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sardonic-the-writer · 4 months

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𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: alastor being a bit egotistical

↳ song: si j'étais blanche—joséphine baker

↳ notes: got any ideas for stuff i should do next? reblogs are appreciated

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• It wasn’t your fault you’ve always had a messed up sleep schedule

• Even while living, nighttime had never been able to tame you. It was just your luck that the habit carried on into hell. Figures that the world wouldn’t give you a break even in death

• You weren’t exactly an insomniac, per se. It was quite the opposite in fact. Just a simple case of falling victim to spontaneous naps in the most random of places. Yet never at night

• Narcoleptic & nocturnal were the terms that your friends used to use for you. With grins, they’d compared you to an owl; always up at night wandering aimlessly. Sometimes for days on end you’d carry on doing this and that, only to curl into a ball the next day and remain that way

• The habit never was anything more than a nuisance until you’d started living at the hotel. The place was just so big, with so many places for you to lie down before the thought of your bedroom even crossed your mind

• Angel Dust was the first person to find you passed out. He had been strolling into the kitchen, looking for something to consume that wasn’t drugs for once, when he spied you hunched over the counter snoring softly

• In your hand was a wooden spoon covered in a creamy batter of some sort, a bowl beneath it with the same concoction. Almost as if you had been making something before passing out

• Briefly checking his phone, the spider confirmed that it was only two in the afternoon, and approached you with a sly smile

• You were promptly startled awake by a loud shout directly next to your ear

• “I’m sorry—“ Angel laughed wildly as you fumed, not sounding sorry at all. “—but you should have seen your face.” He clutched his stomach as he fell into another laughing fit

• “Hey! Watch it!”

• He ducked with a frown as you sent the spoon flying at his head, just barely missing the porn star’s styled hair

• Everyone quickly made their own discovery about your weird sleeping habits soon after. Each in their own embarrassing ways

• Vaggie witnessed you lying on the stairs looking positively drained one morning, and Charlie even found you face first on the bar counter while Husk wiped away at a cocktail glass

• “Too much to drink?” She asked the cat, lifting up one of your arms between her thumb and forefinger carefully, almost as if you’d wake if she pressed to hard

• Husk laughed to himself at the question, remembering how he had turned to make you a shot before coming back to the sight before him now

• “Not exactly.” He huffed

• Perhaps best example of just how bad your timing was came in the form of an impromptu staff meeting

• Alastor had called everyone— more like demanded them —into the main parlor for an announcement one day. A mere week after the kitchen incident with Angel, in fact

• With a flourish of shadowy magic and a twirl of his hands, the overlord presented some sort of home made commercial on the age old TV the place had, looking very amused with himself as he did so

• You tried to pay attention, you really did. But at one point the actors and stray blood splatters started to look like the back of your eyelids

• By the time it was over, Alastor was tapping his fingers along the top of the picture box rhythmically while everyone looked at him with awkward smiles

• But you? Well—

• “So!” Alastor cheered with a cheesy grin as he spun on his heel. The rest of the members in the room watched him awkwardly, not noticing that your head had hit the back of the couch at a rough angle. “What do you all thi— are they asleep.”

• Static bled into the demons voice at an alarming rate as you let out a half jolt at the shift in mood, falling off the couch with a yelp in your wake

• You took a moment to swipe at your face wildly before blanching at Alastor towering over you nervously

• “Uh, my bad?”

• Alastor’s smile strained itself so thin, you thought it would split his face in half

• “Glad to know I’m keeping you entertained.” He all but laughed happily. But the white knuckled grip on his microphone told you otherwise

• You recall Charlie telling you something about ignorance being one of Alastor’s least favorite things. Especially when it came to his little spectacles

• “Maybe we’ve had enough peer feedback for today—“ Vaggie cut in cautiously

• “I concur.” Came your quick agreement

• You made sure to avoid Alastor for a few days after that

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daisynik7 · 6 months

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Fortunate

cw: ~900 words, established relationship, fluff, happy ending, some angst, implied Season 2/Shibuya arc spoilers, smut (but very brief) - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Author’s Note: This is for @honeybleed's 90s r&b collab, congrats again on the amazing milestone! This is inspired by the song Fortunate by Maxwell. Thanks for reading! Divider by @/cafekitsune.

Nanami wakes up in the cold sweat, gasping for breath to fill his lungs, as if he’s been drowning in his sleep. His heart races, pounding so hard against his chest that he’s sure it’s about to burst out of his ribcage. The entire left side of his body tingles, the remnants of a traumatic injury from almost a year ago.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that you’re holding him, clinging to his right side, staring at him with concern in your face. “Bad dream?” you ask, eyes wet with tears you try to blink away. Your voice trembles, attempting to hide it, though Nanami can still tell.

He recalls the moment from right before he woke up. He was engulfed by fire, every inch of his skin scorching from the flames, gradually burning him away. Flashes of memories and familiar faces played out like a montage in a movie. Gojo’s cocky smirk, Yuji’s eager expression, Haibara’s bright smile. What you wore on your first date, how soft your hand felt in his the first time he held you, the song the two of you danced to the first time he said, “I love you.” Breakfast every morning at the dining table, mid-afternoon naps on the couch, making love until the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

No matter how many times he relives it in his sleep or how vividly he remembers the pain from that night in Shibuya, nothing will ever hurt worse than that split second into the afterlife, when he was sure he’d never see you again. How lucky he is to be able to say that never came true.

He walked through fire, fought through hell, dug out of his own grave, all that to return to you. And he’d do it again and again and again. How fortunate he is that he doesn’t have to anymore. It’s one of the biggest perks of being a retired Jujutsu Sorcerer.

He shifts in the bed to face you, breathing steady now. “Absolute nightmare,” he says, giving you a half smile.

You swallow hard, brushing away strands of blonde hair to wipe off the perspiration beading on his forehead. “Well, you’re awake now.”

His smile grows into a full one as he scoots closer, nuzzling his nose to yours. “Thank god for that.”

You wrap your arms around him, squeezing him tight. “You’re still shaking. Pretty bad, huh?”

He closes his eyes, cherishing this feeling of being surrounded in your warmth. “Yeah.”

“The same?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, not elaborating. You already know what he dreams about. The nights you stayed up with him as he twisted himself into the blankets, tossing and turning from the fight that still weighs heavily on his mind. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you weren’t there beside him, to comfort and console him back to sleep. He wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you.

You take his face into your hands, cupping his cheeks tenderly. The skin on his left side is taut from his injuries, which have healed nicely since that incident. You trace his scars, marveling at how beautiful he is. Evidence that he’s alive. What’s more beautiful than that? Closing the gap, you kiss him softly on the lips. His hands slide around your back, pulling you in deeper.

Sometimes, words aren’t enough to put each other back to sleep. On a night like this, with only the glow of the full moon barely peeking through the shutters and the even rhythm of your heartbeats filling the quiet space between you, it’s only right to melt into one another.

His thumbs hook to the waistband of your pajamas, pulling them past your bottom, now exposed for him. He squeezes your flesh in his firm grip, using little strength to roll you on top of him. He loves it like this. Something about having your body on top of his makes him feel safe. Secure. You trail along his neck, kissing his scars, whispering, “I love you,” into his skin. He relaxes into the pillows, letting you worship his tattered body, the same way you would as before. You never treated him like a broken man after the horrors of Shibuya. Instead, you’re a constant reminder that’s he’s in one piece.

Slowly, with no rush to fall back asleep, you undress each other. He twitches slightly as you palm his erection, craving more than your fist. You don’t make him wait long, reaching for the nightstand to retrieve the bottle lube to properly coat him. Straddling his lap, you guide him inside you until you are stretched perfectly around his cock. You stay still for a moment, relishing the sensation of being completely full of him. “I love you,” he says, cradling you as you begin to rock back and forth. You kiss lazily, taking the time to savor each other.

After you’re finished and cleaned up, you’re both back on the verge of sleep. You nestle into his broad chest, listening to his heartbeat to ease you into a peaceful slumber. Before you’re gone, you whisper, “We’re so lucky, aren’t we, Kento?”

He smiles, placing a delicate kiss to your forehead, snuggling you tighter. “You have no idea.”

#nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami x you #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x you #kento nanami #kento nanami fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

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hanlimz · 5 months

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[midnight thoughts: jungwon + the sublime]

synopsis: after an arduous battle, jungwon isn't sure if he's going to make it, but he has to say something before he goes. pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader genre/warnings: spiderwon!au, angst with happy ending / mentions of blood, discussions of death, overall angsty themes but no one actually dies!, lots of confessions of love, and weird inclusion of "the sublime" bc we talked abt it in my eng class, also NOT proofread :,) wc: ~2.4k (haha OOPS) a/n: heyyyy how yall doin :))))) this has been sitting in my drafts forEVER ... and i finished it at 1am b4 my first day of school so be warned for inconsistencies / i liked the first half of this drabble but the second half is not my fave ,, so sorry that i couldn't do you justice spiderwon

yang jungwon never believed in the concept of the sublime. that uncanny mixture of overwhelming fear and unsettling fascination never managed to make an impression on him. especially in his line of work, jungwon is firm in his notion of death: when the time comes, a vast blackness will consume him; the void will leech away his life, and he will cease to exist. there will be no theatrics, no white light, no booming voice or angel song—only a comforting emptiness welcoming him into the dark.

now, however, jungwon lies alone in a familiar back alley; the tips of his fingers are numb from the amount of blood he's lost, and he can hardly lift his head up from the brick wall it's resting on. the palms of his hands are stained a deep crimson as he attempts to stop the river of red spilling from his thigh. jungwon admires the eerily beautiful way in which the body lets go; glinting in the dim street lights, his wounds glitter like rubies in a summer sunset. at this point, succumbing to his injuries seems inevitable, and jungwon thinks there may be some truth to be found in sublimity.

but, he's not ready to die. not yet—not with so many things left undone, so many things left unsaid.

with the little strength he has left, jungwon reaches for his backpack hidden in the nook behind the dumpster. he pulls out his phone and dials a number number he knows by heart; his cold fingers fumble over the screen, and he curses his current lack of dexterity. eventually, though, the machine begins to ring. the sound grates on his ears as he waits with bated breath for you to pick up.

"hello?" you croak, your question laden with sleep, "who is it?"

a breathy chuckle escapes jungwon's lips. he had forgotten how late it was, how you mentioned earlier that you had a calulus exam tomorrow, and just how gorgeous you sounded when you were tired. "sorry, [y/n] ... didn't mean to wake you," jungwon sighs, "just wanted to hear your voice."

"won, seriously?" you scoff, "this couldn't have waited 'til tomorrow? i mean, it's—it's two in the morning ... i was literally just dreaming about acing that calc test."

a dopey grin fastens itself to jungwon's lips as he wills his eyes to stay open. if he falls asleep, he knows there's a possibility that he won't get back up; so, he indulges for a bit, listening to your fatigued grumbling and smiling like an idiot. "honestly, m'not sure if tomorrow's in my cards, [y/n]," he admits, trying to hide how labored his breaths are becoming, "'nd i jus' wanted to hear you one last time."

"yang jungwon, what the hell are you—" jungwon knows exactly when you realize he's in trouble. he knows exactly when you realize he's not messing with you. the abrupt pause, the hitch in your breath, the way you inhale through your teeth—it's almost too obvious. "oh fuck," you continue, "oh shit ... won, where are you? are you hurt? what can i do to help?"

jungwon coughs out a laugh, "'m in the alley off jackson ave, 'nd i think i've bled on every piece of old furniture back here, if that says anything."

your breathing is frantic. jungwon listens to the sound of rustling clothes and the occasional thud of your foot as it hits your bed frame. you're cursing and mumbling and unravelling at the seams, searching for whatever you can that might help you help jungwon. out loud, you go through a list: gauze, neosporin, saline.

"am i missing anything?" you ask, not expecting a response.

"bandages?" jungwon replies.

"bandages!" you exclaim, "i almost forgot the fucking bandages?" there's more noise on the other side of the phone, and jungwon doesn't let himself relax until he hears your window crack open. metal clangs as you rush down the fire escape; he wills the beating of his heart to match the tempo of your feet against the steps. jungwon wills himself to stay alive. and, it's almost as though you can read his mind through the phone. "don't you dare fall asleep, yang jungwon. talk to me about something—anything—just don't fall asleep."

he racks his brain for a topic of conversation; the nerves building in his stomach as he anticipates next week's orgo exam, the cat he rescued from a tree in queensbridge park earlier today, the new thai restaurant that opened up near his apartment building. options race through his mind, but all of jungwon's thoughts lead back to you.

"i love you," jungwon says, abrupt yet resolute.

"oh god." you suck in an incredulous gasp, "you're delirious. this is—"

"i'm not delirious," he interrupts, voice hauntingly clear. "i know what i'm saying. and, i'm saying that i love you, [y/n] [l/n]."

for a moment, the line crackles with a thick, viscous silence that seeps through the grainy static; it's heavy, almost too real, and jungwon listens to the sound of your shoes slamming against the pavement until you speak again. "okay," you sigh, something unreadable swimming behind your words, "keep talking to me, jungwon."

jungwon takes in a deep breath before speaking again. his whole body is cold now, and if it weren't for the weakness spreading throughout his veins, he's positive his teeth would be chattering. inhaling the concoction of gasoline fumes, freshly dumped trash, and frigid, autumn air, jungwon feels the chill of the reaper creeping up the length of his spine. its spindly fingers beckon him into that same darkness he was once so sure of, once so okay with. but, jungwon can't let himself give in to its temptation. after all, he has someone waiting for him.

"you give me this feeling," jungwon declares in an inexplicable moment of lucidity, "'nd i dunno how to explain it. it's—it's like ... i look at you, and you pull me in. an invisible string, maybe? fate? true love? i'm—i have no idea what to call it. you always make me want to know more, even though i've known you forever. since we were kids, [y/n]—i've felt like this for years. and, i'm sorry. i'm sorry for not telling you earlier, for not telling you when i told you about the whole spiderman thing.

"i'm such an idiot for making you worry. someone who loves you shouldn't do that to you, i shouldn't do that to you. and, god [y/n]—i love you so much. you're this force of nature, you know? drawing me in, even though it's dangerous. and, even though i'm terrified of what the consequences might be, i love you so much that i'm afraid to die without saying it at least once.

"i'm—i'm so sorry for being so stupid, because—" jungwon whispers with a shaky voice, teetering on the edge of consciousness, "i love you, [y/n]. i love you."

jungwon's hearing is fading in and out, and his vision is growing blurry; but, the sounds of your footsteps accompanied by the incessant drone of his phone keeps him from slipping into that overwhelming darkness. you take in a sharp breath, and his head lolls in your direction. jungwon's lips are molded into a mindless, faraway smile; his eyes are misted over, foggy with both pain and fatigue. he's not all there, but he still manages to be cheerful. it astounds you.

rushing over to begin applying all the first aid supplies you managed to stuff into your backpack. wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash gauze bandage, wound-washgauzebandage. the sheer amount of blood that has been leeched from his body makes you dizzy; your head is spinning as you try to calculate just how many pints would be equal to what you've just sopped up. glancing up at your best friend (crush? lover?) you see that his eyes have drooped shut. his skin is pallid, his lips are pale, his neck is craned at an awkward angle as it rests on his shoulder. and, your heart stops because you didn't get to say it back.

"no. no, no, no ... won—jungwon, wake up!" a storm brews in your stomach. it starts as a mellow rain pattering against the lining of your intestines, then becomes a raging tempest as it bubbles up and out of your throat. "please, please, please! i got here in time, i swear—i never cared about the stupid, fucking calc test! i cared about you, i care about you! and, i'm here now, so you can't leave. you can't leave me."

an inhuman shriek claws through your lips, ricocheting against the brick walls that seem to be caving in around you; the weight of the world crashes into your frail shoulders, threatening to crush you. as you inch even closer to jungwon's shrouded figure, your pants are soaked through with a crude mixture of blood and rainwater. you reach out for him and cup his cheek with a trembling hand, and part of you swears his skin is still warm to the touch.

but, hope has no place here.

instead, you cradle his head and heave his body to rest against yours. he is astonishingly heavy; you can feel his muscles ripple beneath the tips of your fingers, but you're already convinced. your best friend is dead. slowly, the cement will absorb his heat, and he will grow cold. as the morning draws nigh, you will be forced to put his mask back on and leave him for someone else to find. then, the news articles will pour in, and the city will have stolen not only his life, but his death as well. tears are wetting his scalp as you bury your nose into his sweat-caked hair. you're gripping at his suit so hard you think the threads might snap, and the throbbing in your head is nothing compared to the agony in your heart.

the wailing doesn't stop until, in your peripherals, you see his finger twitch. sucking a staggering breath through his nose, jungwon cracks open a tired eye to gaze up at you. "i would—" he coughs out with a wince, "i would never leave you."

in your stupor, his voice doesn't register first. his mouth moves, but no sound escapes him; then, the words play over again in your mind while his lips remain closed. seconds melt into minutes, and you float away from your body. a numbness overtakes you as you stare at the scene before you from about five feet away; your fingers are still clutching at the suit fibers, the pajamas you chose earlier tonight are now saturated with blood, and jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing.

snapping back into yourself, you place a weak hand on his chest. steadily, certainly—it rises and falls; the beating of his heart, though shallow and slow, thrums beneath your palm. shifting your stare to his face, you are greeted once again by a familiar, wry smile. jungwon is alive. despite all odds, the boy you love is alive; and, try as you might, you can't really help yourself.

"[y/n]?" he croaks, quirking the eyebrow above his less swollen eye, "can you hear—"

"i love you, too."

the utterance dangles precariously in the frigid midnight air. jungwon's lack of response causes your stomach to churn until he relexes further into your frame, huffing out a pained laugh. he lets himself rest for a moment, relishing in the warmth he manages to leech from your skin. "it wasn't ... wasn't supp—supposed to happen like this, you know?" jungwon protests, voice catching on his fatigue and discomfort. "i ... had everything planned—planned out."

"won, you don't—"

baring his teeth, he lifts a hand to hold the one you kept on his chest and barrels through your objection. "i was gonna take you to the met ... gonna take you for a pic—a picnic in central park." jungwon sputters, pressing his forehead against your upper arm, "then, we would swing ... back to your apartment. 'nd, i was gonna tell—tell you. tell you about how i feel."

still supporting his neck with your arm, you move to take his face in your palm once more. jungwon's gaze is sharper than it was just minutes ago—more focused, more alert. the emotions swirling in those deep pools of raw umber are more multitudinous than the stars they reflect. gratitude, torment, joy, defeat, love. bridging the gap that had separated the two of you for so long, you stop just shy of his lips. a dynamic heat emanates from them; jungwon is practically vibrating under your touch, living and breathing.

"are you okay?" you ask, "is this okay?"

jungwon answers by pushing himself up—closing the distance, sharing your breath, connecting your souls. salt and iron dance on his tongue as your tears mingle with his blood. it's a hypnotizing concoction—one that threatens to send him reeling, one that threatens to have him spinning out with no hope of return. fireworks explode behind his eyelids, a myriad of bright reds and vibrant oranges blinds him, and jungwon uses what is left of his strength to grip your wrist; he grounds himself and allows his lungs to burn as he breathes you in.

after a while, however, your parting is instinctual as the lack of oxygen forces you apart—two bodies trying to preserve themselves long enough to meet again. with a labored sigh, jungwon slumps backwards and tucks his chin to catch your gaze. in that moment, he finds himself frozen; his essence is suspended motionless, positively bewitched by you. in the silence, where all he can sense is you, jungwon embraces the ever-present warmth that has flourished within him. it floods his being with a terrifyingly powerful adoration for you. it is nothing like he has ever felt before, and though he is brave enough to confess, this extent of his love for you—it scares him.

however, as your skin glows in the light of the moon and your eyes pool with the desire for a future with him, jungwon digs his feet in and roots your love deep within his heart. he refuses to let this fear grow in its place; instead, he vows to nurture it, to care for it, to protect it. as he lies in your arms, jungwon rejects the sublime once more and chooses for himself.

"i love you, [y/n]," he whispers into your palm.

the world seems to go quiet as it listens for your response.

"i love you, too, jungwon."

#enhypen fluff #enha fluff #jungwon fluff #enhypen headcanons #; — cass writes: jungwon #enhypen #jungwon headcanons #jungwon imagines #jungwon reactions #enha scenarios #enha imagines #enha angst #enhypen angst #enha x reader #jungwon x reader

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piccolos-bigtoe · 4 months

Note

HEY IF YOU STILL TAKE REQUESTS,,

Scout driving Sniper's Van

Haiiiiii yeas I still do take reqs :33 if they interest me enough anyways!!! I couldn't get this one off my mind <3 so thank you for requesting this pisslord. I never draw vehicles tho lol so it was a challenge!!! Drew this sorta quick to wind down from school work They're listening to Jane Child's Don't Wanna Fall in love song.... Headcanons/writings below... Sorrey for cringe, is posting writings cringe or is it in now? Obvi just a quick thang and unedited

...

Sniper is an extreme lightweight. It doesn't take much for him to get buzzed, one or two pale ales do him in easily. Being an honorary old man at the ripe age of 26 (or was it 27? 28? He forgets) he just falls asleep wherever he can manage. This being the case, he avoids drinking when he goes out (which is rare on its own) and sticks to doing it by himself in his camper. It wasn't until a while after he and Scout became friends that he drank in any company.

Scout had one day mentioned off-handedly that he never really learned how to drive. Growing up with a handful of brothers and in a poorer part of Boston, as the youngest of them a car wasn't going to be given to him anytime soon. It felt odd to Sniper that something so integral to his being, the ability to freely travel whenever wherever, was something that the runner had never really experienced.

"I'll teach ya." Though of course the only car he had to teach in was his precious camper that has been with him through thick and thin, he didn't have to give much thought to the offer. Scout was smarter than people gave him credit for, he couldn't mess it up too much. And a more dramatic part of him felt bad that someone as free-spirited and independent as Scout didn't have (what Sniper considered anyways) a basic necessity to freedom.

"Aw for real man? Hell Snipes you barely even let people look at the friggen' van, you sure about this?"

"yep. I'll let you take a crack at it, sure."

And so Sniper taught Scout how to drive, and he took to it fairly quickly. Though the runner doesn't have his license, he is 'Sniper Approved. The few times he's gotten pulled over, he pulls out his approval badge and they let him go (he pulls out his bat and smacks their shit up).

And this leads into Scout being Snipers designated driver. Since Sniper has someone he trusts enough to drive the van, he's safe to drink whenever they all go out. Scout is not the biggest fan of drinking himself ('what's the point of drinking sumn' nasty just to get all sick n' dizzy?'), plus being sober means he has an advantage in pool and any card games.

Whenever Sniper asks for him to drive them back he typically goes "ah fine whateva! I'll drive, AGAIN." It means more to him than he lets on that Sniper trusts him enough to have broken his unspoken never drinking out rule and let him drive his camper. Though that's not something he would ever openly admit.

The same way Sniper would never admit that half the time he doesn't drink enough to get tired. He just pretends to sleep so he can sneak looks at Scout as the scenery of the New Mexico night passes by the window.

#tf2 #tf2 fanart #my art #tf2 sniper #team fortress 2 #tf2 scout #sniperscout #speeding bullet

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adoregojo · 9 months

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my place!

a/o: reader and megumi have mother-son time until someone stepped in.

he couldn't sleep.

as his sister sleeps peacefully besides him he kept staring at the ceiling hoping at some point sleep will catch him. well that went on for an almost an hour nothing successful.

that when he decided to get up as quite as possible, avoiding to wake up tsumiki on the other side, closing the door behind him. as he walked a figure of a woman ahead of him cleaning the table of the kitchen and humming a random song, she didn't seem to notice megumi for a while.

he would never admit it but he liked her a lot, ever since she stepped in both his live and tsumiki has been a lot better. he finally got someone else to help with the homework, someone carry the house of little tsumiki shoulders so that she can focus more on her studies. he got more better at school and with the delicious meals welcoming them every day. their live had never been better.

but there's only problem. her lover was the most annoying unreasonable creature to be made. satoru gojo, that man can't cook to save his live, and he mix the white laundry with the color one, and doesn't bother to get any cleaning done. and he only walks them out of school just because his dear girlfriend asked him to.

he sometimes wonders what the hell did she see in him.

as she noticed his small form she straight up walked to him, "megumi, are you okay? did you have a nightmare or something?" asking as she kneeled down to meet his eyes, did he also mention she was so kind that he sometimes gets so overwhelmed with it.

"no, just couldn't sleep." he say and she sighs with relief.

"i was wondering if i could stay up with you." she seemed hesitant for a moment but thinking about it, it wasn't a school night and she wasn't sleeping until satrou get back. maybe it's better than staying up alone all night, a little time with him wouldn't hurt.

she's the first to sat with patting the space beside her for him to sit, but instead he jumped on her lap making himself comfortable, she was surprised for a second then warped her arms around him gently.

he didn't know why he sat on her lap he just did it, and he felt an off warm thing in his chest not the feeling that make him want to throw up but the other one that brought him a small unnoticeable smile. they sat there watching a tv cartoon that little megumi enjoyed.

until the door slammed so hard that caused him to jump a little and hold tight on the arms around him, the tall white haired man stands there for a while he looked exhausted, his usual annoying smile was nowhere to be found rather a dead expression on his face, staring at nothing he closed the door and walked up to them.

"can't you knock? you could've waked up tsumiki." megumi asked annoyed with gojo's sudden behavior more annoyed that he didn't knowledge megumi's comment, but a hand gently held his shoulder and he turned to face her.

"megumi, do you mind getting a cup of water?" he hesitated for a moment, but eventually listened and got down from her warmth, mumbling how he only did it because she asked on his way.

she turned to satoru's face whose eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, she moved aside for him to sit but instead he thrown himself on the whole couch taking all space and his head resting on her lap, his breathing normal now and muscles are resting.

she took off his sunglasses putting on the table. her hand gently brushed his hair then moved touching his face, his palm resting on her hand and his eyes are half closed like he was ready to fall asleep any moment.

"hard day?"

"you have no idea." his voice was rusty, must been a hard on.

"hey!, that's my place." the little boy stepped angrily threatening to spell the water.

"get lost brat."

"i was here first." megumi objected, trying te grab gojo, but damn was he heavy.

"my girl, my place. go sit on the other couch."

the little boy huffed angrily then looked at satour's beloved for help but she only gave him a 'sorry' smile.

he stormed off angrily to sit on the other couch, he's lucky that he was on her save arms because megumi would have smashed his head with the glass of water.

"hold up, isn't that past your bedtime?"

"shut up."

#gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk season 2 #megumi fushiguro #jjk #gojo x reader #gojo satoru

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

As soon as Robin and Nancy enter the room, the first thing out of Eddie’s mouth is a frantic, “What's Steve’s phone number? I need to—need to check something—”

His heart thuds in anticipation, an impatient buzzing sensation creeping across his skin, and he kind of gets it now, why everyone else was so quick to roll with the punches throughout everything while he was left reeling; having something to solve means that there’s somewhere for all that nervous energy to go. Means he isn’t just sitting around, waiting for...

Robin reels off the number with precision, and when Eddie hesitates in the doorway, glancing back, she adds, “We’ll keep watch.” She catches Nancy’s eye, and they exchange a look, as if they can sense what Eddie is feeling, as if they can feel it, too: a mixture of worry and hope.

Eddie nods, grateful, and runs. He wants the confirmation first before he tells them anything, can’t shake the fear that perhaps, alone and half-asleep, he imagined that flicker of awareness on Steve’s face...

His call is picked up after barely two rings. Max dully parrots the number back to him, along with an uncharacteristically formal, “Who’s speaking, please?”, and if the circumstances were less dire, Eddie would have the time to enjoy that: the idea of Steve teaching the kids how to answer his own phone, simply because they must be over often enough for it to be necessary.

“Hey, Red,” he says as gently as he can, but some urgency must still seep through; he can hear her inhale sharply.

“What is it? Is Steve—?”

“Wait, listen. I just need Dustin to take a look at something for me, okay? Shit, no, his foot—in Steve’s room, there should be a tape in a drawer. It’ll—” He has to stop talking suddenly, recalling the horror all over again of finding that empty cassette case. “It’ll just be loose in there, no case.”

He hears Max half cover the receiver, hears her shout, “Lucas!” She relays the information to him, and Dustin’s voice comes through, calling after them both: “What’s going on?”

“Just wait at the stairs for Lucas, Dustin. Oh my god, use your crutches!” Then she must be speaking properly into the phone again, because her voice is an undertone. “This is for Steve’s song, right?”

“I...” Eddie sighs. “God, I hope so.”

They both fall quiet, and Eddie listens to Dustin’s echoing complaints at Lucas taking too long; the sound of Erica running up the stairs to help in the search.

“I would’ve given him my tape,” Max says, barely above a whisper. “If it would’ve helped.”

Eddie is speechless for a moment, then quietly clicks his tongue in sympathy. “Ah fuck, Max. I know you would’ve.” He laughs a little, tries and fails to ward off another wave of emotion. “He wouldn’t have let you, though. Not a chance in hell.”

She scoffs, sounds a little teary herself. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s a distant shout of triumph. “We’ve found it!” Lucas yells.

The line crackles briefly as the phone is passed over, and then Dustin is speaking, chanting, “Holy shit, holy shit,” over and over again, clearly having made the same connection as Max. “Um, Breakaway by Art Garfunkel?”

Eddie chews on his thumb nervously. It sounds right, but... “Could you read out the track list?” He can't stifle a gasp when Dustin says, “My little town,” and that leads to an explosion of noise on the other end.

“Holy shit,” Dustin repeats. “That's his song, isn’t it?”

Eddie can’t speak. He nods uselessly, before finally managing a shaky, “Yeah.”

Things start to become a blur; it’s only thanks to adrenaline that exhaustion doesn’t bring Eddie to a complete standstill. Still on the phone with Dustin, he realises that it’s almost three in the morning and while he’s itching for that tape, he knows damn well that if he has barely slept, then neither has Dustin.

“Oh, ew,” Dustin says when he brings this up. “Get it together, Eddie, you’re not the babysitter.”

“But Steve gave me a schedule and everything,” Eddie says sweetly.

And that elicits a giggle out of Dustin (a proper giggle! After everything! Jesus Christ, he loves this kid), which makes him laugh, too; but he has to quickly stop himself before it dissolves into something else.

After a reluctant but genuine promise from Dustin to sleep for at least a few hours, Eddie then sprints back to Steve’s room to catch the girls up with everything.

He delivers a quiet snippet of the song to demonstrate, weak with relief when he sees that little crease of concentration return to Steve’s face.

Robin, who is holding Steve’s hand again, gives a breathy, near silent scream. “Oh my god, his finger twitched, oh my god.” Then, deadly serious, she adds, “Eddie, I could kiss you.”

Eddie, feeling like he’s pitching towards hysteria, only just stops himself from saying something like, “Well, that would be hilarious for two reasons.”

Instead he just laughs, tries to keep singing. But it quickly feels like every part of him is trembling uncontrollably, and Nancy clocks it just as his voice fails at the start of a verse.

“Get some rest, Eddie,” she says firmly. “You’re the only one who hasn’t had a break.”

But he hesitates at the hospital entrance. He’d had a vague thought of going to Steve’s house to check up on the kids but, after a week of hiding, he can’t really wrap his head around the idea of just calling a cab out in the open.

But then, as if he’d heard his internal dilemma, Wayne meets him by one of the front doors.

“Let’s go, kid. Got us a hotel a couple blocks away, they’re giving out rooms for free.”

They walk there together, Wayne guiding Eddie with an arm around his elbow, like he can sense his exhaustion. Their door is at the very end of a floor, a little distance away from the other rooms. It’s quiet. Peaceful.

When they get inside, the first thing Eddie notices is that it must be two adjoining rooms, a door embedded into one of the walls left slightly open. Then he looks around and freezes.

Because his guitars are there. There’s somehow hardly any damage, just a faint scratch on the surface of the electric guitar, and some of the paint spelling out ‘This machine slays dragons’ has chipped off on the acoustic—barely anything. Eddie would rather they both have been smashed to pieces, if it meant that Steve would’ve been spared.

“You... you went to the trailer,” he says, stunned.

“Sure did.”

“And...” Eddie tries to avoid Wayne’s gaze, knows that his face is probably cycling through too many emotions to count. “And it was... okay?”

Wayne sighs. “It was pretty banged up, Eddie.”

Oh, Eddie thinks, and this time he does feel more than hysterical. He thinks I've not seen it.

“But, like, that was... it?” He doesn't really know how to ask ‘no portals to another dimension? No gigantic cracks in the earth?’ without, well, asking about it.

He chances a glance at Wayne, watches him raise an eyebrow. “Why the hell you askin’ that? What else would there have been?”

“Oh, no reason,” Eddie says, high-pitched and strained. On the bedspread he can see a little bundle of his clothes has been salvaged, and he already knows in his bones that there’ll be significantly more of his own things rescued compared to Wayne’s.

Wayne gives a small, knowing smile. “It’s just stuff, Eddie.” He nods in the direction of the shower. “Go on, now.”

The shower is an arduous but therapeutic task: just taking off his bloodied shirt feels like he’s shedding just a little bit of the horror of the night behind. Afterwards, Eddie stretches out on the bed; through the wall, he can hear Wayne talking on the phone to one of his colleagues. He makes out something about an earthquake hitting, about the colleague’s daughter in a car wreck, and he holds his breath, listens closer... but it sounds like she’s okay. Jesus H. Christ, he can’t take another fucking tragedy.

He feels his chin dipping down to his chest, and he sniffs sharply, rubs a hand over his face. It’s as if when resting, his body has finally given itself permission to feel every ache: his knee throbs dully from where he had fallen in The Upside Down, and his limbs are as heavy as lead.

Eddie groans, forces himself to sit up. He reaches for the acoustic guitar, mutters a little, “C’mon,” when he catches himself drifting too close to sleep. He has work to do.

He gets the chords down in fits and starts, plays the song on a loop until it feels like it’s a case of muscle memory, ingrained into some deep part of him. Soon even his fingers feel too heavy to lift, and he swears he’s only stopping for a moment, just to rest, just for a minute...

He wakes under the blankets. His guitar has been propped up by the end of the bed, and he can faintly hear the phone ringing in the room next door, Wayne answering it gruffly.

Eddie sits up at the sound of a soft rap on the wall. He rubs at his eyes; he’s slept so deeply that he can feel the mark of a pillow crease on his cheek.

Wayne enters through the adjoining door, says, quietly bemused, “Mornin’. There’s a Dustin Henderson waiting for you at the hospital. That make sense to you?”

“Yeah. Shit.” Eddie stifles a yawn into the crook of his elbow. “What time s’it?”

“’Bout eight.”

Eddie pushes himself off the bed. Wayne watches him with interest, eyebrows raising when he grabs the acoustic guitar.

“You need that for the hospital?”

“Mhm.”

He's put on his jacket, ready to leave, when he catches Wayne still looking at him.

“What?”

“You always lose your words when you’re hiding something,” Wayne says mildly enough, but Eddie can still hear the worry underneath.

“Wayne, I’m not in danger,” Eddie reassures. “I’m not the one who…”

“That Henderson boy mentioned something about Steve Harrington?”

“Yeah. He—” Eddie has to grip onto the door handle for a moment. “He’s the friend who—he died trying to—to save us. All of us. But then, he—his heart started beating again, fuck, I don’t even know how, Wayne, he died in my fucking arms—”

“Shh now, take a breath. This was… in the earthquake?” Wayne asks delicately. He says ‘earthquake’ with the same skepticism he holds when repeating Eddie’s words back to him, whenever Eddie breezily says, “Oh, I just had a thing,” instead of, “I got a detention.”

Eddie nods slowly, makes a vague gesture with his hand meaning sort of. Close enough. “We’ve… we’ve got a plan. To bring him back.”

“Something the doctors can’t do?”

“Damn it, Wayne, I told you, there’s stuff I can’t—”

“All right, all right.” Wayne raises his hands slowly in placation.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s just… I don't know if it’ll work,” Eddie says, voice faltering. “Don’t know if I’ll—if it’ll be enough."

Wayne considers him with a long look. He crosses the room to squeeze Eddie’s shoulder and his hand stays there, a reassuring warmth. “You’re a smart kid, Eddie. Reckon you’d best see it through.”

They reunite in Steve’s room: Eddie, Robin, Nancy, Dustin. Robin has brought a few extra tapes from her parents’ collection, including the Paul Simon album that also features the track. Dustin has Steve’s original tape along with a casette player.

Before Eddie’s arrival, they had tried playing the song a few times over but, by the fourth play-through, Steve’s heart had started beating alarmingly fast.

“Shit,” Eddie says, his own heart plummeting. “What happened?”

“One of the nurses said it was like he was... having a panic attack,” Dustin says quietly. He exhales in frustration. “I don't get it, Max only had to hear a bit of Kate Bush before she came back.”

Through a nerve-wracking amount of experimentation, they work out a routine that doesn't send the heart monitor screeching in warning: every hour on the hour, they play through the song once via a cassette, then Eddie picks up his guitar and sings. Steve’s thoughtful expression gets the tiniest bit more pronounced each time, like an opaque window slowly becoming clear, bit by bit.

When Robin takes Dustin away for a late lunch, Eddie finally asks the question.

“Hey, Wheeler? Why’s it just... us here?”

Nancy is slowly rewinding one of the tapes with a pen, but at Eddie’s words, she stops. He can tell by her face that he doesn’t need to elaborate; she knows what he’s asking.

Because the thought that Eddie cannot get away from is the fact that, if he were in Steve’s position, Wayne would have been here, would have moved heaven and earth to stay by his side.

“I...” She sighs. “I don't think they've ever come, Eddie.”

They’re silent for a moment, as if they both need to take the vastness of that in.

“In ’83, he stayed at mine for Christmas,” Nancy goes on. “And at the time... God, I can't even remember, maybe I thought it was a little weird that he didn't even—like, there wasn’t even a phone call, you know? But he just made it out like it was normal, so I... I didn’t...” She sighs again. “You know how... like, at school, people would be like, ‘Oh, I came in drunk, my parents went crazy,’ but you could tell that they were fine, that they were just... playing it up?”

“Yeah.”

“I think he was the opposite,” Nancy says. She looks at Steve, her lips pressed thin. “I think he said just enough to... hide behind it, does that make sense? I didn't see.” She tuts at herself, raises her eyes to the ceiling. “I remember thinking, sure, he might say ‘my dad is an asshole,’ but no-one who actually says that is serious; look at him, how bad could he have it?”

Eddie thinks of himself saying, Rich parents, popular. He feels sick.

“I didn't see either,” he says.

Nancy smiles sadly. “That's the thing,” she says. “I don't think he wanted anyone to.”

Eddie stays overnight at the hospital. “I can't leave him,” he tells Wayne over the phone, and while he's waiting for Nancy to give Dustin and Robin a ride home, he finds that a bag has been left for him at reception, containing more clothes and his toothbrush, and his breath catches a little at the sight.

The staff have told him not to play any music past eleven at night, and Eddie almost fights them on it, like, oh yeah, well that didn’t stop that radio playing at whatever-the-fuck o’clock. But then he looks at Steve’s face, at the drawn eyebrows, and realises that he looks...

Pained.

Alone in the room, Eddie finally sets his guitar down.

“You tired?” he murmurs.

He tentatively reaches out, brushes a couple of his fingers across Steve’s forehead, as gently as he can. When he draws back, he finds that the lines of tension have dissipated, but the stillness doesn’t look so unnatural; it feels like Steve is still there.

It just looks like he’s sleeping, Eddie thinks, and he blinks hard.

“S’okay,” he says softly. “Just rest, Steve. I’m right here.”

“Mm, damn, I think that was pitchy, dude,” Dustin says, far too brightly for nine in the morning.

Eddie gives the guitar a warning strum and flips Dustin off. “That wasn’t funny the fifth time you said it, dude.”

But his tone is far too fond to even fake annoyance. Dustin is clearly in much better spirits today, largely helped by the fact that he’s brought in his walkie. Every so often, Lucas or Max will call in from Steve’s, crowing about some discovery they’ve made in the house.

“He has a VHS collection that's just musicals,” Lucas intones gravely, as Max cackles in the background.

“Tragic,” Dustin says.

And Eddie can’t resist his own curiosity. “Which ones?”

Lucas recites the titles and Dustin gives a wheezy laugh at, “The Sound of Music.”

“Imagine if The Lonely Goatherd was your song,” he says with pity to Steve—and Eddie counts that as a goddamn victory, because it's the first time Dustin has properly acknowledged Steve’s presence; speaking teasingly, as if Steve can hear him.

“I’d still sing it,” Eddie replies, and he means to sound light-hearted, but Dustin must hear something else, because he looks over at Eddie, and his expression softens.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, smiling. “You would.”

Some time after noon, Dustin leaves to raid the vending machines for the pair of them. Eddie has played through the song twice to mark the hour, feeling calmer than he has in days; something in him has settled through the ritual of it.

He’s doodling on the back of his hand with the biro Nancy left behind when he hears the familiar click of the walkie, but no-one starts speaking.

He picks it up. “Sinclair,” he says, “you’re pressing the—”

That’s when he hears it.

A faint crackle. Someone breathing, gasping and catching their breath at frequent intervals. They’re crying.

“Oh, God,” comes the whisper, and Eddie knows that voice. “I—I don’t know where I am.” Eddie holds the walkie with a white-knuckled grip.

“I don’t know where I am,” Steve Harrington repeats, cracked and desperate. “God, please, I—I don’t—”

“Steve!” Eddie shouts into the walkie. “Can you hear me? Come on, man, I’m right—”

But then Steve’s voice is abruptly cut off, replaced with static.

Eddie swears vehemently, drops the walkie and flies to the bed. There doesn’t seem to be any change—if anything, Steve looks peaceful.

But no. He looks harder, feels a tug of doubt and follows his instinct, swipes his thumb underneath Steve’s eyelashes, feather-light. Feels a dampness there.

And then he sees two tears leak out of the corner of Steve’s closed eyes, trail across to his temples.

“Fuck,” Eddie says. “I don’t—Steve, I don’t know what to do.”

I can’t reach him.

The door opens.

“I got one of everything! But oh my god, Eddie, Nancy called and she says that Mike says they’re—what’s wrong?”

“I heard him,” Eddie says. He gestures to the walkie. “But I couldn’t—I couldn’t help—Dustin.” His voice breaks. “He sounded so scared.”

Dustin runs to the walkie, leaves his crutches behind with a clatter. He tries it multiple times, saying Steve’s name urgently, but there’s no reply.

The tears have dried on Steve’s face. Eddie sits down wordlessly and puts his head in his hands. When he looks up, Dustin is kneeling in front of him.

“El can reach him,” Dustin says, and Eddie doesn’t know what the hell that even means; but Dustin’s eyes are wide, and Eddie clings to the conviction in his voice. “She has to.”

#steddie #steddie fic #the self sacrificial steve agenda #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #wayne munson #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #max mayfield

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wolfiesmoon · 8 months

Text

Sweeter than chocolate

Itadori Yuuji x fem!reader

Since this was requested multiple times i'm doing a part 2 to Chip bag

Thanks for the support on that work btw, i was worried that itadori wasn't a character people would look for in fics😭😭

About 3 months later, you were riding the train home with your classmates once again. Today, all of you felt tired out and not in the mood to talk after the difficult test you took.

All of you opted to listen to music or stare at the passing scenery outside in silence. You yourself wore your headphones, putting on your favourite song to unwind a little. You really felt like falling asleep right about now.

You'll definitely take a nap once you come home, though. Staying up super late to cram probably wasn't the best idea, in retrospect. Atleast the train ride home is a bit more quiet and relaxing than the bustling school.

"Isn't that..." Nobara squinted her eyes from the other side of the wagon, trying to see something, or rather someone.

"What is it now..." Megumi sighed, not wanting to be involved in any of his classmates shenanigans. They already forced him to take the train with them when he wanted to walk home alone.

"Hey, Itadori... I'm doing you a favour here, so you better listen. She's here." Nobara pulled Itadori closer by his arm and whispered into his ear (even though there was no way you would be able to hear her, even if she shouted).

"What? Who's here?" Yuuji seemed confused, looking around the wagon with furrowed brows.

Nobara facepalmed, Megumi adding on "That girl you like, idiot."

A little lightbulb went off in his head, and his cheeks turned pink when remembering you. Sure enough, that person across the wagon was definitely you.

"Itadori Yuuji." He felt his shoulder being grabbed, and he looked to his right to find Nobara staring at him with an oddly serious expression. "This might be your last chance, so you better not fumble this. Or I will be personally forced to beat you up."

"...Right." Yuuji replied with half embarrasment half concern at Nobara's strangely agressive behaviour.

"Now go!" Nobara kicked him in the back as he got up, almost making him fall over. "Hey!" he complained at the rude kick, muttering a swear word under his breath before his annoyed expression shifted back to his regular resting face.

You're getting a bit hungry, because lunch was gross today and all you did was dig at it while half-asleep before going to the gas station to buy coffee before the exam. Did you have something left over in your bag, again? You're sure you bought something to snack on yesterday, but never got to it for whatever reason.

You lean down, carefully maneuvering your legs so they don't bump into the other girl's legs. You turned around your bag, zipping open the front pocket to rummage around it. "Yes..." you murmured under your breath when you felt the wrapper of a chocolate bar under your fingers.

It wasn't much, but hey, atleast it will keep you full for a little bit.

Just as you unwrapped it, about to break off a square, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Your tired eyes travelled up to find an oddly familiar face looking down at you. Salmon hair... strange slits under the eyes...

Ohhh, that's the guy who casually asked you for a chip a while ago. Why today of all days? You put on your "I am in a very big hurry" outfit this morning and barely even bothered with your hair.

"Oh..." you realised he probably wants more food from you, so you lift your chocolate bar up to him for him to break off a square. He awkwardly takes a piece, and swallows visibly.

Now he's going to walk away, and you won't see him ever again. You should really shoot your shot, but you're just so horribly tired right now. Hell, even if you weren't, you would still have a lot of trouble with racking up the courage to ask him.

To your surprise, he doesn't walk away and his mouth starts moving, so you take off your headphones. "Sorry, what were you saying?" He pauses, takes a deep breath and tries again.

"Can I have your number?" You heard a gasp behind you, probably from your classmate. Oh, she's so going to say she called it. Wait... did he just ask what you think he asked you?!

You double check if you're dreaming right now by pulling on your cheek, your tired eyes slowly blinking up at him. He got more fidgety by the second when you didn't answer him right away. "Sure..." you say, handing him your phone once you tap on the "contacts" app. He twicthed a little, but took the phone out of your hands nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, I'm really tired today... Could you just enter yours for me...?" you asked groggily. "Oh, okay!" his face visibly lit up, and he entered his contact information into your phone with nimble fingers, hand trembling slightly. He handed it back to you, excitedly thanking you for the chocolate which was already melting from how sweaty his hands were.

"I'll call you later..." you promised, watching him as he walked away and sat in his seat.

You felt your shoulder being elbowed gently, and you looked to your left where your friend was smiling at you. "See, I told you." she said. Called it.

You simply nodded, staring at the contact name. "Itadori Yuuji."

BONUS:

"Holy crap you actually did it." Nobara seemed surprised, assuming that Yuuji's smile meant it was a success.

"Just wait till she finds out he's a sorcerer. She'll be running away in seconds." Megumi crossed his arms, closing his eyes.

"Why would she do that? I save people, that's a good thing." Yuuji sat back down in his seat, finally eating the melted piece of chocolate in his hands.

"I don't think everyone will be as calm as you when first hearing about curses. You're just weird." Megumi recalled their first meeting and how non-chalant Yuuji was.

"That is if he doesn't mess everything up by being, ummm, himself around her first." Nobara chose that word carefully, placing a hand on her chin and smiling mischeviously.

"Sometimes I wonder if you guys were even sad when I died..."

holy crap i'm writing this while half asleep hopefully the characters act atleast somewhat like themselves 😭

#˗ˏˋ ★ ♡ 「Wolfie’s other works」 ♡ ★ ˎˊ˗#jjk itadori #jjk x reader #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #yuji itadori #itadori x reader #itadori x you #itadori yuuji x you #itadori yuuji imagines #fem reader #x female reader

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av1xtg · 4 months

Text

It's so funny to me that it's so obvious when I get a new hyperfixation because everything everywhere for example tis blog suddenly turns to what ever hyperfixation I have. . .

NOW I WANNA TALK ABOUT HUSK AND MY HEADCANONS FOR HIM BECAUSE THAT SILLY GRUMPY OLD-MAN CAT IS TAKING OVER MY BRAIN (contains a bit of huskerdust and bad grammar because english is not my first language but I have no respect for it so /j)

So I fully headcanon that husk has the most un organised and dirty room for some reason, like he never even bothered decorating it.

He hates baths and oils and stuff like that because it's really hard to take off from his wings and fur.

He refused to wash his hands with water and he cleaned his hands like cats do before eating food or serving drinks so charlie forced him to at least use wet wipes (idk how to write tht but hope you understand it)

He loves old fashioned love songs, usually mumbles some lyrics he still remebers while working and the others like to hear his singing.

The fluffies fluff ever, he doesn't really use any products (only dry shampoo from time to time) AND STILL HIS FUR IS EXTREMLY FLUFFY.

He got extremly bad body dismorfia when he arrived at hell.

The others tease him alot whenever he does any cat sounds.

Instead of a glass of water on his nightstand he had a bottle of whiskey or any other alcohol.

If he's in the mood (and charlie asks nicely + a day off) he might do some magic tricks to entretain the other guests.

Whenever he speaks spanish he always calls evryone pendejo (as a mexican that is also my favorite curse word I gotta add that). Like him and vaggie are fighting and she desn't know he speaks apanish so she starts insuting him in spanish and he goes "CALLATE LA PINCHE BOCA PENDEJA TUERTA" (traduction: SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING ONE EYED WOMAN) and she shuts up because she didn't expect that. (Now they speak in spanish together sometimes)

One time Sr. Pentious gave him catnipp because angeldust dared him to and husk went WILD. Like everyone was laughing nd half th hotel was filled with cat scratchs while husk followed Sr.Pentious who was escaping with the catnip in hand from him kind of wild.

He wants hugs and he won't admitt it.

Used to be a bit to proud as an overlord which is also half the reason why he lost to alastor.

Fucker cries a lot and won't admitt it because he already stablished to everyone that "I don' give a shit about anything and fuck y'all" and now he just can't.

He falls asleep a lot during work because he is drunk.

He owns a phone but uses it like a grandma, he puts on the glasses to read and everything

He once had a very bad night and got EXTREMELY DRUNK and ended up doing a karaoke with charlie and Sr Pentious.

Alastor would ocationaly take him to the Overlords meetings as his "body guard" and he would get extrembly embarrased because everyone recognised him and he knew they all thought of him as a failure for being an Overord who lost his own soul to Alastor and was now forced to obey him.

Thanks to loser,baby I think Husk may be a pet names man (affectionatelly both romantic and just with friends)

Husk reminds me a bit of "No surprises" by radiohead (i don't really know how to explain it but yeah)

I think his relationship with angel (romantically speaking) would be really gentle like, cuddles, hugs, little kisses, cause he wants to show that romantic relationships don't always need to have sex included (angel appretiates that)

I feel like they told each other their felling for the other but bth came to the conclution that maybe they are not in the best mental state to get into a relationship at the moment so they asked charlie and vaggie to help a bit.

I have more but this is getting a bit long so I'll make a part two!!!!!!!

(Have some photos of the silly 70 yr old grumpy cat-man)

#hazbin hotel husk #Husk headcanons #husker #Hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #vaggie #charlie morningstar #Sr.Pentious #He became my comfort character so quick damn #hazbin hotel headcanon #Huskerdust #Angelhusk #loser baby

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miss-hyoko · 1 year

Note

HIIIII !!! can i please have a "babysitting cheka" klepon with bae leona <3 i can totally imagine leona sees him as a little competitor for our attention, like he would sulk when he sees us cuddle-napping with cheka <333 have a great day kakk!!

"Thank you for your patience, dear customer. Here's your food, [Babysitting Cheka] klepon. I hope the food is to your liking."

Babysitting Cheka

Character(s): Leona

Summary: Leona's not very happy you pay too much attention to Cheka

Tag(s) and warning(s): GN!reader, fluff, romantic, reader is NOT Yuu, Cheka makes a cameo, jealous protective Leona

Note: Hope you don't mind that I changed the ask a bit to add more DRAMA make it even better for y'all Leona's simp😌👉👈

Most students would say that the most dreadful days are exam week, but for Leona, the holiday season is the real hell.

Holidays are fun, he admits that, but Leona couldn't really enjoy it because he had to go back to the palace, his so-called 'home' where many people didn't truly welcome his return.

Fortunately, this holiday, you will also come back with him as his fiancé(e). As long as you're by his side, that damned place he called 'home' would become less unbearable.

… or at least, that's what he thought.

***

Normally, Leona would be fast asleep in mere seconds. But after a few minutes lying down with his eyes closed, he still couldn't fall asleep. Forget sleeping, he just got even more irritated as time went on.

And it's all because of you. More precisely, it's because the child who's currently playing with you, taking all your attention that should belong to Leona. His nephew, Cheka Kingscholar.

How can Leona fall asleep when you, his favorite pillow, are spending time with that brat instead of accompanying him to sleep?

Also, why did you two choose to play in his room when the palace has a perfectly able courtyard?!

Leona's patience finally ran out when he realized that his scent that he had left on you was starting to be covered with Cheka's own scent.

“Oi, brat! Let go of my fiancé(e) and go play by yourself.” Leona got up from his bed then approached you and Cheka who were playing some kind of board game.

“Ah, Unca! Do you want to play with us?” The boy beside you waved his hands excitedly, inviting his uncle with eyes full of hope.

Leona only gave a light snort, neither rejecting nor agreeing to his nephew's request. Instead, he looks straight at you.

“Herbivore, I'm sleepy,” he tells you matter of fact, signaling that he wants you to accompany him to sleep.

Before you could reply to him, Cheka threw himself at you and hugged you tightly, preventing you from moving any further.

“No!” He half yelled, looking at Leona with puffed cheeks, “Unca can sleep alone! I still want to play with unca/aunt (Name)!”

A frown appeared on Leona's forehead when he heard his nephew's words. Nevertheless, he still tried to control his emotions in front of Cheka who's blatantly trying to take you away from him.

“Brat, in case you forget, the herbivore is MY fiancé(e). Not yours. They had NO obligation to keep you company or play with you.”

“It's because unca didn't want to play with me, so I'll play with unca/aunt (Name) instead.” Cheka replied, hugging you even tighter.

“Oh, so now it's my fault?”

The uncle-nephew pair start debating about who's going to spend time with you.

You can't help but find the situation a little amusing. Especially, when you see Leona's annoyed face facing Cheka's pouty one.

Even though you want to enjoy their childish fight a little longer, you know you can't let this continue.

“Oh my, look at the time now~ it's the time for little ones to take a nap,” you said in a sing-song voice, slowly carrying Cheka on your hip.

Seeing you take his side, the frown on Leona's face lessened a bit and he looked haughtily at Cheka while crossing his arms.

“You hear that, brat? It's nap time. Go back to your room and take your damn nap. Don't disturb us again.”

Cheka who was in your arms suddenly became dispirited. His eyes started to get teary and his lips trembled ever so slightly.

That made Leona smile even wider, feeling very proud of his victory. When he tried to gloat again, he heard you continue talking.

“That being said, why don't we take a nap together with your uncle?”

“Hah?!”

“Yay!"

Hearing your suggestion, both of them immediately gave two different responses. Leona was dumbfounded, meanwhile Cheka became excited.

Although Leona was very dissatisfied with your stupid idea, he really couldn't say no to you. Hence, he finally compromised and lets Cheka sleep with the two of you.

The three of you take a nap together in Leona's room. You sleep in between the two lions, Cheka in the front while Leona is behind you. In the middle of your sleep, Leona instinctively wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face against your shoulder. Unbeknownst to you, Leona quietly got rid of Cheka's scent that had clung to you using his own scent.

Only after you're covered once again with his scent did Leona stop his action, smile satisfyingly, and go back to sleep.

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst imagines #leona kingscholar #leona kingsholar x reader #leona x reader #klepon #🍽️_ordered #👀_anonymous

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daisybell17 · 8 months

Text

Dancing with Loki hc’s:

“Alright the food is on the way…eughhhh I’m so tired” You fall onto the couch and closing your eyes for a second

“Gods me too…This week was something was so damn frustrating” Loki huffed out as he laid his back on the floor and ran his hands through his hair

There was a short silence as you both laid there in exhaustion

Loki sits up and looks at you “You want me to put on some music?”

“Not really…i feel like i’m going to fall asleep” Slurring your words as you slowly drift off

“But if we fall asleep now we might be up till late”

“I don’t care let me sleep” You murmured back

You hear Loki laugh to himself

He then tapped your forehead and you look up to see his tired expression, handing you a glass of water “You haven’t drank since you got home half an hour ago”

You smile and take the glass, finishing it entirely in mere seconds

“Cmon let’s danceeee, it will wake us up a little before the food gets here”

“hmmm noooo! please just let me rest” You groan, slamming your face with a pillow

Instead of leaving you alone to rest Loki had turned the speaker on, blasting some modern Asgardian music

“Loki turn it off pleaaeeeee” He didn’t listen and instead started dancing

You removed the pillow from your face and watch as your goofball of a boyfriend started putting his heart and soul into the silliest and goofiest dance moves you have ever witnessed

Smiling at his impressive moves you watched as Loki danced to the music

(ik yall have seen the behind the scenes of Loki S1 where Tom us busting some moves, so just imagine the same thing)

As the song ends and another pop song comes on, A midgardian one now, he extends his hand out, inviting you to dance

You smile and shake your head as you are still so genuinely tired

“Oh cmon darling! don’t leave me hanging now”he pouts at you but continues to shake his hips from side to side

You watch as he tries his best to get you up, but now you give in, moving your shoulders a little

His face lights up as you start moving a little…he grabs your hand and yanks you up, pulling you close to his chest. Staring into his eyes you smile and he twirled you around.

Laughing as you spun, you both started dancing to the cheesy pop song. You love this. Everything. Every time you’re with Loki. Every moment with him felt like you could swim, even when everything tries to drown you

The song comes to an end and you both are panting, exhausted from dancing.

Collapsing back onto the sofa, you continue to catch your breath when…”We can keep the christmas lights up till January”

“And this is our place, we make the rules”

Its you and Loki’s song

Opening your eyes, your met with a blushing Loki, hand reaching out to yours

Grabbing his hand, you stand and put your chest against his

“And there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear” Loki locks his eyes onto yours, his right hand on your waist, the other holding your hand, interlocking both your fingers

You both sway from side to side as the song continues to play, he swears you are the most perfect being in all of the nine realms, hell, the entire universe in fact, you were his, he was yours

“Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?…Can I go where you go” Loki twirls you around as the chorus starts playing, pulling you back in as face him again.

You rest your head on his chest and smile, enjoying this simple moment of love

“Can we always be this close forever and ever?” Loki leans you back, kissing you deeply. You grab his jaw, pulling him deeper. You stay like this for a moment before he pulls you back up and goes back to slow dancing, swaying you both side to side, twirling you here and there

“And ah, take me out, and take me home” He pushes you back onto the couch ever so slightly

He kisses you deep, hands on your waist, your own hands running through his beautiful hair. Oh his beautiful hair.

His knees presses in between your legs as his lips trail down your neck, marking you up, marking his pretty girl up with kisses

“You’re my, my, my, my…Lover” “L-Loki mhmph…” You call his name out as you become sensitive

The doorbell rang. Foods here! and things were just getting good…You push Loki off and grab the money to pay.

Setting the food down on the counter, you start unpacking the takeout packages when suddenly Loki grabs you by the waist

“Oh my darling not just yet, I want to dance some more…oh and! mark your pretty little body up before we eat…”

——————————————————————————

(a/n): hope yall enjoyed this! ik it’s been awhile but a lot of things have been happening in my life and i’m just doing my best to relax for a bit! Also Loki S2 Ep1 was amazing!!

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kerryweaverlesbian · 5 months

Note

I want destiel with 13 or 22 (the prompts you reblogged)

Take it easy, with me please, touch me gently, like a summer evening breeze

"You know what this mix is called, Cas?" Dean murmers, pressing his forehead to the side of Castiel's and changing their sway to match the new rhythm.

They've been dancing alone in the kitchen, slow and close, for something like half an hour, and these are the first words either of them have spoken since Dean pulled Cas in. On one side their hands are tangled loosely together, and on the other their arms cross over at their waists, keeping them both pressed together, chest to chest.

"No," Cas says, playing along. They both knew the tape had already been in the stereo when Dean had reached out and pressed play. It wasn't one Cas recognised; all slow, a lot of crooning women.

"It's called, 'For Cas, if we win'. I made it while you were gone." Dean's breath warms the tip of Cas’s ear, and his meaning warms him everywhere else.

"Was there an 'if we lose'?"

Dean shifts his head back to look Cas in the eye. "No. I was never going to happen."

Andante, andante, just let the feeling grow.

Enchanted by the devotion in Dean's eyes, he's caught of guard by his sudden, amused smile. He understands when Dean sings along, sotto voce, "Touch my soul, you know how. Forgot that was coming."

"You've touched mine, now," Cas reminds him, "Or, the closest thing I have to one."

That's how he'd gotten out of the Empty, Dean cradling his Grace to his chest and then fighting his way back through miles of black, sucking sludge, beset by angels, demons and the Empty's own power as he went. The place had been a lot more active since the last time Cas had been stuck there, but no less bleak. There had only been a chance for Dean to finally choke out an, "I love you too, you fucking idiot," when they'd collapsed back out through the portal before he'd fallen asleep for 15 hours straight.

"Your hands were very gentle," Cas notes, and he can feel Dean's face heat as he moves them cheek to cheek, an endearing and unsuccessful attempt to hide his blush. "I felt very secure."

"I didn't want to drop you," Dean admits at a mumble, then complains, "You were freaking slippery, man."

"My apologies," Cas teases, and Dean knocks him with his hip in playful retaliation. "If it helps, you fought me all the way from Hell to your gravesite."

"Sounds like me," Dean says, with a prideful grin that Cas can hear in his voice.

I'm your music. I'm your song.

"Yes. Had I known then how you would change me, I might have held you even tigher."

"Or you might have let go, save yourself the trouble," Dean quips, but there's a fragility to it that has Cas stop the dance and take Dean's cheek in his palm, guiding him to look at him.

Play me time and time again, and make me strong.

"I wouldn't trade the life that we have built for anything. All the time that I have loved you has been-" Cas can't help the tears starting to catch at his voice - "Has been the best of my existence."

Dean's welling up along with him. Perhaps they will both cry every time he tells Dean he loves him. A very small price to pay, in comparison.

"Cas," Dean says in a rasp, and knocks their foreheads together gently. Two teardrops fall from Dean's eyes to Cas’s cheeks with the movement.

Andante, andante, tread lightly on my ground.

No matter who moved in for the kiss, they both lean into it, careful and soft and everything they haven't managed to be with each other until this point. The passion shared between them is palpable, even as the kiss remains relatively chaste. There's no finish line to run to, anymore. No Apocalypse to beat. They have the time to dance together, just as slowly as they please.

Andante, andante, oh please don't let me down.

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inwhosereverie · 3 months

Text

gn!reader x kyle ‘gaz’ garrick

description: you have a hard time falling asleep.

an: ion like this one lmao

you have been squirming and turning all night, haven’t gotten any sleep longer than an hour since last week- always found yourself stood groggily against the countertop making coffee you didn’t even like the taste of but strong enough to keep you awake for 12 hours at work. heavy lids yet you couldn’t keep them closed and even if you managed you would have jolted up anyway before you fully dozed off, it was a mental struggle and it did nothing but infuriate you.

you had noticed a massive decline on your concentration, fatigue weighs heavier, headache’s become your best friend, and you were jumpy- real jumpy. you pour your hot coffee into your favorite mug with a silent sigh and a frown. 4am in the morning, only a blink of sleep and a lot to do before night comes around again. thinking about it already made you tired.

you wrap both hands around the heated mug to warm up your palms then you brought it up to your lips when kyle immediately reacted “woah, no, no, no..” he tuts, causing you to jump and spill half of the hot liquid over your shirt, thankfully it wasn’t too much, raspy grumble drew out from his chest as you watched him jog over to you, taking the mug off your hands “the hell you think you’re doing, sweet?” kyle scolds ripping some tissues off a roll and wiping off the coffee you’ve spilled.

“drinking coffee..?” you question him, concern over your eyes that mirrored his. “you shouldn’t be.” kyle frowns, leaning his side against the counter with a palm placed on top, the other hand on his waist, firm brown eyes looking down at you. you raised a brow at the sight “why not?” you continue to question the obvious, yet you remained oblivious as to why you weren’t allowed to drink something to keep yourself awake. “you my missus,” poked the tip of your nose to empathize as if scolding a child, drawing a frown from you “haven’t slept a single wink, yeah?”

it appears he didn’t really need any insights to know you had sleeping problems. you did tell him, of course, though you also added that it wasn’t that serious and that you could still ‘sleep’ a few good hours.. that is when it was still a minor problem. it’s gotten worse since.

you purse your lips, guilt painting over your features “and?” a sassy tone undeniably mixed into your small voice “and you think drinkin’ caffeine would be a good idea?” he asks, a question that didn’t bother an answer because ‘no’ is the only right one, the others: an excuse.

“i’m fine. i need to get to work.” you huff, an attempt to reach over the mug he’d placed back on the counter but your hand froze when he spoke again “it’s the weekends, love.” a gentle reminder yet a cheeky, teasing attitude among his concern. you suddenly paused, what? he nearly snickered watching you realize, how adorable your tired features were but he knew you’re struggling- knew your days felt longer now that you can’t sleep at all. he cracks a smile before gently sliding the mug further from you, “get back to bed.” he demands sweetly, tapping a finger beneath your chin to get you out from your zoned state.

it didn’t take him much effort to put you back to bed, he only had to sling you over his shoulder and tuck you back in. now you were back in bed, underneath the duvet you two share, scooped and guarded by his arms that are so gently wrapped around you, your own arm draped over his side, his warmth transfering itself to your rather cold skin humming some song softly over your ears, so much more better than the way your mug and a coffee could ever warm you up.

you were nuzzled into his neck, sniffing his morning scent that made you relax and you could tell he too was falling back to slumber when his lullaby started becoming quiet and rasp, then the subtle kiss that were placed on your shoulder when he exhaled. you found yourself with half-lidded eyes, you could barely keep them open when he started running his fingers through your hair, tracing shapes over your back. it felt like home

you slept like a baby that day and don’t be surprised to be awoken by a nice aroma of meals being cooked in the kitchen.

#kyle gaz garrick #gaz imagine #gaz fluff #cod fluff #gaz x reader #gaz x you #gaz x gn!reader #gaz cod #gaz garrick #cod drabble

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whorety-k · 13 days

Text

Ebony Coasts [Part 5]

Batten down the hatches, my friends. This one is a L O N G one but it was so worth it.

Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Marine Conservationist!Reader (second person POV)

Song recommendation: Unloveable - The Smiths

“If I seem a little strange / well, that’s because I am /

But I know that you would like me /

If only you could see me / if only you could meet me /

I don’t have much in my life / but take it, it’s yours.”

Warnings: Ocean mentions / thalassophobia, culture shock and misunderstanding between species, hospital mention, blood / injury descriptions, AMERICAN HEALTHCARE, more horrors of a nine-to-five (Dolly Parton would have words), extreme weather, angst, hurt / comfort

Word Count: 3.9k (SORRY)

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Driving on uneven roads is difficult enough on its own, and having only one hand while amped up on adrenaline and preoccupied about potentially having lost Corvus forever makes you downright reckless. A particularly hard thump! has you worried about your car’s alignment but you simply add it to the list of things wrong and continue down the road.

The emergency room sucks. You’re not even fully in reality by the time you finish checking in, clutching your still-bleeding hand in your lap with not more than a couple pads of gauze and a random towel you had laying around in the back of the car. It’s a miracle how a human can bleed for over two hours and still be fully coherent enough to lie to their nurses and doctors about a knife slipping while cutting twine.

They don’t believe you for a second, but they both aren’t paid enough and are over-worked enough not to care. Everyone lies in the ER.

A shot of lidocaine and eighteen stitches later, you’re sent on your way with opioid pain meds you won’t be taking and a deep appreciation that Corvus hadn’t scored your dominant hand. It’s still irritating when you get home and try to undress to shower, unable to flex your injured hand at all. You straight up decide against actually cooking, heating up a frozen meal in the microwave and sitting on the couch to overthink everything once more.

The look of complete dismay on Corvus’s face before he left haunted you.

You had long accepted that the black betta mer wasn’t the most emotionally expressive individual. His carefully neutral countenance rarely gave way to more than a quirk of a brow or occasional lip-turn, so the twisted look of open terror on his pale face shook you to your core both now and then. Hell, in the moment you had even been able to forget about a two and a half inch long laceration in your palm from sheer worry for him.

You never would have expected a creature so powerful to run.

Another cold spoonful goes down roughly at the thought, and, dissociated, you decide you’ve had enough sustenance. You crawl into bed, exhausted, and feel your limbs sink heavily into the mattress as a deep sigh leaves your lungs. A hollow feeling permeates your chest.

You can’t help the rush of emotions that suddenly overcomes you, choked sobs racking your body as you curl up into a miserable ball around your pillow. The action brings only scant comfort to the throbbing ache in your chest. You don’t remember falling asleep.

The beach is cold, but you don’t care.

You felt stupid coming back to the shoreline the day after everything, so you waited. Your Monday rolls around and you try to go back to the coast before work, briskly searching high and low for a glimpse of black fins and a glittering night’s-sky of scales. The tides grant you no such favors, and two hours are wasted on nothing when you’re forced to leave. You deflect every question from your coworkers with lies about a kitchen accident.

The next day is scarcely different. You finish your shift in the office like a reanimated corpse, putting in the bare minimum to not have anyone look twice in your direction. You can’t even remember more than the gist of the report you had just read on illegal fishing activity a hour south of you, another damned case of foreign bodies trying to use nonexistent loopholes in the law to talk their way into overfishing protected areas. It was a Coast Guard issue and never should have crossed your desk to begin with, but here you are, tangled in another mess outside of your depth.

You slam the door of your Bronco shut before you stomp onto the dark shore, not bothering to take the cliff down to Corvus’s den this time because you know you don’t have the brain capacity to even think about scaling the rocks. The extra five minute trip down and around the cliffside riddles you with nausea that intensifies when the light of your flashlight finds the entrance to the cavern.

Of course Corvus isn’t there; you weren’t expecting him to be, yet still it anguishes you. Three days without the merman in your life and you’re already starting to fall apart? It makes you feel pathetic for having grown attached to him so quickly.

But Corvus had never made you feel that way. Never once had he made you feel like your presence had been a burden to him, eagerly listening to every word you had said to him. He always replied with a caring thoughtfulness to any query you gave him, firm with his boundaries yet forgiving to the innocent faults that had occurred.

Corvus had a way of making you feel genuinely listened to, even when he didn’t always reply. It was weird to describe someone like him as warm, given his penchant for reserved silence and generally closed-off nature, but the sincere cordiality he had with you had never failed to stir emotions in your chest that you had felt far too anxious to put a label on at the time.

You realize just how taken care of you had always been with the merman. He offered to hunt for you, even if the incident with the ducklings had been an awkward misunderstanding. He made a place for you within his den that could never have any functional use for him as his size. Hell, he would stride along you in the sand instead of asking you to join him in the waves because it was easier for you. You’re wearing a piece of his hoard!

He cared about you.

Your hand gently grasps the raven head pendant, and you sit down in the rickety chair that Corvus has specially gotten for you. The luminescents on the walls seem dimmer than before, and you notice how wilted they’ve become in Corvus’s short absence. Pushing aside the thought that the mer had been putting in actual maintenance to accommodate for you, you brush your hand against the cerulean phosphorescent flora.

Corvus had taken care of you when you hadn’t asked for it, so you were going to do the same.

Searching the den for anything vaguely cup-like to transfer water with turns up nothing, so you resort to cupping your healthy hand in that small stream leading into the den. You punctiliously pour the brine over each of the parched plants until they’re saturated. By the time you’ve finished, you notice the vegetation you had started with has already begun to glow brighter. You glow brighter than the cave in that moment.

Wednesday still bears no sign of Corvus, but it does teach an important piece of information: this den had not been abandoned like the others.

You finally gather the courage to check inside of the decorated bed space at the back of the den for the first time since the giant’s disappearance, and you’re flooded with relief when you see the large cache of dazzling objects still lining the walls. Corvus hadn’t left, per se. He just hadn’t returned yet.

In your jacket pocket is the trusty metal pen Corvus had fixated on so long ago, and in a moment of weakness, you leave it on the stone shelf at the center of the cavern. You had other pens. This one should be his… even if he can’t use it.

You keep coming back to maintain the cavern: wetting the algae and mushrooms, clearing the space of any excess sand the tides brought in, polishing the corroded metals in his collection— nothing escapes your watchful eye. You’ve even accidentally fallen asleep on the bed of furs and grasses, waking up in a flurry to see that you were late for work and needed to leave now, even if you dreaded doing so.

You always leave a new trinket behind on the round stone ‘table’. Old jewelry, a piece of abalone shell, a tea ball you haven’t used in ages, rose quartz, an entire abalone shell (that you’ve now started to use to hold everything), cool brooches you found at another beach, an enamel pin in the shape of a flying crow, and many other items from around your apartment make their way into Corvus’s den. You rearrange the items into a nice display before you leave.

A week passes. Half of a month. An entire month. The gash on your hand has healed well, the stitches removed with strict instructions to keep the area clean.

Each day, no matter the weather, you return to Corvus’s beach. The den is monotonous, and recently, you’ve begun to avoid going inside of it lest you have to face the untouched items on the rock shelf more often than necessary. The physical effort to place something in the pile is nothing by now, but mentally, it wears on you.

What if all of this had been for nothing? You had been forcing such doubtful thoughts out of your head for a month faithfully, always trying to look on the bright side. You’ve waited longer for a pay-off before, haven’t you?

Why was this any different?

…because it hurts. No matter what pep talks you give yourself or happy memories you relive, coming back to the beach hurts.

You’ve been persistent to the point you’re starting to think that you’re nothing more than an annoyance instead of the oh-so-great protector of the coasts you had foolishly thought yourself to be. What a sick fantasy, you think, meddling in the life of something so obviously beyond you. The delusion that you could ever be a part of Corvus’s realm has poisoned you to the point of desperately coming back to the barren sands for even a hope that you’ll see more than the black apparition in the reveries of your mind.

The apartment is a mess. Unfolded laundry piles in the basket, dirty clothes along the floor. You’ve used the same towel to shower for long enough that it’s starting to smell of mildew, but just thinking about the effort of washing a load of towels makes you feel like lead. It took an infestation of ants for you to do the mountain of dishes that piled in your sink. Everyday tasks become chores, and chores feel impossible.

Still, you drag yourself out to work again today. The weather is awful: torrential downpour with gusts of wind that nearly knock you off of your feet. No one is working in the field today lest OSHA get a taste of blood in the water (literal or metaphorical). You drum your fingertips across the wooden desk as you read a private request for development nearby a protected habitat, opposite hand fiddling with your necklace. You can’t bring yourself to take it off, even if it hurts to see in the mirror each day.

You’re in the middle of a paragraph about intended waste management when a heckling voice jogs you out of it. “I didn’t take you for the goth type,” it jeers, and you look up to see one of the environmental science team leads. A man twice your age. What was his name again?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you retort, audibly weary.

“The necklace,” he gestures at your throat. Your coworker sits against your desk, uninvited, looking down at you with leery eyes. “Haven’t seen you in that number before.”

You simply shake your head and look back down at the paper, uninterested in the conversation. He doesn’t take the hint.

The lead continues, “You haven’t been as chipper recently. Where’s your spunk? Your fire?—” he follows the words with a ridiculous hand gesture— “Those bags under your eyes could be checked in at the airport.”

You’d laugh at his joke if you weren’t already in such a piss-poor mood. “I’m just tired,” you state, not turning your head to look at him, “I’ll be fine.”

A hand on your shoulder causes you to jolt. “Look, kid, we’ve all got our bad days, but I can tell when someone needs a break—”

You throw the offending hand off of you and stand up roughly, throwing your chair back into the wall in the process. You feel heated. “I told you, I’m fine!” Your words are laced with venom, scratchy and raw and bitter.

The commotion causes the lead to recoil, distaste written on his face. Other people in the office are starting to stare, and you meet each of their gazes individually. Maybe that was a bit too far.

You sigh, shoulders slumping and head falling forward. Everything aches. “You’re right,” you admit, offering an apologetic look to what’s-his-name, “I’m not feeling well.”

It takes no more than a few minutes to submit your request to leave early. As soon as it’s approved, you rush out of the building. The torrent building inside of you has nothing on the rain around, and you high-tail it out of the parking lot.

Truly, you didn’t mean to end up back here today. The ocean is too rough, the cliff perilous, the beach an utter mess. The thought of just how stupid your actions are does nothing to stop you, though.

You run down the embankment to the dock, shoes getting soaked from the crashing waves as you search the water.

Nothing.

You scramble to the den, slipping and falling down the rocky slope and barely catching yourself before you hit your head.

Nothing.

You claw your way through the sands— up soggy hills and over rocky ledges, around complex twists and turns in the sandstone, under and over jutting stones, looking anywhere for alabaster white.

Nothing.

You’re back at the dock, watching the serpent of metal squirm and thrash in the storm. With unstable footing, you sloppily traverse the writhing mass of steel, barely able to hold yourself upright as you reach the end of it. The storm forces you to your knees, and you place your hands on the lip. Despondency grips you, tearing at your throat.

“I’m sorry!” you cry, voice drowned out by the thundering of rain. “I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry!” A black wave pummels into your small body, the force of an ocean threatening to knock you off of the dock. Still, you cling. You duck your head against the chilled metal, letting out a hissed breath before inhaling a mouthful of seawater. Blubbering, coughing, you rise back up and look out over the waves. They are cold and unflinching.

When the fury of the storm lulls, you force yourself to continue, hoarse. “I messed up and I just want to know how, okay? I don’t know what I did, I—” you choke off a sob, shaking your head, “I-I…” Muscles cry at you to stop, body begging you to return to the car for warmth. You persevere. You have for the last month.

“I miss you, okay!” The wail carries across the ocean, echoing across the tides back at you like a taunt. Even in the calm of the storm, rain batters against you. The dock stops squirming so intensely, and you take the moment to catch your breath.

Even in your honesty, even in your raw vulnerability, screaming to the heavens for an answer, you receive nothing.

You turn away from the ocean and sink down onto yourself, defeated. The sobs you had been holding at bay spill out, and you hug your knees as you bawl into them. Your clothes are soaked, the wind is cold, and your chest feels miserable.

Even with the storm beginning to pass by, you feel no better. You will away the tears eventually, wiping wet tears with a wet sleeve that feels like sandpaper, and ready yourself to leave.

The utterly shattered face of Corvus Corax looks at you, a few feet from the edge of the dock, just barely above the water. Eyes of onyx lay wide with guilt, grimacing.

You do not hesitate to throw yourself into the choppy water at him.

Corvus has no time to react to your actions before you wrap your arms around his neck clinging onto him as you gasp like a fish, clutching the coal-and-bone giant close to you like a lifeline. Right now, in the swell, he was.

Tentative arms snake around your midsection, slowly but surely pulling you closer to him. You feel the merman press his face into your soaked hair, taking in a deep breath of your scent before a rumble leaves him. “This is no place for you,” he whispers, and you can only feel him fly through the water like a bolt of lightning, unable to look up from his neck with how firmly he holds you. When you can finally move your head, Corvus already has the both of you on land, beelining it for the den with a look of conviction on his face.

You didn’t even know you were trembling before you got inside, the surprising warmth of the cavern thawing the numbness in your arms and legs. The frantic betta strides right past the chair in the main room with you in his arms, heading straight for the bed space. It’s only when he gets to the ‘bed’ that he abruptly stops, looking down at you.

“You’ve rested here before.” It’s another half-question, half-statement, and once again it’s correct.

“I fell asleep after taking care of the algae, I’m sorry—”

Corvus cuts you off by hastily lying the both of you on the furs and feathers, the action causing you to let out an ‘oof’ as the air is forced from your lungs. The way he curls and desperately clings to you like a lost child has you feeling all sorts of complex emotions, but you do not fight it. When you open your mouth to speak, he gently shushes you with a shake of his head. You rest beneath his chin in silence.

For the first time in over a month, everything feels okay.

“I hurt you,” Corvus’s gentle voice breaks the silence, barely audible. It’s laced with sorrow so deep that it cuts into your heart. With a shaky hand, the giant mer peels you away from him, looking your entire form over.

You show him your scabbed and scarring palm, the area pink but almost fully healed by now. You jump to reassure him, “The doctor said it was a clean cut. Easy to heal. I’m okay.”

Corvus shakes his head again, gently taking your injured hand in his. He holds it to his chest, over his beating hearts as he looks deep into your eyes. The downpour inside of him has yet to quell.

“I hurt you, and I could not bear it,” he restarts, twin hearts pounding in his ribcage. A heavy pause follows as Corvus thinks, wanting to explain himself properly yet lacking the experience to do so. His ear fins twitch up and down as he debates how to continue. Eventually, he sighs, looking around the walls of the bed space. "In fleeing like a coward,” he laments, “I have only hurt you more.”

The sentence causes the tension to snap inside of you like a wire. “I came back here every day looking for you. Every. Single. Day,” you admonish, tears welling in your eyes, “I took care of the plants. I swept out the sand. I even polished everything so I could keep myself busy!” You go on a total tirade about your activities, Corvus’s gaze not once leaving you as he takes the brunt of it all. Falter, your words catch in your throat as tears spill. “...because I was so afraid to lose you that I couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.”

Corvus’s eyes soften with guilt, expression falling. He makes to respond, but you beat him to it.

“But I’m so glad you came back, because I don’t know what I would do if you didn’t.”

The merman’s mouth shuts, and his gaze returns to you. He does not hesitate to pull you close once more, gorgeous charcoal fins blanketing you. You run a hand over the appendage, unable to stop yourself, and Corvus lets out a blissful sigh. “I was afraid, so I fled without thinking of the consequences,” he explains. You do your best to sit back to watch him talk, but Corvus doesn’t allow you much room to move. He continues, “I am already… an anomaly amongst my kind. I was not created to have these sorts of simple domesticities, and I feared what would occur if I overstepped my bounds.” His words leave you with more questions than answers, but you know better than to prod the mer. Anomaly amongst his kind? He had mentioned brothers before his disappearance. You wonder what the others may be like.

Seeking to comfort the giant as he speaks (and partially out of scientific curiosity), you run a hand over his gill covers again. A soft gasp leaves the merman before he catches your hand in his, withdrawing just enough to look down at you. You give him a shy, cheeky smile.

“...as you are now,” he jests, raising a playful eyebrow.

“Sorry,” you say, not even remotely apologetic.

Corvus lets out a soft huff in response, when his eyes focus on the silver chain around your neck. He uses a talented claw to fish the raven pendant from underneath the neckline of your shirt, gazing upon it with the same fondness you had seen just before he fled. Before you can question the look, you’re shocked by the smile he gives you: a genuine grin, eyes crinkled at the outer corners and sharp teeth visible. For the first time, you see that he has fangs, the tips of canines poking into his lower lip.

His eyes flick back up to yours, and his smile softens. Corvus croons, “I must apologize again for what I have taken from you.”

You’re confused by his statement, tilting your head at him. “What do you mean?”

The merman gently tips up your chin with a knuckle, keeping his claws away from the skin of your delicate neck as he leans forward to place a chaste kiss to your lips. It’s unpracticed and clumsy, Corvus being so much larger than you, but the cold taste of the sea and ocean minerals has you addicted. A delicate hand cradles your face when you lean into him, and the moment ends all too soon.

“I am here, and I will not be pulling such an imprudent stunt ever again,” Corvus promises as he pulls away.

“Thank you,” you whisper breathlessly, before nestling yourself into the crux of his neck and shoulder.

The tender moment warms you, the shaking in your body finally coming to a stop. Your clothes may be soaked and salty, but the soft bed beneath and gentle embrace of the mer ease you. You let out a soft giggle that catches Corvus’s attention, and when the merman lets out a questioning hum, you remark, “If you ever do that again, I’m getting my boating license and hunting you down myself.”

Corvus hums from above you, knuckles tracing up and down your back. “From what I have learned, I should expect no less.”

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

HI PLEASE DON'T BE MAD AT ME FOR THE ENDING OF THE LAST FIC I PROMISED I WOULD FIX THINGS

This took far longer than expected I am so sorry but I hope everyone likes it!!

#I love hiding references to songs and media within my fics #So many of my ideas stem from songs that illicit emotion in me and I have been loving writing this #if you caught the references I love you #if you didn't i still love you because you got this far #primarch x reader #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #horus heresy #warhammer 40k x reader #wh 40k #corvus corax x reader #corvus corax #mermay #primarch #raven lady writings

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benk625-blog · 2 years

Text

Roughing it

"I bet terrans ain't so tuff without alla that fancy tech they got!" Yazz grumbled before tilting the filthy stein of beer down his gullet.

"Shows what you know" Snork snorted derisively.

"Bah" Yazz waved "Under that power armor they're helpless." Shouts from the crowd and various handfuls of bar snacks are hurled at him. "Alright, some of them are scrappy. I'll give you that, but they all complain about the slightest inconvenience, right?" Various grunt and nods prompt him to continue. "Can you imagine what those crumbly little pastries would do without matter converters, scanners or teleporters? Curl up a die, that what!" Hearty laughs and cheers greet this point.

"You forget they are deathwolders." Snork sneered.

"We're all deathworlders in this pit ain't we boys?" More cheers. "Where's their hide? Their tusks? Their venom glands? In place of natural advantages they gots all in those clever machines of theirs. And, fair is fair, they have kicked all our collective asses out of civilized space. But if we were dropped in a no tech world with any of us they'd be the first to go."

"Codswallop." Snork snarled. "I’ve seen otherwise first hand. And, fair is fair, I thought much the same way you did in that situation. You sees, I was part of a mixed race mercenary company. Our tranpo got shot down and we made an unscheduled landing in the middle of a forest. Crashed, you might say.

“Half the boys were minced meat in the tin when all was said and done. Ol’ sarge survived out of a sheer need to keep reminding us what a bunch of sorry sacks of slime we all were. He starts barking about disaster kits and all the Terrys start grabbing backpacks and duffle bags.

“‘Snork!’ Snapped the sarge. ‘Where’s your gear?’ ‘Ain’t got none’ I sez ‘Fine. You get the dead men’s weight.’ So I ask my squad mate what the hell dead men’s weight is. The boys look at me and start going through this pile of belongings whose owners were now part of the great scrum in the stars. They tied together a couple of bags and slung them on my shoulders.

“I can’t make snouts or stingers of the stuff we’re all carrying. No high tech to speak of. The most advanced thing in the lot was a bunch of short wave radio transmitters they called tally-wallys or somefink like that. One thing in abundance was multipurpose hunks of metal.

“Fellas, if you fink their high tech is tops, you should see what their low tech does. The same piece of metal has a cutting edge, sawing edge, prying tip, knuckle duster grip, screw head studs and wrenching slots.

“In a matter of hours they stripped the wreckage. They cobbled together an emergency beacon from bits of broken machinery and bits from the items in their packs. Hull plates became improvised shelters called skinny 2s. The next priority was of course, fire. Terry’s love fire. I can kind of see why now.

“Over the fire they criss-crossed metal struts from the ship. A big pot of water was placed on the grull and the humans started pulling out various paper pouches. After a bit of argument they decided which bags would be opened and put the others away. The contents of the selected bags were dumped into the simmering water and the bags were tossed to the flames.

“In less than an hour I was eating my first stew. Some of the humans had separated themselves from the rest and had tied strips of cloth over their eyes. Squadmates told me this was done to prepare for night watch duty. Others spent their time gathering all the packs into a net and hoisted the whole lot so that it hung suspended over a tree branch to protect it from local fauna.

“After falling asleep to ‘campfire songs’ I was woken up to a chilly pre-dawn glow. Night watch had scared away a pack of nasty-wasties. Two of them pursued the hunters deep into the unfamiliar forest. This led them to a stream of running water 3 kilos away. I had been assigned to join the foraging group.

“We made our way slowly to the water. Each forager carried several metal pots in both mitts. A few of the Terrys had compact books called field guides. Inside were extensive survey notes on edible flora on the moon’s surface. We gathered nuts, fruits and roots on our way to the water. First meal was by the water’s bank and consisted of a variety of food bars stored in the endless array of pockets human clothing has.

“We filled the empty pots with water. I was about to take a deep slurp kneeling in the mud. Sheila boxed my ear and advised me not to drink from the flowing water until it was properly treated. I followed this advice as only a fool would ignore a human’s warning. Using their hand tools, some small trees were fashioned into limbless trunks that were slung across shoulders. Big lunks like me got several water pots hanging from our sticks. The small fry mostly carried the food pots, but they did their best to be fair about who got whats.

“The return trip took almost as long as the first leg as we were being careful not to spill the water. When we got back to camp, the Terry’s were obsessed with treating the water. I’d say a quarter of their gear was focused on cleaning water. Some had rolls of finely meshed fabric to filter out large particles, this was then filtered a second time through fabric the humans swore could capture microscopic impurities. Then it was boiled and had sanitizing tables dropped into it as it cooled. Some humans even had flavoring packets for the water as they did not like the taste of the sanitizer.

“And so the days passed, foraging for food, gathering water, doing watch shifts and trying to amuse each other with story and song. After a particularly unpleasant day the Terrys played a strange game. They started telling stories about trips even worse than their current predicament. Each tale topped the previous in misfortune.

“Loads of these stories referred to times in their childhood. Raising their runts from seed to soldier involves regular periods of survival in deathworld biomes. They call it camping. Eventually the story contest became more and more unbelievable and the Terrys started calling bullshit on obvious lies.

“Shelia, one of the smaller female Terrys, spoke up and a hush fell over the campfire. Her expertise on roughing it was deferred to even by the Sarge. She starts pointing to a line of numbers on her arm: 20, 40, 60, 80, 120, 180 and 365! The numbers indicated commercial survival contests called “Naked and Afraid”. These humans survive deathworld locations with one piece of equipment and no garments to protect them from the elements.

“Yazz, me mate. Lots of humans would be easy pickens without their tech. But you don’t want to meet Sheila like that. Like as not, your hide would become her tent and she’d carve your tusks into tools.

#humans are space orcs #humans are aliens #humans are space oddities #humans are confusing #humans are deathworlders #humans are silly

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dira333 · 7 months

Text

To sing and to listen - Present Mic x reader

TW: grief, although lightly mentioned - Song is The Old Therebefore by Suzanne Collins

My Kofi if you want to tip me

The first time you called in was out of desperation.

Little Tobio was inconsolable in your arms, his loud cries turned into whimpers as you held him close in the night. He refused to fall asleep and you feared he would wake up the rest of the kids if he started screaming again.

“I want my grandpa.” He whimpered into your neck as you held him close.

“I know, Tobio. I know.” You rubbed circles into his back and turned the knob on your radio, hoping the music would calm him down a little even though singing to him hadn't helped.

Instead, you were greeted by a cheerful voice.

“Welcome back, Listeners! Tonight we’re answering all kinds of questions around the topic ‘heroes of the day’. I’m excited to hear from you. This is Present Mic with Hands Up Radio!”

Tobio pulled back his head to squint at the radio.

“Who’s that?” The little boy asked and you propped him up a little.

“That’s Present Mic. He’s a Hero who does Radio Shows as well.”

“What kind of hero?”

“I think he has a voice quirk… Wait…” You pulled your phone from your worn-out cardigan and pulled up the hero stats. “See? That’s him.”

Tobio giggled, the first happy sound of his today. “He’s got funny hair.”

“He does, doesn’t he?”

While an old ACDC song played on the Radio you managed to capture the boy in silly small talk but soon his eyes darkened again and you could feel him slip into his grief yet again.

“Shall we call him? Present Mic? We can ask him about his own grandpa or whatever you want.”

“We can?”

“Sure we can. But it’s pretty late so he will surely ask you to go to bed after that.”

Tobio pondered that for a moment until he nodded, blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Yes! I wanna ask him.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s see if we can get through.”

You turned the volume down on the radio and tapped around on your phone until you found the number. After two rings, the call connected and a friendly female voice called out to you. “Hell there and welcome to Hands Up Radio. If you’ll hang on for a second, you’ll be the next caller on air. Can you give me your name please?”

“Uh, yes. Sure. It’s ___, I’m here with my little friend Tobio.”

“Oh, how nice. And, you’re up.”

You get little time to steel your nerves before you hear Present Mic’s voice. You don’t know how old he is but his introduction to the world of Heroes has been rather recent. His voice sounds young though, and reminds you of someone your age.”

“Hello, Listener! You called in with a question and we’re excited to hear it! Let’s rock and rrrrrumble!”

Tobio giggles next to you and you press on, if only to keep him happy for longer.

“Hello, I’m calling with my little friend Tobio who wants to ask you something.”

“Well, hello there, Tobio! How are you tonight?”

“I’m fine.” Tobio squeaks and giggles. “How are you?”

“Absolutely fantastico, now that I’ve heard you! How old are you, my friend?!”

“I’m five and a half!” He exclaims proudly.

“This old already?! My my, I’ll have to watch out for your hero debut! Are you planning to become a hero?!”

“NO!” Tobio cries out happily, laughing along with Present Mic. “I’m gonna be a teacher like my grandpa!”

“A teacher?! What a grand idea! And what do you want to teach?”

“Volleyball!” Tobio’s scrambling in your arms now, almost as if he wants to crawl into the phone. “And other sports too, like grandpa, but mostly volleyball.”

“Sports education, what a great plan! Now, what do you or your mother want to ask?”

You laugh, embarrassed by the assumption. Tobio’s quick to handle it.

“___ is not my mom! She’s my best friend!” He corrects. “And I wanna ask… Do you have a grandpa too, Mr. Present Mic, Sir?”

“A grandpa? Well, of course, I have, and two of them as well! Both fabulous men, you know, but sadly they were not teachers like yours.”

“No?” Tobio’s eyes are big. “What did they do?”

Present Mic's voice now carries an almost lost touch to it, as he delves into his past.

“My mother’s dad was a singer and he was fantastic. He died very young, so I never met him. And my father’s dad is a rice farmer, with hands so big he could scoop you up and throw you around like you’re nothing but a bag of rice.”

“Can you give them a hug from me?” Tobio asks, his small voice loud in the quiet room. It’s quiet on the other side of the phone and when Present Mic answers, his voice is thick with emotion.

“Will do, little Tobio. Sadly, I have to answer more questions, but I guess it’s time for bed now for you, right?”

“Yes.” Tobio agrees. “I promise I’ll go to sleep. Sleep tight Mr. Present Mic, Sir!”

The call cuts off and you turn the volume on the radio up again, catching the emotion still clinging to Present Mic’s voice.

“My, my, what a boy.” He says. “He reminded us all to appreciate our loved ones tonight, wouldn’t you say? Let’s think of them with our next song, shall we?”

“Oba-san!” Little Toruu pulls on your pant leg. “Can we listen to the radio tonight?”

You agree willingly, heart still a little raw from Tobio leaving this week.

Sure, you were more than happy that they found his father’s cousin, a single woman in her thirties, who was more than willing to raise him now that his parents were dead and his grandpa in a nursing home. But you missed him, with his shy smile and blueberry eyes.

Toruu, two years older than Tobio, was dreaming of becoming a Hero himself. Sadly, his Quirk only seemed to allow him to increase the power of the Quirks around him.

He was a problem child, too smart for his own good and too stubborn to accept any advice.

“Bedtime was hours ago,” Toruu has the decency to look ashamed as he sits on a pillow in the middle of the room, three other boys crowded around him. Three more boys are sleeping, undeterred by the radio playing.

“We wanna talk to Present Mic too!” Takahiro explains, his hair a mess of pink locks and ripe strawberries growing out of them.

You sigh. Something like that happening should have been clear from the start. Tobio had never been one to keep a secret to himself.

“You too, Hajime, Issei?” Hajime has the decency to blush and curl into himself, almost resembling a turtle. Issei just stares at you with deep dark eyes. He’s learned not to talk too much, the birds taking flight from his mouth with every word hurting his throat.

“Alright, alright.” You take a seat in their circle. “Does everyone have their own question or do you just have one?”

Issei hands you a paper covered in his messy handwriting.

“You want me to read your question?” Issei nods.

“Mine too.” Hajime puts another note on top of the first, followed by Takahiro who’s suddenly not so convinced he can pull off talking to a radio host.

Toruu however, has his arms crossed over his chest. “I will talk myself.”

“Alright. But quietly. We don’t want to wake the others.”

“Welcome, Listener! What question do thee have for us?” Present Mic’s voice rumbles from the phone and Toruu presses against your side, suddenly shy.

“Hi, it’s me again.” You start, cringing at your own awkwardness. “Tobio had so much fun the others want to talk to you too.”

“The others? My, how many siblings are we talking?!”

“We’re not siblings!” Toruu complains angrily, not liking it one bit to be compared to little Tobio. “We live in a children’s home.”

“Toruu.” You chide him softly, before explaining. “I’m a caretaker at a children’s home. I’d rather not have the name aired on radio but the kids love your show. I’m here with the older boys tonight, Toruu is 8, Hajime is 8 and a half, and Issei and Takahiro are both nine. They all have a question each but want me to ask you for them.”

You’re a little breathless from your ramble but Present Mic just cooes excitedly over the phone.

“No way! I didn’t know I had such dedicated listeners! What do you guys want to be when you grow up?”

“I wanna be a hero!” Toruu calls out. “The best there is.”

The other three look up at you with big round eyes, only Takahiro brave enough to whisper “I want to work at a zoo.”

“Takahiro loves Zebra’s,” you explain. “Hajime wants to travel. And Issei wants to be a photographer.”

“My, my, what dedicated fellows we have here! Now, lets hear your questions, young Listeners! I’m so excited.”

Toruu, suddenly shy, nudges you to read the others first.

“Hajime wants to know if you’ve ever been outside of Japan.”

“I have! What a great question, Hajime! I went to England once and it was a-may-zing! Promise me to go there for me one day and think of me when you sit in the London Eye and look down at the city.”

“I promise,” Hajime whispers into the phone before pulling his head back into himself again.

Another look at Toruu who’s still shaking his head.

“Issei wants to know what your favorite bird is.”

“My favorite bird? That’s a tough question, little Listener! There are so many wonderful ones to choose from! But there’s one, with white feathers and a great haircut, if you ask me, who can talk back. That one should be named Present Mic’s favorite bird but I’ve forgotten its name, I’m afraid.”

“A cockatoo!” Issei calls out and a little sparrow springs from his lips, fluttering around the room. You whistle softly and it lands on your hand, settling in as if for the night.

“A cockatoo? How smart you are, my friend! Now, I believe we have two more questions to go?”

You know you’re taking up a lot of time. Grateful that he’s not rushing through this, you read out the next question. “Takahiro wants to know if you like strawberries. He grows them on his head.”

“I loooove strawberries!” Present Mic calls out excitedly and Takahiro blushes a perfect shade of strawberry red. “What an excellent quirk to have, my friend!”

“Do you need a sidekick?” Toruu interrupts him, voice a little breathy, eyes wide. “Because I have a quirk that enhances other quirks and I-”

“Wow, my friend, that is your quirk?!” Present Mic sounds thrilled as always, his tone just right to have Toruu beaming at you as he listens. “What an amazing quirk to have! Sadly we cannot take in any sidekicks under the age of fifteen, but I’ll be more than happy to have you by my side if you still want to be my sidekick then. Does that sound like a deal?”

“DEAL!”

The next week, you’re home in bed with a fever and a raw throat.

Next to your bed is the note that the girls scribbled onto, not wanting to miss out on questioning Present Mic. You’re sure they won’t mind waiting another week for their chance but half an hour before his show starts you wake up and are unable to fall asleep again.

You turn on the radio, telling yourself that you’ll only listen to his show until you feel tired enough to fall asleep again, but to your surprise, Present Mic sounds a little off today. His voice, usually cheerful, sounds almost timid today. You wonder if he got hurt in a fight or if he’s sick as well and before you know it, your phone is already in your hands.

The call connects almost instantly. You state your name and the female voice greets you cheerfully.

You miss half of Present Mic’s greeting because you have to sneeze violently.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” You begin before realizing that you’ve just sneezed AND cursed on live radio. He laughs and it sounds a little lighter than before.

“No worries, the weather this week must get to everyone, am I right?”

“About that!” You say, aware that your voice sounds a little rough right now. “I’m without the kids tonight because little Hitoka got a cold and therefore I got it too. I just wanted to ask… How are you?”

Silence follows your question and for a second you fear they have kicked you off the call until you hear a heavy sigh.

“I- I have to preface this by saying that I’m healthy, not hungry, not in want of clothes or a home or anything, but… it’s nice to hear a question like this on a day like today. You couldn’t know this nor anyone else out there but today is the anniversary of a good friend’s death and-” You can hear him swallow thickly and wonder how he might look right now.

You picture him like on of your kids. Maybe he turns grumpy when he’s sad, like Kei. Or he blubbers in tears like Asahi. Maybe it’s that picture that loosens your tongue, because Asahi only ever cheers up when you sing with him, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, scratched up on the edges and a little breathless from the cold, but unmistaken.

“You’re headed for heaven, the sweet old hereafter, and I’ve got one foot in the door…” You sing, the melody too well-known to you after years of helping mourning children, “But before I can fly up, I’ve loose ends to tie up, right here in the old therebefore…”

He doesn’t interrupt you, and you keep singing, the words flowing a bit smoother now as if they’re coated in honey, soothing your throat.

“I’ll be along, when I’ve finished my song, when I’ve shut down the band, when I’ve played out my hand, when I’ve paid all my debts, when I have no regrets, right here in the old therebefore. When nothing is left anymore.”

You sing the whole song, wondering if your quirk might work through the radio, or if the words might soothe someone in all those listening.

When you end, it’s quiet again, until you can hear Present Mic mutter a quiet “Thank you.” The call ends and you know you’ve probably embarrassed yourself on live radio right now, but if you’ve soothed his pain, if only a little, you’ll be more than happy about that.

There’s a man waiting in the entryway of the Crimson Riot Children’s home when you come in for the night shift.

He’s tall, blond, and good-looking, his long hair tied up in a bun.

“I’m sorry, visitation ends at five p.m.” You explain softly and he nods.

“I was… I wanted to… talk to you.”

You blink, searching your memory for his face. He’s not a relative nor on the list of possible parents. But he looks familiar and you need an embarrassingly long time to connect the dots.

“Mr. Present Mic.” You blurt out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

He laughs softly. “That was the plan, actually. I… I know you’re just about to start working but I wanted to… get to know you, maybe? Have a coffee together?”

“With me?” You point at yourself, spellbound.

He smiles.

“Yeah.”

There’s a rumble on the stairs and the newest addition to the family, purple-haired Hitoshi, turns up, looking anxiously between the two of you.

“Hi there, buddy.” You offer him your hand for the elaborate handshake he came up with this week. “Are you already done with dinner?”

He nods, sliding up to you and taking your hand, staring up at Present mic with curious purple eyes.

“You have a voice quirk too, right?” He asks, direct as you’ve learned him to be.

“Yeah, I do. You too?”

Hitoshi nods but refrains from using it before he points at you.

“Oba-san has one too.”

“I figured as much.” Present Mic offers with a grin. “Had the whole studio smitten last week.”

“Oh, it’s not like that.” Your face burns under his praise. “It’s only a weak quirk and works mostly on animals.”

“Still.” He falls quiet after that, the three of you standing around in awkward silence.

Present Mic is the first to break it.

“You might be curious how I found you and why, but, as I said, I was very touched and I’d like… if you don’t want though, that’s completely fine.”

“When does your show start?” You ask. “It’s Friday, right? You have your show later.”

“Oh, I have to be in the studio at nine.”

“And when do you get out?”

“I usually leave at six in the morning.”

You nod, before looking down at Hitoshi who looks curiously back up at you.

“If you want,” you tell him softly, trying to keep your voice from shaking, “You can come up and get to know the kids before the show. The girls wanted to ask questions anyway and Takahiro would love to meet you as well. And if you still want, we can… we can get a coffee in the morning. My shift ends at six as well.”

Present Mic smiles.

“Takahiro, the boy that grows strawberries on his head, right?”

You nod and his smile morphs into an excited grin.

“I’d love to. Oh, and call me Hizashi Yamada.”

Almost a year later…

Hitoshi has curled into a ball on Shouta’s lap. He’s tired from today’s events and past nights that lack sleep, but he’s refusing to go to bed.

One of Shouta’s cats has curled up in your lap and you caress its soft fur periodically as you listen to the radio, waiting for the time to drip past you, as if today is a bathtub that can only be emptied drop by drop.

“You should go to bed,” Shouta tells Hitoshi for the umpteenth time but his son - newly adopted - curls into an even tighter ball.

“Do you want a hot chocolate?” You ask, watching and waiting as Hitoshi unfurls, capturing you with his big purple eyes.

“Can we have mini marshmallows in it?” He asks and you snort.

“We’re at your place, baby.” You remind him. “All the mini marshmallows are at my place.”

“I have some.” Shouta croaks out. “But they’re hidden. Don’t go around telling Hizashi that I own something like that.”

“Never.” You and Hitoshi say in unison, sharing a wink.

When the hot chocolate is assembled and father and son are sipping from their respective cups - Hitoshi already back in position as Shouta’s personal weighted blanket, you keep standing, too anxious to sit, your hand soothing through Shouta’s hair as you nip on your hot chocolate.

It’s the anniversary of Oboro’s death today and your boyfriend, no, fiancé, isn’t home.

He’s doing a show, even though it’s not Friday, because he promised not to go on patrol today, and standing still is not in the Cards for today.

You know they both are hurting and there’s only one thing you can do to help.

You call the well-known number and wait for the call to connect.

“Hi Darling,” Hizashi greets you, “Will you sing for us again today?”

You had talked about this before. You don’t like to be on his show any more than you have to, even though the kids still love sending in questions. But if you singing is something that could help Hizashi and Shouta and so many more grieving souls today, you will do it.

You think of Tobio and Toruu, of Hajime and Issei, Takahiro and Hitoka. You think of the boys and girls that left Crimson Riots children’s home and of those that stay behind, without a family to take them in.

You think of Hitoshi’s purple eyes that still go dark sometimes and Shouta who’d taken one look at him before deciding his decision to not have children ever did not include adopting Hitoshi.

You think of Hizashi and sing, your quirk lacing every word and every note, soothing the hurt only absence can bring.

“I'll catch you up

When I've emptied my cup,

When I've worn out my friends,

When I've burned out both ends,

When I've cried all my tears,

When I've conquered my fears,

Right here in

The old therebefore,

When nothing

Is left anymore.”

tagged: @alienaiver @misfit-megumi

#my writing #Present Mic #Present Mic x reader #Hizashi Yamada #Hizashi x reader #Hizashi Yamada x reader #Present Mic fluff #Dad!Aizawa #Hitoshi Shinsou #mha fluff #mha x reader #my hero academia

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