galaxoshine

[galaxoshine]

running by NF is so kevriko from kevin’s pov im sick

[galaxoshine]

and if i said 8 and kevjean? :)

hi sar!! ok you really chose a mean prompt so this is a mean microfic, fiy, not my fault <3 (for this drabble game)

8. "This isn't what I wanted" + kevjean | 360 words

He leaves so abruptly, without a notice, without a word, he leaves like an accident, like the rain stops, without warning, so suddenly Jean can’t stomach how his life turns upside down in one morning.

Foolish, stupid thing his heart is.

For hoping he’d come back. For hoping this was a mistake. For hoping someone or something took him away. That he couldn’t—shouldn’t have—would never—but he did, and it hurts, hurts more than Riko’s punishment, fueled by reckless rage, possessive mania and heartbreak ever could. This is a permanent ache. It’s blood in his mouth, in his lungs, and a metallic taste that reminds him of the blade embedded in his back. The one he can't reach and take out.

Jean takes every hit, and thinks he knows hate, then. He thought he did, but it was faded, eroded by survival and the need not to think. To endure.

This is hatred. Pure, raw, bred by love. When he thinks about Kevin and dares to miss him still. When he thinks about Kevin and wonders, did he even think about me? 

Jean does the same, in the end.

He leaves without warning, without a trace, like a bird in the wind taking off its nest, finally spreading its wings. He leaves, and hopes it’ll be years to come before he’ll meet Elodie again, before their souls get to share an embrace they've been longing for. The sweet, honeyed memory of her is the last thing he holds onto as he leaves. It leaves a fainted smile on his lips.

Let her live. Let her taste life, and enjoy all the different flavors it has to offer, the ones Jean hasn’t been allowed. Let her blaze wildly in this world, let her fly as high as she can, the way Jean only can when he leaves, quietly, tired of choking on his own blood.

He leaves and leaves Kevin behind, repeats the pattern, (when do they stop hurting each other?), and he does so because he gets to be selfish for once, gets to choose for the pain to stop as well. Maybe this is when it all stops. When they both reach peace.

What remains are flowers, and a sea-salt droplet filled with grief that falls along with ashen words, light as dead feathers of what could’ve been. What should've been.

“This isn’t what I wanted,” whispered brokenly, from the one left behind, to the one he left behind.

Jean leaves, and hopes Kevin understands.

He just wanted to be free, too.

[galaxoshine]

@apfelhalm the second half of your prompt ask (for this drabble game) <3

83. “I didn’t want you to see this.” + timsax | 820 words

It’s a ritual. 

Close the bedroom door. Wait for silence. Undress mechanically, fold the clothes on the bed. Then, take the package out from the hidden drawer in his closet. Put them on, (ignore the tremor in his fingers), let the heady feeling wash over him, and slip through. 

He’s got half an hour before his family comes back. Enough time.

As soon as he catches his reflection in the mirror, the shape it takes, the way his silhouette morphs, something deep within him unwinds. It loosens the lump constantly in his throat and wells up in his eyes. He breathes out softly, (ignores the voice that screams wrong, disgusting, freak, fag) and touches himself. Carefully. Over his hairy thighs, the dip where his love handles appear, meeting the fabric, then up his chest. Slow strokes. Ones that make this real. He turns around, pretends the mirror is an audience. All the while his head starts buzzing like it’s filled with cotton candy, he sways, dazed, and high on this feeling, disconnected, and too high, because he doesn’t notice the noise until it’s too late.

The distant, “Hey son, I forgot my wallet, did you see it by—”

The door to his bedroom door slams open.

Saxon freezes.  

The world freezes.

His blood pulses loudly in his temples, so loud it’s deafening. Shame and disgust slam into him so violently he can barely stop himself from retching, his throat tied into a knot. His eyes screw shut on instinct, muscles stiffening. Tight enough to pretend this isn’t happening. (It isn’t.) 

When the silence stretches on, he grits out, the words painfully stained humiliation, “I didn’t want you to see this.” 

This. Easier to detach himself from it if it’s a this. It’s not him. It’s not him, can’t be him, he’s not that, he can’t be, because—he’s just not. 

He doesn’t open his eyes. Can't.

Tentative footsteps get louder. 

Saxon holds his breath. He wants the ground to swallow him open, to chew him up and digest him until he’s left in pieces, he wants the violence inside him to surge, to wreck him to pieces, he wants to stop feeling so wrong, and he wants to stop hating feeling so right. (Why can't he be normal?) 

Heat curls around his hip, ghosting at his back, startling him to the present. His eyes snap open. Fear fires through his veins, but the scene he finds reflected in the mirror is not what he predicted, too close to something he couldn't have imagined in his wildest fantasies, it’s almost too much too bear.

He can’t breathe. It’s too much—not enough. It’s wrong, so wrong, so deliciously wrong, he can't get enough of it.

“Dad?” he asks, voice quiet, too quiet, scared to shatter the peace. They fit nicely together, he thinks. His packed frame is still relatively small compared to Tim's imposing one. The feminine underwear so sinful against the white shirt and black vest looming behind him.

Those rough fingers, worn out by life, wrinkled with power and grace, trace the curve of his body, going over the lace carefully. The touch is so reverent it sends cracks of heat down Saxon’s navel, makes his eyelashes flutter against his will. It takes everything not too lean into that hand.

“This is new,” his dad notes. Neutrally.

Saxon can’t speak. Can’t do anything but stand still, heart batting its wings. Wait for the shoe to drop.

Then, those knuckles take the strap of the bralette and let it slap against his skin. The sting of pain sparks a gasp out of Saxon, makes something stir within him that will be hard to hide in any second as his body reacts, so sensitive. His dad doesn’t back away, merely hums, like he’s pleased. (Proud?) 

Then, his thumb catches over Saxon’s nipple, tickling it through the fabric until it hardens, and the dam bursts.

“Dad.”  A broken moan, a plea.

“That’s my son.” Voice so deep and rough Saxon can barely recognize it, and it drenches his body with the wrong kind of acceptance, the one that has him pushing against his underwear for more, head falling back against a broad, firm chest—the one that has him no matter what, the pillar he's leaned against on all his life. He hangs there, like a willing sacrifice, bare for the taking.

His dad kisses his forehead, and holds him. (Possessively?)

Saxon breathes, and accepts this strangelike peace, this new feeling of wrongness he can’t resist. He's never been good at that, after all. But it feels okay giving it to it, to the one person can give him absolution. That does so, now.

It’s a ritual.

But from now on, he won’t have to pretend the mirror is an audience, for he has one that is drinking the sight of him with more hunger and praise than a piece of glass ever could.

[galaxoshine]

59 for satosugu

And, if it's not too greedy and you're up for it, 83 for timsax or timloch

hi tess <3 absolutely love the two ideas, i'm gonna write the second one in a another post!!

59. "look at me" + satosugu | 670 words (for this drabble game)

“Look at me.”

Satoru stops in his tracks. Heat prickles at the base of his neck in beads of sweat, the sunlight almost unbearable against his sensitive skin. His knuckles fold into a fist. A poor attempt at crushing the nauseous yearning, the pang in his chest, the painful itch to obey instantly, to turn back, swivel and just—

Delay.

He stands there, unmoving, breathing scattering.

The air is filled with the buzzing of the busy streets around them, muffled conversations, and cars honking, dizzying and insignificant. 

A few steps behind him, the end of Satoru’s world. The beginning of a new one. Suguru. 

Look at me.

Look at me, Satoru. 

Look at me, love.

Look at me when you come. 

Look at me when you leave.

Look at me when you come back to me, look at me, and only me. Look at me when you die. Look at me when you are reborn. Look at me when you shouldn't, when you think of me, when you believe yourself free from me.

Look at me.

Satoru did.

Satoru did, time and time again, it’s all he did, because he learned quickly that his life was not a linear pathway towards death, but a fated damnation, a circle, one that would always inevitably lead him back to Suguru. He’s climbing up the curve now, and it’s the worst deliverance to find himself sliding down that slope again. 

It’s tiring being haunted by him. Satoru much prefers the living flesh of Suguru. His memory and tortured dreams pale in comparison to the real thing. Even his voice now is enough to send ripples of heat down Satoru’s spine, make him alert and alive in a way nothing else, no one else ever could.

Ten years since the first hit. The quiet, what are we doing? And, what we were meant to be doing all along. A tentative, What are we? A smirk. You ask too many questions. Paired with a promise in the shape of a bruise. We’re everything.

Seven years since the addiction kicked in. I hate you, hissed amidst labored breaths. A chuckle. I hate you more, said so tenderly and viciously against the shell of his ear.

Three since the wreckage. We can’t keep doing this, as treacherous hands buried themselves in long raven hair. Then stop me, groaned before turning his world to dust.

One since, stop looking at me like this. Eyes brown and rich as the earth blinking up at him, dark as the dirt under Satoru’s fingernails he hasn't managed to scrub himself clean off, as the brown fertile soil that allows for growth. Like what? Satoru had kissed the answer off those slick pink lips, but his blood was pulsing to the beat of, like I’m still your whole world.

So, Satoru does the only thing he can do, now. 

He tips down the edge, falls, completes the circle by turning around. 

He looks. 

He looks at him, like looking is kissing, fucking, drinking, absorbing it all inside. His Suguru. Waiting for him patiently, with that cocky look, a strand of hair falling in front of his hooded eyes, burning with anticipation, still as beautiful as the day they met.

Satoru’s breath cracks in his throat. Relief bleeds into him so thoroughly, like a knife pulled out of his guts, and with no choice but to bleed out, he lets himself be seen, bare, gasping on the surge of ecstasy at feeling complete, his missing piece finally clicking into place.

Satoru looks at Suguru, and the world starts spinning again. He looks so maddeningly gorgeous, Satoru can’t fathom how ever stopped looking. 

Those lips—the ones he's tasted, kissed, owned with his teeth and his soul—curl into the edge of a smile. Missed me? 

Satoru wants to huff, adrenaline kicking up. You know I did, you bastard. 

A raised eyebrow. That desperate aren’t you? 

You wish.

Such a bad liar.

Such a bad actor.

Suguru’s eyelashes flutter criminally. That smile stays in place, replaces the blade splitting Satoru's chest open. What a comforting weight.

Finally, he speaks. “Still works so well, after all this time.”

“Doesn’t it?” This time, it’s Satoru who smiles.

I can’t help myself from turning back, but you can’t help yourself from calling me. Oh, how beautifully doomed we are.

Satoru takes a step forward, just as Suguru does, called like magnets they are, and as they crash together, all he can think above the pitiful thump of his wretched foolish heart is, there you are.

My favorite curse.

(ao3 link)

[galaxoshine]

hi love <3 may i ask for kevjeremy + “Is that my shirt?” pleaseeee 0:))

irissss, you angel, hi<33 this took me a hot minute but some cheeky little kevin and jeremy for you, absolutely 🤭

Rolling onto his side, Kevin lets out a tired groan, hand outstretched in anticipation for the body he expects to be beside him. Except his searching fingers only find cool, empty sheets. He blinks sleep from his eyes, squinting against sunlight slanting through a curtain that should be blocking out the light, if someone hadn’t left it open just the slightest bit —the first sign he’s not actually alone.

As he sits up he finds another clue that his company hasn’t simply left while he slept in. There’s articles of clothing scattered on his bedroom floor and they’re not all his own. He manages to find his loose black sweats and pulls them and nothing else on as he goes to the bathroom. Business is taken care of, teeth are quickly brushed, then he wanders into the kitchen.

Jeremy stands at the counter, poking buttons on the coffee maker despite the fact that a glance at the clock tells Kevin that Jeremy’s been awake for at least half an hour already, if not more, which means the coffee’s not for himself. Sure enough, there’s a used mug already in the sink as Kevin passes by, crossing the kitchen to Jeremy’s side.

His head turns when he notices Kevin’s approach and a wide smile appears on his face —just bright enough to distract Kevin from staring too long at the mouth-shaped bruise he notices he’s left on Jeremy’s throat. “Morning, Kev.”

Kevin mumbles a low, absent greeting in return, his head tilting as his gaze lowers down Jeremy’s body. Jeremy’s jeans are still discarded on Kevin’s bedroom floor, leaving tan legs on display, but it’s what he wears on his upper body that gives Kevin pause. A hand lifts from his side, sliding along Jeremy’s lower back and bunching the soft gray material in his fist.

His tongue darts over his bottom lip before he asks, “Is that my shirt?” 

An unnecessary question in reality; it’s too big for Jeremy —longer on his torso where Kevin is a little taller than him, hem coming down to his thighs, shoulders slightly looser than the form-fitting tees and tanks Jeremy is more known to wear. Not to mention the faded orange fox paw and ‘Palmetto State Athletics Department’ emblazoned on the front, too hard to miss when Jeremy turns to face him fully.

It’s an old shirt, one Kevin has relegated to being loungewear at this point, which was why he’d been wearing it the night before when Jeremy had showed up at his apartment as a surprise. Hours after the game their new professional teams had played against one another, with an unexpected knock on Kevin’s door and a wanting look in those pretty brown eyes the second Kevin opened up to find him there.

Jeremy looks down at the shirt in question as if he’s surprised, but it’s overdone, a touch too dramatic as he makes a show of tugging the fabric away from his chest for a better look at it. “Oh, shoot. Guess it is, huh?”

When his eyes lift to meet Kevin’s again, the fake surprise is wiped away. In its place is a self-satisfied curl at the corner of his mouth, a playfully challenging quirk of his brow that silently says ‘and what about it?’ in response to the smirk that slowly appears on Kevin’s face as he shakes his head.

[galaxoshine]

should be able to leave kudos on scientific studies. i liked your paper dude keep at it

[galaxoshine]

"Hikaru" saying "you want to touch me again?" in the middle of class in the most casual way is so amazing, people can HEAR you, lower your voice when you say something like that😭

[galaxoshine]

for @rederiss

[galaxoshine]

friendly sleepover

[galaxoshine]

blanket statement out there but if u sent me a prompt for the drabble thing i promise i am NOT ignoring you ill get to them!!!

[galaxoshine]

hi hellooo 45 satosugu <3

satosugu + “Please don’t shut me out.”

///

Satoru doesn’t notice immediately.

As usual, he’s slow to wake, his mind sluggish as he slips from his dreams and back into the real world. But when he does notice, his fingers fist in the sheets where Suguru should be.

“Suguru?” he mumbles, his voice low and thick with sleep. He opens his eyes, the room dark despite the full moon. But it doesn’t matter; his Six Eyes make out immediately what his ill-adjusted vision can’t see. He shifts, following the cursed energy that pours off of Suguru, and slips his hand under the soft cotton of a loose white shirt.

Once more, but firmer this time: “Suguru.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Suguru’s hair falls in a black curtain over his hunched shoulders. He exhales shakily when Satoru rubs his lower back. “Go back to bed. I’m fine.”

Satoru doesn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times he’s heard Suguru say those words lately. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Go back to bed. I’m alright. Satoru wants to be angry, to snap and call him a liar, a coward for hiding behind a wall too high even for Satoru to climb.

Instead, he says, “Please don’t shut me out.”

The plea is vulnerability. The words make his skin itch. They’re fingers shoved in gaps in the stone, nails bleeding from the beds, as he tries to scale a wall that seems as infallible as the man who made it. ‘Please’ is not a word Satoru uses lightly or often. Maybe he’s sleepier than he thought, still straddling his dreams and the real world.

Suguru doesn’t turn around when he says, “I don’t mean to. I just don’t know how to talk about what I’m feeling.”

Well. This is more than Satoru has managed to pull from Suguru in a long time.

He sits up, legs folded against his chest, and rests his cheek on his knee. The sheets smell like them. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind Suguru’s ear, and there: his profile cut by shadows, finally brought into stark relief. There are dark circles under his eyes, but he turns his face onto Satoru’s hand and nuzzles his palm.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, lips moving warm and soft against Satoru’s skin. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I know you hate that.”

“I hate this more.” Satoru chews on his bottom lip. His knee digs into his cheek. “Talk to me.” No please this time; he’s not interested in requests anymore.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Anything. Everything. I don’t care. I’m just tired of not knowing who I’m sleeping next to.” Satoru brushes his thumb under Suguru’s eye, but he scrapes the blunt edge of his nail along the thin skin. Suguru grimaces. “You’ve been like this for months. It’s not heat fatigue.”

Suguru sighs. “No, it’s not.”

Truthfully, Satoru doesn’t expect Suguru to slip back under the sheets. Perhaps this is why he lingers with his cheek on his knee, hand extended like Suguru is still separated from him. A moment passes before he processes that Suguru now lies on his side to face Satoru, that he’s waiting patiently for Satoru to mirror him so they can talk.

Satoru falls back against the bed and shifts onto his side. He watches Suguru watch him. His heart lurches when Suguru’s hand comes up to tug on a strand of his snow white hair.

“They’re ugly, you know. The thoughts in my head.”

“I don’t care.”

“You say that now.”

“I don’t care,” Satoru says fiercely. “You’re my best friend.”

Suguru’s smile is a soft, quiet thing. “Is that all I am?”

“Don’t start on this again. You’re trying to distract me.”

“No, I’m not. You’d know if I was trying to distract you.” Suguru’s voice curls around Satoru’s spine, warm and low, but before Satoru can settle into the promise and comfort of it, Suguru’s hand slips away. “I never meant to shut you out. Really, I didn’t. I guess I didn’t think you noticed all that much.”

Satoru wrinkles his nose. “I always notice you.”

“Quit flirting. I’m trying to be serious.”

“What? I’m not— Oi!” Satoru shoves Suguru’s shoulder, laughing under his breath once he realizes Suguru is only poking fun at his expense. It’s all worth it, though, for the glimmer of mischief in Suguru’s eyes, the smile on his face.

A true one for once.

Even as the night passes and the smile slips, falling far out of reach, Satoru is at least comforted by the fact that the smile can still exist at all, no matter how fleeting.

[galaxoshine]

you know you’ve got it bad when…

[galaxoshine]

“they loved each other until they died, and they hated each other from the moment they met.”

ID in ALT text

[galaxoshine]

Softer days at the nest

[galaxoshine]

[galaxoshine]

while we're talking about noras writing. I think parts of the way riko is written in the original is bad too. I think she makes him dumb when it's needed for the story. killing seth to me made no sense. if riko has the power to kill members of the foxes... kill Andrew!! riko is obviously very talented, surely he could have also analysed that seth was messing up the team, and killing him (ironically) only helps the foxes.

so. kill Andrew. Kevin comes running back. not only have the foxes lost one of their best strikers and their best goalkeeper. they can't even play anymore!! they've lost one too many players to meet the requirement. it's over. done.

and ik some Andrew stan is gonna say he couldn't be killed but bfr. Andrew is strong and a good fighter, yes, but riko could easily hire a well seasoned hit man or even a damn team of them if needed. make it look like a suicide, an accident, or even a murder! doesn't matter. the press thinks Andrew is insane and he's hated. Kevin comes running back and the ravens spin it as Kevin needing support in his grief from his team & family blah blah blah.

obviously riko doesn't do this cuz then the plot is fucked. but then don't establish that he can kill members of the foxes. have him do something else idk.

Apreciate that you managed to come up with something i had not heard so far in the fandom, tho i see the sentiment a bit differently. i think assuming that riko could deduce this much about foxes bond is bit of stretch, on top of it riko specifically wanted to kill a striker to put more pressure on kevin and neil with kevins damaged hand. so this leaves seth and matt and seth is clearly much lower profile death case considering matt has rich surgeon dad you could think that killing andrew would be too hot to pull off for that reason too considering andrew was somewhat involwed with the policeman investigatign his case in the past (excuse me i rember almost nothing of that plot by now the guy he called piggy or whatever) We also can``t assume that Riko could get just ... everything. he is second fmaily branch and tetsujis lil pet project i think if anythign i'm bothered by how inconsistent his range of power and infulence is That said Riko i smart and poses danger, he ha sskills and is not stupid. But its very easy to forget that if you spend too mcuh time readign tumblr tags or fanfics because the fandom makes sure to present him as biggest clown ever simply because nboody likes him . I gues good character writing is not smh ppl bother with when they hate someone lol Riko is good villian with a lot of flavs and his ego getting in his way, i think in very fitting way riko biggest enemy is riko himself and the way tetsujis upbirnging shaped him The fact that our mc is nobody but neil fuckgin josten and his side is damned andrew minyard do not help rikos case. you have 2 people who went throguh hell facign off again one motherfucker still stuck in it. if our mc's were different people riko would seem like different kind of threat . as it is he is just nuisance. but this is not fault of authors writtign this is issue of reader simplifying his role in the story and ignoring it simply because .. he's the villian ? and forced need to put all spotlight on other characters. people forget those books would not be as good if riko was the pathetic loser they write him as in fan content

[galaxoshine]