♡ C ♡

Remember Me

Pokémon Sword & Shield: Leon x OC

Status: Hiatus (I WILL GET BACK TO IT SOON!)

After stripping away your Champion title and freedom in Alola due to your parent’s sacrifice gone awry, you and your younger sister embark on a new life in Galar, the only region untouched by Team Rocket. Amidst all the challenges, you unexpectedly reunite with your long-lost love.

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Loss of virginity, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Loss of Parent(s), False Identity, shield needs more love, I aint writing y/n lol

Chapter 1 (ao3 ver)

Chapter 2 (ao3 ver)

Chapter 3 (ao3 ver)

Chapter 4 (ao3 ver)

Chapter 5 (ao3 ver)

Chapter 6 (<- on ao3)

Chapter 7 (available on ao3!)

Fractured Bonds

My Hero Academia: Toshinori x Reader x Aizawa

(This is not a poly fic)

Status: ongoing/revamp in progress

For old version, please go to the fractured bonds archived hashtag on this post :)

Once known as All Might’s second sidekick and the younger sister of the late Oboro Shirakumo, you return to U.A. High School as its apprenticed nurse, working under Recovery Girl’s guidance after a five year hiatus from the Pro Hero spotlight.

Old friendships resurface. So does your former high school sweetheart, Shota Aizawa. And the man you were never able to fully define your relationship with, Toshinori Yagi.

In the end, returning to U.A. may not just reopen old wounds. It may determine who you’ll become when everything falls apart.

Tags: Overall Story Tags: Romance, Love Triangles, Friends to Lovers, Opposites Attract, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, Second Chances, Not Beta Read, Angst, not a poly fic, Porn With Plot, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Fluff, Boss/Employee Relationship, Age Difference, Reader Has a Healing Quirk

Chapter 1 (ao3) behind the writing

For you, it was as though a switch had been flipped.

The moment he laid on your bed once more after your stubborn reassurances, he would still insist he was fine. You cut him off before more refusals could fully leave his mouth, draping the blanket over him with enough firmness, practically trapping him as you wrapped it around him to make it clear the discussion was over.

And with that, Shota reluctantly decided to do something far more difficult.

To relax.

Or at least, he tried to.

As he quietly surrendered to the warmth of the blanket, he would watch in silence as you crossed the room and began arranging your own blankets and pillows on the floor beside him. Though, when you finally finished, you positioned yourself facing the door rather than the bed.

And the guilt in his chest only deepened.

Eventually, sleep finally consumed him, perhaps only for a few hours as he woke to you carrying a warm plate of food.

You helped him sit upright, making sure the plate was within reach, and stepped away to give him space.

That was until the utensil slipped from his fingers with a sharp clatter against the plate, his hand refusing to cooperate no matter how hard he willed it to. He muttered a curse beneath his breath, staring at the traitorous fingers that wouldn’t even close properly around a fork.

By the time he looked up, you were already beside him again. Without a word, you picked up the utensil and raised a bite toward him.

And at nights, the moment you fell asleep on the makeshift bedding, Kitsune would always leap on the bed.

At first, Shota assumed she was only checking on him. He remembered at school, the spirit had always kept her distance, rarely materializing, so he hadn’t thought much of it, thinking she would retreat back in your body to rest right after.

Until she started climbing directly onto his chest.

Thankfully, she weighed far less than expected, barely pressing against him at all. Still, he quietly grumbled the way she would stand there, paws planted against him while she tilted her head and stared down with narrowed glowing eyes, as though she were peering straight through his soul before she began to knead her paws on his stomach.

“Hey,” he whispered to the fox spirit, “can you—“

Her glowing paw pressed against his lips before she resumed back to her kneading.

And if he tried to move, he would feel her weight press against slightly firmer on his chest with a faint growl.

So he had no choice but to let her be.

And once she was satisfied with her work, instead of retreating to your body as he expected once more, she would simply turn around before dropping herself comfortably across his chest.

And no matter how many irritated attempts he made to move her, she refused to budge an inch.

The last thing he wanted was to wake you, so he always ended up sighing quietly before giving up, letting the faint warmth continue spreading through his body to lull him back to sleep, and fading once the sun began to rise.

————————————————————————

Shota found his mornings irritating.

From beneath his half lidded eyes, he found himself watching the same sequence unfold each morning. The scrape of curtain rings would pull him from whatever sleep he had managed to find, followed by a flood of sunlight. With a groan, he would throw a hand over his eyes in a poor attempt to block it out, only to hear your cheerful voice greeting the day. You would then make your way over to your vanity and reach for the same hairbrush, carefully working through the tangles left behind from sleep. Afterward, your hand would reach toward a small drawer overflowing with hair ties in every color imaginable. There had to be dozens of them, yet you always choose the same one.

Once you disappeared into the bathroom, he would usually let his eyes close again, only for them to reopen when you returned with yet another strange product spread across your face. Sometimes it was a sheet mask, other times some cream or gel he couldn’t name. Whatever it was, you wore it as though walking around it on your face was perfectly normal.

He didn’t find the energy in him to question it.

Most mornings, his body still demanded more rest than he was willing to admit, leaving him awake only long enough to eat, drink, and reassure you he wasn’t dying.

And then, there were mornings when sleep refused to hit him, leaving him awake with nothing to do except stare at the ceiling and endure the boredom he stubbornly refused to mention since the last thing he wanted was to sound ungrateful. So instead, he observed.

And eventually, he had practically memorized every inch of your room.

His gaze drifted across your decorated desk against the wall, neatly filled with trinkets, charms, and tiny figures that shared the same aesthetic. Everything had a designated spot. If a pen was used, you put it back. If a notebook shifted even by a little, you straightened it right away.

The vanity was no different. Perfume bottles, hair brushes, and containers were arranged that looked like you could find any one of them without looking.

Then there was the shelf.

An entire shelf dedicated to a single white cartoon cat wearing a red bow.

A larger plushie sat in the center while smaller ones surrounded it, accompanied by more collectibles that were extensive enough that he was beginning to suspect the cat was either extremely important or slowly taking over the room.

He wasn’t entirely sure which possibility concerned him more.

Still, as ridiculous as he found some of it, the room had become familiar.

The bright pink walls no longer made his eyes ache. The overwhelming decor no longer felt foreign. Even the countless little things that he once would’ve dismissed as excessive had become things he unknowingly looked for when he woke up.

It was strange….

A few weeks ago, he would’ve given anything to leave this room.

Now, he found himself noticing how lonely it felt without you in it.

And today was that morning.

The room was quiet, absent of the familiar scrape of curtains or your overly cheerful greeting that had somehow become part of his own routine. For a few moments, he simply stared at the ceiling before his gaze drifted around the room once again.

He hummed as his eyes immediately caught the small changes.

Your hair brush sat abandoned on the vanity instead of resting in its holder. The hair tie you always wore was missing from the drawer he had grown accustomed to seeing you rummage through every morning. Even your closet door had been left slightly ajar, exposing hanging clothes through the narrow gap.

Before he could question, the bedroom door clicked open.

His attention snapped toward it just as you slipped inside and shut it behind you. As usual, you immediately leaned against the door with your ear pressed against the wood.

By now, he had learned this was one of the routines every time you left the room and returned.

This morning, though, there was an added complication.

The fox spirit had manifested, squeaking impatiently, circling your legs before entering your body. Shota caught the quick swipe of your sleeve over your face before you hung your coat on the hook behind the door, reaching to the coat’s pocket to reveal a paper bag afterwards.

Before he could even manage a greeting, you pulled something from inside and crossed the room.

A folded napkin was suddenly held out in front of him.

Resting on top was a round pastry covered in frosting and enough colorful sprinkles to make his teeth hurt just from looking at it.

A doughnut.

You tilted your head, “Have you ever had one before?” you asked.

He shook his head, though sweets weren’t completely new to him.

Over the years, he had stolen enough food to lose count, and curiosity had occasionally gotten the better of him.

One memory stood out in particular.

A frosted honey bun.

He had taken one bite and immediately regretted every life choice that had led him there.

Still, he remembered that day on the rooftop, the slice of cake you had practically forced in his mouth after your birthday during the first year at U.A., and that had been… tolerable.

So perhaps this would be the same.

“You waited for me before eating it?” he asked as he carefully accepted the napkin.

You nodded before you turned away, humming in confirmation while reaching into the bag again. A second doughnut emerged, identical to his.

This time, he recalled your birthday, just mere months ago, remembering you turning away before stuffing the muffins you were reaching for and recalling Oboro’s words that were spoken shortly after.

With a quiet sigh, he brought the doughnut to his mouth and took a bite.

His hand flew over his mouth.

“Do you like it?” you asked, turning around, with a smile reaching your eyes as a soft glow outlined your figure. The doughnut you had in your hands just seconds ago had somehow vanished as if you ate it in one bite, “I requested the baker to add a few things in for me!”

Request?

Did you specifically request an entire bag of sugar?

Shota swallowed with effort before dragging his hand across his mouth, hoping it looked more like wiping away crumbs than suppressing the urge to spit it out.

I hate talking about personal matters on the internet but it’s clear I’m taking way too long to update so I think an explanation is deserved.

Me and my partner of 3 years have parted ways so I honestly don’t have the romance or smut fever anymore.

I thought me talking about or giving it time would eventually help motivate me but it clearly didn’t and it didn’t help that me and him shared a Spotify account so all the music I use as motivation is basically gone and I’d have to download like 500+ songs and I have no space on my phone for that so yeah there’s gonna be a huge delay. I have 3 scenes written out so far and im debating on posting those to at least give you guys something or wait to post it at one go since I don’t want that to become a habit.

Just overall I’m just mad at myself that I tend to hype everyone just for end up with delays and excuses so I’d rather just post and keep quiet moving forward.

Don’t worry I’m not going on a huge hiatus or giving up this story because honestly, this story is the only thing that’s making me not want to crash out. I have an outline planned so it’s not like I’m having trouble planning out scenes, I just want to make sure I’m in the correct headspace and not project myself or my problems anywhere onto the story.