping a family portrait of the three of you on him at all times. It helps him with missing them and motivates him to keep on fighting.
He takes the baby up the wall with you. He wraps one arm around you, the baby ogling the outside world on his other arm.
“One day you will be able to walk freely out there, I’ll make sure of it.” He promises his child.
Levi is made godfather whether he likes it or not. Erwin trusts him fully, and wants to make sure that if anything happens Levi will look after the baby. Erwin will definitely have some fun with it too, making Levi hold the baby and observing him grumpily threaten them to not even think about puking on him.
Erwin keeps a journal during all his missions. He writes down all the interesting and beautiful things he witnesses inbetween the carnage, from plants to friendships. He wants to keep track of it so that when his child is old enough they can know all about it.
He wants to stick the baby in these old and serious clothes. You can barely see your child through the frills and the dress pants are absolutely laugh worthy on their little legs. After seeing the poor thing can barely move around in them, he’ll yield.
#zeke x reader#reiner x reader#colt x reader#porco x reader#erwin x reader#aot#snk#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#headcanons#zeke yeager#reiner braun#colt grice#porco galliard#erwin smith#aot headcanons#snk headcanons#Zeke#Reiner#colt#porco#Erwin
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Hello, could you write the follow up with the fallen!Simeon please? Like how others and Mc help him with his pain and how Simeon comes to accept himself as a demon?
(You got it! This took 2 hours and a half to write was not expecting that)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: A BIT OF A SPOILER IN LEVI'S PART! Body image issues (Mammon and Asmo's part)
Brothers And Side Characters Taking Care Of Simeon After His Fall
Simeon was found lying on the ground in pretty much the middle of nowhere. He was brought back to the House of Lamentation to rest. Michael has already made his retreat back to the Celestial Realm after ages of being convinced to let it go. When he awakes in the attic the brothers are left to take care of him.
Lucifer
The first one Simeon sees when he wakes up. He checks on how his pain is and the conversation ends up being about both of their guilt, mainly Simeon's though. He's there to reassure no one blames him and that everyone's alright. Checks on his pain and mental state daily and lets him talk about anything he needs to. Probably won't admit it but he does feel a bit of nostalgia from their conversations. Wonders what it'd be like if they were brothers once again.
Mammon
Keeps him company for the most part. Talks about whatever comes to mind. Latest schemes, something his brothers did ages ago, how one of subjects at RAD makes no sense. Simeon's bedridden for a bit so he keeps him up to date on things. The conversations usually get a bit more serious. Mostly issues about his new form. New appendages reminding him everyday about how this is all real and he really isn't an angel anymore. The guilt makes him feel disgusted with himself and body. Mammon tries to hype him up with his own demon form. He looks cool and so does Simeon! It isn't much but it does cheer him up. And sometimes they talk about you. Mammon's not sure what to think about the fact Simeon also has feelings for you. But even with his greed he considers maybe he'd be okay with you being with the ex angel... Maybe. As long as everyone's happy he can manage...
Leviathan
Also there for help with distractions. Doesn't come up too often but Simeon let's him ramble on about something and watches him play games on his hand held devices. Wonders about the future of TSL. Will it be abandoned? Is Simeon even going to continue writing at all? Their conversations don't get too serious but Levi can tell when he's internally beating himself up. So occasionally he'll tell him how good he'd be at this game when he can move enough to play it or how nice his company is. The two will probably grow fairly close. He wonders if him, Solomon, Simeon, and you could hang out together. Maybe Mammon too...
Satan
Takes note on his physical state and how to reduce the pain. Maybe even find a potion that could help. He doesn't have a lot of experience with the pain of loosing your grace, he's born from wrath and was never an angel. So this all feels a bit odd to him but he's always had respect for Simeon and still does. So he'll do what he can to help. When he's able to move Satan lends him some of his books. And on some very few occasions reads to him before that. On the agreement he doesn't tell anyone though...
Asmodeus
Has some creams and lotion left over that helped him and his brothers after the fall. Starts doing his self care sessions with Simeon while talking about the latest gossip. He may be bedridden for a while but he can still keep his spark! And whenever he feels down about his new form Asmo tells him he doesn't need to be an angel to be beautiful. Asmo was the jewel of the Celestial Realm but now he's the most beautiful being the Devildom has! He also assists Simeon with hygiene. Sure, he has to start with grabbing a soapy rag and just wiping him down a bit but after some time he's able to help Simeon walk to the bathroom (always waits outside so he has privacy of course). Eventually he'll be able to walk on his own but Asmo's happy to help for the meantime.
Beelzebub
The one who helps him with eating. He knows he's probably nauseous with the pain so he keeps the food light for now. Crackers and soup are what most of his meals are. Simeon doesn't complain much though. Beel also hangs around while he eats and a bit after that. It's mostly comfortable silence. When he's able to eat heavier food Beel gets pretty happy. He cares about Simeon and he's happy when people he cares about are able to eat what they like. Beel's also good comfort if Simeon wants to talk about any troubles he has. Overall Beel's good company and good at taking care of others.
Belphegor
He doesn't come up to see Simeon extremely often. Not when he's awake. Whenever Simeon's asleep and Belphie's awake he makes sure he's having good dreams through his powers. And when the two hang out when they're both awake chances are they're watching a movie or messing with a star projectector. The two aren't the closest and Belphegor's company is mostly silent but neither of them mind. A lot of the time Beel brings food Belphegor's following (usually making sure Beel doesn't eat it). Normally passes out after not that long but Simeon doesn't mind.
Diavolo
Starts holding meetings with Lucifer at the House of Lamentation so he can visit Simeon while he's there. Usually assures him he'll deal with the exchange program and that he may stay in the Devildom. But he also helps with whatever he can while he's there. When he can eat sweets without getting sick he'll bring some stuff Barbatos made. Slightly worried Michael will do something but for now he's focused on Simeon's well being and managing the exchange program
Barbatos
Can't visit often since he has to do his job and has more paperwork to help Lord Diavolo sort out. But after a bit Simeon texts him and since then Barbatos checks on him through messages. Bakes him some sweets upon hearing he can keep down food better. He's checked the future and it seems pretty good so he's not the most concerned. Does look forward to seeing Simeon in person once he's fully recovered though
Solomon
He hides his worry. But he does wonder what's to come. Michael is likely to come back. Luke probably won't be able to see Simeon again after the program is over. He just hopes it won't get violent again. It's been a while since he was worried about someone so much. All thrill and no stress is usually how he lived but he's grown to enjoy Simeon's company and considers him a friend. He watches over Luke for now and brings him with while visiting. He sticks to buying gifts since the brothers refuse to let him bring any food he made. He also wonders about you. What will become of your relationship with Simeon? He's curious...
Luke
Conflicted. Simeon's a demon now. Demons are bad. But Simeon still acts the same? So maybe Simeon isn't bad. He hopes so. He doesn't want to hate him. But he can't come back to the Celestial Realm. Will he never see Simeon again after he has to leave? Solomon gives them space for a bit when they visit. Luke lays next to Simeon and they talk about the complicated thoughts Luke has. Sometimes it ends with Luke passing out after an hour of sobbing into Simeon's chest. Solomon walks back in not long after. Luke will bake Simeon sweets too. He'll figure out how to send them from the Celestial Realm too. He still cares. He doesn't want Simeon to forget about him when the programs over.
(Bonus)
MC
Lucifer notified you that Simeon was awake a couple hours after he was bought to the House of Lamentation. You made your way up to the attic right away and Simeon locked eyes with you. He called your name and you sat down on the bed. When you ask him if he's alright he nods, now looking away from you. Eventually you talk about your relationship now that he has literally fallen for you. He's alright if you don't return his feelings. As long as you're safe he'll be okay. But if you do he'll weakly take your hand in his, nodding as his gaze returns to you. He'll let you take care of him regardless. He's glad to be in your company either way.
#obey me angst#obey me swd#om swd#obey me#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me levi#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me beel#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphie#obey me belphegor#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me solomon#obey me luke#obey me simeon#obey me demon simeon#demon simeon#obey me undateables#obey me dateables#obey me side characters#obey me headcanons#obey me hc#obey me gn!mc#gn!mc#obey me spoilers#obey me hurt/comfort
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Nightmares
Wordcount: 1416
Requested: Yes, by desstehhnee
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: Bucky has a nightmare, the reader finds a way to comfort him.
Warnings: NSFW, 18+ readers only
Main Masterlist
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“Babe?”
The sound of the soft voice stirred you from your rest. You blinked the remaining sleep from your eyes as you turned to face him. Bucky had been dreadfully awake for what felt like hours, having struggled to muster the courage to wake his sleeping lover from beside him. He didn’t want to bother you, you seemed far too peaceful as you slept beside him. Getting Bucky to sleep in the bed in the first place was a struggle; The softness of the mattress was triggering and often left him with more panic than the floor ever did. After a few months of coaxing and gentle introduction to the mattress, Bucky agreed to spend the night in the bed. The event didn’t go as smoothly as he had hoped. Nightmares, ones worse than normal, plagued his sleep. He would rouse many times throughout the night, breathing heavily and coaxing himself back from the edge of panic. For the most part, it worked. This time was different, the image of the dream continued to haunt him long after he relax. It stayed burned into his mind because it involved you. He was tentative to wake his loving girlfriend, knowing you’d be incredibly understanding. He felt bad.
“What’s wrong, Buck?” You asked, also shifting to sit up. He seemed incredibly vulnerable, which was out of the ordinary for the man. You knew that when he was in such a fragile state, especially when recovering from a nightmare, it was best not to touch him without explicit permission. He had to initiate or express he wanted you close. He didn’t, not yet at least. He didn’t respond, his voice seemed to get caught in his throat. You sighed.
“Another nightmare?” you spoke gently, reached your hand out for him to take. He did, taking your supple hand in his calloused flesh one, not trusting himself with the harsh metal of his left arm. He brought your hand to his face, holding it against his flushed skin as he exhaled heavily, nodding slowly. You gently took your thumb and traced it against his cheek comfortingly. His face was dampened by what you had assumed to be tears. You wiped them away as your hand traced his cheek.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky quickly shook his head in response. Instead, he moved to be closer to you, releasing your hand and instead resting his head in your chest. You lifted your arms, wrapping them around Bucky, holding him close. He nuzzled his head into the apex of your neck and shoulder, finding comfort in your warmth. You hummed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. I love every single part of you, you are perfect. Perfect for me.”
Bucky almost cried again at your words. He didn’t think you understood how much he needed to hear them, especially considering he didn’t tell you the details of his nightmare. He stayed in your arms for a long while, yet never fell asleep. You didn’t either, insistent on staying awake until Bucky was peacefully asleep. He didn’t fall asleep, not for hours. After a long while, he felt the need to tell you about the nightmare.
“I was back with Hydra,” he spoke suddenly. You turned your attention down to him, nodding softly, acknowledging you were listening. “They had you tied to some sort of chair. They were going to make me kill you, y/n.” He paused again, taking a shaky breath. “And I was under their control, I almost did before I woke up.”
Bucky’s words were shaky as the tears threatened to spill again. He pulled you into him, hugging you tightly and not letting go. You gently stroked your hand through his hair as he hugged you, attempting to comfort the man. You shushed him gently, resting your lips against the top of his head.
“I know you’d never hurt me Bucky, you never could,” you comforted. He shook his head, lifting it from its resting place to look up at you.
“But what if they-”
“Bucky they won’t,” you interrupted, not allowing him to finish that thought. “They can’t anymore, remember? You were given your mind back in Wakanda. Hydra has fallen. You are safe, Bucky.”
He seemed satisfied with your response, resting his head back onto your chest. He stayed there for a moment, settling back into your arms and relaxing again. After a while, he tilted his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. He wanted your attention. He continued his actions until he got the satisfaction of a gentle groan leaving your lips, your eyes shifting down to him. He shifted to lay above you, before you stopped him.
“Oh no, baby, if we’re doing this it’s gonna be all about you,” you hummed, instead pushing him back against the headboard, straddling his hips. You cupped his cheeks in your hands, eyes meeting for a moment. After you decided he had waited long enough, you brought your lips to his. He eagerly returned the sentiment, his flesh hand immediately finding its way into your hair, pulling you closer to him. The passion between your lips was evident, felt in a dramatic rush that couldn’t be missed. Your hand left his cheek, instead finding his metal hand, lifting it to rest on your hip. You pulled your lips from his, a soft whine leaving his lips as you pressed your forehead to his.
“I told you you’re not going to hurt me.” You took the moment of separation to shift your lips to instead press gentle kisses down his jawline, across his collarbone, and eventually nearing where metal met skin. Scars littered his skin, and he tensed slightly as you neared them.
“Relax, Bucky, it’s okay. You are perfect,” you hummed, careful to press a kiss to every one of his scars, your right hand still resting on his metal one while your left traced soothing patterns on his chest. After you were finally satisfied and had given adequate attention to each of his scars, you returned your lips to his. Parting them after a moment, you pulled your own shirt off, chuckling slightly at Bucky’s reaction to you having not worn a bra.
“You ready baby?” You hummed, waiting for his consent.
“Yes. God yes,” he sighed, and that was all you needed.
----
After coming down from your successive highs, you collapse into Bucky’s chest. He wraps his arms around you, chuckling softly.
“Wear you out that much?”
“Shut up,” you huffed, gently reaching up to playfully swat the smirk from his face. You stayed there, feeling exhaustion overcome you, but you were still worried for your lover.
“You think you can get some sleep now?” You spoke, lifting your head from his chest to meet his eyes.
“I think so,” he hummed, sitting up slightly to pull the blankets over both of you.
“Wake me if you need me,” you spoke, exhaustion evident in your voice as your eyes began to feel heavy.
“I will, promise.” Bucky placed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, wrapping his arms tightly around you as you drifted to sleep, your body resting on top of his. Moments later, he finally drifted into a peaceful sleep.
----
For the first time in a while, you woke up before Bucky. Blankets were splayed out messily across the bed, though he remained peacefully asleep. You smiled to yourself, gently untangling yourself from his arms before searching the room for your long-discarded shirt, slipping it over your body. You were about to leave the bedroom when you heard Bucky stir, groaning slightly as he woke up. Instead, you made your way back to the bed. Sitting cross-legged on it, you smiled gently, carding your hand through his hair as he slowly woke up.
“Morning, sleepy head,” you smiled. He simply groaned in response, covering his eyes with his flesh arm. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” he mumbled, still not fully awake. You chuckled slightly, lifting his head into your lap- to which he happily complied.
“No more nightmares?”
“No more nightmares.” The confirmation made your smile grow wider, your heart seeming to skip a beat. As he began to wake up more, his smile matched yours, seeming proud that he slept peacefully the rest of the night.
“Well, it seems to me like we found a solution to your nightmare problem, hm?”
“Seems like we did.”
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes smut#smut#fluff#nightmares#bucky barnes nightmares#bucky barnes x reader#tfatws#the falcon and the winter soldier#bucky barnes x you#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader smut#bucky x reader smut
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COIN TOSS– PART III
(18+ MINORS DNI)
PART I → PART II
PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader
SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.
You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.
(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)
WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)
If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!
↳ A playlist I made for this fic, if you're interested!
A/N: here is your final part to this series! again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing this!! and thank you guys so so much for your support and comments, they mean so so much to me!! i had a lot of trouble with this last part, there was a lot of scenes i cut out and alternative endings before i settled on what is there now and i'm not even fully happy with it still lol. i have a lot of Thoughts about this, so feel free to reach out if you want to know more or just chat!! i hope you guys enjoy this!!
Read on Ao3
***
Shouta apologizes to you soon after. You sheepishly get out your own apology, even though you’d planned on holding a grudge a little while longer.
Still, Shouta confides that he also had his doubts and worries as a young hero and that he shouldn’t have dismissed yours. He talks in a soft, low voice for you, sits beside you on the edge of the couch.
You hate it because it’s easier to be at odds with Shouta lately, easier for your conscience. He put distance between the two of you, but you forced it apart further– if only to keep him in the dark. Maybe if only to spare yourself all the lying, all the pretending you’d have to do.
He says, “You know, you can always come to me. Whenever you need me.”
You have to swallow hard around the lump in your throat.
“I’ll always be here for you, despite everything.” he promises gently, trying to catch your eyes. Your gaze ducks away, out of his line of site.
Still, you hug him, tuck your face into his shoulder so he can’t see the guilt written across your face. Your secrets will constrict around you if you’re not careful. You know Truth is tricky and likes to reveal itself with Time’s help.
Once more, you become acutely aware of the clock ticking away on your relationship with Tomura.
But this time, you also realize how much trouble you could get in. You realize that you’re endangering Shouta now, too. You swallow hard, try to keep all of that down inside of you, but you feel nauseous suddenly. Bloated with guilt.
You wonder if you would’ve confessed to him then, if you would’ve spilled your guts the way you’d wanted to, if it would’ve saved you the heartache of it all.
Instead, you’d just clung to him, little fingers twisting in the back of his shirt, praying that you’d never need to make good on his promise. Praying you’d never need to test how far he’d go for you.
(It’s far– you’ll realize, further than it ever should’ve been. And you’re all the worse for it.)
***
Tomura thinks one of the troubles with heroes is their willingness to sacrifice anything for their greater good. He doesn’t think there’s anything noble in it, there’s nothing glorious or good in leaving their friend behind because they think it will save more. Nothing honorable in facing down a threat you know you can’t win against alone. What good is their world if they’re willing to sacrifice all that’s good to them in the process?
Everytime he watches you patrol, go up against other villains, maybe yakuza members, throw yourself in harm’s way needlessly, he realizes the Hero Commission uses heroes’ bodies as collateral damage. You are nothing to them. Even to other heroes; your sacrifice is expected. He knows it isn’t wanted, per se, but it isn’t surprising.
It doesn’t help that you have a streak of recklessness in you. You are quick to danger, just as quick to flash teeth and stand your ground, to fight mercilessly.
You struggle against large, powerhouse types. He watches you nearly get crushed or strangled some nights. Your Quirk doesn’t do much for you when your opponent has strength and weight to defeat you with a singular blow.
Your mentor is often pulling you out of danger with his capture weapon, yanking you away from a massive swinging arm or a curled fist about to smash you into the ground. But if it came down to you or the greater good, he knows what your mentor and your heroes would pick.
He thinks it’s strangely unfair, for you to give them your loyalty over him. He’s more loyal to you, isn’t he? There is very, very little he wouldn’t destroy for you. They would sooner let you be destroyed for the sake of their world.
Destroying the hero society that is so careless with you now feels, in part, like his gift to you. Freedom from the world that only cared about you when they realized you could be useful–
There is a night you become not just useful to your heroes but imperative.
It starts with your sacrifice, just as you were trained to do. You shove a civilian out of the way of a villain’s Quirk– it’s something with tusks and teeth that jut out from his body, sharp and ready to gut you.
Your mentor is busy with this villain’s accomplice.
Tomura watches when he shouldn’t. He was supposed to meet with Kurogiri, but he knows you patrol in this area and when there’d been commotion, he couldn’t help but watch from the shadows.
He watches one of those tusks jut towards you, your hand reaching out in hopes of disengaging the Quirk. But it’s a physical Quirk, not something like Dabi’s fire or his disintegration. And he doesn’t know if this Quirk disengages with it’s user or if it’s just his body.
Tomura feels his heart drop, the trapdoor given way to all icy fear as he watches one of those tusks pierce into your stomach.
Tomura stops breathing.
You grab hold of it, a scream getting caught behind your clenched teeth. Your fingers are tight, near frantic as you press into them– hope with everything in you, in him, that his Quirk disengages with yours.
Your broken off scream is wretched from your struggling body when another tusk rushes to crash into your shoulder.
You’re the only thing between the civilians behind you and this villain.
Your other hand reaches for the tusk at your shoulder, digging fingers and nails into it desperately.
Your eyes are bright and feverish with the hot pink of your Quirk.
Tomura stutters towards you, before the villain let’s out a pained groan. Your teeth are bared, blood bubbling up in your mouth, but you’re still standing, vicious and undeterred.
The tusks begin to crack where you grip them, splintering apart–
A sudden fission of light through those crevices, same fire pink as your eyes, arcs throughout the villain. A flare of it that makes the villain almost see-through, the lines of his bones burned by light, an x-ray flash, as if you’d struck him with lightning for a moment.
Eraserhead shouts for you.
When the flare dies, there is a scream of pain and it’s not yours.
The tusks shatter, splinter apart into gleaming bone that flies through the air.
You’re left standing, blood oozing from your stomach, your shoulder, but still standing, your eyes crackling and too bright.
The villain, tuskless, crumples at your feet, smoking. A normal, Quirkless looking man.
Did you–?
“What happened?” he hears the distant voice of your mentor, laced with worry, whose already reaching to staunch blood, blood that seeps so dark out of you. Tomura’s stomach rolls, twists suddenly, but you’re still standing. You’re okay– you’re okay–
“I-I don’t know.” you manage, but you sway into your mentor’s arms and Tomura has to look away, jaw clenched tight, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat.
He hears, “I need an ambulance– there’s a hero and villain down–”
But he’s already turning away, his mind churning, trying to keep the nauseousness from overcoming him. He feels suddenly furious, that it can’t be him at your side, that he has to watch, pushed to the outskirts. His fingers rush to scratch at his neck, his throat, desperate for relief from the pressure that has built in his chest.
He will try to call you– later, much later– the only time you’ll answer him. He is certain you will be okay with your healers and–
He thinks of the flare of light, the breaking of those tusks, the sudden heap of that man on the ground. If Tomura is correct about what you’d done, about what your Quirk actually is, the heroes won’t let you die now.
No, now you’re imperative. Now you’re trapped.
And the destruction of hero society will be his gift to you, an end to all the strings in place, the hands holding you both back.
***
“You destroyed his Quirk.”
“W-what?” you manage to get out, wobbly. You’re bandaged up, your torso and shoulder wrapped in fresh gauze after Recovery Girl healed the worst of your wounds. You’d been sleeping, hooked up to an IV to aid you in recovering. “That’s not possible, my Quirk only cancels–”
The doctor that has entered to give you this news shakes his head, “No, we’ve done scans, tests, the works on this guy. His Quirk is gone from his DNA. No trace of it.”
Shouta, who's sitting beside your hospital bed, speaks up, “Is it possible that it will eventually return?”
“I suppose, but we think it’s unlikely. It’s gone from him. There’s nothing left. She destroyed it cleanly. It’s like it was never there at all.” The doctor answers.
“I don’t understand–” you manage to get out, your head beginning to swim, giving a painful throb at your temples.
“It seems your Quirk isn’t so simple as cancelling out another’s. It’s likely that subduing other’s Quirks was just the surface of yours.”
“Is the man okay otherwise?” Shouta asks now, fidgeting in his seat when he senses your sudden distress. He leans towards your bed more and you have the sudden urge to latch onto him and not let go.
“Physically, yes. He’s fine.” the doctor answers, “However, mentally...he’s inconsolable at the moment. As you know, Quirks are incredibly– well, they’re a part of who we are, aren’t they?”
You swallow hard around the lump in your throat.
You think Shouta says something else, finishes speaking to the doctor for you. The moment the door clicks shut, the tears that you stubbornly had been holding back rush forward.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” you get out on just a hissed breath. “I-I didn’t know I could.”
Shouta shushes you gently, “It’s okay, this happens. Sometimes people don’t know the full extent of their Quirk.”
“I destroyed his Quirk, it’s not okay!” you respond, guilt thickening inside of you, dragging you down heavy, clogging your throat and chest. “I didn’t mean to do that– what if I do it again?”
“You were under distress,” he soothes, reaching out to brush a tear away from your cheek, “Really, you were fighting for your life.” And when he says it, something gets caught in his throat. Something hitches in yours, too.
His eyes rove over your face slowly, taking you in carefully, as if he hasn’t been by your side the entire time. As if it wasn’t him in the ambulance, or him kneeling beside your bed when Recovery Girl put you back together.
“I should’ve been there. It shouldn’t have happened.” Shouta admits, the confession filling the small space between you two.
You take him in now, too, tired and worried, his face finally displaying the fear and care he has for you. It softens out his features, turns his eyes gentle and dark.
You realize suddenly that you miss him. You miss quiet nights on his couch as he graded papers. You miss his clothes and his cats and the tenderness that blossomed in all your silent spaces to fill you both out.
You wonder if he misses you as bad as you’re realizing you miss him.
You think of him cooking for one again, eating alone, and it does something horrible to your heart– mangles it, twists it up horribly.
It’s made all the worse because you’re lying to him. And here he is, at your bedside.
“S’okay, Shouta,” you get out, reaching up to touch his cheek with a trembling hand. He leans into the touch, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. He savors your touch in a way that he hasn’t ever allowed himself to before.
But after a moment, he shakes his head fractionally, and he murmurs “I’m supposed to protect you.”
You don’t know why, but your bottom lip wobbles. Big, fat tears well up in your eyes, burn hot and put pressure on your already foggy head. You feel like you’re unraveling, your chest all swollen and tender, too, aching horribly.
You can’t decide if it’s because you’re lying and disobeying him so badly or because no one has ever bothered to say something like that to you, let alone mean it.
And you’re betraying him, your mind hisses.
When he notices, his face falls, his thumb moving to try and brush away your tears. “Don’t cry,” he hushes, “I’m sorry, don’t cry.”
You lean into his large and warm palm at your cheek, let him cradle and coddle you.
“I-I’m sorry–” you barely manage to choke out, for reasons far beyond him.
“No,” he coos, “No, sweetheart, don’t apologize.”
You choke on a sob and he grows more worried, leans over you more, brings his other hand up to stroke at your hairline, too.
He says your name softly, trying to soothe you, “Why are you crying, huh? What are you apologizing for?”
You shake your head, more tears loosening, your small fingers twisting themselves in the shoulders of his shirt. You think you’ll drown in all this guilt, it’ll fill your lungs with pressure, choke you out slowly as you struggle and thrash.
But for now, all you get out is a warbled, slurred, “Please don’t hate me–”
Shouta moves then, shifts to sit beside you on the bed. He’s painfully careful with you as he slides strong and sturdy arms beneath you, lifts you slightly into his lap, mindful of your IV, and cradles you to him.
You bury your face into his chest and try to hold back another sob as he murmurs, “Why would I hate you? I could never hate you.”
He strokes your hair, he hushes your cries, rocking you gently. Rocking you until you can stop crying, until you’re exhausted and aching and tender.
“I’ll help you with your Quirk,” he promises gently, holding you tight to him, “We’ll be okay, huh?” he murmurs, and it just forces another cry out of you, swallowed up by his chest that he cradles you to, “We’ll be okay, sweetheart.”
It’s the we’ll in that sentence that makes you squeeze him tighter. You wonder how willing he’d be to use it if he knew where you were every other night, who you filled your time with.
If he knew who called you late that night, when you’re alone in your room, aching and sore and alone. If he knew who you answered to, your voice hushed in the inky darkness;
“Tomura,” you exhale his name through the receiver.
“I saw what happened,” he answers instead, “I saw what happened today.”
You can feel the sudden jump of your heart, your nerves wringing themselves tight. “Oh,” you respond lamely.
To your surprise, Tomura rasps, “Are you okay?”
You don’t know why, but you cradle the phone to your cheek tighter, your eyes slipping shut for a moment.
“Yeah, I’m alright. Sore and tired, but I’m okay.”
“Good,” he responds, his voice softer than it usually is, just a breath when he asks, “What happened? What’d you do to him?”
You’re silent for a long moment. You can’t decide if you should tell him or not. You think of Shouta earlier and his voice like a hearth and the tender way he holds you, you think of his we’ll be okay.
But you can hear Tomura’s soft breath on the other line. You can see Ryuji in the patch of sun that splays out against the corner of the couch in the evenings. You think of him curled tight around you, like you’re the last good thing left on earth.
“I destroyed his Quirk,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “With mine.”
“That’s new,” Tomura almost hums, but it nearly seems like he was expecting the answer.
“I didn’t mean to.”
A quiet snort from him, “What are you trying to prove to me?” he asks, “I’m not your heroes. I won’t look at you differently whether you intended to or not.”
The thought strikes like an arrow between the ribs, sharp, sudden. It stings, when you realize it’s truth. How hard have you tried to prove yourself to Shouta? How hard are you trying to prove your goodness to yourself?
“You could’ve killed him,” Tomura says, “And I wouldn’t think differently.”
You wince for some reason when he says that, “Don’t–”
“What would your heroes think then?”
“Tomura–” you snap, voice gaining some bite, a warning.
But for some reason he presses, “How badly does the Hero Commission want you now? With a Quirk like that?”
“What?” you ask, suddenly shocked.
“Don’t be naive,” Tomura says and there’s an edge to his voice. He sucks in a breath, “That’s a big Quirk. Destroying someone else’s? You don’t think they’ll be interested in that?”
You feel the pressure of tears work their way through your head, your throat. Your fingers clutch so hard at the phone that your knuckles are turning white and before you can think, you hiss out, “And how interested are you now?”
“As interested as I was before.” he returns, sharp and quick, and then with a vitriol he hasn’t directed at you in months, he says, “Don’t compare me to them.”
You bare your teeth, tears stinging sharp at your eyes, prepared to fight back when he hisses, “Mark my words, they won’t let you go now.”
“Stop it,” you spit, “You don’t know anything–”
And he laughs at that, caustic, harsh, a grating sound. Villainous. It slithers through the phone, down your spine. Your stomach twists. You hate this– your head is throbbing. You don’t want to fight. You want to stop crying, God, you wish you could just stop crying–
“I’ll be here when you realize it.” he says and there is too much heat behind his voice, simmering and venomous. You can feel the end of this conversation, the bitter goodbye in his words.
Your bottom lip trembles, and for some foolish, lovesick reason, you gasp, “Wait– don’t hang up–”
But you hear the click of the other line and he’s fallen away from you, leaving you with an empty, static silence that buzzes around in your head. In your heart.
You throw your phone across the room. You hear it clatter somewhere in the darkness. You turn to press your face into your pillow and let out a sudden, childish scream. It tears at your throat, before tapering off into this pathetic little sob.
It’s worse because he ends up being right.
And it’s ironic because it’s another string tethering you to him, the ability to destroy something with a touch.
It’s like some part of him knew all along, or maybe some part of you.
You scream into your pillow again, louder, kicking at your covers before it breaks off into a bitter cry.
***
The Hero Commission is very interested in the new discovery of your Quirk. They run tests and scans on you, over and over again, trying to find something interesting. They want you to practice with it, but there’s no way for you to practice without potentially destroying other people’s Quirks.
They offer up criminals to practice on.
It turns your stomach.
“I don’t want to do this,” you tell Shouta one night after another long series of poking and prodding at you by white coats from the Hero Commission.
Shouta is silent for a moment, “No one is making you.”
“But they want me to. It’s expected of me.” you tell him.
“They want to make sure you can control it,” Shouta answers, “And the only way to do that is practice, unfortunately.”
Or do they just want to be sure they can control me? The question bubbles up unbridled inside of you. It sounds suspiciously like Tomura’s voice.
You frown, “I can control it. I don’t go around destroying Quirks with every touch. I just mute Quirks still.”
“Under distress, too? Can you summon it completely calmly? Or stop it in an instant?” Shouta asks.
“I don’t know– no, I don’t think so.”
“Then you can’t fully control it.” he answers, which makes you ball your hands into fists.
“It doesn’t feel right taking people’s Quirks– practice or not. And it’s controlled enough.” you respond, gaining a sudden edge to your voice.
“Then don’t do it.” Shouta responds, almost impassively.
You try not to grow upset or so frustrated that you say something you might regret. You swallow tightly. “Will you be disappointed? If I don’t?”
Shouta tilts his head and in the quietness you fear he will be, but he eventually answers, “No. You’re right; you have it controlled enough that it doesn’t hinder your day-to-day life.”
You let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
“Besides, if you’re under that amount of distress again, it probably flares for a good reason. It’ll probably save you if you ever need it again.” Shouta then says, “And if what they want you to do doesn’t feel right to you, then you shouldn’t do it.”
You stare up at him, a little surprised but–
Relief sweeps through you, sweet and cool.
“I trust your instincts,” Shouta says, the curl of his lips small but promising, as he reaches out to nudge your chin with his knuckle.
The guilt blindsides you later, so hard that it makes you lock yourself in your bathroom and keep a sob trapped behind the palm of your hands.
But for now, you smile up at him, the curve of your smirk playful, something he hasn’t seen from you in what feels like forever that you give to him again freely.
“Can I get that one in writing?” you ask and his answering laugh strikes you so suddenly it almost makes you dizzy and it’s like hearing the notes to one of your favorite songs that you hadn’t heard in a long time.
Like you couldn’t ever imagine forgetting it, now that you’ve heard it again.
***
Tomura wonders what it will take to make you leave your heroes.
Specifically, your precious mentor.
When he sees you again, you look like you did before nearly bleeding out in front of him and destroying the Quirk of another. It’s almost as if it never happened at all, almost like your argument never happened at all, either. In this little apartment where the rest of the world doesn’t exist, just you and him and sometimes Ryuji.
Except when he lifts your shirt there is a twisted, ugly scar from where they patched you up. Another at your shoulder. He doesn’t kiss it or run his fingers over it gently, he doesn’t make any sort of comment. He just thumbs at your waist and glares at it, wishes he could make it disappear like the villain who gave it to you.
(Not because he finds it ugly or unacceptable, only that it is now a permanent reminder of what he’d seen. Only that it reminds him that you are not guaranteed to him, not in life nor in loyalty).
You’re a little hesitant with him now. You feel more fragile to him now, too, like you’re holding something back, waiting for everything to finally fall.
The inevitable crash and break.
Tomura is gentler with you– he knows he needs to play his cards right now. It’s crucial. Something is building, even for the League of Villains. There’s more on the horizons.
And despite everything, he wants you there, when the sun is bloody and falling on a dismembered, new world.
He thinks he shouldn’t have pushed you now, when you’re so delicate, barely stitched together. But he had– he’d started another argument. He’d tried to convince you of the heroes’ lack of care for you, their greediness upon discovering the depth of your Quirk.
You throw it back in his face; isn’t that what All For One does to him? Isn’t that what he does for the League of Villains? Aren’t they all just pawns for him? Is that what he wants of you?
He seethes, digging into the skin of his neck desperately. You don’t stop him. He can feel the facade of this little apartment beginning to crumble, fall away into dust and he–
He knows he destroys everything he touches.
But you were supposed to be different.
(You are, his mind hisses, you are, you are, and that’s the worst part of it all).
You storm out that night. You leave him, no doubt to return to your precious mentor.
He thinks about destroying the entire apartment complex. He could now– he knows what’s coming. He won’t be staying here any longer. He has plans, so many plans.
You come back to him a week later, though. You’re bound to him in some way, returning again and again when you know you shouldn’t.
The make-up part is nice, with him buried so deep inside you that he’s trying to turn your stomach. Make you sick with him, the way he is with you. Your gasping moans, with the arch of your body far too pretty for hands like his.
And still, you lay on his chest afterwards, you let him run his fingers over the planes of your shoulders, the line of your pretty neck. He drags his knuckles against your soft skin, enamored with the feeling, with the way you soothe the haunting, sunken part of him. His Quirk submits to yours easily, dimmed inside of him. Maybe he should be frightened of your new potential.
But you’ve never been frightened of him, so he’s not of you, either.
You’re very bold, though, he thinks, for you to say, “Your parents were cruel.” After the argument you both had last time.
He tenses beneath you, grits his teeth. He’d thought you’d both learned your lesson, getting too personal in a place as sacred as here.
“You don’t know anything,” he says and it’s just a breath. Surprisingly toothless. He’d said it to you last time, in your argument. You’d said it to him before that. It feels almost ironic now.
You shake your head against his chest, your nose nudging into him, lips soft against his skin. You remain calm. “I know your name is Tomura. They were very cruel to give you that name.”
You say this as if it’s a fact, something as simple as the sky being blue. But it’s dark out now and the stars are dull, the moon just a scythe in the sky, caught in the window’s glare.
“What?” he demands quietly.
At least you have the guts to tilt your head up to find his eyes now. You look up at him through dark lashes.
“Your name–” you say again, gentle, “It means ‘to mourn.’ I don’t know why anyone would give their child such a sad name.”
He knows what his name means.
But this takes him by surprise, for some reason. Only because it’s not the name his parents gave him. You don’t know that, though. You don’t know anything about him, technically. He has the urge to tell you suddenly, that’s not my name.
He doesn’t, though. He stays silent. It’s his name now. And he likes the way you say it, the syllabus softened by whatever it is you feel for him.
(He won’t give it a name, he’s realizing now that names can be very powerful.)
Your fingers are gentle on him, rubbing strange patterns against a scar near his collar bone.
You have rendered him silent.
And eventually, as you begin to drift off to sleep, you murmur, “You were just a kid, you know?”
He doesn’t really know what you’re getting at, only that it does something strange to the tempo of his heart. He swallows hard, tries to keep his fingers gentle on you. Your breathing has slowed, the rise and fall of your back measured and even, but his has gotten tight.
He squeezes you against him, glaring at nothing, at darkness.
You were just a kid, you know?
It’s this part of you, the one that sees the human in him, that makes him think maybe you will be at his side until the bitter end of it all. Your compassion, the sympathy you have for the child he was, for the person he somehow became. Your unending ability to understand the worst of people.
He doesn’t dwell on the child he was, just has buried it in the cemetery of his chest– a part of him that only you have been able to reach through Quirk, through something too massive to name. You’ve soothed it, put it to rest like the dead, lit your incense in the spaces of his heart. Said your prayers along the notches of his ribs. Tried to appease that restless spirit that possesses him.
He doesn’t know why, but he starts to shake. He can hardly breathe.
And in the dark, when he thinks you’re asleep, and his secrets will be lost to your dreams, he admits for the first time in years what has always trembled inside him. He speaks the tragedy that has made a home of his body, the mourning that he was given name to;
“I wanted to be a hero– when I was a kid.”
***
Tomura thinks, for a moment, when you’re splattered in blood, that this will be your great turning point.
Your fall, the tearing and burning of your wings from your holy back. It will hurt, but he will be there on the ground with you, a hand extended to guide you. He will be there to cradle you into his chest, to hold you close when your world falls apart.
The way All For One was there for him.
The beginning of the end starts with you being a hero.
But you save the wrong person.
Toga’s been following him around as she does every so often, dogging in his shadow, skipping along beside him. You’ve become accustomed to her, too. She likes having you around. Something about not being the only girl. You’re kind to her in the same way he thinks you probably wanted kindness at her age.
The sky is mottled purple, bruised as the day sets into night. The sun looks like an open wound, violent and red.
When he thinks about it, he figures he should’ve been more careful, but then there’s a petty villain Tomura knows vaguely, someone they’ve clashed with before, who he’s pretty sure Dabi and Toga pissed off. He spots Toga first. Your back is turned to him.
“Uh oh,” Toga says, peering over your shoulder.
Tomura grabs your wrist, “Hide,” he hisses, and when you try to peer over your shoulder at what Toga is looking at, he forces you back around so the villain doesn’t see your face.
He doesn’t know why he saves you like that. Only that he doesn’t want you to get in trouble, doesn’t want you taken from him like that. He is not an idiot; if the villain recognizes you, if it somehow got around that you were seen with two of the most notorious villains, the Hero Commission would eat you alive.
And here’s the part that really gets him. You listen to him. You trust him.
You dart away, swift and fast like a fox, disappearing into the shadows the way you were trained to.
“Hey!” the villain shouts and he’s large, Tomura remembers now.
Stupid, too, he thinks, as he barrels towards them.
The glint of Toga’s knife in the sun makes him pause.
Better to not engage, Tomura thinks, not yet, not now. Too much on the horizon for something foolish to happen tonight. The apartment isn’t far from here. He hopes you’ll retreat there. He just needs to get Toga away safely now.
“Oh, I’ve missed fighting!” she sings.
“No,” Tomura rasps, “Don’t engage. We need to go, too.”
She whines a long and drawn out, “Why?” just as the hulking mass of a person swings at her. She ducks away easily, quickly.
However, then his Quirk bursts to life and it’s far worse than what Tomura had hoped for. He doubles in size, his arms in particular growing longer, and fill out with what seems to be rushing water.
“Dammit, Toga,” he hisses, shoving her out of the way as the villain blasts a large cannon of water at her.
Tomura takes the hit hard, black coloring his vision when he hits the ground.
In truth, he thinks he is out for at least a full minute, because when he’s come to, you’re shouting at the villain. You’re tugging desperately at his massive shoulder, clawing and screaming. You’ve canceled his Quirk, but he’s still too big, even without it.
Toga is pinned beneath that arm, choking and spluttering, drenched. It actually looks like she’s choking on water. She can’t even scream, too garbled, too water-logged. She looks like a doll, she looks horribly small. Her face is turning a deep shade of red as she struggles for breath. Her little hands claw at his wrist, too.
Tomura tries to stand, his vision swimming, swaying so bad that for a minute everything goes sideways.
Fuck, he curses, just as he watches you get tossed away by that villain’s other hand like you’re nothing. His Quirk suddenly ripples back to life and he blasts Toga with another bout of water, plastering her to the gravel, the onslaught of it unending.
You’re up in an instant, throwing yourself onto his neck, trying to wrench him off. His Quirk disengages again, and Toga heaves and gasps for breath, coughing up large amounts of water.
“You’re going to kill her!” Tomura finally can catch onto what you’re saying, what you’re desperately screaming. His ears ring.
You get thrown off again. More water. Toga is being blasted so hard that she can’t even choke or struggle.
Tomura thinks you’re trying to rationalize with them, you’re trying to explain you’re a hero. And to disengage. Stop, please stop, please stop–
He’s not listening, though, of course.
And he’s too big. You tried knocking him out, tried putting him to sleep with the grip of your elbow. You’re trying everything, even to crush his Quirk beneath yours. Tomura catches the flutters of pink, your inability to summon your destruction when you need it.
It wouldn’t matter anyways, not with how big he is. You struggle against powerhouses.
Tomura stumbles.
But you’ve always been gritty and sharp and determined, if nothing else. You have always fought so desperately for your life, never mind law or honor or glory.
He thinks he catches the glint of your knife, the desperate threat to let her go, leave her alone!
The villain grabs you with a massive hand around the throat, lifts you clear off the ground.
Toga has gone slack against the pavement in a puddle of water, face colored a strange shade of red and blue. A little like the way the sky blurs before his eyes.
You kick and thrash, a horrible growl wretched from your throat. You don’t think, just lash out.
And then there is blood. So much blood. It’s all over Toga now, seeping into the water– did she cut him? She managed to cut his throat? Because that’s where the blood is pouring out of–
Tomura sways.
You’re dropped.
You stumble away.
Your blade– the one you used to threaten him with, is bloody.
“Fuck!” you shout, raw and so sudden that it jars him a little. He forces himself over to the scene. So much blood. His stomach rolls.
He looks at you, your shell-shocked face. You’re looking at the knife, at the blood. At Toga, who's still not moving.
He goes to her first, tries to shake her a little, fingers held away from her shoulders carefully. For a moment, she doesn’t respond, limp and lifeless and something inside of him threatens to overwhelm him. No, no–
Her eyes flutter, though, and she wheezes for a breath, suddenly turning over to vomit up far too much water.
“I-Is she-?” your voice, so small and lost, cuts through his thoughts.
He looks at you again, blood splattered and terror caught in your eyes. Pale and slack faced and half-mad. You look like a ghost, standing there in the aftermath, in your gruesomeness.
“She’s fine,” he says, just as she wretches up more water, “You saved her.”
Toga falls limp again. He checks frantically for a pulse at her wrist with two careful fingers. Still there. She needs a doctor, though. He stands to face you.
You make a noise, high pitched, trembling. You cover your mouth to keep it in, it’s something like a sob, an animalistic noise.
“I didn’t mean to– I didn’t, I didn’t– she was just–” you’re trying to get out, almost doubled over now.
Tomura doesn’t bother to check if you killed the villain. He knows the dead when he sees it. And he won’t lie to you now, he won’t soften this blow or shield you from it.
But he also knows what he needs to do.
You keel over, about to scream more and– no, that won’t do you any good.
He grabs for you, hauls you back up and you’re shaking so hard that he fears you’re going to split apart. You’re about to lose it.
“Listen to me,” Tomura hisses and you choke on a cry. He shakes you a little, tries to force you to look at him and not the body behind him. Your eyes, feverish pink, meet the wildfire of his, “Listen to me.”
“I– I don’t–”
“Sshh,” Tomura hisses, palm going to your cheek, a little too rough, forcing you to look at only him. “Sshh, listen.”
You try to swallow and he continues, “You’re going to call reinforcements. You’re going to tell them there’s a villain down.”
“W-what?! I’m going to– they’re going to–”
He shakes you again, harder, your teeth click together with the force of it. He needs you to understand this– needs you to hear this if he wants to keep you safe and out of jail.
“Tell them I decayed him. And before that, tell them Toga cut him, and it splattered onto you. Say you heard commotion and like the good hero you are, you ran to help.”
“Tomura–” you sob.
“Do you understand me?” he snaps instead, grabbing you harder, his fingers curling against your cheek to press desperately into you. “Answer me!”
“Yes–” you gasp, wide-eyed and terrified. “Yes!”
“Good,” he hushes, wiping blood from your cheek, “Good. You saved her,” he tells you, “You saved her, do you understand?”
You nod, jerky, and he continues, hand petting your cheek, messily pushing your hair from your face, “You did everything right.”
Your breathing is still labored, but you’re quieting with the praise. When he thinks you can handle it, he breathes, “Now, are you ready? I’m going to decay him and the knife, then I’m going to leave with Toga. You’re going to call for help.”
You glance at the villain, lying lifeless, in his own pool of blood and Tomura ducks his head to force you to look at him. “Okay?” he asks, “Answer me.”
“Okay,” you exhale slowly.
“Good,” he murmurs, “Good. Now give me the knife.”
You press it, trembling, into his hands. It’s slick with blood. He forces himself to stay calm for you.
He steps away, let’s go of you. The knife turns to dust.
“Look away,” he commands then, his voice a rasp.
And you– you listen to him. You trust him. You turn away. He sets his hands on the villain. And just like that, his body breaks down, gore at first, until it is nothing but dust. It blows away easily.
And then he goes to Toga and he lifts her carefully. She’s like a ragdoll in his arms, soaked and cold. He’s certain to keep his hands away from her, fingers lifted away, but she lolls into his chest.
When you turn around, Tomura says, “Thank you for saving her.” And he means it.
You swallow hard. You look to where the villain was. He’s gone now.
“Now call your heroes, just like I said.”
You nod, eyes filling up with tears. That’s fine. They’ll have more sympathy for you, for what you’ve witnessed. They’ll believe you more. Your mentor will protect you, with those tears in your eyes.
Tomura’s eyes burn crimson as you pull out your phone, “Do what I said and you’ll be okay.”
And you do, just like that. You lift the phone to your ear. That semblance of calm that he had coaxed you into shatters the moment someone picks up on the other end.
Your voice goes high, near hysterical, “T-There’s a villain down–”
He turns away from you as you stutter and cry into the phone about what happened. You give them the lie he told you to feed them. You make Tomura out to be the villain, you make yourself out to be innocent. He holds Toga close to him.
He tries not to smile, a dizzy slip of a thing, as you do exactly as he told you to– as you lie and lie and lie through your teeth.
Toga stirs in his arms. Police sirens are heard in the distance. An ambulance for a pile of dust. The sun sets, darkness blanketing the world, shielding it from the light.
And as he stalks away, with Toga alive and in his arms, he thinks maybe he’ll make a villain of you yet.
***
The police believe you. It’s hard not to, when there is so little evidence otherwise. Tomura destroyed it all for you. It’s hard not to believe you, when you’re crying and terrified, as you should be for witnessing the death of another person at the hands of Himiko Toga and Shigaraki Tomura.
Shouta, however, is not as easily convinced.
Not after so many strange occurrences with Tomura.
When he brings you back to his apartment, when the door is shut tight, and you still stand in bloodied clothes with your teeth chattering, Shouta eyes you warily.
You want to shower, burn yourself beneath the spray of water, like you could wash away what you’d done. You squeeze your eyes shut.
You saved her.
You swallow down the lump in your throat.
“What really happened?” Shouta asks, almost tentatively, standing in the middle of his living room.
You turn and you don’t– you don’t know how you should react. Should you be offended that he’d doubt you? React in outrage after all that’s happened? Should you act confused? Play dumb?
You can’t stomach any of it. Not when someone’s dead at your hands. But someone is alive because of them, too.
Your eyes well up with fresh tears.
“I-I told you.” you choke out.
Shouta’s jaw ticks. He draws in a slow breath, “Something isn’t adding up. You have had more contact with Shigaraki Tomura than anyone has been able to have.”
Your stomach drops. Your tears fall harder.
“What’s going on?” he asks and the distance between you two feels massive. It feels continental in the small space of his living room. He seems suspicious.
The lie comes out on a sob, “I–I think he’s been stalking me.”
“What?” Shouta asks and any uncertainty he has in you evaporates as he watches your face crumple.
You let your guilt overwhelm you into choking on another cry, cover your mouth as if you could catch it in the palm of your hand. Shouta doesn’t know the truth of it, so he believes it.
He crosses that distance like it’s nothing now. He stands tall in front of you, reaches to try and brush tears away from your cheek.
“I don’t know–” you gasp, filling out your lie, “I think he's interested in me because of my Quirk. Because he can’t– I can’t decay, when he touches me.”
Shouta tips your face up towards his but you can’t look him in the eyes, let your eyes squeeze shut when he asks, “Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”
“I don’t know–” you choke out, “I wasn’t sure.”
“Did something else happen?” Shouta prods gently and you grit your teeth to keep back another sob. More tears cut tracks down your face, right into Shouta’s waiting, gentle hands.
There is a long moment where you think of giving everything up. You think of telling Shouta everything, if only to lift the weight that has settled onto your chest. Surely, it will crush through your sternum, surely your heart will burst with it’s pressure.
“It’s my fault,” you whisper, “It’s my fault he’s dead.”
“No,” Shouta says then, gentle but firm, shaking his head, “I know it may feel like it–”
“He was going to kill her.”
This stops Shouta. He goes very, very still.
“What?” he rasps softly.
“He was drowning her– he wouldn’t stop. I tried to get him to stop and he started choking me–and she saved me by–” It’s a fabrication to save yourself. That’s not how it went! Your mind screeches, that’s not how it went– you saved her by killing–
Toga was turning blue, she didn’t help you. She didn’t save you. She was drowning. She didn’t kill him. You did.
“You saved Toga Himiko, a notorious villain, one of the most wanted–”
“He was killing her!” you hiss, “She was turning blue–”
“She’s a powerful villain, too, you should’ve tried–”
Something inside of you fractures, bursts apart the way glass does when thrown against a wall. You think there are a million, shining pieces of you now lying on the floor.
“She’s Shinsou’s age!” you snap, hoping one of your shards cuts him, suddenly half-furious through all your tears. “She’s Shinsou’s age, do you know that?!”
You break now, wrenching away from Shouta’s touch and rushing to double over the sink to dry heave again, body squeezing painfully. You threw up everything in your stomach already at the scene, when recounting the story to the police, to Shouta. You claw at your stomach, trying to stop it, to keep it all down inside of you. You curl your fingers into the divots of your ribs, try to force them to give you air, but they won’t– betrayers that they are, they squeeze and squeeze until there’s nothing of you left.
Your knees buckle, head spinning when you turn away from the sink and crumple into a heap on the floor,“She’s just a kid,” you wail desperately, “That’s all I saw when I tried– when I–”
Your head bows forward, body folded in on itself, forehead digging into the ground as you cry, “I didn’t mean for him to die, I didn’t mean it– I didn’t, I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
Shouta moves again finally, drops to his knees down beside you. He cradles your skull in his large hand, pushes your head into the crook of his neck to hold you, “It’s alright,” he breathes, curling his other arm tight around you, “It’s not your fault,” he hushes, “It’s not your fault.” You sob hard into his chest, fingernails digging into him, clawing at his biceps, “Sshh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
And he holds you, buries you in the bulk of him, like he always has when you need him. Your constant, the love you never once deserved. Especially not now. Especially not here, with blood stained on your clothes, sunk to the floor with nothing but the anchor of your guilt.
He strokes your hairline, gentle, cooing softly to try and calm you.
He murmurs, his voice so deep and soft and earnest, “You’re a good hero.” When you make a strangled noise against him, he presses on, “You are. You’re compassionate. You see everyone’s humanity and that’s a good thing.”
He hushes more of your cries, fingers gentle in your hair, and you try not to throw up again when he tells you;
“You’re a good hero, I promise. I promise.”
The beginning of the end starts with you being a hero for a villain.
***
The next time you see Tomura, he questions you about what happened, if you pulled it off. You tell him you managed it, somehow. You don’t tell him anything else. You don’t tell him you haven’t been sleeping, that you can hardly keep food down. You don’t tell him that you take too many showers, trying to wash away the phantom blood.
You remember when it was Tomura’s blood on you, so long ago. A beginning that now seems so hazy. You hadn’t minded blood, then. You had never been particularly squeamish but now–
Now it could make you sick on your best days, downright hysterical on your worst.
Your guilt tears chunks out of you, bites down and shakes the meaty, soft parts of you until you’re all torn up.
It is easier to be with Tomura than Shouta now.
We have more in common, you think, and it makes you want to laugh, empty and wobbly.
You look in mirrors and hardly recognize yourself, wonder if this is really your body. If this is really your life, or if it’s someone else’s. Maybe you are possessed, maybe that explains how you got here.
You don’t tell him any of this. You stay silent.
And that’s okay because Tomura seems strangely quiet after that, pulling you to lay on his chest. He doesn’t let you put the TV on. You can tell he needs to think. You let your eyes drift close as he runs his fingers through your hair with a surprising amount of gentleness, compared to his usual petting.
But eventually he says, so soft that you fear you almost imagined it, “A yakuza head visited the League recently.”
Your eyes flutter open and in your surprise, you sit up a little, looking down at him. “Tomura–” you start, almost a warning.
He knows he isn’t supposed to talk like this here, in this little slice of another world.
But he continues anyways, his voice just a rough scratch, “He killed Magne.” And then, “And Compress no longer has an arm.”
Now you really pull away to look at him. You can feel your eyes widen out, your shock, then the stomach-turning sadness. His face is unreadable, but his jaw is tight. His eyes are simmering, so red, even in the low light like this.
“It was a set up.” he hisses, “I failed them.”
He doesn’t cry, but you can feel the slightest tremble in his body.
You hurt for him, you realize, your heart falling into the pit of your stomach. Those are two of his closest, some of his inner circle.
He looks shaken.
He looks young, with the weight of his world on his shoulders, with the crown of thorns placed on his head. Heir to a monstrous throne. All For One’s successor, boy prince to inherit an underground empire.
You just see him, though, just Tomura who's twenty, who likes sour candy and video games.
He swallows hard. He looks angry and hurt.
“Nobody mourns us,” he says eventually, looking away from you, somewhere in the darkness of the apartment.
Except you, you want to say, with a name like Tomura.
You lurch forward, throwing your arms around his neck, hugging him tight to you. “I’m sorry,” you tell him, soft, the way Shouta speaks to you, “I’m sorry.”
And then you think, I’d mourn you, and you squeeze him tighter, I’d mourn you, oh God, I’d mourn you–
He doesn’t hug you back, but you can feel the shaky breath he exhales, and the way his fingers tighten in the fabric of your shirt.
***
Tomura thinks it should be you, at his side, when he takes Overhaul’s arm. You are everything Overhaul wants. Your Quirk is what he has tried to bottle.
Tomura thinks you could’ve been useful, to switch off his Quirk, to destroy it in an incredible twist of irony. It would’ve been the ultimate power move, to have you at his side by the end of all of this.
But you’re not there, no, not with him.
You’re with your heroes, Toga had told him.
It shouldn’t, but it feels like a betrayal. It stings hard and sharp inside of him, like a livid bee that jabs at his heart.
He seethes about it. Hadn’t he done everything right with you? He’d played this game slow, knew that the rewards would be worth it.
You’re still walking away from him, though. You’re still not his.
And you’ve still got one of his ribs, left a gaping wound inside of him.
He wants it back. He wants it back.
***
Eri looks up at you with watery, red eyes when you first introduce yourself to her. You crouch to be on her level. She has silver hair. She’s timid, wobbly bottom lip and flushed cheeks.
You almost start crying, looking at her now. You wonder if this is what Tomura was like as a child– small and terrified of his Quirk, round red eyes pleading with the world. All you see in her is every other forgotten child.
“Hi, Eri,” you hush, half for her, half because you’re scared your voice might break.
“H-hello,” she trembles.
You try to keep your smile in place, but it’s a weak, sad thing.
Still, you say, “I’d like to be your friend, if you’ll have me.” And you extend your hand to her, palm up and offering. “I have a Quirk like Mr. Aizawa’s.” you tell her gently, “If you touch me while using your Quirk, it’ll stop.”
She brightens at this, not smiling but, surprised, “Really?” she asks, just a breath.
You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat, “Really.”
She takes your hand then, eager, tightening with her small fingers, despite her Quirk still being off.
Then she looks up into your face and offers you a tentative smile. Small, just the corner of her lips lifting up.
“I’d like to be your friend, too.” she murmurs bashfully and you close your hand around hers. It’s small, almost fragile. She’s all bandaged up, arms wrapped in gauze.
You look at Eri and her red eyes and silver hair and see a coin toss, see it up in the air, spinning and spinning, catching in the light. A twist of fate like the flip of a coin.
But you think you could call it now, with her hand in yours, and the heroes that hover protectively around her.
***
There is a morning shared in blush light that isn’t the ending but feels like it could be one. In truth, you’d prefer to remember this as the ending, more of a whimper and less of a bang. The night before had been one of your better ones, too– you’d only woken once with a nightmare. Tomura had already been awake and he’d soothed you with a careful hand that drew patterns across the bare skin of your back.
That night, that morning, was gentle in the wake of all that violence, love taken root, finally bursting through your veins to make a mess of your insides.
Dawn is too mellow a place for the two of you.
(You have come to the conclusion that Tomura looks best in dusk, saturated, sharp and rich in color. Bold and vivid. You didn’t know it, but he thought the same of you.)
You never told him you loved him.
You think about that a lot, wonder if it would’ve made a difference in anything. You wonder who was the last person to tell him that, if anyone at all.
He’s still half hoping that you’ll follow him, but you think he knows he’s losing you. You are not content in fuming misery, cannot stomach to leave the mentor that has loved and cared for you with such perseverance and softness. You cannot stomach to turn away from the boy with violet hair, or now the girl that reminds you of him.
You wish you could keep him, too, despite it all, but all you see in the future with him is rubble.
In the least, you’ve always had a sense of preservations, survivor that you are, scavenger that you are. You know when to move on, can’t linger too much longer now or you won’t live through it.
You sleep better with Tomura, though, and that’s the cruel part. You wake with less nightmares. You sleep more soundly, wound up in him, so tight that you two might just grow together. Palm to palm, your Quirk quieting his, lulled and softened.
And that morning, you wake slowly, twisting around fitfully with the warmth that has blossomed gently inside of you.
Consciousness creeps to you, fighting against the pull of sleep, being coaxed awake by the fluttering of your heart, the slow roll in your core.
Your eyes lift, heavy with sleep, finally awake. You blink blearily before a sudden, sleep soft cry escapes past your lips.
You glance down the line of your body to find Tomura nestled between your legs, tongue tracing messy patterns into where you’re most sensitive. Your stomach swoops sweetly, flares into a spark of heat.
The light is soft on him. He cracks a ruby eye open to gaze at you, to open his mouth so you can watch the flash of glistening pink as his tongue laves against you slowly.
“About time you woke up,” he gets out, voice still morning-rough, a little grating. His fingers squeeze your thigh, pulling you apart further to be at his mercy, spread open all for him.
“Tomura–” you gasp, your hands finding their way into his hair, fingers gentle and weak with sleep.
He sets his mouth to you, sucks on the bundle of nerves in a way that makes you keen, almost arching away from him. He fixes his eyes on your face, watches as your expression twists up.
You can see the way his hips are twitching into the mattress. Sometimes you think he does this more for himself than you, takes pleasure in rendering you down to your most basic, most desperate.
Pleasure coils warm, simmers on the inside of you. Your fingers flex, tighten in his hair until he groans against you. When he pulls away for another moment to admire you, his lips are spit slick, a string of translucent spit and slick bridging between the two of you.
It makes you flush darkly, makes you throw your head back and whimper.
He takes you apart with the savagery and viciousness that he has always carried. Dawn spills over the bed sheets in rays of peach and honeysuckle, lovely for the impending destruction. You shatter like glass, pretty and ringing beneath his hands.
And then he’s flipping you onto your stomach, letting you claw at your pillow as he sinks deep inside of you. He hisses when he fucks into the crux of your sweet, supple thighs. Your hair is messy with sleep. He presses his chest to your back, presses you into the mattress.
You fist at your pillow, whining at the burn and stretch, and you can feel the sickle cut of his smile against the arch of your shoulder blades. He leaves sloppy kisses, scattering them, sucking at your skin until he has claimed and marked and branded you.
He nudges his nose against your cheek until you tilt your head back to his, to rub back affectionately, nudge into him like a cat. He hums in satisfaction, in pleasure, the sound of it rumbling against your back.
You feel like he’s trying to savor this. He doesn’t pull your hair, or speed up his hips. No, he waits until you arch your back for him, until you’re near begging.
He likes you weakened, maybe delirious, maybe like he’s giving you a dose of your own medicine. He’s trying to make you as addicted as he is, but there’s no need.
No need when he covers your hand with his, slots his fingers between yours. All five of them, squeezing at your hand.
“You were made for me,” he gets out, giving you a rougher thrust, his eyes flashing to your hands, “See?” he groans, fingers digging into your wrist, your knuckles, “Made for me.”
You moan, too, all wobbly and pitched, with all the pressure, with the squeeze of his hand. With the stretch of him inside where you’re vulnerable and soft and slick.
He drags everything out that morning, fucks you both into oversensitivity, until you’re both shuddering and gasping. He breaks you down, until there are tears streaming down your face, until he’s gripping you so tightly that he’ll leave a bruise in the shape of his hand.
He fits his hand against your throat at one point and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You end where you began, with the violet petal bruise of his fingertips into your skin.
You linger in bed with him that morning, letting him pet and stroke and touch you. You stay gentle, even when he gets rough.
You make cheap, bad coffee for the both of you.
You feel twenty something with a boy and his tiny apartment. A cat chirps at the window and you’re smiling when you let him in. The breeze is cool. You don’t put on clothes because you feel like an adult, with a lover.
You feel normal for a fraction of a moment after everything that’s happened.
You feel sated and tender and saddened. Your chest fills with aching as you watch Tomura drift in and out of sleep in the sunbeams.
You were made for me, he’d said and you reach out to brush a strand of hair from his face. You were made for me.
You swallow around the lump in your throat, the one that feels like needle pricks and the hard truth. You don’t have the heart to tell him that he may need you, but you don’t need him.
You want him, though, your fingers trailing down the lines of his face, you want him so badly that it hurts. Your fingers travel over the hitch of his scars, his body as familiar as a home.
You want him, but you don’t need him, you try to tell yourself in this moment. You want him, but you don’t need him. You will survive this.
Still, it’s going to hurt. You’re bracing for impact, can feel the free fall rush up to the ground, can feel your stomach swimming up where your heart is.
You’ll survive it, you think, breathing hard, trying to keep back your tears as you look at him. But it’s going to hurt, it might tear out something very precious inside of you.
You’d rather he just break your arm again. At the thought of it, you try not to choke on the bitter, furious laugh that splits from your aching ribs.
***
You get to know Eri, try to spend more time with her and Shouta and Shinsou like you’re trying to fix something you broke. The pieces aren’t quite matching up right, though. It can’t be fixed, not really, not fully.
You can’t close your eyes without seeing that villain in a pool of their own blood. Or Toga’s face made blue. Sometimes in these dreams, it’s Shinsou who is drowning. Sometimes the villain in blood is Shouta. Tomura is always the one who saves you.
You can’t look at yourself anymore. You can’t stomach to. Your lies explode out of you when you catch a glance of yourself, haggard and exhausted and beaten down.
Shouta takes you to a hospital after your fist collides with the mirror in your bathroom. Glass shatters into hundreds of reflections of your warped and terrible image. They’re not as pretty, when the sun isn’t setting in a warehouse with a boy that you think you love.
Your hand bleeds the way that man’s necks did–
Your world spins as you lean over the bowl of the toilet to throw up your lunch. You’d made it with Eri earlier, before Shouta had gotten home from class.
Shouta finds you on the floor, sitting in all that glass, with your hand clutched tightly to your chest. He must’ve heard the commotion next door.
“What happened?” he asks, voice flooding with concern. He doesn’t hesitate to step carefully over the glass to you.
The question feels too large for you.
I did something horrible, you think, that’s what happened.
“I’m sorry,” you mutter weakly, lifting your chin from its place on your chest. “I didn’t mean to.”
(That isn’t true and you know it.
(But you’re always trying to prove you’re good. Especially now. Especially to Shouta– trying to prove you’re worthy of his love.
You suddenly crave Tomura. You didn’t have to prove anything to him.)
Shouta lifts you carefully, cradles you to his body to carry you out to his car to bring you to the hospital. He treats you like you’re fragile, made of glass yourself. “What’s going on with you?” Shouta murmurs gently, but there's almost a plea in it, concern that is so transparent it hurts, “You’re scaring me– I’m worried about you.” he confesses, almost desperate, “You know you can talk to me, don’t you?”
The laugh that sputters out of you is hollow, a grating noise that gets choked off. Shouta looks at you warily, uncertain and fearful.
The hospital keeps you for three days. Eri asks Shouta about you, apparently. She misses you. Shinsou helps her decorate a card for you.
Get well soon! Is written in her poor handwriting with far too many colors, and in Shinsou’s messy scrawl at the bottom;
Miss getting my ass kicked by you.
The doctors tell Shouta you’re struggling with a lot of survivor’s guilt and you have to fight back another absurd, off-kilter laugh.
Part of you thinks you’d be better off with Tomura at this point (your coin uncertain, hanging suspended in the air), if only to relieve you of this guilt, when Shouta tends to you and cares for you and loves you so steadfastly that it makes you feel rotten and horrible and monstrous. He has no idea who he’s loving. And you don’t deserve any of it–
But you think of Eri and the way she clings to your sleeves. And how you and Shinsou share granola bars during training.
And mostly, you are terrified to be without them.
None of it’s the same, though, and you think it’ll eat away at you until you’re nothing at all but the empty lies you kept feeding them.
You want to be better, you realize, when Eri draws you in pictures, holding her hand. You want to be better, you realize, for kids like you, like her–
(Like Tomura–)
So you decide one night, with your hand still bandaged, with Eri sleeping peacefully on the couch in the crux of your arms, and Shouta at the opposite end of the couch, that you will stay with them. The easy thing to do would be to leave, to not look back. But you have always been nothing if not determined, if not a fighter.
You will become who they want you to be, who they believe you to be, even if it tears you apart from the inside out.
Which means giving up Tomura, which feels like giving up a rib.
***
You had hoped you’d be able to slip away from Tomura and leave your secrets in a rundown apartment in a part of the city you grew up in. You had hoped that you could get away unscathed, without Shouta ever knowing more.
But Dabi mentions you to Hawks.
Offhand. Something about another traitor hero. Something about Shigaraki’s bitch.
Tomura also mentions Hawks to you.
And here is your trouble, what you were hoping to avoid by never allowing him to speak about his plans; you now know that the Number Two Pro-Hero is a traitor. However, the only reason you know that, is because of your secret relationship with the leader of the League of Villains that you have been slowly, painstakingly trying to sever yourself from.
(It doesn’t help that he’s latched on tighter–)
So, if you go to Shouta to warn him that the Number Two Pro-Hero is a traitor, you have to also conveniently come forward with your own truth. And what if he thinks you’re a traitor, too?
Surely, it looks that way.
Truthfully, you might as well be– you killed someone.
You killed someone.
Your stomach squeezes tight.
You think of Shouta and Shinsou and Eri and the loss of their love, when you’ve been trying to earn it back.
You don’t get much time to mull this over, though, because while walking back to your own apartment at U.A., a shadowy span of wings fall over your form.
Your heart falls into the pits of you, the drop of it sharp, horrible.
You think running will make it look all the worse.
Besides, he’s fast.
You can’t decide how this will go. Maybe he’ll only want to speak with you, traitor to traitor. But then you will be confronted with the undeniable truth that you now need to share with Shouta, with the Hero Commission, for the sake of people’s safety. You will have to come clean. Maybe it will be worse. Maybe he’s not after you at all, but just in your neck of the woods because–
All other thoughts are cut short when he lands in front of you.
You try to think of a proper reaction. Should you be expecting him? On guard? Should you act surprised?
His wings flare and you realize quickly how massive they are. They throw you into their towering shadow, make you feel like a mouse.
His eyes glint when he pushes up his visor, the gold of them sharp, his pupils a pinprick. The eyes of a predator.
You try not to cower. You stand your ground, lift your lips a little like you might bare teeth in warning, your hackles raising. Backed into the corner, you feel half wild, too.
But Hawks beats you to any form of a greeting, his smile a menacing twist of his lips, like he’s trying to be pleasant but he wants you to see all of those sharp, white teeth of his. You think he doesn’t look like much of a hero in this darkness, with the way his wings look thorny and maroon. His voice is barbed wire, the drawl of it stinging.
You know you’re in deep trouble now;
“You and I need to have a little talk.”
***
You are kept in a steel room that the Hero Commission tells you is not a holding cell, but you definitely think is a holding cell.
Your mind has not slowed since you got here.
You scramble for a story to tell– for lies to sew.
Hawks is not a traitor. Not to the heroes’ at least. He is a traitor to the villains and you know, logically, that this is for the greater good, but something about it bothers you. Villains aren’t people to the Hero Commission. You feel strangely protective of Tomura’s league of outcasts, even if you know you shouldn’t.
But they’re young, with feelings and thoughts and lives and pasts.
Nobody ever mourns us.
No, they don’t, you think, trying to keep away bitter tears from springing to your eyes. They don’t bother trying to see the big picture, they don’t bother to try and figure out why villains are on the rise.
They can’t stomach the idea that maybe their precious hero system has given birth to their villains.
Or maybe they can and they just don’t care.
They need heroes for their charts and money and power, don’t they? So they need villains. A never ending cycle, forever going around on this carousel. You’re dizzy with it, you’re sick of it, caught up in it’s riptide.
You don’t look at Tomura Shigaraki and see the most dangerous, wanted criminal in the country. You see a twenty-year-old pawn, a chip in a bigger game. You see someone as starving and desperate as you were.
You see a coin flip.
(You see the person you fell in love with–)
Shouta enters silently and the moment you see him, you have to try to keep from bursting into tears. Your lip wobbles.
He approaches slowly, cooly, but when he gets near you, his eyes are livid and searching your face, like maybe he could finally find the lies you’d kept buried so deep inside of you. They’ve finally blossomed, you think, all of them sprouting from your body, creeping through your lungs and up your throat to choke you out.
“Tell me the truth finally.” Shouta says, sharp and icy. He speaks like he’s speaking to a criminal, “Now.”
You suck in a shaky breath, try not to flinch when he leans across the metal table and snarls, “And if you are a traitor, at least have the decency to tell me now, before they come in here and interrogate both of us.”
Tears catch in your lashes.
Through the throbbing of your head, you realize you have jeopardized Shouta in the way you never wanted.
“I’m not a traitor.” you get out, voice quiet but firm, barely above a whisper.
“No?” Shouta clips and you can see it now, the hurt in his eyes. He feels betrayed, deeply so, and you can’t even blame him. “Hawks says differently. Says you’ve been working with Shigaraki.”
You rub furiously at your cheek to try and keep the tears from falling, shaking your head quickly, “No–”
“Then what happened?” he snaps and through the blur of your own tears, you catch the way his own eyes glisten.
“I didn’t tell you everything, when I said I thought Shigaraki was stalking me.” you say, having readied this lie the moment that Hawks brought you to the Hero Commission’s doors. You give them the story they want to hear of you, not the one where you fell in love, but the one where you jeopardize yourself for them. You are careful to peer up at him through damp lashes, “I–I got close to him, because he let me, because he was interested in me.”
Shouta goes very, very still. All you can see is his chest rising and falling, quick, as he slowly begins to walk the path you’re leading him down.
“And I thought he might tell me his plans, I thought that I could help–”
“No,” Shouta says in disbelief as it all begins to connect, leaning away from you in shock, “Please tell me you didn’t–”
You lurch towards him slightly, naturally, your hands coming up to the table like you’re reaching for him. “I wanted to prove I could do this–” you choke out, voice breaking, “I wanted to prove I could do undercover work like you wanted– like they wanted!”
“What were you thinking?” he hisses in return.
“You never would’ve let me do this!” you snap, almost plead with him, and it must strike true because he looks away from you momentarily, “I-I saw an opening so I tried to take it– I was perfect for it. Shigaraki was interested in me. I used to be a thief. I would’ve fit in.”
The moment you say it, you realize how true it rings. It startles you, maybe, with how close you were. Almost, but didn’t, your coin doing an extra rotation in air. And why didn’t you? Why not be with Tomura now? Why not be where you fit in most? Where hero society wanted and expected you to be?
“I’m not a traitor,” you cry, tears tracking down your cheeks freely now– you think you’re trying to convince yourself as much as Shouta now, “I promise I’m not a traitor– I couldn’t do that to you. O-or Shinsou. Or Eri–”
And there is your reason. The truth to disguise your lies. You look at him, across from you, his face almost unreadable, with his furrowed brows and tense jaw. His eyes shine, though, gleam with unshed tears as he listens to you. The man who gave you everything, who has cared for you since the moment he found you– perhaps the sole reason your coin has flipped in their favor. All because he did more than what was asked of him, because maybe he just saw someone starving, too, like the way you did with Tomura.
Believe me, you plead, believe this.
There is a long stretch of silence after that, where all you can get in is hiccuping breaths.
Finally, Shouta asks, “Did you find anything out about him? Or the League of Villains?”
You exhale hard with relief, your shoulders finally falling. You collapse somewhat, exhausted, folding in on yourself.
You hang your head, then shake it slowly, “No,” you sniffle, wipe at your drippy nose, “He didn’t tell me anything. He didn’t trust me.”
Shouta eyes you warily.
“So that’s why you encountered him so much. That’s why you were there with Toga Himiko when–” Shouta cuts himself off when he sees your wince, the shuddering of your features at the mention of that incident. But he finally put all of the pieces together. All the pieces you’ve given him, at least.
You nod, stray tears falling quick, dripping off your chin, “I’m sorry for lying,” you get out, “I hated it— I hated lying to you.”
Truth.
Shouta throws you a hard look, “You shouldn’t have. It was dangerous and irresponsible. And now look at what you’ve done–”
Your stomach knots up tightly.
“I thought I could handle it.” You breathe and there is another truth, sprinkled throughout your lies.
But you were so horribly wrong–
Shouta is about to open his mouth again, but the door swings open and a man in a suit enters slowly. His gaze is cool as it falls on you and Shouta. You know this isn’t the end of your conversation with him, you know he wants to know more. But now, he focuses on the higher up that encourages him to sit, too.
He says, because Shouta has been such an upstanding hero and teacher, they are allowing him the courtesy of explaining everything now.
And then you watch as Shouta opens his mouth and lies and lies and lies for you.
He tells them that it was his idea to allow you to get close to Shigaraki. He knew, every step of the way. He tells them he bypassed speaking with a committee at the Hero Commission’s because it would’ve taken too much time. He says that they needed to act quickly and accordingly.
He takes the brunt of it, saves you from far more trouble. He’s a trusted hero. You’re an ex-thief in the eyes of the Hero Commission with a too-big Quirk. They won’t believe you and truthfully, if they did more digging, if they pried more, there is a chance that the truth might leak out of you, open like a wound.
Shouta protects you, the way he always has. You don’t deserve it and you can feel your heart tearing itself to shreds.
You know you can’t go back to Tomura, not after all this.
You watch Shouta lie for you, speak for you, get you out of the grave you have dug yourself. For the second time in your life, Shouta saves you. You try to hold back more tears, you try to hold back from throwing yourself onto him, clinging to him.
And finally, they ask, “Did you learn anything, then? About Shigaraki Tomura?”
He likes sour candy. He has trouble sleeping. He drinks too many energy drinks. There is a scar at the corner of his lip. He has a beauty mark on his chin. He is desperate and starved of love. He let’s a kitten sleep in the sunlight of his apartment. He tries to take care of the League to the best of his ability– he cares about them more than he will admit. He is not heartless. His hands are often cold but seeking, longing for what he can’t have.
Your eyes well up with tears but you take a slow, steadying breath. They don’t want those pieces of him, the human, messy ones. No, they want to know how evil he is, how diabolical his next plan is going to be. But you don’t know any of that, just that he holds you as if he never wants to let you go when you fall asleep at night.
So you’re not lying when you say;
“I don’t know anything about Shigaraki Tomura.”
Only that he wanted to be a hero– when he was a kid.
***
The days following are the worst between you and Shouta.
He doesn’t trust you anymore. You can’t fight him. You have nothing to say, which is perhaps worse than if you tried to fight with him.
There’s no defending you, especially if Shouta even knew half of the truth. He barely speaks with you some days.
He wedges the distance between you two wide, forces it apart further.
He does not comfort you, he does not hold you when you cry this time. He’s not there with soothing, hushed words or the gentle touch of his hand to your cheek.
A piece of his trust is broken, now so severely that it’s just a jagged edge, something you don’t think can ever be soothed.
(And you’re right, in some way– there’s a deep shift in your relationship with him, changed and scarred. It never returns to what you once had, when your life was very simple and all you knew was him.)
He doesn’t ever say, I forgive you. I will trust you again, in time.
But he eventually will make dinner for you again and you will sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder at his table with a respectable, lonesome distance between his heart and yours.
Nothing is ever the same again.
You think about running– from Shouta, from Tomura, from all of it. It would be the easiest option, where you never have to look either in the face again.
But the Hero Commission looks at Eri the same way they looked at you when they discovered you could destroy Quirks and you can’t stomach the idea of leaving her to them.
(Tomura was right in a lot of ways.
And when there’s a war on the horizon and the Hero Commission seeks to use you as a weapon, you will think of him again.
I’ll teach you, if that’s what you want, he’d said to you once. And he did.
You hate the system, the endless cycle, Prometheus chained to his rock, the need of villains to have heroes, the creation of heroes to make villains. The endless bodies, the using and discarding of real, human lives for a greater good. You wish you could destroy it.
But there is more than only destruction, too. What good is rubble and ruin and death?)
You stay so you can do what you can, so you can protect a child with red eyes, with silver hair, and a Quirk too big for their own body.
And you think maybe if you stay with her, it makes up for leaving Tomura.
***
You go to Tomura one last time, walk the distance to his apartment with your hands shoved into your pockets. It’s a familiar walk now. The pavement is wet from rain. It’s cold out. You don’t know what you’re going to tell him. You wonder how he’ll react– for a moment, you’re fearful. Will he lash out? For a moment you wonder if he’ll try to kill you.
But you know, deep down, he wouldn’t. Won’t.
And you won’t pretend you’re scared of him now. You won’t play the innocent hero, not in front of him.
The moment Tomura sees you, he knows something has changed. You are too expressive and now you look at him with a sense of foreboding. With a sadness that he feels uncomfortable gazing at.
You tell him, “I got in trouble with the Hero Commission.”
For a moment, he lets his hope grow and stretch inside of him. Maybe this is finally your turning point, your fall from grace that he will catch you on. But no, your lip wobbles and your eyes dart away.
“I can’t see you anymore,” you whisper.
At first, he wants to snap at you, hiss out something cruel between his bared teeth. Maybe if you had done this a few years ago, a few months ago, he would lash out, try to tear into his neck or you or the world. He thinks about hurting you, slamming you against a wall or–
The thought is unfortunately repulsive to him. He doesn’t want to hurt you, not like that.
His anger and resentment wells inside of him, swarms his chest viciously. He wants to argue, to point out every way your heroes have failed you. The world feels so absurdly unfair suddenly, to give him you– you who quiets his Quirk and touches him gently and winds your arms around him in the way he likes so much– only to then take you away, too. You who destroys with a touch, too. Who is perfect at his side.
But for all his work and care and strategy, he can’t get you to stay.
You will run back to your heroes.
You don’t need him, he realizes now. But you have his rib, tucked away inside of you. He wants to dig into you, pry it out, rip it from your body and take it back for himself.
But you’re crying.
And you’re pretty in the dark, like you’ve always been. This time, though, you’re not looking for a fight, there is no viciousness in you now. Maybe you’re too tired to fight.
So instead of erupting, instead of lashing out, Tomura steels himself. He’ll play the longer game, then. You don’t want to go, but you will. You’ll go back to your heroes and they will disappoint you. As they always do, at some point, eventually.
You will come back to him again, he tells himself.
And he will be forgiving, the way All For One has been with him. He sees it now; you, needing his hand, needing him to take you back. He will welcome you back into his arms, as if you hadn’t even left, and you will know then that you were right to leave.
He gazes at you, red eyes smoldering, “Then don’t.” he rasps and he’s trying to remain dispassionate, but his voice has a trembling note in it, the hidden fear underneath the harsh coolness.
Your eyes flicker back to him, your lips parting in surprise. You wipe at your eyes.
“So that’s it?”
And this makes him angry, the sharp tug of it like a dog at the end of it’s leash. He lurches forward threateningly, like he might hurt you.
(You don’t flinch. And he stops himself before he gets too close.)
“What?” he snaps, “Did you want me to beg for you to stay?”
He wants to, he realizes, he wants to howl and scream and tear apart everything in sight. He wants to say don’t go, don’t go, don’t slip from me, too.
He wants to bargain with you– what is it he can’t give you that they can?
Your heroes only love you because they don’t know you, they don’t know what you’ve done. Your heroes only love you as far as truth and justice go. A hero would sacrifice you for the greater good and you would agree with them, even if you were shaking and crying, even if you burned with all that liveliness.
But he’d sooner sacrifice the world for you.
You have his rib, he wants to scream, of course he wants to beg.
You shake your head, though, more tears falling free, “No,” you say, voice surprisingly strong, “No, I never made you beg.”
The truth of it burrows beneath his skin. He knows. The itch squirms beneath his skin. His hand reaches up, digs into the crook of his neck to scratch at it.
It’s Dabi’s voice in his head that says something about getting too distracted with this braindead hero. He has bigger plans than hiding in an abandoned apartment with you. More to do. You were nothing but a side quest.
His pause screen.
Besides, what’s there to be upset about? You’ll come back.
He won’t even punish you for leaving, he promises. He promises.
“Then that’s it.” Tomura tells you, a bitter curl to his lips.
There’s no goodbye, just the breeze between the two of you, the empty space that he always hated. The nothingness between that he always sought to destroy.
Eventually, he just turns away from you. He can’t stomach looking at you any longer. He can feel your eyes pressing into his retreating form– he imagines you rushing for him, crashing into his back to throw your arms around his middle. You can’t do it, you’ll cry, burying your face between his shoulder blades. And he’ll freeze, but eventually he’ll wrap his arms around yours and bow his head with the strength of your feelings for him.
Or he imagines later, when it’s the end of the world, and you emerge from the rubble to reach for him. It’ll be like his dreams, when the sky is falling, and you only want to hold his hand in yours.
He imagines you shouting to him, changing your mind, saying his name like it’s a song to sing, not mourning bells, not a curse or an affliction.
But none of it happens.
And when he turns around, you are gone.
You leave his life as viciously as you entered it, suddenly there, all furious and beautiful, and now gone, like a lightning strike, like a lifetime.
***
You tell yourself you’re going to be fine, but you spend random days weeping over a villain. You spend long nights awake, missing him, replaying it all in your mind. You cover all your mirrors. You try to be different. You wish you could say you regret ever getting involved with him, but it would be one more lie. You wish for the time before the worst of it, the strange honeymoon you never should’ve had.
You wish you’d remembered to slow down, to savor it all a little more. You try to remember what your first kiss was like and the shade of his eyes through the evening light of an abandoned warehouse.
You try to remember when you didn’t feel so heavy, so corrosive and lost.
It doesn’t help that you’re suspended from heroing; a choice made by both the Hero Commission and Shouta. There’s nothing for you to do some evenings.
Shouta lets you train with him and Shinsou still. Shinsou tries to cheer you up, though he doesn’t know what’s wrong with you. Still, it hurts because he’s trying. It hurts because he cares so much, even about you.
You don’t deserve it, after everything.
You take care of Eri more, too, now that she is nearly in Shouta’s care. You babysit her while he’s away. You grow close with her, fiercely protective of the young girl, careful to keep the Hero Commission at a distance from her. She settles in your lap on the couch in Shouta’s apartment most evenings, watching TV and movies, while he grades papers at the opposite end.
Sometimes she falls asleep tucked into your side. You stroke her silver hair and try to bite back tears.
She catches you, sometimes, perceptive as she is, and asks very gently, “Why are you sad?” even if a tear hasn’t slipped free yet.
And you always shake your head, trying to dispel the thought of Tomura and the parents that gave him such a tragic name as a child. You force a smile for her and you tell her something silly to distract her, “I’m not,” you promise, “I just think there’s an onion nearby.”
She wrinkles her nose at this, “No, there isn’t!” but she’s easily distracted with tickles or the promise of painting her nails or having a tea party with Shouta.
Miraculously, your relationship with Shouta begins to heal, despite your betrayal. You think he can tell something worse happened to you during your time with Tomura, you think he can tell that you’re hurting, so he ends up gentler with you. He doesn’t trust you, though, keeps you on a tight leash. He looks at you some days like he isn’t quite sure he knows you.
Nothing is the same. Part of you wants to regret it. The part of you that loves Tomura can’t stomach the idea of regretting it. Someone is dead because of you. Someone is alive because of you, too.
But Shouta doesn’t ask and you don’t tell, can’t seem to speak the words.
You can’t even say, I fell in love, can’t speak the truth because it is so horrible.
And you know what everyone would ask; who could love the likes of him?
Me, you think, vehement and grief-stricken, me, you think defiantly. Why couldn’t you? He was a child once–
Shouta lets you burrow into his chest, wraps his arms around you. He sways with you in the kitchen until you can keep back your tears, until your heart has slowed to the tempo of his. He kisses the top of your head.
And it’s Shouta who is with you, when you return from training, and open the door to your apartment to reveal a scruffy, mangy looking grey kitten that wasn’t there when you left.
Ryuji chirps happily at you, rushing to the open door.
For a moment, you’re so shocked that all you can do is stand, startled, as he rubs himself against your legs.
“Don’t tell me you found another stray–” Shouta starts, but all you get out is a small, choked noise.
And here is the impact from the fall, you think, looking at that little cat that is excitedly winding itself around your legs. You can feel the shattering of your heart, like he’d lobbed it against the wall. You wonder if it catches light the same way glass does, all stained with color and broken into shards.
You drop to the floor with the weight of it all, with the clean splitting of your heart.
The moment Ryuji climbs into your lap, a sob finally ruptures out of you.
Shouta is fast, coming down beside you, you think he’s asking what’s wrong, why you’re crying, but you’ve already gathered the kitten into your arms, cradling him to your chest as the tears come quick and furious down your cheeks.
You think maybe you should be more concerned as to how he got Ryuji here, in U.A. dorms, you should be worried about security and safety but all you’re thinking about is that little apartment that you hid from the world with him in.
No, all you’re thinking about is the way light fell through the lone window to turn him hazy and soft in your memory. You’re thinking about how he never denied you affection, so long as you gave it tenfold in turn. The drawl of his voice. The pressing of his fingers into your skin like you were a miracle.
To him, you were.
Another sob spills out of you, from somewhere deep inside you.
What a lonely life, to only be able to touch one person in certainty. You wonder who will be the next person that will lay their hands gently on a body that has known too much pain. You wonder if you will be the last person to do it.
The thought hurts, opens up a part of you that is tender and shaking and desperately furious.
When Shouta can’t figure out what’s wrong with you or why you’re crying, he gives up, and sits on the floor with you. He gathers you into his lap so your back is pressed to his chest, pushing your head beneath his chin, Ryuji still cradled in your arms.
You cry harder when Shouta tries to comfort you, when he hushes softly, so sweetly, only because you don’t think there’s anyone to comfort Tomura like this.
You think of Tomura alone, even without Ryuji and it just–
Crushes you.
You squeeze the kitten tighter to your chest as you cry and cry and cry. You let Shouta hold you against him, but there’s no comfort in the aching hollowness that is growing in the pit of your chest.
You want to scream at the world that tossed the coin.
But all that comes out is a garbled, misery struck, cry.
You never told him you loved him, never gave word to what consumed you. And you realize, sitting on the floor with a kitten in your arms, that you won’t ever be able to tell him now.
It will live and die inside of you, never spoken into existence.
And even though it’s too late and Tomura Shigaraki is readying for a battle with a giant without you at his side, you still whisper the words you never got to speak into the top of Ryuji’s head.
Your lips barely move with it, the quietest, most desperate, “I love you– I loved you.” that escapes you with a trembling breath.
Shouta doesn’t even hear the confession.
Ryuji nudges your cheek with his, though, purring softly, keeping your secret safe.
And in the least, you are able to twist into Shouta’s arms and bury your face in his chest to cry as hard as you need. There’s no distance between the two of you now, like you always wanted.
Always here when you need him, even now, when it’s not him you want.
The irony isn’t lost on you.
You mumble incoherent apologies into his shoulder, try to hide in him, like he might be able to shield you from all the hurt and ache of your first love. He doesn’t ask, but he tells you very gently, his voice like the hearth of your home, “If you ever want to talk, I’ll always be there for you.”
You keep Ryuji, clean him up, fit him with a new collar, a new life. Shouta helps you care for him.
Eri adores the kitten, hugging him to her smiling face every time she sees him. Thankfully Ryuji is even-tempered, eager for affection. Almost desperate for it.
Ryuji is like proof of another world, proof that it all happened.
Sometimes you rub between his ears and ask, “Do you miss it, too?” but all he does is peer at you inquisitively, eyes large and fixed on you.
You sleep with him, though, let the kitten curl up in your lonesome arms, hold tight to him the way you used to hold tight to Tomura.
***
In the middle of the night, your phone wakes you with its insistent chime and buzzing. You blink awake sleepily, slowly and blindly paw for your phone.
You turn the screen towards you and squint at the bright light, making out the word that flashes on it;
Unknown Caller.
You grimace, rubbing at your eyes. You debate putting your phone down, letting it ring and go to voicemail. Why should you answer for an unknown caller in the middle of the night?
And yet, something in you squirms, urges you to pick up. You have no idea who it might be— maybe someone needs your help. Is it possible it’s Shouta? Shinsou? What if it’s—
You answer finally, groggy voice slurring out, “Hello?”
You’re met with static.
“Hello?” you say again, voice hushed with sleep.
Still nothing.
Tomura sits on the other side, with the phone pressed desperately to his ear. He holds everything inside of him, barely allows himself to breathe on the other end.
He doesn’t know why he’s done this, only that he is on his way to proving himself with the League and he wishes you were still at his side.
He swallows, hears you call again, “Hello? Anyone there?”
He tightens his four-finger grip on the phone, squeezing his eyes shut at the sound of your voice, sleepy and soft in his ear, wrapping around the jagged parts of his heart.
He exhales and you must hear it because you say, “Is someone there?”
He bites back an answer, feels his lip tremble slightly.
He hears you huff, indignant little thing that you are and his lips pull into a shaky, painful smile. “I’m going to hang up now,” you say, all prickly, the way you’d get if he woke you too soon.
He used to soothe you with lips and teeth and tongue, run diligent fingers over you until you were sighing and arching into his touch. Until all your hard, vicious edges softened with the flattening of his palm on your body.
And for some reason you try, one last time into coaxing him to answer, “C’mon,” you say, almost like you know, “Nothing?”
Nothing, he wants to echo, but doesn’t.
His heart pounds an uneasy rhythm, a haunted tempo. He feels himself shaking again.
“Okay,” you exhale, slow, like you’re giving him a chance to stop you, “Goodbye.”
A beat passes, before he feels his heart lurch painfully in the hollow place of his chest at the thought of not hearing your voice again like this, so near. He doesn’t want you to go, wants to listen to you until it coaxes him to sleep.
“Wait– don’t hang up–“ Tomura hisses into the phone at the last moment, unable to decide if he wants you to hear him or not.
He gets his answer in the buzzing silence, long and drawn out, that fills his head. His heart.
And he sits there with his phone still in hand and his heart still on the line.
***
Tomura shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be watching you from afar, in the park that he thought you’d looked like a painting in. You’re beautiful.
But what does someone like him know about beauty, anyways?
The fireburst leaves are nearly gone, barely clinging to lone and stark branches. They claw up into the sky now, but the sun is shining. It’s mid-morning. You’re in the park with your mentor, with the violet haired boy he’d seen you with before, and the little girl with silver hair. The one that was in Overhaul’s care, with the devastating Quirk.
She tugs excitedly at your sleeve now and you give her your undivided attention, your face lighting up with whatever it is she tells you.
You scoop her into your arms and her echoing giggle is like wind chimes, melodic and childish and care-free.
You look happy, he thinks, with your mentor’s hand on the small of your back, looking down at you and the girl fondly. The violet-haired boy says something that makes the girl laugh, it makes you smile as you watch her.
You look back at your mentor with a look that Tomura has come to know; one that begs of attention and approval and affection. He can see the desperate glint to your eyes, hungry for his love.
He swallows around the sharp bitterness he feels. Jealousy floods him in a way he has never fully known. But it’s more than just jealousy for you and your attention, for the way you’re looking at your mentor.
No, it’s something greater, far worse.
He’s jealous of your mentor, with the easy way he gets to touch and look at you out in public. But he’s also jealous of you and your life.
He doesn’t realize it at first, but he’s begun to shake.
Because you were saved– isn’t that it? You were saved. And he wasn’t.
Maybe he’s jealous of the boy with you, too, with the possibility of his life so much brighter already. He has more of a chance than Tomura ever had.
Or maybe it’s the girl in your arms, with eyes like his, who he is most jealous of now. He has never allowed himself to ask;
Why couldn’t it be me?
But now he does and he can feel the pit in his chest grow with a livid sort of despair. Grief for a life never lived. Didn’t he deserve to be saved, too? Like the girl in your arms? Like you? Didn’t he deserve a life like this, too? What’s the difference? He wants to demand it, what’s the difference?
You were just a kid, you know?
His fingers dig into his neck. There is no one to stop him from breaking skin, for drawing blood on his own body. His chest festers, angry, like a blister. His stomach turns, his body trembling harder, like he’s a child, like he’s going to shake apart.
He looks at your smiling face, the curve of your lips, and wants you so bad it hurts. He wonders if you ever dreamt of him as a hero, the way he dreams of you as a villain. He wonders why it feels so unfair suddenly, the turning of your lives, the coming together and falling apart.
He shudders, feels the sudden lump in his throat. He tried not to mourn you, when you left him. He told himself that there was nothing to mourn; either you would be back or you weren’t worth it. He feels the pressure of tears now, though, much to his frustration. He feels his lungs burn for breath as he watches you hand the little girl off to your mentor, who props her onto his hip easily.
He watches you throw your head back and laugh, the sound of it distant, but he catches it, the outskirts of it. He used to feel that laugh against his throat, against his lips.
But now he watches you live a life he apparently never deserved.
His bottom lip trembles, a furious scowl marring his face.
He could scream or shout at a world that wouldn’t listen. The fact of it all, the helplessness of it all, burns beneath his skin like wildfire, like acid.
Tomura takes one last look at you; the expressive glimmer of your eyes, the flash of your teeth. He lingers on you, commits you to memory as if he could ever forget you. Maybe someday he will. Maybe he won’t have to, if you come back to him.
But he won’t wait on it, in an apartment that still has traces of you in it’s corners and crevices. No, he has more to do, bigger than him. Bigger than you.
Even if the horrible tempo of his heart begs differently, even if the shaking in his shoulders is an indication otherwise.
One last look of you– you’re talking, saying something with your hands. The little girl laughs again, her red eyes crinkling up happily.
Tomura turns away.
He walks a familiar path to the apartment, the wind tries to slice through his jacket, kicks up leaves and litter in shadowed alleyways.
He enters and there is no one trailing behind him, your hands twisted into the back of his hoodie, or his sleeves. It’s quiet. Empty. He surveys it once, the bed with unmade sheets. The window that let in beams of colored light, that Ryuji would sit at.
And then he sets his hands on the wall, all ten of his fingers down, the way he used to touch you.
The wall begins to decay, cracks and crumbles beneath his hands. It spreads, and spreads, and spreads like a disease filling out the body of the apartment. Dust begins to fall like early snow.
His heart squeezes painfully, his eyes suddenly flooding with pressure, with tears he tries to keep back. His head throbs, feels like it’s going to cleave apart. His ribs ache– hurt so bad it’s like he can feel the one you took from him, the gaping part of his chest.
His Quirk flares hard and hot and fast. It burns through him, floods his veins in a way that makes him cry out, suddenly shaking, suddenly pained.
He destroys the apartment, disintegrates the tiny world he created with you that existed outside of the real one. He unpauses the game. He takes apart what the world should’ve been, when he was here, with you. He sees now that a world like this cannot exist.
The peace, the ideal, the way you had understood him. Your unending compassion. It’s rare. Not enough to save the rest of them.
So he tears it all apart, pushes at his Quirk in a way he hasn’t been able to before, nudges at its strength to test it. It flares outward, eating away at the entire space, at the furniture, at the floor. Everywhere.
He seethes, blooming, finally allowing that livid and vicious thing inside of him to burst forward. It’s explosive, wrenching out of him in the form of terrible destruction.
He’ll grow into what he was supposed to–
I wanted to be a hero– when I was a kid.
The only option he ever really had, the hand extended to him a villain’s, gentle when he’d taken it.
He destroys the boy inside him, the one that was naive and hopeful and weak. He let’s that boy inside of him fall apart, split open and leaks gore before turning to dust, too. He kills the part of him that he had only ever shared with you, in the blue-dark of night, when you were lulled to sleep with just the sound of his heart.
He swallows down his anguish and his jealousy and his bitterness, keeps it safe inside him, like All For One always said to do. He’ll nourish it, let it grow, fester inside of him until the only thing it can do is explode out of him to tear the world apart, too.
When he’s standing in the rubble of the tiny world you’d made with him, the apartment complex demolished, the people inside gone, he knows what he has to do.
And he has so much work to do in order to achieve it.
He tries to forget you, to destroy your memory, too. He will not carry the weight of you around inside him.
(But in his dreams, you sit cross-legged in front of him, serene and beautiful, like a painting he knows nothing about.
In his dreams, you ask for his hands to have, and he gives you them to hold.)
#shigaraki x reader#tomura x reader#shigaraki tomura x reader#shigaraki x you#tomura x you#shigaraki tomura x you#shigaraki x y/n#tomura x y/n#shigaraki tomura x y/n#tomura shigaraki x reader#tomura shigaraki x you#tenko shimura x reader#bnha x reader#bnha x you#shigaraki fanfiction
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intimacy
pairing: lena luthor x gn!reader
genre: fluff
word count: 1894
warnings: none
a/n: okay ngl i was pretty head empty while writing it so i apologize if this made no absolute sense :’D
original request
It all began with a simple brush against her hand that led to two hands intertwined with each other, swinging back and forth as the two of you walked through a park. The sun was setting, casting a peach light across all surfaces before transitioning into shades of pink and purple until settling into the dark blue of the night. You lean your head on Lena’s shoulder as the two of you continued to walk under the dim lamps scattered along the path. It was almost as if you were the only two people in the whole world. As you absentmindedly hum a tune, Lena could feel the heat rush to her cheeks, painting them red like the sunset sky. The warmth radiating off your body pressed against her side comforted her in a way that she never knew she needed until now. The hand connected to yours suddenly feels burning hot but Lena makes no effort to remove it. There’s no way a Luthor, someone who is meant to be cold and cruel and undeserving of this sort of comfort, could enjoy something like this. Right?
Wrong. Absolutely wrong. Ever since that park date, Lena has practically become addicted to your touch. She constantly craves it like a smoker with a cigarette but she has restraint, she has an image to uphold as a Luthor. To her, it’s almost embarrassing how quickly she gives into your touch. Despite the embarrassment, the CEO is willing to do anything to feel your touch on her skin again.
A knock on the office door brings her out of her dilemma as she looks up to meet your bright smile and bag of takeout in your hand. Immediately feeling a warmth bloom in her chest, she returns the smile as you make your way towards her. Placing the bag down on a spot that’s not covered by papers, you finally greet your lover.
“Hey, Lee.”
“Hi, love.”
“Are you ready to take a quick lunch break or do you still need to finish some work?”
Glancing at the unfinished document on her screen, Lena shakes her head and says, “I’m more than ready for lunch, I’m starving. Just let me clear off my desk first.”
Giving her an okay, you take the bag to the coffee table and settle down, watching as Lena organizes the files. You reach into the brown bag to pull out the lunch items when you hear a gasp. Your head shoots up to see Lena holding her finger tightly. Rushing over you quickly ask, “Is everything okay? What happened?”
Almost laughing, Lena waves it off as nothing major. “I just got a papercut that’s all.”
“May I take a look at it?”
“Oh, sure, I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” Lena says after seeing the concern in your eyes.
She watches as you grab a bandaid from the first aid kit in the office and return to the table. Lena’s heart practically stops as you go to grab the injured hand. The gentle, feather-like grasp on her finger was enough to make her melt on the spot. As you wrap the bandage around the small cut, you press a soft kiss to it before placing her hand back into her lap. At this point, Lena has been reduced to a very flustered and embarrassed mess as her brain scrambles to understand what just happened. You were so gentle and loving with Lena that she could feel your adoration and care for her through your actions. Lena quickly clears her throat to hopefully pause her panicking mind and calm her racing heart.
Noticing how Lena is still sitting in her chair, you take one of her hands and lead her to the couch where the two of you talked and had lunch together. Throughout the conversation and eating, Lena could still feel where you kissed her finger as if she touched a hot stove. Imagine a Luthor being this soft for someone. She can’t enjoy your touch. She’s not allowed to. Or at least, that’s what Lillian kept telling her. Luthors are cruel aren’t they? They are undeserving of love and care, so why should this be any different for Lena? Why does she have to feel so embarrassed about wanting your touch?
Following the papercut incident, Lena found herself exaggerating her headaches and migraines from working constantly at L-Corp just so you could take care of her and cuddle the pain away. This went on for a few weeks and eventually you caught onto what she was trying to do. You realized that early on in the relationship, you always initiated physical contact with Lena and in those moments, she would tense up, making you think that she was uncomfortable with it. Later on, you learned that Lena is trying to get used to receiving so much physical love because it’s still new to her. So, you began to give it to her in small doses whether it was hand holding or pecks on the cheek before you left the apartment. Now, you see that Lena wants more but she’s either too afraid or too embarrassed to ask for it.
Looking down at the CEO that’s currently in your arms, you quietly laugh at the realization and almost find it endearing. You tuck that thought into the back of your mind as you readjust your position on the couch and tighten your hold on Lena. She snuggles a bit deeper into your chest as your focus falls back onto the movie playing on the TV. Maybe, it’s okay to let herself relish your touch as long as you were hers. After all, the Luthor name is simply a name, not a rule for her to follow.
A few days later, you find yourself heading back to your shared apartment where Lena is currently resting. According to Jess, she wasn’t feeling well and decided to take the rest of the day off to ensure that she could recover and work more efficiently tomorrow. It became a normal occurrence for Jess to call you whenever Lena was unwell so that you could take care of her. Upon arriving at the apartment, you find the raven-haired woman curled up in bed. At the sound of the bedroom door opening, she immediately sits up as her eyes light up when they lock with yours. You send her a loving smile as you say, “Lena, I want you to be honest with me.”
Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Lena simply answers, “Okay…”
“Are you actually feeling unwell or is this an excuse to have me take care of you?”
The moment the question leaves your mouth, Lena’s eyes widen. Shit. Unsure of what to do as you watch Lena try to formulate a response, you decide to turn around and head to the kitchen to start preparing for dinner. As you’re about to leave, Lena desperately calls out, “Y/N, wait!”
Pausing, you turn back around and tilt your head, expecting a response. As she slowly begins to speak, Lena breaks eye contact in favor of tracing the patterns of the bedsheets with her eyes.
“I-, um, yeah, it was an excuse and I’m really sorry for disturbing you while you were at work for this.”
Watching as Lena slumps over in shame, you make your way to the bed and sit down next to her. Quietly waiting for her to continue and give you a reason, an awkward silence fills the bedroom. You’re the first to break the silence.
“Lee, you know I love you right?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Okay, so then, why? Why did you feel the need to make excuses to get me to come?”
“Well, um…” Lena trails off while continuing to look at the bedsheets, trying to hide her embarrassment.
“Babe, if you don’t give me a reason then I’m not giving you any cuddles until you tell me.”
At your words, Lena’s head flies up, exposing her flustered state.
“Wait, no, that’s not fair.” She whines as she tries to wrap her arms around you.
Laughing, you do your best to push her off. With a soft smile, you tell her, “I just want my girlfriend to communicate with me and if I have to revoke cuddling privileges to get you to communicate then I’m going to do it.”
Lena lets out a sigh as she realizes that you’re going to stick to your words and she loves your touch too much to lose it over her slight issue with communicating properly in relationships. Readying herself, she allows the Luthor mindset to slip away from her mind as she opens up to you.
“I really like your touch and I was just afraid of how much I liked it because I wasn’t sure if I deserved it. When I was young, I was always told that Luthors don’t deserve love or care because of our cold nature. But the way you hold me made me melt and I felt tingly all over.” quickly adding in, “In a good way, I promise!”. She takes a deep breath before continuing, “I guess I just felt embarrassed of how strongly I wanted physical contact with you because I wasn’t sure if you would give that much to me. In the back of my mind, I thought that you were giving me all of this physical affection because you felt obligated to and not out of love.”
Taking in her words, your expression begins to soften as you pull Lena into your arms. Your fingers slowly trace random patterns into her back as you begin to speak.
“Oh, Lena, sweetheart. I love you so so much. I’m so sorry that you felt undeserving of this love and attention but I can definitely assure you that you deserve it all and so much more. You are so kind and you are everything that the Luthor name isn’t. You’ve worked so hard at L-Corp and trying to rebrand it as a company for good instead of how it was made before you.” Pulling away, you cup her face in your hands. “I promise that all of the affection that I freely give to you is out of love and not obligation. I will do everything I can to give you all of the love that you deserve. If you ever want cuddles, just ask okay? I’m definitely more than happy to cuddle you whenever you want.”
With your final statement, you seal your promises to Lena with a soft kiss. You pull away from her to see her eyes brimming with tears. She simply nods at your words and you pull her into your chest once again. Lena has never felt so loved in her whole life. You practically radiate love and warmth that she will gladly receive without feeling as embarrassed now. Letting out a sigh of relief, Lena feels lighter now that she was able to open up to you. Before fully settling into your embrace, Lena asks one more question.
“So, does this mean I get my cuddling privileges back?”
Feeling the vibrations in your chest as you laugh, Lena smiles as you reply, “Yes, your cuddling privileges are no longer revoked and you can now ask for them whenever you want. Just promise that you won’t make any more excuses, alright?”
“I promise.”
taglist (all): @teenwonder @procrastinatingsapphictrash @owloftheshadows
#*mine#lena luthor x reader#lena luthor x gn!reader#lena luthor x you#lena luthor#supergirl imagine#dc imagine#send help i'm so tired lmao#no thoughts head empty
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RISES THE MOON
leon s kennedy x reader // 6 // thorny heart
soon enough the two of you are talking again, and leon almost forgets the rejection until you doze off. "as long as you're okay..." he whispers to himself as he brushes fallen hair from your face. "i couldn't care less about my own feelings." he smiles, tears stinging his eyes as he pulls you into his chest.
genre: fluff with a spicy(ish) surprise- enjoy :))
tags: deciding to have leons pov for some of this one <3, you broke leons heart atm but he recovers, not gonna spoil <3 this is just relationship development tbh
warnings: my awful slow burn development </3
tag list <3
@trinswhimsys , @hex-touchstarved <3
---
leon's stomach felt like a washin machine. he couldn't sleep, and he didn't want to disturb you. tears dried on his cheeks long ago and he held you close for his own comfort. "fuck." he mumbles, eyes fluttering closed again as he cradles you close. "god dammit i'm so stupid." he continues and you shuffle. "leon?" you mumble sleepily, breathing in a yawn. "it's okay, i'm sorry, go back to sleep." the man tries to soothe you back to sleep like he normally did, but this time it didn't work. "hmm... what's wrong? you're not normally still awake." you reply, peeling your eyes open to look at him. "nothing's wrong. just go back to sleep." he tries again, hoping it was too dark to see his tear stains. "you've been crying." you frown, cupping his face as you wipe the trails away.
"i'm fine." he whispers, but you shake your head. "leon, i'm sorry.. i just don't want to lose you, or get hurt with the slim chance you're not being honest.." you explain, and he nods. "i know." he sighs, letting you nuzzle your nose against his as you hold him. "i'm sorry..." you whisper, and leon cracks a small smile. "it's alright. i don't mind." he lies, and luckily you believe him. "if you're sure... we're in this together now, right?" leon replies with a solid "right." you smile, "then you can tell me your troubles as well as listen and take care of mine. no matter how small, how big. i wanna help you just as much as you help me." you say, gently stroking his cheek.
"fuck." leon whispers, pressing his forehead against yours more firmly. "for what it's worth. i like you too, i'm just too scared to do anything in case it goes bad.." you admit, and leon feels tears building up again. "i know.. i'll always be here for you." he smiles at you, and you wipe his tears away. "i'm sorry.." you say again, and he chuckles. "stop apologising." he says, taking your hands in his as he pulls you into a hug. "sorry.." you say before giggling. leon rolls his eyes as your hands find his back, tracing soft patterns with your fingers. "that feels nice." leon admits, and you smile at him. "yeah?" your voice is so soft and it makes leon's hurt heart thump. "yeah.." leon responds quietly. you keep going, massaging his shoulders as he hums happily.
"god why are you so good at this?" leon laughs, and you smile, "i'm good with my hands." you tease, and leon flushes a deep shade of red. "after repairing so many generators, of course." you grin at his expression. "r-right! of course." he agrees, embarrassed at his dirty mind. "relax, i'm just teasing." you smile, and he does in fact relax. "you're so mean." he pokes your forehead and you laugh. "i'm sowwy." you giggle, nuzzling you head under his chin as you continue rubbing his shoulder blades. leon wraps his arms around you, rubbing your own back as he closes his arms. "mmm, leon?" you murmur, and he hums in response. "you're too good for this place, y'know? you're way too good for anything like this." you sigh, and leon huffs too. "it's alright, my normal job wasn't too different to this. well it was but y'know.. i dealt with nemesis before but not for long term." leon rambles a bit, and you roll your own eyes as you listen. "that sounds tough..." you mumble, slowly dozing off. "i'm used to it." he smiles, knowing that you're falling asleep. "leon...?" you yawn, "y/n." he responds, and you mumble something. "sorry, i didn't catch that." leon says softly, "i don't deserve you." you mumble, "don't say that." the blonde shoots back immediately, but you've already fallen asleep. "i love you." leon whispers, but you didn't hear it. the blonde can't help but cry again, eventually falling asleep.
leon wakes up to you moving around. concerned that you're having another nightmare, he pulls you close and rests his head on your own. "leon..? i didn't mean to wake you." you say softly, and he hums. "no, it's fine. are you okay?" leon lets out a tired breath, as you cup his face to nuzzle your nose against his. "yeah, i'm okay." you whisper, settling on top of him as he holds you. "are you okay?" you shoot back, wiping his cheeks for him. "yeah, i'm alright." he finally opens his eyes, looking at you fondly. "hi." you smile at him. "hi..." leon responds, watching you sit up as his hands find your outer thighs subconsciously. your hands combed through his hair as he hums softly, you're practically pampering him as he slowly wakes up. "is there coffee in this place?" he asks you as he rubs circles on your thighs. "not that i know of, sorry." you smile, letting him run his hands up and down. "that's alright." he smiles up at you and you place your hands either side his head.
leon's fond gaze turns curious as he watches you lean down, your forehead meeting his as you give him an eskimo kiss. leon adapts quickly, letting you show him affection, his heart soaring. you glance at his lips, and leon's chest tightens. "fuck it..." you whisper, you lips finally meeting his. leon melts into your kiss, hand cupping the back of your head as he pulls you closer as his left hand stayed on your thigh. you hum softly into the kiss, lips moving smoothly against his. when you pull away, leon chases your lips slightly, giving you another soft peck before letting you pull away fully.
"fuck... your lips feel really good." leon blushes, desperate for more but not wanting to push you. "yeah? want more?" you tease, grabbing his chin with your forefinger and thumb to make him look at you and angle his head at the same time. "yeah..." he whispers, sitting up so he could pull you closer. you smile, letting him kiss you again. your lips mould with his perfectly as he kisses you with more confidence. "fuck... leon.." you whisper against his lips, and he fights back a smile as he continues to kiss you. you tilt your head to deepen the endearing gesture, wrapping your arms around his neck. the two of you break away from each other to catch lost breath, and leon presses his forehead against you as he rubs your back.
"that felt really good..." you whisper, and he agrees. "i've been waiting to do that.." he admits with a small laugh. you giggle too, giving him another eskimo kiss as you coddle him close. "trials might start soon..." you say, glancing out the cracked window at the brightened (yet still dark) sky. "nah, we still have a while." leon grins, leaning in to give you a loving smooch. you hum happily, cupping his face as his tongue gently brushes against your bottom lip. "we have at least an hour.." leon trails off, and you catch his meaning immediately. "yeah, we do." you smile.
#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x reader#leon kennedy#dbd leon#leon s kennedy#dbd x reader#dead by daylight resident evil#dead by daylight#germvity writing#<3
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Clone Wars AU Where Maul Saves The Galaxy
Kenobi senses something terrifyingly familiar (and very much alive) on Lotho Minor while meditating on the war in a neighboring system. Feeling as if it is his responsibility to confront a remnant of his past, he leaves his command post without so much as a word and throws himself onto a fighter, before traveling alone to Lotho Minor. He’s anxious, and ready for a fight, as he lands on the world of trash and begins seeking out his old and lethal enemy. Following Maul’s signature in the force, Kenobi eventually discovers his foe among the junk, and realizes instantly that the former Sith before him was no longer who he used to be. He was suffering, damaged, and insane.
Despite the bloody scrawling of ‘Kenobi’ across the structure walls, Maul doesn’t seem to recognize his old enemy. His eyes are unfocused, and he mutters incoherently. Overcome by intense and crushing guilt, Kenobi carries Maul’s damaged body back to his ship. You can imagine the surprise of his comrades when he returns to to the Star Destroyer with a crazed Zabrak cradled in his arms, muttering endlessly about revenge against the man that held him. Against the agitated advice of Anakin, Kenobi returns to the temple, and presents Maul to the council. The Zabrak doesn’t seem to even know where he’s at. He doesn’t seem to be able to focus on the Jedi seated around him. He crouches, and mutters to himself, blind to the surrounding world. Tempers flare, but Jedi Master Plo Koon makes it blatantly clear that it would be cruel to force Maul to undergo a trial, and afterward, prison, while he is in such a fragile state. Reluctantly, the other Jedi eventually agree. Still plagued by his guilt, Obi-Wan designates himself as Maul’s caretaker, and out of fear that he could come to his senses at any time, the Council decides that Maul must remain in the temple, not only hidden from the public, but hidden from The Senate as well, despite knowing that their actions would not be looked upon fondly by the government that they were meant to serve.
Maul remains in the temple throughout the war. Over time, he appears to recover somewhat. Instead of clawing his own skin and scrawling words of bloody vengeance across the walls, he paints bright colors across a canvas, under the guilty and ever watchful eyes of his Jedi caretaker. When Kenobi is called away from the Temple to see to the war efforts, Plo Koon is almost always left behind in his place, dutifully watching over the maddened Zabrak. His makeshift prosthetic waist and legs are replaced with professional care.
Eventually, Maul’s endless desire for revenge seems to transform into a childlike curiosity for the world. It was not uncommon to see Kenobi guiding him through the temple gardens, where he would gently touch every petal on every flower.
Suddenly, and quite unannounced, the Jedi at the temple are surprised by the presence of Chancellor Palpatine. No doubt he has sensed Maul’s presence, but he cannot give that knowledge away to the Jedi. He lies to the Council, and claims to have come for other reasons. During his stay, Maul becomes visibly agitated. The fear in his eyes leaks into the surrounding air. Everyone around him can feel it. Obi-Wan does his best to offer the Zabrak comfort, but to no avail. Maul begins muttering about his ‘Master’, about ‘Darth Sidious’, and when Palpatine finds them in the garden before the Council can warn Ob-Wan to return the former Sith to his room, Maul cowers behind his Jedi caretaker.
Suspicious by this newfound behavior, Kenobi plays it off, and apologizes to The Chancellor, stating that Maul is harmless now, and not quite ‘all there’ in terms of mind. Palpatine lingers for an uncomfortably long time, but eventually says his polite goodbyes, and promises that he will keep Maul’s presence in the temple to himself. That should have come as a relief, but Kenobi could feel the distress from Maul. He could feel the terror. He knew something wasn’t right. Turning to embrace Maul, he finds him cowering in the flowers, staring toward the door where Palpatine had exited. Normally Kenobi would pay Maul’s mutterings no serious mind, but this time was different. Maul seemed convinced that the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. His former master. As maddened as the Zabrak may be, Kenobi could find no source of delusion. This was real.
Gently, he walks Maul back to the Council Chamber, and addresses his fellow Masters. He presents them with grave news. Some, like Mace Windu, take the idea that the Chancellor could be a Sith Lord very seriously. He lays out the implications of what it could mean, and how they couldn’t afford to be wrong about this. The consequences to the whole of the Order would no doubt be quite severe. If Palpatine was, in fact, not a Sith Lord, then the people would lose faith in the Order, and accuse them of political sabotage. But if he was...they couldn’t afford to not act. Others reminded their fellow master’s that Maul was not sound of mind. Surely they couldn’t believe the ramblings of a madman? But Kenobi was insistent. If the council refused to investigate, then he would do it himself. They all knew it was not a mere threat. Obi-Wan wasn’t a liar. And to make such a bold claim in front of the Council...none of them could deny that Kenobi was passionate about this.
And so, the Council sets up a meeting with The Chancellor to discuss what he believes the Order should do with Maul. While the Chancellor is distracted, Plo Koon and Ahsoka Tano investigate the Chancellor’s office in secret. Skywalker, do to his closeness with Palpatine, was notified of what was going on, but was not permitted to join the investigation. Anakin had never been happy with Maul’s presence at the temple, and so of course, he’s agitated. He won’t believe anything that Zabrak mutters about. He paces the temple endlessly, until his padawan and Plo Koon finally return. They had found evidence of potential Sith activity in the office, but none that proved outright that Palpatine was a Sith Lord himself. Regardless, Plo Koon enters the Council chamber, where the Jedi are still discussing Maul with the Chancellor, and lays the evidence bare. Palpatine appears flustered, but he plays it off. That evidence must have been planted, but the Order presses on, and suddenly, they sense a slip up in the force, a sudden flash of anger, and power. Palpatine realizes that he let his emotions slip as well. Without hesitation, he pulls a crimson lightsaber from his robes, and attacks.
Despite the presence of nearly the entire council, Palpatine puts up an incredible fight. He nearly escapes through a shattered window, but it’s Mace Windu that strikes the final blow. The head of the Sith rolls clean off his shoulders.
With Palpatine dead, Maul seems to be in unusually good spirits. The tension in the temple is lifted. Anakin realizes his mistake, and contemplates leaving the order, but either way, he is saved from the Sith’s grooming. Order 66 will never be carried out without Palpatine’s voice to command it. The separatist army slowly begins to fall apart. Grievous is slain in one of the last skirmishes, and though Dooku makes many attempts to evade the Jedi, he is eventually apprehended, along with many other prominent figures of the army. The Republic can finally celebrate peace once more.
Maul would spend the rest of his life in the temple. He would never fully recover his mind, but everyone could see that he had felt that his former Master was no longer alive. The incredible hate and rage that used to radiate from him through the surrounding force in waves was now mysteriously gone.
...Anyways, who wants a fanfic on AO3? And if ya’ll have chapter ideas, ya’ll better gimmie gimmie cause I might just include them, hehe.
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Soulmate AU part 3: The teenagers slowly become adults;
Leon is endlessly proud of his kids (he’s long accepted that he’s a dad of three unruly teenagers now, and shares custody with Gwen and Hunith, the only other sensible ones), and Morgana and Merlin are abruptly made aware of their new... role(s).
Part 1 Part 2 Part 4
All of their birthdays pass in the next few months. Of course, Arthur’s and Morgana’s come with big celebrations, insisted on by Uther (I mean... Morgana had just come of age, and Arthur was the Prince, can you blame him?), but the gang put on mini celebrations just for them in the evenings.
Everyone got everyone gifts, and they spent as much time together during the birthdays as they could, even Gaius and Hunith joining them when they had time.
Leon was quickly climbing the ranks within the Knights, and was the youngest to be granted the title of captain at just 23, which gave him little more control over his own schedule. He worked incredibly hard, was a good teacher, and never took advantage of his post, so his fellow knights didn’t mind so much when he gave himself the occasional day off, for his kid’s birthdays.
The other knights had definitely picked up an Leon’s... older brother instincts when it came to The Prince, The Ward, The Servant, and The Physician’s Apprentice, and ribbed him mercilessly for it, but he didn’t really mind too much. Said kids certainly found it hilarious.
Morgana coming of age also meant an influx of potential courters, both foreign royalty and local nobility.
Much to Uther’s annoyance, she rejected every single one before even meeting them, insisting that she would marry for love, not because some old man wanted to suck up to The King.
It didn’t take long for him to give up on finding her a suitor to be honest. She wasn’t heir to the throne, so it wasn’t too important, and he knew how stubborn she was; the more he tries to set her up, the more she’ll resist.
Merlin’s sixteenth birthday came a few weeks after Arthur’s seventeenth, and Uther begrudgingly gave Morgana and Arthur a day off from lessons and meetings. Frankly, he knew there would be no point in trying to enforce anything, they would just ignore him and sneak out to see the boy anyway.
~
A couple months after Arthur’s seventeenth birthday, it came time for his official Knighting (he talked about it endlessly when it happened, being one of the youngest to ever be officially knighted, most aren’t knighted until they’re closer to 21. Leon had been very young as well, at only 19).
Much to Uther’s chagrin, Arthur and Morgana insisted that Hunith and Merlin have a front row seats.
He gave in eventually, after Arthur threatened to not turn up to his own ceremony, and Morgana pointed out that the only people in attendance would already know about the whole soulmate thing.
It was a momentous occasion, that involved huge public celebrations (which Arthur and Morgana, of course, snuck out of the castle to join in on, with Gwen and Merlin), and a large feast in the evening.
Hunith finally got a chance to wear one of her nicest dresses, and Arthur even managed to wrangle Merlin into some smart clothes (just a touch of red and gold, to subtly compliment what the Prince was wearing, of course).
Though Uther did insist on having them introduced as “Family of the Court Physician” to anyone who asked, which annoyed Arthur to no end. But he’d agreed to not go public until he turned 18, so he was just going to have to put up with it.
They had a great time, and even Uther loosened up a bit once he’d had a little to drink. He still avoided Hunith and Merlin like the plague, but did get tipsy enough to clap Arthur on the back, and tell him he was proud “Of both your achievement today, and the happiness you found with your soulmate.” which Arthur definitely did NOT tear up at, thank you very much Morgana, and which Uther will deny happened until the day he dies.
Despite having to hide their respective soulmates, the gang had fun. Once the food and tables where cleared away to make way for music and dancing, things livened up a great deal.
Morgana dragged Merlin to dance, despite his insistence that he didn’t know how. Arthur, Gwen, Leon, Hunith, and Gaius watched on in amusement as Morgana tried to teach him the steps in the middle of the floor, no one in the hall daring to complain (she was the King’s Ward, after all).
Morgana made her way through the group, insisting that Arthur danced with her next, then Leon, and then, much to Uther’s annoyance, Gwen and Hunith.
Everyone soon forgot about their worries, maybe it was inappropriate for commoners and servants to mix with royalty and knights, but this celebration was for Arthur, he could bloody well do what he wanted.
Thankfully, by the time Morgana managed to force Arthur and Merlin on the dancefloor together, everyone else in the room was too drunk, and too wrapped up in their own dance partners, to notice The Prince dancing with the Physician’s Apprentice.
Overall, despite the stress of feeling like Uther was glaring a hole in the back of all of their heads, they enjoyed the night. Hunith and Merlin felt, even though it was obviously much fancier, the celebrations were similar to the ones they had back in their little village.
They had greatly missed the Yule celebration that had undoubtedly happened at the end of last year in Ealdor, but this more than made up for it, and by the end of the night, their spirits were lifted, so much so that they weren’t nearly as homesick as they used to be.
~
It was just days after the celebrations, that Arthur and Merlin (choosing to sleep in Merlin’s bed tonight, so they could have breakfast with Hunith the next morning) woke with a start to the sound of frantic banging on the front door. It was very late, still hours before sunrise.
Arthur woke immediately, his instincts kicking in as he grabbed his hidden sword and made his way out of the bedroom before he was even fully aware of himself. Merlin woke up a little slower, but still grabbed his own sword and crept out of the room after Arthur, meeting a worried Hunith in the corridor.
Arthur gestured at them to be quiet and raised his sword a little higher as the banging started again.
Merlin ignored him however, as he widened his (now golden) eyes and dropped his sword. He rushed to open the door before Arthur could stop him, only to find a distraught Morgana shivering on the front step.
She was still wearing sleep clothes, with a cloak and shoes hastily thrown on. He eyes were red and she had tear tracks down her face, her hair a mess.
The moment Merlin threw open the door, Morgana falls forward into his arms, the Warlock only just managing to catch her as she begins crying again.
It takes Arthur a moment to recover form his shock, but he quickly gathers his and Merlin’s swords, dropping them on a side table, before mouthing “tea?” to Hunith and stepping towards his soulmate and his sister.
Hunith nods slightly, and with one last worried look to the girl who had become like a daughter to her, she busies herself in the kitchen; lighting the fire, boiling some water, and gathering together some tea leaves, the type that help with sleep.
Arthur manages to pull the other two inside, so he could shut the door, and he guides them to the living room. Merlin settles in a large, soft armchair, and Morgana follows closely, falling into his lap and continuing to cry into his shoulder, clutching desperately at his sleep tunic.
Arthur sits himself on the armrest, and Morgana gropes blindly for his hand, which he quickly takes, before looking to Merlin and raising a worried eyebrow.
Merlin just shakes his head in confusion. Morgana hadn’t said anything yet, just cried, and he had no idea what could’ve brought on such hysterics so suddenly in someone who was usually so calm.
He wipes all thoughts of his own nightmares from his mind as he strokes Morgana’s hair and whispers gentle words to her. She finally calms down a little as Hunith walks in with four cups of tea, and Merlin asks quietly:
“Would you like Gwen? She only lives a few streets away, Arthur could fetch her and be back in only a few minutes.” Arthur gets up, moving to put on shoes and a cloak, but Morgana croaks out a desperate:
“NO! No, I don’t want to worry her.”
She goes to stand up, but Merlin pulls her back down, settling her comfortably in his lap, as she fiddles with her hands and refuses to meet anyone’s eyes.
Merlin just frowns, still stroking her back, and Arthur speaks up quietly:
“What’s wrong ‘Gana? Are you hurt?”
Morgana shakes her head and looks up at Arthur, then Hunith, before finally looking back at Merlin. She gulps before she begins to speak:
“I... I had a nightmare-”
Merlin gives her a sad smile, knowing how terrifyingly disorienting they can be, but before he can say anything, Morgana continues:
“-but not a normal one. I’ve always suffered with night terrors, and Gaius makes me sleeping draughts but they never work. This one was so vivid. Like it was real.-”
She looks down to her lap, and Merlin begins to frown again as she continues:
“-I never really noticed before, or I just wrote it off as coincidence, but all of my dreams... they come true. And this one...”
Arthur speaks up as she trails off:
“Are you sure, Morgana? Maybe you just got a little muddled up, perhaps you dreamt about them after, and got confused?-”
Morgana looks up sharply, somehow still managing to look a little intimidating despite the messy hair and tears:
"Do you remember when you got caught by that mace during training last week?-”
Arthur frowns slightly, nodding as he rolls his shoulder automatically, still feeling a dull ache:
“-well the night before, I dreamt about it, that’s why I came to watch that morning. I just wrote it off because in my dream, it was Leon that hit you, not Sir Kay, but that was the only difference. Even the bruise looked exactly the same.-”
The other three look surprised, but before they can say anything she gulps and continues:
“And when we got attacked by those bandits? I dreamt about that a few days prior. In my dream, Leon was with us as well, and there were three more attackers, but again, other than the slight difference, everything was the same. Even how Merlin ended the fight, and the memory charm.”
Arthur collapses in the chair behind him, looking thoughtful, and slightly worried, as Merlin breaks himself out of his train of thought:
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Morgana bites her lip, before saying timidly:
“I almost did, but I just thought I was being paranoid; seeing connections where there weren’t any. But tonight...”
Arthur looks up sharply, frowning (not accusingly, just... worryingly) as he says:
“What was your nightmare about ‘Gana? I’ve never seen you this scared before.”
She looks up and meets his gaze, tears gathering in her eyes again:
“We were in a cave, me and Merlin. It was dark, and we were... not quite scared, but confused. And then a dragon appeared, huge, angry. It spoke, I couldn’t understand it, but Merlin obviously could, and they talked for a while. Merlin got angry, and then the dragon looked at me, and reared up and started spitting fire. I woke up just before... just before it burned me. I snuck past the guards and came straight here.-”
She looked to her lap again, before mumbling:
“Honestly, I didn’t even know you were here, I just wanted to see Merlin, because he was in it.”
Merlin pulls her close again, and she settles with her head in the crook of his neck as he strokes her hair, worrying his lip at her description of the night terror.
Hunith looked worried, and Arthur was deep in thought for a few minutes, before speaking up again:
“I suppose you two just... stay away from big caves? And if you find one somehow, come find me, and Leon would probably be good as well, and we’ll see what’s going on, together.”
Morgana looks up at him through her lashes, and mumbles:
“It felt... evil. Not the dragon or the place, but... me. Like it was justified in attacking me, like I wasn’t supposed to be there.”
Merlin tightens his hold on her, and his eyes flash gold as he grinds out:
“ ‘Gana, anything that tries to hurt you, will have to go through me first, dragon or otherwise.”
Arthur smiles comfortingly as he says:
“Exactly. As if I would ever let the two of you explore a dragon’s cave without me anyway.”
She looks up as she laughs, just a little, and Hunith speaks for the first time since Morgana had appeared:
“Would you like to stay here for the rest of the night? I can move in here and you can take my bed.”
Merlin shakes his head:
“No, she can stay with Arthur and I, the bed is big enough for the three of us. That way we can wake her up if she gets any more nightmares.”
Arthur nods and pats Morgana’s shoulder before going to their bedroom. He lights a candle, pulls the covers back, and places the swords back in their hiding places.
Morgana sits up straight and looks down at Merlin:
“Are you sure? I can make my way back to the castle easily enough.”
Merlin shakes her head, smiling at her:
“No, it’s fine. I’d prefer you to stay with us anyway. We can talk to Gaius tomorrow about the dreams. I was born with magic remember, it’s not impossible for it to have happened to you as well, we’ll just have to be careful, ok? Everything will be fine, ‘Gana, promise.”
Morgana smiles, and wipes her eyes as she stands up. She gives Hunith a quick hug, thanking her for the tea as she picks up her an Arthur’s cup. She follows Arthur into the bedroom, and Merlin gives his mother a worried look, before grabbing his own cup and saying goodnight, telling her quietly:
“Make sure your door is shut. Hopefully she won’t have anymore nightmares tonight, but I have a feeling she’ll wake up loudly if she does.”
Hunith nods, before whispering:
“Do you think she’s right? Is she some sort of... seer?”
Merlin sighs, looking towards the bedroom, before looking back and replying:
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve never exactly met any other magic-users, I only have Gaius and my own experiences to go off.”
Hunith nods, and the two separate, heading to their own rooms and shutting the doors behind them.
Arthur and Morgana were already settled, having finished their tea. Arthur was back where he was earlier, and Morgana sat in the middle of the bed, her head resting on his shoulder.
Merlin walks around to sit on Morgana’s other side, abandoning his undrunk tea in favour of laying straight down. Morgana and Arthur follow him, and Morgana turns over, curling up under Merlin’s arm, and whispering a quiet, teary “thank you”.
Arthur settles an arm over Morgana’s back, his hand intertwining with Merlin’s on the pillow, and Merlin’s other arm settles over her waist, holding her close.
The boys share a worried look, before closing their eyes. They fall into a shallow sleep, prepared to jump awake at even a twitch from Morgana, determined to keep her safe.
~
Morgana wakes the next morning having slept surprisingly well through the rest of the night.
Merlin is sitting up next to her, one hand protectively splayed on her back, the other holding a book in his lap. She can hear people bustling around in the next room, and she can see the sun start to peak through the curtains.
Merlin looks down at her when he feels her wake, and puts a finger to his lips, before whispering:
“Gwen and Leon arrived earlier to join us for breakfast, we haven’t told them you’re here.-”
Morgana frowns in confusion as she sits up, and Merlin continues:
“-I think you should tell them what happened, they can help, like they helped me, but we still thought it should be your choice. You can sneak out the widow and head up to the castle if you want?”
Morgana shakes her head, and murmurs:
“No, you’re right. They should know, I don’t like keeping things from Gwen, and Leon can always tell when we lie, anyway.” She says the last bit with a weak smirk, and Merlin chuckles:
“Come on then, I think breakfast is almost ready. Plus, some of us have semi full days today, so we should get going before we all start running late.”
Morgana nods, and moves to stand in front of the mirror, grimacing before trying to straighten her hair a little, and washing her face in the fresh wash-bowl.
Merlin chuckles a little before following her up, and throwing a jacket on over his sleep clothes. He waits for Morgana to finish, and allows her to nervously take his hand as they exit the room.
It takes a few moments for anyone to notice them when they first enter the kitchen, Arthur and Hunith cooking, whilst Gwen and Leon play cards at the table.
Arthur is the first to notice, and gives Morgana a smile, before looking to Merlin with a raised eyebrow, meaning “the truth?”. Merlin answers with a small nod, and Arthur smiles again, before saying loudly:
“Morning, you two certainly slept in, didn’t you?”
Everyone looks up at that, Hunith briefly smiling before going back to the food, and Gwen and Leon widening their eyes in surprise. Gwen jumps up to give Morgana a hug, which she enthusiastically returns:
“ ‘Gana! I thought I felt you close, what are you doing here? Did you stay the night?” There’s no accusation in her tone, just concern, and Morgana gives her a brief smile before nodding, and saying:
“It’s... a long story. Let’s sit, we can tell the both of you.”
Leon packs the cards away, and moves up the bench so Merlin can settle next to him, Gwen and Morgana opposite them, and Arthur and Hunith hurriedly serve up food before sitting down at the ends of the table.
Morgana explains timidly what had happened just a few hours previously, and Gwen grabs her hand as she describes the feeling of being deserving of the flames.
(The way she words the sentence does make Merlin tense slightly, but only Arthur notices, and he squeezes Merlin’s knee under the table.)
Leon listens intently, and when she’s finished, he leans across the table to clutch her hand briefly before looking to Merlin:
“Is that possible? Could she be some sort of seer? I know there are lots of them among the druids, but I’ve never actually met one.”
Merlin shrugs slightly, and replies:
“I’m not sure, it’s possible. We were going to talk to Gaius, he knows more about this sort of thing than me.”
Gwen and Leon nod, and Hunith speaks up:
“Me and Arthur are busy today, and I’m assuming you are as well, Leon?-”
He nods, though reluctantly:
“-But why don’t you two go with Merlin to see Gaius? He’ll probably be more able to understand if you can explain it directly to him.”
Morgana looks a little tense at having to explain it for a third time, but Gwen nods her head:
“That sounds like a good idea, maybe we could... get into contact with some druids somehow? If they do have seers, they might be able to help.”
Leon looks troubled at that, but Arthur speaks up first:
“That could work, but only if we absolutely have to. I don’t want to put them in any unnecessary danger, by potentially exposing them. Plus it would be a long journey, we’d have to come up with excuses. I don’t think my father would accept any reason we gave for needing a few days off to leave the kingdom.”
The others nod in agreement, Morgana looking even more worried, but Hunith sees her expression and speaks quietly:
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Gaius knows a great many things, and if not, I’m sure we can figure it out ourselves.”
Morgana smiles at her gratefully, and with that, the conversation comes to an easy end.
After they clean up, and a round of goodbyes is had, Hunith rushes off to the tailor’s, and Arthur and Leon reluctantly head back up to the castle.
Morgana wraps herself in a cloak, with the hood up, and Merlin quickly gets dressed. In the end, they had decided that Gwen and Morgana would head to Morgana’s chambers, so she could get washed and changed and run a brush through her hair, and Merlin would head straight to the Physician’s chambers, and explain the situation to Gaius.
He was indeed troubled, when Merlin explained what had happened, in as much detail as possible to stop his best friend from having to recount it again.
He knew of her nightmares, and had been making sleeping draughts for her for years, but she had never talked about the similarities to real life events before.
Gaius mentions not knowing much of her heritage, passed her parents and grandparents, but even if it wasn’t an inherited gift, it’s possible for the occasional, naturally magical child to be born. As proven by Merlin.
Morgana and Gwen arrive shortly after, and Gaius gives the King’s Ward a comforting pat on the shoulder, before saying quietly:
“Merlin has explained what has happened, it does sound potentially magical, but beyond that, I’m afraid I can’t be of more help. I think the Prince’s suggestion of just being careful where you go is currently the best course of action. Might I also suggest that you stop taking sleeping draughts for a while? It might be that they are interfering with the process, making them more or less vivid, accurate.”
Morgana looks a little scared at that, but Gwen squeezes her hand and Merlin speaks up:
“That might be a good idea, it’ll be easier to figure out exactly what we’re dealing with if there isn’t any interference.”
Merlin’s confirmation gives Morgana a little more confidence, and she nods firmly. She’s never run away from things before, she’s not going to start now, especially when she has her soulmate, best friend, brother, and knight in shining armour beside her.
Merlin gives her a smile, and Gaius gives him the day off, encouraging the three of them to take the day to relax, and recover from last night’s ordeal. Merlin gives his mentor a grateful smile, and takes Morgana’s other hand, dragging the girls out the door, before saying with a cheerful grin:
“Fancy going to watch Arthur get his arse handed to him on a silver platter during training?”
~
During everyone’s lunch break, they explained the plan... or lack thereof.
Leon was a little... tense, at the idea of stopping the sleeping draughts and just seeing what happens, but in the grand scheme of things, there weren’t any other options.
A few days passed, getting less and less tense as each sun rose and set. Morgana slept peacefully, no more nightmares or... visions. It was still a worry in the back of all their minds, but it was no longer a pressing issue that they lost sleep over.
Until the fourth day.
It had been exactly a year since Hunith and Merlin had moved to Camelot, and they were having a mini, evening celebration at the house, with the whole gang there.
Morgana had gone into the garden to cool off a bit (seven people all in one small room at the beginning of summer... yeah it got pretty hot, pretty quick).
Merlin joined her and they chatted quietly, reminiscing about all the ridiculous things they had gotten up to in just one year, laughing about how many grey hairs they had given Leon.
The conversation halted when Merlin straightened his back, and took in a gasp at a voice echoing through his head:
“Emrys...”
Morgana frowns at Merlin’s sudden reaction to seemingly nothing:
“Birdy, what’s wrong?”
Merlin looks at her in surprise:
“Did you not hear that?-”
“Emrys!”
He gasped, and took a step away from the house, peering into the dark:
“There it was again, can you not hear it? Who is that?”
Morgana looks troubled, and takes Merlin’s shoulder, pulling him round to look at her:
“Merlin there’s... no one there. I didn’t hear anything. Are you alright?”
Merlin looks at her, confused, but tenses, and whips his head around again when the voice echoes again:
“Come and find me, Warlock, I’m waiting. Come alone.”
Morgana calls desperately for Arthur, but Merlin pays her no mind as his eyes strain to see something that isn’t there. After only a second the Prince appeared with a pop by Merlin’s side:
“Merlin, what’s wrong?”
Merlin doesn’t answer him, and he looks to Morgana, worried. She has the same troubled expression on her face as she replies:
“I don’t know, he keeps hearing something that isn’t there.”
Arthur looks back to Merlin, and shakes his shoulder roughly, finally getting his attention:
“Merls?”
Just then, the others walk out of the house, looking worried at Morgana’s scared call, and Arthur’s sudden disappearance. Merlin looks over the group, before glancing once more out into the dark street, before looking back to Arthur:
“It’s a voice, someone’s calling for me. They’re calling me the wrong name but... they’re definitely calling for me.”
Everyone looks troubled at that, and Merlin shakes his head when Gaius asks if he recognises the voice.
Leon lifts his head in sudden thought before speaking hurriedly to Morgana:
“In the dream, you said Merlin and the dragon spoke to each other, but you couldn’t understand them, right?-”
Morgana gives a nervous nod, and the group looks to him, confused, as he speaks again:
“Well, maybe it’s... like that. Maybe that’s how you and Merlin find the cave, you follow the voice.-”
The others look doubtful, but he continues anyway:
“I know it’s far fetched, but how else were the two of you just going to stumble upon a cave big enough to hold a dragon?”
Arthur nods at that, mumbling that it makes sense, and Morgana looks scared. Gwen grabs her hand, and Gaius and Hunith look to each other nervously.
No on really knows what to say, but they all look to Merlin as he groans, bringing a hand up to his forehead, as the voice echoes louder:
“HURRY Warlock, I find myself running low on patience this night.”
Arthur pulls him close, and Gwen takes his other hand, Merlin mumbles:
“Whatever it is, it’s telling me to go find him, alone. I have a feeling he’s not going to stop until I go.”
Leon scoffs before saying:
“Like hell are we letting you go alone, but we should see what this is all about. Lead the way, Birdy.”
Arthur steps back and tells everyone to wait a minute, before popping away. He reappears moments later with his and Merlin’s swords, and three spares, for Gwen, Morgana, and Leon.
Leon just raises an eyebrow, taking the offered sword, and Arthur shrugs:
“Pays to be prepared. There are at least two more still in the house-”
He looks to Gaius and Hunith:
“You two wait here, we’ll try not to do anything too stupid.”
They both look worried at that, but Arthur rolls his eyes, and says:
“Leon and Gwen will be with us.”
At that, Gaius and Hunith relax slightly, which everyone would find hilarious if they weren’t focusing on bigger things.
Arthur turns back to Merlin, taking his hand, and gesturing him to lead the way.
The Warlock leads them up the main road, towards the castle gates. The others are confused at that, they had expected him to start walking out of the city, towards the wilderness, not further in.
They follow him though, getting tenser and tenser, as he allows his feet to carry him through the castle, going further and further down. Towards the dungeons.
They duck out of the way when people pass, and thankfully manage to avoid being seen by everyone. No one notices them even as they move through the dungeons to a hidden, back staircase that falls deeper and deeper into the earth.
All of them frown at this, none of them had been aware of this section of the castle, all having thought the dungeons were the lowest level.
They reach the bottom, seeing a great metal gate in front of them, that opens to a large cave. Morgana gasps, and mumbles that this is the cave from her dream as she grips Gwen’s hand tighter.
Leon takes a deep breath, before stepping in front of the group, and walking slowly forward, pushing the gate open easily, and stepping into the cave, sword raised in defence.
Arthur and Merlin follow quickly, Gwen after them, holding a fearful Morgana behind her protectively.
They gather on a ledge, staring in wonder and fear at the huge cavern that stretches out in every direction. After just a moment, a deafening roar echoes from somewhere near the roof, and the group collectively gasp before huddling closer together.
That is, apart from Merlin, who steps forward, a frown on his face as he yells:
“Like hell I was coming alone. What is this?”
With that, a blizzard like wind whips through the cavern, and everyone takes a step back, looking fearfully up at the giant dragon that descends from above.
Merlin holds his ground, automatically gripping his sword tighter, as the beast lands in front of him, gazing at him impassively.
Arthur speaks up loudly, but his voice shakes as he says:
“Merlin... step back... come here. Please.”
Merlin doesn’t move, but the dragon absentmindedly moves his gaze to the group, making direct eye contact with Arthur before tilting his head downwards, slightly reminiscent of a bow, before looking back to Merlin.
The group moves slowly towards Merlin, unprepared to leave him alone, and the dragon grumbles again, in a language that Merlin doesn’t realise isn’t even English:
“I let you have your year of fun. Now you must grow up, and learn of your destiny. There are bigger things in motion that you could ever hope to imagine.”
Merlin frowns, and the group looks to him in confusion as he replies:
“You let me? What does that even mean? And how did you call me down here? What destiny? And my name isn’t Emrys or whatever, it’s Merlin, always has been.”
The dragon narrows his eyes, before replying, the deep rumble of his growling unnerving to those who can’t understand him:
“So many questions. You are the great Warlock, known as Emrys, the most powerful magic-user to walk the earth. Arthur is the Once and Future King, destined to unite Albion.”
Merlin tilts his head in confusion:
“...right.”
The great dragon appears to huff in frustration, before continuing:
“He will face many threats. It is your destiny to protect, and guide him on his way to unite the land, and bring magic back into balance.”
Merlin furrows his eyebrows. He was already sort of expecting the whole “bringing magic back” thing, but the official “destiny” thing is definitely news to him:
“And how do you know all of this?”
Kilgharrah takes a great step back, ignoring his question, once more looking over the group stood just behind Merlin. His nostrils flare, smoke swirling out as he huffs, and narrows his eyes:
“You should not have brought the witch. In another life, she was destined to become a monster, the hatred to your love, the darkness to your light. The risk is too high, she must be destroyed, before she falls once more.”
He rears up, and takes a deep breath as Morgana stumbles back fearfully, the group gathering around her protectively. Merlin rushes back, standing between the dragon and the group before he can exhale. He falls back down onto his front claws and growls, but Merlin shouts before he can say anything:
“NO! You want to hurt ‘Gana, you’ll have to kill me, and I suspect your precious Once and Future King, first.”
With that, Arthur steps further forward, to be in line with Merlin, and the dragon turns angrily, whipping his tail to the floor with a bang, before turning back and glaring at him:
“Her destiny is inevitable, none of us choose our destiny, and none of us can escape it. She must be destroyed before it’s too-”
Merlin interrupts him:
“I don’t give a FUCK about your destiny. No one’s future is set in stone, and I will never let you hurt her, especially not for something she hasn’t even done yet.”
The dragon growls once again, before leaning close to Merlin, he speaks in English this time, so the group can understand, his voice deep and gravelly, filled with anger:
“On your head be it, or more likely, your precious soulmate’s head.”
With that, he gestures a giant claw briefly at Arthur, before flying off once again, disappearing into the shadows of the cavern.
Merlin blinks a few times, and the anger on his face fades to confusion as he looks back to Morgana, gazing at her assessingly.
She looks terrified, and gulps before saying:
“What is it, what did he say?”
Merlin shakes his head roughly, and walks forward, gathering her in a hug, before pulling back, his hands still on her shoulders. He gives her a small smile before looking to the others:
“Let’s get back to Hunith and Gaius, we don’t want to be gone too long. I’ll explain as best I can when we get back-”
He lets go of Morgana and shrugs briefly:
“-though to be honest, I’m not sure even I fully understand.”
With that, he leads the group out of the cavern, holding Morgana’s hand tightly, and refusing to look back.
Leon and Arthur bring up the rear, and they quickly find themselves back at the house, having made the whole journey in silence.
Hunith and Gaius hurriedly stand and look nervously to the group as they re-enter the house, and grimly settle around the kitchen table without a word.
Merlin and Arthur look stuck deep in thought, and Morgana quietly sniffles whilst Gwen comforts her, so Hunith and Gaius look to Leon for explanation.
He bites his lip and takes a deep breath, before beginning to explain:
“Well... we found the dragon.-”
Gaius gasps at that, and Hunith frowns, worrying her lip between her teeth:
“-Though none of us but Merlin could understand what he was saying. Something about destiny, and Kings, from what we could hear Merlin saying. It wanted to hurt Morgana, and got angry when Merlin and Arthur stepped in the way. Then it... flew off I guess, and we came back here.”
The others, apart from Merlin, had started to pay attention as Leon explained, and when he was finished, everyone looked to the young Warlock.
He still had a deep frown on his face, and was sat exceptionally still, staring at his hands folded on the table.
Morgana gulps and takes his hand, shocking him out of his internal deliberation:
“Merlin, why did it attack me? What did it say about me?”
Merlin takes a deep breath, and stares at her, a slight frown on his face as he noticed the reappearance of tears.
He pursed his lips, trying to decide what to tell her. Risk terrifying her even more, by telling the full truth, but being able to work together to combat it? OR, only tell part of the truth, lie, and save her from the heartbreak, trying to help her avoid her so called destiny from the side-lines?
He clenched his jaw, before giving her a small smile and looking around at his family; the decision was much easier than he first thought:
“He told me about our... destinies. Apparently my real name is Emrys, and I’m a powerful Warlock, destined to help Arthur become The Once and Future King, whatever that means, so he can unite all of Albion, and bring magic back into balance.-”
The others frown in confusion at this, and he looks back at Morgana, squeezing her hand once more before continuing:
“-He said that... in another life, Morgana was destined to become a monster, to fight against mine and Arthur’s destiny-”
Morgana let out a breath at that, and a few more tears fell as everyone else around the table tenses at the accusation:
“-he said that the risk of it happening again, in this life, was too high, and she had to be... destroyed, before she got in the way.-”
Arthur stands abruptly in anger at that, and Leon has to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him before he started angrily yelling. Merlin gave Morgana a reassuring smile before saying:
“-I, of course, told him to fuck off, that he would have to go through me before I let him punish you for something you hadn’t done, and have no intention of doing.”
Morgana shakes her head quickly, like she feels the need to convince her family that she isn’t some sort of beast (that breaks all of their hearts a little bit), before putting her hands over her mouth, and tightly closing her eyes.
Merlin stands and quickly walks to the other side of the table, pulling Morgana up and gathering her in a tight hug. He blinks away the tears in his eyes at her distress, and pointedly ignores the painful stares of everyone else in the room.
Gwen puts a comforting hand on Morgana’s shoulder blade, as she once again finds herself crying into Merlin’s shoulder.
The Warlock tries not to sound angry (he feels the urge to go back down those steps and yell at the bastard, but he figured that probably wasn’t such a good idea) as he murmurs comfortingly to her:
“Don’t you worry ‘Gana, you’ll never be a monster, not to us. Pre-written destiny is a load of crap, our lives are whatever we make of them, dig your own path. I’ve got you, and I’m never letting go. You aren’t alone.”
She looks up at him with bleary eyes, and the others crowd closer as her next question comes out as just a whisper:
“Promise?”
Merlin smiles at her, and wipes away her tears, but before he can answer, Arthur speaks up, in a strong voice:
“We promise, ‘Gana.”
Leon gives her a reassuring smile, and Gwen nods her head firmly as she speaks:
“We’re in this together, destiny or no.”
Gaius and Hunith take the beds that night, as the other five fill the living room with various blankets and pillows. They crowd in together, Morgana held protectively in the middle, everyone else silently making oaths to themselves that they would never let her down.
~
That’s the end of part three!!
I reckon there’ll be two more parts to the story, but again, that depends on how many different ideas I want to fit in. I also haven’t started writing part 4 yet, so it might take a little while longer for it to arrive.
#bbc merlin#merthur#merthur soulmate au#morgwen#morgwen soulmate au#good morgana#arthur#prince arthur#arthur pendragon#uther#uther pendragon#ooc uther#gwen#guinevere#leon#sir leon#leon is a dad confirmed#hunith#gaius#kilgharrah#kilgharrah is a huge dick#merlin#arthur knows about merlins magic#everyone knows about merlins magic
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