#i had some moments of lucidity but the past few days have felt sad and hazey | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashisgreedy · 7 months

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Richard Jackdaw xF!MC

“In Your Best Nightmares.”

WC: 4,800

"If another ghost would dare to tell me he likes you, I'll have none of it; and, if a mortal man tries to steal you, I'll haunt his dreams."

"If you can haunt their dreams… then why don’t you visit me in mine?"

MC makes her way through the streets of Hogsmead delicately clutching a small parcel to her chest. Her feet pound the cobblestone as lanterns light her path back to her hamlet, a pleasant floral aroma wafting from the bag in her hands. She was two galleons lighter as she smiled into the night air, her cloak flowing behind her as her home grew in the distance.

“I got it!” She exclaimed, busting her front door open and yelling into the darkness.

She took a few deep breaths and watched the ghost of Richard Jackdaw float languidly down the short hallway from her bedroom.

“They had some in stock?” He smiled, nearing her with curious eyes. He looked down at the small bag in her hands and tried to take a whiff. He frowned when nothing accosted his senses.

“Yes! The shopkeeper said she had even more Blue Lotus flowers in case I wanted more later.” MC smiled and lifted her hand out to the apparition. It melted into his form as she gave him a wide smile. “She said it was guaranteed to produce results as long as I drank enough for my tolerance, that is.”

Richard moved toward her hand, as if he were leaning into her touch, and gazed into her wide eyes. “Well, this first night will be the test run, I suppose. We shall see how much Blue Lotus flower you must take first to induce lucidity.”

“Richard…” She took a deep breath and slid her fingertips in the air along his jawline. “I can’t wait. I want to take it right now and try to fall asleep.”

Jackdaw smiled and let out a small laugh “My dear, it is still early and you’ve yet to have dinner. Please, eat and go about your nightly routine as normal. Trust me, I won’t forget to remind you about the flower.” His hand moved to her face and she felt a tingle of ice race down her spine. It was a very welcome feeling and something she’d grown fond of since their ‘relationship’ had continued past graduation. She agreed and set the parcel down on her small dining table for now.

Soon, the evening was in full swing. She lit the fireplace and cooked a meal for one in the kitchen as Richard made conversation. He watched her saute mushrooms over her shoulder. Telling her how he’d love to kiss her cheek at this moment, smiling pleasantly when she blushed.

Despite their relationship being full of “If I could’s” and “Where I able’s”, they’d managed a mostly ‘normal’ relationship in their eyes. Albeit, sometimes one or both were frustrated with their predicament, they still managed to work through it and continue in their blissful dream a bit longer.

The question “How long could this possibly last?” hung silently in the air, always unspoken but appearing as a look or even a gesture between them. It couldn’t end just yet, MC was sure of what she wanted. She wanted Richard for as long as they were both happy… or as happy as a phantom and a human could possibly be. Their relationship heavily weighted on emotional support between the two. Richard was her rock in any situation, happy or sad. They grew together and learned how to comfort one another with their words and fill the other's hearts despite touch and warmth being out of the picture.

Tonight's idea, however, could hopefully change their relationship in ways they’d only imagined. He made it known that an ability of his was to find himself in her dreams most nights. It took concentration and effort, but when he took the time to do so, he was able to witness her dreams as if he were part of it. MC rarely remembered her dreams, but one fateful night, when she’d gone to bed well past 3 a.m., she had a short lucid dream that caused something to change. She could see him clear as day, entirely human. She’d woken up, of course, and hugged her pillow tight as they both excitedly recounted their experience. They needed to try that again and for much longer than a few measly seconds.

When dinner was over, she entered her nightly bath. She poured copious amounts of lavender salts, and other calming herbs, to help aid her body in an easy and deep sleep.

Once she was dried off, she rubbed moisturizer over her parched skin and changed into a comfortable silk nightgown. Revisiting the parcel on the table, she peeled it open and removed three dried flowers.

“Starting out strong?” Jackdaw smiled from where he floated above the table.

“I don't want to risk it not working…” She added the fragrant flowers to a teapot and closed the lid.

“We have all the time in the world,” Richard reassured her. “We can try this every night, spirit willing.” He chuckled.

“And body willing,” She started a boiling pot of water on the stove. “I fear lucid dreaming may not be as deep of a sleep as I need… but I don’t rightfully care at the moment.” A grin split her face as all the possibilities filled her mind. They could be anywhere in reality and of their own creation bound only by their imagination. And, hopefully, they could do anything within those dimensions as they saw fit.

“You’ll care when your work suffers the next day.” He moved to the table and looked down at the book that started it all ‘Lucid Dreaming, The Induction Method.’ It was full of recipes and techniques to induce lucid dreaming in those who were unable to do so or didn’t have time to train their minds to do it naturally. The most promising method was making tea out of the Blue Lotus flower. It was known for causing Lucid dreaming and also a mild hallucinogen if taken in large doses.

“Depends on how good the dream is, I may have no regrets whatsoever.” She shot him a playful wink and brought the boiling kettle to her teapot and filled it slowly, making sure not to splash. “You don’t sound very excited.” She accused in a playful tone. She knew Richard well and his tendency to keep people, things, or ideas at arm's length until they proved themselves worthy of his time. This idea was no different. He wouldn’t be truly bubbling over with excitement until it was proven that it could work in the way they’d hoped.

“I am ecstatic, Darling. I assure you.” He gave her a small bow of his head. “I apologize if I don’t come off as such…”

MC watched the clock, waiting for 5 minutes to tick by for the petals to steep, as instructed by the shopkeeper.

“It’s alright, Dear. I know, in your phantasmal heart, you’re practically leaping for joy.”

With that, Richard's mood rose. “You’re smile is contagious as ever. Your excitement is my excitement. Tonight, we will meet each other in your dreams.” He reached out to caress her face, hand phasing through the skin.

She nodded, a surefire smile on her face as she waited for the minutes to tick by.

As the petals finished steeping, MC poured the lilac liquid into a mug. It smelled of honeysuckle and an assortment of fresh-cut berries. She blew on the steaming liquid and took a timid sip. “Mmm! Not bad!” She said, taking another larger sip. The tea tasted as good as it smelled and she had no trouble taking large gulps.

Richard grinned and crossed his arms. “Well, at least it's not repugnant.”

She pointed at him as if she agreed and took a few more deep gulps.

“Don’t drown yourself, Dear.” He shook his head, laughing a bit as she downed the rest of the tea.

“I will drink the second one slower.” She assured, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm. She poured the second cup of tea and held the mug in her hands. “Shall we be off to bed then?” She quirked a brow with a grin.

“We shall,” He offered his arm as a gesture to escort her to bed for the night. She happily pretended to take his arm and they walked down the hall to her room.

“The tea is making me feel a bit hot, I'm going to keep the covers off for now.” She took a large gulp of the tea and sat it on her bedside table.

“Where shall we try to go?” Richard floated through the room to the unoccupied side of the bed. “The book said, focus on a place until you can visualize it and allow it to build around you in your dream.” Richard sat on the bed next to her weightlessly.

“I was thinking, something as simple as just our bedroom?” She gestured to the familiar space. “I can easily visualize this. If this works, we can go to more complicated places next time.” She yawed, fluffing her pillow as she rested her head on it.

Jackdaw reclined back against the headboard with a wistful gaze. “Shall I sing you to sleep?” He jokingly offered.

“Oh god, no.” She laughed and lay on her side, facing him. “If I wanted to listen to a goose strangling itself, I’d go to upper Hogsfield.”

Richard balked at her comment. “Alright, Alright,” He laughed. “No singing then. Maybe I can tell you a bedtime story?”

MC yawned again and blinked her bleary eyes. The hot lavender bath and the tea settling in her belly seemed to be doing the work of making her whole body relax. She gazed out her bedroom window and focused on the twinkling stars in the night sky.

“I think I will be asleep soon, my dear.” She yawed again, kicking the blankets to the side. “Meet me in my dream, will you?”

“Of course, my love. I will be there.”

His smile was the last thing she saw before closing her eyes. Her breathing was steady and soft, as her whole body relaxed. Soon, she was slipping into the land of dreams.

Darkness prevailed as her mind floated in space. There was a whisper in the distance and MC blinked into the abyss. There was nothing but the void as she slowly became conscious of her surroundings. Another sound came from behind her and she moved her head.

“Hello?” She called out, her voice feeling inadequate in the vastness of the space.

“MC…” The masculine voice came again.

“That's my name.” She said straining her eyes to try and see anything from where the voice was coming from.

“Visualize! Remember?” The voice was closer. “Visualize the bedroom.”

She was confused and let the words wash over her. “The bedroom? What bedroom?" Her mind wandered.

“Visualize your bed.” The voice was right behind her. She spun again but no one was there.

The longer she was in that space, the more memories flooded into her head. She knew that voice. “Oh… right.”

“Remember? The tea? You’re dreaming.” Richard’s voice rang out from all around.

“I’m dreaming!” With her realization, the ground beneath her faded and she was falling. It didn’t feel scary to her, it was exhilarating as the butterflies swarmed in her tummy. She smiled and began to visualize her room. She pictured the bookcase in the corner, the lamp to her right, and the window showing off her small garden on the left.

Soon swirls of blue began to move around the edges of her vision. Her falling slowed to a hover and her room began to form around her. She visualized the navy blue bedsheets and the fuzzy plush carpet, her ceiling with one exposed wooden beam through the middle.

Before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of her familiar bedroom. Things were off, like a candle stick instead of a lamp. The bookshelf was empty instead of filled to the brim with collectibles and knickknacks from her adventures.

A knock came over the door and she flinched. She walked over curiously, feet sliding over the plush carpet as her heart raced. Who could be trying to enter her bedroom this late at night?

“Hello? Who’s there?!” She asked, hand squeezing the bronze knob.

“It’s me, darling.” Richard's voice was muffled by the door. “I-...” His voice trailed off. “It’s your boyfriend.”

Her mind snapped into place. Oh, she was dreaming, and she was lucid! Very lucid! She lifted her hands to her face and made fists. She had all 10 fingers and toes. She was MC, and this was a dream she induced herself. “Ha!”

She swung the door open and smiled at the man on the other end. He was devastatingly handsome, standing several inches taller than herself. His brown wavy hair was perfectly styled. He wore clothes that were several years out of fashion as he clasped his hands at his waist.

“Boyfriend?” She grinned up at him. “I didn’t think we had a label.”

Richard’s features were twisted with emotion as he reached out for her. “Would you like a label?” He asked, stepping closer and finally, finally, touching her face.

MC’s chest squeezed as she closed her eyes allowing the first feeling of his warm touch to wash over her. “Oh.” She bit her lip to stop it from quivering as he caressed her cheek. Not a single chill down her spine, nor an icy prickle on the back of her neck.

His hand moved through her hair and he looked every bit as misty-eyed as she was.

“Your hair…” He let it fall between his fingers “It’s so soft, like silk.”

She cupped his face, brushing a thumb under his eye. “You’re eyes are such a pretty shade.”

A warm smile grew over Jackdaw's face, his dark lashes fanning as he looked down at her hands cupping his cheeks. “I’ve never gotten that compliment before having brown eyes.” His voice wavered with emotion.

“There's a hint of gold flecks in the center…” She added, moving closer to take him into an embrace while still gazing into his eyes. They wrapped their arms around one another, pressing their foreheads together. Richard's hand ran up and down the center of her back, gliding along her silk night dress.

She drank in his corporeal features, very solid, and very vivid. His skin was pale, and smooth, with a single thin scar dashing through his right eyebrow. She smiled and lovingly rubbed the tiny blemish with her thumb.

He drank in a shaky breath “I just want to hold you for as long as I can.”

The bed springs creek under their combined weight as they settle into the mattress. Finally, Richard was able to occupy the empty space meant for him on their bed.

MC giggled, feeling his arms wrap tight around her and their legs twine together.

“It worked… it actually worked.” She whispered, unable to wipe the smile from her face. She played with a piece of his dark wavy hair as his large hand splayed over her stomach.

“It worked… I-I can’t even describe how I’m feeling at this moment.” His eyes looked between both of hers and then down to her lips. “I never want this to end…”

“We have all night…” She answers, leaning in closer to his face.

“I long to feel every bit of you, my love. I don’t want to stop until I’ve memorized every inch of your body.” He leaned in as well, taking a breath before pressing his lips to hers.

There it was, the spark… The spark she’d always known was there between them, waiting to be ignited. As their lips met in a new angle, fireworks went off in her heart. It was a profound understanding, a soul-deep knowing, that they were weaved for one another by something much greater than their minds could possibly imagine.

Richard's hand moved to hold the back of her head, holding her into his searing kiss. His brows were knitted, and she wondered if being here like this took more concentration than he’d previously led on.

“Richard,” She pulled away, worried he might disappear from the dream entirely if they kept on, but his lips slammed back into hers in an instant.

“I can’t stop, I’m addicted.” He spoke between kisses, slipping his tongue past her lips. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted since I met you.”

She welcomed it, wrapping her arms around his neck as he moved to hover over top of her. If he wasn’t concerned, she would not bear the worry as well.

His weight, his precious weight, pressed against her as his soft lips captured hers over and over. It wasn’t long before she was drunk on his kisses, sighing and breathing heavier than before. This was much better than the countless times she’d envisioned this moment.

His hair brushed her cheeks as he moved his lips down her jaw to her ear. He tugged on her lobe gently, nibbling over the cuff of the cartilage.

“Ah…” She let out a pleasurable noise.

“Hm… sensitive ears?” He whispered, running his tongue along the outline. “Let’s see what else I can get away with.” He teased, kissing his way down the curve of her neck.

She gasped when his lips lightly sucked the skin. “Oh… thats nice…” Chills rushed down her arm.

He moved to kiss her shoulder, lips quirked into a small smile. “I want to know every part of you that makes you gasp, my Darling. So that I may kiss every one of those parts over and over until you are breathless and wanting.”

A sense of pride came over her realizing she made the impossible possible again. She wasn’t sure she’d share this new knowledge with others. Would there be many people who would have the need to touch someone who's long since departed?

His hands moved along her frame, touching every inch of her as he promised. He met her lips again while his hand squeezed her thigh. “Must I ask?”

“No, keep going.” She answered confidently. "And don't stop."

Smooth hands inched their way up her night dress and her heart hammered away in her chest in anticipation of his next move. Her hands moved up and down his back, gently rubbing and caressing him as their tongues mingled.

Their actions were that of two lovers separated for too long and finally coming together at last. Richard’s hands had not stopped, pushing her night dress up until her stomach was exposed. He broke the kiss, eyes connecting with hers. She felt weightless in the wake of his gaze, a look of adoration and starvation riddled his features.

“I love you.” He whispered, his warm hand cupping the side of her face. “I love you more every minute of every day and fall head over heels for you with every smile you give me.”

“Richard…” She swallows the lump that is growing in her throat. “I love you too, and in all things. I love and desire you the most.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners of the expression. “If I could grow old with you, I would. And if you want to live out a life with me in your dreams, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

They were both smiling now, hugging one another and squeezing tight. She memorized the full sensation of him in her arms, the weight of him pressed against her chest, and the softness of his waves tickling her skin.

“I don’t want this night to end.” The words Richard spoke hung in the air.

“Me neither.” She pulled back, pushing his hair out of his face. “I’m actually curious about some things…” She admitted.

“Such as?” His brow quirked playfully.

“I want to know what you like.”

Understanding washed over his features. “I want to know what you like first.” He kissed her jaw then her neck and that spot on her ear that made her squirm.

She laughed, but the sound quickly turned to a gasp when his lips latched onto the skin and lightly sucked. The thin strap of her nightdress was easy to slip down her shoulders. He stopped kissing her. “I want this off.” He indicated the night dress with a tug.

She nodded eagerly. He sat back on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt while she easily slipped the silk dress off and tossed it to the side. He stopped before he got to the last button and raked his eyes over her nude frame. Swallowing thickly, he pushed off his own shirt and moved to kiss from her neck down to her chest. His hands joined his expedition, moving to cup her breasts just as his lips found their way to them.

She touched his pale skin, nails scratching at his back the more pleasurable his mouth felt on her breasts. He took his time, his tongue sliding this way and that, moving in every way possible to find the one that made her moan the loudest. He was studying her body, needing to know precisely how she liked it to use that to his advantage.

Her fingers twined in his hair, pushing him gently to urge him to go lower. Not much else was needed to make Richard move lower. He was eagerly kissing a trail down her body to make it to his goal.

This was a new side of Richard she’d never seen, of course. Something swelled in her heart watching his never-before-seen actions play out in front of her. There was only so far fantasies could go, but they would never tell you the nuances of the situation. Before this night, she would have never known how his kisses left fire in their wake. How he hummed in pleasure after making her moan. Or how soft his tongue’s touch would be once he found her clit.

She fisted the sheets, legs trembling on either side of his body. Richard rested on his stomach, using both hands and his mouth to please her. One hand caressed her thigh, keeping it open enough for him to get close enough to pleasure her. His other hand ran up and down her slit, gently touching and caressing her most intimate parts while his lips and tongue focused on her clit.

His soft hums and delicate licks sent sparks through her body. It was easy to get lost and forget this was all one big lucid dream. The tea had made it feel extremely real. If it wasn’t for the small nuances that were different in the room and the fact her ghostly boyfriend was now a solid man, she could have easily been fooled into thinking this was reality. She tossed her head back wishing this could be her waking life as well. She was quick to bury that wish, replacing it with just being grateful for the opportunity they were given.

His finger slid inside her entrance, slowly moving in and out. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and held him there, silently begging him not to stop. Waves of pleasure washed over her skin. She wondered if this was how it would really feel or if the dream was amplifying the sensations. Her stomach muscles clenched, preparing for an eminent release. The excitement her body felt having her ghostly boyfriend now physically touching her built the pleasure faster than she was used to.

Before long, his two fingers were curling inside just how she liked it causing her back to arch off the bed. She moaned his name and he rewarded her with faster movements and gentle sucking. That was all she needed to skyrocket over the edge. Her body came alive. The room blurred before becoming solid again. She focused on his tongue placement, the feeling of his warm hand rubbing her thigh and on his other hand with two fingers stroking her inside while the orgasm rushed through her.

Once the release ended, Richard took his time kissing up and down her thighs. Her heart rate started to come back down slowly, but he remained low, kissing every inch of her skin. After a time, he made his way up with a trail of kisses, wavy brown strands tickling her skin as he did. It wasn’t until he got to her mouth that he spoke again. “I want you.”

“I want you too.” She replied. It was a breathless exchange as the couple turned to face one another side by side. His trousers were discarded along with any shoes and socks he’d been wearing. She kissed him passionately, hoping the sun was still hours from rising.

Richard’s hand smoothed down her back until he met her thigh. With a gentle pull, he hooked her leg over his waist and moved in closer. As their lips met in a passionate kiss, her fingers ran through his hair. She was still so surprised by how saturated the color was. His usual faded form washed out all his color making it difficult to visualize what he had looked like when he was alive.

It was slow and gentle the way he pressed inside of her. She felt full in an instant and grasped at his shoulder. He paused, gazing at her for a long moment. “Are you okay?” He asked, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

She nodded, forcing herself to take a deep breath. “Yes, yes.” She kissed his pale shoulder, trailing her lips to his neck. “I am perfectly fine.”

She felt him shudder when her lips trailed over his neck. She kissed the shell of his ear and noticed his breath catch. It was a delight learning all these new things about the man she’d been sharing her life with for years now. Her lips met the curve of his jaw before capturing him in another heated kiss.

Richard’s hand grasped her backside, bracing her body for his thrusts. Their moans of pleasure were muffled by one another's lips. He didn’t lose control, and, instead, went at a slow steady pace. The two’s skin began to grow clammy the longer they made love in her dream. She wondered for just a moment if her skin in the outside world was just as warm. His body, his voice, and his passion all washed over her and soon she was unable to think of anything else but how real this moment felt between them.

They lay like that for what felt like hours. The tea doing its job of keeping her deep in this lucid dream with her partner. The dream didn’t start to fade until the sun was already well into the sky. It poured into her room through the window overlooking her small garden.

Her focus faded from the dream and back into her lit bedroom. She rubbed her eyes with her hands and let out a yawn. Her lips instantly curled into a smile, and a profound sense of fulfillment and joy filled her chest. Her nightstand was decorated with her familiar lamp and abandoned cup of tea from the night before. She glanced over at the bookshelf that was now full again with all the knickknacks she’d acquired over the years. She was sure she was back in the waking world once again.

She turned over on the bed and noticed Richard’s translucent form resting next to her. His back was against the headboard, arms crossed and eyes closed as if he were sleeping. She could only imagine just how much concentration infiltrating someone's dream could be, let alone being an active member of it.

She swiped her hand through his form and he immediately roused, uncrossing his feet. His eyes fluttered open and a bigger smile than she’d seen in a while was plastered on it.

Despite not being able to hug him at this moment, she felt closer to Richard than ever. They easily slipped into a conversation about how the experience felt for them and what they’d like to try next time. Not even an ill word from her mother could wipe the smile off her face. Even if the whole world was against them and their unusual relationship, at least she knew that their love transcended the boundaries of life and death. Where there was love, there was a way, and nothing could take that away from them.

She would treasure every moment with him, in waking and in her dreams. There was nothing they couldn’t do despite it being unconventional. She thought about how they could arguably do more than a normal couple could making her deep sense of love feel even more nurtured and reassured. Nothing could keep them apart. Not time, nor space, nor death itself.

#richard jackdaw #richard jackdaw x mc #richard jackdaw smut #smutober 23

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babybearnini · 2 years

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#not to vent here but my bipolar is really hitting me full force this week like what the fuck 💀#i cried everyday #i had some moments of lucidity but the past few days have felt sad and hazey #last night i had a hard time falling asleep bc i kept hallucinating knocking sounds bc I've had trouble sleeping &they get worse #when i don't sleep properly:/#but it's not like u can blast music and tune it out when it in ur head 😭#i was stable today & felt okay but then my thoughts just started snowballing in the car and i felt the very strong urge to hurt myself #i didn't ofc i was in the car and the bad feelings went away but it was a really strong feeling & I'm like um.#anyway 😭#yea this week has been a hard mental health week i can't pinpoint what triggered it either that's what's so bizarre #i just had a funny feeling last Sunday #im gonna go to bed & try my hardest to get a full night of sleep i know my lack of sleep is only going to make it worse #proud of myself for fighting the urge to hurt myself tho #progress is progress i relapse at least once i year and I'm trying so so hard to make 2021 the one singular year i do not relapse one time #text #tw #mental health #personal #self harm tw #also yall don't worry about me too much I'm under a therapist supervision so I've got that

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keilemlucent · 3 years

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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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tomtenadia · 3 years

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Remember Us - part 6

Monday surprise!

As some of you might have read from my post from yesterday, I officially finished this fic and it will have 10 parts. this was the original plan and I am glad I kept it. The idea of having many more chapters of Rowan not recognising his family was far too painful.

Chapter 9 and 10 are so sweet that they will probably give you cavities, but I just thought they deserved the best happy ending.

Also, i got very attached to Thomas and he is a great fan of his parents.

Well, I hope you will enjoy this.

-------

Rowan had been staying at Lorcan’s while Aelin still kept her distance. It had been two weeks and they had been horrendous. She had blocked him off of her life. She was not answering his calls or texts and apparently had told Elide not to tell him anything about her. He was furious. They should be together and face such a tragic moment in their lives, together. But Aelin would not listen. He had tried everything to talk to her.

Someone knocked on the door and, since he was home alone, he went to open it.

On the other side he found Aelin. But the woman in front of him had a lifeless stare and deep shadows under her eyes. She was the ghost of his wife.

“Ro…” she said in a thin voice and then broke down in heavy sob.

Rowan didn’t even think. His arms pulled her at his chest and kissed her head. The sight of an Aelin so heartbroken was a shot to his heart.

“I am sorry.” She added, hiding her face in his chest and inhaling his scent that always gave her comfort.

“Shhh… I am here. I am never letting you go again, no matter how much you shout at me.” Another tender kiss “I am coming home and we’ll get through this.”

Rowan was in bed and staring at the ceiling after the dream woke him up. The Aelin from the dream was a shell compared to the version sleeping at his side. He turned his head and stared at her sleepy face and a deep part of him hoped she was fine. That the baby was fine. Because he knew for sure he didn’t want to see her again in the conditions she had been in the dream. Seeing Aelin in pain or sad hurt him.

He sighed and got off the bed and walked to the kitchen but once he got there he realised he had no idea where anything was. Aelin had said he would make pancakes but could not remember the day she had said.

A splitting headache hit him and Rowan sat down on the sofa, head in his hands and then for a moment he felt disoriented and could not recognise his surroundings. Panic hit him. He looked up and saw a boy staring at him. He jumped up and almost fell.

“Dad.” The boy’s voice was almost tearful.

And as quickly as the moment of disorientation came, just as rapidly it went away and lucidity returned.

“Tom,” he ran to the boy and hugged him to console him as soon as he started crying. He had scared him “I am sorry I frightened you.” Thomas hugged his father and stopped crying and Rowan relaxed for an instant.

“Do you want pancakes?” He asked his son, still not letting him go.

“It’s not Saturday.” Said the boy, looking at his father in his eyes.

“Shhhh…” said Rowan with a finger against his mouth “You can have pancakes all the time.” He lifted the boy in his arms “but you need to tell me where everything is.”

Thomas grinned and pointed to the kitchen and once in there he started pointing at the doors and Rowan finally found a pan. Then he grabbed his phone and searched for a recipe, grabbed eggs and milk from the fridge and joined Thomas back at the counter who, in the meantime, had grabbed a chair and was kneeling on it so he could follow his dad.

“Will you be my assistant?” the boy nodded eagerly.

After ten minutes he was mixing the batter making sure it was smooth as the instructions recommended.

“Ok, Tom, are you ready for the first one?”

“Pancakes,” he shouted happily and Rowan smiled. He might remember a very few things about his son but he was definitely going to cherish that moment. It didn’t matter if it had been only a day. He was already in love with the two children. He just hoped he could become a good father to them once again.

Aelin woke up and found the bed empty and for a moment she thought it had been only a dream, but as she rolled over she noticed Rowan’s side was crumpled and gently caressed his pillow. He had always been an early riser and it seemed that some things had not changed.

She sat up, grabbed her fleece from the chair and left the bed looking for Rowan.

As she exited the bedroom she heard laughter coming from the kitchen and followed the sounds and once inside she could not believe the scene. Thomas was kneeling on a chair beside Rowan trying to cook something.

“Pancakes on a Wednesday?”

Thomas turned to her “shhh mum, it’s a secret.”

Aelin walked to her son and kissed his head “good morning, my love.”

“I am helping dad with pancakes. He doesn’t remember how to make them.”

Rowan flipped one and Thomas clapped “that is mine.” He grabbed a plate and placed the pancake on it “go and sit while I make more.”

Thomas climbed down the chair and walked to the table with his plate.

Aelin moved to Rowan’s side “did you sleep well?”

Her husband nodded and hesitated for a moment wether to tell her about his episode. Then he sighed and told her what had happened and Aelin looked at him with a doctor’s eye.

“A TBI can have such effects. It can cause moments of disorientation in which the person doesn’t know where he is. It can also affect short term memory, making it difficult to learn new things or even remember things you just did.” She placed a few more pancakes in Thomas’ plate “but there are ways to help you. We can do lists, have notepads and clipboards in the house. Have a note book and note down things.” She explained going back at his side “long term memory is stored already in your brain,” and playfully patted his head “you actually haven’t lost them. They are still all there. It’s just your brain has to sort through them again. It’s very complicated and technical, but they will come back. Short term memory is another issue. Do you still feel confused?”

Rowan shook his head and passed Aelin a plate with pancakes and then grabbed the jar of Nutella “go and scoff your breakfast.”

Aelin grinned “see? You remembered I take them with Nutella.”

In that instant they heard a cry and Aelin realised Freyja had woken up. She was about to stand when Rowan stopped her “Eat,” he commanded and again she had a glimpse of past Rowan. The one who would made sure she ate.

A moment later he came back with his daughter in his arms “I think our princess wants to join the breakfast club as well.” Freyja threw her chubby arms around his neck, snuggling close to him “what does she eat?”

Aelin went to the fridge and grabbed one of her pressed meals and Rowan began feeding his daughter.

It was an hour later when Aelin was ready for work “mum should be back very soon and I am taking Thomas to the nursery. Will you be okay with Freyja for half an hour tops? I changed her and she is fed, it should be easy.”

Rowan lifted the little girl in his arms “we should be fine.” And gave her his best reassuring smile.

“You call me if you have any problems.”

Thomas went to hug his dad before following Aelin out of the door.

Once he was alone with his daughter he stood, with her still in his arms and hobbled around the living room and stared at their impressive bookcase. Freyja leaned forward and with her hands tried to grab a book “ ‘tory” she babbled.

“Do you want me to read you a story?” He asked her and the girl green eyes were fixed on him and then she nodded.

He placed her down on the carpet and turned to the library in search of a storybook for her.

“I think I— ” he turned with a book in his hands and froze. Freyja was gone. Shit.

“Freyja.” He called her, panic rising in his voice. She couldn’t have gone far. How fast could a 18 months toddler go? He took his cane and started looking around the house “Freyja?”

In that instant Evalin came back and he breathed in relief.

“Rowan, are you okay?”

He was the worst father ever “I lost Freyja. I was looking for a storybook and when I turned she was gone.” He was preparing himself from some lashing from his mother in law but the woman burst into laughter.

“She does that. Thomas has been teaching her how to play hide and seek,” the woman explained calmly walking around the house and then going to the girl’s bedroom. Rowan followed her.

Evalin lifted the blanket from the side of the bed and pointed at under her bed.

Rowan heard a faint giggle.

“I wonder where my girl is.” Said Evalin keeping up the pretence. She opened the wardrobe “no, she is not here.” Rowan observed her and then joined in “she is not in the toy box either.”

Evalin placed her hands on her hips and grinned at Rowan then crouched down “here you are.”

The little girl screamed in delight as her grandma caught her.

The three of them went back to the living room and Evalin passed Freyja back to Rowan and went to unpack her shopping bags.

“Do you need a hand?” He offered.

“No, it’s just fruits and veggies and a few more things. I love to go down at the market in the morning and buy fresh ingredients.” She told him, “you love to go too on your day off, wake up early and also go to the fish market and get the first catch.”

Rowan sat on a chair at the big table with his daughter in his arms.

“Aelin can cook, but you are the chef of the family.”

He smiled back and gently bounced Freyja on his knee and she giggled.

“How does it feel being back home?” She asked her son in law while stashing away the groceries.

Rowan sighed “it feels good and strange at the same time.” It was hard to explain how he felt without sounding like a lunatic “Some things are starting to feel familiar. But others feel totally new and others scare me.” He confessed but the woman in front of him looked at him with tenderness “the kids for example, I feel like I love them madly already but it pains me that the memories with them are still fuzzy. I want to give them back their father.”

“And Aelin?”

Rowan sighed “I think I feel something for her. I would not call it love yet. But yesterday we kissed and it felt like the most normal thing ever.”

Evalin smiled.

“But my memories are a jumble in my head right now. I have them, they are there and I found that being at home is triggering more and more of them. I want to do this. I want us to be a family again.” He grabbed his phone and showed her the photo on his home screen. The one on the beach, all of them smiling and happy. “I want this again. I just don’t know how to get there.”

“Rowan,” Evalin walked to him once done with the groceries and sat at his side “you have been awake for a month and at home for two days.” She patted his knee “both Aelin and I think that being home will help trigger more of your memories. Look through photo albums.” She stood and opened a cabinet and took out a box which once opened he discovered it contained a lot of photo albums. “Digital is good, but you and Aelin both love to print out the photos and make scrapbooks.” She rummaged in the box for a moment and then passed him an album “start with this.”

Rowan took it and it noticed it was their wedding album “Her friend Chaol took all the photos and then Aelin made a scrapbook and added notes and comments on it. She said she did not want the usual boring wedding album.”

He opened the first page and in big colourful letter and nice calligraphy it said Buzzard & Fireheart: the beginning of an epic tale.

The second page it had a picture of the two of them in an armour, back to back and swords drawn.

“You two hired some costumes for that photo.”

Rowan laughed and kept on flipping through the photo album. It was organised like a story, with small narrating paragraphs near the photos and he read each one of them.

“You two got married on a beach, then had a gigantic barbecue for all your friends and then when night came you lit a bonfire and had your first dance as husband and wife in front of the fire. Both of you barefoot.”

Rowan smiled “it sounds like fun.”

“It was a great day.” She bounced Freyja on her lap “all the albums tell a story. You did all of them like that so when looking back you could also remember more of those moments.”

Rowan reached the page where they were standing in front of Aedion, who officiated the wedding, and he stared at Aelin. Her light blue dress was gorgeous, but he was stuck on her smile. In the photo he was looking at she has the brightest of smiles and he realised that falling for her would be so easy. She was caring, brilliant, funny and sarcastic. She had passion. She had fire.

She was his Fireheart.

#rowan whitethorn #rowaelinkids #rowan x aelin #aelin galathynius #domestic fluff #throneofglassseries

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demonlovesangel · 3 years

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Elucien VS Elriel throughout the books

Brace yourselves because this is going to be a LONG post but I'm going to do it because people seem to disregard Elain's feelings at all times, especially regarding how she reacts around both Lucien and Azriel. So here we go!

And by the way I'm only going to count actual interactions to make it fair, and the most important ones because if not I would be here all day.

Acomaf

Elucien

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him-

But Elain was staring over Nesta's shoulder.

At Lucien- whose face she had finally taken in.

Elriel

Elain said, "It's all very disorienting."

"I can imagine," Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare but Azriel's attention was on my sister, a polite bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.

Rhys chuckled, Cassian's wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel's ease as proof that things weren't indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.

In Acomaf we can see the start of both relationships, but they start with a real difference. Elain and Azriel get along from the very beginning, whereas with Lucien she cringes away because he's one of the reasons she was turned and she doesn't know him, even if she did realize he's her mate.

With Azriel though they talk about his flying, how beautiful it is, she smiles and asks him directly every time. Their interactions come naturally.

Acowar

Elucien

For a long moment, Elain's face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more. "Lucien," she said at last, and he clenched his teacup to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name on her mouth. "From my sister's stories. Her friend."

"Yes."

But Elain blinked slowly. "You were in Hybern."

"Yes." It was all he could say.

"You betrayed us."

He wished she'd shoved him out of the window behind her. "It- it was a mistake."

Her eyes went frank and cold. "I was to be married in a few days."

She looked away- towards the windows. "I can hear your heart," she said quietly.

He wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth.

"When I sleep," she murmured, "I can her your heart beating through the stone." She angled her head, as if the city held some answer. "Can you hear mine?"

He wasn't sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, "No, lady. I cannot."

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. "No one ever does. No one ever looked- not really." A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. "He did. He saw me. He will not now."

Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. "It felt... strange," Elain breathed. "Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib."

Lucien exposed his palms to her. "I'm sorry."

Elain only stared at him for a long moment. And any lucidity faded as she shook her head...

But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow the movement hiding the gleam of his eye- the longing and sadness.

And when Lucien turned to signal to Rhys to go... He did not glance back at Elain.

Did not see the half step she took towards the stairs- as if she'd speak to him. Stop him.

"I'm fine," Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, "Are you-"

"Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but... Yes, I'm in one piece."

A faint smile bloomed on Elain's lips.

Lucien shrugged. "First- here. To help. Then..." Another glance at Elain. "Who knows?"

I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, "You could come to Velaris."

Elriel

Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face.

Azriel smiled faintly. "Would you like me to show you the garden?"

She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breath of his shoulder. The wings peeking over them.

But Elain did not balk from him did not shy away as she nodded- just once.

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn't tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, "Beautiful."

"I can help her," said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his finger as he extended a hand.

Nesta monitored him like a hawk but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went.

The shadowsinger angled his head.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, "Should we- does she need...?"

"She doesn't need anything," Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now- unblinkingly.

"We're the ones who need..." Azriel trailed off. "A seer," He said, more to himself than us. "The Cauldron made you a seer."

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. "You came for me." The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

Yet Elain didn't seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger's cheek...

Elain weighed my words... And slowly closed her fingers around the blade.

(...)

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.

What is funny to me here, is how the relationship between Elain and Lucien seems forced but at the same time they kind of try. She directly says to him he betrayed them, continued to ignore him and eventually she did try to get close (in her own way) but apparently decided against it. And at the end even Feyre has to nudge Elain to say something to Lucien, which she did.

Elain's relationship with Az starts off from him putting her down on the town house's foyer, and her never balking away from him. Like literally never, in all their interactions she takes his arm, his hands, looks at him unblinkingly, and even kisses his cheek. Ends up accepting Truth-Teller too, and locking eyes with Azriel. The sweetest girl is not afraid of the most frightening illyrian male... Considering how Elain is, that says a lot.

You can look at this in many ways, but no one can deny that by this book, Az and Elain have a mutual understanding and chemistry.

Acofas

Elucien

A sidelong glance toward Elain, swift and fleeting. "Both of you."

Elain said nothing, but at least she bowed her head in thanks.

My sister rose to her feet. "I should get refreshments."

Lucien rose as well. "No need to trouble yourself. I'm-"

But she was already out of the room.

Elriel

Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants.

I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.

(...)

But I strode to my seat- nestled between Amren and Mor- in time to see Elain say to Azriel, "Hello."

(...)

But Azriel only took Elain's heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, "Sit. I'll take care of it."

Elain's hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them...

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. "It's for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often."

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

(...)

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room my sister showing him the plans she'd sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight.

Honestly, for me, this is by far the most telling book even if it is a novella.

The interaction between Lucien and Elain was so forced. She didn't want to be there, he was kind of uncomfortable too and he even says he can't stand being in the same room as her. Afterwards Elain clearly shows no interest in him and even leaves the room. And Elain says to Feyre that he's not entitled to her affections of attentions, we really need to pay attention to her!

With Azriel though... Wow, their interactions just kept on growing and growing. Elain is clearly affected when she looks at him, her throat bobs, she gets all shy (in a good way), smiles at him too, and even gifts him the headache powder because she was paying attention to him throughout the previous months. That clearly says how much she's been noticing Azriel. Not to mention she explains all her gardening plans and they stay talking after everyone went to bed.

I honestly think it's really cute and that's how a relationship should develop.

Acosf

Elucien

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian's heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien's face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of the newfound boldness to be seen.

Elriel

"I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall," Elain admitted. "She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two," she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from.

"I was just checking on dessert," Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger's stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain's breath caught slightly, she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

By this point it's just painfully obvious. Both Lucien and Elain are uncomfortable with each other even if Lucien still does try (but I still think it's because of the mating bond, not because he likes her). He even says in a previous chapter that he's not always in Velaris to see his mate and looks uncomfortable saying that.

With Azriel we can see something has happened or is happening. Small glances, Elain getting shy but smiling at him, him smiling at her and her looking away? That charged look? Elain's breath caught slightly? There's definitely something going on there and we know what it is from Az's PoV. By that point they have been looking at each other, smiling and brushing hands, not to mention Elain started every single interaction in that PoV. She wanted to kiss him, and gifted him another funny and thoughtful gift yet again because she notices him.

I didn't put every single one of the interactions, just the ones that said a lot from Elain's reactions because that's the point of this post, to show how she clearly acts around the two males. And I didn't put the PoV because it's a bonus chapter even when it clarifies Elain's feelings.

With Lucien it's forced, she cringes away, doesn't know what to do, and in the end she's just uncomfortable and clearly doesn't want anything regarding their situation.

With Azriel it started off naturally, they developed a friendship with mutual understanding and respect, and it evolved into something else. The interest in each other was always there. Clearly both of them don't know what to do with this because the feelings are strong and have been there for a long time (at the very least a year because of the last Winter Solstice). From the PoV we know it's not easy, even if both of them like each other (Elain has a mate whether she likes it or not). By this point, because of all the external influences, they can't be together, but I think that's what going to play off in her book, choice.

We need to take into account Elain's reactions and choices. Elain's book is most probably the next one, she's going to be the main character as Feyre and Nesta were. What she wants or needs is what matters, not what everyone else thinks. And from all her scenes we can gather that she's going to fight to make everyone change their mind regarding what she wants to do, who she wants to be.

As you would with a female friend, be supportive of her journey and choices and don't bring her down because it's not what you would have chosen for yourself. Everyone deserves the world, and everyone needs to follow their own path and make their own choices.

#elain #elain archeron #Azriel #elain and azriel #elain x azriel #elriel #Lucien #lucien vanserra #Acotar 5

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kuroopaisen · 4 years

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quiet hymns. (kuroo tetsurou)

➵ kuroo can’t fix your problems, but he can be there for you.

wc: 1.3k

warnings: direct depiction of depression! it could potentially be triggering for people who’ve experienced it. also, there’s christian imagery; not direct reference to faith, but the symbolism’s there.

a/n: unbeta’d. this was just a little cathartic piece, and it’s quite heavy, so please please don’t read this if it’ll trigger you. but, i hope it can offer some people a sense of understanding (especially my fellow ex-”gIfTeD” kids)

You can’t sleep.

Kuroo lies next to you, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. He dozed off hours ago; he’s never had trouble sleeping. He’d been spooning you when he first went to sleep, but you’d rolled him onto his back and away from you about half an hour ago. Part of you just felt suffocated. Another part of you felt like you didn’t deserve his warmth. Not when you feel like this.

Those same few thoughts play over and over, an echoing hymn of your most pervasive flaws.

Ungrateful. Worthless. Unlovable.

Little fears, little inadequacies sprint through your mind, circling round and screaming at the top of their lungs. These demons will not rest, even in the quiet hours of the morning. You don’t dare check your phone, in fear of the number that will stare back at you.

And things had been going so well. You’d felt like you were on track.

But, it feels like you’ve been slipping. Like everything you’ve built towards is beginning to crumble, the flimsy veneer you’d placed over your own inadequacy tearing like the veil in the temple.

Everything was falling through your fingers. You couldn’t stay on top of university, no matter how hard you tried. You keep losing track of time, the days bleeding into an endless expanse of grey. You can’t even text your friends without feeling like they hate you; they’ve done nothing, said nothing to make you feel that way. You know it’s all projection, that these thoughts have no foundation.

But knowing is not the same as believing. You’ve known for a while. You’ve tried to practice a whole range of coping strategies, of fighting back against your own thoughts. But in the darkest hours of the morning, the hopelessness always sets in. You always feel most unlovable at 2 AM.

You were heralded as having such promise, too. Told that you were destined for ‘great things’, that your bright mind would take you to places you could barely even imagine. Your parents lament the loss of the ‘bright young thing’ you used to be, eight years old and untouched by misery.

What sort of parent let their child feel like a failure, simply because they had some demons? You want to find that joy you used to have, to make space for it in your heart. But it’s hard. Instead, it feels like you’re wading through purgatory, reaching for heaven while the demons grab at your ankles.

That promise was gone, now. Flung to the wind. You felt little more than worthless, these days.

You still don’t know where it started. It’s been half a decade, now. You don’t remember much of your childhood or your adolescence, but most of it is marred by melancholy. Your adolescence and early adulthood have been spent in darkness, fighting against a self-loathing that’s left room for little else.

It’s a cycle. Every time you drag yourself back up through the eight circles, you beat yourself back down. It’s on you, every time. Sometimes you wonder if you’re strong enough to fight off the sadness for much longer.

And yet, you feel guilty. You’ve been blessed. Had opportunities. A roof over your head, an education, a loving boyfriend. Feeling this way is wrong. Ungrateful. An expression of privilege.

You don’t know where you went wrong. When you started to rot inside, losing yourself to your own tempest.

You’re young – so, so young – and yet you feel like you’re past your peak. That everyone has passed you by. That they’re all moving on, climbing higher, making something of themselves. And you’re here, sat at the dinner table with the same demons you met when you were fifteen.

Ungrateful. Worthless. Unlovable.

You can’t find the strength to stop the tears.

You cover your mouth, hoping to choke back your sobs as quietly as you can. You don’t want to disturb him.

But these demons are stronger than you. They ring in your ears, prick at your eyes, scratch at your throat.

There are darker thoughts, too. Angrier voices, goading and taunting and coercing. You don’t want to entertain them, to let them take up space in your mind. Perhaps that’s why you’re so exhausted, these days; you’ve spent so much energy pushing them back that you don’t have the reserves left to do anything else.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, laden with sleep and concern.

Shit. You’d woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, smoothing a hand over his bare chest.

“Don’t apologise,” he murmurs, moving his hand over yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head.

There’s a lot you can’t – won’t – say to him. Things that you don’t want to burden him with, things that would give him reason to worry. That’s the last thing you want to do – worry him. You don’t know why you matter to him. Why he bothers with someone like you.

“Hey.” He’s persistent, as always. He shifts onto his side, the bed

He’s right here, and yet you feel so lonely. So far away.

A hand on your cheek. You brave a look at his face.

He’s looking at you so tenderly, his expression so vulnerable and full of affection. Affection that he’s given you time and time again over the years. Affection you feel you don’t deserve.

“I love you.”

It’s so honest, so sincere. He loves you. Somehow, you’ve gotten this wonder of a man to love you. To cherish you. To care about you. And he’d been here for the past few years, holding your hand and telling you that you were one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

How had you fooled him so well?

Your words catch in your throat, carrying the weight of unspoken sins.

“I don’t deserve you,” you choke. You don’t let the moment sit, rolling over to bury your face into his chest.

“That’s not true,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You press yourself against him, seeking his warmth, his light, his comfort. You don’t feel like you deserve it; but you need it.

“I love you.” His voice is gravelly, and you can tell he’s barely awake. And yet in this barely lucid state, he still seeks you out. Still gives you comfort.

You take a deep breath, feeling it shudder through your body . “I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t apologise.” He always says that. No matter what, he doesn’t want you to apologise. Not for feeling like this.

He’s so warm. He lifts his leg up and drapes it across you, running his fingers along your spine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You think about it for a moment. “Not tonight.”

“You sure?”

You nod, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I just want to go to sleep.”

You know he wants to support you, to hear you out and fight these demons with you. But you had to speak to someone else about this. Someone who knew what to do. Someone who would help you love him with everything you have, unfettered by the demons clawing at your ankles.

“I’ll stay up with you,” he hums, running his fingers through your hair. “Until you fall asleep.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you choke.

“I want to,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m here for you, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s been with you through everything, never wavering. He’s always reaches out a hand in the darkness, looking at you with nothing but sympathy and adoration. ‘I’m here.’ That’s his hymn, the one he repeats over and over again. Sometimes you try to push him away, afraid that he’s wasting his time with you. Feeling that, if given the chance, he could do better.

But he stays. He gives you everything he can. And when the day is over, he tells you that he’s grateful; that he feels honoured that you would trust him like this. That you would let him take up space in your fragile heart. That even when you push him away, he knows it’s because you’re afraid. He tells you that, if he has anything to do with it, you won’t ever be alone.

Kuroo Tetsurou has never once made you feel worthless. Never once made you feel ungrateful. Never once made you feel unlovable.

Maybe you don’t deserve him. But you don’t know what you’d do without him.

“Tetsu?” Your voice is frail, delicate. You don’t trust it to express what you want to say.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He smiles, his golden eyes roaming your face. “I’m a very lucky man.”

He means it.

He can’t fix you. He’s only human, and he wants to do more. To soothe the ache in your heart. And yet, he knows he can’t; it’s not his battle. All he can do is lie here, by your side, doing his best to provide you with some small comfort.

He’s here. He’s with you. He’s not going anywhere.

And maybe, if you can make it through the evening, you can make peace with the fact that you’re not alone. That you won’t be alone; because there’s something important that you have to remember.

Someone loves you.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou imagine #haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsurou #depression tw #tw depression #nothing dark happens it's just the thought patterns

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depressedtransguy · 3 years

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okay this is my first posted fic please mind the tags

As The World Crashes

More and more blood smeared across Loki's hands as he tried to use something, anything, to stop the liquid from pouring out of Stephen's chest. Bandages slipped through his fingers as he spawned more and more, compressing them down to soak until they were completely red. Spells upon spells were cast to no avail. He tried everything from ice to fire and from Earth remedies to Asgardian magic. But it wasn't working.

Tears slipped out from the god's glassy emerald eyes and splashed down onto one of the Rings of Raggadorr spread out below them as he heard his husband's breath only getting shallower and shallower every time he inhaled and exhaled. "Loki, stop," he roughly groaned, raising his trembling arm up to wrap around his wrist and pull it away from his body. "It's not going to help."

"Well I have to do something!" the god of mischief choked out, more water rolling down his cheeks, his hands shaking harder and harder. "This is not how the greatest sorcerer supreme since the beginning of time goes out, struck down by some second rate monster attempting to do nothing more but devour a few trillion beings."

A low chuckle came from Stephen's abused abdomen and he tilted his head slightly to make eye contact. "They didn't strike you darling."

The god couldn't even stabilize his hands anymore, the held back sobs coming out in other ways. "Not the time, Stephen," he managed to hiss.

With a small squeeze to his wrist, he comforted, "Your hands are shaking as badly as mine do. Relax darling, it's okay."

"You think this is fucking okay?!" A small prick to his emotions was all it took for it all to come pouring out at once. "This was fine, IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FINE!" His voice trembled and cracked like crazy. Loki raised a bright red hand away from his husband's blood soaked robes, pressing it to his own chest and biting down so hard on his lip it bled. "This was supposed to be fine Stephen. A simple mission we were given a fortnight ago to save a few planets from some interdimensional beast. Nothing extreme, we deal with this all the time, and this should have probably lasted about two days tops. It's been two weeks. I watched you wave our daughter goodbye as we left for Kamar-Taj. She waved back. Our son told you to come back alive. You agreed. So you're going to fucking come back alive Stephen, do you understand me?"

Stephen didn't immediately respond. The sound and sight of his husband's sobbing and the pain was most likely both strangling his vocal cords, making him able to do nothing except slip their hands into place and link their fingers. "It is okay Loki. It is. Everyone has a time. Death is what gives life meaning."

"Stop talking like that!" Loki begged, leaning forward until his body was racking with sobs right over Stephen's bloody one. "This isn't your time. We still have so much left to do. Frigga's only 25 in human years, she has so many more milestones to reach, and we're going to be there for her. And Anthony, he's just my age when we first met, we're going to be there for him too. Plus, you promised we'd grow old together baby. And you haven't broken a promise to me yet."

Yes, Loki was obviously being selfish. But he couldn't give two shits. Stephen was not leaving him. "I'll still be there for you, always. I'll see Frigga grow. I'll see Anthony grow. I'll see you grow. Don't worry about me, I'll be okay," Stephen whispered, summoning the last bits of strength he had left in his body to raise up his hand not currently holding Loki's and yank his time stone necklace off, then pressing it into his open palm. Next he gently slipped his fingers into his beginning to gray hair and then brought him down to where he was lying to press their lips together.

It almost felt like the first time they kissed.

Now that was a while ago. A little over 1,500 years, just based on their daughter's age. Loki didn't remember the exact year. But he did remember that it was five months after Ragnarok. After the Asgardians settled in Norway, the god started visiting the sorcerer supreme more and more just out of plain boredom--but that quickly changed into because they both wanted to see the other. It only took a power outage and a fire to make them admit it and kiss softly by the tamed flames.

They were so young then. So much had changed.

Yet Stephen's lips still felt the same against his. That had never wavered through the years. It's how their fights ended. How battles ended. What they did before they fell asleep at night. No matter what happened, how they grew and changed as people, Stephen and his kisses never left.

Until now.

But... maybe this last one would be enough.

"I love you," the sorcerer supreme rasped against his lips. "No matter what--never forget that."

Loki reluctantly bobbed his head lightly and gave him a sad smile, his heart cracking to see the pain laced in his gray eyes and on every line on his face. But that would be gone. He'd be in a better place: one without pain, without the haunting past, without the weight of the universe on his shoulders. He'd get to rest. "I love you too darling. More than I ever thought I could love another being." He took a small shuddering sigh before continuing. "Thank you, thank you for giving me a life that I doubt I would have reached without you. You were the one who let me rest for the first time in my life. And now it's my turn to return the favor."

"Oh Dewdrop, thank you. I couldn't have asked for a better partner to spend my time with. You and Frigga and Anthony. I love you all with more heart than I ever thought I had."

The strain in his voice was only getting worse, making it clear that he didn't have much time left. Last word time. So Loki swallowed all the trembling and fear and cracks to properly dismiss his husband. "You gave me a reason to live. A reason to wake up in the morning and actually face the world. And for that... I will forever be grateful. I love you. And I will never forget you."

Their lips were pressed together once more to seal the pact of love and acceptance that flowed between them, recognizing that this would be their last time together until Loki entered Valhalla himself. Souls touching for one last time.

Soon enough, Loki felt the body underneath his slowly ebb away from existence, Stephen turning to gold dust to become one with the universe where he belonged. He could clearly tell when there was nothing against him anymore, nothing but air. But he still sat there for a few minutes, reveling in the moment. Testing to see if everything would drop and the event would just be revealed to be some crazy lucid dream he had. He still had that thought in the back of his head that he would wake up any moment with Stephen's arms wrapped around his waist despite previous embracing of the situation. But when he finally peeled open his lids and stared down at the infinite space below the magic ring--he knew that this was real. And Stephen was dead.

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secretobsessionstuff · 3 years

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I was just thinking about how sweet madix & riley, and alexi & micahs friendship. and it had me thinking....maybe would you write something where madix & riley are both laid up in bed with the stomach flu, riley being worse off. madix tries his best to comfort an emotional and sick riley, but it’s hard when he feels so bad himself. cue a quick phone call to alexi & micah to ask if they would mind bringing them a few supplies and perhaps some help. absolutely no pressure of course! <3

Ahh thank you so much for the lovely request! I’m really happy with this one :)

-----------------------------

Madix does not consider himself a sympathetic puker. That’s why when Riley threw up into the bucket for the third time that night, Madix knew it wasn’t empathy that made his own stomach turn.

Riley shivered and spat into the bucket, feeling horrendous and entirely sick of this stomach bug. No pun intended because he was in no mood to be making jokes. All day, his head had been either buried in a bucket or hovering over the toilet. Currently, he preferred the bucket because it allowed him to sit on the couch. It was nice to be able to lean against Madix and have his shoulders rubbed.

Swallowing a sudden wave of nausea, Madix handed Riley a cloth to wipe his mouth. Riley reached for it, but stopped mid-way. His throat bobbed as his face got even paler. The boy still had one more retch in him. Madix, seeing this, brought the bucket back to his lap. He turned his head to the side so as to not trigger his own belly anymore.

With nothing left in his stomach to throw up, Riley dry heaved. His whole body quivered against Madix from the force of it. He might also have been shaking from the sobs that racked his frame. “Madix…make it stop,” he begged, with snot and tears running down his face.

“Oh love, I’m sorry.” Under normal circumstances, Madix might have said that he would gladly take the pain for himself, but he guessed it would be redundant at this point.

Along with the sadness, Madix also guessed that Riley was getting frustrated with this virus. He hadn’t been able to eat anything all day without it coming back up. Then again, they didn’t have much food in the house that wouldn’t unsettle his stomach. They were running low on supplies, and Madix was running low on energy.

He started to suspect that perhaps Riley wasn’t the only victim of this illness when the same nausea hit his system. This was earlier that day when he was trying to get Riley to eat something, meanwhile the food that he put in his own stomach was sitting uneasily. The nausea kicked in then, and he stupidly decided not to upset his stomach anymore by drinking water. No one had been nagging at him to stay hydrated, but now he wished there could be. Riley was much too upset and sick to tell – not that Madix could blame him. Still, he had to tell Riley something, before he threw up right then and there. That would absolutely not make the situation better.

Riley groaned and took the cloth to wipe his mouth. He was indeed frustrated. “I still feel nauseous…” he mumbled while hugging his stomach. “I hate this.”

“Believe me,” Madix said without making eye contact, “I know how you feel.”

“What do you mean?”

Madix rubbed the back of his neck. “I uh…don’t feel so hot either.”

Riley’s eyes grew wide. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. Normally he could deal with Madix being sick if he was already sick himself. But the human brain is a clusterfuck of an organ, and sometimes it cannot be expected to act predictably. Sometimes your brain tells you that everything sucks, and that crying is the only solution, and that Madix being sick is the worst possible thing to happen right now. Who was going to take care of us?? How would we deal with a sick Madix while we’re sick?? Because apparently Riley’s brain thought of itself and Riley as two separate entities.

“Are you going to throw up?” Riley asked with an unsteady voice.

Madix immediately regretted telling Riley how he felt. He watched his boyfriend’s eyes grow ten sizes, and watched his chest heave frantically. He guessed the combination of having a fever and feeling terrible made the perfect recipe for panic.

Before Madix could lie about needing to throw up, Riley gagged into his hand. The emotions and nausea became too much, and his stomach was back at it again. Luckily Madix shoved the bucket under his chin just in time to catch the bitter yellow bile that spilled past his lips.

Without thinking about it, Madix stood up from the couch after handing over the bucket. Seeing the thick bile come from his boyfriend’s mouth was too much for his own stomach to handle. Saliva was quickly coating his tongue. “Ry, I have to…” he mumbled with a hand over his mouth. “…I’ll be right back.”

Madix felt bad for leaving Riley in the middle of vomiting, but he desperately needed to do the same. His legs led him to the bathroom where he fell to his knees in front of the toilet. The remnants of his lunch rushed up his throat and splattered into the bowl. A wet belch interrupted the stream, but was soon followed by another wave of vomit. Madix squeezed his eyes shut involuntarily, wetting his eyelashes with tears. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the rim.

His stomach gurgled loudly. He felt like the organ was getting revenge for being forced to wait so long. He wrapped his arms around his aching belly and moaned. It was hell, and now he knew how Riley truly felt. Madix couldn’t help but despair at the thought of going through the same things Riley had all morning. And he would need to do it alone.

In his hazy feverish state, Madix had a thought. The fact that his fried mind was able to come up with a thought was shocking, but there it was.

His phone! Where was his phone? He needed to make a call.

But first he needed to gag over the toilet bowl for another few minutes. For now, it seemed like his stomach just wanted to be an asshole and make him think that he was going to puke. The threat of puking never disappeared, but soon Madix got tired of waiting. And fuck, he could hear Riley calling to him from the living room. Riley’s voice sounded thick from having just brought up another sludge of bile.

Madix wanted to go to him, to rub his back and tell him that everything was going to be okay. But if Riley felt anything like how Madix was feeling, he didn’t think that anything would ever be okay. And guess what? What if Madix wanted someone to rub his back? He wanted someone to tell him that everything would be okay.

That’s when he remembered the call that he was going to make. The phone was in his pocket, but even that felt too far for him to reach. Slowly, Madix propped his back up against the tub and called Micah. He put it on speaker so that he didn’t have to hold the phone to his ear.

Micah answered on the first ring, but could only hear heavy breathing on the other end. “Madix? Are you there?

Madix finally got the energy to respond. He was weak. “Can you…come over?”

“Madix? I can’t hear you very well. You sound all echo-ish.” Micah’s voice was so loud as it reverberated in the bathroom. “Are you okay?”

“No ‘m really sick. Riley too.” Madix felt sweat dripping down his forehead. “Please come over.” He hoped that Micah could understand his messy speech.

There was ruffling on Micah’s end before, “oh okay, okay. Just hang tight. We’ll be right there.”

“Wait…Bring stuff.”

“Bring stuff?”

“We’re…dehy…” he was going to say ‘dehydrated’ but there were some technical difficulties in his brain. The hardware was overheating. He found a solution. “…thirsty.”

…

With some deductive skills, Micah had a pretty good guess for what was ailing his friends. The echo of the phone call easily told him that Madix was in a bathroom. Dehydration plus camping out in a bathroom were not hard puzzle pieces to fit together.

He and Alexi stopped by the store for Gatorade, soup, and anything else needed to fight a stomach virus. While Alexi debated over which flavour of sport drink to get, Micah rushed him along. “Just pick one! Madix sounded horrible on the phone.”

“What if they don’t like the yellow kind?”

“Oh my god, let’s just go!”

“Fine…” Alexi muttered under his breath, “but if they hate it, it’s your fault.”

Micah accepted full responsibility if they didn’t like the drink, and raced for the checkout. They threw the bags into the car and off they went to help their friends once again.

Upon entering, they immediately found Riley sleeping on the couch with the bucket on the floor. It was still full of bile because clearly neither of the sick boys had the energy to clean it.

While Alexi placed the groceries in the kitchen and began to open the drinks, Micah crouched by Riley’s head. His skin was deathly pale. Micah woke him up with a light shake.

Riley jumped a little as he awoke from his restless sleep. He rubbed his eyes, not understanding what he was seeing. He could swear that Micah was in his house for some reason. And he was right. “Micah?”

“Hey Ry. How are you feeling?”

Riley looked around and spotted Alexi as well. His brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Madix called us,” Alexi answered while carrying over a bottle of Gatorade. “Can you sit up and take a sip of this for me?”

Riley did sit up and accepted the bottle. His mouth was insanely dry, but that’s not what he cared about in that moment. “Oh my god Madix. Go help him!” He looked worriedly between the two boys who just showed up. “I know he’s been throwing up in the bathroom, but I just – I couldn’t… I –”

“Shh, slow down,” Micah said softly. “It’s not your fault. I’ll go check on him right now.” As he left, Micah heard Riley ask if they brought any other colour of Gatorade. Yellow wasn’t his favourite.

Micah was scared that he was going to find Madix passed out in a puddle of his own vomit. That was not the case. He found Madix drenched in sweat, not passed out but barely lucid. Madix didn’t even react when Micah came into the bathroom. His head was resting on the toilet seat and it looked like he was fighting another wave of nausea. The bowl was full of half-digested stomach contents. Madix whimpered quietly to himself.

Micah slowly sat down, and immediately put his hand on Madix’s damp back. “Oh Maddy, look at you.” The heat from his back was astounding.

Madix did not open his eyes, but his shoulders lost a bit of their tension. “Micah?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Micah’s chest ached when the boy reached out his hand to hold onto him. He was usually only very touchy with Alexi, but Madix looked like he needed it to survive. Micah scooted closer and brushed a hand over Madix’s cheek. Of course, he found it burning. Normally, Micah would feel very awkward touching a friend’s face but there was something about Madix’s desperation that made it okay. The way Madix leaned entirely into the touch made Micah forget about any apprehensions.

Madix squinted from the bright light. He hadn’t realized how long his eyes had been closed for. He also hadn’t realized how much he needed the presence of someone else. It was like drowning in dark water. No one around to pull him from the waves that kept pushing him under. No one to pierce the thick darkness where he found himself.

Then suddenly a lifeline.

A choked sob came from Madix. “I feel horrible, Micah. I can’t stop throwing up.”

“I know, I know.” Micah rubbed his back harder. He tried to hold back his own emotions. He had never seen Madix this vulnerable.

“I – I couldn’t…. st-stay with Riley.” Tears streaked down Madix’s face as he cried and struggled to catch his breath. “It hurts…my belly.”

Micah didn’t say anything. He just continued to let Madix know he was there. He wanted to let Madix be completely selfish for once in his life, God knows he deserves it.

If Madix were lucid enough to hear what he was saying, he would have told himself to stop making such a big deal about a little stomach-ache. The good news was that he wasn’t lucid enough, and this provided him with the outlet he needed. Somehow, his head found Micah’s shoulder and he rested it there while he feverishly rambled.

Micah let this go one for as long as he could, but he had to stop it eventually. Madix was hiccupping and crying, and generally working himself up to the point of making himself sick all over again. When the hiccupping turned into empty heaves, Micah spoke. “Okay, hon, you have to let yourself breathe. Can you breathe with me?”

And Micah took a long inhale, making sure that Madix did the same. Through sniffles and hiccups, he copied the rise and fall of Micah’s chest. “That’s it, Mads. Again.”

The two of them took another deep breath in, and Madix’s breathing slowly became less shaky. Micah smiled at the progress. “That’s it, Madix. Everything is going to be okay.”

#emeto #emetophilia #emeto fic #stomach flu #sickfic #stomach bug #multiple sickees #fever #Riley #Madix #Micah #Alexi #platonic caretaking #puking #my ocs #vomiting

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undead--ghost · 3 years

Text

What a Wonderful World

Summary: Five’s critically injured in the apocalypse and you’ve done all you can to help. It’s all you can do to fulfil one more request of his.

“Can you sing for me?”

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

Author’s Note (14/06/21): Hello everyone! This is an updated version of the story!! If you’re confused, this story was posted a while ago with a different ending, however, I decided I didn’t like that ending and so I changed it! But nonetheless, enjoy!!

AO3

MASTERLIST

WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD

The wound was gross, simply put. A deep gash stretched across Five’s stomach from the underside of his left ribs to just above his right hipbone. It was red and irritated. Fresh blood poured out of the wound, mixing with the dried blood that has crusted around the edges of the cut. Pus also seeped out, it’s colour a stark contrast against the crimson that stained his pale skin.

It was ironic, in the movies blood always seemed bright red. It always stood out and forced the viewer to look at it. But in reality, the blood was dark, allowing it to camouflage into Five’s jacket and for you to not notice it until it was too late and he’d collapsed from the blood loss.

But in the movies, the wound also healed quickly and the character’s moved on with their lives - life wasn’t like a movie.

You had been forced to practically drag him back to your shelter. The malnourishment meant that what muscles you once had were quickly gone in an attempt for your body to energise itself. Your arms were weak and by the time you reached the shelter, you felt like your they were seconds away from dropping off.

Once you’d reached the makeshift shelter you two had made up, you deposited of him onto the only mattress you had. A selfish part of you wanted to place him elsewhere, somewhere where he couldn’t stain and ruin the mattress that had taken you two years to find amongst the rubble. But that thought was quickly shot down as your compassion for him won and you realised he wouldn’t hesitate in doing the same for you.

After a while, he had woken up and you immediately took the chance to berate him for not telling you sooner. You used your anger to mask the deep fear that you felt, it was a trait you’d, unfortunately, picked up from Five.

It was a few days after he’d collapsed and you hadn’t allowed him to move from the bed. He was currently sitting up while you knelt on the floor next to the mattress. You grimaced as you looked at the wound. You had managed to stitch it up, but the workmanship was sloppy as you lacked both the tools and expertise to be doing it. His wound had gotten worse over the days and no matter what you tried to do to help, nothing was working.

Not only had the wound gotten worse, but an infection had begun to spread rapidly throughout Five’s body. He’d had a fever for the past two days and more recently he’s been less and less lucid. He’s been sleeping for most of the days but when he’s awake, he pretty much has stopped initiating conversation, only talking when necessary. You were worried.

You shook your head to clear the steadily approaching negative thoughts and got back to the task at hand. You picked up your water bottle and carefully tipped some of your precious water into your cupped hand, quickly bringing it up to Five’s stomach so you could rise the wound.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him wince slightly as you accidentally put too much pressure on it and you eased up, your touch becoming featherlike. After it was as clean as it was going to get, you reached over and picked up one of the last bandages of your supply. He sat up slightly to allow you to reach behind him to wrap the bandage around his stomach.

You had a limited medical set up, consisting of painkillers, a couple tubes of disinfectant ointment, a handful of bandages as well as a sewing kit that was usually meant for stitching clothes but you had to use for his wound. It had taken the both of you four years to gather all the supplies. Hours of shifting through rubble, desperate to find anything to add to your medical supply in case of an emergency. But in the end, you had managed to burn through it all in a matter of days.

Once you were satisfied with the wrapping, you leaned back on your heels and allowed him to tug his shirt back down.

"How’s it look?" He asked, his voice breaking the silence.

You bit your bottom lip as you wracked your brain for an adequate answer to give him. You didn’t want to lie to him, but you didn’t want to tell him the harsh truth. You refused to look into his eyes as you stuttered out an answer, "I-I’m, uh, not too sure… Ma-Maybe just rest up a bit and we can, um, we can see in the morning?" You said with an uncertain tone.

Five’s eyes narrowed and even in his drowsy state, he knew you were lying. "Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. Just give it to me straight."

You still hesitated, you didn’t even want to think about what was likely to happen, even less say it out loud; because you knew that as soon as you said it out loud, it would make it all too real.

At your hesitation, Five scoffed lightly, leaning back against the crumbling wall that the mattress was pushed up against. "Grow up, Y/N. We’re 17. I’m not a kid so just tell me what’s wrong!" He demanded, his voice gradually getting louder as his temper shortened.

You clenched your jaw and blinked back the rapidly approaching tears, "Fine!" You snapped back. "I don’t know if you’re gonna make it through the night."

A heavy silence fell over the both of you as Five took in the words you said.

Five’s face flashed through emotions almost too quickly for you to decipher. First anger, then confusion, fear, sadness, before finally landing on resignation. You felt a pang of guilt rise up from your stomach as you watched him. You shouldn’t have said it like that. You shouldn’t have yelled. You should have been more calm, just like your mother used to be. It wasn’t his fault he was dying, but your anger at the world had trumped any other emotion and in the heat of the moment, you had let it slip.

"I’m sorry," you said, your voice nothing more than a whisper. "I-I’ve tried everything I can, but we’re out of medical supplies." You took a deep breath. "There’s nothing I can do," your voice sounded small and you hated yourself for that. You wanted to be strong for Five, but your walls were quickly crumbling like the ruins that surrounded you.

Five didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. After years of living in the apocalypse with only each other for company, you had come to recognise each emotion that crossed his face. And you knew that he was having an internal war. You knew the morbid thought that lingered at the back of his mind, that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to leave this Earth, you had those thoughts too. But you also knew that he was a protector at heart, and would do anything to keep you safe, and leaving you alone wasn’t the answer. He would be blaming himself, for his recklessness in getting hurt, for not telling you sooner, for toying- even briefly- with the idea of leaving you.

You reached out and placed your hand over his in a weak attempt of reassurance. "It’s not your fault." He opened his mouth to argue but you kept talking. "The only thing you can do now is sleep, and hope that your temperature will go down overnight," you said, your voice shaking as you pushed on your thighs to stand up to your feet.

Five didn’t respond, and you took that as a silent agreement. You helped him shift into a more comfortable position on the bed before picking up the ratty blanket at the end of the mattress and draping it over him, tucking it in at the edges. You knew he didn’t like you fussing over him, but you did it nonetheless, anything to make you feel like you were helping him. And he let you, knowing that it was helping ease your guilt just a bit.

You stood over him after you finished tucking him in, your eyes scanning for anything else you could do. But you sighed as you found nothing that could be done and you realised you should leave him to rest anyway. You didn’t want to leave him at all, but you knew Five and you knew that he liked his alone time, especially during times of vulnerability.

You turned to go keep watch out by the fire but as you went to step away, a warm hand clasped around your wrist.

You turned back to Five to see him with a pleading look on his face. "Can you stay? Please?"

He had never been this vulnerable before and you knew that it was hurting him to be so, but you could also see the fear in his face at the thought of dying and you couldn’t say no.

You silently nodded your head and he quickly shuffled over on the mattress, a silent invitation to sit next to him.

You gently clambered in next him, resting your back against the wall and stretching your legs out in front of you. Next to you, Five had once again shifted and rested his head onto your lap, his weakened body curling around his stomach. You managed to keep in the surprised noise that had threatened to come out of your mouth, careful not to startle Five. He’d never been one to initiate contact between you two. Even after four years together in the apocalypse, you still found he sometimes struggled to give in to your hugs that you gave him after a particularly rough day.

You didn’t comment on this though and instead began to run your fingers through his hair as he looked up at you with a look of contemplation of his face. His forehead was hot to touch and his body was far too warm pressed against yours, just another worrying sign of his infection.

It was quiet for a few moments as you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, when finally he spoke, "can you sing for me?"

You felt yourself tense at the question, the fever must really be getting to him at this point. "I’m not a very good singer," you said.

"I don’t care, I hear you singing all the time," Five replied.

It was true, you did have a tendency to sing to yourself. You would sing all the time. When you were scavenging for food and supplies. When you were mending holes in the clothes that you both had been wearing for far too long now. When you were heating that nights dinner of whatever tinned food was available. You weren’t the best singer, but it was one of the things that connected you to home and kept you sane.

The silence often became too loud for you, and you sang to drown it out.

You dumbly nodded your head and opened your mouth to sing.

"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby,"

The first few lines of the song came out raspy as your voice adjusted to the song, but Five showed no displeasure at this as he simply continued to look up at you with a look of content over his face.

"Someday I'll wish upon a star, Wake up where the clouds are far behind me,"

In your long years of the apocalypse, your memory of songs had faded and you often found yourself forgetting the lyrics. Sometimes you would just skip to the next part, or if you were in a better mood, you would create your own silly lyrics, often pertaining to what you doing at that moment.

"Where trouble melts like lemon drops, high above the chimney top, That's where you'll find me,"

Five looked at you as if you hung the moon in the sky. His eyes darted around your face as though he was taking note of every detail.

"I see trees of green and red roses too, I’ll watch them bloom for me and you,"

His breathing had slowed significantly and his chest rose and fell so shallowly it was barely noticeable.

"I see skies of blue and clouds of white, The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night,"

Outside, the wind blew strong gusts of wind that shook the walls of your bunker, the lantern next to the bed flickered dangerously. From what you had seen earlier, a storm was coming soon.

"The colours of the rainbow so pretty in the sky, Are also on the faces of people passing by,"

His blinking had slowed and it seemed as though keeping his eyes open was an effort for him. It would be any moment now that he would fall asleep - possibly never waking up.

Hot tears fell from your eyes and rolled down your cheeks, but you didn’t brush them away. Instead, you shifted one of your hands so that it rested on his shoulder, your thumb brushing a soothing pattern. The other hand remained carding through his hair.

"I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do,"

Five’s tired eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that momentarily took your breath away. As if he was trying to convey every emotion he had felt that he never got the opportunity to truly express.

But you felt it.

It hit you hard. The need he felt to protect you. The respect he gained for you over the years. The deep love and affection that ran through his body.

It was his goodbye.

"They’re really saying, I, I love you,"

You choked back a sob as Five’s eyes finally slid shut and his face smoothed out as he fell into unconsciousness. You didn’t know if Five would ever open his eyes again.

You gasped for air, but your sobs ripped it right back out of your lungs again. But you had made a promise to Five and you continued to sing, determined to finish the song for him.

"I hear babies cry and I watch them grow, They’ll learn much more than, we’ll ever know,"

You struggled to sing as sobs wracked your body. Your voice kept breaking on each word and it was an effort to get the words out past the lump in your throat. Five was now limp in your arms and you cradled him to your chest, tears falling into his hair and your heaving breaths rattling throughout your body.

"And I think to myself, what a wonderful world,"

The wind had picked up around you, but it was nothing compared to the hurricane that was forming in your mind. The wall behind you cracked just a bit more and dust particles fell and landed around you. The sky above was a smokey grey colour and clouds of ash flew overhead. The lingering smell of decaying bodies hit and you cried harder at the thought of Five soon joining them.

Your sobs mixed with the never-ending silence of the apocalypse, echoing off the crumbling walls of the shelter around you.

"And I think to myself, what a wonderful world." You muttered, finally ending your song.

You laid Five carefully down on the mattress and rested your head on his chest, the song of his drawn-out heartbeat filling your ears, until is slowed to nothing but silence.

#tua x reader #five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #tua fanfic #the umbrella academy #tua #the umbrella academy fanfic #what a wonderful world

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introductions-are-a-spook · 3 years

Text

Reblogs and feedback always appreciated! Tag list: @kissthe-gogoat @kyuudomo @caloroso-cosmos @omrade-echorin Let me know if you want to be added or taken off!

Last chapter baby! This was an emotional ride, so sincere thanks to everyone who's stuck with me through it. Both followers, friends, and family. Your support really means the world to me.

“I still don’t understand why you need me for this.”

“I told you, you know the layout better. Since you didn’t give me a map like usual. Sides’ the place is empty- I wanted to ask more about how your whole business works. Somewhere truly private, y’know?”

It was the oldest trick in the book. Get them talking about themself so you can work. Or get them to say something incriminating. Which Antigone, of course, did not oblige.

It was slow work, but Maxwell managed to take back the notes Andrew used to leave in houses. They had sent to work painting the Antigone family seal on them in invisible ink.

With their family’s past (one easily dug up), the police would have no problem convicting Nikos Antigone of everything. All Andrew would have to do was play hostage here in just a few minutes.

“Oh, I need to pick this lock- bit of a two-hand job. Could you hold the note?”

Antigone growled but agreed with a sneer. Andrew discreetly pressed the button for Maxwell. Most likely he was calling the police right now- saying, well, something, anything, to get them there quick. Andrew couldn’t help but smile.

“You know, I didn’t know we went to the same school.” Perfect topic to stall with.

Antigone was immediately thrown off. “What? W-We did?” He sputtered.

Good lord. Bring something up from a criminal’s past and they’re all yours to manipulate.

“According to the book of signatures I passed around on graduation day, yes. Same year and everything.”

Antigone was now staring Andrew down with a dangerous glint in his eye. He ever so slightly thumbed at the dagger hilt on his belt. Okay, backpedaling now.

But the moment he saw faint police lights outside, he knew he had to keep going, for better or for worse. He only had one shot…!

So still fiddling with the lock, he blurted, “I saw your old school sweetheart the other day. Jennifer, right?”

Antigone froze. A stillness hung ominously in the air, like a jaguar about to pounce. The hairs on the back of Andrew’s neck stood up, and he almost started praying.

“How dare-“

Saved by the fuzz, though! As soon as Antigone looked as though he could kill Andrew, the men in uniform came streaming in the front door.

Andrew wasn’t all that scared. He winked at Antigone before yelling. “Help! I’m up here, he’s got a knife! Please help!” And more quietly, “Might wanna check the back of that note, Mr. Tig.”

Antigone didn’t bother to look, and instead pulled out the same weapon Andrew shouted about. “You tricked me!” he jabbed the knife at Andrew, who put his hands up in instinctive defense. “You lying snake!” And to the smaller man’s sickening shock, Antigone swung the knife, barely grazing his cheek and hitting his hand by sheer chance.

But upon hearing footsteps getting closer, the towering villain backed away, leaving Andrew to yelp in shock and fright and the rapidly reddening wound.

An officer stamped his way up the nearby stairs, and shouted at Antigone to freeze, but the man wasn’t having it. Andrew hadn’t thought Antigone would ever use an actual weapon on him- he was wrong. Whimpering in pain and paralyzing, icy fear, he moved only to foolishly pull out the blade and grip his bloodied hand.

“I am not to blame! This scoundrel here-” Antigone shook a finger at Andrew, “-is the thief you’ve been looking for! He did this to himself to make me-”

“Yeah, Chapman told us you’d say that.” A twinge of comfort came with hearing Max’s name, along with the struggling Antigone, who was now being arrested despite his best efforts.

And just like that it’s over, Andrew thought to himself as the officers walked him to a car and drove him to a hospital.

~*~

A day later in that same hospital, Andrew was recovering from a surprisingly quick surgery.

“The knife went through the top of your right palm, losing you a pinky and very nearly your ring finger, too. You have a couple options now; leave the stump or find a prosthetic somehow. Both are up to you to manage,” the soft spoken nurse informed him as soon as he was lucid enough to understand.

“Well, shit. Thanks, uh,” he peeked at her name badge. “Thanks Mary. Guessing you’re not gonna give me a new one for free then?”

“No, but I might,” came a gentle yet dry voice from the door.

Andrew turned as the nurse excused herself. “Max!” a fuzzy black figure hopped up on the bed next to him. “And Maxie!”

“Now, I’m not really supposed to have her in here, so…” Max chuckled, sitting down and giving the cat a few pets.

“Nah, I get it. So, finally coming to see me, huh?”

“I’ve been too swamped with end-of-case work. Our plan worked, you’re off scot free. I considered resigning, but-”

“But you don’t love me that much, I getcha,” Andrew teased.

Maxwell gave him a look. “More that I love my job too much to let it go, risks be damned.”

“Makes sense. But you didn’t come here to talk about work, did you?”

Maxwell reached for Andrew’s now four-fingered hand, gently running his five over the bandages. “This wouldn’t have happened if I had just-”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter now. You know that,” Andy reassured him, running his good hand through Max’s thick black locks. The man leaned into the touch, putting his own hand on Andy’s cheek.

“You terrify me,” he almost whispered after a moment. Andrew tilted his head but didn’t say anything. “I’ve never felt so conflicted before meeting you. It was torture. And even now I can’t be sure that loving you is a good thing.”

“Neither can I. And I’ve never met someone that can make me feel so cornered. I didn’t know I wanted to be. But, we’re both selfish jerks. So if loving you is gonna be bad for me, it wouldn’t be the first bad decision either of us has made.”

This made Max chuckle and lean in to kiss Andy. “You’re probably right.”

~*~

It had been a few months. A new metal finger glinted on Andrew’s right hand.

“Jennifer.”

“Andrew.”

“So, I heard ole’ Mr. Antigone is in prison now?”

She gave a solemn nod. “For ten years.”

Andrew blew a low whistle. “Well, shit.”

Her demeanor went from closed to fiery. “This is your fault, you know. I know you and Chapman did something to pin your shit on Nikos. And now I won’t be able to see him!”

Andrew drew away slightly. Both were silent for a time.

“…I think I get it now.”

“What.”

“I remind you of him, don’t I? That’s why when he disappeared to lead his family’s ‘business’ you attached yourself to me.”

She sighed. “…I don’t know. I guess I just hoped I could still hold onto him somehow.”

“So you held on to the crook classmate that shared some resemblance with him.”

She shook her head. Not as a ‘no’ but more as a self-chastise.

“We were horrible for each other. It’s no wonder we fell apart.”

“Yeah.” Another pause. “You could see about visitations.”

“I’ll figure that out on my own. I don’t even know if he’d want to see me. But, I know there’s still good in him. At least I hope so.”

“Heh. There’s my Jenny. Always hoping-“

“-never planning. I know, I know.”

He stood up and started to get ready to go.

“For what it’s worth, I’m at least sort of glad I knew you,” she said with a twinge of sadness.

“Same here. It’s probably best if we didn’t stay friends, but I’m sticking with that bakery. You can always come find me.”

And for the first time in years, she smiled at him- a genuine smile. “Thanks, Andrew. Good luck with your bitch detective.”

“With George and Darwin always lurking around? I’m gonna need it. Good luck with your crime lord.”

“I think I’ll need it too.”

They laughed, and then left, one by one.

~*~

Isabella was melancholically gathering her belongings from the bakery, occasionally swiping up a tear. Andrew walked in by coincidence, and she rushed to hug him.

“It’s not gonna be the same around here without me,” she mumbled into his chest.

“No, but it’s probably for the best,” he said, returning the embrace. “I’m so sorry, Izzy. It wasn’t fair for me to bring you into all this.”

“No, it’s alr… No, you’re right.” And with that, she couldn’t help but start crying again. “But thanks for being my dad, if only for a little while.”

“Dad, really?” he chuckled. “Sure kid. You changed my world for the better. Even if I hurt you.”

“I’ll never forget you. And… Well, I love you.”

“I love you too, girlie.”

She held onto him for just a little longer, before taking a shaky breath and grabbing her bag. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

He gave her a dim smile. “You’re tough, kiddo. You can’t stay shackled to someone like me, though. I know you’ve got the guts to do what’s best for you.”

She wavered, unsure if she wanted to hug him again. But ultimately, she steeled herself, said a goodbye, and walked away leaving a bittersweet taste behind.

#writing #my writing #✒️ you write and i’ll read 📖#📖 the detective and the crook 🖋

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dracoladon · 3 years

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Top 5 of 2020

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

thank u to my lovely @tackytigerfic, @sitp-recs, @bonesliketambourines and @lazywonderlvnd for the tags. i’ve only written three fics this year, so even though this list is abt self love, i’m gna dedicate the last two spots to my two favourite fics i’ve read this year (that were published this year as well😔) cause i love myself for having such talented mutuals :/

1. Born Slippy: God I fucking loved writing Born Slippy. I’m a hoe for a good club fic. The aesthetics of crowded dance floor, loud music, body glitter etc are exquisite and I think (hope) I managed to capture even a little of that in this fic. It’s probably my favourite out of the very few I’ve written, cause I think it’s the one that best encapsulates my writing style and everything I love about Darry and fanfic. There were some banter moments I was really proud of, and the smut was like the embodiment of wanting to read smth with your all your favourite kinks so literally just writing it yourself. I said self indulgence!

2. Lucid: This was the first fic I wrote for Drarry, and for that reason it’s a bit special to me. It was a lot of fun to write and it really helped me figure out what I love writing (dialogue) and what I don’t (the prose in between). I think it had the kind of slice of life feel I was going for. a look in on a relationship that’s already been put through it’s paces and is now purely abt being together. I had an absolute blast with sex dumb Draco and finding a bunch of constellation bullshit for him to spin. I wasn’t expecting the response I got to this fic, either, so overall it just has very warm, lovely memories for me.

oh god and this was also the first fic of mine to get a rec from the absolute goddess that is @sitp-recs. good times indeed 😔

3. Little Spaces: !!! This fic has just been like ridiculously enjoyable to write. Hitting walls is kind of inevitable and doing this w anna was such an amazing way to work through the writer’s block I was having with my other stuff. I’d never written Draco before this, so it’s been super fun further exploring his voice, and I’m very very proud of what we’ve been able to produce together.

4. Inside Your Mind by @lazywonderlvnd

I think I’ve raved about this fic more than once on here before, as well as extensively in the comments on ao3, but seriously. It is.... 🤔 a masterclass in melancholic softness and drarry d/s dynamics. I saw a post not too long ago (which I already sent to anna but she can just deal w it 😡) that said all this stuff abt book harry. how he was passionate and sarcastic and witty and charismatic, and he could be intimidating when he was angry and had this wild intensity. he could be arrogant and humble and kind of an ass but he’s still our precious harry and he’ll be chill and laugh around w u and probably save ur life. i thought it perfectly encapsulated harry as he’s written in the books, and also harry in this fic. anna has an insane ability to write characters just as they are in canon, but also w her own distinct style. it kind of makes me want to cry. IYM’s Harry was charming and gorgeous and imperfect and an idiot, and I loved him. Not to mention Draco 😔. Every scene between the two of them felt so delicate and intricately woven, the smut was beautiful and raw, and the love confession was perhaps my favourite ever. I will forever be in awe of this genius’ talent (there were so many brilliant lines in this fic that I refuse to go hunting for them lest I be tempting into spending the whole day rereading it) and IYM is the absolute pinnacle of that. PLUS goyle, who is tragically underrepresented in fic, soft kissing, sitting by the lake, a stunningly written friendship between the golden trio, and an entire world in thirty thousand words :/ read it and weep :/

5. Modern Love by @tackytigerfic

There are much more eloquent reviews that do this stunning fic the justice it deserves (cough cough sitp) so i shan’t try and compete. I will however say that Modern Love is a magnum opus (tho knowing tacky, and their ever increasing brilliance, that may change) and I absolutely loved it. I haven’t even commented yet, cause though I finished it a few days ago I’m literally still recovering. It’s sad, holy fuck, it is emotional and deep and thoughtful, and it’s Draco in the Muggle world with these original character friends who are so tangible and developed that I feel like i’ve met them in real life. There is a plot that doesn’t distract from the love story, and a love story that doesn’t distract from the achingly slow build of a soft, pining friendship, and a soft, pining friendship that doesn’t distract from Harry and Draco’s own personal character arcs. The ease with which tacky writes our two boys (and writes period) has always amazed me. The talent is in every fucking line, the humour is brilliant and subtle, and the smut is !!! absolutely worth the wait. An aesthetically pleasing masterpiece that I shall always treasure.

#top five #fic recs #my stuff #lazywOnderland #😡#tackytigerfic

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jpegjade · 4 years

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When the Party’s Over - Spencer

WHY IS THIS THE LONGEST THING IVE WRITTEN???? probably bc drunk me is wordy. i do talk a lot when i’m drunk and it gets on people’s nerves. i just really love you guys. i was sad when i wrote this, really sad, and it’s the first “smut”???? ive ever written. so here we go frens and ferns.

warnings: uuuhhhh smut???

________________

When the night started, you were at Rossi’s house, getting drunk with the team. It was right after a hard case, difficult on everyone’s psyche so Rossi invited everyone over to relax in the usual way. After pasta and drinks, most of the team was still there while Spencer offered to drive you home since you were not in the shape to drive and he was the only one who opted for water instead of alcohol. He was beat but he wasn’t in the mood to drink tonight.

Spencer was being a good friend but he had his motives. He wanted to talk to you in the car. You weren’t so drunk that you wouldn’t remember the conversation but your inhibitions were lowered enough to be truly and completely honest with him so you were the slightest bit tipsy but not drunk. You were 100% lucid and could think for yourself but you took the excuse to drink some of the smirnoff you brought and keep going.

He wasn’t planning for it to happen like this but you were being very outspoken to everyone at the party so he figured it was time to get you home before you were out of a job after calling Hotch, “Hotchner the Grouch.” They found it funny but Spencer knew that you could go wrong easily.

“Spencer Reid.” You said, staring at him. “I’m going to ask you something and I want you to be as honest as I’m being right now.”

“Okay. I promise to be honest.” Spencer said, a little nervous. He chuckled anyway because you were so adamant that he answered honestly.

“Do you like me?” You asked, suddenly very serious.

“Y/n, you’re my best friend. Of course I like you.” Spencer tried to give you an answer that wouldn’t expose his real thoughts.

For the past few months, Spencer thought about you a lot. It caused him to avoid you a little bit but you wouldn’t let him stray too far away from you. You kept texting him outside of the team group chat. You continued inviting him over for dinner. You never relented on checking in with his mental health. You never gave up on your relationship with him.

You were so focused on his jawline that your hand worked by itself, poking his face. He smiled and made the turn into your apartment complex’s parking lot and parked.

“While I appreciate the validation of our friendship, that’s not what I mean and you know it.” You said, very serious.

Spencer looked over at you, nervous to answer. He swallowed and took a shaky breath.

“Y/n, is it really important?” Spencer tried to avoid the conversation.

He opened the door and got out, walking quickly around to your side of the car to open the door. He didn’t have to but he wanted to. It’s always what he did.

“Yes, it’s important, Spencer. I want to know.” You bumped shoulders with him as the two of you walked to your apartment on the third floor.

Spencer sighed.

“Yes, I like you. A lot…” You and Spencer arrived at your door, handing you your keys.

You just stood there, staring up at Spencer. You reached up to touch his hair. It was so soft… You wrapped your fingers around one of the curls and smiled. Spencer stood there, nose ghosting over yours.

“Do you want to come in?” It was barely audible but it was there.

“I shouldn’t. You’re not sober. Unless you just want to hang out.” He said, looking at his wing tip shoes.

“Spencer, get in here. I have literally been waiting almost a whole year for you to say that.” You pulled him to you by his tie and kissed him.

*****

It was tentative at first. It tasted like spearmint gum. Spencer wasn’t chewing any at the moment so you guessed that he had been chewing it earlier. You liked that. It was refreshing. Slowly, Spencer got more comfortable with the kiss and relaxed and got more involved. It was sweet and gentle and soft. You felt his hands in your hair and felt the gentle pull and you released an involuntary moan. You could feel Spencer smile, the two of you momentarily breaking apart.

Breaking apart left you speechless and in a daze. It was almost like you were in a fog but your head was clear. You were more than ready to do what you had been thinking about with Spencer for the past year. Some part of you needed this release while the other part of you needed him.

“So inside?” You said. “The apartment, I mean.”

“Yeah.” Spencer said, just as dazed.

Getting in the door was a task by itself. You and Spencer tried to go in at the same time and it was quite awkward but he let you go in first.

You closed the door behind you, pressing your back to the cold surface. Scanning Spencer’s face, you saw that he was staring at your lips.

“Do you want to continue here or should we...” He asked, looking back up at your eyes.

“You tell me. I’ll let you take control tonight.” You said, smirking.

Spencer clenched and unclenched his jaw nervously before licking his lips. You always liked when he did that. He wore chapstick but he never did it for anything other than a sign that he was thinking.

“I haven’t been in your apartment before.” He said, gingerly. He smiled as you took his hand, guiding him to your bedroom.

You grabbed your cat off the bed, putting it outside the bedroom and shooing it away. The cat sauntered around to find somewhere else to sleep.

“Are we really about to do this?” Spencer asked, looking at you on the bed.

Laying back on the bed, half of you held up by your elbows, you marveled at Spencer. The light from your hallway illuminated his silhouette very nicely. You could see the curves of his arms and his slender frame very clearly.

“Do you want to do it?” You said, tilting your head a little bit.

“Yeah, a lot.” Spencer said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

He had dreamed about this moment, literally, but he didn’t know he would be so nervous. He didn’t think it would ever happen. He never imagined you’d be laying in front of him like this.

“Then drop the pants and I’ll drop to my knees,” You smirked.

“Do you mind if we skip that part?” Spencer said not really in the mood for a blow job.

It wasn’t that he was opposed to it, it’s just that he didn’t want to think of you like that yet. He felt like those experiences were for days where there wasn’t much time. Tonight, you had all the time in the world.

“You’re telling me you don't want my mouth on your dick?” You said, confused.

You stood up, getting close to Spencer. You started unbuckling his belt and he audibly swallowed. He was nervous, not because of you but because he wanted this to go right. There was pressure when it came to something so intimate for the first time with someone. He felt your hands on his hips once you got his belt undone.

“Shoes on or off?” He asked.

“I’m taking my shoes off, obviously.” You said, already flipping them off. “Oh, you mean you. Well depends on what you want to do. You can bend me over the side of the bed, fuck me from behind, and call it a night. Or, if you want to draw it out, you can climb on top of me and fuck me in the bed. Oh, there’s also shower sex if you feel gross. Wouldn’t recommend it because it’s slippery and counterproductive to me getting wet.” You were rambling off some of the many fantasies and logistics that you’d thought about over the past year. You had thought about it a lot.

Spencer kissed you. He just wanted you to take a breath because the more you talked about what you thought about, the more he thought about it. And the more he thought about all the ways he wanted to make love to you, the more he just wanted to get started.

“Spencer, please pick somewhere because I’m literally struggling to keep it together.” You said in a low tone.

“Clothes off, on the bed, legs open. I’ve got you tonight, baby.” Spencer said with a little more confidence.

“Yes, sir.” You said, getting undressed.

Spencer watched you but at the same time, he got dressed down to his boxers. Staring at you, he wondered how you were able to stay so calm on the outside right now. He didn’t usually have the sex drive as high as this moment. His body was on fire with desire and excitement but he was trying so hard to contain it.

You laid down in the bed, just like Spencer told you to. He flipped on the light and you protested lightly with a groan and covered your face with both hands.

“I want to watch you come all over me and lose complete control of your body. I can’t do that in the dark.” He said, walking over to the bed.

“Well damn. Look at you, Spence. Actually showing some confidence. About damn time.” You said, smiling. You loved confident Spencer in all aspects of life, not just here. There was something about him that made you...want to be laid out in front of him, completely naked like you were now.

“I honestly don’t know where I want to start…” Spencer said. Climbing onto the bed, he did the first thing that came to mind.

“What’s your line?” He said, kissing your inner thigh, right above your knee.

“Fuck, uh…” You never really thought of it in relation to Spencer. “Just don’t kill me.” You nervously chuckled.

More thigh kisses. You wanted to grab your phone and put on some background music but it was just out of reach and Spencer’s arms looped through your legs and pinned your waist down to the bed. His grip was pretty firm.

“Spence, can we…” A deep moan cut you off and slipped out your mouth when you felt his mouth finally where you wanted him.

“Hmm?” Spencer looked up at you while his mouth went to work. The vibrations sent shockwaves up your body.

“Holy shit. More.” You said. More was what he gave you, slipping in two fingers that matched the tempo that his mouth set.

You were almost there, Spencer’s hair firmly in your hand and his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer, when Spencer slowed down and all together stopped.

“I swear to god the room better be of fire.” You said, gritting your teeth. You were so, so close and he was being a tease.

“You’re being a brat, baby. I promise I’ll give you exactly what you’re looking for.” Spencer said, looking for a towel.

“Don’t be a wuss. Kiss me.” You said, drawing his attention away from his towel search. He was nervous that you wouldn’t want to kiss him after he just went down on you. Crawling on top of you, he just stared at your features before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to you.

You hated breaking apart from kissing him, you really did. It left you in a daze, making the light seem a little too bright for your eyes. He rushed over to his satchel, digging in its contents to find the condom Morgan gave him for emergency purposes as a joke one day. Who knew it would come in handy.

“Are you ready?” You asked Spencer. He chuckled.

“I was just about to ask if you were ready.” Spencer went back to being a little awkward. He was nervous that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with you.

“Spencer are you sure you don’t want me to help you out?” You asked, watching him shift as he got rid of his underwear.

“I think I’m okay.” He said, blushing.

“Okay well let me know if… Spencer, what the fuck?” You asked, looking down, between the two of you. “And you expect me to take all of that?”

“Is it bad? I know I’m not like other guys but…” Spencer grew a little shy.

“No, just work your magic because you’re different than most guys. Spence, just be confident because you are very special.” You said, hoping it helped him come back out of his shell.

“Breathe, okay? It might be a little… Much.” Spencer said, lining himself up with you.

“I’m fi…” You were cut off as he gently pushed into you. “Holy shit!” Was all you could breathe out while you tried to catch your breath. Much was an understatement with what you felt from Spencer just barely being inside of you.

He paused to let you adjust but it was tough. You could feel yourself stretching when he started moving a little more to help you relax. He took your leg and hitched it around his waist, making you gasp in shock. That was a completely new sensation that sped up your heart rate even faster, your head getting slightly dizzy.

“Stay with me, darling, okay?” He whispered in your ear.

If you weren’t all in with Spencer before, your feelings were definitely there now.

The pace he set was slow and gentle, soft and delicate like he didn’t want to break you. It was just like you imagined it. Your hands intertwined with Spencer’s as he treated you so kindly. You felt pressure just below your stomach and it was like you couldn’t do anything but shut your eyes and let your body feel it.

“Just keep breathing, okay? It makes it last longer.” Spencer said, trying to stay focused. His brain was going through the female anatomy but he wanted to stay focused. He opened his eyes as he continued pushing himself in and out of you. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable, taking his right hand and moving his thumb over your cheek. You looked so soft under him.

“Faster.” You whimpered, the only thing you could manage.

Everything felt nice, it felt comfortable. You were comfortable with Spencer. You thought it would be hotter, more dramatic when you would imagine it. You imagined him grabbing your hips and plunging himself into you until your body was exhausted and used. But that’s not how it worked.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, quietly. He was going faster and a bit harder, making it very hard for you to concentrate.

“I’m…” You couldn’t think of the answer. You couldn’t think at all right then.

“You’re doing such a good job, love. Just relax, I’ve got you.” Spencer kissed you on the forehead before shifting your leg a bit higher on his hip. That ignited something inside of you that was hard to turn off.

Your body was on pins and needles. You felt your body shaking as you held onto Spencer’s hand. He kissed you, soft and slightly frenzied. He was chasing his own release so quickly. Everything moved so smoothly between the two of you.

Spencer’s body rolled into yours like the ocean, and you were the beach. His waves rushed into your shore over and over, filling you with pleasure you couldn’t find on your own. He was kissing your neck, marking you with sweet mumbles of, “I’m all yours.”

“Spence…” Another instance of being unable to think or speak clearly.

“I know, I know. And I want you to let it go for me. Be good for me and let go, y/n. I’m right here.” He said, kissing you deeply.

Spencer pushed into you a little sloppier, trying to stay composed but it was a challenge. He wanted to make sure you rode out your high, which you were definitely doing. Your body was shaking and you were out of it a little bit as you came down. Spencer finished in the condom and kissed you so many times that you lost count. Your cheeks, your neck, your lips, forehead, nose, lips again.

“Spencer, that was… That was nice.” You said, opening your eyes. He was smiling over you, shaking a little bit. You weren’t sure if his arms were tired or if he felt like you did. You hoped to god that he felt like you did. It worked out so well up to this point.

He rolled off of you, standing up to get that towel to clean you up. He saw the bathroom door cracked open so he slipped the condom off and put his star trek underwear back on as he went into the bathroom and warmed up a small towel and grabbed a big towel.

“I got aftercare towels.” He said, walking back into the room.

You had curled up into yourself, laying down on your side, as you fell asleep slowly. You heard him come back into the room and smiled as he cleaned you up and helped you put a t-shirt on. Putting the towels in your wastebasket, he flipped the overhead light off and came back around to the opposite side of the bed and gently nudged you to let him hold you.

“How do you feel?” Spencer asked, nuzzling his head into the crook between your shoulder and your neck.

He felt so warm on your back like that, holding you tight. You felt safe and secure.

“Spence, I love you.” You mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.

“I love you too, y/n,” Spencer said, falling asleep himself.

________________

taglist:

@i-love-you-green

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut

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3mmafr0st · 3 years

Text

Remember Me Pt 4

Previous <------

Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: SMUT, angst, swearing, incarceration? and my shitty writing

A/N: Please comment or reblog, any feedback is amazing!

The room was small, with an interrogation table in front of me, everything the same shade of muted grey I woke up here earlier, and had been waiting for someone, anyone to come in and give me some information. Tugging at the cuffs that pinned me down to the table, I struggled to break free.

“Sorry, you’re not gonna be able to get out of those. They’re made for enhanced people.” My eyes immediately darted to find the sound, settling on a man walking through the door.

“It’s you, from the lab. Who are you, how do you know my name? Where’s Bucky?” The questions began spilling out of my mouth, desperate for some sort of answers as to what the hell is going on. The man pulled out the chair that sat across from me, a file of papers in his hands.

“My name is Bruce, and let’s start with how much you remember,” He said. The name felt familiar, and although I was fighting him off before, I knew that I could trust him for some reason. His face was kind, and his voice was low and calming.

“It’s bits and pieces, nothing before Hydra, although I wish I did know, how do you know me?”

“Your name is Y/N Banner, a young scientific prodigy in quantum physics. According to records, you were the only one who was able to crack the secret of the Pym particle. You disappeared when you were nineteen years old after a college party, and no one had seen you since until now.” Banner, that was my last name, Banner. It had a nice ring to it, it felt powerful, strong.

“How long has it been since then?” He takes a deep breath, contemplating whether he should tell me or not.

“It’s been thirty-seven years.” It felt like a punch to the gut, they stole that much time from me. They stole thirty seven years from my life. Rage began coarsing through my veins, I needed to expel this, now. I smashed my hands into the table, before letting out an annoyed “fuck” from the pain. My hands left a small dent in the metal table.

“I’m sorry about the table, it's just, when you find out 37 years have been stolen from you, its hard to control your anger.”

“I know the feeling, believe me.” His hand fell over mine, and his eyes met mine, and although it was cloudy, something bubbled to the surface.

“Hey Stats, do you think I could get a hand with this?” Bruce’s voice called through the house. I rounded out of my own room to the room next door, where Bruce sat on his bed, books spread across the sheets and papers in every direction. His eyes looked up to me, pleading for help.

“Okay kid, what’s going on?”

“It’s this parabola problem, I’ve tried it like a billion times!” I laughed a little at his remark

“Bud, you and I both know that a billion is a bit of an overstatement. Let me see what we can do.” I saw the mistake immediately, a small computing error that he had been doing every single time. I circled the small mistake that had been throwing the whole problem off. He groaned loudly, letting out an annoyed “Really?”

“It’s gonna be okay, it was just a little computing error is all, there’s nothing to worry about.”

The two of us just sat, talking about school and stuff, how we were excited for the new school year. Bruce’s face fell, halfway through my sentence about the dorms.

“Bruce, what’s wrong?” He held his tongue for a moment, eyes beginning to get glassy.

“Why do you have to go away this year? Why can’t you just stay here, like regular?” I sighed. I knew he would react like this. I was finally 18, which meant legally, I could move out. Although I had completed most of my time in college at home already, I was going for my second doctorate and I wanted to finally have the chance to have the normal college experience, or at least as close to it as I could get. I needed to be an adult for once, be seen as an adult and not the child prodigy that I had always been seen as.

“Buddy, you know I want to be with you, hell, I’d bring you with me if I could, but they don’t allow 8 year olds in college dorms. I need to be an adult now, and I can’t do that staying home.” His eyes began to water, and I opened my arms out to him. “Come here, buddy.”

Bruce cried like that for a half an hour, as I held the small boy in his sadness, until he began to drift off to sleep.

“You’re the boy?” I said, looking at him. He definitely looked like the boy from my memory, but much older, with more lines on his face and a small scraggly bit of stubble, as if he had forgotten to shave, with a floppy curly mess on top, just like the boy had.

“What boy?” He asked tentatively, his eyes telling the story of hesitation and hurt, like he was holding back hope in fear of his heart breaking another time.

“There was a boy. I helped him with his math homework. He cried and I held him, his name was Bruce.”

“You remember?”

“Im starting.”

“You ok?” Steve asked me, nudging my arm. His eyes looked down at me in concern but I reassured him.

“I’m okay, Steve, I’ll be okay.”

“Tony couldn’t get us rooms next to each other, you’re on the fifth floor, I’m on the second.”

“Sounds good.”

Steve and I had grown to become pretty great friends since I got back. Steve and Bruce were the only ones that I felt safe enough around to talk to at the compound even from the beginning. I spent most of my time in the past few months either spending time with Bruce, and recovering my memories, or working with Steve to find Bucky. Spending my days going through mounds of papers and mission reports, to lunch dates working in the lab to help me regain that one and a half PhDs of information had been a daily occurrence and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Well, I would have it one other way. The only thing that would have made it better would be if Bucky was here with me. That’s why we were here, to find him and bring him home. We found a lead that told us he had been in Nevada for a while, specifically Vegas. We had booked a room at the hotel that he had been seen at.

As the elevator doors opened, Steve held the door open for me. “Get a good night’s sleep, we’ll get to work in the morning.”

“See ya in the morning, Steve.” I told him, as the doors began to close, leaving me in the hallway of the fifth floor. It was nice of him to go with me all the way up the elevator. I walked the long and winding halls until I found the right number, room 2603. Swiping the small key card against the scanner, the door clicked open and I walked inside. The room was clean, and out of complete habit, I began scanning the room for bugs, checking around the room to make sure nothing was listening in. Once I sweeped the place, the bed began to call to me, and I abandoned my clothing, before getting myself into bed, only a comfy shirt and panties left clinging to my body. With all the work that we had been doing to find Bucky, it was nice to have a chance to at least try and get some rest.

Bucky’s POV

I had hoped that she would come. There wasn’t much that I remembered, not yet at least, but she was coming back to me. I didn’t know how I knew here, but she was important, I could feel it. I knew the other guy was there two, Steve, the one I knew a long time ago, but for some reason, I knew I needed to see her. The two of them were important to me, I just knew it. There was an abandoned building to the side of the hotel that they were staying at, and I could see into the window of her room. The lights were dark, as she slept comfortably in her bed. I knew I shouldn’t, but I had to get closer, to see her. The clear, glassless window that I sat at was a clear shot from the balcony of her room.

Backing up from the edge, I took in a deep breath, calming my heart rate as I began running towards the opening. Pushing off the cement framing, I launched myself into the air, pushing myself forward even more until I felt my feet hit the cement of the balcony.

I could see her in there, sleeping. Somewhere inside of my head I knew this whole thing was wrong, but I couldn’t seem to stay away from her. It was creepy, wrong, but she looked so peaceful and innocent. It was a familiar feeling, not being in control, but this was different.

My head screamed out about how wrong this was, how disgusting I was being, while the rest of me was breaking the lock off of the door, walking into the room. The sound of the lock breaking and the door opening must have been too much sound, her body shot up in her bed, looking straight at me.

Reader POV

This has to be a dream, it couldn’t be anything else, a lucid dream that my brain had created to cope with the nightmares. There he stood, in the same room as me, dirty jacket and a baseball cap. His hair had gotten longer, like he hadnt been able to get it cut.

“Bucky?” My voice wavered with nerves and emotion, so scared that the man would disappear if I acknowledged that he’s here.

“You know me.” His voice was low and gruff, like he hadn’t had to use it in a while. I could feel my heart break. Although it was a statement and not a question. I could tell that he wasn’t all there, he didn’t remember me. Was this what Bruce felt like? Was this what it was like for him to see me, to know me, but the memory unreciprocated? A tear began to fall down my face, unable to control it.

“Yes, Buck, I know you.”

“Who are -“ he struggled to speak. “Who are you to me?” The knife that was already gutting me twisted into my stomach even more.

“Do you want to come closer?” I tried to keep calm as I spoke, not wanting to scare the man off. He was reluctant to come near me. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“In all fairness, that's not what I’m worried about, doll.” There was a flash of him, of my Bucky pushing through the fog to find me. I must have taken too long. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that, I-“

“Come here, please.” Hesitantly, he walked closer, but not close enough. Pulling the covers off of myself, I rose from the bed, walking to meet him in the middle.

“Who are you?” He was close, his breath fanning my face as I looked up at him.

“Can I show you?” He nodded, almost desperately, and I closed the gap between us, pushing myself into him and meeting my lips with his. At first he was shocked, not moving his lips against my own, but after a moment, it was as if pure instinct took over, as his mouth roughly kissed mine, pushing me back into the bed.

My back hit the covers, and I gasped out in surprise, giving Bucky the chance to deepen the kiss. Our tongues battled for dominance for a short while, but he won out in the end. I wrapped my fingers in his hair, tugging slightly. The man groaned out into my mouth, sending the feeling straight to my core.

Fuck, it had been too long. His hands were on me, holding my waist down on the bed. I gasped out, feeling as his metal hand had found its way under my shirt, playing with the flesh, twisting and pinching at my nipple; My hips bucked up, rolling over his clothed dick, and he let out a louder moan. I tested, rolling my hips over a few more times, before Bucky got impatient.

Bucky’s hand immediately trailed downward, slipping his hand past my panties. Two fingers pressed at my clit, and I cried out, hypersensitive after being away from him for so long. He was oddly silent, no clever quips or comments that I had been used to. I still couldn’t tell how much he really remembered.

His fingers began to make rough and harsh circles on my clit, making my back curl up into his chest.

“Fuck, Bucky, please!” I cried out, absolutely wrecked just by his touch after so long away from him. Quickly, fingers moved downwards, circling my entrance before easing them into me. Eyes rolled into the back of my head as he found that spongy spot inside of me, curling his fingers over it. I could feel the tightened knot in my stomach threatening to snap.

“Buck-“ I cried out as he suddenly sped up, pushing his fingers in and out of me as fast as he could. Screaming out, the knot snapped, my vision going white as the tsunami like wave passed through my body. Bucky slowed down his fingers, working me through my orgasm until the feeling had passed.

The sound of his belt unbuckling was music to my ears, knowing what was coming. The anticipation was absolutely killing me, as I heard fabric shift, feeling the rough fabric of his jeans slide away, along with his boxers. My head threw back as he began to tease, running the tip of his dick up and down me, never getting quite near where I needed him most.

“Bucky please, fuck me,” I breathed out, barely able to catch my own breath. He began to line himself up with me, and then suddenly without warning, slammed his hips into me. “Holy fuck, Bucky!”

His fingers dug into my hips harshly, I hoped that it would leave bruises after. His hips pistoned into me fast and harsh, the man knew what he wanted and he was going to get it, and goddamn it felt fucking good. His lips claimed mine, swallowing the sounds coming from my throat. It was like he was everywhere, I could only feel him.

It was all too overwhelming, and with little warning, my second orgasm hit me like a freight train. I cried out for him, as his hips began to falter from his pace, getting closer and closer to his release. His dick twitched inside of me, and I felt as he spilled inside me, filling me up.

The sun began to creep through the window, waking me up. Confused, I got up from the hotel bed, I could have sworn that I had left the blinds shut when I fell asleep last night. I was pleasantly surprised with my own head last night. Normally, when my head hit the pillow, all I would see were the faces of the people I killed, reliving the awful memories that I have to deal with, but last night was different. I got to see Bucky. It was so real, his hands on my skin, his fingers and dick inside me.

I examined the door, looking for a moment, and noticing the lock that had been crushed, pulled out, and sat on the balcony. I couldnt understand what happened, until I looked at my own body. Lifting up my shirt slightly, I could see the purple indentations of his fingertips, Bucky’s fingertips.

It hadn’t been a dream after all.

#Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x banner!reader #bucky fanfic #tfatws #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky smut #smut #angst #marvel smut #marvel fanfic #marvel self insert #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction

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keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

half-day

hawks | takami keigo x reader

word count: ~3k

absence helps the heart grow wounds

warnings: reader takes medication, angst, sad uwu

beta’ed: @hawnks

a/n: so in the middle of all the horny, here’s some angsty, SFW, hurt/comfort i wrote as a vent. enjoy 💗

...

“Did you take your meds yet?”

You paused on the edge of the bed, rubbing at your eyes with the inside of your wrist.

“No, I forgot. Sorry.”

You kicked yourself for how weak your voice came out.

Keigo’s wings drooped, though you could only tell by the wide shadow they cast on the wall of your shared bedroom.

It was late, far too late for you to be awake, but you’d forced yourself to stay lucid and somewhat lively to wait for Keigo to arrive home after patrol. It wasn’t something you did often, as he so often was kept past his scheduled hours.

This night was no different.

He’d come through the balcony door in the early hours of the morning, sighing harshly and kicking off his boots with a huff before even noticing you blinking at him from the couch.

And with a single look, his heart sank.

Keigo wasn’t an idiot.

You looked so tired.

Your eyes were shadowed, punched with sleepless bags and the corners of your pretty lips pulled down and taut. You worried your hands, picking at your cuticles and fingernails.

You mustered up a smile, and fuck, if it wasn’t one of the weakest things he’d seen in a long time.

He’d been quick to whisk the two of you off to bed after that. A short shower later, he slung on some sweats and draped a towel over his shoulders. He tried to keep his look casual, despite his own exhaustion, aches and anxiety.

Because you looked shitty.

Not that you ever looked bad, Keigo had seen you in any number of states. Fucked up, fucked out, bright and shining like the sun itself and tear-streaked—

But none hurt in the same way or as much as he’d been seeing you lately.

When he crept into the bedroom, your gaze was vacant, trained on the floor as you picked at a hangnail on your thumb.

So he asked about your meds, just probing, seeing where you were at.

Truthfully, Keigo’s work had been keeping him from home, though he wasn’t actively avoiding you like this.

But, he did have the undeniable knowledge that his absence was hurting you.

Guilt.

“You don’t need to be sorry, dove,” Keigo slipped next to you on the sheets, letting his wings stretch out and back over the thrown back covers. “Do you want some fresh water?”

You shook your head, silent, as you grabbed your pill organizer from your nightstand.

Keigo eyed the old glass of water, frowning. He could practically see the dust settling on the surface of the stale liquid.

“Are you sure—”

“It’s fine, Kei’, let’s just go to bed,” Your voice was so hollow, half-broken and swallowed up by the gulp of water you took down with your meds.

Keigo managed to keep a grin on his face, but it was hard.

He couldn’t restrain himself from taking your cheeks in his hands, worrying your undereyes with his thumbs the moment you set the murky glass down.

You didn’t say anything, just sagged into his grip, brow creasing.

There was a tension in the air, but nothing that could be cut or the kind that could easily immolate. This was the kind of sluggish frustration that pulled on your muscles and ligaments like gummy syrup.

It dragged the two of you down.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You spoke without thinking, your hands inching towards his knees.

Why was he?

“Lots of reasons, the first being that I love you,” Keigo reminded you, softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

It was all the touch you needed to fall into his shoulders, pressing your face into the wet towel around his neck.

It would’ve been cumbersome, a deterrent from fully touching him, but in that moment, it soaked up the budding tears at the corners of your eyes.

He didn’t need to know how poorly you were doing.

Why did his little affections send you spiraling?

Why did each of his touches feel like aloe to a wound that was deep and tarry, impossibly endless and nothing that could be tackled in a night?

Why did it hurt so good?

“I don’t want to hear the others,” you told him, squeezing his covered knee. “I think I know. I’m sad, not dumb.”

Your quip earned you a half-hearted chuckle, Keigo smoothing a hand up and down your spine.

“Can you lay with me?”

You gave a wordless answer, slipping into the sheets with him while feebly rubbing at your eyes.

Keigo sends a few feathers to click off the bedside lamps, keeping on a small light atop the dresser, the kind that throws pinpricks of faux stars onto the ceiling in oscillating little rings.

It was a false comfort, but you’d both take it.

You laid facing each other, naked in mind and body by then.

With your cheek squished into your pillow, it was even easier to see the tear tracks and worry that you carried.

Keigo had to be careful, he knew he had to, if he pushed you too hard for your words or feelings, you could just lockup, deflect and drift off into fitless sleep yet again.

You didn’t make him reach for too long, didn’t let him worry himself for very long, before you spoke up, weakly, and interrupted his thoughts.

“We’re okay, right, Kei’?”

The question sent splinters of worry into the tender flesh of his heart.

Keigo responded instantly, dragging your body into his as his feathers twitched and ruffled, “Yes, yes, we’re completely okay, better than, I love— “

“I know,” You pressed your face into his sternum, locking an arm over his lower back. “I know you love me.”

You still sounded so empty.

Keigo didn’t know what to do, fuck, he was grasping for even what to say.

“How can I make it better?”

He had to try, right?

Maybe that was the reason why he’d been rushing off so often and for so long lately, without rest, no matter how he felt.

He was a hero, his job was to make things better. He wanted to fix things, mend and stitch the ills and pains of others.

Yet, the person closest to him was splitting at the seams.

Work had been busy, busier than normal, and it just gave him the excuse to avoid his personal problems, like any sane, normal person.

Maybe, he was justified in shoving off the weight of everything, maybe, but only because every time he asked how he could help, you’d just say—

“You can’t, Kei’. It’s okay.”

Just like you did then.

Except, in the past, your voice would just echo from your lips as you gave him a sad smile.

This time?

Your voice broke and your breath hitched as you tried to tug him closer.

He can feel your tears wet his chest.

You tried to fight for so long.

You still were, notably. Against the loneliness and against the odds of your odd relationship, you smiled and mused your way through the struggles of it. You loved Keigo, and the burdens were bearable. They were never from him, they were from the fucked circumstances of his employment and the conditions around it.

You had a deep, heartfelt understanding of this. It was communicated about since the beginning of your partnership, and you had learned, quite well, how to deal with Keigo’s job as a hero. You’d peace with it, mostly.

A lot of the time, contending with this reality was hardly difficult.

But, it was distinctly entirely unmanageable during times when your own mental health started to spiral downward.

So, here you were, beginning to weep into your partner’s chest over all of the weight that was bearing over your mind.

Each moment, your mind sparked with a new poison, until one slipped out amid your muffled tears.

“I can’t even fix m-me— “

You snapped.

And you damn near shrieked into his chest.

Keigo hadn’t seen you do this poorly in a long time.

It hurt, all of it did, but like fuck he was going to push off the responsibility any longer. You’d never admit it, but his absence had to be doing some damage.

“You don’t need to,” Keigo promised, shifting to straddle your hips.

Maybe, on a different night, things would’ve gone a different direction.

Not that night though.

Keigo pressed his weight over your chest, tucking your face into his neck as his feathers settled up and over the two of you. A scarlet shield that read black in the witching hour of the evening.

You didn’t really notice, but you could feel Keigo’s breath and body over the top of yours. He was like some sort of barrier towards the outside world and god did you need it.

You tried to reply, but your words came out as blubberings, broken by tears and ragged breath as you buried yourself into Keigo.

Despite the fact that Keigo was over you, it was the unseen, soul-crushing weight of you that bore down on him.

How did you let it get this bad?

You choked on another sob, your thighs squeezing around his hips.

Your nails raked down his back, an accident borne from your own frustration. Keigo didn’t react to the pain, even when it tread so close to the sensitive roots of his wings. He could bear it— if you had to, he would as well.

This is the least he could do, right?

Be there, though he definitely should’ve been there sooner.

He nuzzled his nose into your temple, brushing his lips over the sweat and tears gathering.

“Cry, dove, I’ve got you now.”

And god, did you.

You sputtered and wept against him, whatever hollow sheen you’d been carrying falling away to a flood of pent up pain.

Keigo had his own mess of emotions about being complicit in letting you get to this point, and what that said about him as a partner, but he swallowed those feelings down to the pit of his stomach and busied himself with comforting you.

He wiped the tears from your cheeks, kissing away the stray ones that dripped down to your jaw and neck. His fingers and nails scratched and massaged your scalp, part of him prayed that the little circles he drew would pull some of the tension and stress from inside your skull, but that was just fantasy.

Ultimately, the only thing to do was nothing, and that was probably why Keigo avoided it for so long.

Powerlessness was not something he was used to, nor did he want to become familiar with it. He was the number two hero in the nation, for fuck’s sake. The last thing he ever felt was helpless, sans a few choice feelings about his arrangements with the Commission.

But with you?

He felt so useless in moments like these.

But, that was the nature of these things, and he knew this, the two of you had been over that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel himself getting choked up.

And as much as he wanted to suppress his own feelings, he just fucking couldn’t.

And everything spilt over at once, as things tend to.

Keigo scooped you up, pressing your front to his, pressing your cheek into his own, a few of his own tear tracks forming.

The feeling of Keigo’s own sadness tugged you from your own panic.

You swallowed thickly, your dry tongue sticking in your mouth as you tried to speak coherently.

“H-hey, Kei’?” You asked, trying to rub away at his tears. “C-could you take a h-alf day tomorrow? You don’t need to, but— “

Keigo shushed you with a kiss, sagging over top of you a moment later.

“Yeah, y-eah, of course,” Quietly, Keigo added, muffled into the crook of your shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to ask.”

“It’s okay, but it’s how i-it is,” Your voice shook as you coaxed Keigo to meet your gaze.

And oh, to bear souls with another is quite an intimate thing, don’t you think?

Especially when there was so much raw between the two of you, things that weren’t quite right, and things that hurt a bit too much.

Yet, at the same time, as you searched Keigo’s pretty ambers, more vibrant next to his reddened eye whites, you held nothing against him. There was both implicit and explicit understanding swimming in the air between you.

The unavoidable harshness of your arrangement with the truth that both of you cared so much, even if you didn’t know how to chew of your chunks of reality. It was comforting, seeing Keigo give you a broken little smile as you rubbed his tears away, and he yours.

“I love you,” Keigo's wings fluttered with his words. “I’m sorry for not being here like I should’ve been.”

“It’s okay,” It was, mostly. “I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

You both needed to be better, but being ‘better’ was a process in and of itself.

Carefully, you rose, your hands finding Keigo’s bare hips while his helped prop up your back.

You swallowed around your fat tongue, grimacing and reaching for the stale glass of water.

Just before you could grab it, Keigo reached past you, stopping your hand from closing around it.

“Let’s start small,” Keigo gave you a weak smile. “Can I grab you some fresh water?”

You nodded, the warmth and care of the gesture immediately relaxing you. Quirking a brow, you managed a small grin, “Yes, thank you.”

And you let him.

And all that you’d been carrying with you didn’t dissolve, but it maybe felt lighter.

...

You spent the rest of the night twisted up in each other.

Truthfully, Keigo felt greedy. He’d been too absent and that had made him needy for you and your touch, even if it was just idle and soft.

He craved you in other ways, but you were more than enough.

By the sun rose came, he was hardly sated, but he had calls to make and things to arrange.

...

The next morning, you awoke alone, though the sheets were warm.

A few feathers laid around you, snuggling up to your cheeks and under the covers, fluttering every so often against your bare skin.

As you drew back to lucidity, you could hear Keigo’s muffled voice from the kitchen.

Your body ached, but in a necessary way. It reminded you of the night prior, along with your scratchy eyes and raw throat.

You threw on one of his shirts and padded towards his voice.

Despite your state, and the rawness of the air, Keigo still managed to stun you speechless, as he so often did.

He stood in the kitchen, hip popped against the counter with a pair of sweats hanging dangerously low on his hips. His phone was tucked between his shoulder and ear as he spoke low, hushed and hurried, his hands and a handful of feathers helping prepare two steaming mugs of coffee.

You didn’t eavesdrop, only approaching when Keigo breathed a sigh of relief and the phone was set down on the counter.

Somehow, you were able to surprise him.

Your arms looped around his waist from behind, circling and squeezing.

“I’m guessing you’ve gotta run?” You mumbled into his spine with a weak laugh. “I should say fly, huh?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, turning to drape his arms over your shoulders, “Nope, neither, dove. Two days.”

“… Two days?” You scrunch your brow, though Keigo was quick to smooth out the wrinkles with a quick kiss.

“Two days off a month, barring emergencies, not counting today. Fully off and all yours. And that’s not counting today,” Keigo’s smile warmed his voice. “Sound good?”

Your scrambled psyche rushed to catch up with the revelation that ‘holy fuck, Keigo actually had real, scheduled time off.’

“I can see how hard you’re thinking, chickpea,” Keigo tsked, somehow wrangling you onto the counter top, slotting himself between your parted thighs. “I’ve got this one, okay? I want to be around more.”

You bit your lip, gaze pointed towards the ground.

“For me or for you?”

“Why can’t it be both?”

You swallowed your tongue, still frowning.

It easily could.

Keigo needed the rest, even if he had trouble admitting it. As much as he claimed to be lazy, he was more so a workaholic due to his background. It was difficult for him to ever stop working for any considerable length of time.

Perhaps it wasn’t in his nature, just his training.

All the same, the idea of having Keigo around and mostly to yourself for a few days a month seemed goddamn fantastic.

“... Can it?”

Keigo softened visibly, rubbing at your side, just below the bottom hem of your sleep shirt. Maybe, he was a bit sheepish in those moments, but he’d had to be pretty stern making the calls he had that morning.

Speaking to the right people to allow him to get that time off had been a pain, but seeing the slow way you were deflating and melting into his arms made it worth it.

Not to mention he needed some lazy days as well.

“Of course it can,” Keigo gave a soft little smile. “Both of us getting a bit of extra rest, don’t you think?”

You flickered your gaze to his, where the gooeyness of his amber eyes caught and held you.

A part of you, one that had been particularly loud lately, screamed to ask for more reassurance. That in some way, Keigo was lying and you had to know.

But, with a deep breath, and a press of your forehead to his, you relaxed a bit.

Not enough, but it was a sure start.

“Alright, but only if you promise to let me help you relax too, and that includes today,” You silenced any retort he might have with a gentle kiss.

The moment you tried to pull away, Keigo’s hand was on the back of your neck, holding you steady and close.

“I dunno dove, it is my half-day,” He hummed with a raise of his eyebrows, the dark circles under his eyes hardly detracting from how luminous he so constantly was, “I think I’ll do whatever I’d like.”

You gave your own little grin, “That’s alright too, I guess. As long as you get some rest today.”

“So, a lazy day, that’s what I’m hearing?” Keigo’s wings fluttered at the concept.

With a nod and one more stolen kiss, you hummed, “A lazy day it is.”

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #hawks imagines #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #uwu

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

Forsaken | Part 6

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story. In this part, there is a suggestive tone and a glossed over intimate scene.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

“I won’t do it.”

“You did it to Youngjae!” you replied, chasing Jinyoung’s departing back and leaping in front of him. The man rolled his eyes and blew some of the strands of hair that fell into his eyes out of his face. Instinctively, you reached up to brush them behind his ear, and equally, he moved just as quickly, pressing you into the exterior of the kitchen building’s wall.

Unlike the first time Jinyoung pinned you, you could only laugh now. “I’m not frightened by your tactics, Jinyoung.”

“I wish you were,” he muttered, giving you a pointed look as he loosened his arm over your neck. “You seriously think too lightly of this place.”

“Being branded as a Forsaken isn’t something to consider lightly,” you refuted, lifting your arm and waggling your bare wrist at him repeatedly. “And yet, call it a safety procedure. A claim of what’s yours even.”

You could tell Jinyoung was enduring another one of his brooding moments, the dark expression he flashed you only making you whine outlandishly at him.

“Stop being a pain, Y/N.”

“Why is it okay for Youngjae to belong to your battalion, and the two gypsies you took in last winter but not I?” you wondered, imploring the man for a proper answer.

After two weeks, you were now accustomed to living at the base. You had found your place within the kitchen for meals and did your fair share of chores. You had made good friends with Youngjae and Jackson, laughing more than you had in years, surprisingly. Mark was warming up to you and had started teaching you how to use a bow and arrow – much to Jinyoung’s chagrin. And Jaebum had left for his outpost home on the boundary line of the camp yesterday, however, not before sharing with you all his plans.

“We’re going to leave this place.”

“We are?” Jackson glanced around at the small selected few in the room before scratching his head. “It took us a long time to set up this base. Do we need to make another?”

“He means the Rebellion, Jack,” Mark murmured and the former let out an ahh in acknowledgement.

“Can we though? I mean, if it was so easy to leave it, wouldn’t you all have done that some time ago?” Youngjae wondered, exchanging a clueless look with you before frowning. “Am I coming too?”

“All the men in this room are,” Jinyoung announced, shooting you a perturbed glance. Whilst he attempted to keep it disinterested, you could see deeper than the surface. He wasn’t fooling you any. He had gone to Jaebum to make this plan to get you out of her first and foremost.

He was searching for Nowhere too.

“Y/N as well, of course,” Jaebum added on, smiling at you softly. “It’s not going to be easy; in fact, it’ll be the most dangerous thing we’ll undertake. It’s got a lot of risks stacking against us even attempting to plan this.”

“Eyes and ears are everywhere,” Mark mentioned, unrelenting in his scan of the room as he had all this time.

“We could die,” Jackson pointed out and all his fellow warriors looked at him incredulously. He laughed. “I mean, we could die doing what we do too.”

“Out of us all, you’re the one who openly talks about what you will do when you leave the Rebellion. Is it mere talk, Jackson?”

The man gave Jinyoung a hard glare before expelling a breath. “You know how desperate I am to get out of here.”

“Then we’re all in agreement,” Jaebum announced, clapping his hands together. “We have a month to plan our departure.”

“If we have a month to plan, then surely we need to make my stay here look official to the others,” you had continued when back in your room later that evening, Jinyoung groaning with your persistence. “You need to tattoo me.”

“Why are you so desperate to be just like us?”

“Because I feel like I’m not meant to be alive otherwise,” you answered softly, Jinyoung’s scrutiny softened and he ran a hand through his hair instead. “You’re alive because I made sure you remained that way. And I will continue to do that until my last breath.”

“Then stop being a brat and do what you know makes the most sense in this community. I don’t mind, you know.”

“Really?” he breathed, stepping closer to you and taking your hand within his. He ran a finger over the delicate skin upon your wrist. “I hate mine.”

“You still have it covered with my leather bracelet,” you pointed out and smiled fondly. “Much like you carry me around on your chest as well with that compass.”

“You want me marked into your skin?” he whispered and you shivered with the way his eyes connected with yours. “It will hurt.”

“I know.”

“And it could get infected if you don’t take good care of it in the beginning.”

“You’ll help make sure it doesn’t. And we have Jaebum too.”

He rubbed his thumb over your hand gently. “You’ll have to wear it for the rest of your life.”

You knew he was no longer talking about the tattoo you had been nagging him to give you but something more intimate. You nodded softly, unable to tear your eyes away from his. “I want to. Forever.”

Jinyoung leaned into you, his breath hitting your face in short bursts. You moistened your lips and then swallowed, waiting for impact. You had been yearning for his lips to find yours for days now, certain they were meeting your skin whenever he held you at night.

You hadn’t been lucid enough yet to truly experience their taste.

Inching closer, you fluttered your eyes closed, trying to settle your heart some. And just as you felt him brush against your skin, Jinyoung sighed. “I’ll brand you tomorrow morning. Goodnight, Y/N.”

Disorientated, you blinked several times before locking your focus onto his dishevelled expression. Before you could utter your immense disappointment, Jinyoung pointed to the door. “I’m on duty soon. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’re kidding me, you can’t even-!” you breathed incredulously as Jinyoung swiftly moved through the door, shutting it behind him. Picking up the pillow from his bed, you threw it at the door he had just walked through. “This infuriating man!”

“It’s going to hurt, so stay really still,” you instructed, wincing as you looked at the shard of glass stuck in the bottom of Jinyoung’s foot. With a deep breath, you tugged it out from where it was embedded, darting your focus to his face for any reaction.

There was nothing.

“What? But… shouldn’t that have hurt? No scream? Am I a baby then? I would have cried!”

“I’m used to pain,” Jinyoung mumbled, casting his gaze away from yours.

“So it did hurt.”

“Doesn’t everything in life?”

“Do you know what my mother does whenever I get injured or feel pain?” you offered and Jinyoung angled his head so he could catch you in his peripheral.

“What?”

Glancing at the wound, you made sure it clear of any further glass, wrapping a bandage around it after cleaning it. And then you planted your lips over it and kissed the injury. Jinyoung balked within your grip, his eyes wide with fright.

You couldn’t help but giggle. Blood and pain got no reaction but you kissing him sure did. You kissed it one more time, just to be sure. And then you smiled warmly up at the boy. “I just kissed it all better. It’ll heal well now.”

“Stay really still, Y/N.”

You smiled encouragingly at Jinyoung before clamping your eyes shut. You knew it was going to hurt. The tattooing tools they used were intimidating and when it met with your skin, tears immediately burst from your eyes, the searing pain unable to be balanced out by gripping at your thigh with your other hand. Even when Jinyoung finally pulled it away from you, it continued to sting, whimpers leaving you over and over. He inspected that he had done it correctly before grabbing you and pulling you into his arms, rocking you both from side to side.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he breathed into your ear repeatedly, each apology sounding more desperate as your tears continued to cascade down your cheeks.

It didn’t matter how old you were in this world, pain would always be so overwhelming to you.

Jinyoung treated the wound and wrapped your wrist up to lessen the chance for any infection. And then, without a moments thought, he pressed his lips to the bandaged area, closing his eyes as he did so.

It was the catalyst to stopping your cries, merely watching the man you loved kissing you better. You knew it was from what you had taught him as a child, and yet the gesture made your heart swell entirely. Gently hooking a finger under his chin, you lifted his mouth away from your wrist and placed yours over his instead.

Your mind blanked with this kiss. It was soft, barely moving, and yet it felt as if every part of you was working overtime. You lost all ability to breathe normally, and your skin burned all over. The pain in your wrist dulled in comparison to the bright lights flashing behind your closed eyes, and your body was surely spasming against his.

When you pulled away, you could tell it hadn’t been enough.

Of course, it wasn’t. It was barely a taste after all these years apart.

Jinyoung didn’t say a thing, simply scooped you up within his arms and carried you all the way back to his home, uncaring of those who called out to you both on your way. He didn’t slow down until he placed you on the bed, and even then it was only to pause to remove his shirt. Kneeling before the half-naked man, you lifted your arms to the heavens, gesturing for him to rid you of the same amount of clothing. His hands slid over your sides, inching the cloth up and over your body. Jinyoung’s eyes implored you to dictate the next move he made.

“What are you waiting for?” you asked, holding out your arms towards him. “I’ve wanted you to claim me right down to my soul since the first time I kissed you.”

It was all he needed to hear to take you within his arms and transcend you toward the most pleasurable realm you had ever travelled to.

It felt different waking up in Jinyoung’s arms now. For one, it was the first time you had ever done so naked, and you smiled to yourself when you soaked in his expansive chest beside you. This was a view you could never grow tired of, you were certain.

You also just felt different as a person. Soreness aside, from both your wrist and the time you spent exploring one another for the rest of the day, you were certain you had levelled up in some way. The old you was ever present, but a door had been unlocked by Jinyoung’s lovemaking. You felt empowered.

And with the way he was easily smiling within his slumber, you could tell it was the same for Jinyoung.

Under the dim yellow lighting of his home at night, you used the time where your lover was relaxed beside you to imprint all the exposed areas of Jinyoung’s skin firmly into your mind. You counted the scars over his upper body, soon leaning in to kiss each one. Jinyoung stirred, letting out a soft breath in the process.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing them better,” you told him and he chuckled, causing you to stop what you were doing to look up at him. Jinyoung shook his head and closed his eyes again.

“They’re healed.”

“No, they’re not,” you insisted, going back to trailing your lips over his skin. “They were missing this step in the recovery process.”

“I was missing you in my world a whole lot,” he announced and you stopped for the second time, overwhelmed with how easily he was speaking of his feelings now.

You had definitely unlocked the doors he had held firmly shut all this time.

“Tell me more.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“You don’t have to, ever again,” you told him and Jinyoung smiled sadly. “What, we’re going to escape together, we all are.”

“We might not all make it out together.”

“Let’s not think like that right now.”

“I have to leave tomorrow,” he mentioned with a groan and you blinked slowly. “I have… orders.”

“Right,” you replied jarringly, the moment of bliss shrouded by the darkness of his world again.

Just as Jinyoung began to open up and be the man you had loved for all of your life, those who held the strings above him pulled him back into oppression.

You were determined to break him free.

_________________

Part 7

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