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shibaraki · 10 months

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WE UNFOLD IN POOLS OF GOLD ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, pro hero shouto, publicity stunts (a fake relationship) fluff, flirting, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, pick up lines, confessions, best friends to lovers

wc: 2.3K

“Look, as I’ve said this is only for the event tonight,” Shouto’s manager, Abe Riko, instructed you. Unease had twisted in your stomach as she looked you over with a critical eye, smoothed the wrinkles in your clothing and circled you like a shark. “You don’t have to confirm that you’re in a relationship, you just need to behave like you’re in one. Enough that it’ll create speculation”.

At first you’d been mystified that Shouto agreed to such a thing but it soon became clear the public perception was gnawing at him. To your confusion, people found Shouto to be an enigmatic hero type; they didn’t know how to interact with him and often hesitated in doing so, intimidated by his impassive expression and monotony.

You know Shouto to be the opposite. He is clever in social situations, he’s witty and blunt and he makes you laugh. With that in mind you supposed being their first choice was the least surprising part of the situation. Shoving a beautiful stranger on his arm would only lead to an inevitable stony faced and unfiltered disaster. As one of his best friends your presumed relationship is far more believable given how comfortable you are together.

The issue is you—namely, your feelings for him. Love that knows no boundary. Yearning dug deep in your bones. Hunger that leads you to eventually say yes.

A multitude of anxieties take root in your thoughts, playing out all the possible outcomes, bracing you for the inevitable hurt come morning. Because everything feels right, here. Shouto’s hand sits low on your back like it belongs there. He leans in closer than necessary to listen to you talk, commentates on the lives of the attendants around you; always a smile in his eyes when you laugh at something he says; the brush of his mouth to your temple; the fingers that squeeze at your waist.

“I think we’ve done well,” you say. “Don’t you?”

Rather than needing to stick close to his side as instructed, Shouto has been the one to trail after you, hand in gentle hand while you meander around the venue to greet people. He never enjoyed flashy events but you can tell your presence helps, along with the copious free alcohol.

“Only the tabloids will tell”.

Another waiter passes by, bowing his head low and proffering a tray of champagne flutes. Shouto plucks one up, bringing it to his nose, which wrinkles at the sharp smell. You laugh, distracted as his thumb rubs over your knuckles. “Let me try some”.

Shouto looks at you from the corner of his eye, near electric blue under the lustrous chandeliers hung in the high ceilings. You’ve had a hard time appreciating the architecture when you could simply marvel at him in his grey slim fit suit.

He swipes his tongue across his lip, wincing at the taste before tipping the rim of the glass against your mouth. Your heart beats loud in your ears as you sip the fizzing champagne, sharp and slightly zesty. A flurry of shuttering clicks go off across the room, dwindling into white noise. You’re accustomed to ignoring the reoccurring camera flashes now. “Shit. That’s so dry,” you groused under your breath.

Shouto hums, equal parts amused and congruent with your displeasure. “I wish they would serve something sweet and fruity for once,” he says.

You pointedly refasten your grip around his hand, arm drawn across your midsection to rub his forearm, “I got enough sweet and fruity right here”.

Something ravenous like pride rears in your chest when he tucks his chin and snorts. The movement coaxes a few stray red strands over his forehead. Sucking in a breath, Shouto’s cheeks swell and deflate as he exhales heavily. “Well, according to everybody else I am too boring. That’s why we’re here together”.

“And that’s bullshit. If anything you’re the pretty face making me seem more interesting here,” you say offhandedly, turning your attention to the undulating crowd. The live band takes on a spirited beat as more people gather on the dance floor. Shouto continues to stare in your peripheral vision, coloured in fondness you don’t know what to do with.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” he tells you, a diffident lilt in his voice. “You look incredible tonight”.

There’s a nascent giddiness sprouting in your chest. It feels so distinctly innocent and juvenile, the kind you feel throughout your whole body. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Shouto pauses, flustered, and swallows down another gulp of champagne. “…Abe-san is very good at what she does”.

The reminder that you’re engaging in a publicity stunt is jarring—but his sincerity eases any sting that might’ve come from it. It’s as though he were refreshing his own memory more than he is yours. The thought makes you smile and you take the flute glass from him, swirling the liquid gold inside.

“Shouto. Are you flirting with me?” you tease, holding his gaze as you find the cold impression of his lips on the rim and take a sip. You’ve started burning from the inside out, wiggling fingers entwined, and Shouto knots them together tighter in response.

“Flirting on a date is commonplace,” he returns, pushing the wayward strands back into his carefully styled hair. You soften at the sight. Pinned behind his left ear and combed over to the right, Shouto doesn’t hide his scar the way he used to.

You set the empty champagne glass on a waitress’s tray as she passes, and reach to fix his parting. “Well if we’re allowed to flirt then I can tell you I love your hair like this,” you murmur, fingertips brushing along his temple and down the curve of his right cheek. “It’s hot. And I like seeing more of your face”.

To anyone else the hot and cold hero might appear indifferent. But you feel when the air around him expands, thick with warmth. Shouto is careful to keep it under his skin. “Because you think my face is pretty?” he recalls.

“Now you’re getting it”.

“So then…” Shouto clears his throat, shifting his weight. The grip on your fingers loosens like he expects you’ll let go. “If I’m pretty and you’re cute, together we would be pretty cute”.

The lick of sheer affection that flashes through your chest is overwhelming. “Shouto,” you start, clutching at his hand, thoroughly enjoying the immediate regret written on his face. “Who taught you that?”

“I understand pick up lines just fine,” he mutters, only to sulkily add, “Kaminari may have shared some with me”.

You laugh. It’s all you can do to allay the urge to kiss him. Shouto is dangerous enough as he is—teaching him pick-up lines was the wholesome equivalent of handing him the nuclear codes. The room takes on a gauzy, yellowish tint as the waiters line up to push the balcony doors open, perhaps from all the blood rushing straight to your brain.

The energy amongst the guests takes a palpable turn and people line up to head into the gardens, where a grande marquee has been set up. He tugs your wrist, lightly guiding you to follow the crowd. Expensive garments shimmer under the gloaming moonlight.

You step into the cool night air, warmed by the heat thrumming through Shouto’s left arm. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Ah, he’s going to pout any second now, you think. The drinks must be wearing on him. “Sorry. It was kinda bad,” you tell him, ducking forward to inflict upon him your unfettered smile—because Shouto finds your delight particularly contagious. The tension in his brow releases as he smiles back, nudging you in your side, because he knows exactly what you’re doing. “It wasn’t bad bad—stop sulking. I’ll do you one better”.

“You will?”

The fireworks begin then, snatching his focus; great starbursts of light against the dark sky, lighting up the garden every few seconds. A prismatic glow halos Shouto’s silhouette, returning next in a vivid green, then red. You become hyper aware of your clammy palms and the flecks of fire tousled from his hair in the wind.

Inhibitions softened, tongue loose in your mouth, you steel yourself to pinch delicately at the lapel of his blazer. “Hey. Pretty boy,” you rub the fabric between your thumb and forefinger. “Is this boyfriend material?”

Shouto’s brow lifts in soft surprise and he blinks slowly. You’re struck once again by that fond gaze, how beautifully he wears it, and how he’s close enough that you can see the explosive display reflected in his eyes. As his smile grows the rough tissue above his left cheek crinkles, “Actually I think it’s cotton twill”.

You huff, suitably charmed at his feigned ignorance. Another firework soars into the air with a shrill whistle and the crowd around you murmurs in awe as it booms into a fleeting shower of gold. Neither you nor Shouto bother to glance up, or away from one another.

“You’re wrong, but that’s okay,” you sway further into his space; a small part of you is drawn in by the heat pulsing from his left side, but mostly because you wanted to touch him. “This is boyfriend material—no, husband material,” cheek squished to his shoulder, you peer up and curl your left hand around his bicep. The sleeve is tight against the muscle beneath. “Are you perhaps looking for a life partner?”

A traitorous hiccup jumps in your throat, and Shouto’s mouth thins as he tries not to laugh. There’s a blush staining him pink from his nose to his ears and it very well could be the alcohol, but inwardly you’d like to take credit for the dazed look on his face. Playing along he asks, “What are your qualifications?”

The surroundings and the people fade into obscurity until you forget exactly what it is that led you here. Just you and Shouto in the giddy darkness. “I can make you laugh. I can make you food. I can make you cum,” you hold up a finger for each point made. “I will still love you even when you watch me with that dead fish stare in the morning”.

Shouto’s half lidded expression flickers at that, his mouth jutting into a pout, though there’s no real hurt there. His knuckles brush against your cheek and unfurl to cup your jaw, “But you sleep with your mouth open. It’s cute”.

Turning into his palm you sigh, a little lovestruck, “I’m going to squeeze you like a grape”.

“Please don’t,” the low timbre of his voice wraps around you. “Best friends don’t bully each other,” he falters for a moment, waiting for another technicolour thunder to dwindle. “I suppose they don’t flirt, either”.

“One look at any of your old classmates proves that to be historically untrue, shortcake,” you cover his hand and stroke your thumb across the back of his knuckles. It doesn’t escape you that he has yet to let you go this evening, even going as far as waiting outside the bathrooms for you like some forlorn stray.

“Shortcake,” he mumbles the name as though trying it on for size. Abe-san and his team surely got what they wanted. Shouto smiled more tonight than he has in weeks and you can’t help hoping it’ll never end. “I like when you give me nicknames”.

You’re distantly aware of the lenses pointed in your direction; you conjure possible headlines and imagine the image printed below it, two people looped together in a perfect bow, and somehow it makes you a little braver. “Yeah? Well I like you,” you admit helplessly, clinging to the lapels of his suit. “I have for a long time. More than best friends should, if that wasn’t obvious”.

There’s a brief reprieve as multiple fireworks shriek through the air, splitting into hundreds of strobe stars. You get a clear view of Shouto’s expression as it flowers open before being plunged back into darkness.

“Oh,” his exhale is so loud in the deafening quiet. Hands find your waist and press you close, delaying your growing panic. “Was this our first date?”

“I mean, if you want it to be”.

“I don’t,” he says. Your heart stutters but his fingers keep you in place. “I wanted to take you to the Churaumi aquarium”.

You slump in his arms, cut loose by the relief, and he swallows you in a wintergreen embrace. “Fuck. You could’ve led with that first,” you mutter. His shoulders shake under your cheek.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding anything but.

Hands slip into his jacket. You cinch your arms around his middle as you lean back to get a good look at him. “…You’re seriously going to fly us out to Okinawa for our first date?”

Shouto looks back at you, gentled by the moonlight crowning his head. “Is that a yes?”

The fireworks must’ve finished, you note. A sea of people are surrounding the two of you; they pay you no mind, parting around your bodies with ease, too lost in themselves to notice. Slow, you arch into him, coming chest to chest, fingers locked at the small of his back. A cold sensation nips at your mouth as Shouto shudders an exhale.

“Yes,” you grin and bump your nose to his cheek. “If I kiss you do you think Abe-san will get mad?”

His hand comes to cup your nape, the other massaging idle shapes into your hip. “Probably,” he murmurs, tilting you—and with it, the world—to align your mouths and kiss you anyway.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader

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sunlightmurdock · 5 months

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Like This Forever | 0.3 | Jake Seresin x Reader

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Synopsis: Chapter Three. The early stages of pregnancy are really taking a toll on you. Jake’s got questions.

Warnings: talks of abortion / anti-abortion ideology. We’re pro-choice over here. This is an accidental pregnancy fic. Lying. Friends to lovers. WC: 3.6k.

…

Snickering had given the two of you away instantly. From the moment that Matthew Seresin had pushed open the door to the room, he had known that something was amiss. The house was uncharacteristically quiet for a Friday evening — those were the nights you stayed for dinner while your mother worked late, and you had spent hours with Matthew’s youngest brother causing nothing but trouble.

“If you’re in my room, I’m going to lock you out with the cows, you little freaks.” The then seventeen-year old had warned, his eyes narrowed warily as he tiptoed across the hardwood of his bedroom floor, aged floorboards creaking under his weight.

With that, a clammy little hand pressed itself firmly over your mouth. When you turned to look, Jake had been staring right at you, his cheeks dimpled with the sheer joy from his grin. A few more heavy steps and Matthew had dropped his old duffel packed full of wrestling gear to the floor.

Your nose had wrinkled at the smell. Disgusting, sweaty teenage boy athletic gear is a scent that doesn’t fade from memory.

“Last chance, you little germs.” Matthew had warned, craning his neck to check out his closet, then to squint at the open door to the bathroom he had Noah had shared.

From under his bed, you knew you were safe for at least a couple more minutes. As the oldest boy, and the messiest at the time, Matty’s room had plenty of hiding spots back then. Especially for two ten year olds who knew this old house inside and out. But, your window of opportunity was closing — there’s a fragile line between being able to scare the life out of Matthew Seresin, and just evoking his wrath. Back then, in all of his teenage hormonalism, the latter was much easier.

“Three,” Jake had mouthed to you, his shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes and his nose just a fraction too big for his face back then. “Two…”

The two of you had leapt out from opposite sides of Matthew’s double bed, scaring him so bad that he had lost balance in his gym socks, slipped on the wood and landed flat on his ass. He had been so angry that day — the two of you had slept out in Jake’s treehouse because you were so afraid of what Matty would do if he had gotten his hands on you.

Jake has always been a wriggly sleeper. He always tosses and turns, balls his hands into fists and stretches his arms out as wide as they’ll span. He has thought about joining you in your afternoon nap a couple of times now, as you stretch out along the plush bench opposite the kitchenette, but he won’t. All of his wriggling keeps you up, and he hasn’t ever seen you this tired. Even after the two of you had snuck off to Panama City Beach and spent thirty-six hours straight awake the summer after high school.

The tour has been electric so far, and Jake’s still waiting for the high of it all to wear off. His body feels like it’s vibrating as he plucks absently at the guitar strings, turning his head away from you and looking back out towards the open stretch of road. The first three dates have been everything Jake could ever have imagined. He has signed t-shirts, records, hats and skin and listened to crowds call back his lyrics for three nights consecutively. Currently, is a travel day. Seven hours from New Mexico and into Colorado. He’ll have tonight off and tomorrow, he’ll play his fourth gig in Boulder, CO. His eldest brother is going to be able to see him play.

Matt transports things outside of his work at the ranch. Just off season work to make sure his family can have the nice things he wants them to have. Jake can’t wait to see him.

The road ahead is stretching, flat and open. A couple of minutes back, the bus passed a sign informing them that the closest gas station was four miles away. Jake knows this because his driver, Pete, had announced it and interrupted Jake’s train of thought right in the middle of what could have been the best hook of Jake’s career.

With these roads out here, it’s a fifty-fifty gamble between potholes and cracks in the asphalt and smooth sailing. This road is perfectly smooth. It barely even feels like they’re moving. And yet, something wakes you up. You sit up quickly, trying to swallow through the thick churning feeling in your stomach. Your gaze flickers to the whirring air conditioning at the front of the bus as sweat slickens your forehead.

“Stop the bus!”

Pete turns in his seat, wide-eyed and ready to argue about making it before sunset, until he sees the sudden grey sheen to your skin. He doesn’t bother arguing, but his braking isn’t fast enough either.

“Pete, stop the fucking bus!”

Natasha, curled up on the bench beside you, is startled awake by the commotion. Jake’s face has already twisted into a concerned frown, his fingers stilling against the guitar strings as the bus jolts to a stop. As you leap upwards from the seat, there’s a familiar smell of dust that reminds you of that afternoon huddled under Matthew’s bed. The wild look of excitement in your best friend’s eyes are the furthest thing from your mind as you stumble forwards, two left feet trampling over each other and not enough floor space to accommodate the lack of coordination.

The door to the bus, much like the rest of it, is stiff, old and creaky. Your legs wobble down the two steps and your knees buckle, searching for the afternoon-warmed asphalt until your palms are on it too, your stomach twisting into a painful knot.

With how unceremoniously you threw yourself out of the door, Jake has to struggle to step around you without dropping himself boot-first into your breakfast. He winces, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Same old squeamish Jake. With one hand, he gets to work scooping your hair away from your neck and face and with the other, he puts a halt to the crew trying to exit the bus after you.

“Pete — you think there’s an emergency room anywhere near here?” He calls out, craning his neck to squint around the miles of fields and at the mountains in the distance.

First, you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, and then you sit back on your knees and swat Jake’s hand out of your hair. “I don’t need to go to an emergency room. I just ate something — and all the driving, and… bleh. I’m fine.”

“Yeah and the other day you were just too warm. You’ve been feeling weird for a couple of days, we’re getting you checked out.” With his hand now out of your hair, Jake has it free to rest against your forehead, checking impatiently for some kind of temperature he isn’t going to find. Sitting on your knees, squinting at him through the afternoon sun, finding nothing but that stubborn kind of worry that is only fuelled by love, it makes you feel sick all over again.

As much as you used to bicker and fight, and sometimes you still do, Jake’s light has always matched yours in a way that has been noticeable by everyone for your entire life. You’ve always been a duo, the perfect pair. It doesn’t seem quite right that now you know there’s a part of him that’s fused with you — that your body is reacting like this.

Truthfully, you can’t pretend that carrying Jake’s baby had ever occurred to you. The ‘B’ word, really truthfully, still makes you uncomfortable three days after finding out. But, if you had ever thought about carrying Jake’s baby, you would have assumed that it would just be… easier… than this.

“Sunny, hey, look at me.” Jake frowns down at you, all that worry materialising right in the pools of his green eyes as he squats down. Squeamish Jake who couldn’t even clean the mess up after he got sick last New Years’ Eve, squatting above a puddle of hot puke, just to get a better look at your face. “We’ve got the day off — let’s just see a doctor, get you fixed up. Alright?”

“Map says there’s an urgent care down the street from the motel.” Bob calls from inside the bus, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’s all faded denim and rolled up sleeves, a real hometown-comfort looking kind of guy. Not a rockstar by any means, but he and those drums seem to have a special arrangement. You’ve never been more grateful for him than you are right now; he just bought you another four hours.

“I can hang on ‘til then. I’ll take it easy,” You promise Jake, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears and wobbling to your feet. He presents both hands and breathes a sigh of relief as you brace yourself on his forearms. “It’s just a couple of hours — and I don’t see any hospitals around here anyway. Do you?”

Jake lets it go.

He boards the bus once again and sits with his elbows on his knees and watches you sleep for the next four hours. The way you’re moving, you’re going to drive that guy sick with worry — and Jake Seresin does not take kindly to being sick.

It’s got to be a sign, you think to yourself as you try to appear asleep. Your body rattles with the bus and the lack of the seatbelt, soft cushion under your back as you take up just about the only ‘tour bus-like’ commodity thag this old girl has to offer. Jake’s baby — fetus — clump of cells — whatever the fuck is chilling in there and ruining your day; you and that thing just aren’t compatible. It’s as simple as that.

It’s bringing you to your knees three days in. You haven’t slept, anything you eat won’t stay down, and your nerves are shot with the idea that you created a lifeform in the filthy back room of the Darkstar.

It’s not like you’re a teenager. You’re a grown up who is old enough to be moved out, old enough to be married. Hell, old enough to be a parent. By the standards of Driftwood, Texas, it’s about time you hitched a ride on the baby making bandwagon. Though, even in this more progressive times, the folks back home wouldn’t be too happy to hear that you just let any old guy knock you up.

That idea plays on your mind a lot at night now. The thought of walking down Main Street, all big and round in a pretty little dress, radiant and ready to be a mother. No husband waiting for you at home, no men in line to get down on one knee either. This clump of cells, or whatever, without a father. Poor thing. Well — that would make things even worse. It wouldn’t take long for people to figure out that your little mistake was a Seresin.

You hope that when they figured it out, they would understand. They would take one look at the photographs of you with Jake — all of those summers, and winters, and nights that weren’t captured by a lens, and know that you’re not just easy. Though — you are, you suppose. Jake hadn’t ever had to even ask. You’d agreed to it wordlessly before, or asked him expressly yourself. But that’s Jake. You hope they all know that’s what makes it different.

But you could save yourself all that explaining, all that hoping. With a small gulp, you know how easy it would be. You’re not that far along. All this sickness, and weakness and exhaustion would be gone in no time. You could just say you had a bug. Jake wouldn’t ever know, and his career would become everything he has ever wanted. You would get to remain part of it.

Maybe some day, you could do it the right way. Intentionally. That would feel better. You’d be prepared, the baby would be loved. This… baby — you’re not sure you could ever love something that threatens to rip away everything you and Jake have worked so hard for. Something insignificant that you hadn’t ever wanted, much less intended.

“How you feeling?” Natasha asks, crouched at your side with a glass of water and two ibuprofen in hand. Breaking into the hangover stash to ease your symptoms now. Not a good sign. You blink through the light, glancing over her head at Jake watching you through the rear view mirror, pretending to pluck at his guitar.

“I need someone to distract Jake when we get to the motel. You’ll take me to urgent care, right?” You ask her, dropping the two pills into your mouth and downing them with a strained gulp of water. Her soft brows draw together just slightly as she squeezes at your knee.

“Of course.”

Tbe plan, of course, was never to go to urgent care. While Jake’s stuck on the phone with his mother in a dingy motel room after a carefully timed ambush from Mickey, you’re across the town of Boulder, Colorado, sitting in the waiting area of a Planned Parenthood. The worst part is — Natasha doesn’t even know why it’s so important to keep Jake distracted.

As far as she knows, it’s because your best friend is over protective and because you’ve already got too much on your mind to deal with all the questions. It’s not entirely a lie.

The pen trembles between your fingers. A dotted line has never appeared to be quite so looming before today. All it asks for is your name, and you’re stumped. Outside, routine chanting presses on. Screeching, more like. They had caught you on the way in. People who looked far too similar to those from home, looking into your eyes, knowing exactly what you wanted so desperately to hide.

Baby. Baby. Baby. Your baby can feel already. Your baby has fingernails. Eyelashes. Heartbeat. The entire concept makes you shudder. All the times you’ve laid your head on Jake’s chest and steadied your breathing to the strong thrum of his steady heartbeat. You wonder if it sounds similar.

“It’s just a consultation.” You whisper. It isn’t until Natasha lifts her head and turns to look at you with those big, brown eyes that you realise you’ve said it outloud. One of her hands curls softly around your knee and squeezes softly. She nods. Not to you in particular.

It is just a consultation. Confirmation that you’re pregnant, a couple of questions about your permanent doctor. Whether you’ve ever been pregnant before. The doctor can see it on your face that this is uncharted territory for you. Talk about your vaccinations, your medical history.

“Okay, and is this pregnancy something that you’re looking to go through with?” You suppose there is no easy way to ask that question, and she doesn’t do it any better or worse than you would have expected. Still, it renders you totally silent. “It’s okay if the answer is no.”

“Will I be able to get pregnant again?” Your voice trembled. It’s a strange thing, finding yourself worry for something you had taken for granted until this point. The answer does nothing to reassure you.

“That’s not a very straightforward question. From the exam, I can’t see any reason why not, but things can change and age will be a factor in that.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m only twenty-six.”

It’s so casual. With a shrug, the doctor hums. “Just in the future. Something to be mindful of.”

You pick at your cuticles, staring towards the ground. “Do I have to decide today?”

“No. But I should advise you, it’s best to perform a termination as early as possible for safety and success.”

Without any of the answers you had been hoping for, you leave the office feeling substantially worse. You’ve been told that the entire crew are going out to a bar in town tonight. Your decision to lay in bed and wallow is both to ease Jake’s nerves and also, so that you don’t have to see his face. That doesn’t work out too well.

It’s just after six when he lets himself into your motel room and locks the door behind him. His smell fills the room, the sound of his boots tap softly against the floor. You squeeze your eyes shut as the bed dips with his weight.

“How ya feelin’, champ?”

A tired smile creeps across your face, even as you try to fight it. Jake worms his way into your bed until his face is opposite yours. Freckles on the bridge of his nose and a glint in his eye. A fond smile on his lips.

“Fine, like I told you.” You answer him. He doesn’t reach for you, but he wants to. He wants to grab both your cheeks in his hands and demand that you tell him everything the doctor told you. If you need more rest, or a certain vitamin, or if you’re allergic to the sun now or something.

As kids, you often discussed which superpower you would pick if you could have them. Right now, Jake has never wanted to be a mindreader more.

“Oh. So you don’t want the get-well treats that I got you, then?” There’s a faint rustling of a plastic bag at the bottom of his bed, purposely knocked by his leg to pique your interest.

“Depends what you got.” You both know exactly what he would have gotten you. It’s exactly what you would have gotten for yourself. Jake smiles as he sits up and pulls the bag between the two of you, setting it open to reveal the contents.

“If this doesn’t make you feel better, I think it’s time to call it. You had a good run, twenty-six isn’t a bad age.” He teases, already digging his hand through your bag of goodies to present you with the crème de le crème of gas station snacks. A warm, almost feverish, grin spreads across your lips as he hands you the chocolate bar.

Once it’s in your hands, Jake props himself up on his side and watches you take a bite. He studies you, slow and methodical, looking for any kind of discrepancy. Pain, fear — anything that will give him answers.

“You want a bite?” You offer him through a mouthful. Wordlessly, he leans in with that smirk plastered all over his face once again, and takes a bite from the top of the chocolate bar, then pulls back. Inches from your face, you watch him watching you.

“Haven’t lost your appetite. You’re warm but you don’t have a fever. Dizziness and nausea. You’d tell me if you were gonna die on me, right, Sunny girl?” With that, he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Maybe he needs the full picture to study your face better. You scoff, swallowing down a bite of the chocolate.

“I’m not dying.” It’s not the answer he’s looking for; you know you’re just inviting him to pester you more.

You think back to Matthew. You were twelve when he had to sit down his entire family and tell them that he had gotten his high school girlfriend pregnant. He was nineteen at the time. They had been together a long time, but it had seemed like such a bombshell. You remember how upset Jake’s parents were originally.

Matthew’s engagement was short. He married Isabelle before she was even in her second trimester. He works on the ranch through the year and picks up trucking jobs in the off season, now with three kids total. As much as Jake loves his oldest brother — you know that Matthew was his warning sign. Even now, Matt’s a sign to Jake of what he would have to give in to if he wasn’t careful.

Jake stares across at you, “Did they figure out what’s the matter with you?”

“Yeah.” You tell him, watching your hands pluck off a piece of the chocolate and place it into your mouth. Jake’s brows knit together as he watches you fight so calmly to avoid his gaze. He’s starting to look a lot like his big brother.

“Well? — Is it curable? — You’re freaking me out here.” He prompts you, just about ready to snatch the chocolate back out of your hands if it will get him an answer. You scoff quietly. Curable. Sure — to an extent.

You inhale deeply and hold it there. All of your secrets have always also been Jake’s. He’s waiting for an answer, trying not to panic.

“I’m pregnant.”

And there it is. Lingering in the air between you, you stare across at your best friend and watch those two words change absolutely everything. All at once, his face changes and his hands are reaching out for you. His hands curl around your waist, thumbs reaching towards the middle of your stomach. Jake hasn’t ever looked quite so much like his big brother.

In a split-second decision, you rush out a remedy. “It’s not yours.”

His hands still against your middle. The greens of his eyes are pale, empty, searching. He presses his lips into a line. “How can you know that?”

“The doctor said I’m ten weeks along already,” Your lie doesn’t feel good. As it’s leaving your lips, it feels hot and uncomfortable. It doesn’t change the look on Jake’s face at all. “It was before we even hooked up.”

taglist: @fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @ahoyyharrington @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot @mrsevans90 @springholland @kidd3ath @kissmecaiti @swiftsgirlfriend @emma8895eb

#Jake Seresin #Jake hangman Seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #Jake hangman Seresin x reader #Jake hangman Seresin x y/n #Glen powell #top gun: maverick #like this forever #countrysinger!jake

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beabeemu · 11 months

Text

Private, but not a secret

Itoshi sae x reader

pro! football player sae, famous people problems (yk how it is ackk 😝😝) << FLUFF, slight angst WITH COMFORT, mentions of anxiety, worried reader. cursing, slight trash-talking WC: 2k

MASTER LIST ; Taglist Form

two posts in one day wow

Sae valued privacy, which is why he despised the paparazzi, always rubbing their noses in his business, always watching his every move, even the smallest thing gets them riled up. He once experimented on going inside a store full of strollers, he went viral the second he stepped in, it was 100% his fault. He had to go to like 10 interviews to clarify that he had just stepped “accidentally” stepped into the wrong store.

Despite being a little used to it, he wasn’t as annoyed by them up until now. Sae was a bit relieved that you were quite familiar with the works of someone who needed to handle the paparazzi, being an author of a globally famous manga/anime series and being quite the animator yourself, and handling two businesses’ had gained the attention of people. Since you were viewed as an influencer, people can’t get enough when they get a glimpse of your personal life, especially the person whom you were currently dating.

“You ready?” while adjusting his hat and mask.

“Yup” you mumbled, currently bundled up in the hood of Sae’s humongous jacket and scarf. Sae had just finished winning a match, you stayed back waiting for sae to finish his shower, so that you two can go to the after-party that his teammates had insisted he goes to. He refused at first but you convinced him otherwise. His teammates thanked you and went on ahead.

His manager had informed us that paparazzi and fans were waiting for the players to leave the stadium, they were now waiting for sae. To say he was irritated by this was an understatement. Because having the paparazzi there meant he had to treat you like you were just some lukewarm person (which you weren’t) He hated acting like you were a stranger in public, as much as he loathed admitting it, he needed you to be beside at all times. But not wanting your guy's relationship to be peaceful, he had no choice.

Walking to the car he shielded his eyes and stopped the urge to wrap his arms around you to protect you from the flashes, during the short walk to the car waiting for them, sae couldn’t help but clench his teeth. He went inside first, he wanted to open the door for you but resisted, which led to him accidentally slamming the door shut. He watched as you got in and then the driver finally drove away.

Y/N was slightly struggling to get his jacket off her since it was so big, it was really heavy.

“Come here” hesitating for a bit, but still made the effort of going to the backseat where sae was. Once she was seated, sae released a breath, as if he was holding it. He took the jacket and scarf off of you.

“You good? What’s on your mind?”

“Would it be so bad?”

“What would?”

“If we didn’t have to hide. What could go wrong?”

It wasn’t the first time sae had asked this. It was kind of getting irritating, having to explain over and over again. It wasn’t like you liked hiding your affection from each other, you had just decided that it was for the best that you two will hide it until you two were exposed by a fan or the paparazzi but until that moment comes, you two promised that it will be best to keep it behind closed doors.

“Because it will not only jeopardize my work, but your fans will go feral”

“Why do they care? I can date whomever I want, and it’s you”

“But your fans are so possessive, they’ll come at me one by one, and I dont think I have the mentality to handle that yet.”

“So you’re saying that we’re just gonna hide our relationship forever? Is that what you're saying?”

“I’m not saying that, just not now-”

“Then when? When can I hold your hand in public? When can we go on dates without wearing ridiculous disguises? When can I Y/N?”

You were shocked, to say the least, you didn’t expect sae to just rant about it, you didn’t know that it had bothered him so much. You didn’t know what to say. He was waiting for you to answer. But y/n didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t thought about it that way. Then she realized that her mind was still occupied by work, to the point that it had also affected their relationship.

“What are you afraid of?”

That question shocked her even more. What was she afraid of? Was she scared of something?

“I… just wanted our relationship to be just us. Without other people getting in the mix. I’ve seen other celebrities' relationship fallout after announcing their relationship to the public and I’m just scared because I dont want us to be like them, I dont want to have a fallout. I want to bet my whole life and being to you sae, I really do but it's just so hard”

Sae stared at her for a minute. Processing everything she had said. Then the driver notified them that they had arrived at the venue of the after-party. Y/n swiped away the tears that had slipped and started putting on her disguise. Sae stopped her.

“No, don’t”

“Sae not now please”

“No. Can you take us to my penthouse?”

The driver nodded and then started driving.

“What about the after-party?”

“They can manage without me, I’m not letting you leave until we’re done with this argument. Look, I can’t assure you anything, but God forbid that something bad happens to us. And I won’t let it. But the thought of not being able to go anywhere I want with you forever just haunts me. I just want to be with you without any restraints.”

Y/n raked her mind for a possible solution that will result in a different outcome that will put her mind at ease, but she had nothing. For the first time, she didn’t have the answer. But one was for sure. IS that she loved sae.

“Maybe we could lose the extreme disguises, the next time we go out on a date”

His face softened, he felt relieved.

“Really?”

“Yeah… I think we could pull it off for a few months, right?”

He hugged you and muttered a small thank you.

—------------

Oh god, how wrong you were.

Not even a 1 week in, you two were already going viral all over social media. A picture of you and sae in a park at night laughing while eating ice cream was all over the internet. The picture was clear as day. You didn’t even know that you two were being followed. But alas you were wrong.

Oh, how you hated being wrong.

Your work phone was buzzing with notifications, probably from fans. You ignored it and turned it into silent mode. You were looking at the issue with your phone which then flashed the contact number of your beloved manager. HEsistating a little, but you still answered.

Right off the bat, she said “What happened with ‘keeping it private’ ?”

“Sae was getting sick of the disguises, and I dont know… is it bad?”

I can tell she was trying so hard to be considerate of how I was feeling because she went silent for a bit. Her silence answered yes

“ well it's not as bad as we had assumed, some are bad, and some are supportive”

“What's the majority?”

“Good, which is great because it means they don’t hate you”

“Is it? You’re not lying?”

“Look for now just lay low ok? Is sae with you?”

“No, he’s at practice, he doesn’t get a hold of his phone until after”

“So he doesn’t know yet, which means you don’t have to panic ok? Stay calm, You won’t get fired just because of this little thing. And the football league isn’t strict at all with their players dating so they won’t force you guys to break up. And I’m fine with it, and both of your families are already expecting you two to get married so dont worry ok? All the people that you need approval from have already approved of you two so don’t overthink ok? But I suggest that you put your other phone on silent until this dies down”

“Already done, and thank you, I needed to hear some assurance”

“Glad I called when I did, I’m just gonna do some media control ok? I need to make sure that they don’t do anything extreme.”

We said goodbye and hung up. I went to the kitchen to drink water, trying my best to calm down. She had never needed sae this much before, but Right now all she wanted was him here, telling

her that it was gonna be ok.

—-----

When sae opened his phone, it was exploding with notifications from every social media platform he had. Confused, he went to Twitter and went to the bottom of it. And the first tweet he saw was a fan account of his talking trash about his girlfriend with a photo attached of them from their date last night.

He was furious, but that furiousness was overpowered by his worry and aloof his anxiety. Trying to rush packing his stuff, he immediately got out of the locker and outside where he was met with the paparazzi. There were a lot more of them now, probably because they were all buzzing to get an inside jizz about his love life. Like the picture wasn’t enough. He walked through the people, getting closer to the car waiting for him and not looking at the cameras or answering any questions.

But what that one fan said had his blood boiling

“You could do so much better than her sae-kun!!”

He paused, he looked at the fan, then they were quiet. All waiting on his comment.

“What did you say?”

The cameras started flashing more frantically, they weren’t screaming anymore.

The lukewarm fan was getting nervous, she said “I-I said that you could do better than that y-y/n”

Sae’s stare was so intense that you could his anger from a mile away.

“Y/n is my girlfriend and none of you assholes can do jack shit about it, And the next time I hear anyone talk shit about her again I’ll have you hunted down, and I will turn your fucking life upside down. That goes to all of you sons of bitches.” everyone went silent.

He then went inside the car and they immediately drove off. Maybe cussing everyone there wasn’t such a good idea, but he didn’t care, it’s not like he could get fired for it. He was too good at his job for that. What he was about was you.

—----------

When he went inside, he was met with the sound of the tv. He immediately went to where you were. You were watching the news, more specifically sae cursing a whole lot of people.

“Y/n is my girlfriend and none of you (beep) can do jack (beep) about it, And the next time I hear anyone talk (beep) about her again I’ll have you hunted down, and I will turn your (beep) life upside down. That goes to all of you sons of (beep).”

You turned to look at sae and smiled. “Thank you for cursing at them, and threatening them for me. Let’s just hope that they poor coffee at me or vandalize my building”

“As I said, I’ll have them hunted down and I'll turn their life upside down”

Y/N giggle recalling his rant that was full of beeps, her giggles grew until she was throwing her head back laughing. Sae lightly smiled at this, as he sat down beside her. “I’m glad that my anger is funny to you”

“It’s just so funny because you were cursing so much” She continued laughing. Sae just looked at her and savored the moment. And was silently glad that she was happy, despite it being him who she was laughing at. She was the only person who he’ll allow her to laugh at him, and get away with it.

—---------

To say that his threat worked was an understatement. Because after a few days, it had already died down. And they were now freely going out for dates in peace. Some pictures might get leaked here and there but they didn’t mind. Just a daily reminder of who was itoshi sae’s girlfriend and soon-to-be wife.

your likes and reblogs are always appreciated!!!

#blue lock #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae #sae itoshi x reader #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #bllk sae #bllk headcanons #bllk x y/n #bllk x female reader #bllk x you

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swiftieblyth · 1 month

Text

Troublesome Twin:

Warning list-

hunger games warning, abusive family, mother died in childbirth with the twins, Arachne, Coriolanus Snow, Dr. Gaul, violence, and murder.

I think that’s all, let me know if there’s more!

Word count- 1075

Coryo and Y/N got out of the car to Dr. Gaul’s office. Y/N was struggling to stay awake from the dagger in her leg and the blood seeping out.

“We’re here, love.” Coryo whispered, picking her up bridal style and carrying her to Dr. Gaul’s office.

“Snow stormed down, down on his head.” Dr. Gaul let out. “It stormed down on his head, and now the boy is…” Dr. Gaul laughed then sighed when she didn’t get the response she wanted. (She hasn’t seen Y/N’s leg yet. Don’t worry she’s not ignoring her injured god-daughter. I’m not that mean) “You’ve had enough of the Games tonight, I see. Come, sit. I’ll stitch you up.”

“Take care of Y/N first.” Coryo ordered, walking over to Dr. Gaul.

“Y/N?” Dr. Gaul asked. “What happened to her?”

“She has a dagger stuck in her leg.” Coryo explained.

“Oh dear. Come on.” Dr. Gaul ordered, walking to a lab table. “Lay her down.”

Coryo did as he was told and carefully put Y/N down on the table.

“Coryo…” Y/N slurred.

“Shh, it’s okay baby.” He cooed, brushing some hair out of her face. “Dr. Gaul is going to help you.”

“What about you?”

“She’ll help me after you.”

“Alright my dear,” Dr. Gaul gently let out, putting gloves on. “This is going to hurt, but I need you to stay awake. Hold Mr. Snow’s hand.”

“O–okay.”

Dr. Gaul started to remove the dagger and Y/N started to cry in pain, holding tighter onto Coryo. “Stop! Please stop!” She begged.

“I’m sorry my dear. I’m almost done.” Dr. Gaul explained. “Just let me do one more pull and then I’ll stitch you up.”

“Hey, it’s okay, love.” Coryo cut in. “Once it’s out it’s going to feel better, and it will start to heal.”

“And you can get fixed.”

“Yeah. Once you’re taken care of Dr. Gaul will help take care of me.”

“Okay.” Y/N breathed.

Dr. Gaul was able to take out the dagger and stitch her leg up. Y/N was now laid down on the ground head resting on Coryo’s legs as she slept.

He moved his fingers around her hair as Dr. Gaul started to stitch his shoulder.

“Who could imagine Crassus Snow’s baby boy fighting for his life in the arena one day? What happened in there, that’s humanity undressed. Fueled with the terror of becoming prey, see how quickly we become predator. See how quickly civilization disappears.”

“Those tributes don’t have a choice.” Coryo let out, looking at Y/N.

“I was talking about you.” Gaul explained. “All your fine manners, education, background, stripped away in the blink of an eye, leaving a boy with a club who beats another boy to death to stay alive.”

“He tried to kill my girlfriend.” Coryo breathed, feeling the tears form as he watched Y/N sleep peacefully on his legs.

“You wanna protect people, Mr. Snow? To govern them like your father?”

“I want to keep Y/N safe.”

“Then it’s essential you accept what human beings are and what it takes to control them.”

Y/N woke up as Coryo got onto the elevator up to the penthouse, head leaning on his chest as he cradled her.

“Hey, love.” Coryo smiled.

“Hi,” Y/N mumbled. “Are we almost home?”

“Yeah. We’re in the elevator.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine, my love,” Coryo let out, kissing her head. “I’ve got you. Once we get home we can go to bed.”

“Okay,” Y/N sighed, resting her head more onto his chest, letting a tear fall as she sniffled.

“What is it, my love?” Coryo asked, looking down at her.

“I was so scared.”

“I know.” Coryo cooed. The elevator stopped and Coryo walked out but stopped right outside the door to their penthouse. “But I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

“I thought I was going to die.” Y/N struggled through a strangled sob. “I– I couldn’t breathe. An–and–and then he—he tried to kill me, Coryo.”

“I know, I know.” Coryo cooed, holding her tighter to his chest, resting his chin on her head. “But he didn’t. I’m never going to let anyone ever hurt you again. I promise.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry my love, none of this is your fault.”

“You told me to wait, but I didn’t.”

“Hey, hey, look at me. That doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you're safe.”

“I should’ve just listened to you.”

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay. We’re okay. But please never put yourself in danger again. I can’t take it, darling. I need to know you’re okay.”

“I promise.” Y/N sighed. “Can we go to bed now?”

“Of course.”

Coryo opened the door, and softly closed it behind him as Tigris rushed in, feet all over her face.

“They sent us into the arena tonight, Tigris.” Coryo explained, as Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck tighter.

“What?” Tigris gasped, looking between her cousin and his girlfriend.

“To get Sejanus out,” Y/N let out, looking at Tigris.

“What happened? Are you two okay?”

“I killed someone,” Coryo breathed, tears forming in his eyes. “A boy.”

“That must have been awful,” Tigris let out, twisting Y/N’a hair gently in her fingers.

“It was,” Coryo let out, looking down at Y/N’s weak and scared figure as she cried in his arms. “But he was trying to kill Y/N. Then it felt… powerful.”

“Coryo,” Tigris breathed, trying to hide her fear. “I know you want to be like your father but what I remember the most about him was that in his eyes, it was just hate. You don’t have to pay the same price just to survive. People can be good. You can be good. You are good. Just believe in that.”

“Coryo,” Y/N let out, cuddling into his chest as he held one arm around her waist, and the other carefully holding her leg up on his for comfort on the injured leg.

“What is it, my love?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Killing him for me. He was going to kill me if you hadn’t.”

“I know, baby. But I’ve got you, yeah? I’ve always got you. I’ll kill everyone in order to keep you safe.”

“Thank you.” Y/N breathed. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more darling. Now get some rest. You need it.”

tag list here

Tag list: @uglyfish3rman, @Edb954, @joyfulyouthlover,

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mlarty · 2 months

Text

Asks about our art and drawing process

Seeing more and more questions about this, so it makes sense to put these together in a single post

But before we start, a little warning: we ain't no art school graduates or anything, just a couple of self-taught illustrators who still figuring how to draw. This means we can't really give any pro tips, only share our experience, and let's be real, there's so little to share. So don't feel bad if after this post we sometimes skip these kinda questions — guys, we have a smooth brain and just vibing with our art. Nothing else v_v

So here you go

Nothing special, seriously. It might sound harsh, but sometimes we just don't have any other choice. Drawing is our job, our way of surviving, our life. There is no better motivation than taxes, you know. As for how we got started, it was all about that love for drawing, making ocs and stories, creating original stuff, and all the failures were like a boss fight. And fighting can be fun, not painful. Remember, the old you, the one who didn't know as much, brought you here — so don't ask too much from the current one, it's all part of the journey to becoming the future you. Love the process, not just the result. That's enough for us

Thank you so much! Glad to hear you think so 🖤

Ahh.. randomly. Just choose those colors that work better with the mood and the idea of illustration, not always based on reality. Inspired by other artists art, animation, movies. Everything can change in the final anyway. Sometimes it's just an irrational "well... it's more beautiful this way”. Chaotic process, to be honest

Omg… idk?? but thank you. We're not feeling like pro artists just yet though. We just draw. And analyze it. Analysis is a good thing. And broaden your art horizons. And then draw again

Hey dear we’re really sorry that your relatives don’t share your passion for art. This is a true story for us — our families didn't always take our choices seriously either. But drawing can always be your hobby

We’re absolutaly okay with using our art as references for a study. Just no tracing and no using as references for your personal work/ideas. It's pretty obvious, but just in case

And it's super cool to hear that our illustrations are inspiring you to get back into art. Thank you! 🖤🖤🖤

#ask

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ofmermaidstories · 2 months

Note

if u were bakugou's girlfriend (which u are) and got to pick out all his outfits what would you dress him in?

okay, okay first of all we gotta establish his style: he seems to favour baggier pants (🙄), and t-shirts. looser fits! i’ve always wondered if that was a deliberate choice on his part—if it hides his build (one of the manga extras says his fits tend to hide how explosively muscular he is), or if it’s like, a movement thing? like, if he had to spring into action while in his civvie gear. because his hero costume pants are also quite baggy, as well, and he tends to fling himself around like a small russian-child training for gymnastics gold medal in the olympics so—if i was buying him clothes, or trying to convince him to try new things, i’d probably keep that in mind. 🥹 because you never know when your rare date-night with your pro-hero boyfie is gonna be interrupted by some asshole with a attitude problem and a quirk to back it up!!! 🥺

so to start with, if i was sneaking pieces into his wardrobe, i’d stick with like, more of the same—the baggy pants, or at least wide-cut legs. maybe a couple of pants or shorts with a lower crotch? i would stick to blacks, and greens and oranges—his brand colours lmao—because he seems to like them. skull motifs, because i doubt great explosion murder god is ever really gonna outgrow that lmaooo. i would make a gift out of a really cool, expensive pair of sneakers. and then a little while later i would start trying to slip in a little more high end fashion. like a pair of tabi boots. 🥹 i’d try and convince him he needs a nice, tailored jacket, for fancy date nights although tbh i think those would be a rare occurrence lmfao. but once i had gained his trust with my choices, i would then slowly ramp up my campaign. 😈

we’re gonna start trying to introduce some creams, whites. bolder graphics. distressed denim. i might make a point of getting him a cool—skulls—bracelet or two, since hori’s drawn him in a couple in official art. i’d buy him a more upgraded, fancy pair of his church loafers lmfaooo. he seems to favour them outside of his hero getup and i’ve always wondered if it’s because he just can’t be fucked dealing with boots outside of his heroics? anyways. i would try and slip in something cutesy—like a decapitated teddy bear hoodie lmaooo—but if he never wore it or otherwise really hated it i would just pout and move on.

a lot of the pieces you see here are like—american and japanese streetwear brands, with a couple of fine-leather craftsmen sneaking in. i’d keep buying like that: japanese brands where the flagship store is tiny and makes you feel like you’re on the inside of a very sparse egg. local designers that try and incorporate some of those traditional physiques into their ranges: hantans in leather or a modern print, for example.

fine leather belts and boots would make more gifts—dickies work pants, because i think he’d appreciate the cut of them. the occasional techgear piece—pants cut like his pro-hero ones, for example. funny tees, maybe a vintage all might one, or an edgeshot piece. 🥺 i’d stay away from jeans just bc i think if he really wanted them he’d get ‘em from jeanist lmfaooo.

there’d be a real pleasure in playing dressups with a man that has the build of a literal superhero, lmfao. i would try really hard to honour his tastes though!!!! maybe wheedle and sulk and bribe with head scratches for more experimental pieces, or ones outside of his wheelhouse lmfao. like there was this really beautiful swan tapestry jacket on one of these sites that i think a man like bakugou—built like a god, with that intense ember glare and that shock of blond hair—would look ethereal in. 😩 but i like bakugou because he seems so decided, in a lot of things, lmfao, and if he didn’t wanna wear something, i think he just wouldn’t wear it. 🥹

#ofmermaidstories-asks #passion for fashion: the dress-up tag #this is why we don’t ask mermie for her opinions about anything involving shopping or clothes bc she will do This 🙏🏽#and then ur all gonna have to sit there and pretend u like it!!!!

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waterfallofspace · 8 months

Text

A Matter Of Belief

A birthday gift for @ezynse! <333 Sooo, I'm a few days late 😭😭 but hopefully you still enjoy this~ (and maaaybe the fact it's a two part thing makes up for that..?~)

Summary: When N/anami attempts to lie about a cold, he succeeds. But when he isn't lying, well, considering what happened last time? They're not so quick to believe him. So, he finds himself having to prove his honesty.

Word Count: 4.3k (Part One: 1.9k - The Lies We Tell~ ) (Part Two: 2.4k - ~Come Back To Bite Us)

Characters: N/anami, G/ojo, M/egumi and I/tadori. (hints at N/anago, but can be read platonic or romantic, readers choice~)

(Warning, features vague notions of past contagion and light mess implications. Nothing outright stated, but be warned!)

The Lies We Tell~

A shrewd whistle pulls Nanami from his thoughts, head lifting from the safety of his cupped hands. Waiting to meet his eyes is a familiar, and deeply unwanted, sight.

“Woah, you look rough,” Gojo hums, sucking air through his teeth with a sound not unlike a rusty gate pulling against its hinges. Hm; apparently metaphors are easier when you’re a little out of it. Or maybe it’s just Gojo that pulls that side of people out into the open. However against their will it may be.

Clearing his throat, Nanami braces himself for the sounds that may escape in lieu of human speech. “Id’s-” A pause, cough, and tight inhale. “It’s not all that. I’m alright. Though, less so with you interrupting my work. I have a lot to complete before the day is up.”

“Working? Is that what we’re calling ‘half-asleep in our hands’ nowadays?” Gojo retorts, a smirk creeping from his flashing teeth up to his blindfold. There’s no doubt his eyes are shining, taking in every pathetic inch of Nanami’s current state. Effortlessly infuriating, as always.

Letting a sigh replace the urge to cough, Nanami turns his focus back to the laptop. A clear signal, leave me alone. Observant as Gojo is, there’s no doubt the signals were seen and understood.

“Whatcha workin’ on?”

Then pointedly ignored.

“Even if I explained it, you wouldn’t have any idea what it was.”

Gojo lets out a huff, falling into the chair next to Nanami’s with a performative groan. Dramatic as ever, and certainly getting awfully comfortable. With a sigh, Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, giving Gojo a light glare as he feels unease start to take root.

His growing headache protests this action, a flash of heat through his temples nearly bringing a wince. Each blink serves to bring a moment of relief, quickly dispelled as the fluorescent lighting brings another wave of pain.

Yet, despite the agony, pain can be endured silently without much fuss. No, his rising unease belongs to an entirely different sort of sensation. One that won’t go so easily overlooked.

“Nana-mi, how long are you gonna be working on this?” Gojo cuts in with a whine. “I’m so bored. Why don’t we play a game instead!”

“I’m busy.”

“Oh come on, we both know you can multitask like a pro!”

Nanami sighs, allowing a single finger to brush the source of his growing agitation. “Is it ‘name all the things you like about Gojo Satoru’? Again?”

“We have a winner!” Gojo smirks, clapping his hands together above his head. The noise echoes through the quiet office. Thanks to a meeting, to which an invitation was respectfully declined, the office is graciously empty. Then again, if it wasn’t, maybe Gojo wouldn’t be here at all.

“It seems to be the only game you’re aware of. Or at least the only one you have any interesting in particihhhpating in.” Nanami swallows hard as his breath catches on its own.

Each inhale from here on out is a gamble. One wrong move and the dam bursts. Best course of action is to keep the breathing shallow, wait for an opportunity, and hope to keep it quiet-

“So you’re sick, huh?”

“hH’EDngXTchh!”

The question breaks Nanami’s concentration, fingers barely reaching his nose in time to catch the sneeze. In an effort to relieve the pressure in his throat, he lets out a slight cough before the next itch takes its turn to pile on.

“hieHh- nXGtCHhh! Pardon me.”

“That can’t feel good,” Gojo offers with a wince, gesturing to Nanami’s throat. Admittedly, it does not. Still, not ready to admit defeat, Nanami tightens his mouth into a grimace. One Gojo seems to pull out of him often.

“I’m not unwell, it is simply an… hiH’gehDNTchh!” Hands fly up to catch this one, Nanami leaving one hovering just under his chin as he finishes. “-immune system overreaction. Pardon.”

“You can’t just say it like a normal person?”

“It’s an allergic reaction.”

“S-ee? Was that so hard?” Comes the teasing reply, Gojo managing to wink with his voice alone. Letting his fingers brush against his nose, Nanami disguises the action by sliding his glasses up it.

“I’m fully capable of so called ‘normal’ conversations. I just prefer to choose a more sophisticated approach. Something you’d- eh’deNGTchh! Pardon. Something you’d know nothing about.”

Gojo’s reply sounds muffled, something about ‘words hurting’ starting to fade away as Nanami gasps.

Fingers pinch his nose, giving the freedom to release an itchy hiss from his teeth. Feeling the flare of his own nostrils under his grip, another gasp gets caught in his throat. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was an allergy. This cold’s damn expressive.

“Nanami?”

Even if he wanted to reply, the option was entirely off the table. His entire face seems to buzz, nose practically quivering. Still, wishing to maintain decorum, or at least pride, Nanami takes another measured inhale.

“hHIuh-!”

This can be held back.

“hhieh… hih-!”

At least long enough for Gojo to lose interest and leave him alo-

“eHNgdtch– hiHh’eyIESHHh-iuh!”

The first gets squished against his fingers, but the second breaks his hold, barely managing to be caught against his sleeve. The violent nature leaves his throat raw, sinuses starting to ache as a light drip threatens to bring forth another burst.

“See,” Gojo interrupts, seemingly oblivious to the struggles as Nanami tries to clear his throat. “-that didn’t sound like an allergy sneeze.”

There’s a silence as Nanami pinches his nose, feigning an all too real headache. Even a single word is out of the question, there’s no way his voice won’t hold the congestion. Silence for this long though… Gojo will piece together that there’s more than one kind of irritation working its way through Nanami.

“Whad’s thad subosed… hehh–” Nanami replies at last, deciding to take the lack of consonants over the lack of words entirely. The intensity of the tickle as each word buzzes through his throat, however, was not accounted for.

“Jeez!” Gojo laughs, chair nearly tipping over. “I can barely understand you!”

“hIH’ESHHH-iuh!” Nanami answers with a groan, attempting to tack on some words at the end. “Pardod be. Thad’s dot by probleb.”

“Better blow your dose, Dadabi.” Comes the retort, Gojo pinching his nose with a dramatic flair, once more seeming to wink without the use of his eyes.

Nanami scoffs, the action triggering a heavy cough. His arm raises on instinct, chair squeaking as he manages to aim away from the blindfolded annoyance to his right. Face still buried in the warm fabric, his hand reaching blindly for the handkerchief. It’s seen its fair share of use this week.

Alright, so maybe it’s not exactly allergies, but the overreaction part wasn’t inaccurate. And should Gojo catch on that this is a cold, overreaction will be exactly what follows. He’ll be impossible to get rid of, and the word will spread like wildfire.

Nanami grimaces against his arm, fingers finally reaching their target as his thoughts continue to wander. He has things to do, none of which include people fussing over him and interrupting his work.

Not bothering to open his eyes, Nanami brings the cloth to his face and lets out a long blow, feeling the congestion shift enough to allow air through his sinuses once more. Once he’s satisfied with the action, he lets the handkerchief fall back to the desk.

Gojo’s remained uncharacteristically quiet through the whole ordeal, and stays that way as Nanami attempts a light sniffle to test the waters. He quickly realizes his mistake, breath wavering as he pulls the tissues to his nose.

“hHEDtieZSHhh! eH’GhZshhoo! hh’eDGSHh’iuh-!”

The sounds are heavy, congestion lining each breath as he attempts to stall the onslaught at three– “hH’EMPFFfshh-!” a light moan escaping as he’s unsuccessful. The tissues manage to catch most of the attack, only the last breaking its way into his arm.

A heat suddenly floods his mind, all symptoms forgotten as Nanami feels a light panic enter his chest. The tissues… that he didn’t grab…? Is he feverish after all- the only fabric he’d acquired was the handkerchief, yet glancing down, what remains of tissues are clearly in his hands.

Laughter brings him back to the room. He looks up to find Gojo laughing, nearly hysterically, as he gestures to the box on the desk next to him. A coworker had brought them in last week. Along with something else Nanami is not as grateful to have obtained.

“You- you should have- seen your face!” Gojo manages through the near mocking levels of gasping, blindfold starting to darken in colour around his eyes.

Nanami can’t help the humour that coats his annoyance. Crying from laughter…? A bit over the top, even for Gojo.

With a final chuckle, Gojo settles back down, lowering his voice back to its average pitch. “You looked like you needed them.”

“Ah. It seems I did. Pardon me again.”

It’s all the admission Nanami’s willing to allow, but it seems more than enough for Gojo to run with. He pauses, lifting the corner of his blindfold to meet Nanami’s gaze directly. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m certain. One of my coworkers simply got a new scent that… didn’t agree with me...” It’s a lie, something Nanami is none too fond of, especially at such detail. However… it’s not entirely untrue. There was such an incident– it just happened weeks ago.

Gojo tilts his head, gesturing to continue.

“A gift from her American boyfriend. Seems they use much stronger scents across the sea.”

This elicits a solemn nod, Gojo pursing his lips. “I’ve experienced a few of those. Powerful stuff.”

“Indeed.”

“Interesting that I’m not getting set off though–” Gojo adds, taking a deep sniff. The crisp sound seems almost like a taunt, Nanami feeling his own sinuses protest the action. He curses himself, then Gojo’s overly-sensitive nose, before settling on a light shrug.

“Probably got cleared out of the air by now. We do have a filtration system in the office– heh’dEHTChh-ue! Pardon me.” Gojo passes another tissue as Nanami attempts to finish the thought. “Though it seems it’s still lingering in my sinuses.”

Pausing for another blow and letting a few coughs escape under the guise of allergic irritation, Nanami sighs. “Now, if there’s nothing else?”

Standing from the chair, Gojo sighs performatively, letting out a vague chuckle. “You’re so boring, Nanami.”

“And yet you wasted nearly twenty minutes of your precious time with me.”

“Megumi’s off on a mission with Okkotsu,” Gojo laments, before pausing. A hint of sincerity leaks into his tone as the next words come out barely audible above the hum of the office. “Was feelin’ kinda quiet at school.”

Nanami sighs again, certain he’s gained more oxygen in the last twenty minutes than he’s gotten in weeks from sheer amount of sighs. Gesturing towards the chair, he feels his headache protesting the action. He’s gonna regret this.

Dropping back into it with a grin, Gojo gives a light and airy “th-ank you!” which Nanami pointedly ignores.

“Stay quiet, I have to finish these forms.”

“You’re the best Nanami!”

“eH’TSSCHh– ESSChh’iuh! And not a word about that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Comes the airy reply, Gojo sliding the box of tissues closer. Fighting the urge to sigh again, a little overdone at this point, Nanami grabs a handful.

It’s gonna be a long afternoon.

~Come Back To Bite Us.

“nGxt– eNKxt! ah’kNXt! Oh, pardon me.”

“Go home.”

“Megumi, that was rude!” Gojo chimes in, infinity still up as he angles his hips towards the source of his chastation, “We don’t speak like that to our elders,” before turning on his heel to face Nanami. “-but the kid’s right. Go home.”

Releasing his nose, Nanami doesn’t miss the glare Megumi casts at him. Regardless, the itch wins out, and he sniffles lightly, clearing his throat before speaking. “I just got here. And besides, it was Itadori that called me in, not you two.”

Nanami had been resting at home, mindlessly filling in some crosswords when he’d received what could only be described as a frantic text from Itadori. Something about ‘trouble, burning, and Nanamin’. Followed by, in all caps, ‘COME QUICK’, and a string of white boxes that Nanami elected to ignore.

“Whatever.” Megumi’s voice cuts through Nanami’s thoughts, eyes drifting up to meet the icy glare being shot in his direction. “But I’m going back to my room. I sure as hell don’t want whatever you got.”

Nanami blinks, pushing his glasses up with a sigh. “I’m not sick.”

The irritated glare is almost comical, Megumi’s mouth tightening as he gestures to Gojo. “Last time you ‘weren’t sick’, this idiot showed up with a cold that he proceeded to share with all of us.” A light heat appears on the accused’s cheeks as Megumi continues, “We were all sick within a matter of days. I’m not taking any chances.”

“Hey,” Gojo whines, crossing his arms with a huff. “That wasn’t my fault! I tried to call out, but someone had to keep an eye on you kids.”

“Not a kid.”

Gojo grins, dropping his infinity to poke at Megumi’s cheek as he sings, “Not a child, still a kid!” before retreating with a yelp as Megumi knocks his hand away.

“That’s no-”

“Look,” Nanami cuts in, rolling his eyes as Gojo pokes a not-so-subtle tongue in Megumi’s direction. “Just tell me where Itadori’s room is, and I’ll find him myself.”

“Not a chance. He’s almost as bad as Gojo when it comes to spreading illness.”

Pouting at the accusation, Gojo rolls his head back to confront Megumi, some complaint or denial sprouting on his tongue–

“hnNGxt! agHKnt! eNGkt!”

–until Nanami cuts their bickering off once more, a ‘pardon’ getting lost behind the fist pressed against his nose. The increasing congestion leaves Nanami’s hand against his face, a sniffle loosening it more audibly than he’d desire.

Standing from the couch, Gojo grabs a tissue with much too over-the-top of a flourish, yelping as Megumi slaps his hand again. Instead, Megumi places the box in Nanami’s reach, with another pointed glare and scoff.

Unwarranted, seeing as, “I’b do-” A pause, deep sniffle, grimace forming as it does nothing to alleviate the ever growing tickle. Still, it allows enough clarity to continue with, “I’m not sick.”

“Real convincing,” comes Megumi’s retort, Nanami ducking to the tissue box just in time to catch the next burst.

“hHENCH-shha!”

It escapes before he can suppress it, a heat starting to form at the tips of his ears. Normally stifling isn’t a problem, not unless he’s been at it for awhile, or it’s a particularly nasty itch. Neither of those should be the case in this situation. Much to Nanami’s chagrin, this was simply a failure on his part to contain it.

“You sound entirely healthy.”

“Megumi, what an attitude!” Gojo says, sarcastic displeasure dripping from each word as Megumi sucks in a breath. Turning on his heel, he spins around to face Gojo with a look that could kill. Guessing by who it’s aimed at, Megumi wishes it would.

“You clung to my side like a parasite for nearly two weeks.”

“I was dy-ing! You refused to comfort me in my time of need and suffering–”

Letting their argument fade into the background, Nanami pauses to take stock of the situation. Despite previous denials being entirely for show, this time he’s really not sick. Everything has felt fine all day, no symptoms to speak of. Even now, there’s still no rawness of the throat, or heaviness in the lungs, it’s only his nose having a reaction.

No– actually, the itch starts in his nose, but it’s spreading. Beginning to crawl up his throat, it’s burying itself in his ears, clinging to the backs of his eyes. This is most certainly an allergy, but to what..?

It first began when he entered Jujutsu High, so it has to be something here. It’s the middle of autumn, so unlikely there’d be any specific flowers floating around, not that those tend to set him off anyways. And if it was a heavy perfume, Gojo would certainly be reacting too.

Nanami gives the room a scan, eyes finally resting on a bottle of cleaning supplies sitting on the counter. The brand isn’t familiar, it’s not the one they use at the office, or one he’s picked up himself before. It has some sort of apple design on the label, though it doesn’t appear to be scented. Judging by the level of liquid, and the dampness of the cloth to its left, it’s been recently used.

“--and then you made Okkotsu miss his assignment, which meant me and Toge had to take it, despite him still being unwell.”

Tuning back in to catch Megumi’s closing argument, Nanami interjects before Gojo has a chance to form his defense. “Not sick, just an immune system overreaction. Likely to that cleaning spray. N-now… eh’kNCHhaa! Pardon me. Now, Itadori’s room? He claimed it was urgent.”

Gojo crinkles his nose, glancing from Nanami to the spray and back, before chuckling. “What, is that American made too?”

Judging by the strangled noise from Megumi, he understood the reference and found it unfortunately amusing. Apparently not many details of their encounters are kept private. Though, seeing as it’s Gojo Satoru in question, that was to be expected.

Nanami sighs, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth as the itch spreads deeper. Exchanging it for a pinch at the bridge of his nose so he can speak, he turns to face the most likely to allow him access.

“Gojo, I don’t have tihh… time for this. I need to find Itadori.”

“Not a chance,” Megumi calls again, arms still crossed over his chest.

“Staying in this room is j-just… just gonna… hHiuh-!” Nanami pauses, tongue pressed harder against his teeth as he fights back the overwhelming desire to give in to the tickle. Finally with a heavy sigh, he releases the pressure. “Just going to make the reaction worse.”

Rolling his eyes, Megumi places a hand on the doorframe, firmly blocking the entrance. “Sorry, not buying it.”

A sigh sounds from the couch where Gojo has found himself lounging again, eyes rolling as he makes a pointless gesture. “Just let the man through. He’s probably telling the truth anyways, what’s the point in keeping up the lie if we’re still denying him access?”

“hH’ENchHsha! Pardon.”

“Not planning on betting with three weeks of misery over probably telling the truth.”

Gojo leans his head back to meet Megumi’s icy gaze, beginning yet another argument as Nanami feels his head begin to pound. Megumi’s an alright kid on his own, but put him in a conversation with Gojo, and it’s nearly infuriating.

Exacerbated, Nanami lets a groan pass through his teeth, before walking over to the counter. Hearing footsteps, Megumi raises his head, ready to prevent an intrusion, before pausing. Quizzically, he casts a glance at Gojo, who merely shrugs.

“What are you-”

“You don’t believe me? Fair enough, I guess I’ve earned that,” Nanami begins, internally cursing himself for this half-assed plan. “Still, I intend to see Itadori before I’m off the clock, so here’s your proof.”

With that, he takes the bottle and sprays it against the cloth, before bringing it to his nose. The effect is immediate, Nanami feeling his hands grip the cloth tighter against his rapidly flaring nostrils on instinct. A rush of ticklish irritation spreads deep into his sinuses, his eyes watering as his skin takes on a rosy flush.

“hH’ENCHha– YEASHH’ahh! hH’NkGt-sha! aH’GngKThah! hH’DESHHh’ue!”

Megumi and Gojo seem frozen, eyes glued to the scene playing out in front of them. Shock’s written plainly across their faces as Nanami ducks closer to the ground with each body-wrenching sneeze. All three of them locked in place.

Gojo’s the first to break the spell, rising from the couch as Nanami– “hH’eNChsha!” continues to sneeze against the cloth. Each desperate inhale bringing another round of heavy, chemically tainted, scent.

“enCHshHAa-! egZSHHshaa-! P-pardon– ek’eNCHSh-uew!”

“Jeez Nanami,” Gojo offers, a wince scraping from his throat. Reaching over, he pulls the cloth away from Nanami’s twitching nose. “You’re gonna smother yourself.”

“eHNChshah!”

“Point proven, now try taking a clean breath instead, yeah?”

The near whine Nanami releases as the rush of fresh air invades his sinuses is almost pitiful, eyes overflowing with allergic misery. Megumi finally takes this moment to react, grabbing the tissue box and bringing it over.

Still barely able to pry his eyes open, Nanami only catches a second of the offering, but he’d wager the look Megumi’s wearing is a sheepish one. More than likely laced with some feigned annoyance to cover genuine concern. That kid was always a little too good at feeling sympathy for those around him. Seems Gojo managed to instill a few good traits along with all the bad.

“Here,” Megumi huffs, actions confirming the suspicions as he presses a handful of tissues into Nanami’s frantically waving hands.

“eh’mFFSSCHhh! ah’enCSHMFff! hiEHh– mMFFSHHhh!”

There’s a vague murmur of concern from Gojo, his infinity breaking as his skin touches Nanami’s back, hand gently running across the violently shaking shoulders. “You gonna live?”

“I- hHEZDCSHah! Pardon me. I told you I wasn’t… w-wasn’t… hH’ENCZSHhaa! Wasn’t sick. Now can- ah’yeISSHHh-uew! Pardod be-”

“Breathe Kento,” Gojo mutters, casting Megumi a calculated look as he shifts awkwardly, offering another round of tissues.

Accepting them with a heady sniffle, Nanami attempts to finish his sentence, “Dow cad I see Idadori?” grimacing at how heavy the words fall out. Pausing to blow, he accepts another round of tissues as the sensation prompts another round of heady sneezes, followed by a second blow.

The congestion lining his sinuses seems to be more swelling than anything else, but the blows at least clears his voice enough to regain some consonants. “There’s still an hour left in the work day, and I’d like to see him before it ends.”

Megumi winces, attempting to cover it with a shrug as he gestures towards the door he’d been previously blocking. “Last room on the left, end of the hall. He’d be there if he’s waiting for you. Otherwise you could check the kitchen, I think he was in there earlier.”

Before Nanami can take a step, Gojo lets an arm rest on his shoulder, leaning over with a smug grin. “The kitchen was just cleaned-”

“eH’NCZSHha! Excuse me.”

“-How about you go get Itadori, and I’ll bring Nanami outside for some fresh air.”

Megumi nods, walking off at a pace that, to anyone else, could almost be construed as hurried. Once he’s out of range, Gojo turns back to Nanami, concern etched across his sharp features.

“You know, you could have just pushed past him,” he muses, grabbing another handful of tissues as Nanami’s nose twitches needily, his eyes fluttering shut. “Megumi’s all talk, he wouldn’t have actually stopped you.”

“eNCHHff! ah’mMFFShhh-uew! Pardon me.”

With another harsh blow, and a sigh, Nanami accepts Gojo’s waiting shoulder, beginning the nearly six feet journey to outside. With his eyes still watering and swollen, he’s relying almost solely on Gojo to get them safely to the door.

“I know,” he begins, taking advantage of the illusion of privacy that the darkness brings. “But I couldn’t exactly blame him. I did lie before.”

Gojo laughs, joyous and full-bodied, the action shaking them both as Nanami wrenches to the side with another– “hHENCHHshha!” that nearly topples them.

When he can finally get a breath in, Gojo places his hand against the wall, studying the duo. Turning to Nanami, he offers a “Was it worth it?”

“Provigg by poidt?”

“I meant lying. Before.”

Nanami takes a sharp breath. Once, twice, eyes blearily staring up at the sky, before a deep exhale trips out, a groan on it’s heels.

“Lost it?”

“Mm. I didn’t mean to, you know.”

“To lose the sneeze?” Gojo chuckles, helping Nanami down the steps. “I didn’t figure you did-”

Nanami cuts him off, tone softer than he’d ever admit to as he begins again. “To get you guys sick. I wasn’t planning on having you stick around, I just…”

There’s a pause, the silence seeming to linger heavily in the air. It’s not cold enough to see your breath, but the chill still leaves Nanami rubbing his arms. No comment is spoken when Gojo leans in closer, nor when Nanami lets his head rest on his shoulder.

Finally a sheepish laugh cuts through the atmosphere, Nanami glancing up to meet Gojo’s genuine smile. “Can’t turn away a person in need? Guess that one’s on me as much as it is you.”

With a light cough, Nanami spins away from his position against Gojo’s shoulder, ducking towards the ground for another, “hh’RRSHHhaa! hk’EYIESHhhaa! Pardod be, agaid."

“See! Those sound like allergies.”

Nanami turns back to Gojo, raising an eyebrow incredulously. “You’re sayigg by sdeezes soud differedt whed I’b sick?”

A smirk meets the question, Gojo’s eyes glistening with mischief. “I’ll record them sometime. Show you what I mean.”

“If you ever-”

He’s interrupted by Itadori calling out, the words lost in the distance. Glancing up from behind his tissue barrier, Nanami catches sight of the frantic waving. Megumi’s leaning against the doorframe behind him, attempting to feign indifference. As their eyes catch, Nanami offers a slight nod, Megumi’s posture notably relaxing.

“Nanamin!” Itadori calls, rushing over to them with a giant smile. One that feels deeply inappropriate for this level of exhaustion.

Still, Nanami attempts to react with one of his own as Itadori continues rambling on. “Oh wow, you look rough! I mean, Megumi warned me, but I didn’t know it would be this bad.”

As the words continue flowing out in an almost endless stream, Gojo leans over, voice at a volume only they can hear. “Payback time.”

He then leans back, calling out to Itadori, “Yeah, he’s real banged up, right? Oh, hey Itadori! You remember that thing Okkotsu taught you?”

Nanami raises an eyebrow, sending Gojo a suspicious glance before a deep sigh breaks forth at Itadori’s enthusiastic response.

“Oh right! Bless you! It’s an English custom for when someone sneezes, right Sensei?”

“hhENCHH’shaa-!”

“Bless you, Nanamin!”

It’s gonna be a long hour.

#waterfallwrites #happy birthday ez!! im sorry this took so loonnnngggg!~#hopefully you enjoy it thoughhh!! i wanted to give both allergies AND a cold #but with a lil spinnn~ to connect the two #n/anami k/ento #g/ojo s/atoru #j/jk

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bogmonstergeneral · 8 months

Text

One of my favorite things in the whole wide world is an ultra-accurate cosplay. I’m talking exact name brands. Obviously, this can be tough, because media in question will very rarely go out of their way to tell you what the character is wearing. Shoes, in particular, are very difficult.

I really like shoes. More so, I really like good leather shoes. The kind that last you your whole life. Currently, I’ve been hyperfixated on Metalocalypse, and today, we’re talkin boots.

Welcome to:

Bog’s Boot Basics: Metalocalypse Edition

I think people are scared of leather. I’m here to tell you that leather will not hurt you. You will not save the planet by buying a pleather boot. Actually, not only is pleather horrible for the planet, it’s also gonna cost you more in the long run because pleather isn’t built to last.

Say it with me: Leather is more sustainable than pleather.

I’m serious. Stop buying pleather boots off amazon for your cosplays. Stop buying pleather, period.

Most of the boots (and sneakers) I’m showing you today will not only elevate your cosplay, but also last you for the rest of your natural days. If you buy them secondhand, they have probably lived longer lives than you. Leather fucking rocks if you take care of it.

This all being said: These are not super budget-friendly options. Good new boots are an investment, and sometimes you have to pay a little more. If you’re not able to do that, these can often be found on ebay at lower prices, and very often at second-hand stores.

Ok, that aside, we can jump in.

I’m stealing a pic from the comic because it shows all their shoes. Although Skwis and Toki’s boot colors are actually reversed here - Skwis wears black boots, Toki wears brown in the show. Blah blah, anyway.

Nathan Explosion

Nathan wears some sort of single buckle, black tall boot. For our sake, we’re calling them biker boots.

Single buckle, slightly slouchy at the ankle, low heel. No laces or visible zippers.

Nathan does, in fact, ride motorcycles. Because of this, I’m going on a limb and saying these are actual biker boots. Nathan also, in fact, has money, and Harley Davidson boots are a fantastic choice for this.

Here’s a pair of Harley Chalmers with an extra buckle - no foul there, these are cunty as hell and I’d totally wear them anyway.

Pro: Fucking brutal

Con: Brutal fucking price tag at $200 new.

Honestly, if you’ve got the money and you want a sick pair of boots… buy em. Harley’s last forever.

The Harley double-zip riding boot is a slightly cheaper option, sitting around $100-$120.

Honestly, these are gonna be easy to find. Your keywords here are “Tall biker boot with buckle” or something along those lines. That’s doable. I also see a lot of secondhand Harley’s going for really reasonable asking prices, so always check all your thrift stores and ebay (depop and mercari are kinda a crapshoot, but always worth looking.)

Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Toki Wartooth

These are the boots that made me make this post, because I saw them and immediately thought “there’s no fucking way they’re walking around in those 24/7,” because those are old school field boots.

Ask any person who’s ever ridden a horse over the age of 30 if they can take a look in the backs of their closets, because they most definitely still have a pair of these boots. Every equestrian had at least one pair of these torture devices, and they will outlive you.

Here’s an example of a black pair and a brown pair:

Pros: You can get these on ebay for anywhere between $20-$100. Facebook market place is full of them too.

Cons: These were made for you to wear while sitting on a horse all day, heels down. When you walk in them, they will pinch the everloving fuck out of your heels, and this leather is too thick and stiff to soften. If you’re gonna walk around in these on a convention floor, please bring a change of shoes because you will fucking need them.

But these are so easy to find and they usually shine up really well. If you don’t have leather conditioner (which you should if you own leather shoes) olive oil works in a pinch.

You also usually have a couple different calf options here, so you can tack on “wide calf” or “tall calf” or “slim calf” etc etc depending on your needs.

Your keywords here are “Old school equestrian riding/field/hunt boots.” So fuckin easy.

William Murderface

It pains me to say this. But that dildo fuckhead is wearing Demonias.

Look at him. He knows what he’s doing. I use the term Dildo Fuckhead affectionately btw, please don’t mistake me for a Murderface hater. I love him.

Honestly, I think you could get away with calling these mid-calf’s, but they’re probably technically tall boots.

Obviously I hate Demonias. These plastic fucking emo Barbie boots are worth approximately $8 and a cup of Kraft mac n cheese. They will cost you well over $100. Fuck that.

I’ve heard that older New Rocks are good alternatives? I have a friend that backs that claim up, but I don’t have a pair to confirm that. I’m sure there’s some Doc Martens you could sub in but I couldn’t find any matches under $400.

These are a pair of New Rocks. They’re… that I guess. Kinda cool. He’s probably not even really wearing Demonias but like, that’s what they are. To me. In my heart.

Here’s a pair of Demonia Riot-18BK. I guess. They’re about $133.

Murderface somehow has the most difficult boots for me to find. Plenty of cheapo Temu options, but I’m not here to show you those. Please let me know if you buy a pair of Temu boots so I can come to your house and break every fucking lamp you own.

Your keywords are “Tall boot with buckles” or “tall biker boots with buckles” or anything along those lines.

I feel like you’ve got a little more room for interpretation on Murderface’s boots, so long as their tall boots and they’ve got the buckles, you’re golden.

Wild Card Round: Pickles the Drummer

Man is wearing adidas!!! Pickles cosplayers are the comfiest motherfuckers in the convention hall.

Campus 00s, Samba OGs, Handball Spezial, Superstars, and Racer V 2.0 are all going to get you extremely close renditions of his shoes. The racer’s are my everyday shoe when I don’t wanna wear boots and those fuckers are. So comfy. Wear em without socks, who fuckin cares. I bet Pickles doesn’t even own socks.

If you’re going for Snakes N Barrels Pickles, try looking up “red Justin cowboy boots.” Justin’s are my go to brand because they last forever (I have a pair from the 70s) and they’re pretty comfy. They’re work boots, so they’re made to be worn/worked in all day.

If you’re made of money, buy yourself a pair of Tecovas. Those are the nicest cowboy boot you’ll ever own.

Blam! Bootboard moodboard! I probably should have done this with all of them.

Anyway. Have fun, remember that inaccurate pieces don’t make or break a cosplay, this is just for fun and to elevate whatever you’ve got going on. Wear your shoes until they fall apart (that’s what i do. get your moneys worth), be kind to your feet, be kind to your shoes (actually you can be pretty harsh to leather so long as you do a little aftercare. this is an innuendo, but also please clean and condition your leather pieces.) and be kind to the planet. Leather is better than pleather. You are paying a premium for plastic. Don’t do that.

(Lemme know if this is cool/useful btw. I would be so happy to find boots/brands of clothing for your cosplays. I think my inbox is open.)

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse cosplay #cosplay tutorial #cosplay help #bog blab #nathan explosion #william murderface #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #pickles the drummer #dethklok #dethklok cosplay

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rgr-pop · 24 days

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TIME SENSITIVE ACTION REQUEST!!: can you my beautiful artists/clever people on tumblr make us some abortion button designs this weekend? To sell to raise money for Mountain Access Brigade, a collective of abortion doulas funding access to abortion in east tennessee?

I’m tabling a week from today at Stoopfest in Lansing, which will be headlined this year by Jhariah, R.A.P Ferreira, Weakened Friends, and Direct Hit!. I’m tabling with the Lansing DSA Women’s Section (working title) as well as a coalition of other women organizing with leftist orgs in Lansing (we don’t have a name yet but we call them “the girlies”). We’re looking to hit $5k on our fundraiser by the end of the month, but equally importantly, I’m tabling to meet people who want to plug into projects we’re getting off the ground to organize to defeat transphobic homophobic and anti-abortion power in Lansing, especially (my baby pet project if you know me irl!) launching our campaign to chase out and shut down the anti-abortion fake clinics in the city.

Here’s our fundraising page, you can donate and share (please!) but you should also read it to get a sense of how we talk about our vision:

https://fund.nnaf.org/team/565397

So I need YOU to design abortion loving buttons for me to make to sell for the fundraiser and start conversations that connect people :). Please help lol. The vibe is queer, mutual aidy, creative! Many of the girls I’m going with are harm reduction activists and passionate about self management and self controlled healthcare.

We have a lot of fun/funny ones made already but we need more sweet/straightforward ones that inspire people and ground the sloganing in our principles. Some wording you can use in your designs (but please feel free to think of others)/some jumping off points/guidance:

- abortion is magic

- abortion access (or just access) saves lives

- we use the term “reproductive freedom” as a matter of practice (pro-choice and reproductive justice are okay, but we love this one)

- “bodily autonomy” is another one we orient around

- pro “repro worker” slogans (“i <3 repro workers” always good)

- “i fund abortion”

- tying in safer sex slogans (would love something like this in an 80s/90s safe sex campaign style)

- harm reduction/mutual aid framing (would looove some good ideas here)

- i REALLY want to come with something about bisexual women being statistically most likely to have an abortion (one of my favorite communist conversation starters irl) - in general messages about queer people getting abortions is a vibe!

- we don’t use “women” when referring to who gets abortions but feminist messaging is great. I’d stay away from body parts as imagery

- the classic, “i love abortion”

- slogan-free imagery that supports the vibe

- Y’allidarity :):):)

- This line from a lead organizer with DSA’s Trans Rights and Bodily Autonomy Campaign has stuck with me as a guide, it really gets at the core of this work for me: “In a political climate characterized by fear and isolation, our voice is steady, loving, direct, and shows courage in our democratic socialist convictions.”

HOW CAN YOU HELP?

- Make me some designs on a 2.25 inch circle button template (im a design idiot and need help) in whatever file format and give me permission to print them and turn them into buttons to sell for the fundraiser. THEY DONT HAVE TO BE AMAZING LOOOKING! email me at [email protected]

- reply to this post with specific wording ideas if the above inspires you!

- share this post :) and hit up your designer friends who have time this weekend! abortion fund-a-thon is about making hard asks of your friends who can help, and you’ll be glad you did.

- if you want to help promote this fundraiser on your own socials or somewhere else, feel free but you can also dm me for ideas!

Sorry for the last minute (this is why I’m really calling on tumblr GOATs), but I would loooooove to make buttons next MONDAY or possibly as late as Wednesday— I’ll edit this post when I know for sure. It’s an emergency! But you’ll be saving lives!

What can I do for you?

If you ask, I can post pictures on twitter and tag you if you want some traffic (some of our posts get a little traffic). I can PROBABLY also send you a finished button of your design after fund a thon season (May) is over but I don’t want to make that promise for certain yet.

ty!!!

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lonelycowgirls · 10 months

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Scared

Hey guys! Here we are again ✨

So, this is a long, angsty piece of work that I've been drafting for quite a while. I'm not sure where my inspiration came from, but I do like to write and explore deeper aspects of relationships and life. I really hope this doesn't rub anyone up the wrong way. These things happen every day and I for one feel very lucky to live in a country that operates on a pro-choice basis, for the most part. Whatever keeps a person alive and healthy is what I think is the priority. I won't get into the politics of it all, I'm purely reflecting life and its complex feelings and emotions through art.

Nevertheless, this is a part of Stella and Harry's story - it's entirely fictional and has nothing to do with the real people. I hope you all take it that way.

I also hope you enjoy reading it.

Nel x

WARNINGS | Unwanted Pregnancy | Adult Language | Minors DNI | Lots of Angst

Word count: 6.6k

2014

“Ah sweet, Emma put out the chocolate-covered raisins I asked her for,” Harry waltzed in from his rehearsal into the canteen area set up for the band and crew. He was beaming at the buffet table spread out before them, a child-like energy still so prevalent even at the age of 20. Stella had been staring into the bowl of potato salad for God knows how long by that point. “Y’alright, babe?” He nudged her side while popping a handful of the dried fruit sweets into his mouth.

“Yeah…” Stella glanced up at him before turning away and walking over to grab a banana from the fruit bowl. She tugged at the tip of the banana, but it wouldn’t budge. Tugging harder and scoffing with frustration before slamming the banana back onto the buffet table.

She screwed her eyes shut and ran a hand over her forehead, sighing heavily. When she opened them again she saw a peeled yellow fruit under her nose. She looked up at Harry and took the banana, she swallowed through her dry throat over the nausea crawling up from her nervy tummy. He winked and popped another raisin in his mouth over a smirk.

“I’m pregnant, Harry.”

He was almost sure his heart stopped for a few moments. The smirk fell the quickest it had ever fallen - she’d likely remember his facial response forever.

“What?” He whispered. His eyes were wide in shock, his blood ran cold with a shiver up his spine. She nodded, the tears welling in her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time since she’d found out. She couldn’t believe she’d become that girl. That girl in his life. The girl to ruin his life. “You,” He shakily attempted to draw in breaths to steady his racing heart. “No, no, y-you can’t be pregnant, you’re-”

“I’m on the pill.” She spoke over him, stepping back and running a sweaty palm through her hair. “I know, trust me I know, I’ve been questioning everything for days. Apparently it’s not 100 per cent effective.”

“We- you can’t be pregnant… I’m about to go on the biggest tour of my life.” He stepped back, stumbling on his feet slightly. He brought a hand up to his forehead and she watched his fingers shake.

“I know that-” she murmured quietly, but he cut her off again. He was panicking, now.

“We can’t have a baby- fuck.” He cursed, running both hands through his fast-growing curls and tugging at the back of his head. “We’re always so careful, right?” His voice was muffled through the sleeves of his top as his face was buried in his arms.

“I mean, yeah… I guess we needed to be more careful.” She sniffled, still not looking at him. She’d expected him to feel and react this way, but it still made the whole situation that much more emotional and scary. He snapped to look at her when he heard her small sob of sorrow.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Stell. You should’ve told me as soon as you found out.” He leaned back against the buffet table, reeving up the cream tablecloth. Emma always complained about the stains that the boys would leave on it but still refused to get any other colour.

“I knew you’d react like this, H… I was scared.” She was folded in on herself now, protecting herself from the rejection she swore was coming.

“I know… I’m sorry, I’m just shocked. I never wanted to do this to you.” Stella looked at him with that. Their eyes locked, his shiny green with her deep brown.

“You haven’t done anything bad, Harry. In theory. There are things we can do… things we have to do.” They stayed silent for a moment as Harry racked his brain through the options he knew about from sex education lessons at school.

“Won’t that hurt though?” His eyebrows were tied in the middle, concern flooding his pale face. His shoulders were sunk, he looked like a helpless little boy. Nowhere near ready to be a father. She took a careful step towards him, unable to stop herself - he needed comforting.

“I’m sure it won’t hurt nearly as much as giving birth, H.” She laughed slightly, pushing a curl over his ear.

“I’m so sorry, Stell.” A large hand came to rest on her hip, a thumb stroking back and forth.

“You don’t have to be sorry. It takes two to tango… and I was a very willing dance partner.” She winked, trying to lighten the mood. She brought her fingers to his chest, two of them tracing the cross that rested on it.

“Are you sure you’re okay with… with what you have to go through.” He spoke barely above a whisper, looking down to try and find the appropriate words but coming up empty.

“I’m a big girl, Harry.” She was telling herself as much as him.

“Yeah, I know…” He smiled slightly, somewhat proud of how mature she was and just as thankful for it, too. “Just know, one day… the time will be right. We’ll have beautiful babies, as many as you wanna push out.”

“Yeah?” She cocked her head as he smirked and another hand moved to curve around her hip. “We’ll see about that, Mr Cheaper by the Dozen.” She chuckled as he finally scooped her up into his arms, the feeling giving her an immense amount of comfort. He breathed her in, his face nuzzled in her neck as she ran her hands up and down his back. “I love you so much, I think we’re gonna be okay.” She whispered into his shoulder. Pulling away slightly to look down in her eyes, Harry kept his arms around her and smiled softly.

“I can’t believe there’s a baby in there…” He smirked, eyes getting a bit glossy. Goosebumps instantly sparked all over her body, she flinched in his arms almost as if his words had physically struck her. Regardless of how softly and sincerely he’d said them. She moved to gently push him off but he held tighter.

“No, H… it’s not a baby. Not yet.” She shook her head, blinking the tears away. She was exhausted, having been up for nearly 24 hours by that point, worrying about this exact situation. She pushed harder and stepped out of his arms, but he let his palm graze her belly as she moved away. She began slowly pacing, hands raising to rub at her eyes.

“What do you mean?” He asked, confused by her sudden return to her stressful demeanour. He frowned, still leaning back against the buffet table.

“You can’t make this what it isn’t. You’ll… you’re making it harder.” Her breath was speeding up, a shaking hand being brought up to her chest as she fought the panic and nausea. He kept his hands by his sides now, fidgeting and anxiously picking at the skin around his thumbs with his forefingers.

“I don’t understand, babe.” He stated firmly, not knowing whether she needed his comfort or her space, but desperate to figure it out. Her pacing stalled in the middle of the room. A clear divide was now put between them.

“Harry, I have to go to the doctor’s and take a pill to get rid of this… whatever you can call this thing inside me. I can’t do that with the thought that it’s anything more than a speck in my womb. Alright? So, just don’t make this what it isn’t because I… I can’t.” She brought her hands to her face again, her breath catching in her throat as the anxiety continued to heighten and spill over. Harry stayed frozen, not knowing what to do, or how to help her. This was something he’d never been prepared for, he’d never learned about abortions in school or even discussed them with his mum or sister. His dad adopted the phrase, ‘Don’t be a fool, wrap your tool’ pretty much as soon as Harry turned 16. As far as he was concerned, Stella was still carrying his baby, no matter at what stage, which was making him feel unexpected things. He knew that right now wasn’t the time and it would be irresponsible of them, but he thought that if he romanticised it a little bit, she’d still feel loved and accepted by him. Boy, was he wrong.

“We need to tell someone-” Harry offered, his eyes following her pacing feet. She came to a halt again at his words.

“No. No, we can’t tell anyone.” She motioned with her hands, emphasising how serious she was.

“Have you even told your mum?” Harry reasoned, brow furrowed. Stella told her mum everything. He was sure her mother knew more about their relationship than he probably did.

“No, she’d kill me if she found out.”

“Well, maybe you can tell Dolly?” Harry grasped at straws, he thought she might need another woman’s opinion. He’d definitely be telling Gemma at some point, he knew she’d have comforting words. Most probably after thumping him on the back of the head for being so stupid as to get his 19-year-old girlfriend up the duff in the first place.

“I don’t know, Harry. I think it’s best nobody knows, I don’t want this following me.” The pacing returned.

“Well, I’ve gotta tell my mum,” Harry said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?!” The pacing stopped again, she looked at him like he’d suddenly grown a second head on his shoulder.

“Because she’s my mum, Stell. She knows more than me about this stuff. She’ll know what to say.” Stella didn’t doubt that, but she couldn’t bare Anne knowing that they’d been irresponsible enough to have to get an abortion. If she was scared of what her mum would think, she couldn’t summon the thought of Anne knowing.

“And you don’t think she’s gonna be disappointed?” Harry was quiet at that, folding his arms and dropping his gaze to the floor again. “You don’t think she’ll judge us? Judge me?” Stella stepped forward on each question, a fire behind her eyes now. She almost looked wild, her eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep and her body almost vibrating with emotion.

“You know she’s not like that. She’ll understand. Yeah, she might be a bit shocked and sad that you’re getting rid of it but-”

“Oh, I’m getting rid of it? It’s just me, yeah? It’s all me, I’m dealing with your baby but it’s none of your business.” Stella was beyond help now, spitting venom in the quiet room. He’d not seen her act this way before.

“No… no, you know that’s not what I mean,” Harry said quietly, sounding fed up now as he dragged a hand across his face in exasperation. She stared at him with wide eyes, daring him to look at her. “I don’t know how to talk to you right now.” He grumbled, holding his hands up in surrender, before swiftly moving towards the door.

“Oh, fuckin’ hell, fine, do that! Lucky you can just walk away from this while I’m left to sort it out!” Her screeching words were punctuated by him slamming the door. “Prick.”

“Hiya, baby girl! How are you guys? How’s the tour rehearsals? Tell me everything!” Dolly’s beaming face on the other end of the FaceTime was almost making Stella feel better. Almost.

“It’s… it’s good, yeah. Can get a bit boring sometimes, but it’s nice to be able to go to bed with Harry every night.” She tried to sound happy and upbeat, hoping that her big sister wouldn’t see through her.

“Oh, girl I bet it is.” Dolly’s perfectly plucked eyebrows danced with a suggestive smirk, making Stella scoff.

“Not just for that reason, Doll. We go to the hotel pools or gyms together, then we go to dinner or we get a takeaway, the takeaways are a bit shit here though, I said to H I’d kill for a-”

“Okay, what’s going on, Stell?” Dolly asked suddenly. “You’re all flappy and flustered. Your eyes are bloodshot to fuck. Tell me what’s going on.” Stella sighed, dropping her head down onto her arm, willing the tears to stay in her damn eyeballs. She was sick of crying at that point. Deep down she knew that her sister would pick up on the signs straight away, she’d subconsciously called her for this exact reason. She just thought she’d have a little more time to get her courage up.

“You’re gonna be so upset with me.” Stella sobbed, fully crying now that she actually had to say the words. Dolly’s face was full of worry, whatever this news was, she was scared to know now.

“I won’t be upset, Stell. We can get through anything, but you’ve got to tell me.” Stella tried to take deep breaths, just so she could allow the words to leave her lips. “Stella, please, just tell me.”

“I’m… fucking pregnant, Dolly.” Dolly’s face fell into shock, her hand flying up to her mouth.

“Oh my God,” her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Stell…” She awkwardly laughed in disbelief, unexpected emotions bubbling up.

“I know.” Stella shook her head, eyes shut, tears still flowing.

“Fuck, okay. It’s fine. It’s gonna be fine.” Dolly dabbed her eyes with her fingers, trying not to smudge her winged eyeliner. “You obviously can’t tell Mum.”

“This is what I said to Harry! It would go down like a fart in a lift.” Dolly laughed and Stella joined in, it felt like the first time she’d laughed for a week straight. It felt good to make light, somewhat, of a very stressful situation. “I’ve got an appointment to get an abortion on Friday morning.”

“Ah Stell, you’re gonna… deal with it?” It was telling how nobody seemed to be able to say the actual word - it was one of the reasons Stella knew she’d be judged.

“I can’t have a baby right now, Dolly. Harry’s 20 years old. He’s having the time of his bloody life.” Stella blew out a soggy breath through her pouting lips, sniffing over the tail end of her tears.

“What about you?” Dolly asked, the conversation pausing for a moment. “I’m hearing a lot about Harry and not a lot about Stella.” Dolly rest her head on a fist as she looked in the camera lens.

“I… I can’t have a baby.” Stella’s hand absentmindedly landed on her lower belly, running her palm along the material of her t-shirt. “I’m not ready… there’re things I want to do. Things I want to accomplish. I especially can’t have Harry Styles’s baby. Can you imagine? I don’t want to be just his baby mama.” Stella anxiously cringed inwardly at the potential headlines. “The girl chasing for child support… the girl waiting at home looking after the kids while he’s off seeing the world… the girl left behind…” she whispered, trailing off with her eyes focused on the lamp on the bedside table.

“I get that. You’re gonna be more than that, of course, you are.” Dolly smiled over fresh tears welling up for her baby sister. When Harry first became famous, everyone was so excited, Dolly remembered it like it was yesterday. She’d watched Stella enjoy it, for a while. Recently she’d watched her struggle with it, watched her fade into the background. She’d never been truly accepted into his new lifestyle. By the people who were begging to be around him, or by his fans - everyone knew why, including Stella. But Dolly also knew she was in love with Harry, had been for years, and she wanted her sister to be happy. So she vowed she’d always be there to pick up the pieces when it all started to fall apart. “I wish I could come and be with you but I’m knee-deep at fashion week.”

“No, I know, of course, I understand. I’ll be fine.” Stella spoke sadly, as much as she secretly hoped someone in her family would be able to come and support her, she’d never want any of them to drop everything, for this of all things.

“Is Harry going with you?” Dolly questioned, casually.

“He can’t, he’s got rehearsals,” Stella mumbled, picking at a nail.

“Oh, for God’s sake, surely they’d understand-”

“Well no, because we can’t tell anyone.”

“Can’t you just say you’ve got an important doctor's appointment?”

“Isn’t it a bit obvious if we say we both need to go?”

“Well, maybe… but it’s not fair for you to have to deal with it all on your own. It’s scary.” Stella’s belly flipped again at the thought of the abortion, but she knew she could do it. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but she would be fine. She had to be.

“It is a little. But it’s supposed to be not too bad, I Googled it and apparently, the worst of the pain is over in a few hours, so I’ll be back at the hotel and in bed for the bad bits.”

“Okay,” Dolly didn’t sound as convinced. “What’s he thinking anyway, is he freaking out?”

“He’s… I haven’t seen him since he walked out on me yesterday.”

“What?!” Dolly sat up straight in her chair at this revelation. Her eyes bulged behind her glasses. “He walked out on you? Surely fucking not.”

“We had an argument and he walked out. Slammed the door and everything. I do kind of get it to be fair, I’ve basically given him the worst news imaginable.” Stella looked up at the lamp on the bedside table again. “I almost didn’t tell him because I thought he’d dump me.”

“Aw Stell, I don’t think he’s like that is he? He’d be an idiot to throw away three years together and he’d be a dick for doing it over a pregnancy scare, especially.” Dolly’s face was as serious as her tone. “I know I’d never forgive him.”

“Well, it’s not looking good now anyway. He’s off sulking somewhere.” Stella rolled her eyes. “I’ve gotta go, I’m knackered and just wanna sleep. I’ll text you.”

“Okay, sis. Look after yourself. Speak soon, keep me in the loop. I love you!”

“Love you, too,” Stella replied, sighing as she flopped back against the plush hotel pillows and dropped her phone onto the bedside table. She was too angry to text Harry first or to ask anyone where he was either. None of the boys knew what was going on so they hadn’t bothered her, which she took as a win. She glanced around the room, Harry’s suitcase lay open in front of the dressing table, the contents spilling out in a mess onto the floor, as usual. Was he still wearing the same pants from yesterday? How had he brushed his teeth? She wondered to herself but then reasoned that he could literally just ask Carrie, the tour manager, to get him anything he needed. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone, really.

A heavy knock on the door shook Stella out of her thoughts with a firm jolt to her body. She sighed, tossing the duvet from her body and dragging her feet towards the direction of the sound. Forgoing the peephole, she cracked the door open, peering through. There Harry stood, in the same clothes he’d been in since the day before. In his arms was a huge brown paper bag, emblazoned with the familiar golden yellow arches they’d become way too accustomed to since landing in the US. Glancing down further, her eyes caught on the fluffy pink slippers that adorned his feet. She smirked at them before quickly covering by folding her lips into her mouth and narrowing her eyes at his face.

“You think a Maccy’s is gonna fix this?”

“We’re not broken, baby.” He said with his own smirk and a shake of his head. His eyes widened, “Sorry, poor choice of words.”

Stella rolled her eyes and opened the door fully, stepping to the side so he could waltz into their hotel room. Just watching him cross the threshold had her body sagging with contentedness. She’d been tensely on edge for far longer than what would be considered a healthy amount for a 19-year-old. But for a 19-year-old pregnant girlfriend of a boyband member? That scale may be marked differently.

“Where’d you get the slippers?” She said to the back of his head.

“Got fed up of my boots, so Lou let me borrow these of hers,” Harry mumbled, dropping the paper bag onto the dressing table before collapsing back on the bed with a huff and a deep sigh. She looked at him, sprawled out on the white duvet, his lanky legs hanging off the edge, arms splayed out either side of him, eyes shut, lips parted. Stella thought back to her conversation with Dolly and felt anger flow through her veins again. Moving to the sofa against the wall of their suite, she picked up a throw pillow before launching it at Harry’s head. He huffed in surprise, not able to get a word in before she did.

“You don’t get to come back in here like nothing’s changed, Harry.” She said, getting upset all over again. Harry clutched the pillow to his stomach, coming up to a sitting position. “You left me yesterday not knowing if you’d ever come back.”

“Obviously I was gonna come back, I just needed space, Stell.”

“Yeah? Well, I needed you.” Harry was silent, his mouth hung open, catching flies. “Why do I have to be the strong one? When you didn’t come to bed, I didn’t know whether it was over or not yesterday… thought I might even have Carrie coming up here telling me to pack my stuff because we were done.”

“Stella, I’d never do that to you. I… I can’t believe you’d even think I would end things like that.” He frowned hard, hand coming up to his chest. “Do you really think that’s who I am?”

“I don’t know, Harry. This is the point!” She threw her arms in the air. “You left me in the unknown.” They came back down to slap her hotel robe-covered sides. “That’s what fucking hurts.” She pointed to her heart as her voice faltered.

“Stella, you were laying into me, I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know what else to say!” Harry’s chest was heaving slightly, panic and anger mixing and rising. “Everything I say to you lately is wrong.”

“Don’t make me out to be some sort of psycho, Harry. I’m going through a lot right now.”

“Ugh, God there you go again!” He tossed the cushion back onto the sofa it came from, getting up to move away from her, arms flying in exasperation. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself before turning back with his hands on his hips. “I’m not trying to make you out as anything, I’m literally just trying to talk to you… I don’t know what to do to help you.”

“No, you don’t.” Stella laughed humourlessly, she looked down at her fidgeting feet. Her arms came to surround her tired torso. “I’ve had enough… let’s just get ready for bed.” Harry ran a hand over his face and moved towards his open suitcase, starting to unbutton his jeans. Stella wandered over to the ensuite to brush her teeth, speaking before she closed the door, “I think you should get the sofa bed out.”

Stella had been tossing and turning for over an hour, occasionally shifting up to glance at Harry on the sofa bed. He was on his side, a long leg thrown over the top of the spare blanket they’d found in the wardrobe. He always slept like a brick, no matter where he was forced to lay his head.

Dropping her head back onto the pillow, she wondered if they’d make it through this one. She didn’t want to lose what they had but she was too proud to accept the way he’d behaved about this whole situation. They were only young but their lives together would bring so much more turbulence and she didn’t want to have to be the one to guide him through it all the time, while he pranced about with everyone thinking he was perfection personified.

She knew what people said about him, how they talked about him, the words they used. They idolised him. They couldn’t understand why he’d chosen her. Of all the options he had. She’d mostly gotten over the insecurity of their younger years together, but every so often, it would start to swim around her head again and make her doubt herself again. And doubt them as a partnership.

She wanted to respond to people who pointed out her seemingly endless list of flaws and say, ‘Hey, he’s got plenty, too.’ Not that they’d believe her. He was still a man at the end of the day. And men did stupid shit. Like, walk out on their pregnant girlfriends for a day and a half, while they’re away from home and she’s about to get an abortion.

“Hey,” Stella jolted awake, she must have dozed off in her thoughts. Harry’s voice was soft and gentle, his light strokes on her back were even more so. She made no move to turn over, just nudged her head slightly to signal she was listening. “I can’t completely get out of rehearsals… but I’ll make sure I’m here when you get back. Okay? I’ll make sure of it, I’ll make some sort of excuse and I’ll be here.”

Harry watched her breathing, biting his bottom lip when she still didn’t move. “This is all my fault…” His voice wobbled over the words, making Stella’s heart sink. She finally rolled over to see him leaning over the bed on his arms, fists digging into the mattress. Leaning up on her elbow, she brought a hand to his cheek, she stroked with her thumb and shook her head.

“It’s not all your fault, Harry. It’s not.” Her hand slid down to his neck and to his bare shoulder, giving him a subtle pull to signal his welcome into the bed beside her. He quickly obliged before she could change her mind, pulling the duvet up to his chin, almost swallowing her head up completely in the heavy covering. “We’ve both just… made mistakes. It’ll all be over soon.” Her voice held a melancholy that encapsulated their complicated scenario completely. The sadness of the loss, the anguish of the toll it was taking on their relationship, the relief that there was a safe solution available to them.

“I should be comforting you, I don’t know why I couldn’t do that. I think, I just…” Harry’s eyes were cast down in thought. He really didn’t know why he reacted the way he did. He surely wasn’t proud of it, but he had to do it. Something inside him told him to run away for a bit until he could think straight.

“We’re scared, H. We’re just kids still, this is heavy… we’re working it all out.” She fiddled with the lining of the pillowcase that was under his head.

“I don’t wanna lose you.” His voice was so quiet, dripping with sincerity. His hand itched to touch her, to grab her and pull her close, just to emphasise how much he meant it. But he didn’t want to overstep his welcome. “I hate when you’re angry with me.”

“Stop making me angry then.” Stella teased, her eyes flicking up for a second with a smirk before looking at her fiddling fingers again. Harry chuckled lightly.

“I’ll try.” Stella bit her lip, looking at his dark silhouette again, with hooded eyes begging her for sleep. She leaned forward to press a tiny peck to his lips, his arm secured her to him to place a successful three more to hers. She then turned in his hold for a few minutes, him hugging her so tight, their bodies slotting together naturally. She rested there for a few minutes, before nudging herself free to shift across the bed and snuggle down into her own side. Harry’s heart ached as he stared at the back of her head, so close but still so far. But he knew he needed to put his own feelings second, at least for now. He needed to take her lead on this one and respect her boundaries. Besides, she’d never steered him wrong thus far.

Stepping out of the back emergency exit of the family planning clinic, Paul, one of the band’s bodyguards and one of Harry’s closest friends and confidants, guided her to the haven of the tinted windowed vehicle waiting for her in the car park. The whole thing had felt like a Mission Impossible movie, except Stella was more of an Austin Powers than an Ethan Hunt. She had her most oversized cardigan on, along with Harry’s biggest, darkest sunglasses and one of Niall’s caps, hood up. She’d signed into the clinic with a pre-arranged dummy name that was called out into the waiting room. Luckily, there were only three other people waiting to be seen and they all looked too caught up in their own lives to care about her presence. Which made a really nice change. She’d almost forgotten the concept of people not giving a shit about her or what she was wearing or how she acted.

She was sure she wouldn’t be able to describe the way her body felt if she tried. The phrase ‘emotionally drained’ could never be more appropriately used. Harry had kept her up half the night with his tossing and turning and the other half she’d kept herself up with her own tossing and turning. Which was out of character for him, but he was so worried that she would be papped - or worse still, spotted by fans - that he was moving like a man possessed.

Halfway through the struggle of the night, she’d decided it best to try and calm him by drawing patterns on his bare back. Running her nails up and down, side to side and in circular shapes, softly letting her fingertips glide on their journey. She did it often because she knew he loved it, that night she felt he needed it. It calmed her too, feeling his warm, smooth skin on hers. Once she began hearing his quick breaths slow to a relaxed pace and then finally to a soft snore, she stopped and turned over as slow as she could so as not to disturb him again, falling asleep at last, but for an hour at most. When she woke up with a jolt, his side was empty, sheets crumpled and unmade as usual.

As Paul began to drive she took a deep breath, took her cap and glasses off and willed herself to feel something. To feel something for what she’d just done, but she didn’t. She’d done her best to block out the intrusive thoughts of believing that she was a murderer, purely to stay sane through all of this. But now she felt like a cold heartless monster, almost like she’d gone the completely opposite way. No one would ever know what she’d done, but she always would. Dolly always would. Harry always would. Now, Paul always would. She trusted Harry as much as he trusted her; as much as to not force her into signing an NDA. So she knew he’d never tell a soul, should things not work out between them in the end. But they were forever changed from this moment, well, from the moment she’d watched the little red lines show up on that plastic stick.

Don’t feel guilty, don’t feel guilty, don’t feel guilty, don’t-

“Ya alright there, sugar?” She jumped slightly at Paul’s deep Irish voice piping up from the front. She met his eyes in the rearview mirror and noted the kindness in the blue, he wasn’t judging her, she could sense that. All he wanted was for her to be okay. She nodded wordlessly, pulling her cardigan sleeves over her fingers and leaning to look out of the window again.

Paul scanned her card for her and allowed her to step through the hotel room door, which she allowed after multiple attempts at telling him that she could do it herself fell on deaf ears. He carried her handbag, too.

Harry jumped up from where he’d been led back on the bed, an arm propping his head up and his phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling as he tried not to lose his mind overthinking that his girlfriend might die from a noninvasive, tried and tested medical procedure. He’d been on the phone to Gemma since he’d gotten back to the room after telling the boys and the crew that he had a migraine. He couldn’t stop himself, he wanted to know what he needed to do to help Stella when she returned from her treatment. He felt a bit guilty about going against her wishes of not telling anyone, but he was unaware that Stella had already told Dolly.

He stopped a few feet in front of her, fidgeting from one foot to the other, fiddling with the side hems on his jeans. She looked so small and defeated. She smiled at him softly, trying to show gratitude that he was there, just like he’d promised he would be. Paul nodded once at Harry before handing Stella her bag and squeezing her shoulder, throwing a final salute before letting the door shut with a soft click.

“Well, it’s done,” Stella said, dropping her bag onto the sofa and perching herself on the end of the bed to slide her trainers off. Harry stayed put, watching her.

“How do you feel? Does it hurt yet?” He kept his voice gentle like he was approaching a wounded deer.

“No, I feel fine at the moment, only happened about an hour ago though and the doc said I should expect some pain around the two to four-hour mark.” Once both shoes were off, she stayed still, only fiddling with the threads pulling from her cardigan.

“Okay.” They sat in silence for a minute or two, before Harry finally worked himself up to move to a crouch in front of where she sat. He cupped her slightly chubby cheek, her eyes stayed downcast, lashes fluttering. His thumb stroked under her puffy eye and she brought her hand up to wrap her fingers around his wrist. “I’m really proud of you, Stell. You’re so brave, much braver than me.” She still didn’t look at him, her bottom lip tucking inwards as she shook her head slightly.

“I feel nothing, Harry.” She voiced, barely above a crackled whisper. “Why don’t I feel anything?” He frowned, shaking his head.

“I don’t know, babe. You said the doctors mentioned it would take a few hours to-”

“No, I mean I don’t feel anything.” Her words were juxtaposed with the lone tear that began to trail down her face.

“Oh. That’s alright, you’re not a bad person if that’s what you’re thinking… you did what was right for you… and for us.” He tried not to make it about him again, he knew she definitely didn’t need that. “Like you said, it wasn’t really a baby, it was just a pocket of cells in your uterus.”

Stella huffed out a laugh, “You been Googling?”

“Nah, Gem told me.” Harry laughed softly, eyes flashing with realisation when Stella flinched, eyes finally meeting his. “Shit.” Stella couldn’t even find the energy to argue, she just rolled her eyes and moved her head to the side to press a kiss to his palm and his wrist that she still had hold of on her face.

“Don’t worry about it, H. I suppose it was harsh of me to say you couldn’t tell your family.” She knew she hadn’t handled this very well. Inside, she was grateful that he’d talked it out with someone. “What else did she say?” He stood up straight, both his knees clicking on the way. She puffed out another laugh as he stretched out exaggeratedly like an old man.

“She said,” He held out his hand to help her up. “That I should take care of you. That I should rub your belly, if you’d like that?” Stella nodded. He led her up the bed by the hand, flipping the duvet over. He slid her cardigan off her shoulders, before flicking his head up and running his hands up her arms as she lifted them over her head. He then pulled her t-shirt off, leaving her in just her soft lounging bra. “She said that I should get you your favourite food, which is gonna be hard to do since you like Cadburys chocolate and roast dinners and we’re in America.” He flicked her nose with his finger and she swatted at him. Stella giggled along anyway, brushing a hand through his curls as he bent to pull her leggings down her legs. Once both of her feet were free, he pressed kisses back over her tummy, the tops of her breasts and her neck, as he made his way back up to stand. He bent to wrap his arms around her waist and bury his face in her neck, hugging her close. She, in turn, wound her arms around his neck, scratching his nape and inhaling his scent. He pulled back and turned her so she could climb into the bed.

Once the covers were over her, he jogged in small steps back round the bed, getting his t-shirt and jeans off in quick succession, something she knew him to do regularly, but in different circumstances. He slid into the bed and faced her, breathing a sigh of relief when she shuffled closer to him and tangled her legs with his. “Then she said,” he murmured, low and slow, tucking hair behind Stella’s ear. “To tell you how much I love you and that I support you.” He brought her closer still, trailing his fingers up and down the curve of her waist. “I’m sorry I was a dick.” He whispered.

“She told you to say that, too?”

“Nah, that one was all me.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be… okay, again.” She looked down again, not meeting his eyes. His brows pulled in.

“That’s alright, Stell.”

“I mean… in a lot of ways.” She whispered, wanting him to get the message without her having to say it out loud. “Specifically… in that way.” She looked in his eyes briefly to solidify her point.

“Stella, you’ve just had an abortion, I’m not a horny monster.” To be truthful, both of them were feeling a little bit of PTSD from the experience, they needed to live a bit more of a wholesome lifestyle for a while. “Don’t worry about all that. We’ll just worry about what’s up here for a while,” He tapped her temple with his finger. “Instead of what’s down there.” She smiled, so relieved that he was being so understanding and mature. “Plus, distance makes the heart grow fonder. Once you’re ready to go, it’s gonna go OFF.” She knew it was too good to be true. He was still a 20-year-old man, she supposed. It still didn’t fail to make her a little excited, deep inside.

“You’re so good.” She said, playing with the ends of his hair that just kept getting longer.

“You are.” He responded, rubbing his nose with hers.

“Yeah… we’re good.”

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alloftheimagines · 2 years

Text

jim hopper | ours

masterlist | ko-fi

words: 1.9k

warnings: 18+

scars, bruises, blood, aftermath of the fight with demogorgon in st4 so spoilers. post-russia! hopper so the trauma of canon-level torture and starvation. mentions of pregnancy, body changes, and a brief reference to pro-choice options. strong language. grief. references to death and funerals.

in which the reader saves hopper from the russian prison camp, and after a soft reunion, shares life-changing news: a baby he had no idea existed awaits him in hawkins.

part two

Jim Hopper is certain he’s dreaming. He must be. Because he’d made his peace with never seeing you again. He’d gotten by, painful, dreary day by painful, dreary day, by trying to remember the exact colour of your eyes and the giggle that always left you when he nuzzled his stubbly chin into your neck. He called them his end memories. The ones he revisited as often as possible to make sure he had them close, ready to take with him, when his time came. When he starved to death or the Russians no longer found him of use. He wanted something nice to hold onto as he left the world.

Those memories, he realises now, would never be enough to capture you. Because you’re standing in front of him, covered in bruises and gasping, tears in your eyes, and he’d forgotten how beautiful you are. Like photographs, you’d been faded and wrong in his head. And now you’re in colour, alive, glistening, and he can’t believe it. He can’t believe you’re real.

He’s exhausted. Bloody and on the brink of collapse from fighting the Demogorgon. Maybe he never made it out, he thinks. Maybe he’s already gone. Maybe this is the only heaven he’ll ever get. “Y/N…” he whispers, taking an unsteady step forward.

You break into a sob, covering your mouth with your hands. “Jim.” You run to him, and it’s like he can finally breathe again. The constant aches and hunger he’s lived with for months ebbs. He’s full up. Content. At peace.

You feel so real when he holds you to his chest, clinging tightly so you’ll never be taken from him again. He needs this. He needs something to hold onto. He’s only had iron bars and grey snow for so long, and now he can smell the faint cigarettes and shampoo in your hair, and it’s you. His angel.

“I made it. I made it.” He doesn’t even know what he’s mumbling as he drinks in every inch of you, squeezing your waist and knotting his fingers through your hair. His eyes are filled with awe as they scan you from crown to toe. “It’s over now. It’s over now.”

“I thought you were dead.” You clutch his jaw, wincing through your tears at the sight of his injuries. “I didn’t think I’d ever get you back. I thought you were dead, Hop.”

“I am,” he murmurs, doing his damn best to inhale you as he tugs you back into his chest. “I am.”

But you pull away, fighting his imprisoning embrace. “What?” You frown, tipping his chin down with your thumb. “You are what, Hop?”

“Dead.” Tears fill his own eyes now, not of sadness, but gladness. He wishes it could have been real. Wishes he could have gotten home to you. But as long as he has you here, he doesn’t care. It’s more than he’s had in nigh on a year and it’s a blessing. Every second here is a blessing. “I’m dead, right? You’re here because I’m dead?”

“No.” Your face crumples with devastation, and he can’t understand why. Heaven doesn’t have faces that crumple like that. Or at least, it shouldn't. “No, baby, look at me. Look at me.” He does. “I’m here to take you home. Alive. You’re still here. You’re here. This is real.”

Clarity sharpens his blue irises finally, and he chokes on a mangled whimper as he finally sees past you to Murray, Joyce, Dmitri. He’s still in the prison. Still surrounded by bloody, beaten, uniformed bodies.

Still in Russia.

Still alive.

And you’re here.

“I got your message.” Your voice trembles. “We came for you. We’re here, Hop.”

A tear rolls down his cheek as he begins to believe it, and he pulls you in again, mouth agape for just a moment before a slow, relieved, awestruck smile makes it’s way across his face. “Even better than heaven,” he mumbles.

You half-laugh, half-cry in agreement. “God, I missed you. I missed you every day.”

“Ditto,” is all he can reply with, lost for words. “Every damn day, Y/N.”

***

You’re still shivering in shock when you huddle away in the church, waiting for a way home. Hopper sits still as stone on a pew, staring at you. He’s barely stopped since you got him back, and god, how you’ve missed the weight of that gaze.

But tension rolls through you still, thick and constricting your lungs like an elastic band. He’s missed so much. You don’t know how to tell him just how much.

You pick out all you can find in his size from the charity donations boxed up around the room: a graphic tee, puffer coat, and flared denim jeans. “I guess there’s a reason no one wanted this stuff,” you say, handing the clothes to him.

His cheeks break with the brackets of his smile, hidden by his five o’clock shadow. It makes your stomach flutter as though infested by intoxicated doves scraping their wings against your insides. You’ve missed that smile so much you’d forgotten how to breathe without it. And here it is. Here you both are.

You move to pick out your own clothes, but his fingers loop around your wrist, so much bonier than you remember. You melt between his legs, running your hands along his prickly buzzcut. “I’m never gonna take a burger for granted again, you know that?”

You choke on a laugh. “Is that what you’re thinking about right now?”

“Among other things.” He squeezes your hips, and you fight not to flinch. While Hopper has grown sinewy from whatever hell he’s been put through, you’ve gone the opposite way: soft, covered in stretch marks. And though it’s stupid, you’re afraid he’ll work out why before you get the chance to work out how to tell him.

So you step away, pretending to be interested in a Scooby Doo shirt. “We’ll get a McDonalds on our way home. My treat.”

“God, that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He stands up, peeling off his prison uniform.

You gasp at the sight of his marred skin, full of angry pink scars and welts. “Hop…” Your fingers hover gently over his chest, throat going dry as you think about all the pain he’s been through. All the trauma. You should have gotten here sooner. Should have known he was alive, even if you had his funeral. Even if you had other things to focus on. Your eyes fill with tears as you trace a particularly long, jagged line down the centre of his torso, to his belly button. You just want to smooth it all the way. Heal him. But you know it’ll take more than just wishing to fix this. It won’t end when the two of you get out of Russia.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “They didn’t break me. I… The thought of you kept me going. I imagined coming home to you so many times…”

A lump forms in your throat. He has no idea what he’ll face when he comes home, and that isn’t right. You turn your back again, shrugging off your coat and scarf.

“Hey… You alright?” Hopper asks.

You can only hum, closing your eyes to stifle the tears. Thoughts of your changed body are long forgotten now. You take your sweater off and swap it for the tee, but it only reminds you of home. Of who waits for you there. For both of you.

“God,” Hopper whispers, and you freeze, realising your mistake. You hold your breath; wait for the comment about how much your body has changed. But he only groans, hands sliding over your stretch-marked hips. “I forgot how perfect you are.”

Your throat aches. You haven’t felt beautiful in a long, long time. Magic, maybe, because you’ve brought new life into the world, but not beautiful. You’re all jiggly, and your boobs are usually leaking milk, and… you’re both so different from who you were before.

But you still love him. And he still has to know.

He’s already kissing your neck, and you can’t help but let him. Once more, just in case it’s the last time he ever wants to.

He puts his shirt on as he breaks away, watching you do the same with admiration glistening in his eyes. “How’s El?”

Your stomach jitters again. Here it comes. “She’s okay. She’s missing her dad, though.”

“Yeah?” His face wrinkles with tender joy, and you can only hope he feels the same way about your secret.

You dry your clammy palms on your jeans, working up the courage to find out. “She’s not the only one.”

“I bet the rest of Hawkins are doing just fine without me.” He sinks back down, propping his head against the wall.

You bite your lip, gathering your coat off the pew and rooting through the pocket. You pull out a polaroid, chest swelling with affection at the round, smiley face there, before passing it to Hopper.

His brows furrow. “Who’s this? Don’t tell me your sister had another baby.”

“No, Hop.”

There must be something in your voice, because his gaze snaps to meet yours. He looks at the picture again. Then you. “Who is this?”

You rub your sternum absently, all the grief, the fear, the confusion, coming back to you. “I found out the day everything happened. Fourth of July. Never got the chance to tell you.”

His breath hitches, face paling.

“I know you never really wanted more kids. I know that. And me and the baby... we’ve been getting on just fine, y’know, so if this is too much for you right now, I get it. We’re okay.” But you’re not. You’re really, really not. It’s been hell, being a single mother, trying to navigate El through normal high school experiences while taking care of a newborn. You never had time to grieve Hopper. Not really. You were thrown into this, unwilling to take your way out because it would mean losing the last piece of the man you loved.

“Jesus.” He leaves the photo in his lap, scraping his hands through non-existent hair. “Fuck.”

“We’re in a church. Don’t upset God, please. It’s the last thing we need.” It’s only half a joke, and he’s too overwhelmed to laugh at it.

But then he takes the polaroid again, and his lips twitch, eyes filling with tears. “She’s ours?”

You nod slowly. “She has your eyes. And the sweetest little smile. But god, she cries like a banshee in the middle of the night. She’s a handful, just like her dad.”

He snorts, cheeks dampening. “She’s ours.”

Relief whooshes through you so fast, you almost collapse.

“I’m a dad again. God.” He beams brighter than the flickering candles. “What about El? She okay with her?”

“Best big sister there is.” You grin proudly.

He sobers quickly. “It must have been hell, doing all this alone.”

“Yeah, well… it was worth it. Even the twenty-hour labour. And I had help, y'know.”

Hopper shakes his head as though in disbelief, cupping your jaw and tucking away an errant strand of hair. “I can’t wait to meet her. Our daughter. I wish I could’ve been there with you. Wish I’d been there for all of it. Have I missed a lot? She’s not walking yet, right?”

It’s all you’ve wanted to hear for so long. You close your eyes, finally letting yourself believe that this hell is over. That it’s going to be okay again. That you might actually be a family now. “No, baby, she’s not walking. You have time.”

He kisses you on the forehead, the eyelids, the nose. “I love you. You have no idea how much I love you.”

“Does that mean you’re happy?” you ask, scrunching your nose when he peppers more kisses, everywhere now.

“I’m happy,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. “So fuckin’ happy.”

And you are, too. For the first time in a long time, you’re happy.

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heavyhitterheaux · 2 years

Text

Best Friends Forever

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: these two are the cutest... except when first lady is terrorizing him

Synopsis: You just can’t live without your best friend Urban

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader, Best Friend!Urban Wyatt x Reader

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

It was around 10 in the morning and it had been peacefully quiet throughout the house.

You were getting antsy and you were now ready to strike wanting to have some company.

You opened Urban’s door to see him sound asleep and knew that it was time for you to make your move.

“Urby..” You whispered and not getting a response back, you yelled a little louder.

“Urban!”

Still nothing.

You then took it upon yourself to get a running start and flop down on top of Urban earning a groan from him.

“Y/N! Seriously?!”

“URBANNNNN good morning bestie!”

“What the... what the hell do you want?”

“Is that how you greet your best friend?” You said making your face go into a pout.

“Yes it is when her screams kept me up half the night from her extra curricular activities with her husband. I just went to sleep it seems like.”

“Oops, sorry not sorry. But, I gotta get you some noise canceling headphones for all your troubles. You take it like a champ.”

“Like I have a choice.” Urban responded by rolling his eyes and looking up at you.

“It’s 10 am and we have things to do so get up.”

“It’s my off day and I’m not moving. And no, I went to sleep at 7.” Urban tried to move you to the side in order to put the comforter over his head, but you quickly snatched it away from him.

“Excuse me? Since when?! And that’s the time Jack left.”

“Since now and no wonder why I was able to fall asleep. He wasn’t around to rearrange your guts.”

“BUT URBANNNNNN YOU PROMISED!”

“What did I promise?” Urban was now sitting up and threw his head back against the headboard.

“That you would go shopping with me today!” It was rare that you had off days so you were determined to take advantage of it.

“Did you ask me that when I was high?”

“Dude, you’re like high 90% of the time. How am I supposed to know? Anyway, get up and get ready.”

“Nuh uh, drag your husband when he comes back.”

“I can’t he’s busy somewhere finalizing stuff for tour so you’ve been promoted. I don’t know how long he’s going to be.”

“Neelam?”

“Nope. Busy with Jack.”

“Saweetie?”

“Nope, in Cali.”

“Brandi?”

“Nope. Visting family in Florida.”

“2fo?”

“So he can complain the entire time?”

“Shloob?”

“All he’s going to want to do is sit down and not help me carry any bags.”

“Quiiso?”

“He’s mad at me because I drank his milkshake the other day.”

“Ace Pro?”

“Nope. Busy.”

“Nemo?”

“Nope, he’s with Jack.”

All Urban did was sigh before massaging his temples.

“Damn, don’t look so depressed. We’re going to have fun!”

“You are about to have me out ALL damn day. You say we’ll be done by 4, but you’ll have me out until midnight.”

“What’s wrong with that?! Y/N and Urban get some bestie time!”

“On one condition.”

“Sure! Name it!”

“You have to buy me those headphones, TODAY.”

“Say less!”

Urban was dressed and ready to go downstairs while you were nowhere to be found. Which he wasn’t surprised by.

“Y/N!!!! You have five minutes to get your ass down here before I leave you!”

“You are just like my husband, IMPATIENT!”

“WELL HURRY UP!”

“DON’T YOU YELL AT ME, WYATT!”

“IMMA KEEP YELLING IF YOUR ASS DOESN’T COME ON!”

It was another twenty minutes before you came down the steps dressed and ready to go.

Urban simply rolled his eyes at you.

“You took all that time to only put that outfit on?”

“I can change and take even longer if it’s a problem.”

“I would’ve thought your ass was getting ready for the grammy’s because you took so long.”

“I love you too, Urby. Let’s go, you’re driving.”

“Wait a minute, you invite me and I have to drive?”

“Yes, you know I can barely see over the steering wheel and you and Jack always be screaming your heads off when I drive anyway.”

“Because you reckless as hell! Bumping into curbs and shit! Last week, you ran a red light!”

“Well, the curb shouldn’t have been there! AND THAT LIGHT WAS YELLOW!”

“Just.... get your ass in the car.”

---

“Y/N!!!”

“Yes, bestie whom I loveee so much?”

“How many more stores?!?! My arms are tired of carrying all your shit!”

“Keep in mind, it’s not all my shit, I bought stuff for you too!”

“Y/N.... I have 2 bags.... you have almost 14.....”

“Urby, I do not see the problem. And, I got your headphones!”

“Just... are we done yet?”

“Nope, one last thing I have to get for hubby and then we’re done and we can go find him and bother him too.”

“Please, because I can only take your ass in doses.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. You love me and you have since you met me.”

“Who lied to you?!”

“Urban! I will hide the weed! Behave yourself! I’ll spray you with my spray bottle like I do my puppies when they act up!”

“Oh, so now I’m one of your pets?!”

“Seems like it. You and Jack are. I’m paying for 14 children and not 12.”

“Y/N!! The least you can do is feed me!”

“Later! When we’re done.”

Urban promptly took out his phone and dialed Jack on Facetime who picked up on the third ring. While he was distracted, you made your way to one of your favorite stores.

“Hey, Urb.”

“SAVE ME!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“YOUR WIFE IS WHAT’S WRONG.”

“Oh shit. She dragged you shopping with her didn’t she?”

“Hmm, how can you tell?!?”

“Did she at least buy you something?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point... Y/N! Y/N! NO! GET AWAY FROM THE PET STORE! NO!”

“Oh fuck. What the hell is she doing now?”

“Being a damn terror! Y/N, don’t you dare look at me like that! Get your ass back here! Your short legs can only carry you so far!”

“I CAN’T LOOK?!”

“NO! I HAVE JACK ON FACETIME! NO!”

You then made a beeline for Urban and snatched his phone away from him.

“Hi baby!”

“Hi mamas, are you behaving yourself?” Jack asked and all you did was smile.

“Of course I am!” You replied while smiling back at him.

“No she’s not! She has 14 bags!” You then turned and stuck out your tongue at Urban.

“Stick it out again and I’ll cut it off.”

“BABY! What did you buy?!”

“Stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Uhh... stuff I need. And I’m getting you more cologne and then I’ll be done so me and Urban can come and bother you and I have to feed him.”

“Mamas, stay away from the pet store.”

“But...”

“Y/N... what did I say?”

You let out a huff and rolled your eyes before answering.

“Fine. But, can we get a parakeet?”

“NO. WE HAVE ENOUGH PETS.”

“You can never have enough pets. What about a hamster?”

“Y/N... baby girl... no.”

“Hmm, I’ll just ask Maggie to convince you.”

“WHAT?!”

“I love you, see you soon. Byeeeee.”

“I love you too and behave yourself.”

“No promises!”

You hung up and handed Urban his phone back and slowly turned to face the pet store.

You tried to run before Urban caught you with one hand around your waist.

“That’s it. We’re leaving.”

“But...”

“Nope, we’ll get the cologne and apparently, I have to carry you to make sure you don’t run away.”

“But, I can walk!”

“You are worse than a damn toddler. I need to get you one of those backpacks with the leash on it!”

“I’m not even that bad!”

“Says who?!”

The two of you were now with Jack as he was rehearsing for his upcoming tour.

You and Urban were in the corner cracking jokes and smoking the blunt you had forgotten that you had put in your purse for the two of you earlier.

“I still can’t believe you caught me with one hand!”

“Because Jack was going to have my ass if you went into that pet store.”

“I can always buy it and keep it at Neelam’s house without him knowing.”

“Without me knowing what?!” Jack asked as he looked at you and raised his eyebrows.

“Um, nothing.” You quickly responded before taking a sip of your tea.

“Urban.... what did she say?”

Urban looked at you before saying anything and you shook your head no before looking back at Jack.

“Umm...”

“Urb...”

“She’s going to buy more pets and keep them at Neelam’s house.”

“TRAITOR!” You responded while crossing your arms and pouting.

“Y/N... if I find out you bought another damn animal....”

“I didn’t! I promise!”

“Imma have your ass if I find out you’re lying.”

“But, I’m not! Ask Urban!”

“Only reason why she didn’t buy anything is because I caught her when she tried to run into the pet store and dragged her away from it.”

“BABY! I told you to behave!”

“But, I am!”

“That is not behaving. You be putting Urb through it.”

“FINALLY SOMEONE ELSE SEES IT!”

“He’s my best friend that comes with the territory. His shit is my shit and vice versa.”

“Nah, it seems like everything is your shit and you just drag me along for the ride.”

“And your ass always say yes and goes along with it, so you aren’t any better.”

“Your wife can fight, need I say more?”

“Well I’m almost done and Y/N.... you about to get it later for being a terror all day.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“Your ass is always up to no good.” Jack responded before walking away from the two of you.

“OOH Urban! Let me braid your hair!”

“What?!”

“Pleaseeeee!”

Urban looked over at Jack to see him mouthing the words ‘Just let her do it’ and he complied in order to keep you occupied.

“Fine.”

“Okay, just sit there and I’ll do it!”

Surprisingly, Urban sat there and didn’t make a fuss as he smoked his blunt and let you do his hair.

“Don’t make them too small so I can’t get them out.”

“I won’t. I’ll help you take them out anyway.”

Neelam was next to Jack and she looked over at the two of you while shaking her head.

“Those two can’t function without each other as much as she terrorizes him.” Neelam said while laughing as she looked over to see you slapping away Urban’s hand as he was trying to see how much hair was left.

“They definitely can’t. At least I know he’ll protect her just as much as I will.”

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, saweetie, druski2funny, dualipa, and 6,283,419 others

y/ninsta: best friend appreciation post I loveeee you urbanwyatt. thank you for spending quality time with me today 🥺💕

urbanwyatt: y/ninsta you only love me because I bought you that seafood boil you wanted and you didn't even share 🙄

y/ninsta: urbanwyatt LIES I did share!

jackharlow: y/ninsta baby you threw him a shrimp and one potato 😭😭

y/ninsta: jackharlow that means I shared!!

urbanwyatt: y/ninsta that's okay. imma get your ass. don't go to sleep.

y/ninsta: urbanwyatt what you mean don't go to sleep!?! JACKKKKKKK!!!!! URBAN TRYNA KILL YOUR WIFEEEEE!!!!! 🙃

jackharlow: y/ninsta it’s payback for you being a terror all day

y/ninsta: jackharlow I wasn’t a terror! I was on my best behavior! 😇

urbanwyatt: y/ninsta I literally had to catch you from running away from me into the pet store

neelamthadhani: lmaooooo y/ninsta you know better than to buy any more pets!

y/ninsta: neelamthadhani I just wanted to look!

jackharlow: neelamthadhani she wants to buy them and keep them at your house

neelamthadhani: y/ninsta I love you, but not a chance 😂

saweetie: excuse me... what the hell am I then?

y/ninsta: saweetie you’re in Cali! I needed someone to go shopping with! Everyone was busy!

2forwoyne: I see I dodged a bullet!

urbanwyatt: 2forwoyne nah we gotta rotate this shit, SHE PUT ME THROUGH IT 😣

y/ninsta: urbanwyatt I fed you and shared my blunt AND I did your hair

urbanwyatt: y/ninsta is that supposed to make up for it?

y/ninsta: urbanwyatt I don’t like you anymore jackharlow come get him

jackharlow: y/ninsta I’m not in it 🙃

y/ninsta: jackharlow fine urbanwyatt Imma give your weed to the ninja turtles

jackharlow: y/ninsta you better not get my kids high! 😡

y/ninsta: jackharlow Leonardo has already gotten high remember?

urbanwyatt: y/ninsta that’s fine. don’t go to sleep like I said

y/ninsta: urbanwyatt nah don’t sneak attack, say that shit with your chest

urbanwyatt: y/ninsta nah I’ll let you be surprised

y/ninsta: jackharlow so you not about to defend me and save me from urbanwyatt?

jackharlow: y/ninsta nope

y/ninsta: jackharlow fine, you on my list too 😐

urbanwyatt: Y/N!!!!! WHY IS PIGGY SMALLS IN MY BED?! 😡

y/ninsta: urbanwyatt he wants to be close to Uncle Urby

urbanwyatt: y/ninsta I know you did this shit 🙄

y/ninsta: urbanwyatt I’m innocent 😇

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#urban wyatt #urban wyatt x reader #urban wyatt x black reader #urban wyatt fic #urban wyatt fanfic #urban wyatt fluff #jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow fic #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow fluff

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cheiyunn · 4 months

Text

Kimisute main story [１部 ] Part 2

Side: Fantome Iris

[Sharehouse]

Felix: I also want to hear everyone’s opinions. How about it?

Daimon: Lets see… I’m on the same boat as Felix

Jun: m-Me too. Since we’ve finally gotten here, and I know that with going pro there’s gonna be a lot more problems but still…!

Tomoru: In terms of the professional world, we’re only just newcomers after all

Tomoru: In order to be buried under the other visual kei bands, we need focus on the worldbuilding of Fantome Iris, and if possible embellish it more

Koharu: Um so… before we continue there's something I need to address too…

Koharu: Remember how a little while back my job stuff caused you guys to well… more importantly, caused a lot of trouble even to our followers that care alot about us?

Tomoru: Well that was… but we already discussed it before right?

Tomoru: We said that we were going to continue on as we always have

Koharu: Yeah but. After that I did some thinking and well… That it wasn’t good to inconvenience the people around me ‘cause of my own choices

Felix: Koharu…

Koharu: That's why right now, I’m discussing some stuff with my workplace too

Jun: Is that… regarding your shifts?

Koharu: No. Actually, that nursery is run by a company. They were talking about opening a new facility where they leave their child in care on a 24 hour rotation

Koharu: The people at my workplace were asking if it was okay by me, to transfer there

Daimon: Should we take that as good…news..?

Koharu: Yeah. They were talking about hiring people who want to choose their shift times, so if I do move there, it’ll be easier for me to move around and prioritize the band

Felix: Then that becomes similar to me. Since I only continue my French lessons to the students that will continue to learn.

Tomoru: That sounds great Koharu-san! I really hope it works out

Daimon: Its most important that you find a way to continue what you love without giving up

Koharu: Yeah, thanks. Its not set in stone yet but I just wanted to tell you guys!

Jun: Hah… while everyone’s got their footing I’m still…

Felix: Well you’re always working on Fantome Iris’ music composition right?

Felix: I look forward to what you’ll bring, Jun

Jun: Fe- Felix-san…!

Koharu: …dontcha feel that he’s gonna ask the impossible for the next song?

Daimon: Definitely

Tomoru: Jun will be fine. I mean, he’s responded to all of Feli’s impossible requests so far anyways

Koharu: Well that's true

Felix: Apologies to spark a conversation while eating. Lets eat before the food really gets cold

Daimon: True. It seems our drinks are long gone so I’ll bring some more

Tomoru: Oh, I’ll help out too

Koharu: You, dontcha get that you’re the main character today? Now be patient and sit down..!

--[Koharu and Daimon leave]--

Tomoru: But…

Felix: Tomoru, in regards to our next activities, did you get any orders from the label?

Felix: When I had asked in the past they said that the current way is fine so…

Tomoru: Hm, yeah… there wasn’t anything to note on my end either

Tomoru: The question just now was more because I wanted to personally confirm everyone’s opinions

Tomoru: I got the confirmation that for the live schedule, the current direction I put together was to stay approved that way too

Jun: I knew you could do it but still… such a skillful manager..! Well considering you’ve also been doing something similar to this from a while back Tomoru…

Jun: Then that means that the transfer to Dreadnought wasn’t that bad then?

Tomoru: That's not true at all

Tomoru: Ever since I started working as a manager, I realized that everything I had done up to now was simply an amateur level imitation…

Jun: r-really…?

Felix: It's the same with how the bar for when we were indie and the bar now that we’re pro are different right

Jun: The bar that they expect from us as pros…

--[Koharu comes back]--

Koharu: Woah what's this. I told you to eat and yet you’re all still sitting around serious talking?

Daimon: I thought that for the occasion I’d make a little more, it should be almost done

Felix: Ah, our apologies

Felix: Merci beaucoup, Koharu, Daimon

[Time passes]

Felix: C'était très bon! The meal was delicious Daimon

Daimon: That's good to hear

Tomoru: At the very least let me help clean up the dishes

Jun: Tomoru… aren’t you too tired…

Tomoru: After eating good food and talking, it feels like my energy’s all restored

Jun: You’re so healthy it burns…!

--[Felix’s phone rings]--

Felix: hm..? Its my brother, pardon me for a moment

--[Felix walks away from the table]--

Felix: Bonsoir, whats wrong?

Felix: …oh, so uncle has… I understand, thanks for relaying this to me

#fromargonavis #fantome iris

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just-antithings · 30 days

Note

Not really an anti thing per se, but something I feel the need to vent about:

One of the reasons I feel so conflicted on the Harry Potter thing is not only my concerns about continuing to give Rowling a platform, but also just, unpopular opinion, I… kinda think the fandom can be almost as performative as the haters?

I KNOW HOW THAT SOUNDS BUT HEAR ME OUT!

First off: they’re always going on about how "oh, we’re making ALL the hp characters trans to piss off the TERF!" and then you look at the fics and art and stuff and it’s like, at least 80-90% is just the same cookie cutter "Draco and Harry are gay trans men who make out 24/7 and there's some trans gay WolfStar in the background too, I guess, and also maybe black trans Hermione can have a cameo at some point as a treat, but who cares because it’s Drarryin' Time! *proceeds to Drarry all over AO3*" fics.

Like… why is it that after Rowling announced her status as a card-carrying fascist, "all the hp characters" suddenly became just Harry, Draco, Remus, Sirius and maybe Hermione if you're lucky? ESPECIALLY considering the fact that I know from experience that the fandom used to have way more diversity headcanons than this?

What about Ron "angsty because his mom wanted a daughter" Weasley? Or Neville and Hannah, who never had children (clearly, one of them is trans! Or maybe both are trans AND ace! Two groups Rowling hates for the price of one!)? Where are the Trans Dean/Seamus and Trans Lavender/Parvati fics? Trans Luna??? One of Bill and Fleur's kids being the first known male Veela hybrid in the series (literally a fuckin' goldmine of gender possibilities)???? What about fuckin' Nymphadora "gender nonconforming shapeshifter who hates her traditionally feminine name" Tonks (if ANY character would’ve been made trans or enby to spite Rowling, I’d have thought Tonks and her son Teddy would be the FIRST choices)???? EBONY DEMENTIA DARKNESS RAVEN WAY (objectively the BEST Harry Potter character)??!!!????

Part of me suspects that this is at least partly because these characters aren’t "popular" and therefore won't get the same attention as the Drarry "rivals to lovers" vibe and the All The Young Dudes spin-offs, but I can’t be fully sure of that.

And like… a lot of times it looks like their activism just, begins and ends with fandom activity? A lot of the same questions levied at HP haters ("are you supporting and/or donating to pro-trans causes?" "Are you making an effort to understand WHY TERF ideology is bad?" etc., all 100% valid questions) can also be levied against fans who make their headcanons and shipping the main source of their activism.

I’m not saying that NO hp fans are doing actual activism, I’ve seen a few examples, but it feels to me at least like the majority are not. It just seems they think shipping Harry and Draco whilst transing them to pretend it makes the TERF seethe (when really she probably doesn’t even know your fanfic exists) is a substitute for activism, just as HP haters think hating the series and patting themselves on the back for not reading it when they were twelve is a substitute for activism.

I guess the bright side is that at least the Drarry shippers aren’t harassing people? There are testimonies from trans people about hp fans harassing them, but the majority of those fans obviously wouldn’t also be writing trans Drarry fics so ehh?

Idk, like I said I’m conflicted and I need to vent. I’ve been holding this vent in for a while now.

I guess my thesis statement here is: HP fandom, if y'all really want to "diversify Harry Potter to spite the TERF", then please for the love of Glaux ADD MORE CHARACTERS AND IDENTITIES TO YOUR HEADCANON ROSTER.

#mod erin #ask #just anti things #posted without comment #caps warning

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bakugotrashpanda · 2 years

Text

Two Truths and a Lie

Chapter 12: The Truth Will Set You Free

Bakugou x Fem!Reader

◈ Pro Hero, Fake Engagement ◈ Word Count: 2154

◇ Chapter Select

◇ Previous Chapter

!!: ….. angst(?)

Some much-needed closure.

Feet shuffle closer to the closed door. The roar of blood coursing through your body fills your ears. There’s no backing out. It opens silently.

Midoriya stares at you. He pushes a mop of unruly curls away from his forehead, the normally perfectly coiffed long top of his undercut is plastered to his head and messy from sleep. Neither of you move.

With all that time to prepare, every rehearsed speech goes out the window and you simply ask, “Why?”

Emerald eyes assess you from head to toe. He opens the door wider and nods. “You should come inside.” You’re left with little choice or room to protest when he walks away without a word. Reluctantly you cross the threshold. Closing the door, you lean against it and cross your arms. Midoriya putters around the modest kitchen and pours himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

“Why’d you do it?” you ask, and shake your head when he holds out an empty mug to you.

His brows furrow. “Which part?”

“All of it,” you sigh. “Me. Telling Ochako.” Midoriya gestures to the chairs at his kitchen table before taking a seat himself. Might as well…

Scarred fingers trace the edge of his cup. “Would you believe me if I said it was the right thing to do?”

“You’ve already proven that you’re a liar.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You’re still here for answers.” Taking a sip, he inhales deeply. You wait, though your patience runs thin. This is stupid. You could’ve let bygones be bygones.

When he finally speaks again, his voice starts out soft. Quiet. “You and I never would’ve been happy,” he admits. “I wouldn’t want anyone to know that we’re together-”

“Were you really that ashamed of me?” It shouldn’t hurt. Previous feelings for him have long since passed. But his words still sting.

“Not ashamed. No.” He shakes his head quickly, his curls flopping over his face again. “I… I couldn’t make you a target. People would want to hurt you to get to me.”

“And you would’ve saved me,” you cut in.

“Just like I saved All Might?” All these years and the death of his former mentor is still a thorn in his side. The bloody asterisks mark on his rise to the top. “Everything went to shit because of me. Lives were lost because of me. To be blunt, if I couldn’t save them, how could I save you?” Both hands grasp his mug. It seems small there. Exceedingly fragile. With just a small squeeze he could break it. So much strength, but still not strong enough to meet his own expectations.

“But Kacchan…” Midoriya’s voice trails off. You catch a flash of a sad smile. “He’s the real deal. I saw you two at the gala. I’ve never seen him that happy. I couldn’t tell until that night that it was real.”

You shake your head. “What happened to you?” This wasn’t the man you dated. The always positive, sunny man you fell in love with looks worn out and beaten down. Had his eyebags always been so dark?

“Ironically, I needed to stop lying to myself,” he smiles wistfully. “I’ve lost a lot to get to where I am; All Might. Gran Torino. Everyone who fought alongside me at the final battle and didn’t make it back. And… myself. I let fame get to my head, I suddenly had the title of Savior that I didn’t want. I started this to help people, to put smiles on faces, to make hearts lighter. But now look at me. Truth is, I don’t know who I am anymore.” He leans across the table and takes your hand in his own. They’re warmer than usual, probably from holding the coffee. “I never got a chance to apologize, but I am sorry for what happened between us.”

You pull your hand out from his. “I’m not here for an apology, and of all the people who deserve one, it’s not me.”

“And I’m not the one you should be talking to right now.” he counters. Your surprise must’ve shown. “‘Chako called. We talked. She’s still angry.”

“Rightfully so,” you say tartly.

“Stop stalling and go to him. You deserve happiness too.” He’s got you there – you are stalling. You know where you should be and who you should be talking to. “And Verity? Can I get my notebook back?” His sheepish grin reminds you of when you first started dating him, the boyish charm that won you over.

You stand up and smooth your clothes. Leaning over, you tenderly cup his cheek and smile sweetly. His shampoo tickles your nose, the citrus now headache inducing rather than comforting. With your lips inches from his ear, you whisper. “Get fucked.”

The cursor on the screen blinks at Bakugou. Another report he has no desire to filling out, but recalling daily activity is better than being lost in his own thoughts. He used a workaholic lifestyle so that he could eventually get to a place where he’d have more time for friends and… dating. And now he has too much time on his hands and nothing to fill it. Except work.

Bakugou’s fingers fly across the keys as he recalls what happened earlier when he stopped a convenience store robbery. Is this what his life used to be like? Work until he was exhausted, go home, eat, sleep, and repeat? How could he call that ‘living’? The only time he got out was when Kirishima and Kaminari dragged him somewhere. Pathetic.

A blinking light on the phone connecting him to his secretary grabs his attention. He hated that she could bother him whenever she wanted, but at least this way she didn’t poke her head in his office.

He stabs the receive button. A harsh beep and a grating voice fill his office. “Your fiancée to see you, Dynamight.” Bakugou smothers his initial pained look with a well crafted mask. Sitting up straighter, he feels his heartbeat quicken, but it feels like it’s twisting in knots. What could you possibly want? Oh god, what was he doing before? Hands. Typing. Report. How had his day gone?

There’s no time to think. The doorknob turns and his fingers fly across the keyboard. It’s all gibberish – random words that float into his mind that’ll make him look busy.

You’re there. And you’re not saying a damn thing, not even moving. How long is he supposed to pretend to be working?

“Katuski…” you whisper. You might as well have shouted.

“I’ve got work to do,” he says tersely. More gibberish fills his screen. Would you see through him?

“Can we please talk?”

Talk? That’s rich. He finally looks up at you. Bloodshot, sallow eyes stare at him, silently pleading.

“You already said your piece,” he snarls. “You made things pretty clear last time we spoke.”

He waits, but your lips press into a thin, disapproving line. His blood starts to boil. You came here, to his work, and want to talk. You stomped out of his apartment and basically called him a shitbag. And you want to fucking talk.

“What do you want me to say? That I fucked up? That I shoulda told you everything from the start?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and tosses it onto his desk with a clatter. “D’you want to see all my messages from him too? Just in case you don’t trust me?” You flinch at the venom in his voice, but stand there like a statue. Your fucking silence kills him.

Bakugou stands and rounds his desk. It’s intimidation, he knows that, but he’s desperate for any kind of reaction, even if it’s you telling him off. “I may not have told you the truth, but you’re the one who lied to everyone about what we were,” he growls. “And then to accuse me of throwing you to the side for someone else? Who do you think I am? I said I was in it until the end and there wouldn’t be anyone else.”

Still nothing from you. He runs his hands through his hair and pulls not so gently. He wants to shout, scream at you. Something. Anything. Why won’t you react? His scalp screams, the pain reigns in his anger.

But it’s not enough.

“Do you want me to beg? Get on my knees and grovel for your forgiveness? Tell you that I miss you and want to make things right?” And shit does he miss you. “Do you want me to say that I’m miserable without you? That I can’t stop making two helpings of food? Or that I roll over in the night and feel the cold spot on the bed and wake up in a panic?” Bakugou bites his tongue. That last part wasn’t supposed to come out, but you riled him up.

You shake your head, pity in your eyes. God he hates the pity. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Bakugou snaps.

“If you’d give me longer than a second to gather all my thoughts I’d have more for you,” you bite back. Bakugou crosses his arms over his chest. With a sigh, you continue. “You’re right. Out of the two of us, I’m the liar. I lied to the world and roped you into it. I lied to you and said that this would make things better, and I lied to myself when I said I wouldn’t get attached. You’ve been mostly honest–” Bakugou bristles. Mostly honest? He opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “And yes I’m counting lying by omission.”

Bakugou presses his lips together. You’re right, of course. “You took me in,” you continue, “Went along with this crazy, half baked plan, stood up for me… And I threw it all back in your face. I thought you were going to leave me, so I left first, consequences be damned.”

Taking a page out of your book, he stands there silently. You’re close. Maybe an arm’s length away. Either of you could reach out to the other, but there’s a barrier – hurt feelings, betrayal, pride.

You clear your throat and straighten your spine. “So yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t think things through and hurt you, and I don’t expect you to forgive me anytime soon. I…” Bakugou watches your confidence waver — the way your shoulders start to crumple and your puckered brows turn up. “I guess I wanted to offer you some closure? Let you get everything out? Ask whatever you needed to ask…” Get the answers she never got.

There’s a million questions swirling around his mind, but only one he wants an answer to. Your gaze falls from his as the silence drags on. You’re waiting.

The more time passes, the more you begin to fidget; crossing and uncrossing your arms, shifting your weight from foot to foot, even your jaw tenses sporadically.

When you can’t take it any longer, you nod once and turn for the door. The end. No more Dynamight and Verity.

Bakugou won’t stand for that. He reaches the door as you turn the handle. He’s so close to you, can smell your shampoo but it’s different.

He won’t admit to not throwing out your stuff, or that he once opened your partially used shampoo bottle to remember what you smelled like — as if your scent wasn’t all over his apartment. And he’ll certainly never let you know that that only happened once because he nearly started spiraling in his desperation to know where things went wrong.

You’re so close he can feel your warmth emanating from your body.

“You think you can waltz in here, say you’re sorry, and then leave like nothing happened?” he snarls, but there’s no bite to his words. “Fucking christ, do you know what you do to me? That shitty ass apology an’ I want you back. You coulda sent a text for me to ignore sayin’ all that. Why come in person?”

You flounder for words. “I wanted to see you again. I…”

“Say it.” You’re so close he could reach out and touch your hip. Pull you close. Bury his face in your neck. Fall to his knees and worship you like the goddess you are. But he needs to hear it. He needs to hear that you want him, need him. If she doesn’t feel the same…

“I miss you.” He nearly misses those three glorious words. Hastily, you speak up, your sentences melding together into one giant rambling thought. “But that’s selfish of me and I get it if you never want to see me agai-”

Bakugou pulls you in a crushing embrace. You feel good in his arms. You feel right against him. Even as he blinks away the salty sting in his eyes, he doesn’t want to let you go. If you’ll let him, he’ll never let go. Not again.

◇ Next Chapter

#bakugou #bakugou x reader #two truths and a lie #writing #mine

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