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turcott3 · 4 months

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homesick

trevor zegras and platonic jamie drysdale x fem! reader

warnings?: sad af tbh!, angst, cursing but ofc fluff

masterlist

“what?” you spoke into the phone.

“he picked up the phone and they told him he was going to philly in the morning. no warning or anything. completely blindsided.” trevor explains to you.

“i cannot believe that, is he okay?” you ask.

“he’s shocked, we all are.”

“i bet. i’m so sorry trevor.” you say trying to comfort your boyfriend.

“it’s okay, i just wish it wasn’t so sudden.”

“well, tell jamie i wish him the best and that ill miss making breakfast with him every morning.”

“you can call him, that feels too personal don’t wanna invade.” he forces a laugh.

“okay ill call him tomorrow. get back to your friends babe, try to have a good night okay?”

“okay i will, love you y/n.”

“love you trev, bye.”

“bye.” he hangs up. you sat staring off into space. your mind spinning uncontrollably. they just shipped off your boyfriends best friend. scratch that, your best friend, besides trevor of course. you turn on the tv to whatever was on distracting yourself from the thoughts invading your mind, clouding the good day you had. finally, you allow yourself to cry, knowing your last goodbye to jamie was truly your last and that he wouldn’t be returning.

“what the fuck.” you say crying more, wishing someone was around you could talk to. you say for hours lost in your thoughts, watching tv without paying any attention. at this point it was late enough so you took yourself to bed, heart heavy at the thought of having to call jamie in the morning. though falling asleep was easy, waking up was the worst feeling in the world. you picked up your phone quickly, scrolling through your contacts to find jamie’s name, hitting call. the phone only rang twice before he picked up.

“hello?” he says, voice sounding weak.

“hey jimmy, how are you feeling?”

“i’m okay, i’m in philly now. i’m getting ready to head to the rink. i’m a little nervous but i talked to cam and he reassured me.”

“good i’m glad, im gonna miss you so much jamie.”

“i miss you too y/n, gonna miss our early morning breakfast making.” he laughs softly, a bittersweet smile spreading on my face.

“yeah, yeah ill really miss that too. singing ‘unwritten’ will never be the same without you.”

“damn you’re right, listening to that song will never hit like it did when we were making pancakes every morning.”

“i’m gonna miss that so much, well i don’t wanna keep you for too long. call me if you need anything okay? i know this is gonna be tough.”

“i will, thank you y/n.”

“of course, bye jamie.”

“bye.” he says before hanging up. your heart sank at his tone but could sense his hopefullness that they wouldn’t give up on him like anaheim had.

you say on the couch, watching trevor play with a heavy heart. you could practically smell it through the tv. you’d spoken to him briefly but he avoided the topic of jamie, it was still a touchy subject for him. next thing you know, trevor falls, hitting the boards awkwardly.

“fuck.” you say, watching him unable to get up without assistance, your heart breaking all over again. the trainer escorted him to the locker room, the pit in your stomach growing larger.

“please be okay, please be okay.” you say sighing.

“trevor zegras will not return to tonight’s game.” you hear the commentators say, you sigh shutting your eyes, waiting for the phone to ring and almost on queue it begins.

“y/n?”

“trevor are you okay? what’s going on?”

“i don’t know i just fell and i did something and then i couldn’t skate off the ice and i-“

“trevor stop, slow down. take a breath honey. you’re gonna make yourself sick.” you say stopping him.

“i don’t know what to do y/n.”

“do you want me to come to nashville?”

“no no you don’t need to, i think i may just come back to anaheim if i can’t play next game.”

“call me as soon as you know.” you say biting your nails.

“i promise i will, ill call you once they evaluate me.”

“okay, love you trevor.”

“love you too, bye.” he says and you hang up, slamming your phone down on the couch tears instantly spilling from your eyes, your hands instantly covering your face.

“i can’t fucking do this.” you cry, trying to catch your breath as your phone begins to ring, jamie’s name coming into the screen.

“hello?” you say weakly.

“i saw what happened and i wanted to check up on you. how you holding up?”

“i’m a fucking mess jamie.” you say sobbing.

“oh y/n, i’m so sorry. i wish i could be there with you.” he says apologetically.

“it’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay.” you say out loud to yourself.

“do you have any updates?” he asks.

“no he said he would call me after he gets evaluated.” you say sniffling.

“okay, do you want me to stay on the phone until then? i can facetime you, that’s better than nothing.”

“yes, please do.” you say and he presses the facetime button, you picking up immediately.

“sorry i look awful right now,” you say wiping your nose.

“hey no, don’t worry. you’re going through a lot right now.”

you stayed on the phone with jamie for the next two hours, appreciating him spending time on the phone with you instead of getting to know his new city.

“jamie i gotta go. z is calling, i’ll text you with updates.”

“okay, goodnight y/n.”

“goodnight jamie.” you say hanging up and picking up trevor’s call.

“so?” you ask.

“can you pick me up from the airport in the morning?” he asks, your heart sinking into your stomach.

“yes i can.”

“thank you baby, i’m so sorry about all of this.”

“it’s okay. are you okay?”

“i’m not playing, won’t know what’s wrong until i come home and go see team doc.”

“okay okay, what time?” you ask.

“7 am, cali time.”

“jesus thats in,” you look at the time, “11 hours.”

“i’m sorry for the short notice, i didn’t think this would happen.”

“it’s okay no worries at all okay? i’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“okay, i love you.” he says

“i love you too, bye trevor.” you say hanging up. texting jamie about picking him up in the morning. with the early wake up time, you take yourself to bed and crash instantly. the sadness had exhausted you. it seems like just as you went to sleep your alarm was already going off. you groaned at the sound, sliding your shoes on and heading out the door without caring for your appearance. feeling selfish for being this down when it’s not even happening to you. your drive to the airport was smooth, trevor texting you that he’d landed a few minutes ago as you pull into the airport arrival lane, him waiting patiently with his foot in a boot. you stop and get out of the car to hug him, crying instantly.

“hey hey i’m here now, let’s go home okay?” he says holding you tightly. you put his things in the car and drive off, back to your apartment. the car ride was completely silent as you gathered your composure. once you arrive you help him bring his stuff in and help him into bed.

“did you sleep?” you ask laying down next to him.

“no.” he says looking over at you, looking beat down.

“get some sleep baby.” you say pulling yourself to his side, combing your fingers through his hair.

“i can’t sleep y/n,” he said, his voice breaking, “god damnit.” he says breaking down in tears, your hands catching his face as he looked down.

“talk to me trevor, get it out.”

“well for starters, it was my 200th game and i didn’t even make it through the first period and my best friend got traded across the country all within 24 hours. life couldn’t possibly get any worse. this is the lowest i have ever felt.” he explained, getting everything off his chest.

“i know it’s hard honey, i’ve cried about 50 times in the last 24 hours. my heart is broken for you. all i can do is be here for you and listen and i feel like that’s still not even enough.”

“it is enough, it’s just a tough time right now. for both of us it seems.” he giggles, placing a hand around my waist.

“well i love you, i’m here for you baby. don’t hold back anything you’re feeling, not until you’re better. it sucks that jamie is gone but we still have each other! i know that’s not like the greatest but it’s something.”

“you know, you are the best girlfriend ever.” he smiles weakly, pulling you onto his lap and wiping the few tears that left your eyes.

“i just feel terrible about all of this.” you say to him.

“there’s nothing you could’ve done, it’s okay.” he says hugging you to his chest.

“this was not on my 2024 bingo card.” you sniffled, laughing lightly.

“it wasn’t on mine either but here we are.” he says hugging onto me tightly. you stayed on his chest until you felt yourself grow tired, eyes getting heavier by the second. not a word was said as you drifted off to sleep. trevor stayed awake, holding onto you as it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“i love you more than you’ll ever know.” he whispers into your hair, kissing your head sweetly as his hands rubbed your back gently.

when you woke up and rolled off of the boy who was fast asleep, trying not to wake him up. you grabbed your phone off the charger and walked into the kitchen, opening your phone to a missed call from jamie about 20 minutes ago. you click on the notification to call him back and he picks up instantly.

“hello?” he says.

“yes jamie hi, what’s up?”

“do you have a minute?”

“yeah i just got up, are you okay?”

“yeah i think it’s all starting to process now and i’m so emotional. like i just up and left my home with my two best friends. how can i just live like this so suddenly? i made breakfast and it wasn’t even good.” he explains, his voice wavering.

“oh jamie,” you say, “it’s gonna be okay. i promise it will be. they love you.”

“i’m sure ill get used to it soon it’s just such an unexpected change, i don’t know what i’m doing.” he says sending you through all of your emotions at once.

“i understand, even though we aren’t physically there we are always here for you jam. we love you so so much.”

“i love you guys too.”

“i’m also about to make breakfast for the first time without you, i don’t really know how to feel.” you laugh realizing what you had walked into the kitchen to do.

“well i’ll let you go so you can perfect your pancakes as always. bye y/n.”

“bye jam.” you say hanging up the phone and bringing out all the ingredients. you do your typical routine, humming ‘unwritten’, your favorite song. suddenly a wall of emotions hit you and tears begin to fall without warning.

“our breakfast song.” you say to yourself, recalling that you and jamie had sang this together every morning.

“smells good.” trevor says walking out of the room, your back fortunately facing away from him.

“thank you.” you force out, sounding mostly normal.

“pancakes?” he asks.

“yep.” you reply flipping the last one. you plate it and turn around, revealing your red and puffy face to your boyfriend.

“woah,” he says getting up off the bar stool and rounding the counter, “what’s going on?”

“trevor im so tired.” you cry and he wraps you in his arms.

“i know i know.” he says holding you tightly.

“i feel so empty, ive been here for you, for jamie, for everyone and no one has sat and listened to me. im so tired.” you cry even more into his chest.

“i didn’t know you felt that way, im so sorry if you felt like you couldn’t talk to me baby.”

“it’s okay, it’s a rough time for you i didn’t wanna push too hard but i can’t say i wasn’t upset.”

“don’t dismiss your own feelings just because i’m going through something. we’re in this together.” he says pulling away slightly, brushing strands of hair from your face.

“okay.” you say, your sobs finally subsiding.

“i love you.” he says kissing your gently on the forehead.

“i love you too trev.” you say smiling at the gesture, wrapping yourself back in his embrace.

#trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras x y/n #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale x reader #anaheim ducks #mason mctavish #turcs’ talk #turcs <3 #duck duo

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pedgito · 2 years

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i think we need a blurb of eddie with a tounge piercing bc that scenario and your writing skills combined would make a great story i believe (if you want ofc)

author’s note: i wrote this while violently ill, but the whore in me never quits and the idea of Eddie with a tongue piercing has me foaming at the mouth, so thank you for this.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), both reader and eddie have a tongue piercing, harmless coercing, established friendship, oral (f&m receiving), eddie is such a cute best friend to reader, kinda friends with benefits if you squint.

word count: 4.3k

Eddie’s fascinated when he sees it for the first time—a small peek at your mouth as your lips clasp over the straw of your drink. Eddie nearly chokes on the fry in his mouth, gathering strange looks from you and the rest of his friends. From the outside, he would’ve never expected it. It seemed like an odd first choice for a piercing, since you hadn’t a mere scratch on the outside, not even an ear piercing to suggest that you liked the idea of them, though even that was pretty tame. But a tongue piercing? Eddie couldn’t explain the visceral reaction is caused, it was something you picked up on secretly—stuffing that information for later.

He finds the courage a week later to say something, a momentary bathroom break from your weekly D&D game—everyone had left but you and Eddie. His hands are interlocked, settled close to his mouth, one foot propped up in the chair, forearm resting against his knee. He points, something you catch out of the corner of your eye, fiddling with the dice in your hands.

“When did you—“ Eddie motions to his mouth, almost scared to ask, like you were going to bite him if he did—which wasn’t off the table, but it was nice to watch him squirm, “—your tongue?”

“It’s been six months, Eddie,” You say flippantly, surprised he didn’t notice sooner, “—what—do you want to see it or something?”

Eddie shrugs nonchalantly, “I didn’t want to seem weird by asking—“

You drop the dice with a loud, jarring noise, turning fully for Eddie to see, parting your lips for your tongue to jut out, showing off the silver bar topped with a black jewel, a vibrant constant to the pale pink of your tongue. Eddie’s kind of mesmerized, if he’s being honest.

“Does it hurt?” Eddie asks curiously, hand tensing at his lap. You laugh slightly, tongue still hanging slightly out of your mouth.

“No,” You tell him honestly, “Do you—wanna feel it?”

There’s probably some underlying tension there, but neither of you address it. He doesn’t answer outright, but you can sense the curiosity.

Eddie reaches a tentative finger forward, shiny skull rink covering most of it, he curls it slightly, letting you guide his finger over the jewelry, pushing it around gently. It feels weird, ticklish, and you laugh, teeth grazing his finger.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Eddie asks, a small dismissive head shake from you in response.

“You get used to it,” You shrug and Eddie’s eyes narrow slightly, still mostly staring at your mouth instead of your eyes, like he usually does. “Just ask Eddie—I know you want to.”

Had the room been full of everyone else, he would’ve chickened out—but you’re expecting it, so he does ask.

“Does it—have you, like—“ It was an attempt, at least.”

“Gone down on someone?” You finish with a subtle pull at your lips, smiling at his embarrassment. Eddie’s seen you in plenty of questionable situations, and you him, so it really made no sense. “I didn’t take you for a perv—but yeah, I have.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at the comment, knowing you mean no harm in it, “I’ve just heard it feels—good, you know?”

“I wouldn’t know,” You laugh softly, “—I’ve never been on the receiving end, but from what I hear—it’s just a person to person basis.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Eddie is the least subtle person you’ve ever met.

“You’re curious, aren’t you?” You ask teasingly, poking gently at his thigh.

Eddie doesn’t shift his leg away, practically leaning into the touch. “No—no, what the hell?” It’s all entirely unconvincing.

Your head tilts slightly, knees tucked up to your chest as you lean forward, “Eddie, do you want to find out?”

“Find out?”

“How good it feels—I can,” You motion toward his groin, his leg shifted strategically to angle away from you, “—if you’re really that intrigued.”

“That’s funny.” Eddie smiles impishly, nose scrunching at the movement. “Good one, sweetheart.”

Your face drops slightly, “I wasn’t joking, Eddie.”

You’ve never seen him pale so quickly, face stone cold and void of any emotion. But, there was a catch—one that would deem that certain experience he wanted impossible.

“But—I’m curious too,” You admit to him, “—so, I’ll do it under one condition.”

Eddie takes the bait, “Which is?”

“You have to get your tongue pierced too.”

Eddie’s life was made in haste decisions; this was no different.

Eddie brings up his decision a week later, your eyes widened and mouth slack as it hung open. Eddie laughed at your initial reaction, tipping your chin slightly to close your mouth.

“I wasn’t being serious, Eddie.” You say, chasing after him as he led the way to his van, “Eddie—what are you—“

He was your only ride home, so you had no choice but to follow. Eddie’s fingers loop around your wrist lightly, dragging you alongside him, his arm slung over your shoulder when he pulls you close enough.

“I already made the appointment, can’t back out now.” He admits, shrugging his unoccupied shoulder.

“You know—I get that being impulsive can be a good thing, but Eddie, I mean—I was just joking with you.”

Impulsivity was Eddie’s strong suit—if you were ever unsure or scared to do something, Eddie was always the first one to reaffirm you; he’d never let you try something you felt weird about without trying it himself first. He also liked to show up at your house on a whim, always bringing you random things that reminded him of you—a key chain with stars plastered against a night sky because you enjoyed midnight talks on the roof of his van, a little elf that resembled your D&D character (it turned into your permanent figurine during games), and even being as sweet as to visit you with snacks during a late night of homework—just because; Eddie didn’t participate in the homework part, but the snacks were definitely devoured equally.

“I mean—I’m surprised you didn’t notice for as long as we’ve been friends, I didn’t really try to hide it,” You explain, “I just don’t want you feeling pressure or obligated to do this because of some stupid joke I made.”

“Well, I don’t make it a point to stare at your mouth all the time,” Eddie confesses, unlocking his van and opening the passenger side door to let you in, ever the gentleman he was, “—honestly thought we were closer than that, sweetheart—it kinda hurts.”

You give him an annoyed look, eyebrow raised in testing, waiting to see if he’d push the guilt further. He doesn’t, fortunate for him.

“Besides—I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.” He shrugs before disappearing, showing up at the driver's side only seconds later, “And I need my moral support buddy.”

“You’re scared.” You deduce, the engine roaring to life, music blasting from the speaker like usual.

“Absolutely.” Eddie agrees, falling into his usual head bop to the gritty beat of whatever song was playing on the radio—and you’re almost sure he’s fucking with you until you pull into shop, doubling as both a tattoo and piercing place. You’ve never seen it before.

“It’s the same place I’ve been getting my tats for the past two years,” Eddie explains, he sees the weary look on your face, adding, “it’s safe, I swear.”

“I hope so,” You reply softly, “unless you feel like losing a tongue.”

Eddie chuckles, a slight head shake at your sudden inability to trust him, but there is no turning back now, not with Eddie barreling into the shop before you can try to change his mind, scrambling out of the van to chase after him.

The shop is loud and crass and overwhelming, to be polite, but it’s the type of environment Eddie thrives in—you follow behind closely and he senses your discomfort, slipping his fingers into your own to soothe the anxiety—it helps, but not by much.

And Eddie was as physical as physical could be, it was how he showed affection, care—it was his love language and his friendship language, along with the showering of gifts—but you had a sense that was only reserved for you. Dustin didn’t even rank that high, which was a hard relationship to beat. Eddie and him were like siblings—it was important to distinguish that dynamic was not familiar between you and Eddie, not by a long shot. Eddie always lingered on the idea of whether touching you in certain situations would be too overwhelming, come off as crude and misguided, so he tried to follow your lead—but hand holding, that was never off limits.

The process is quick, seemingly painless aside from the small noise the leaves Eddie’s throat as the clamp tightens against his tongue, but that’s the worst part—he barely even remembers the needle going through before the jewelry is slid in, a much long bar than your own to accommodate the swelling that would follow.

“You’re insane.” You comment, helping Eddie through his sudden head rush, squeezing your hand to keep him steady. He moves his tongue back into his mouth carefully, offering you a flashy smile. “I mean—completely fucking insane.”

You return the smile anyways—Eddie appreciated the push, even if it wasn’t initially serious; the idea had always intrigued him, but sticking to tattoos was his thing.

This way, he could still hide it if he wanted to—not that it would work against you; but there was that lingering promise and as much as you kept telling yourself it was a joke, you could help but think about Eddie between your thighs, piercing or not.

Eddie is nothing short of a whining baby the few days following, tongue swelling half its size and unable to snack on his usual food without the fear of accidentally biting his own tongue. It’s a lot of soothing on your end, assuring him that it would pass quicker than he would be able to notice.

“The mouth heals quickly,” You explain to him, throwing a stray M&M in his direction, “a few weeks and you’ll be fine.”

By the end of the initial healing, Eddie is already bugging you to help him switch the jewelry out; he picked out a fully blacked out pierce, bar and all—fitting, but now your fingers were rubbing against his tongue and you had forced yourself in his lap to keep him still—and oh, those were definitely his hands against your thighs, the heat of his breath hitting your fingertips as he tried to speak, not understanding a word he says.

“If you keep talking I’m gonna accidentally drop this down your throat,” You warn, untwisting the piercing to replace it with the new one, “—stop—stay still—here, just breathe through your nose.”

It was like trying to wrangle a toddler.

“Ha, there,” You say triumphantly, making sure the ball is safely screwed on before letting go, finger tapping the underside of his chin to close his mouth, “let’s see.”

Eddie sticks his tongue out, the flat expanse of it spilling over his chin—and if that wasn’t a sight to behold, you weren’t sure what was. If there was any inclination that you were turned on, Eddie didn’t sense it.

“We’re matching now,” You laugh softly, sticking your tongue out for him to take a glance at—Eddie pokes at the soft flesh of your tongue playfully before shoving you away from his lap, your legs falling lazily against the bed, laid out on your back as he turned to you, “so, what’s your consensus?”

Eddie makes a face, head pulling back slightly in confusion.

“Oh my god,” You mumble, forgetting that Eddie wasn’t the brightest person in the world and sometimes your vocabulary flew over his head, “what do you think of it? Was it worth it?”

Eddie nods thoughtfully, “Yeah—I do, it’s nice—why—why is that your only piercing?”

“It’s easy to hide.” You shrug, “I mostly just like the look of it—but you have to be careful about playing with it. It can chip your teeth.”

Almost by coincidence, Eddie had the bar pulled between his teeth, quickly letting go at the words, checking his teeth for damages—there weren’t any, but he’d never thought about that.

Eddie’s drumming his fingers against the blanket, pulling at the frayed threads of your cover that was much too old—he’s silent, contemplating. You reach over to calm his insistently moving fingers, hand wrapping around his own.

“What’s up?” You ask softly, his eyes pulling up slightly to look at you. There’s a small shake of his head, not bothering to answer you audibly. Your finger wraps gently around the chain of his necklace, pulling at the guitar key until he can’t ignore you.

“You never shut up around me,” You tease, his hand wrapping around your wrist to loosen your grip on his necklace, he’s leaned closer now, arms resting just by the side of your head as he hovers over, running the soft strands through his fingers, “what’s the problem?”

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” Eddie starts quietly, “and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable—“

“Eddie,” You laugh softly, “I was joking about that—you don’t need to feel obligated now that you have one too.”

Eddie shakes his head, face scrunched up in frustration.

“No—I, uh—can I kiss you?”

It’s not the first thing you’re extracting to hear, but you’re definitely not opposed to it—you’ve only ever kissed him one other time, in a weed induced high, the first time you ever smoked weed with him. He still remembers it, the soft noises you make when he pressed harder and harder, letting him press you into the mattress until your body felt like mush and your nose burned with the stench of weed.

You leaned onto your arm, meeting him halfway—he pulled back slightly, apprehensive that you might reject him—and it’s not that he would mind, but he wasn’t sure he could suffer the embarrassment of being turned away by his best friend after being so vulnerable with them.

“Is it because you’re curious about how it feels?” You ask, titling your head slightly to peer up at him, “Or because you just want to kiss me?”

Eddie chuckles, button lip pulled between his teeth as he chews, a horrible bad habit of his. “Both—I guess, but more of the second one.”

You nod gently, thumb nudging his lip from his mouth gently, your own chin tilting up to meet him. “Then quit wasting time and do it.”

He’s on you in seconds—slow, despite his eagerness, a soft gentle press of his lips as you both inhale, eyes falling shut for a moment, savoring in the feeling.

Eddie’s timid in a way, scared that you might change your mind—but that wasn’t even in your realm of choices, you give him a soft encouragement, hoping they soothes his worry.

“More,” You sigh, mouth opening up along with his, tongues bumping against each other teasingly, Eddie makes a small noise, leaning forward to drop his arm over your side, guiding the smooth expanse of your thigh up and over his waist, “—hmm,” You chide disapprovingly, “—more, Eddie.”

He really needed to stop holding back.

So he did, startling you by shifting your weight with ease, settling your legs on either side of his hips, his hands disappearing into the hair at the nape of your neck, guiding your mouth back toward his.

“What about your homework?” Eddie says against your lips, tongue peeking out to tease your top lip, him pulling away just as you lean in. There was a forgotten pile of books in your bed and you couldn’t care less about this right now. “I don’t want to distract you.”

“You distract me every time you’re around me, Eddie.” You admit with a soft laugh, reaching forward to seal your mouth over his, putting an end to his teasing.

Eddie flicks his tongue out testingly, metal clanking against metal as you returned the action, a small moan slipping from your lips as Eddie’s hands move toward your ass, squeezing until you’re moving to your knees, front pressed directly against him—it gave you height advantage, hand winding into his curls to pull softly, angling his head the way you wanted it.

“That feels weird,” Eddie chuckles lightly, tongue slipping out to lick against your own, a messy kiss full of spit and haste, a tension building between you two that had been there far too long, “—kinda like it though.”

You laugh breathlessly, head thrown back in relief as he trailed open mouthed kisses down your neck, the familiar tingle of cold pressing against your skin.

“Do you—do you still want to—“ Eddie nips lightly at the underside of your chin, distracting you far too much, “Eddie—hey—“

“Hmm?” Eddie hums, eyes peeking open to look at you, dark and mesmerizing as you stare back at him.

“You with me?” You ask curiously, receiving a subtle nod of his head. “Okay, good.”

Eddie pulls back further, admiring your flushed face, cheeks hot from exertion. “We don’t have to.” He assures you, but you two were in far too deep to back out now.

“Eddie—I made a promise,” You laugh, albeit it has always been a joke—Eddie followed through and it only seemed fair, “so—are you gonna let me suck your dick or not?”

Eddie can’t contain himself at your crassness, eyebrows disappearing behind his bangs in surprise—he didn’t think you had it in you, to ask, but you were constantly surprising him.

“I don’t even think you need to ask,” Eddie laughs slightly, “—hell yeah.”

“Just wanted to make sure.” You shrug, sliding gently off of his lap and onto the soft carpet of your floor. Eddie leans back, hands stuck out behind him, watching you work with his belt, metal clanking as you yanked the leather from its hold, opening it just enough to unbutton his jeans. Eddie aids you slightly as he wiggles his hips, allowing you to pull his jeans and underwear down in one go.

And you’d never thought about Eddie’s dick, not really—at least not how it looked, but perhaps it being inside you, that was a different story. He’s fully hard at this point, clearly affected by all the kissing that he didn’t need any extra help in that department, his cock leaning up toward his belly, small bead of precum leaking from the tip. Eddie adjusts his shirt slightly, pulling it higher up his chest, watching you watch him. It was entirely too fascinating to see him like this, already fucked out and you haven’t even got your mouth around him.

You grab his cock in your hand, the soft, warm flesh molding into your palm, giving him a few soft tugs, just testing his response—he closes his eyes, head leaned back. If he looked at you, this would be over in ten seconds, and he couldn’t have that.

You lean forward tentatively, taking the tip into your mouth teasingly, tongue flat against the flesh as you sucked gently. Eddie’s hands squeeze at his sides, the muscles in his stomach tightening before your eyes, you lean down further, hitting your tongue out of your mouth in show, hoping he would look—he does, barely, as you lick a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, earning a strangled groan from Eddie.

“Is it okay?” You ask softly, taking him fully into your mouth for a moment, bobbing your head at a slow rhythm.

“Never—never, uh—I’ve never—” Eddie says on shaky breath, wide eyes staring down at you, you pull back slowly, and Eddie would come right there, but he’s desperate trying to hold off.

“Is this the first time anyone’s ever given you a blowjob?” You ask in shock, “Eddie—you could’ve told me.”

“It’s embarrassing.” He laughs slightly, watching you lean back down to tease him, the flat of your tongue pressing against the underside of his cock, the cold sting of your piercing makes his cock twitch against your tongue—there’s no way he’s going to last as long as he hoped for.

“Not embarrassing,” You assure him, “would've been nice to know though—now I feel like I’m corrupting you.”

Eddie gives you an absurd look, knowing how ridiculous it sounds coming from you. You swallow him down quickly, earning a strained, “Fuck.” as his legs spread wider, giving you more room to move, your hand joining in alongside your mouth, and it’s all overwhelming—Eddie squeezing his eyes shut, panting through his quickly creeping high, moaning with every stroke of your mouth, the small tingle of the piercing against the underside of his cock was barely noticeable, but there—he wanted to spill himself over your tongue, your face, too ashamed to admit it out loud.

“Fuck—I’m close,” Eddie struggles to say, gently nudging your head away, a polite warning, but you can’t be bothered, “I’m gonna come—move, sweetheart.”

You shake your head fervently, guiding his own hand to his dick, letting your mouth fall open, tongue sliding against his tip gently—Eddie doesn’t need you to explain or assure him, tugging at himself in quick, hurried strokes. It doesn’t take long, a few more seconds and he’s spilling into your mouth, coming on a long, drawn out groan as you swallow—it really should feel as visceral as it does, but Eddie can’t help it. He’s never met anyone like you.

“Holy shit,” Eddie deduces when he finally gains his bearings, tucking himself back into his pants, “—that was—“

“Good, I hope.” You remark, wiping the side of your mouth. Eddie laughs softly, using his finger to wipe away the small bit of drill that had accumulated down your chin, and his touch lingers.

“As long as I can return the favor,” Eddie decides, thumb rubbing at your tender bottom lip, “or try to, at least.”

“You sure?” You ask hesitantly, still sitting on your knees below him. “We don’t have to.”

“There’s no fucking way you’re gonna give me head without allowing me to return the favor,” Eddie says with finality, a sudden urge to make himself clear, “that’s absurd.”

“Absurd?” You say teasingly, “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I should warn you though—I’ve only done it one other time, so if it does suck—“

“I’ll help you.” You assure him, letting him pull at your arms until you’re toppling over him, his large hands spreading over your back, the cold bite of his rings digging into your skin.

“I got an idea, actually.” Eddie smiles, fumbling around with the button of your jeans, “Take your pants off.”

You strip quickly, letting Eddie assist you in the struggle of getting out of your clothes, panties going with—Eddie wants to stop, admire your body, but he’s almost too eager, hauling you up and over his chest, until your cunt is nearly settled over his mouth.

“Are you sure?” You ask with a slight breathlessness, fingers finding their way into his hair, pushing his bangs away from his face.

“Positive.” He nods eagerly, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs, spreading your legs wider, “—you can come closer, I’m not gonna bite.”

You scoot forward hesitantly, met with the eager mouth that belonged to Eddie, flat of his tongue swiping through your folds, earning a loud gasp as your hands hit your headboard, almost falling forward at the sudden movement.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” You chide, the faint chuckle from Eddie gave you the inclination that he didn’t care, licking broad stripes over you cunt, the tip of his piercing catch your clit, you whine soft, “Fuck—do that again.”

And Eddie’s a great listener, you’ve learned, repeating the motion over and over again until you can’t handle it, yanking harshly at his hair, using the control to rub your cunt against his face without restraint—you’re so caught up in the pleasure high that you forget that Eddie wanted to be the one to provide you with release—though, you sure he doesn’t mind. By the looks of his blissed out face, eyes barely able to stay open, he’s enjoying himself a little too much, the glide of his tongue against your cunt was nothing short of filthy.

“Tell me what to do,” Eddie says against you, mouth muffled by the quick movements of your cunt, “—fuck, just tell me and I’ll do it, whatever you say.”

“Up—“ Eddie moves his mouth up a minuscule amount, just over your clit, “right there—just use your tongue.”

The stark black of his jewelry peeks out, flicking his tongue in hurried movements against your clit, causing you to let out a high pitched moan, hips rocking involuntarily.

“Don’t stop,” You beg, “Gonna come—fuck, keep going, please.”

Eddie alternates between quick flicks and sucks, the familiar pulsating of your cunt, mumbling soft praises as you rode out your orgasm against his mouth, the obscene sound of his mouth as it dipped into your slick, sticky and wet as he pulled back, mouth covered in wetness.

“Only one other time my ass,” You call his bluff, unfortunately for Eddie, everything he said was true. “Jesus Christ, Eddie.”

“So, it wasn’t bad?” Eddie asks through soft pants, letting you wiggle back down his chest, palms planted firmly against his pecs, firm underneath your hand. You offer a loud laugh, almost in disbelief.

“I’ve never come from someone eating me out,” You admit, “if that’s any indication.”

“Oh, wow.” Eddie answers softly, a small surge of pride running through him. “So what’s your opinion then?”

“On the piercing?” You ask in amusement, “God—who the fuck cares—I need you to keep you around forever if you can make me come that easily.”

“I was gonna say it was actually kinda nice.” Eddie shrugs slightly, “That and it already looks good on you—so I don’t really have any complaints.”

“Worth it, then?” You ask curiously.

Eddie chuckles, leaning forward to bite gently at your hip, causing you to squeal out, curling over his body. He pulls back, peering up at you from where you’re positioned over him.

“Definitely.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #my writing #1kfic

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pan-problemed · 2 months

Text

The Radio and the Press

tags ; alastor x reader, platonic, human!alastor, human!reader, gn!reader

synopsis ; the radio-press wars were in full swing, and you were a loyal journalist. your best friend and supposed rival was alastor, a radiant radio host whom was hiding a dark secret - one that you were oblivious to.

a/n ; this is not betad, so apologies for any errors! this is also my first time writing alastor, so i'm still trying to learn how to write him. i tried to make this as inclusive as possible! let me know if there are any errors or issues, i'm always happy to learn! also, lmk if i should continue this! i have a lot of ideas for this au ^^

cross posted to ao3

“I appreciate your time, Mister Marston.” You said as you tucked your pen behind your ear and pocketed your notebook. “I look forward to readin’ your future works.”

Mister Marston gave you a reserved smile, following you out of his kitchen and into the mudroom, politely helping you shrug on your coat. “You sure y’can walk home by yourself?” He asked. “Not tryin’ to be rude, but it's gettin’ late, and I'm sure you've heard about those killin’s.”

“I'll be quite alright, but I appreciate the concern. I've got someone waitin’ for me.” You smiled back and shook his hand again, stepping out through the screen door. “Keep yourself safe, Mister Marston.”

“You too.” You could feel his eyes on you as you trotted down the street, going over the interview in your head, mentally picking out what would and wouldn't be useful for the article you'd be writing on him.

You made your way back to the office, collecting your things for the night, squinting at your watch as you locked the doors. Alastor would be wrapping up soon, perhaps you’d be able to beat him out of the station.

Alastor - your best friend, your partner in crime, your other half. A brilliant man with a bright smile, always so thoughtful and caring, the man whom you spent most of your free time with. The two of you were practically attached to hip, and when one of you went out the other wasn’t far behind. You knew people turned their heads and speculated on the nature of your relationship behind closed doors, but you didn’t really care. The two of you were perfectly happy where you were.

Sure enough, you made it to the little cafe under his station with a few minutes to spare, sitting down at one of the empty tables and squinting at your notes as you waited, studying your frantic scribbles and notes. Your parents used to tease you on your messy handwriting, calling it ‘chicken scratch’ - but you called it efficient.

You were so lost in thought that you almost missed the soft clicking of his heels on concrete, signalling his approach. He leaned over you, peering at your notes over your shoulder.

“I really don’t know how you can read that.” He hummed thoughtfully, eyes sparkling in mischeif.

“It’s in code, so annoying radio hosts don’t try to steal my news.” You sniffed, grinning as you tilted your head and angled your notebook so he couldn’t see. “Honestly. Always trying to bank off of the success of better mediums.”

He grinned as he stepped away, circling around the table and sitting across from you. “Ah, but radio is the future, my dear. Soon your medium will be all but extinct!”

You scoffed. “Newspapers are going nowhere - they’re timeless. You’re just jealous, because when all’s said and done no one’s going to remember your silly broadcasts.”

You were a journalist - and a good one at that, despite the sidelong looks people would give you constantly - working for the a small newspaper operating out of New Orleans. Alastor was a radio host, and (depending on your ask) your sworn enemy. You had heard of the fighting between radio and press, and decided to do your part by taking on Alastor as a rival. The two of you bickered constantly over the better medium, though it was all in good fun, as neither of you held any ill will towards each other. You recognized the power of the radio, and he the papers - but you took great delight in your constant back and forth.

“How was the interview?” He asked as he stood, you pocketing your notebook and stepping in beside him.

You answered, the conversation then shifting to your analysis of his works, to other interesting stories you had read. He was a wonderful conversationalist, and the two of you always found talking so easy, so natural.

The sun had set completely by the time you arrived at his little home, making your way to the kitchen as he rolled up his sleeves and you turned on the radio. You practically lived at his place, only returning home to sleep and on the days he was busy. The only thing preventing you from moving in together was his privacy and the eyebrows it would raise. Still, you had a routine of dinner at his place (which he always made), and in exchange you would help with general maintence and housekeeping.

“[y/n], dear, the bathroom’s been giving me trouble again.” He told you as he began prepping dinner. “Would you take a gander?

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the kitchen table. “I just replaced those pipes. At this point I’m starting to suspect you’re doing this on purpose.”

He smiled at you, opening the cabinets under the sink which unofficially became your toolshed. Originally, the tools lived in the shed behind his home, but he didn’t like you going in and was tired of stopping his work to retrieve them for you. You never questioned it, despite Alastor’s natural charisma and social nature you knew he could be private when it came to his home and life. He would allow you in when he was ready, just like he had for personal rooms like his bedroom or study.

“On purpose? Now why would I do that?” He teased, voice slightly sing-song as he handed you your toolbox. “Just making sure you have a backup plan for when the papers collapse.”

“In your dreams.” You retorted, the sound of his vivacious laughter following you as you went to work on his bathroom.

He retrieved you about 40 minutes later for dinner, a delicious Red Beans and Rice, and joined him in cleaning and an impromptu dance session in the sitting room.

He walked you home as he always did - the two of you lived fairly close to one another, preferring to live in the outskirts of New Orleans. He lived there for hunting freedom, being a city boy a heart, and you lived there for the relative familiarity of the nearby woods. You had grown up in dense trees and sprawling fields, the city still something of an alien world to you, and preferred to keep nature within reach.

You said your goodbyes under the light of your porch, the conversation going rougly the same as it always did - thanking him for dinner and walking you home, reminding him to keep safe, him reminding you that he was perfectly capable, and the promise to see each other tomorrow.

It had been like that for two or so years now, and you wished for it to continue like that for the rest of your lives, as unrealistic as it may be.

Two months later, your life would be ripped to shreds by the police and your dearest radio host, but for now, you could live in simple bliss and familiarity.

taglist ; (let me know if you'd like to be added! requests and anons are also welcome) @greenteaanon @chewbrry

#alastor x reader #platonic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #human!alastor #x reader #gn reader #fanfic

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melancholysway · 2 years

Text

TMNT Headcanons: Japanese

For every installment of TMNT I’m providing why each turtle would speak/practice/appreciate Japanese, enjoy!

TMNT 2003

Leonardo

- speaking in Japanese strictly to speak formally to Splinter

- doesn’t curse

- nothing informal, iykyk

- I honestly think he would be great at writing kanji, I headcanon that Leonardo has the neatest handwriting out of his brothers

Raphael

- definetely uses that shit to degrade EVERYONE and EVERYTHING that pisses him off.

- You know that man gets mad at everything, even BUGS.

-Expect it to be very informal, likes to use it around Casey to confuse him

-can’t write it as good as Leo, but it’s legible & that’s what matters y’all

Donatello

- uses it to curse…but a little for the sake of speaking it just to speak it.

- Still working on informalities and formalities, but whatever

- not the best at writing it

-chicken scratch fr fr

- don’t ask him to write anything for you

-secretly uses duolingo, emotionally attached to the duo bird xoxo

Michelangelo

- uses it to curse

- can translate (when nobody asked,)

- also to joke around, observe:

Raph: *incoherent cursing in Japanese*

Mikey: so what he means to say is-

Leo: I know what he said!

TMNT 2007

Leonardo

-loves to describe different things using Japanese. Like, he'll compliment the weather or the way something looks

-liked to use it in South America to scare people into thinking it was a ghost

- sort of kind of writes it, not all the time, I think 2007!Leo would fuck up some Japanese poetry though <3

Raphael

-you guys remember his police radio right? Sometimes he'll go on there and talk in Japanese just to fuck with them.

-they dont know what he's saying

-observe the phrase Raph loves the most:

"クソ制服からゼリーを舐め続けろ、ろくでなし！"

-ill let you guys search that.

- uses it around Mikey to confuse him, but only for short phrases

-doesn’t write it as much, I headcanon he has the second best handwriting in this one since he’s canonically left handed, (I’m ambidextrous) but I speak for all left handed people that we dislike the lead stain on the side of our hands A LOT.

Donatello

-like raph, he uses it someitmes to fuck with the customers on the other line of his IT Tech Support job. If they're giving him a hard time, or being plain stupid, he'll start describing what to do to fix their problem in a different language.

-uses it freely, except one time he was helping a guy who was fluent in it.

-all it took was a "yokai" in response and Donnie was bamboozled.

-he doesn't use it as much on there anymore after that.

-definitely had one of those learn kanji books where you trace the symbols so he can better learn the linework

Michelangelo

-i like to think in this universe of tmnt, Mikey and Splinter watch J-dramas together

-its already mentioned that Splinter is into soaps, imagine him and Mikey watching a good old J-Drama from the 90s.

-Without english subtitles

-Splinter likes it that way, it's more dramatic

-has definitely taught some kids from the parties he hosted how to write pizza in Japanese

TMNT 2012

Leonardo

-okay, he definetely has watched Space Heroes in the Japanese Dub

-A1 voice acting, he loves it

-He sometimes like to say the orders in his head he says to his brothers in Japanese, to see if he still got his translating skills yk?

- would try and speak it around Karai to impress her no doubt

- called inanimate objects by their name in Japanese- couch: ソファー table: テーブル mutagen: 変異原, you get the gist yall

-while splinter was teaching them all how to read and write, Leo got his hands on some post-its and stuck them on every piece of furniture and machinery around the lair and wrote their name in kanji

-convinced that it works and don’t tell him otherwise

Donatello

-would 100% teach April a thing or two

-Master Splinter offered to teach April

-cue Donnie coming into the cut saying he could do it instead

-one on one study sessions with him and April, she enjoys it a lot

-donnie is actually a great teacher

-until he gets into the phonetic and semantics- ie; the science on why in the Japanese language they pronounce certain things the way they do

-she doesn't remember much about that part

- talks to himself while he’s working on an invention, sometimes to Timothy

-Timothy definitely doesn’t understand what the fuck he’s saying

Bayverse TMNT

Leonardo

-most likely uses it while on missions and fighting and in stealth mode, but mainly uses sign language during said stealth mode

-he practices his writing all the time, is really into line work and origins of the language/the evolution of it from ancient to modern Japanese

- enjoys reading it in his downtime, that man definitely has a stack of old Japanese literature that he likes to read!

Donatello

-Reddit man for the win

- anything about Japanese culture/aesthetics, he can answer!

-doesn’t speak it much, but he enjoys learning about the culture a lot!

-REALLY loves Japanese City Pop, probably bayverse Donnie’s favorite genre of music no doubt

-Donnie passes notes under the door of his lab to whoever’s passing by when he needs something, not a full sentence at all, just one word notes.

Observe:

After some loud knocking coming from the other side of the lab door, Leonardo comes to it as if it’s a habit at this point. He’s so used to Donnie not coming out his lab for hours, and he’s come accustomed to retrieving any item he needs from the “outside world.”

So when he sees the neatly placed slip of paper of “food!” written in chicken scratch kanji, he’s trudging his feet to the cupboard where Donnie’s secret stash of lab snacks are. Yes, a whole bin that’s labeled “lab snacks.” He reaches for the usual packet of strawberry frosted Pop-Tarts, noticing that there’s only one box left. He would have to ask April to get some again soon.

Leonardo wonders if he should attempt to toast them for Donnie, but as he glances at the silver toaster that Donnie fixed (again) a few nights ago, he thinks about how badly it would end and how pissed Donnie would get for having to fix it the 4th time this week. He picks out the aluminum wrapped strawberry Pop Tarts as is, placing the bin back in its secret place to where Mikey can’t see it.

Raphael

-likes the art aspect of Japanese culture, has the kanji for “family” etched on his shell

-since he knits in his past time, he makes small things that reflect the language or art in some way, whether it be making a cherry blossom rug for Splinter’s room, or making Mikey his requested mits for the winter time patrols with his name written in kanji

- like Donnie, he doesn’t verbally speak it, but incorporates it into his life in some way

-will engrave anything if his that he can with kanji

-since he can’t exactly get a tattoo, he reverts to engraving, hence his shell

Michelangelo

- 100% calls the pizza shop and orders in Japanese

-they don’t understand what he’s saying

-when the Hamato family is feeling some Japanese food, he hits them up and orders in Japanese, he gets all giddy when they respond back

Rise!TMNT

Leonardo

-him and Donnie argue in Japanese 110%

-he’s struggling with memorizing certain kanji symbols, so he’s using Rosetta Stone

-doesn’t like the Duo bird

-has a conspiracy theory that the Duo bird tracks his every move???

-will switch the TV to a J-Drama or put Splinter’s TV to the Japanese Dub version of whatever he’s watching just to fuck with him

-secretly enjoys said J-Dramas

-pretends to be leader and barks orders in Japanese

-yeah nobody listens to him

Donatello

-using his “platinum library card,” he loves those Japanese picture books of modern art

-DOES NOT lend them to Mikey, since he’s missing some now

-overdue library books because of this

-really enjoys those learn kanji trace workbooks, will trace the symbols with a purple colored pencil

-also, everything he writes will be in purple

-he doesn’t care what you think about that

Raphael

-calls animals by their name in Japanese

-cats, dogs, whatever! He’s naming them out loud

-had a pet parrot once that he got to speak back to him in Japanese

-he loved that

-until Leo got his parrot to curse in Japanese

-didn’t know how to make him stop, so he had to deal with that for a while

Michelangelo

-participates in changing the TV around to the Japanese Dub with Leo to mess with Splinter

-the cause of Donnie’s overdue books

-he really likes the art! Preferably the modern art

-100% prank calls people with Leo pretending to be foreign realtors & telling people they’re overdue on their car insurance

Masterlist

#tmnt #tmnt 2007 #bayverse tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2003 #raphael #donatello #leonardo #tmnt imagines #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt imagine #tmnt headcanons #tmnt 2018 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt fandom

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spockandawe · 7 months

Text

Awkward gap until next meeting. So. Things i COULD make on short notice

Software manual book(s): Easy. Mindless. Boring, but useful. I have at least two more targets in my sights, but i also have three half-finished books just waiting for cricut titles.

Long transformers essay: the formatting from pdf...... all the images........... but WHAT IF

Ylpeys ja ennakkoluulo: Needs learning time in Affinity, unsure how long formatting will take. Possible, also something likely to tank my sleep schedule.

Thousand Autumns: current doc has long stretches of half-edited mtl. That's. That would be a big compromise. I don't like it, I think I'd rather wait

Coming Up With A Villain Reformation Strategy: No proofread? It'd be fast. Unsure what commitment proofreading would be.

Peerless Immortal Surrounded By Demonic Disciples: Same issue.

Single-volume mxtx: Maybe. If I'm repeating myself i want something novel tho

Yuwu: Maybe? Same proofreading question, but this was a really good translation

Raksura fic: mmmmmmmmmmaybeeeeee. It's still actively updating though, it feels a little silly to commit a second time knowing it'll immediately be dated 🤣

PoF: maybe! Wouldn't be bad to at least format some pages for illumination practice even if I can't do much there yet.

New box????? Mysterious and vague, brut boxes make me happy

Writing

Raksura fic: I could :X Okay but this depends on me chipping at some short vignettes and either getting a full set done or being confident i have momentum to continue as i post chapters. Momentum is a gamble, especially since this is a destination wedding with vacation activities.

Bwx/xl: old wip, unsure how satisfied i am. But there was PROGRESS. I might be able to slam it out

Return to tlj shipping? No wips in progress, but he usually comes easily to me.

Brand new raksura fic: i have kink brainstorming i could try to leverage, but I really, really can't tell how well writing will go right now

Cronch fic: Oh.... That might work, ill have to look at that.

Ye olde svsss aus: restore diet bingge to second person, see if more scenes shake out. This is close to being something I'm willing to just post, but it's not QUITE got enough connective tissue. Finishing is probably outside the scope of "short notice" tho

Transcription. Also not short notice, but pleasing bite-sized chunks.

Art

Raksura

Cloun?????

Bones

Fiber

Other baby blanket: I'm.... Unmotivated. Crochet make hand hurty

Tardigrade: hand hurty is acceptable if the result is stuffed tardigrade. I need to find my safety eyes, though

Starscream cross-stitch: DEFINITELY not short notice, but very satisfying

Embroidery embroidery: Probably want to wait for better health, so I don't get frustrated.

Steering wheel cover: yes, probably, but that's a kit and won't scratch the sammmmme creative urges

Spinning: god, probably wait for better health and new house

Long furby: maybe do this BEFORE the move, tbh. But mystery time investment.

New applique quilt: also not short notice. Need a subject too. I feel like I'd had something in mind, but I'm drawing a blank.

#crafts #notes to self

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shanie-the-komania-toyaddict · 6 months

Text

✨ 15 Questions & 15 Mutuals ✨ TAGGED BY @imabillyami! THANKS BESTIE!

Are you named after anyone? Government name, no. It's just something my mom found pretty. The name "Shanie" however, is after Shane McMahon, although I didn't choose it, some guys in a chat room some 20 years ago did.

When was the last time you cried? Two hours ago? I think? It was today. I cry a lot.

Do you have kids? Don't want them, can't have them anyway.

What sports do you play/have played? When I was young, skinny, and athletic, I was a hell of a slow-pitch softball catcher. Best in the league, and that was everyone else saying it, not me. That's the only sport I've ever played now and I couldn't play sports now if I tried.

Do you use sarcasm? Sometimes. Sarcasm is very difficult for me to grasp or use and since I usually get it wrong, I try to avoid it.

What's the first thing you notice about people? Hate to say it, but usually their hair. I have this thing about hair. The quickest way to get my attention is to have awesome hair.

What's your eye color? Hazel

"Scary movies" or "happy endings?" Happy endings. Every time.

Any talents? I have an ear for music, but I can't sing and I am so far out of practice in playing my instruments that I'd have to relearn from scratch. I'm pretty sure at this point I can't say I suck at writing anymore so we'll list that here too. I also used to be pretty good at origami, but I haven't done it in a long time.

Where were you born? An old forgotten mill town in Pennsylvania. It's a hole. I haven't been there in years and I hope I never go back.

What are your hobbies? Listening to music, buying action figures writing, reading fanfic, posing and photographing action figures, social media, watching youtube, MAKING ACTION FIGURES, printing and collecting fanart, decorating my apartment, DECORATING MY ACTION FIGURES' APARTMENT... No really, I'm obsessed with action figures. It's a thing.

Do you have any pets? The only pets I've ever had were a pair of ratties named Peach and Princess, and they've both passed.

How tall are you? 5'7" according to the doctor's office

Favorite subject in school? HISTORY!!! So much so, I was hoping to one day be a high school history teacher. Even went to college to get a degree in it. Failed though. They kicked me out of the program for being too mentally ill. I still spent three years as a substitute teacher though!

Dream job? Honestly? Graphic designer. I love editing graphics together so much but I've only ever had one single class on using photoshop in college back in 2001 so almost none of it is applicable today. Ok! That was fun! I will tag @wrestlezaynia, @ybcpatrick, @chatterskull, @colesterstrudel, @smashthegiantkiller, @beardedbarba, and anyone else who wants to do it!

#tag games

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lewis-faith · 2 years

Text

Trip 2, day 14. My final day for this trip in Warsaw and my final morning with the team. As I was milling around at 7am, beginning to think about packing, Paul turned up to the top floor asking for the cat we were looking after. I’d forgotten all about it but knocked on Flo’s door to find out where it was.

It wasn’t in its cage and Paul seemed ready to go so we had to capture it quickly without things descending into bites and scratches. One thing I have learned over the years is not to try and grab a cat and force it in a box - it will fight back. So I made eye contact and tried to reassure it that I wasn’t a threat, they like an introductory sniff off a finger for some reason, it played ball to some extent but wasn’t really up for being picked up.

Between the two of us we managed to contain it to one side of a bed, without too much running around in circles, although it was being a bit evasive. The cat box neatly fitted between the bed and the wall, so I came up behind the cat slowly as Flo distracted it. Once the gap was small enough Flo went in for the move and we had one trapped kitty. It was about to go on a very long journey, eventually under the English channel, I am now informed it is safe and well in Britain with it’s Ukrainian family. I’m sure they are pretty impressed with our collaborative efforts.

In the kitchen before making lunch Flo asked if I was sad to leave, and actually I was. Things really fell into place in Warsaw, both during that week and overall. Seeing people that I helped over the border from many weeks ago now conquering the wall of bureaucracy put up by the British government made the effort completely justified. Even though things are starting to improve with getting visas I am keen to ensure help is still on offer to those that need it and hope to continue with this work. We’ve seen so many people with difficulties or vulnerabilities helped on a practical level but also the emotional support has made a real difference, I’m sure many would have given up without our help.

At lunch time a young lady came into the kitchen and started to talk to us, she was very nervous and her English was a bit limited, she said she wanted to thank us for all that we were doing and offered us two rings. She told us that she had made them in Ukraine, they were made of clear resin, one with tiny yellow flowers suspended in the resin and the other with tiny blues flowers. They needed to be held close to the eye to see the petals. She was almost in tears, she tried to give myself one and Nick the other, but I said they should remain as a pair and not be separated - keep Ukraine together. Flo should look after them both I suggested, we were all happy with that. She told us she was from Cherkasy and had been close to bombings, she was only 18 and due to one of her parents being ill only she could leave. She was staying at the hostel independently from our group with an uncle who had moved to Poland some years ago, her destination was Canada once her visa was approved. This was not the first time I’d encountered a young lady (she was 18) having to flee on her own. Even after so much exposure to people directly affected by the war it’s still impossible to put yourself in their shoes, sympathy just doesn’t replicate the longevity or severity of their pain. Be around helping is what matters though not what the experience is like for yourself or how good you are at empathising. There’s just a lot of hard work to do.

My plan for the afternoon was to drop off the van at the airport and do a bit of sightseeing / shopping Warsaw. Annoyingly my phone wouldn’t get through to the rental company. For whatever reason I have had trouble calling local numbers on this trip, EE have sorted it out once before but the problem has come back. I called them again and was told they would fix it and call back in 10 minutes. You can guess how that ended up. I had decided to stay next to the airport for one night as my flight was so early but the phone in my room wasn’t much use either. I’d now run of time to make it into Warsaw but needed to get the van picked up, thankfully someone at reception let me use their phone and I got it all sorted. I had enough time to order a food delivery which was actually a delicious vegan meal and then it was time for 9pm bed.

Whilst trapped in my hotel room, trying to phone the rental company I noticed a really odd warning sign for people not to hang their clothes on a sprinkler (that was over 7.5 foot high off the ground), is this a real problem or someone being proactively health and safety conscious, I’m still not sure.

I also caught up with Miles and he told me he had achieved an English qualifying time at his 400m hurdles race. I was very impressed and suggested it was the power of the cake from the day before. He agreed it may have tipped the balance, so I sent him the recipe and my secret baking tips. Although cheating it won't show up on a doping test, so look out for him in the future.

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rekas-writes · 2 years

Text

Sickly Shenanigans

Pair: Phoenix/GN! Reader

Type: One-Shot - 1,309 words

Genre: Fluff - Sickfic

Summary: Waking up with a horrific headache and a scratchy, sore throat, you realise you're rather ill. Thankfully, your angel of a boyfriend is there to try and make everything better.

TW: None

A/N: I’m so sorry for the silence! I've sadly gotten sickly, so I haven't been able to write anything lately. I've managed to write a small drabble about Phoenix though, because sickfics are great inspiration when you are also sick. Also, I've figured out how people do those fancy things in their fics and I'm very happy. I hope this is good, despite the circumstances!

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

You weren't quite sure when you'd ended up in bed, all tucked in with your boyfriend leaned over in a chair scooted close- but you sure as hell appreciated it. Your clothes no longer felt stuck to your body and your fever seemed to have gone down a bit. Glancing around, you take comfort in the dark room. You weren’t sure your eyes could take it despite feeling a lot better than before. Slowly sitting up and reaching upwards to rub your still sore eyes, you feel a damp towel slowly slide down your face. A fatigued smile lifts your lips as you peel it off and look over to Phoenix practically hunched over your lap.

As you scratch your head, you start to recollect the day before your current situation. You’d been feeling quite woozy since the start of that cursed day, having awoken to find your throat scratchy and raw. Your nose was no better either, that clogging feeling of congestion gripping your head in an almost dizzying hold. However, you were quite the stubborn one. You’d neglected to tell Sage about your developing condition, having decided to tough it out. How bad could it be anyway, it was just the start. A cheeky bit of work and you’ll find rest afterwards. It’ll pass. Besides, today was just some simple training.

Oh how wrong you were.

You’d barely managed to conceal your coughing and hacking throughout your spar with Yoru. It’d only gotten worse with time. When he’d given you a look, you simply waved him off- lying through your teeth about how amazing you felt. You felt like you were practically burning; with your lungs gasping for breath a lot sooner than usual during a hand-to-hand sequence, only to hack and sputter with the intake of air. Yoru, ever observant, simply scoffed and called off training until you “stopped lying to yourself”. You felt mildly relieved, as he stalked away to do gods know what the rift walker did in his spare time, content to just wander back to your room for a much needed, relaxing shower.

Although that wouldn’t be the case it seemed, as you swayed while trudging along past the main commons room. Phoenix was the first to notice you, perking up almost immediately as soon as he saw you. You’d barely even noticed he was there before giving a lop-sided smile and a dazed-sounding, “hey.”

“You doing alright there, love? You don’t seem to be looking too sharp,” he quirked an eyebrow at you, steadying your swaying figure before you even realised you were falling forward. You just laughed, wincing as it tapered off into a coughing fit,

“I’m fine, great actually! Just gonna go shower. I’m just feeling a bit warm after sparring with the rift walker,” you waved the concern off once more, but you were no more convincing than Raze when she stole something from Killjoy or Cypher. He seemed to buy it however, as he just let you go and do your thing- not that you could see his knowing smirk with your fatigue blinded eyes.

Step by step, it felt like your bones were giving out on you- legs slugging along as though you were walking for the first time. Weakness seeped through you, as though it were coursing through your very veins. Your semi-shut eyes are barely focused on the goal at hand, as your head begins to throb a little at the damn blinding lights that cover the path to the dorms. You could vaguely make out some laughter, unsure of where it was even coming from. Hopefully you wouldn't crash into them.

And hey, was the carpet always that close to your face?

As your strength fails you in your sickness-driven delirium, you find yourself enveloped and gently tugged backwards into a pair of arms and a particularly warm figure. Slumping into him, you could only sigh in relief as the kind gesture melts away a bit of the painful migraine that had settled into your stressed, little cranium. It should’ve felt terrible falling into a human radiator with an apparent fever, but the fever chills were getting to you. It was both too cold and a little too hot. You could hear a chuckle above you as a hand combed through your messy, mildly damp hair, applying a little pressure to massage your scalp. It was heavenly to your achy head, and if you had any more strength, you would’ve told him so. He was incredibly good at massages, it was insane,

“So, no more acting like Mr Tough Guy, yeah?” And you could only groan at his self-righteous tone but… he wasn’t wrong in his assumption. He was right, you were wrong. He was right to be cocky, but if he weren’t massaging your head right now you probably would’ve punched him. A weak punch for sure, you were in no condition to be throwing professional moves, but it would’ve gotten the message across. You just settle with a slight nod against his chest, scrunching your features as your face sorta peels from his shirt because of the sweat gluing them together,

“Sorry for ruining your shirt…” you murmured, a little guilty as you realised just how much you were perspiring from your terrible fever.

“Don’t worry about it, love. I can just wash it,” was all he laughed, amused that that was your main concern, before swaddling you up into his arms- which disorientated you a little more than you cared to admit, and carrying you back to your bed. Your already closing eyes missed the way Jamie was smiling to himself amusedly, ‘Of all things to worry about.’

In record time, you were dressed in fresh clothes and tucked away in bed to rest. Jett had delivered a homemade soup, out of guilt for laughing as you almost fell. Despite your denial, Jamie insists on spooning the soup for you- slapping your hand playfully if you try to snatch the bowl. He was truly a ray of sunshine in your gloom.

As you’d tried to rest, you’d tossed and turned enough for Phoenix to hum softly at you. His hand had moved to pet your head, softly singing a tune he’d gotten stuck in his head lately. His voice soothed the restlessness with ease, like some miracle drug; it always somehow made you feel at peace. A fact he knew from how often you’d gushed about his particular talents.

Blinking at the memories, a small smile growing on your face, you took a deep breath in while your nose was still clear. You felt marginally better than you did last night, your symptoms having died down a little as soon as they had risen. The sun had begun to stream through your curtains during your little reverie, highlighting the coloured tips of hair on your sleeping boyfriend. Your hand rose to pet the top of Phoenix’s head, feeling slightly guilty that you had made him sleep so awkwardly.

He stirred once, twice, then opened his eyes groggily- mildly confused before recounting the memories himself. Your hand slid as he rose slightly, smiling softly at you as your hand landed on his cheek. He covered your hand in his, rubbing the back of your palm with his thumb,

“Are you feeling any better, love?” Your reply is halted by a cough, making your lover frown slightly in concern,

“I’m doing a lot better than before,” you reassured, “Thank you for taking care of me, Jamie,” your adoring gaze is returned just as enthusiastically as he practically beams at you,

“Of course! Anything for you,” and as he says your name so lovingly, you could feel your heart practically melt. He truly would do anything for you, and there was nothing in the world that could stop you from doing the same.

#valorant #valorant x reader #reader insert #phoenix x reader #x male reader #x ftm reader #x trans male reader #x gender neutral reader #x m reader #x gn reader #valorant phoenix

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benditlikepress · 3 years

Text

one good movie kiss

here for @sunforgrace 's thesis statement: give dean one good movie kiss and he WILL be alright

“Are you avoiding me?”

Dean’s hand stills in the air above his cup of coffee as the voice cuts through the kitchen.

Cas is standing in the middle of the room in an ill-fitting sweater and his hair is dishevelled as though he’s been tossing and turning. He looks so unremarkable, so human, it makes Dean’s breath catch in his throat at the reminder.

It’s been three days since Cas got back and it occurs to Dean when he speaks that it’s the first time they’ve been alone together. Awake, that is: Dean realised early on that difficult conversations couldn’t happen if you’re asleep. Thank god for Cas’ Empty-rescue hangover.

“No. I’m not avoiding you.”

“OK. Good. I was worried that after what happened things might be weird between us, but I suppose that’s unavoidable.” Cas pulls a face that’s a little self-deprecating.

I’m fighting the urge to run the hell away from you, Dean thinks. To stay the hell away from you before I do anything else to hurt you. Before you make a reckless decision to save me, again, or say something so brutal and true that my legs give out from under me and I’m left sitting alone on the floor wondering how the hell I’m supposed to do this on my own.

I’m fighting the urge to wrap you in my arms and never let go.

“I’m not avoiding you, Cas. I just.. I’m trying to figure out the stuff I have to say to you.”

“I understand. I know everything that’s happened recently is a lot to contend with.”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement.” Dean coughs and stands up, tapping his hands against his legs for something to do. Cas is looking at him expectantly and Dean knows he deserves answers but how is he supposed to do that? How do you even begin to explain to someone that their mere presence in the room has your breath hitching? “But it’s not.. you. It’s not you I’m avoiding. It’s just. Y’know. The stuff you said before you..” He doesn’t say it. He can’t. Cas blinks.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. That’s – god, that’s the last thing I want. I’m just.. trying to get my head around it.”

“I meant it.”

“I know you did. I know that. I just.. I believe you, and nobody’s ever really said that stuff to me and meant it before. So I don’t really know how to talk to you about it. But I.. so long as you know I appreciate it.” The words are too fast and Dean doesn’t know if that’s more or less embarrassing than the way he’s stumbling, pathetic half-words forcing their way out of his mouth.

“OK.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

And it’s that simple to him, apparently. He doesn’t ask Dean for anything else. It pisses Dean off, actually – he wants Cas to ask him. Maybe if he’s forced to confront it the words might come out a little easier.

“I mean, you know that I.” Dean stops again abruptly and jesus christ why is there a lump in his throat? “It means something. To me. It means a whole lot, actually. Maybe if it didn’t it’d be easier to talk about. There’s stuff that I wanna.. stuff I need for you to hear. That you deserve to hear, when I get my head out of my ass. Because I don’t feel like I deserve any of that crap you said to me, but you deserve to hear things back.”

It feels like a monumental admission but it’s clearly not the thing on Cas’ mind as he frowns.

“You think you don’t deserve that? You really believe that?”

“Honestly? I’ve never believed it. I don’t know why you give me the time of day half the time, man. And you don’t have to.. argue about it, or anything. I know you want to. It’s just how I see it.”

Cas thinks about that for a couple of seconds, eyes boring into Dean so deeply he half-wonders if he can’t still see his soul. He walks further into the room but doesn’t approach Dean – not really. Just takes a couple of steps between the distance.

“I won’t argue. Not now. But I hope I can make you understand that you deserve it. Happiness, peace.. love-” The word has Dean’s mind reeling, flashbacks and heat rushing “– I spent a long time believing I couldn’t accept them for myself. I thought too much had happened, or that I wasn’t built to be capable. You allowed me to think differently. I want you to do the same.” Cas looks down and taps his hand on the edge of the table as though he hasn’t got Dean’s heart in the palm of it. He looks up again and his expression is breath-takingly earnest. “Dean, the things I said barely touch the sides. I don’t know if I could ever put into words the impact you’ve had on me since we met. I just wanted you to understand. I needed you to understand how other people see you, even if you can’t see it for yourself.”

“Message received.” Dean responds like a fucking asshole but Cas smiles all the same, warm and knowing and in a way that fills Dean with the relief of being understood.

“I can give you space to think about things if that’s what you want. I know I’ve put you in a difficult position.”

“It’s not difficult. Probably not for anyone else except me.”

Dean smiles in derision and Cas returns it but it’s pity and sadness and love and Dean’s mouth closes. “It was difficult. I threw things at you that’d been on my mind for a long time and didn’t give you any time to process it.”

“I’ve had weeks. Weeks and weeks, and I still can’t.. I think until I saw you again I had no idea how to understand it. Looking you in the eye and thinking about it-” Dean closes his eyes and pushes away black ooze and secrets and everything else that threatens to flow over the things he wants to remember. Tears in Cas’ eyes and his smile so bright, brighter than Dean even thought him capable.

He’s looking at him now like he might break.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I know I’m not-”

“I know exactly what you are, Dean.” The words are clear and sincere and Dean wonders if there’s anyone else in the universe capable of arresting him so simply. “I’ll leave you to it.” Cas eventually nods at Dean’s breakfast and smiles, dipping his head as he starts to leave.

“We’ll talk. We will.”

“I know we will.” He smiles a little as he turns to walk away and suddenly Dean’s heart is in his mouth at the sight of the back of his head.

Say something. Say something.

“Cas.” Dean calls too quickly, too desperately, and when he turns to look at him with naked expectation all of the wind is knocked right back out of his sails. “I… fuck, Cas. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He smiles with complete and utter sincerity, and god he has to stop doing that. Stop accepting Dean’s bullshit as though it’s nothing. Shout, argue, anything.

He’s leaving. He’s still leaving, he’s turning away and suddenly Dean’s legs are propelling him through the kitchen of their own accord.

Dean grabs his arm and yanks him around, the force of it making Cas briefly stumble a little before he straightens his feet and looks at Dean with a wide-eyed confusion that makes Dean’s heart hammer in his chest.

Dean brings his hands up to cup Cas’ face around his ears on his neck and jaw, in a way he has before and convinced himself wasn’t ever possible when they weren’t battling life or death. Cas’ stubble is a little longer than usual and he strokes the line of it with his thumb, watching as Cas’ mouth falls open just a touch in the echoing silence.

Dean takes his time, registering every mini-movement of expression in Cas’ face as he understands what’s happening. His hand comes up to Dean’s wrist but doesn’t push it away, rather grips it for dear life as though he’s afraid it’s going to disappear. When Cas’ eyes travel down his face Dean takes it as invitation and closes the gap between them, pressing his lips lightly but surely against Cas’.

At first Cas’ are stunned frozen against his and Dean starts to panic that he’s made some kind of earth-shattering error in judgement before the hand on his wrist relaxes and he feels a pressure against his mouth. Cas’ lips are a little chapped, like always, and Dean feels his eyelashes flutter.

He opens his eyes reluctantly as he pulls away, not sure what he’s expecting to see (rejection? Lucifer? nothing at all?) and almost slams them shut again when he finds Cas peering at him with such utter arresting devotion he thinks his knees might buckle.

Dean’s hands drop to his sides of their own accord, suddenly absolutely terrified, but Cas doesn’t move away in return. In fact, he brings his hand to Dean’s cheek and Dean’s sure he must look like a fish opening and closing his mouth in stunned silence before suddenly Cas moves in to kiss him again, other hand coming up to grab his face and hold him in place as his lips are ferocious and impassioned against his own.

And this, this is more like it, Dean’s barely able to think as Cas’ mouth opens and his tongue plays along the line of Dean’s own lips, his heart hammering in his chest as he hears a noise in Cas’ throat as he allows him entrance.

Cas kisses like he’s never going to get another chance: like Dean has granted him a once-in-a-lifetime wish that’s going to get taken away at any moment. He’s hungry and sharp and warm and Dean feels breathless as he lowers his hands from his face to his neck and then to his hip, pulling Dean sharply against him as Dean’s own hands cup his jaw and try desperately to gain a semblance of control.

There’s stubble scratching his face and he tries fleetingly to explain away the flushing burn on his skin as a by-product of it, but then there’s a hand riding up his shirt onto on the bare skin at the small of his back and it’s on fire.

Where the hell did Cas learn to kiss like this? His head is spinning before he can ponder the question and fingers on his back are steady and grounding even as Cas’ tongue and lips and breath have him practically able to feel the earth spinning beneath him.

The kiss slows steadily and then all at once as Cas’ lips lighten against his, and he feels him exhale against his skin in a release that Dean himself is desperate for. He knows it’ll come, eventually: in every moment he allows himself to open like this, touch on his skin making him feel alive.

Cas pulls away and Dean feels a longing form deeply and harshly in his throat that barely stops him from yanking him straight back in again. He forces himself to open his eyes, wondering if Cas can see water pricking in the corners of them.

“Don’t give me space, Cas. I don’t want it.” He manages to say though his voice sounds foreign and weird to his own ears, like it’s formed by someone else. There’s that smile on Cas’ lips again and he feels a desperation to say something, anything, that’ll keep it frozen in time. “Just stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.” Cas’ own voice is quiet now and Dean’s fingers somehow find themselves reaching out towards Cas’ hand, pulling it a little.

“You wanna do something today?” He says, just for something to say. Anything to prolong the moment.

“OK.”

“Sweet.” Dean nods and tips his head away, running a hand through his hair to try to gain some composure as Cas smiles at him as though nothing’s happened.

Dean has to pinch himself to check that it has.

#supernatural #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #my fanfiction

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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years

Text

MC’s half Demon, and they look AWFULLY familiar...

‘Kay guys, I got a different kind of stupid Headcanon to throw at you. Get ready!

Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Part 2.5 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

*ahem* picture if you will, it’s the day the exchange program is set to start. The student council (nix Mr. Kill All Humans, Weeb-supreme, and our Scummy Sweetheart) have assembled to welcome the new human student. All is going according to schedule, the portal opens up at eight am sharp, they hear the pitiful screams of the selected human who was not given a heads up about the whole thing, and the poor little human falls straight onto the marble floor.

There’s something a tad... off about this human don’t you think? After they’ve peeled their sorry ass off the floor they observed the assembled student council with an air of sophistication and self importance that no one expected. Their posture was perfect, their eyes sharp and calculating... they bared a striking resemblance to-

“Lucifer,” Diavolo looked to his right hand man, then back to the human. “The human kind of looks like you!”

And out popped four pitch black wings from the human’s back and two small horns out of the sides of their head, one horn was a bit bigger than the other. They even still had some of their down feathers! How cute!

((Content warning: Swearing (I have a potty mouth, forgive me), but that’s it.))

Luci-dad

So, the MC is Lucifer’s kid! Of course Mr. Prideypants immediately tries to recall exactly what little romp in the human world uh... spawned this half-human half-demon child of his. Good thing MC’s got the other parent on speed-dial.

“Please note, MC,” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose upon hearing Asmo take even more pictures of his newly discovered hellspawn. “I was not aware of your existence, if I was I’d-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not upset.”

Lucifer blinked a few times in surprise. “P...pardon? You aren’t upset?”

“No, my parent told me that my father was a high ranking demon, and they bare no ill will against you. Though, I am looking forward to this whole... exchange program thing.”

Oh wow, that was easier than Lucifer thought. Damn. Well, he was a father... (let’s be real, he’s been parenting his brothers for thousands of years, and a good chunk of you sinners call him daddy)

MC is probably the most protected student at RAD, despite the fact that they have no visible security detail whatsoever. They didn’t want to be seen as... weak and pathetic.

Something about this human just... set the lesser demons on edge. Any talk of eating them was stamped out on the first day when they walked by. It’s like Lucifer himself was staring at them, daring the demons to try and bother the human. MC’s powerful presence kept them protected and feared.

...at least until dear uncle Asmo decided to do their hair one morning. All those ribbons may have looked adorable but they kind of ruined the intimidation factor.

MC loved to mess with the other students, keeping their lineage a secret for the first little while just made it so much funnier when the other demons tried to scramble out of MC’s way without looking like they were running from the ‘weak little human exchange student’.

Oh wow, what a sadist. Like father like child

Flying lessons are a must. Poor MC isn’t terribly good at controlling their wings, and their horns are still growing in so when they pop into their demon form the first thing they get is a sore skull. Ow... it sucks that Lucifer isn’t outwardly very sympathetic.

“Ow!” MC crashed face first into the grass in the backyard of the House of Lamentation. “Father! My wings are cramping! Can’t we practice this tomorrow?”

The sight of seeing his dear child crash face first into the ground had lost its hilarity after the first three times. Lucifer slowly lowered himself to the ground and crossed his arms as he stood over his incredibly grass-stained kid.

“MC, we’ve been ‘practicing this tomorrow’ for the past month. If you want to learn to fly you’re going to have to actually manage to stay in the air for more than three minutes.”

MC shot Lucifer a withering glare that only preteens were capable of, Lucifer matched it with his own much more sophisticated glare.

“You’ve been flying for over a thousand years! Don’t you have any tips that can actually help other than ‘don’t panic, you’ll look ridiculous’?”

Lucifer dragged a gloved hand down his face and looked around, the two were alone as far as he could see.

“MC,” Lucifer began. “When I was a young angel, I needed to learn how to fly with someone else.”

MC perked up. “Who?”

“Michael. The smug bastard picked up flying quicker than I did.”

“What’d you do?!”

Lucifer smiled at his child’s intense investment. “I practiced flying every day for five extra hours until I could do everything that Michael could do, just better.”

MC’s starry eyed interest died almost instantly upon hearing about the extra five hours of practice. “Humph, I bet I could outfly younger you and Michael with only two hours of practice a day.”

“Really now?”

“Yes! Watch!” MC shook off their wings and took off in a running start before shakily making it into the air. Their form was decent enough, and they weren’t shaking as much as the previous attempts. “SEE?!”

“Yes MC,” Lucifer smiled. “I can see.”

You know what else Lucifer could see? MC crashing right into a tree.

“Ouch...”

Okay... maybe they could halt practice a little early and order a treat from Madame Scream’s. A little sugar to refuel is needed when the end goal is crushing a mutual rival beneath their heels. Just some good old fashioned father/child bonding time!

MC has a smaller seat right next to Lucifer’s seat in the Assembly Hall. I will not compromise on this one.

For all your fluff needs, I give you: Lucifer teaching MC how to play the piano. He has a proud little smile on his face when his kid finally starts getting it. That’s all. Enjoy the image.

That one Uncle who gives you Alcohol at Family Gatherings (Mammon)

Yeah, when Mammon burst in late to the party and whining about everyone’s spamming him with texts to haul his scummy ass to the Assembly Hall, the last thing he expected was to see a mini-Lucifer.

“What the fuck am I lookin’ at?!”

The glare the two Lucifers gave the poor Avatar of Greed was enough to make him want to turn tail (uh, wing) and book it down the hall.

“Mammon, this is MC. They’re my child.”

“Hello.”

“...whaaaa..?” Mammon looked between the two, same glare, same intimidating aura, same annoyingly good posture.

Mammon scratched the back of his neck and looked over at his older brother. “Do I uh... still gotta babysit em’ if they’re not human?”

“The lake of Cocytus will melt the day I let you babysit without supervision.” Lucifer grumbled.

“I don’t need a babysitter!”

Despite Lucifer’s initial denial, Mammon and MC ended up spending a lot of time hanging out when Lucifer was busy with paperwork. Of course Mammon’s first thought was ‘how do I profit off this situation?’

MC is now Mammon’s designated babysitter after they caught him picking up their feathers that had fallen off with the intention of painting them white and claiming they were Lucifer’s from back in the Celestial Realm.

Mammon does end up spoiling MC a little. Just a smidge. They’re the kid of his totally not his favourite brother after all! How could he not? Whether or not these gifts are obtained legally or are legal at all is subject to scrutiny.

“Mammon, I can’t drink this!” MC placed the bottle of Demonus back on the counter of the kitchen.

“Why not? That’s a bottle of the good stuff! We gotta celebrate you gettin’ an A on that test somehow!”

“I’m underage! Incredibly underage. I’m not legally allowed to drink.”

Mammon wordlessly plopped a silly straw into the bottle. “...does that help?”

“No.” MC then inclined their head to the bottle. “And I don’t want to get hung from the ceiling, that bottle was in my father’s study yesterday, I’m above theft.”

“How old are you s’posed to be anyway? Never mind... uh...” Mammon wracked his brain for something else he could do for MC that didn’t cost anything (don’t judge him, the poor bastard was flat broke!). “I could... teach you to drive!”

“Driving?”

“Yeah! Drivin’ is awesome! We can take my car!”

The bills for the damages done to the car and the Devildom were mailed to Lucifer the next day, and MC and Mammon got to keep each other company as they hung from the ceiling. Ah well! At least MC wasn’t upside down!

Mammon wasn’t that good of a flight teacher either, he also crashed into a tree (the same tree MC crashed into, actually) when he was cheering for MC. They were finally able to do a loopdy loop! He was proud and distracted! Okay?! Lucifer! Stop smirkin’ at him! It’s not that funny!

At least the vantage point from the tree was decent and the branches didn’t scratch him up too badly. Oh hey... that person walking by was wearing a very nice watch... he’d be right back-

That Uncle That is Always Absent From Family Gatherings and When He is Present He Leaves Early (Levi)

He missed everything. That is not an exaggeration. He was in the middle of an online raid battle and couldn’t look at his phone! No Lucifer he can’t pause an online game! That’s not how it works!

Okay, the human exchange student is half demon? WOAH! THAT’S JUST LIKE THAT ONE ANIME- W A I T. THE LITTLE NORMIE IS LUCIFER’S KID?!

Okie doke, he was fully convinced that MC just had to be an anime protagonist.

They binged every series that Levi compared them to. Sure MC might have missed a few assignments because of late night anime binges, but they were too good for this school crap anyway, right?

Nope. Lucifer put a ban on the two watching anime until both their grades improved. Surviving that hell brought the two together.

“Ugh!”

The sound of a pencil case being haphazardly thrown across the room made Levi peek out of his bed-tub. If his figurines got knocked over so HELP HIM-

“This is stupid!!I shouldn’t have to catch up with this!” MC crossed their arms and gave their Demonology textbook their best disapproving glare.

Lucifer Lite (tm) was having a hell of a time trying to claw through their missed work, and Levi sympathized, he really did, it’s just... he was playing Animal Crossing-

Levi paused the game to placate his anime-buddy when their wings popped out and he feared for his rare merch’s safety.

“H-hey, MC? Do you need help?” Levi’s offer was met with a bone chilling glare that lived rent free in his nightmares ever since. He had pulled a Mammon and forgotten he was talking to Lucifer’s child. Lucifer’s allergy to help must have passed down to MC.

“No! I don’t! It’s just... dumb!” MC hissed, she turned and looked over at the fish tank. “Right Henry 2.0?”

Henry 2.0 did not respond.

“MC, you need to finish your homework or we can’t watch anything together,” Levi sighed, he had finished his work over an hour earlier. He had mastered the art of all night anime binges and managing to do most of his work in the fifteen minutes between the time he woke up and the time school was supposed to begin. “We haven’t even binged all of volume 4 of TSL yet!”

“Mmm...” MC grumbled. “Fine...”

MC picked up their pencil case and began continued their work. Levi breathed a sigh of relief and went back to Animal Crossing.

The tiny normie did in fact finish their work, only after they caved and asked Levi for help. Swore him to secrecy, they did... very intimidating, they were.

Just saying, he most definitely sent that one Keanu Reeves meme with big Keanu and little Keanu but with Lucifer and MC to the wrong group chat. Poor bastard.

Flying lessons? No. Levi hadn’t flown since his time in the Celestial Realm, he had no advice to give other than: “Flap your wings!”

“THAT’S WHAT I’M DOING YOU-”

MC didn’t get to finish that thought, they lost their balance and fell right into RAD’s fountain. Ah well, Levi had a head start on running for his life that he squandered by laughing at MC. RIP.

The Uncle/brother/whatever the fuck that Starts a Fight With Your Dad at the Family Reunion. (Satan)

Oh... another Lucifer? Eugh. Gross.

Satan gave the kid a wide berth when they first met. Everything the kid said or did ticked him off. “Tsk. Look at MC. Making an omelette. So annoying.” “Oh wow, MC vacuumed? Roll out the red carpet, we need to celebrate their existence!” “Look at them. Breathing. Disgusting.”

MC’s pride wouldn’t ever let them admit it but... they knew Satan didn’t like them, and it hurt their feelings.

“Shhhh,” Satan whispered into his backpack.

“Meow.” The backpack replied.

“I said shhhhh.”

The backpack did not reply after that, which was a good thing considering the little princet of the HOL was nearby.

“Satan?” They asked. “Who are you talking to?”

Satan coldly brushed past them as he made his way to his room. “No one you need to concern yourself with.”

When the little calico kitten was safe in his room, Satan quickly realized a mistake in his foolproof ‘sneak a cat into the house’ plan. He didn’t have any toys for the kitten, and he didn’t want his books getting scratched...

It was alright, he’d just rush out to the a store that sold cat things and rush back! Five minute trip tops!

Well when Satan got back the cat was no longer in the room. Oh dear. He discreetly tore apart the house looking for the poor little thing until he ended up finding it in the library, happily chasing around a loose feather being held up by MC.

“Oh, hello Satan.” MC chirped as the kitten batted it’s adorable little paws at the feather.

“My... my door was closed. Did you let the cat out?”

MC shrugged. “I heard meowing.”

Satan ran a hand through his hair and grumbled. Stupid smaller Lucifer. Stupid original Lucifer. Everyone sucked.

“Let me guess, you’re going to run to Lucifer and tell him all about the meowing and the rule breaking.”

MC shook their head and glared at Satan. “Of course not. I’ve already gotten way too attached to this little guy anyway. We’re co-parenting this kitten like mature adults.”

With some coaxing, Satan did sit down and play with the kitten, maybe MC wasn’t... so terrible.

The two watch Unsolved Mysteries together, that’s their show. “This guy did it.” “Satan, we’re two minutes into the episode-” “Trust me.”

Thirty minutes later.

“He did it.” “See MC, what’d I tell you?”

Lucifer did find out about the cat, but with enough pleading, MC and Satan managed to warm up the cold spot in Lucifer’s chest where his heart should have been. The cat’s name is Detective Toe Beans (or just Bean).

Satan can’t fly, he has a tail, but he did read up on wing anatomy and how flight actually works in demons, his advice would be good in theory, but it’s full of so much technical jargon that MC can’t understand it.

At least MC didn’t crash into something, they barrel rolled through one of the HOL’s windows. Good thing it was the window to their room. The broken arm still hurt like hell.

The Best Dressed Bitch Who Brings The Booze to The Reunion. (Asmo)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Lucifer’s kid was SO CUTE! A thousand pictures commemorating that adorable moment needed to be taken! Wait- Lucifer- GIVE BACK THE PHONE-

Asmo, surprise surprise, absolutely adores little MC! So cute! So small! He was just so excited to announce to all his Devilgram followers that Lucifer was finally a certified DILF.

That post disappeared five minutes after it was made but the damage had already been done.

Asmo made sure MC looked their best at all times, if they needed help talking to anyone? Asmo’s got their back!

Sure, maybe he’s a little pushy, but pushy’s a good thing sometimes, right?

“Asmodeus-”

“No, these shoes wouldn’t fit you...”

“Asmo-”

“No, not these ones either...”

“ASMODEUS.”

Asmo squeaked and jumped upwards, Geez Louise... little MC’s voice could sure be scary when they wanted it to be...

“I don’t need any fancy new shoes.” MC huffed, sitting up straighter in one of the chairs in Asmo’s room. “I thought this was supposed to be a sleepover.”

“Hmmm...” Asmo pouted. “Makeovers are an essential part of sleepovers... what’d you do with your human friends up in the human world that could possibly be better than a make-over?!”

MC began to list things off. “Ordered junk food, talked about people we hated, watched movies,”

“Greasy food is so bad for your skin...” Asmo cringed and shook his head violently. “But I’m totally down to watch a movie and bitch about people I hate!”

“Ah yes, human sleepovers, a tradition I never quite had the chance to enjoy.” Solomon said from Asmo’s bed. “Who are we bitching about?”

“Remind me what Solomon is doing here.” MC muttered as they sat down in front of Asmo’s TV.

“Because, I wanted to hang out with my two favourite humans.” Asmo cooed, reaching over and trying to pinch MC’s cheek, which they awkwardly dodged.

“Can we watch The Exorcist?” Solomon asked, propping his head up with his hands.

“Ew, no.” Asmo made a face at him. “That scene with the vomit? Hell NO.”

“Mm.” MC mumbled. Asmo turned to look at them.

“MC? Are you doing okay? You don’t look like you’re having any fun...”

“I’m fine.” MC grumbled.

Asmo pursed his lips, as much as it made his little narcissistic heart break, he nudged MC. “Why don’t you pick the movie, sweetie. I’m sure Solomon and I will like anything you pick!”

MC noticeably brightened. “Let’s watch Scream!”

The strangled noise that came from Asmo was... concerning, but to his credit, The Avatar of Lust held his tongue about his distaste for the movie, and the three slumber-party goers had quite the lovely time.

After the movie ended, MC went back to their room, sure it was a sleepover but their bed was right down the hall.

Good for Asmo and Solomon. Horny fuckers. We stan.

Asmo just claps and tries to cheer MC on when it comes to their flying lessons. (The idea that Asmo came up with to wear his cheerleader costume from the previous Halloween was immediately shot down by Lucifer)

“You’re doing wonderful, MC- WATCH OUT FOR THE POWER LINE!”

MC didn’t hit the power line, but Asmo’s scream of terror caused them to fall butt-first into a dumpster. Their injured tailbone served as a tragic memory of the incident.

Oh well, good thing Asmo had nice smelling soap to give that could mask dumpster-stink.

The Uncle that eats everything and tells you to eat your veggies while you angrily pick at your broccoli at the kid’s table. (Beel)

Lucifer... has a kid?! Beel choked on the cheetos he had snuck into the Assembly Hall when the kid’s wings popped out.

Oh wow, that’s nice :) maybe they can eat together. Belphie would probably like them.

Wait what is the gender neutral term for Niece or Nephew?

...Nibling? Uh... let’s not say that around Beel. We don’t need him to get hungrier and begin associating MC with nibbling on things.

The Underground Tomb incident probably went a little differently, but after all that nonsense, the two are closer than two peas in a pod!

Mmm... peas...

“Beel?” MC stepped into the Avatar of Gluttony’s room.

“Hi MC.” Beel was doing push-ups in the middle of the room, on the ground right beneath his head was a massive bowl of spaghetti that he bit into every time he completed a push-up. “Can you come stand on my back? I need the extra weight.”

“On your back?” MC padded closer. “Are you sure? It’s not going to hurt?”

“No, it’ll be okay.” Beel assured them. “Belphie and I did this all the time. Except Belphie is normally asleep.”

MC tentatively stepped onto Beel’s back. It was a balancing act to say the least, they eventually gave up on standing and ended up sitting cross legged between Beel’s shoulder blades.

“You did this with Belphegor?” MC asked.

“Yeah,” Beel sighed. “He was always too tired to exercise, but he’d let me bench press him sometimes...”

MC frowned and hugged their knees to their chest. Knowing full well that Beel’s twin wasn’t in the human world like Lucifer said was absolutely ripping them apart from the inside. Guilt felt just as rotten as their pride did when they were being belittled...

“Maybe you’ll see him again sometime soon.” MC whispered. “Maybe my father’ll come to his senses and let him come back down to the Devildom.”

Beel paused his push-ups for a brief moment, then nodded and went back to his eating exercising combo. “I hope so. He’ll like you, MC. I’m sure of it.”

MC nodded. “I... hope so.”

Beel’s a pretty decent flight teacher, but his wings are just so different from MC’s that it renders any tips he had next to useless.

“MC, maybe your wings aren’t flapping fast enough.”

“Beel, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not a hummingbird. Or a fly. I don’t need to flap my wings a million times a minute to stay afloat.”

Ah well, MC tried to take some of Beel’s advice, but their lower right wing cramped up and they ended up flying in circles until Beel was able to catch them. Ah well, better than the dumpster incident the previous week.

The Uncle That Passes Out in The Basement and You’re Not Allowed to Wake Him Up Even Though All Your Toys and Video Games Are Down There. He Also Picks a Fight With Your Dad’s New S/O Before He Passes Out. (Belphie)

Sitting in the attic was quite a drag, and this supposedly weak little human was quite the annoyance to try and call out to. It took a lot longer than expected, but when he heard little footsteps coming towards his prison, Belphegor nearly jumped with joy.

Oh... it... looked like Lucifer. Smelled like Lucifer. Stood like Lucifer. Quacked like Lucifer. Or... trilled..? Whatever sound a peacock made, this brat sounded an awful lot like Lucifer.

A... half-demon. Hmph. Belphie honestly thought Lucifer had actual standards. Not anymore, he guessed.

(Man I could fill a whole-ass fic with the Belphie betrayal thing, but for now let’s skip to post attic nonsense)

Okay so maybe MC wasn’t disgusting. They made a good nap buddy. It was cute when their wings came out when they were sleeping sometimes. Well... it was cute when they didn’t hit him in the face and make him wake up with his mouth full of feathers.

What Beel said had been true, Belphie made a good substitute when weights weren’t available, but Beel didn’t want MC to feel left out, so Belphie and MC ended up sitting on his back while he did push ups. MC once got bored and started playing Go Fish with Belphie on Beel’s back while he exercised.

Yes. MC is still a member of the Formerly-Anti-Lucifer League.

“Are you sure he’s not going to be too mad at us?” MC asked for the dozenth time that day. Detective Toe Beans was wrapped around their neck like a scarf (he had gotten so big!!!) while MC nervously sat in one of the Library chairs.

“Positive.” Belphie said with a toothy grin. “Besides, he’s like putty when it comes to you. Just give him your best puppy eyes and we’re not guilty on all charges.”

Putty..? Really..? Lucifer..? How strict was he before MC got there... they wondered.

“Sh! He’s coming!” Satan stuck his nose into a random book, it was the Oxford English Dictionary... and it was upside down.

Belphie pretended to pass out and MC decided that the best course of action was to stare deeply into their cat’s eyes. Yeah... that looked casual and not weird.

“Satan, MC, Belphie.” Lucifer nodded to the three of them as he walked towards the entrance to his study.

“Lucifer.”

“Afternoon, father.”

Belphie let out a cartoonishly loud fake snore that nearly caused both MC and Satan to break cover and start laughing.

Side note, Bean had adorable widdle eyes! That cute little face was just to die for-

“You three..!”

Belphie, Satan, and MC peeked their heads into Lucifer’s study, their handiwork was perfect. Everything was covered in red post it notes. Perfectly not harmful, but SO inconvenient!

“You’re all cleaning this up or so help me-”

“GO!” Belphie and Satan each grabbed one of MC’s arms (Satan also grabbed Bean) and sprinted out of the House of Lamentation. Maybe they’d move back there in twenty years... they hoped that Solomon and The Angels would let them crash at Purgatory Hall...

Belphie had used up his physical energy supply for the next four years. He passed out the moment they stepped into sanctuary. Time for a nap...

Flight practice? Ha. Belphie’s napping. Though, he was suspiciously awake and filming whenever MC did something stupid.

“Try not to suck so bad.”

“GO TO HELL BELPHIE!”

“I’m already there. Hell is every second I’m stuck here watching you fail.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO GET IT FOR THAT!”

Well... MC mastered the dive bomb that day. Lucifer bought them a cake.

Bonus! Your Dad’s New Husband! That Has Managed to Somehow Make Everyone Hate Him Despite the Fact That He’s A Cinnamon Roll. (Diavolo)

A mini Lucifer? A mini Lucifer!

Diavolo dotes on MC like he’d dote on his own kid. MC wants a crown? They’re getting a crown! A damn nice one too! MC wants a title? Here! MC is now... idk Ruler of the area between Majolish and Hell’s Kitchen.

Poor Uncle Mammon’s got some financial insecurity, he’s still the cool uncle... right?!

He is very much that ‘how do you do fellow kids?’ Meme.

He tries to do stereotypical ‘dad’ things but he’s not very good at them. Once he tried to host a barbecue...

Barbatos saved the day, but Mammon’s hair was still singed, Solomon’s cooking still gave Beel food poisoning (SOLOMON EATS TOXIC WASTE I SWEAR-), Luke still got hit in the face with a frisbee, and Simeon got an unhealthy dose of DAD NERVES and got so stressed everyone was almost blinded by the holy light he suddenly started blasting. We do not mention the water guns.

(Seriously whose bright idea was it to give Belphie and Satan water guns while they were in Lucifer’s presence?)

Praise Barbie. He’s too good for them.

“Um...” MC awkwardly held up the baseball, trying to look at it from all angles like it was a completely alien object. “Lord Diavolo... are you sure you want to play catch?”

Diavolo clapped his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes! It’s a thing human fathers do with their children, correct? We must make up for lost time between you and Lucifer, right?”

Lucifer massaged his temples and nodded. “If you two would like to play catch...” Lucifer grimaced. “I will too.”

“Okay! MC, throw the ball to Lucifer!” Diavolo instructed.

Lucifer half heartedly held up his baseball glove as MC tossed him the ball. He caught it, and looked over at Diavolo, who was applauding like he just witnessed the greatest feat in sports history.

“Okay! Throw it to me!” Diavolo waved his glove in the air, Lucifer rolled his eyes and smiled. He threw the ball at Diavolo with... a lot of force. Enough force to probably dent steel... Diavolo caught it like it was nothing.

MC suddenly feared for their safety.

“Okay MC, catch!”

Diavolo threw the ball with enough force to break the god damn sound barrier. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the ball sailed way over MC’s head and crashed right through a window.

“Oh my...” Diavolo put a hand on his hip and surveyed the damage to the window. “This isn’t so bad, I believe in human world TV shows this happens quite often. Look! The glass broke in a perfect circle!”

“Yay... property damage...” MC murmured.

Lucifer sighed and pulled out his DDD. “I’ll phone someone to replace the win-”

“Lucifer no! Now according to human world customs we must,” Diavolo took a deep breath, rushed forward, grabbed both Lucifer and MC’s hands and started sprinting away from the Demon Lord’s Castle. “RUN FOR IT!”

“Di- Diavolo!” Lucifer gasped.

“Who are we running from?! That’s your castle!” MC squeaked.

“I don’t know! Just run! That’s what the human TV show says to do!”

Weirdly enough, Diavolo was the best flight instructor. MC’s ability to fly increased tenfold after Diavolo found out that MC was learning to fly.

“You’re doing amazing MC! That was a perfect turn!”

“Thanks Lord Diavolo, I’m surprised I haven’t crashed into anyone or fallen yet!”

“Well, I highly doubt you’ll be crashing into anyone anymore, your flying is practically perfect now!”

Mammon proceeded to fly past them holding what looked like Lucifer’s wallet.

“M-mammon?!”

“Oh... I wonder what he’s doing. Look, MC! It’s Lucifer! Hello Lucifer dea-”

Lucifer ended up colliding with the two of them and sending them all crashing to the floor.

That was the last time MC fell during flying practice.

(We currently have a Go Fund Me set up for Mammon to get the funds necessary to flee the Devildom after that incident. Please donate to save- oh shit hi Lucifer-)

935 notes · View notes

nightowlfandom · 3 years

Text

Kim Taehyung- All Mine

HELLO FRIENDS!!

ANON ASKS

Hello my dear Night Owl. How are you feeling today? 😌

So, I saw your X rated prompt list and I was like "Okay. I need to ask for my idea immediately. I want to see their words on it"

Let's go. Y/N and Taehyung are at a party at a friend's place. Y/N is talking with people and some of them are maybe a bit too close with her so Tae becomes jealous. Even if he knows she didn't do anything wrong, he's giving her a silent treatment while fucking her (in a room upstairs) as he try to contain his moans, trying to be as serious as possible (but can't help to make such sexy faces and saying filthy things... oups 🥵) even if Y/N is trying to seduce him like touching his body or begging him to do some noises bc it's making her go crazy etc.... like he's not harsh, brutal or not calling her bad names (slut etc...) but more like he'll give her the best fuck of all time (to reassure his ego and make sure she's his) + 11, 16, 21, 33, 57 🙇‍♀️💛do you think it's possible even if it's a lot to take please? Thank you so much for your time and efforts! I love you 🧡🧡

This is perhaps the coolest, most detailed (and most considerate ask) I’ve ever gotten. No one ever asks how NightOwl is...I was having a shitty week and now I FEEL GREAT THANKS TO YOU!!

11- Oh god, Y/N…Those sounds you make are so fucking hot

16- I love this...pussy...you like it when I say that?

21- That’s right, you fucking worship me don’t you? Look up at me like I’m your god.

33- I really wanna fuck the innocence out of your eyes, cutie.

57- Fuck! You’re mine. You’re fucking mine and I’m fucking yours.

So I’m getting huge frat party, Tae is into Y/N and it’s obvious but of course eh. So she’s like, if he’s gonna be mean, ill be mean back. tease..

LEGGO!!

...

“Come on!”

“No.”

“Y/N, Please?”

“No.”

“Just this once!”

“Nana, for the last time-” you shut your textbook and turned to face her. “I don’t want to go.”

“It’s midterms! They’re finally over! Celebrate for once!” she sighed. Nana was your party-girl super extroverted best friend. The most popular girl in her sorority and by default the most popular in university. “You never actually get to have fun.”

“Within good reason!” you sighed. “A bunch of drunken frat boys, nerds who’ve never sipped vodka a day in their lives going crazy. Not to mention the disgusting smell of Smirnoff Ice?” you crossed your arms. “That’s your crowd, not mine.”

Nana sighed, running a hand through her silky hair. “I know you think that sororities and fraternities are nothing but drunken horn-dogs-”

“I never said that Nana. Those are your friends. I’m the last person you should be seen partying with.”

“Well I want to be seen with you! We’ve been friends since we were in diapers! I just want to spend some time with my bestie.” she stood up. “Just for a couple minutes.”

“Alright you broke me, I’ll go.” you sighed, shoving your book into your bag.

“You will? Really!??” she hopped up. “Y/N thank you.” she took you into a bone crushing hug. “I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.”

You nodded as Nana excitedly told you her outfit ideas. You felt bad. It wasn’t nice to stereotype and yet there you were. Nana was the nicest and sweetest girl, she just loved to party. You promised yourself you’d enjoy yourself, for her sake.

...

You walked down the halls, tapping away at your phone. You passed by the Bangtan Boys, the most well known, most popular, and probably most talented boys in all of the entire school. They would for sure debut before graduation.

“Hey Y/N!!” Taehyung chased behind you in an attempt to catch up. “Hey.”

“Um..Hi?” you raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“I heard you were going to Nana’s party.” he smiled. “I was wondering if-”

“That probably isn’t a good idea...reputation remember?” you glowered.

You and him had went out on one date. One. It was something that you came to regret when he grew somewhat of a reputation, that would soon come to haunt your ass.

“Y/N-” he sighed. “Come on, we can go as friends.”

“To a party...that’s known for people going into broom closets and fuck?”

“Well it doesn’t have to be a broom closet.” he joked, making you scoff. “Come on, just for a few minutes. Save me a dance and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“....Sure, why not.” you gave in. “Just don’t make me regret this decision.”

...(At the party)

Taehyung was fuming. He watched you laugh in a small group of 2 boys and 2 girls. You were laughing at the top of your lungs kicking back a Screwdriver. He was sure that you hated alcohol but apparently not. You were laughing at something that asshole from his dance class had said. You had forgotten all about him.

You were wearing a school jacket (it had been Nana’s varsity jacket that she insisted went so well with the black skirt she stuck you in.) along with a long sleeved black shirt. You were wearing your favorite shoes he always saw you in.

Sure, you two weren’t ‘together’ but IT WAS THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING. Everyone knew (well not everyone) that you were (not really) his. He noticed one of the guys in particular was getting a bit too flirty for his tastes. You weren’t that funny, but he was laughing as if you were a comedian. You looked like you were enjoying his company too.

No, he couldn’t have that!

He stormed up to the crowd and grabbed you by the hand, pulling you away from your group of friends.

“Hey!” you protested as you were led up the stairs. “Let me go!”

“Quiet.” was all he said as you were taken into a random bedroom. Before you could protest, he crashed his lips over yours. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, holding your head in place.

“Taehyung!” you mumbled in surprise. “What are you-”

He wrapped his arms around your waist as he backed you up against the room door. He pinned your arms above you head. “You’re mine.” he grumbled. “Mine.” he sounded slightly desperate. He kissed down your jawline, down your neck.

He felts your hands lace into his, relaxing into his touch. He would have been happy had he not been so mad at that asshole flirting with you.

“T-taehyung. I don’t think doing this here is such a good i-idea-uuuhh.” you tilted your head back slightly. He suckled on your collarbone, making your legs shake. “Tae- S-say something.”

Without speaking, he helped your out of your jacket, which you complied. Before he could do anything else, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him back towards you.

Shit, how was he supposed to focus when you were such a good kisser. You played with the ends of his hair as he played with your tongue. He hummed thoughtfully, almost giggling at your desperation to hear him.

He let a small moan escape his lips as he grinded his body against yours. He kissed down your neck, grinding his body against yours in need and desperation.

“T-taehyungie~” you whimpered. “Please say something?”

The way you said ‘please’. Fuck! How could he ignore that?

“ Oh god, Y/N…Those sounds you make are so fucking hot “ he giggled. “You really pissed me off, Y/N.” he grumbled. He wrapped his arms around you tighter, trailing his hands under your shirt. “Hmmm~” he moaned.

“What did I do?” you stared up at him, pouting. “I was talking to my friends.” His hands trailed under your skirt now. “Uhhnn~” your hips bucked as he scratched your clit through your panties. “You aren’t my boyfriend.”

“I’m yours though.” he seethed. “I don’t want you to look at, or even care about anyone else but me. I don’t want you to look at anyone else this way.” he lowered himself to his knees, with an evil smirk on his face. “ That’s right, you fucking worship me don’t you? Look at me like I’m your god.” he whispered as your eyes followed him. “No one else gets you, no one else gets to take you.” he hiked up your skirt. “No one else gets to taste you.”

Tae yanked down your panties, shoving them in his pocket. He wasted no time in digging his tongue into your heat. A gasp ripped through your throat. You could only hope no one needed this room any time soon. He quietly licked stripes up your slit. You let out quiet mewls and moans. “T-taehyungie~” you whimpered.

“ I love this...pussy...you like it when I say that? “ he finally spoke, meeting your eyes. “Y/N.” he grunted, driving his tongue deeper into your core. He suckled at your clit, coaxing the sweetest sounds from you. He couldn’t wait anymore, he had to fuck you.

In the span of ten seconds, you were taken from the wall, thrown on the bed, already having witnessed Taehyung removed his belt and yanked down his pants to his knees.

“ I really wanna fuck the innocence out of your eyes, cutie. “ he gleamed. “You want to get some noise out of me?” he slowly slid himself into you. “Then you gotta make some yourself.”

A small, high pitched gasp escaped you as you tightened around his shaft. “Taehyung.” you whimpered. You felt his nails dig into your hips.

“SHIT!” he growled out loud. “Y/N, FUCK! I was wrong.” he managed to get out. “Fuck I still care about you.” he moaned. “Shit I want you to be mine.” he thrust into you even more. Sweaty skin slapping against skin. “God.” he whimpered. “Y/N!!”

There it was, what you wanted to hear. He crashed his mouth messily over yours again. He practically shoved his tongue through the gap in your mouth.

“ Fuck! You’re mine. You’re fucking mine and I’m fucking yours.” he shuddered, twitching inside of you. “You’re mine.” he thrust harder and deeper. “Only..mine~”

A string of loud curses and moans strung out from the both of you. He pinned your arms above your head, refusing to leave you.

You tilted your head back in pleasure. As he came, he laid sloppy kisses along your neck. You could hear his breathy laughs as he kissed your lips again.

“All...mine.”

...(next day tic tic tic)

“Why hello there, Party animal.” Nana joined your side. “Didn’t see you all night! Did you leave?”

“Nope. I was...with someone.” you trailed off. You wouldn’t admit you were with Taehyung until he did first.

“Hey Y/N, you disappeared yesterday.” that same guy you were talking too before joined both you and Nana.

“She was with me.”

You and Nana both looked up, Taehyung took a seat and through an arm around you. “Hey babe.” he kissed your forehead.

“Oh...I didn’t know you two were dating.”

“We just went public.” he glared in reply. Nana looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “You probably heard us in one of the bedrooms.”

Just as quickly as you calmed down, you were freaking out.

“Wait, that was you guys I heard?” Nana raised an eyebrow at you both. “Y/N?”

“Uh...You know what? Yeah.” you confessed. “No use in lying.”

“Damn Y/N, you didn’t tell me you were with-”

“Well I had to reassure her just where we stood in our relationship.” Taehyung cut the guy off. “I’m sure we’ve established just who Y/N belongs to...”

253 notes · View notes

i-just-like-goats · 3 years

Text

Miya Atsumu x Female Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: The Inarizaki team have all placed bets on when you and your longtime best friend Atsumu will finally get together. Kita is close to losing the bet, time for him to step in.

It is known to all students at Inarizaki High that Atsumu was a lady’s man. Sure he wasn’t a womaniser or a player, but that didn’t stop him from breaking hearts everywhere he went. His mere dismissal of a girl would lead that girl to burst into tears, straight up rejections even worse. His casual flirtatious comments did not at all help with his reputation, leading oblivious girls to believe he actually held interest in them. How wrong they were.

Whereas you. You deemed yourself nothing special. Nothing too flashy, unlike a certain someone. You didn’t stand out in a crowd, and most certainly never attempted to shine or take the spotlight. You left that to your best friend.

Miya Atsumu.

“Hey could you-“

“No.”

“Will you please put in a good-“

“No.”

The first two girls had left, their hopes crushed, you felt relieved they had gone to class until another girl replaced them and effectively disrupted your short lived peace.

“Y/N!” She said, her voice oozed with fake sweetness.

“Do I know you?” You asked bluntly.

“We sit next to each other in chemistry, silly. Don’t you remember?”

“And?”

“So I was wondering if I could ask you a favour?”

“If it’s homework we had none. If it’s class work I’ll send you my notes. If it’s anything else; leave me alone.”

“I just need you to give this little gift to At-“

“Not interested.”

With that you swiftly walked away, which left the unnamed girl open mouthed with shock. This was the daily routine you had to put up with. Reject all of Atsumu’s fan girls who approached you in order to reach him. Truth be told it was extremely tedious, but you couldn’t really complain - after all you were the one who befriended him. It was a small price to pay for being friends with him.

“Hey I was wondering if you could set me up with Atsumu?” A different girl asked.

Scratch that it wasn’t small. At all. It was a big price to pay. Very tedious. Very irritating. Very time consuming. By the time you reached your first class - English - you were already exhausted and plopped yourself into your seat.

“Don’t you look wonderful?”

“Well you wouldn’t look so hot either if you had to fight off Atsumu’s admirers in the space of one morning.”

Osamu noticed your sharp tone and held his hands up in mock surrender. You shook your head at him and started writing down what your teacher was saying.

Lunch came around and you made your way to your usual table next to your best friend.

“There’s my favourite best friend!”

All eyes were on you as you made your way to Atsumu. Some looked with contempt. Some with envy. Others with anger. All harboured ill feelings towards you. He had that certain look in his eye when you walked over to him, like you were the greatest thing in the world. His smile widened once you took the seat across from him, Atsumu’s eyes sparkled with joy as though it was his first time seeing your face again. Suna scoffed at his expression, not before taking a sneaky picture of proof about how much Miya Atsumu was whipped for Y/N L/N.

“Where were you all morning! I missed you so much,”

“I was dying,”

Silence. Atsumu tilted his head in confusion. Next to him, his twin stifled a laugh.

“Bro, your girlfriend here was busy fending off the wild animals that make up your fan club. She had no time to see your stupid face, and the last time you saw her was yesterday,”

Everyone in proximity of your table tensed up at Osamu’s words. From the table next to yours, Atsumu’s fan girls glared daggers at you.

“Yesterday was ages ago,” Atsumu whined.

“That’s what you focus on?” You ask incredulously.

Instantly Atsumu’s demeanour changed and he glanced to his left.

“Way to go Osamu, now Y/N’s on their hit list,” Atsumu said dryly.

“Well if you didn’t flirt back none of us would be in this mess,” Kita kindly passive aggressively informed his teammate.

Ever since Atsumu’s first official match, girls had been flocking to Atsumu like a swarm of bees to their queen. Every day the Inarizaki volleyball team had to deal with squealing fan girls gushing over Atsumu’s talent for volleyball, essentially distracting the players and disrupting practice. At first Atsumu shamelessly flirted back, basking in the attention, now he, as well as the others were fed up. In short, Kita was tired. Tired of the fan girls. And most importantly tired of the fact that you and Atsumu weren’t dating yet. At this rate Kita would lose the bet that Osamu and Suna had coerced him to take part in. He had bet that you and Atsumu would be dating by the end of the month, which was this Saturday, and the way things were going between you two, he’d probably have to ask you out himself for Atsumu in order to win the bet. On the other hand, Osamu bet that Atsumu would ask in their third year, Aran bet that you would actually ask instead of Atsumu and Suna bet that Atsumu would ask at the end of next month. It was decided that the losers would do what the winner wanted for a day, with no complaining whatsoever. A whole day of getting the team to do what he wants without complaints. A dream come true for Kita.

“It’s the end of the month on Saturday. Two days,” Osamu sing songed.

“So?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing,”

You dropped it and shrugged. Opposite you, Kita sent a saccharine smile towards Osamu, while the latter playfully smirked back. Kita had a plan.

Two day passed as usual, nothing significant happened; that is until the end of the second day. As usual, you made your way out of Physics with Atsumu; your best friend filled in the silence with his cheerful chatter. Unusually, Kita stood there at the end of the corridor.

“Hey cap! What brings you here?” Atsumu inquired.

Kita seemed to snap out of whatever was bothering him, for his face returned from his previous scrunched expression to his more neutral expression.

“Hm? Oh I came here to speak with Y/N. If that’s alright with the two of you?”

You nodded, though intrigued as to what Kita wanted to talk to you about, Atsumu on the other hand stayed silent. Before you left with Kita, he crushed you with a hug and sent puppy eyes at your retreating figure, walking next to his captain.

During the walk out of school grounds, Kita mentally prepared himself to convince you to ask Atsumu out, allowing both his and Aran’s plan to work, so that the pair won the bet - Kita was too engrossed in his thoughts. A while passed before you and Kita spoke; you were already halfway home before you confronted Kita.

“Kita?”

“You have feelings for Atsumu, don’t you?”

Kita panicked at your sudden dialogue and spoke the words that first came to his mind. His panic was not conveyed through his steady tone of voice. Truth be told, it was more of a statement than a question, it certainly caught you off guard. The latter half of the sentence seemed to be added hastily as though to soften the bluntness.

“What makes you say that?” You answered evenly, and turned your face away from him, a small blush settled firmly on your cheeks.

“Answering my question with a question I see,” he teased, “Everyone knows, the both of you don’t hide your feelings very well, it surprises me that you two aren’t dating yet,”

“I know he has feelings for me, I’m not an idiot, I see the way he looks differently at me and I see how he’s more clingy towards me than the others. I’m not an idiot,” you repeated.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know,”

“I think you do know. Idiot,”

You pouted and let out a huff.

“Fine. Fine,” you finally conceded, “I’m not an idiot but I am a coward. I guess - as cliché as it sounds - I don’t want to ruin our friendship. What if it doesn’t work out and we end on bad terms? Years of friendship would be wasted and gone in an instant. I just. I just don’t want to risk that happening,”

“What’s life without a little risk,”

At Kita’s attempt at lightening the mood, you scoffed and shook your head.

“Sorry, that was unlike me. What I meant to say was you won’t know until you try. Sure there is that possibility that the relationship may end badly and the precious friendship between you and Atsumu would probably be lost, but there is also a chance that this relationship will end happily, with no heartbreak. I can’t guarantee that everything will be peachy; obviously there’s going to be some problems along the way but knowing your stubborn personality I am confident that you will fight for you and Atsumu, because I know you care way too much for him to let him go,”

Kita’s speech surprised you, this was the most encouraging thing he had said to you. Ever. You smiled.

“Thanks Kita. I really needed that,” you said as you finally reached your house.

Kita made his way to his house, waving as he walked down the steeet. He left you with a lot to think about.

Later that evening you called Kita again, and talked until he decided that it was time to go to sleep.

That morning you walked to school with Kita in a comfortable silence. Once you reached school you spoke.

“Ok I’m going to do it,”

“Yes you will,” Kita encouraged.

Confidently you walked up to your long time best friend, then suddenly turned the other direction.

“I can’t do it,” you cried out.

Exasperatedly, Kita shook his head and forced a strained smile.

“Y/N do you want to do this or not?”

“I do,”

“Then go get him,”

“I’ll do it while we walk home,”

Anyway, the school day passed, honestly you couldn’t remember what happened, it was all a blur.

“Atsumu?” you called.

“Yup?”

“Do you want to walk home together?”

“Yes! I’m still kinda annoyed you walked with Kita, Kita of all people instead of me,”

“Sorry about that ‘Tsumu,” you replied bashfully.

With that you both made your way out of school. Little did you know Kita, Osamu, Suna and Aran followed you both from a distance. Osamu and Suna because they just wanted to go home. Kita and Aran to make sure you confessed.

“Get ready to do what we want for a day,” Kita stated.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Suna questioned.

“Kita and I formulated a plan,” Aran answered cryptically.

“Guys shut up Y/N stopped walking,” Osamu whisper shouted.

You had indeed stopped walking, leaving Atsumu to carry on walking and talking. You had been quiet the whole walk, which wasn’t unusual, as you normally let Atsumu talk, while you listened. You were just too lost in your thoughts.

“Y/N?”

Atsumu had finally noticed that you were no longer by his side.

“Hellooo. Earth to Y/N,”

“I like you,”

Atsumu was taken aback. That was not a reply he was expecting.

“I just really like your smile, your personality even though you can be quite big headed at times, I like your laugh, I just like you for you, not in the way that those girls like you for your looks and skills. I like everything about you even your flaws,”

“Whoa, for real?”

You glanced at his expression and burst out laughing.

“You look like surprised Pikachu!” you wheezed out.

Atsumu joined in with your laughter. The two of you continued laughing for several minutes.

“I like you too,” Atsumu said once both your laughter finally died down.

You turned your gaze towards his eyes. His beautiful eyes that held all the stars in the galaxy.

“That’s a relief,”

#atsumu #miya atsumu #haikyuu atsumu #hq atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #inarizaki #inarizaki x reader #inarizaki x you #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyū!!#hq #hq x reader

148 notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills.

You’re his only solace.

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often.

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns.

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks.

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves.

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings.

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing.

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent.

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight.

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex. It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows.

It’s grim in its predictability.

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone.

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.”

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.)

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen.

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them—

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand.

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was.

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future.

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.)

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted.

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze.

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings.

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming.

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.”

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest.

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face.

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?”

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t.

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa.

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least.

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind.

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively.

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap.

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?”

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do.

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you.

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible.

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words.

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy—

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none.

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments.

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could.

“Do you see now?”

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch.

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky.

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning—

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.”

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side.

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness.

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.”

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do.

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan.

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see.

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection.

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep. The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue.

It bothers him—

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror.

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while.

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can.

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant.

All the same, the trim feels good.

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back—

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!”

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!”

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him.

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.)

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity.

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning.

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much. The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering.

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with.

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach.

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it.

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree.

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was.

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh.

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.”

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet.

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress.

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely.

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone.

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes.

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile.

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up—

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart.

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later.

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard.

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead.

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too—

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement.

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try.

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered.

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks.

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.)

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business.

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat.

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders.

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—”

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough.

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands.

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night.

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?)

But you’re not in the common room.

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath.

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten.

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard.

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him.

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more.

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone—

...

Keigo leaves the next morning.

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn.

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse.

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died.

All disgusting reminders.

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had.

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he.

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time.

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave.

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes.

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter.

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it.

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears—

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some.

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought.

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?”

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe.

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self.

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #hawks fanfic #hawks imagines #my hero academia #mha x reader #anyways tag wall #enjoy loves #smorch

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