#*sighs* why body why must you always be in a state of discomfort-

[earako]

*sighs and adds new food combo to "gastric pain enough to make me scream" list*

[two-braincells-in-total]

hey there

i just wanted to say i love your writing!!!

and can i request an averyjameson fic? where this time, jameson is sick and avery is taking care of him

thank you!

The one to hold him

Pairing: Avery x Jameson

Word count: 911 words

A/N: This is kinds short and it's my first tig fanfic, so I apologise if it doesn't meet your expectations or if it's ooc

Tagging: @clarissaweasley-10 @alwaysthefangirl @wish-i-were-heather (lmk if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jameson woke up with a terrible headache and a sore throat. Amazing. He wasn’t one to get sick often, but when he did, it sucked. He wasn’t going to let that stop him today though. He and Avery were going to a fundraiser’s event tonight.

He got up and got into the shower. The cold water made his headache less painful, but it didn’t go away completely.

He dragged himself to the dining room for breakfast, trying not to look like a zombie. His whole body hurt because of the fever. Avery was already there, talking to mrs. Laughlin. She had managed to grow on her just a little bit over time. He closed the door and Avery turned around, concern immediately taking over her face. Apparently, he wasn’t hiding his state as well as he thought.

“Jameson, what’s wrong?” she asked, taking a step forward.

“Nothing’s wrong, heiress,” he said, smiling down at her.

“You look like you’re sick.” She crossed the distance between them and put the back of her hand on his forehead. “Jameson, you’re burning!”

“I’m fine, I swe-” a cough interrupted him. Avery’s eyes were on his, her gaze full of worrisome mixed with annoyance at his stubbornness.

“Go back to bed, I’ll bring you breakfast,” she said softly.

Jameson, despite not wanting to go back at all, knew there wasn’t any point in arguing with her, so he just complied.

~~~~~~~~~

Avery found him cuddled in the covers, already half asleep. His hair was ruffled from the pillows and his face relaxed from the exhaustion. She smiled at the picture in front of her.

She crossed the room and put the plate with food and the cup with the tea she prepared for him on the table next to his bed. She sat next to him on the edge of the bed and brushed his hair back from his forehead. She scowled at the heat radiating from his skin, his fever must be bad.

He slowly opened his eyes at her touch. “Heiress?”

“I brought you food.”

“Ah, yes, the way to a man’s heart,” he said, attempting a smirk. “I’m not hungry though.”

“You have to eat,” Avery replied sternly, “you need energy when you’re sick!”

“But I’m not sick, heiress,” he attempted weakly.

“Yeah, then why are you burning unless it’s from the fever?” she said while looking around the room for a cloth. Why was everything so messy?

“That’s because I’m naturally hot,” Jameson lifted the corner of his mouth in another weak attempt for a smirk, “if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Avery replied and then, bingo! She finally found a cloth in his dresser. “That’s exactly what’s going on!”

She walked towards the bathroom to wet the cloth with cold water. That’s what her mother used to do when she was sick as a child, it was a cheap and effective method to fight a fever.

She sat back on Jameson’s bed and pressed the cold material against his forehead. He hissed in discomfort. “Shh, I know, it’s uncomfortable,” she whispered, “but it’s working! You’ll feel better soon, I promise!”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Heiress?”

“Yes, Jameson?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered tiredly.

“What are you sorry for?” Avery was worried now. He had a tendency for apologizing for everything, he thought she’d leave him at the smallest mistake. She didn’t know how to convince him that she’ll always be there.

“I’m sorry that I won’t be able to go to the fundraiser event.”

She stared at him for a second. “Jameson, you’re way more important than the event. I’d rather be here and make sure you’re feeling better than go there!”

“So, you aren’t mad at me?” He looked down at the sheets.

“No, Jameson, I’m not mad at you,” she said softly. “I could never be mad at you for something as pointless as this, my love.”

He looked back up at her. The cloth wasn’t cold anymore, so she removed it. She brushed the hair back from his forehead again and kissed it gently. He closed his eyes, burying his head deeper into the pillow.

“Jameson, I’m going to need you to sit up for a bit,” she whispered. “You have to eat.”

He grunted in complaint, but let her help him up.

~~~~~~~~

She picked up the plate and fed him all of it, bite by bite. She was whispering encouraging words to get him to keep eating and it was slowly finished. She helped him lay back on the bed and got up to get some medicine from the bathroom in case he woke up feeling worse.

“Heiress?”

“Yes?”

“Can you come closer?”

She sat back on the bed and he pulled her hand to get her to lay down with him. He moved a little bit so that his head was on her chest, using her as a pillow. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her as close as possible. She pulled the blanket over him and started gently brushing his hair with her fingers.

He didn’t fall asleep immediately, but the feeling of her hands in his hair calmed his mind down. He has never felt safer than when he was in her arms.

As he was dozing off, he heard a soft whisper, “I love you!”

He fell asleep thinking that she loved him. Him. His heiress. The one to hold him when he needed her to.

[bettathanyou]

Hello, I’m not sure if you’re taking requests or not, but if so can we please get reader meeting Cedric’s parents for the first time? If you’re not taking requests i apologize.

Thank u for the request anon, this is quite the juicy prompt. Ironically I have an angst fic that's part of my slow burn Cedric fanfic series in my drafts that's exactly this LOL.

But for everyone's sake this will be wholesome. (This time lmao)

Also, my requests are always open so if you ever need more Cedric + reader content I'm your fish! 🐟

Enjoy <3

The early morning sun creeped through the crack between the curtains, the rich golden rays covering the wall of Cedric's workshop in a honey glow.

It made your tired eyes sting even further.

You let out a low groan of frustration, covering yourself in the blankets to shield you. You turn over, back to Cedric; your partner, who was still snoring gently next to you.

Even though your eyes felt itchy and dry from the prior sleepless night, your gaze can't help but soften at how adorable he looked.

His normally neatly combed hair was sticking out in all directions, which is no surprise as you found out quickly that he's a restless sleeper.

You delicately tuck a few unruly tufts of hair back into its rightful place, your eyes scanning Cedric's resting form.

His dark green undershirt contrasts greatly with his fair skin, which peeks out from the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.

Biting back a laugh, you plant a gentle kiss on Cedric's exposed collarbone.

Cedric's eyes flutter for a second, slowly opening as he mumbles something incoherent in his sleep driven state.

"Good morning to you too...?" You croaked, your voice more hoarse than you expected. You try to ignore it, but you knew Cedric wouldn't miss any detail when it came to you.

His body snaps from sluggish to alert in seconds. His props himself up with his elbow, his eyes immediately locking with yours.

"...Are you alright, darling?" Cedric asks, his amber eyes full of concern. You can see the cogs already turning in his head, but you quickly brush it off.

"It's too early for you to worry about things right now," you start, your hand finding his. Cedric says nothing, his gaze still searching you for answers.

With a small sigh, you relent and answer honestly.

"I'm fine, I promise. I just... Didn't get much sleep. It's a big day today, after all." You flash Cedric a nervous smile, and you watch the realization dawn on him.

"You're meeting my parents today..." Cedric trails off, his hand squeezing yours in comfort.

You nod in agreement, your eyes resting on Cedric's fingers that intertwine with yours. His thumb rubs against your knuckles in an attempt to soothe you, and you let out a sigh in contentment.

"I understand why you'd be nervous-" Cedric began, and you quickly cut him off.

"Yes- they're your parents, Ceddy. And their track record is not much better than mine." You eye him with a knowing smirk, and he scoffs in laughter.

"That's true; however, I feel like I must point out that your parents are much worse than mine." Cedric replies, eyeing you back.

Now it was your turn to laugh, raising your hand in surrender.

"True... but at least you'll never have to meet them." You shrugged, turning on your back as you stare at the ceiling in contemplation.

You can still feel Cedric's eyes on you, and you glance over at him. You couldn't quite tell the expression he wore, and it bugged you. You try not to squirm under his bright amber pools, but you knew it was futile to hide your discomfort.

Cedric suddenly shifts his body, inching more towards you. You react instantly, shuffling towards him lazily as you both entangle your bodies together. You both wrap your arms around each other, and Cedric's hands rub your back in soothing motions.

"I know today is going to be alot- so I understand why you're scared." Cedric reiterated, his voice low in your ear.

"I'm terrified, honestly." You confess, rubbing your face into his shoulder.

"I promise, they'll love you (y/n). If anything, meeting you is their dream come true!" Cedric's voice betrayed a smile, and you knew that if Cedric was able to speak confidently then you could trust his words.

Even so, the pit in your stomach still refused to calm itself. You let out another dread filled sigh, and you push your face away from Cedric's skin. Lifting your eyes to cautiously meet his own, you ask him the question that's been burning on your tongue.

"It's not that I don't believe you, but... What if I don't... Meet their expectations?" You say in a small voice, immediately breaking eye contact to fiddle with Cedric's loose collar.

Cedric snickers in response, but you knew it was in jest.

"Darling, that's what I'm saying- they had no expectations for me ever finding love..." Cedric trailed off, a slightly jaded undertone in his words.

"...And honestly, neither did I." Cedric adds softly, and you feel familiar lips graze your forehead.

You immediately feel the heat rush to your cheeks at his gesture, and you give him a gentle kiss on the cheek in return.

Cedric flashes you a dopey grin, silver locks falling in his golden eyes, and you feel your heart warm at the sight.

Without realizing it, you find a grin of your own stretching across your face.

"If you're worried about them holding you to the standards they set for me, I'm happy to tell you that's not possible. I'm not exaggerating at all when I say that you are everything they could ever ask for." Cedric proclaimed boldly, his hand cupping your chin so your eyes couldn't escape his own.

As you locked eyes, you realize that there was no hesitation or doubt laced in them. With no words left to dispute him, you're left speechless and caught in his gaze. Your eyes begin to shift around to Cedric's facial features you've already memorized, unabashedly drinking him in.

While Cedric was doing the same thing, he quickly tutted in disapproval.

"Ah, ah! Behave, you scoundrel. You should be resting those lovely (e/c) eyes of yours." Cedric scolded you, half jokingly.

"With you around, I'm not so sure about that." You smile cheekily, and you see the red blossom across Cedric's cheeks. He begins to choke on his words, earning a chuckle from you at his plight.

"W-Well, that's. I'm lo-looking out for your health!" Cedric squeaks out, and you bite your tongue to keep from laughing any more.

"You should really try to catch up on some sleep, (y/n)." Cedric repeats, his voice holding more conviction this time.

You knew that Cedric was right, and with your anxiety quelled for now, your body was now protesting for sleep to come.

"Alright... But you'll need to wake me up." You relented, already settling back into the plush mattress.

"Of course." Cedric nods dutifully, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders.

You close your eyes soon after, the weight of sleep pulling you into unconsciousness.

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

Later That Day...

Standing straight as a pin, you wait with bated breath besides Cedric as he knocks on the door to his parents home.

You didn't know much about Mystic Meadows, except the last minute details Cedric filled you in on. Apparently, it was a retirement community for retired sorcerers and sorceresses alike, all of them well renowned. Cedric mentioned his parents being particularly popular, which came to no surprise to you; Goodwyn, Cedric's father, being the right hand of the late King is sure to make you popular.

If anything, it just adds to the pressure weighing on you.

Looking around, you see a couple of lone elderly sorcerer's hobbling down the cobbled path to the main building. Your mouth quirks up into a small smile, seeing the banter between the two.

You're broken out of your trance by hearing footsteps shuffle behind the door in front of you.

Your eyes dart to meet Cedric's, expecting him to be as nervous as you feel. However, his gaze holds you steady- his amber eyes warm and lingering.

With your eyes locked in his stare, your anxiety quickly deflates. The relief doesn't last, however; you suddenly feel self conscious about how nervous you were previously acting. Your cheeks begin to light up like hot coals, and without a word you break eye contact.

You feel Cedric's eyes still on you, but you keep your eyes glued to the wooden door inches in front of you. The noise from inside grew louder- Cedric's parents would open the door any minute.

Heart thumping, you feel your skin flush even more. You almost don't notice Cedric's hand slinking into your own, but the familiar feeling of worn leather gloves against your finger pads brings you relief.

You exhale sharply, just as the door opens. You're welcomed by a stout woman with dark curly hair, cat-like eyes, and a strong nose. She was wearing an expensive looking blue gown adorned with glittering jewels, accented with a long necklace of pearls. The resemblance between her and Cedric were uncanny, and it amazed you at how much of the physical features you love about Cedric came from his mother.

This was Cedric's mother, "Winnifred the Wise" as her title goes. You strain to keep eye contact with the woman as you stand awkwardly.

"Hello, Mrs. Winnifred. It's nice to finally meet you." You flash her a strained smile, bowing your head slightly in respect.

"Oh goodness, I think we're already past formalities! Winnifred will do just fine." The older woman laughs warmly, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Ah- of course. Sorry." You glance away sheepishly, tucking your hands behind you.

Winnifred chuckles, then turns towards Cedric with shining eyes.

"My darling Ceddykins, Mummy misses you so much...!" She cooed lovingly, quickly wrapping her arms around Cedric's lean frame. Cedric returns the gesture, bending down to meet his mother's embrace.

You stand to the side, a toothy grin stretching across your face at Cedric's pet name. His eyes flick to yours, and your smile only grows. Cedric raises a brow as if to challenge you to comment, and you wave him off with a chuckle.

"Yes mummy, it's good to see you too," Cedric mumbles into his mother's shoulder, gently letting go of her. His back straightens, amber eyes landing on the entrance to his parents home.

"Where's father, mum?" Cedric questions, his gaze fixed inside the house.

"Oh! He's in the back, finishing up (y/n)'s gift!" Winnifred turns towards you with bright eyes, her hands reaching to clasp yours. "Goodwyn told me to keep you two busy until he was done," Winnifred said with a wink, her lips twisting into a mysterious smirk.

"Oh, thank you so much...!" The words clumsily tumble from your lips, betraying the shock you felt at the kind gesture. You stare at Winnifred with widened eyes, unsure of what to say next.

Winnifred smiles at you kindly, then laughs.

"Don't thank us just yet, (y/n). This is only the beginning, darling." She states with a firm squeeze of your hands, her eyes boring into yours. You felt your heart warm from her hospitality, and without a word you squeezed her hands in return.

Winnifred then broke away, gesturing for the both of you to come inside her home. She chatters away to Cedric about recent events, the two of them catching up since they last spoke. You all sat down on the plush furniture of the living room, with Cedric's mother claiming a well worn chair, across from you and Cedric on the loveseat.

You were quite fine with the arrangement, as the idea of talking to Cedric's parents still intimidated you. Sitting down and observing was well within your comfort zone, and the banter between the two was entertaining on its own.

"Mummy, as much as I appreciate the thought, I am a grown man-" Cedric enunciated, exhaling sharply as his fingers pressed into his temple. You chuckled lowly, curiosity edging you to tune into their conversation again.

"No mother will ever see their child as grown, Ceddy." Winnifred gives Cedric a pointed look, leaning her weight on her hip. Cedric huffs in response, laughing dryly. Winnifred's face softens a little, and she walks up to pinch Cedric's cheek affectionately.

"You'll know what I mean once you have some children of your own." Cedric's mother says with a knowing smirk, her eyes shifting over to you. You almost flinch from the eye contact, and you scramble to form any response to her implications.

"Oh- we haven't... Planned on that, yet." You mumble, running your hand through your hair nervously. In fact, you and Cedric had both agreed that children weren't *in the plan* whatsoever. Even so, stating that towards eager in-laws on your first meeting made your head spin and your palms slick with sweat. Your eyes tear away from Winnifred's gaze, darting to Cedric's in a silent plea for help.

Cedric was already alert, his hand instinctively resting on the small of your back for support. The heat from his fingers seeped into your flesh, keeping you grounded as your heart stills. You turn your head to give him a thankful look, and Cedric glanced over you with a ghost of a smile.

Turning towards his mother, he tutted as if she were a child being scolded.

"Sorry mother, you know the rules. Every time you ask, we'll add another 5 years!" Cedric threatened his mother in a cheery voice, yet his eyes were cold and serious.

Winnifred scoffed in protest, crossing her arms over her chest. The two exchanged hard looks, a silent argument being fought with their eyes alone. You glanced over to catch Cedric's eye, but you found them to be unwavering against his mother. You felt an immense wave of gratitude wash over you at Cedric's resolve, and your hand quietly slipped into his own with a reassuring squeeze.

Just as the tension was boiling over, a loud ding! made everyone nearly jump out of their skins. Winnifred's eyes glazed over in confusion, then widened in recognition.

"The cake- I completely forgot!" She rushes over to the kitchen, her wand already up in the air. You slowly let out the breath you didn't know you were holding, feeling your body deflate a little bit.

You wearily look over to Cedric again, wearing an equally tired expression. Without thinking, you nudge him gently. His body immediately snaps over to give you his full attention, his eyes lighting up upon resting on you.

"...Thank you, luv." You murmur, eyes softening as you stare into his amber pools. You wish you could say more, but you can only hope Cedric understands the full extent of your thanks with what you left unspoken.

"Of course, darling." Cedric gives you a knowing wink, leaning over so his cheek was pressed up against yours. You nuzzled your face closer to his, your lips barely brushing against Cedric's warm skin. You felt him flush, and a smile carved its way on your face.

Before you could readjust to properly kiss him, however, Winnifred both called you over.

"Alright (y/n), I need your help darling! And you too, Ceddykins!" Winnifred exclaimed, standing expectantly beside the kitchen counter.

You both glanced at each other incredulously, but slowly got up and shuffled towards the overpowering sweet smell of the cake. The dessert had just come out of the oven, steam wafting from the golden baked good.

Your eyes expertly scanned the cake, noting that it was well made and smelled as good as it looked.

"How can we help?" You asked, doubtful that you or Cedric would be able to help when it was clear his mother knew what she was doing. Her eyes meet yours, addressing you with an excited voice.

"I need you to fetch Goodwyn, while Cedric and I put the magical finishing touches on your cake. We can't ruin the surprise, after all!" Winnifred flashes you a wink, then turns to Cedric and ushers him closer to her side.

You stare at Winnifred in bewilderment for a moment, anxiety making your skin flush. You were dreading speaking to Cedric's father most of all, and now you'll have to face him alone with no Cedric to come and save you.

You exhale a shaky breath, feeling a little light headed. You didn't even know where to go to find Goodwyn, and yet somehow you were deemed fit for the task at hand.

You stand awkwardly, watching Winnifred and Cedric roll up their sleeves in preparation. They both had their wands out now, with Cedric bearing his family wand high in the air.

"Ah- where is Goodwyn, again?" Your voice cuts through their concentration like handling a blunt knife, awkward and hesitant.

"Oh good heavens, forgive me!" Winnifred exclaims, her brows shooting up in apology.

"He's in the back dear, just a straight shot down the hall and out the back door." Winnifred gives you an encouraging smile for a moment, then dismissing you as she turns back to the task at hand.

"Right..." You mutter, trudging through the house. You slowly glance at the pictures adorning the hallway, chuckling at the awkward smiles of a young Cedric with his family.

It wasn't long until you reached the back door per Winnifred's instructions. The door had a window cut into its sturdy wooden frame, and through it you see an older man outside. He stood in a well landscaped patio, exotic plants framed all around him. Well crafted benches, tables, and chairs are neatly positioned off to the side, with Goodwyn standing in a mini workshop of sorts to the opposite end.

Seeing the man in person makes your body freeze up, with the previous worries about him rearing its ugly head again. You let out a low groan of dread, your hands covering your face as you rub your eyes. After taking in a few deep breaths, you peel your hands away and set your eyes on Cedric's father once more.

In your frozen state, you unintentionally watch Goodwyn work. It seems that Cedric inherited his feverish work style from his father, as the older man bumbles around his work space for ingredients and haphazardly sets them in any nook of free space available.

You let out a small laugh, your heart tickled by the glimpses of Cedric shining through from his parents. Before you could relish in the merry thought, Goodwyn immediately turns around to the source of your laughter, his keen eyes locking with yours.

You gasp, eyes widening with horror. You open your mouth to speak, but the words instantly die on your tongue. With no defense left, you're resigned to standing there slack jawed and looking like an idiot in front of your future father-in-law.

Great.

"My wife scared you off that quickly, eh?" Goodwyn calls to you with a wry smile, his booming laugh carrying through the breeze.

You bark a forced chuckle, but refuse to give an answer. If only he knew that he was the only one you've been trying to avoid all day. With shaky hands, you push the door open and step outside to properly greet him.

As if on cue, a strong breeze pushes against your back, as if prodding you to continue stepping forward. Wind chimes hung up on the roof tinny as you march on, their comforting sound granting you courage.

The man watches patiently as you stride towards him, his eyes watching you with a gleam of curiosity. Darting your eyes away from his gaze, you finally stop and muster up your voice to speak.

"Quite the opposite, in fact. She told me to fetch you for the cake she baked for me." You say slowly, trying your best to conceal your nervousness.

"Hmph- and I told her to keep you busy until *I* was done with your gift." Goodwyn states simply, adding a pinch of dried herbs to the concoction he was brewing. You laugh awkwardly, rubbing your neck as a long silence stretches out between you both.

You watch as he stirs the potion in front of him, scanning the materials littered around the couldron to make sense of what he was making. Even though you picked up quite a bit about magic from Cedric, you were unsure of what exactly this potion was. Many ingredients were unfamiliar or unlabeled, which left your brows furrowed in contemplation.

Goodwyn seemed to pick up on your confused gaze, his lips twitching into a ghost of a smile.

"Any ideas so far, (y/n)?" Goodwyn questions you, his hand gesturing to the bubbling brew.

Your eyes flick up to his once more, and you feel self conscious. Your mind races to form a coherent thought, but the thought of being tested against the greatest living sorcerer in Enchancia made your mind go completely blank.

"I... I'm not sure." You uttered shamefully, hugging your middle in an attempt to calm yourself.

You feel Goodwyn staring at you, and you had to fight your body from fidgeting any further under his gaze. He finally hums noncommittally in response, back to stirring the potion as he adds another ingredient into it.

"Well then, I'll allow myself to give you a hint- this potion has no counter spell, because it doesn't need one." Goodwyn smiles in satisfaction of his riddle, humming a tune while he works.

"No counter spell?" You choke out in surprise, eyeing the mysterious liquid with trepidation. A million questions blitzed through your head, the main one being why Goodwyn would give you a potion that couldn't be undone if things go awry.

What kind of gift would an in-law give that they wouldn't want to be undone? A few unsavory answers immediately popped into your brain on instinct, but you shake them away. The man was named Goodwyn, for Merlin's sake.

You felt a sense of shame at the suspicion that arose from your mind, but nonetheless tried to think logically.

Just as you saw Goodwyn's mouth open to speak, the solution popped to the front of your mind, clear as an Enchancia summer day.

"A blessing...?" Your voice wavers with uncertainty, but in your core you knew your guess was true. Goodwyn's stern face breaks out into a genuine smile, lighting up every crevice of his wrinkled cheeks.

"Very good, (y/n). I knew my boy would wed someone sharp." Goodwyn nods to himself, his smile now turning into something more smug. You thank him sheepishly, and he nods in affirmation.

Looking at the simmering potion, you ask him the question that's lingering at the forefront of your mind.

"What kind of blessing is it?" You ask in a slightly more confident voice, staring deeply into the murky liquid.

"Ah- getting a bit ahead of ourselves, are we?" Goodwyn tutted, wagging a finger at you. You scoff, confused and slightly annoyed at his vagueness, but maintain a neutral look on your face.

"What do you mean?" You reply, your eyes shifting around his cluttered workspace as a distraction.

"...Do you know why Winnifred and I chose the name we did for Cedric?" Goodwyn spoke tentatively, an uncommon hesitancy in his voice.

You pause, your brain still processing Goodwyn's unexpected question. You weren't sure where the conversation was heading, which made you hesitate answering him further.

Even so, your curiosity always gets the better of you.

You look up from the table you were studying to meet Goodwyn's eyes. They were somber, with a hint of wistfulness that made you feel strangely melancholy.

"Why did you?" You cautiously squeezed out, tucking your hands behind your back.

"The name Cedric means "loved," where we come from." The old sorcerer pauses, grabbing an empty glass beaker and breaking its seal with a satisfying pop.

You feel your heart melt just a touch from the revelation, yet you remain silent.

Taking that as permission, Goodwyn continues speaking.

"I knew from the moment Cedric was born, he would bear a heavy responsibility as my heir; holding a candle to my accomplishments is no easy feat, after all." He laughs, but you don't reciprocate his humor.

"Yes, I know; Cedric struggled to come to terms with that." You agreed cautiously, unsure if Goodwyn was getting to a point or if this was some attempt to chastise Cedric while he's not around. Your body tenses, and your eyes narrow as you await his following words.

"Indeed- he did for a long time..." Goodwyn trailed off with a sigh, eyeing you with a complicated look. You can clearly see the pain in his eyes, and suddenly Goodwyn seems more... tired, and frail, than the paintings adorned in the castle back home portrays. It was if this was a glimpse into the real man behind the legend, and you dared not blink in case you were imagining it.

You continue to lock eyes with the old sorcerer, searching for any other discernable emotions. Surprisingly, he breaks eye contact first.

"You know, people say names are the first blessing you receive in life; that they have the power to shape your destiny." Goodwyn continues, staring at his reflection that rippled in the cauldron.

"Regardless, Cedric's destiny was already written for him- being born into the Goodwyn line, and all..." Goodwyn's eyes darken, and you feel a prick at your heart.

Shaking his head, he prattles on.

"With that said- the only thing Winny and I could do was give him a constant reminder that he is loved; no matter what life had in store for him." Goodwyn finished with a bittersweet smile, his eyes lowering to grab an eyedropper on his work bench.

Sucking up the dark liquid, he carefully drips it into the beaker with practiced hands. You watch the process wordlessly, feeling like Goodwyn still had more to say.

"Now, after all these years, it seems like our humble blessing has finally come to fruition. I can rest easy knowing after we're gone, Cedric will be loved for years to come." Goodwyn's eyes flick towards you for a moment, and all you can offer is a sappy smile.

Glancing back down at the beaker, he hums in satisfaction with his handiwork.

Sealing the opening with a cork, the sorcerer offers you his gift.

"Now, I'm just returning the favor," Goodwyn whispered, his eyes crinkling as he flashed you a smile.

"...Thank you, Goodwyn." You accepted the potion gently, cradling it in your hands. Looking down at the potion in front of you, you felt a soft hum emanating from your body in reaction to it. Your skin felt like it was buzzing, and there was a growing ringing in your ears the more you looked at it.

Shaking your head to break you from your trance, your eyes met Goodwyn's again.

"You still haven't told me what this blessing is, exactly." You remind him with a gentle smile, and he shakes his head as he chuckles.

"Ah, you let an old man rant and rave for too long; my apologies." Goodwyn bows his head towards you, and you assure him it's fine.

Goodwyn raises his head again, a playful glint now in his eyes.

"A blessing can be used for whatever your heart desires. It will listen only to your intentions, so use it with a clear mind and a full heart. Everything else will fall into place, my dear." Goodwyn clapped you on the shoulder heartily, and a slow smile creeps along your cheeks in response.

It seems that you misjudged horrendously, and now you feel torn between thanking him and apologizing for your misconceptions. As you scramble to articulate your thoughts, you almost miss Goodwyn turning back and heading towards the house.

Sensing you weren't following, Goodwyn glances back to you.

"May I remind you, you have a cake waiting?" He calls out, a brow raised expectantly.

"Yes, of course!" You call back eagerly, pushing off from your idle position to rush to Goodwyn's side.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, your eyes meet again.

"Ready?" Goodwyn asks, offering you his arm.

"As I'll ever be." You reply with a cheeky smile, linking your arm with his own.

Both of you make a straight shot for the quaint cottage, your heart soaring with excitement and love for the new family you found yourself being a part of.

[bohobooks]

Description: After telling the boys that you shift to their universe when you sleep, they get extremely curious what it's like where you come from.

Warnings: None. Well, probably cringe. Also, Deek is a bit laid back, as MC and him have became very close. Just to make it more fun and silly.

____________________________

"MC I have another question." Sebastian stated as he pretended to browse through the books in the Room of Requirement.

"Well, that's a shock. It's not like you haven't already asked three with in the past 15 minutes," Ominis snorted from his spot on the worn emerald gothic couch where he lounged across from you.

You shoot Ominis a look, which he somehow must feel because he just rolls his eyes and continues twirling his wand between his fingers.

"And what would that be, Seb?" You giggle. Ominis was right, he was been quite inquisitive this past week after you told them.

"Do you guys dress the same as muggles do now?" He said as he abandoned his feigned search for books, now plopping down on the couch beside you.

"Oh Merlins beard, no. Honestly I'm sure you'd find the way we dress quite scandalous."

Ominis lifted an eyebrow, now seemingly interested in the conversation. Sebastian chuckled, "Come on, can you show us? It's just the three of us in here." He paused, glancing over at Deek where he stood throwing popcorn into the air and catching it in his mouth, "Well, four."

Deek catches a kernel and turns to the three of you, "Deek does not mind, Deek is quite used to the garb."

You blush as you turn towards Deek, throwing a pillow at him which he dodges and chuckles. Sebastian, sensing your discomfort clearly decides he just has to have details now, "Do tell, Deek."

"Well you see, they wear their 'other clothes' when they are alone in the room of requirement. They say that Wizard robes are, and I repeat exactly, "Way to freaking warm."

Deek was telling the truth, you would always switch over to the clothing you'd wear in your world when it was just the two of you. I mean, it was a rather hot spring. Why did robes have to be so damn heavy?

"Fine," You sigh as the boys glance at you expectantly. "But if I'm wearing clothes from my world, so are you."

You pull out your wand and flick it in their directions, and in the middle of Ominis' protest, the boys find themselves wearing rather odd outfits.

Sebastian jumps up and glances down at his outfit. He is clad in black skinny jeans as well as a black t-shirt, topped off with an dark green and black flannel. You inspect your work and smile, quickly conjuring a black beanie.

Ominis on the other hand sits up, hands trailing around his body to inspect. He wears skinny blue jeans and a black knitted sweater.

Sebastian walks over to the mirror against the wall checking out his outfit, "How weird. Honestly I kind of like it." He glances back at Ominis, "You actually look nice too, mate."

You smile and think about your favorite outfit. You settle on (insert your own outfit if you don't like mine) black high waisted shorts, a black tank top, over the ankle black combat boots and a flannel very close to Sebastians.

Sebastians mouth drops open. "Don't worry, I covered my ankles so you don't have an anuerysm." You chuckle.

Deek smiles, "Deek likes the changes you have made."

Sebastian smiles, thanking Deek, straightening up a bit and rocking on his heels confidenly. Ominis still on the couch, quips, "Would someone like to fill me in? Why are they talking about ankles?"

You listen to Sebastian describe all of the outfits and Ominis' face contorts to one of both shock and awe, "MC, are you telling us you can walk around with your legs exposed for everyone to see?"

"Oh Omi, this is nothing. Wait until you hear about bikinis."

________________________

A/N:

I know this is silly, I just feel like they'd be super curious about where MC really comes from. Let me know what you think, and if you have any ideas on what else we could introduce them to.

Check out my book on Wattpad! And send in requests.

[peachyghuleh]

Okay ghesties I've been away for a while (for good reason, a masters degree is haaaard) so here's a draft I've had in my Google docs for months lol, this is one for my anxious ghesties who get nausea when they're anxious ❤️❤️❤️

~750 Words

Based off @cirrus-ghoulette 's whump month prompt 20, about 7 months late lol

──────── ⛤⋅⛧⋅⛤ ─────────

For a while now car rides had made me feel nauseous. I was never prone to travel sickness so that wasn't the issue, it was my anxiety, feeling trapped in a space with no way out.

"Ah cara, there you are! We've been looking for you!" Copia greeted me, followed close behind by Primo. "We're headed out to grab some things, would you like to join us?"

"Yeah that would be great, thank you for thinking of me!" I replied.

We headed out of the front of the Abbey together and got into Copia's car, Copia driving, me in the front, Primo in the back.

"Fratello, put some music on please" Primo shouted from the back. "Opus Eponymous of course."

"How about we ask sorella, si?" Copia said as he turned to me, smiling "you pick cara, what would you like?"

"Ooh okay, if I can pick then I choose…prequelle!"

I heard Primo sigh in the back which made both myself and Copia chuckle. We finally set off to the soundtrack I had chosen, making our way through windy roads lined with trees.

I could feel the anxiety building, burning in my chest. My chest felt heavy and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe. The anxious feeling kept building and building until it felt overwhelming…suffocating.

Primo must have sensed my discomfort from the back "sorella? Are you okay?"

"C-can we pull over? I don't feel good…"

"Satanas, are you okay?" Primo asked from the back.

Copia quickly pulled over at the next opportunity and I got out, feeling completely overwhelmed and on the verge of a panic attack.

The two brothers got out right behind me, clearly worried for my well being. I couldn't stay still, I had to move, I just had to. I began hyperventilating, nausea creeping up to the back of my throat.

Primo grabbed my shoulder, trying to keep me still long enough to find out what was wrong but I just couldn't stay still. I paced around, trying to regain some semblance of control over what was going on with my body.

Copia intercepted my movement and pulled me into his chest, stroking my hair. "Cara, everything is okay, we're here."

I began sobbing uncontrollably, feeling utterly defeated that I couldn't even go for a car ride without feeling awful. Copia continued stroking my hair and talking to me, trying to get me to calm down. Eventually, the panicked feeling mostly subsided, although the feeling of nausea persisted.

Once he realised my condition had improved, Copia released me from his grasp "feeling a little better cara?"

I nodded lightly, still reeling from the effects of my panicked state.

"Sorella, you look pale, please, sit" Primo motioned to the passenger seat of the car.

I hopped onto the seat, sitting with my legs out of the car, fiddling with my fingers out of anxiety.

Copia knelt down in front of me and placed a comforting hand on my leg. "Tesoro, would you be comfortable telling us what set that off?"

"I-I just felt a wave of anxiety and then I-I just felt nauseated. I'm sorry…I just couldn't deal with it anymore."

"Oh cara, please don't apologise, you have nothing to apologise for" Copia assured me.

"Yes, mio fratello is correct, you've nothing to be sorry for" Primo added.

"I feel sick" I mumbled.

"Are you going to be sick?" Copia asked.

"I don't think so, it's just anxiety nausea."

Copia took my hand and began rubbing small circles with his fingers, it was comforting. "Do you often feel anxious cara?"

"I've always been anxious, it gets worse when I go out though, car rides are especially hard for me, I guess I just feel trapped."

"Sorella…why didn't you tell us? You know we would do anything to protect you." Primo told me.

"I didn't want to be a burden." I put my head in my hands and sobbed again.

"Shh shh cara, it's okay. You could never be a burden" Copia placed his hands on my legs.

"Sorella, I have many plants in my greenhouse that can help with nausea and general anxiety, how about I show you when we get back, si?"

"I'd like that, thank you Primo" tears pricked at the corner of my eyes, I felt loved.

"Would it help to have the window open in the car while we drive?" Copia asked.

"I think that would help a little, thank you"

[luludoodles]

"A very, very interesting deal" (Chapter 1)

His whole body hurt. Pain pulsing through every limb, making him unable to move. He layed down for hours, listening to the silence. After some time, he finally felt something else than pain. Hot air of this place hugged his body. He grunted in discomfort. He always liked cold more. 

„Did I die? Am I in Hell?”

Those were his first thoughts when he opened his eyes. Everywhere he looked the only thing he saw was lava and red bricks. His heart started to pound. Where is he? What happened? The fear became overwhelming. This new place didn’t look friendly at all. Despite the pain, he tried to get up. His body was weak, arms and legs were shaking from fear and pain. After five  painful tries he was sitting up. He looked around, but there was nothing else than lava. So it’s Hell. But if he’s dead how would he be in such an excruciating pain? He sighed, not really caring about it. He sat for a lot of time, waiting for his body to stop pulsing from the pain. During this time, his mind started to think more rationally and recalled his memory. 

He was hated. No one cared about him. 

Tears started to form in his eyes. But why was he crying? He was used to it. Maybe the few hours when all he felt was physical pain and not the one of rejection, hatred and betrayal made him forget how much worse his usual state is? His throat burned with all the screams he never could let out. His body twitched as he didn’t want to let his tears spill. He felt so pathetic. It’s good that no one was here to see him in this state.

— Hello? Are you okay? - The sound of someone’s voice made him jump. He looked up to see the person who spoke to him. Small, tear shaped orange body with four legs. He must be in Hell, that’s a demon for sure!

— Who are you?! Get away from me! - He tried to get away from this monster, who looked at him confused.

— Oh don’t be scared! I won’t hurt you! - The creature hopped closer, some lava from it’s volcano like body dripped near him. This monster wanted to kill him. It lied to him to make his death full of despair and betrayal.

— I s-said… Get away from me! - He screamed in fear, desperately searching for anything near him to protect himself with. His hand touched something strangely cold and gripped it as fast as it could. He swung it forward, hitting the creature right in the face. A loud crack was heard, as he made a hole in the monster’s body. Still shocked and scared he looked at his newfound weapon. A metal pipe. He gripped it tightly, ready to land another attack. But the monster only cried in pain and ran away as fast as it could. 

He was feared. For once it wasn’t him who quivered in fear, but someone else! And it was because of him. What a great feeling. Power, control. Truly addicting.

[hitnran]

OBSESSIVE EX (gender neutral! reader)

how they deal with you having an obsessive ex

includes: ran, rindou

CW: obsessive behavior, cursing, stalking (ran), phone harassment (rindou), the haitani brothers lowkey kinda scary here (not to the reader) 💀 but i’m just trying to make it fit within their character

— RAN HAITANI

Getting into a relationship with someone like Ran, half of the charismatic brother duo that ruled Roppongi, almost means guaranteed safety wherever you go. His title itself is one that is feared when murmured. Whenever you two leave, he always has an eye and a hand on you. Ran knows well that even if he is feared, he can also be challenged and the last thing he wants is for you to get involved — you would make an easy target for his enemies.

You two were out together on a stroll around the city. Although there was nothing neither of you needed, Ran’s favorite thing is showing you off. Sometimes you start to feel similar to his younger brother, thinking that you’re just a shadow and only known as ‘Ran’s partner.’ But Ran’s intentions were opposite. He wanted everyone to know that it was him that belonged to you and it is him that people would have to deal with if you were ever tested.

As you two are walking, Ran noticed your eyes consistently checking itself to the side. He took note of that and eventually brushed it off since you stopped. But then he noticed that you were being especially keen and scanning the whole area.

“Are you okay, love?” Ran slightly hunches down, getting your attention as your face turns his way. He lightly smiles at you. “Did you see something you liked?”

You swallowed down hard. You could’ve sworn you saw a familiar face, but after trying to scan the area numerous times for the past few minutes, you thought it was just you being paranoid. The last thing you wanted was to worry Ran and cause a scene.

“I’m okay,” You shook your head, returning a light smile. You grabbed on his arm, this time a little tighter. “Let’s turn into this corner.”

Ran knows when you’re lying. He knew something made you uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to force you to tell him. Instead, he’ll make it his own problem too and deal with it himself.

This area was his territory and everyone knew it. It was almost as if Roppongi, a city known for liveliness, calmed down ever so slightly if one or both of the brothers were out. Everyone’s gaze wound be kept low and their conversations would go mute as they walk by.

At that moment, Ran could feel a pair of eyes staring your way. He won’t make it obvious though.

“Love,” Ran called out to you. You looked up his direction and he placed a hand against your lower back. “Rindou’s gonna throw a fit if I don’t bring back food for him. How about you go into the restaurant and order first while I call him and ask what he wants?”

You felt at ease hearing that you two were finally going to be in somewhere indoors, but it made you nervous that he would be separated from you for just a little while.

“Don’t wanna bring something back he won’t like and have him complain,” Ran lightly laughed, trying to ease your clear discomfort. He placed a hand over your head. Taking out his phone to add to his act. “I’ll be quick.”

After some hesitation, you gave in. It was a public space after all, so it shouldn’t have been anything to worry too much about. He watched as you entered the place before turning around, sending chills to the person who had been following you two around this whole time.

“Would be a shame if I left them alone for too long, wouldn’t it?” Ran gave off a sinister grin, slowly walking towards the person. “Wouldn’t want anyone to take them away…especially someone like you.”

Ran knew who this person was. He was an obsessive ex of yours that just would not leave you alone and accept the separation despite it being years passed. He gulped hard, nervously stepping back, not thinking that he would get caught.

“You were so bold to even follow us in the first place, why so shy now?” Ran smirked, hiking up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “This is the first time you’ve heard of me or something? I should introduce myself to you well and hard then.”

Almost ten minutes had passed since you’ve been waiting for Ran. You sat patiently and waited. Your best guess as to what’s taking him so long revolves around Rindou. Maybe he was complaining about how he wanted food from a different place or being picky about menu opinions. Just as you were about to raise yourself from your seat to check up on Ran, you saw him enter.

“Did I make you wait too long?” Ran appeared, seating himself in front of you. The worse case scenario you had in mind was that he got into a fight, but in front of you, he looked just as how you last saw him. “You know how Rindou is.”

Your chest became relaxed and you gave a small smile, shaking your head, “What did he want from here?”

“I didn’t even listen to what he said,” Ran teased, opening up his menu and leaning back against the chair. You felt his legs sandwich your calves from beneath the table. “He can order it himself. All my money is going to you today.”

And that was how Ran liked it. Although Ran wanted everyone to know that he belonged to you, he knew how important it was for others to know that you belonged to him too. The image of the face of your ex is burned so clearly into his brain — face all bloodied up, mauled almost, as he failed to even whisper for forgiveness.

“I think there’s only one way I’m gonna let you outta here alive,” Ran kicked his body down with force, hearing something shift in his jaw. He couldn’t give half a damn about it. “Do you know what that is?”

Your ex was visibly beaten and weak now, barely able to even blink or properly form a sentence. Though, with his adam’s apple slightly moving from fear, Ran took it as a response.

Grabbing him by his hair upward, Ran bent down, looking straight at him, “You’re gonna leave them alone and never show your goddamn face again. If it wasn’t fucked already before, it sure is now. I promise you I’ll know if you’re even barely visible or a mile away, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Ran thought it was so disgusting how someone like you could ever have your time wasted on someone low like this ex of yours. Even if Ran saw him and his brother above everyone else, he always put you above him.

“Maybe even after this, I’ll send one of my men to go and beat the shit out of you every day so you could suffer for as long as you’ve tried to bother Y/N.”

— RINDOU HAITANI

Rindou can’t even remember what it took for you two to even reach this state of your guys relationship. He convinced himself that it was Ran, his older brother who wouldn’t shut up about how he was going to take you if Rindou didn’t make a move.

It genuinely surprises himself even whenever he looks your way, observing every detail and soaking in the idea that you are someone he can call his.

You two were watching a movie, or rather, supposed to. Rindou was too focused on side-eyeing you every now and then. You caught him a few times, but he would brush it off with comments like “this movie is boring” or “I’m just checking to see if you fell asleep.”

He would snap himself out of a trance after hearing your phone ring beside you. You eyed it once, looking at the caller ID and ignoring it. It wasn’t enough to cause Rindou to worry - it’s not his problem if you just didn’t wanna answer a call, it was your guys’ time anyway.

But then it rang once more again. Your ringtone dragged itself out halfway through before Rindou slightly raised his hand from your hip, pointing to the phone on the side of the couch.

“You not gonna answer that?” He asked.

You shook your head, eyes focused on the TV, “It’s fine. It’s an unknown caller ID.”

Rindou shrugged, ignoring it once again, but after a few more calls and your phone receiving back to back text messages, it was starting to irk him. He was close to just grabbing your phone and answering the call himself, but you were quick to act before him, just shutting it off.

“It must be spam or something,” You sighed, sitting back down.

“Yeah, well whatever it is, good thing you shut that damn thing off. That shit was annoying,” Rindou sighed, curling his arms around you again. “Let’s change the movie too or something. This one is boring.”

One thing about dating Rindou is that he seems uninterested in absolutely everything he does. Although you avoid thinking like that when it comes to your relationship with him, you always remind yourself that Rindou is someone who deeply cares for you. He shows it very differently compared to others, but you know.

He can recall a memory from a few weeks ago where you kept getting calls in the middle of your guys’ date. It annoyed him, but not as much as it annoyed you. You’ve pressed the red decline button at least five times now, stressing over it and spilling out everything about your previous ex.

At the end of your rant, Rindou grabbed your phone, picking up the call and saying words as simple as “leave them alone.” It was so simple, but for the next few weeks, it was silent. You finally thought you were free of harassment thanks to your boyfriend, but recently, they’ve been coming back as unknown caller IDs and more frequent than before.

Halfway through the movie, Rindou felt your body become more loose and relaxed beneath him. Your breath became slower and more steady. You had fallen asleep. He thought it was ironic to have someone as angelic as you in the arms of someone like him - a gang member always involving himself in trouble, even just for fun.

He stared at your phone just a reach away and then back at you. The last thing Rindou wanted was for you to be uncomfortable, or really, anything that isn’t where you aren’t happy.

When you woke up, the TV was shut off and you felt a blanket drape over your body. You realized you had fallen asleep from earlier, but you were expecting to find your boyfriend with you as well. That was when the door swung open and you were greeted with Rindou.

“Rindou?” You slowly let out, still adjusting from waking up. “I didn’t know you left.”

He raised a bag up midway in the air, it’s a bag from a bakery you often bought from, “You kept murmuring about it in your sleep. Didn’t want you to wake up all grumpy.”

“I don’t wake up grumpy!” You protested, watching as he took his seat next to you and unpacking all of your favorites.

“Yeah, okay,” Rindou joked. He listened to you puffing out before wrapping yourself around his arm.

“Thank you though,” You murmured out of embarrassment - maybe he was half right.

“It’s nothing,” He replied, softening his face into a grin. “Must’ve been hungry though if it got you talking in your sleep and drooling on my arm.”

You didn’t even know about half of the things he does for you, but he didn’t mind it, because if you were happy, then that was all that mattered.

It made Rindou feel guilty to turn on your phone and look through it. It wasn’t something that he ever felt the need to do - he trusted you and it felt wrong if you weren’t aware that he was using it. Though, at this time, he felt like it was for the better.

While you were silently sleeping, he browsed through your texts. It’s that same person - your ex back again to bother you. Rindou scoffed, making sure it wasn’t loud enough to wake you up, but he was angry. He clicked his tongue whilst composing a message.

Rindou knew you would never be so stupid as to meet up with someone like this, especially not after already experiencing it once. It was a good thing that it was just Rindou posing as you though. How delighted your ex felt to have finally received a response to you - ‘Let’s meet up here.’

Rindou thought it was so pathetic. This guy had no idea what he looked like, let alone that you even had a boyfriend. So when Rindou’s immediate reaction upon seeing him was to throw a punch, he was shocked.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Your ex cried out, trying his best to dodge his attacks but failing in between his words and attempts.

“Me?!” Rindou snapped, pushing him to the ground and twisting his arms. “Speak for yourself.”

The man beneath him screamed in pain, “I-I’ll call the cops on you and have you arrested!”

“Yeah? You think they’ll give me less time if I tell them I was just trying to teach a creep a lesson?” Rindou pulled back on his arms a little harder, tendons and muscles stretching themselves out of place.

“T-The hell are you talking about?!” He stuttered out.

“Don’t bitch around. Might end yourself up in there if you keep this act of yours up - I’ve been once before,” Rindou smirked, pulling back more and more on his arms. “It was fine for me. My big bro and I even got some respect while in there, so what’s gonna happen when they hear about your name from me? You’re fresh meat to them.”

“W-Who even are you?!”

Rindou scoffed, “The same guy who warned you once to leave Y/N alone. I should’ve honestly went to find you myself personally and beat the shit out of you, but I hate wasting my time.”

Your boyfriend let the man go. If his arms weren’t all bent out of place and dislocated, he’d be crawling away by now. It was a sight that Rindou would laugh at. Upon seeing that his phone had fallen out of his pocket, the same phone used to consistently harass you, Rindou stomped down hard, breaking it into bits and pieces.

“Don’t waste my time again. Next time you do, call the cops, I promise you I won’t care if they catch me killing you,” Rindou turned his back around.

[allzelemonz]

Armitage Hux X Male Reader X Kylo Ren

Kinktober Day 1: Multi (Armitage Hux and Kylo Ren)

There was no mistaking that eerie feeling. The Supreme Leader was on board. It always put everyone on edge when he arrived. When he wasn’t out searching for that Jedi girl he was throwing a tantrum somewhere on the ship.

You always considered yourself unlucky that you happened to be the Admiral in charge of his flagship. Most of your time was taken up by dealing with the results of his tantrums. However, since he stopped wearing his helmet he’s been easier to deal with.

It was the presence of Hux in your office that put you on edge for this particular visit. Something must have been bothering him about Ren’s arrival.

“He’s back.” Hux looked out of your office window at the arriving ship.

“I know.” You turned and followed his gaze downward.

Kylo Ren walked along with an officer, likely on his way to meet with the Generals.

“How much do you think he’ll cost us this time?”

You turned to Hux. He was always one for snide comments, especially at Ren’s expense.

“The damage report last time had so many digits I had to break it down piece by piece to read it.”

Hux chuckled lightly, but it didn’t last. Something really was bothering him.

“Pryde again?”

Hux crinkled his nose at the name and let out a sigh.

“If I get the chance I’ll throw him out an airlock.”

Another short lived laugh came from the General.

A beep from both of your communicators confirmed your suspicions about Ren’s destination. Hux led the way out and to the meeting room. Meetings with the officers were always tense.

Ren wasn’t exactly a great military and political leader, but he always acted like he was. It was one thing to pick up his slack behind the scenes, but having to answer to him directly was annoying. But, it was also the best part of the meetings. Watching a bunch of older experienced officers have to scramble to please their superior who had thirty years less experience was pretty funny.

When you arrived at the meeting room you took your seats to wait for Ren. Pryde kept giving Hux odd looks and it made you want to throw him out to space right then. Before you could take any further action, Ren arrived.

He went straight to the area where he usually stood menacingly while the officers tried to appease him. As always, his focus was elsewhere. Pryde brought up the issue in dealing with Raxus and one of the Captains mentioned the budget constraints the armor department was dealing with.

All Ren did was stand, staring out the window, only occasionally looking back at the table. Just as Pryde brought up the need to up recruitment numbers Ren cut him off.

“Out,” He ordered simply.

“Supreme Leader?” Pryde questioned.

“(Y/l/n), Hux stay. Everyone else, out,” Ren spoke with an eerie calmness that made you even more worried as to why you were staying in the room.

The other officers wasted no time in leaving the meeting. Hux stayed stiff in his seat, looking at you and silently asking if you knew what was going on. You gave him a look to let him know you were just as confused.

When the last of the officers had left the three of you sat in silence for a few minutes. The loud sound of the door manually locking made you jump a bit.

“Tell him what you’ve been thinking about, General.” Ren continued to stare out of the window, not paying attention to either you or Hux.

“I don’t know what you m-” Hux was cut off and began to choke on what you guessed was Ren’s force use.

“Tell him,” Ren’s voice rose only slightly.

He let Hux go and turned to face the table. He moved and stood behind Hux’s chair. You could see the discomfort on Hux’s face.

“Tell him,” Ren commanded again.

“I was, uh, I was thinking of you.”

“Keep going.” Ren leaned down and placed a hand on the table, only the chair’s back was between them.

“Inappropriately.” Hux fidgeted in his seat, trying not to look at you. “I was thinking about you in an inappropriate manner.”

“An understatement if you ask me,” Ren said, looking between you and Hux. “The things I saw in the General’s head were far beyond just inappropriate.”

Your heart raced at the information. Hux had always been a friend, but this was news to you.

“I-I’m sorry, I-” Hux stammered to apologize.

“Don’t apologize, General.” Ren stood up straight. “He’s starting to think the same things.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as your eyes darted between the two. The image of the ginger General getting bent over the table by the Supreme Leader entered your head before you could even think to keep it out.

“Oh, Admiral,” Ren chuckled. “I had the same idea.”

Hux didn’t dare move, but his eyes went between you and Ren as he tried to read the situation. He stiffened in his seat as Ren leaned down and let his nose brush against the General’s ear.

Ren whispered something to Hux that made him go redder than the hexagon border on his sleeve. The General’s arm moved slightly, but you couldn’t see what he was doing. Ren chuckled at whatever it was.

“Come here, Admiral.” Ren looked up at you with a hint of a smirk.

“Supreme Leader, I-”

“Now, Admiral, “ Ren ordered.

You shakily stood up from your chair and made your way around the table. You stopped a few feet away from the two. Ren stood and faced you.

“We’re all thinking the same thing,” He stated plainly. “The only real predicament is deciding who starts.”

Hux stayed in his seat, staring a hole into the table in front of him. You couldn’t look Ren in the eye. That didn’t stop him from taking a few steps towards you. He tilted your head up to meet his gaze and you could tell he was peering into your mind again. And, just like before, your thoughts betrayed you.

Ren smiled and pulled you closer to him. He brought his lips to yours as his arms found their way around you. You shut your eyes and let yourself fall into the kiss. Ren’s hand went up to grip at your hair while his leg pressed between your own.

He pulled away for a moment and turned to the General, “Care to try your hand, Hux?”

Armitage didn’t move at first. His head dipped slightly as he thought for a moment. Ren’s hand absentmindedly fiddled with your uniform’s belt as you both watched the General.

Hux stood up in a fluid motion and paused for a moment, thinking his actions over. He licked his lips out if nerves then turned and made his way over to you and Ren. Hux pressed his lips to Ren’s and the Supreme Leader moved his hand to pull him in.

Hux wrapped one arm around Ren and the other reached around you. He left Ren and brought you into a kiss. Both of his hands come up to cup your face and you feel Ren back away for a moment, only for him to return behind you a moment later.

As Hux kissed you deeply, his hands finding your hair, Ren removed your belt and started working on the rest of your uniform. Hux felt Ren take off your jacket and undid his own, breaking the kiss. The three of you undressed in a hurry, eager to move things along.

Just as you got your underwear off Ren spun you around and backed you into the table. His lips found your neck and began kissing down to your collarbone. Hux was stuck in place, just admiring the two of you.

“Get over here, Hux.” Ren motioned Hux over.

Hux jumped at the order, something you’d never seen him do for Ren. The Supreme Leader wasted no time in pulling Hux close and whispering something in his ear that seemed to please the General.

Hux looked to you, “(Y/l/n), bend over the table.”

Your throat went dry at the command, but you moved to comply nonetheless. You felt Hux press up against you from behind, his cock digging into your ass. The feeling reminded you of just how hard you were yourself. Hux pushed you down, flat against the table and started to grind against you.

You let out a broken moan as Hux got pushed into you as Ren bent him over. Hux’s face was buried in your shoulder while Ren entered him slowly. Once Ren was fully inside, Hux moved to enter you. It pushed you into the table, Hux trusted hard inserting himself into you.

Ren began to thrust and Hux bounced between you as he tried to find a matching rhythm. You steadied yourself against the table and Hux grabbed at your hips to start his thrusting. You could hear Ren grunting as he started to pull himself out and slam back into the General. Hux’s nails dug into your hips as he picked up his pace, slamming into you and Ren did him.

The General slowly reached around to your hardened cock and gripped it harshly. You cried out at the action and Hux began his handiwork. His movements faltered as he came in the next few minutes. He thrusted faster through his orgasm and his grip on your cock tightened.

Ren continued to ram into him, which made him fuck you harder. You grunted as you came onto Hux’s hand, the pleasure rushing through every part of your body. Ren’s movements had slowed as you came down from the high, probably having cum as well.

The Supreme Leader was pulled out of Hux and the General followed suit. You kept your hands on the table, steadying yourself. Hux joined you at the table, his legs shaking rapidly. The smirk on Ren’s face told you he was enjoying how you both trembled. Ren gathered his clothes and got dressed as Hux and you tried to regain your composure.

“Don’t think this is the only time we’ll be doing this.” Ren watched as Hux failed to stand on his own. “I got a lot more ideas after looking in your minds.”

[odetoavillan]

Cold

In honor of the cold snap in my area... here's a cute one... metions of sex but no action to it

     Ferral poked his hand out of the blankets he was wrapped in and thanked the human female for the hot bone broth she handed him.

          "Why is it so cold?" Ferral complained, sipping the hot liquid. The human shivered herself giving a cup to Savage too.

          "Space... it's just kriffin' cold... on top of that we're getting low on fule so Mauls turned down the heat to keep you three guys out of hypothermia."

          "But... your core temperature is several degrees colder than ours." Savage stated, looking to Ferrals own worried face.

          "This happens often! I'll be ok! I have a personal heater." She chuckled, sipping at her tea.

          "Ahhh, I smell bone broth." Maul sighed looking around.

          "It's in the crockpot.... your spicy pepper mix is beside it." She explained. Maul got his drink then sat behind her pulling her back flush against his chest. "See... personal heater." She grinned hugging his arms around her.

         "How did you two meet?" Ferral asked. Maul snorted before taking a sip.

          "Wanting bed time stories are we now?" Maul sneered. A slight elbow from the tiny human had Maul rolling his eyes. "Another time..."

          "What about the first time this happened?" Ferral pressed. Her face grew pink, "was it the first time you two had sex?" Ferral asked.

        "What makes you think we're having sex?" She sqwauked, with an amused laugh. All three brothers looked at each other then Maul leaned over to her ear.

          "We smell alike... and Zabrak have extordinary hearing... and you are not quite..." Maul explained patiently. She let out a single syllable laugh her face nearly as red as Mauls.

          "We had known each other for only a few months at that point... so no sex... but It was the beginning of our flirting relationship though..." She smirked as she began to recall the events...

💫💫💫💫

     She sat shivering in her bunk. She knew space was cold, she was prepared for it. But this felt as if it was actively pulling heat from her. Her dogs sat around her providing a little heat.

     She could hear Maul muttered in his sleep across from her. She sent calming sensations to him, hoping he would get some rest.

     His muttering stopped, she winced and tried to hold still and think quietly as Mauls amber eyes reflected the dim lights on the ship.

          "Why are you awake, human?" Maul hissed into the darkness.

          "I'm not." She managed to sass without her teeth chattering. She didn't have the heightened predatory senses of the zabrak, but she did have good senses for a human, her dogs shifting and also the force informed her that he was moving closer.

         "Why must you always be so difficult." He huffed leaning towards her, "I sensed discomfort in you when You tried to sooth me..." his eyes studied her in the darkness, and she could feel his hot breath. "What's wrong with you?" He questioned.

        "I just can't get comfortable." She shrugged.

          "You are shaking are you sick?" Maul asked.

        "No, just cold." She answered. "I have only one heart so I run several degrees cooler than you." She explained teeth starting to chatter. She felt Mauls hot hand land on her forehead.

          "You feel nearly frozen!" Maul gasped holding both sides of her face.

        "I'm ok." She protested grabbing his wrists. Maul hissed at the contact, then huffed at her as he pulled layers away from her body.

        "Do not lie to me, woman... you are near hypothermia." Maul mumbled pulling her chest into his chest and quickly recovered them both. Maul tucked her face into his neck and held her tightly. "...landing at a refueling station tomorrow... then We'll be able to turn the heat up..." Maul muttered to himself.

          "Maul... why are you... being nice to me?" She asked carefully, teeth still chattering. The sharp edge of cold was starting to dissipate.

        "You started it..." He replied after a long silence. She tried really hard not to chuckle, instead letting herself grin broadly. "I can feel your smile against my neck." Maul commented.

     She then noticed she could feel his pulse on her face. She felt the urge to bite his neck. She wondered how his skin would feel against her teeth, given that zabrak skin was thicker than human skin. all she could think about in that moment was making this zabrak man a mess beneath her. Mauls body stiffen.

        "Where you in my head?" She asked. Maul didn't answer for a long time.

          "Yes..." He finally admitted.

          "Don't do that... not unless you're invited to do so." She sighed, 

          "You truly think you're powerful enough to dominate me in such a way." Maul chided. She chuckled letting her lips brush against his double jugular. Maul shuddered at the touch.

        "Good night." She cooed settling down to sleep.

         "Yes... you too..." Maul replied not entirely sure of the situation.

     As they fell asleep, an unfamiliar sound came from the darkness. She could feel it in her chest. The red and black zabrack had started purring in his sleep. She snuggled in tighter a smile on her face as she fell asleep.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt.4

Summary: In his attempt to get to know his wife, the Darkling realizes he might be getting too close.

Warnings: angst, swearing, sexual innuendoes, slightest bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three   

=================================

Y/N couldn’t sleep that night. Not only did she agonize over the slightest possibility of his words being true, but the lingering of his lips on hers even hours after they’ve left tormented her mind. Instead of sleeping, she sat outside in the darkness with nothing but stars to keep her company. She shuddered with the cold wind as it chilled her, even the kefta didn’t protect her as well as she thought it would.

Sighing, she smiled up at the night sky, watching the stars in their celestial dance. It’s undeniable, she’s envious of them – their freedom is undisputed, their beauty unmatched by anything earthly. No one can force a star to marriage, no one can dull its brightness.

“Are you alright?” Genya spoke up, startling Y/N into a loud gasp.

Turning around, Y/N giggles in slight panic, a hand resting on her chest. “You scared me!”

“I didn’t mean to”, she chuckles too, coming closer to Y/N who let out a relieved sigh, only to look up once again.

“I couldn’t sleep”, she explains, “So I came here to watch the stars.”

“Most people are afraid of the dark”, Genya raised an eyebrow as she fixed her gaze on Y/N instead. She studied her carefully, unsure if she should invest all her hopes and dreams in her – no matter how striking she is.

“Oh, I’m scared of the dark!” Y/N exclaims, pointing up at the sky, “But the night sky is littered with lanterns, meant to guide you home. My mom always told me to look up whenever I feel lost, because the stars will help me find answers to any worry.”

Pursing her lips, Genya frowned, “Does that mean you doubt your plan?”

“No”, Y/N replied with haste, “I am simply trying to understand some of the chess pieces I thought I had figured out.”

Looking back at the Palace, Y/N’s eyes found the window of her room in an instant. A dark figure passed by it, the candlelight revealing the figure is pacing.

“He’s not a bad man, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Holding her breath, Y/N’s eyes find amber ones, “That’s not what I’ve heard. His deeds have spoken plenty about the strength of his character.”

“He’s fighting a war, not just with the outsiders, not just your father, but those on our side as well.” Pausing, Genya steps before her, “Do you know what they call him?”

“The Darkling”, she states, “A starless saint, a demon, a shadow king.”

“So many of those names are meant to demonize him, to shun him from society simply for the power he was born with”, licking her lips, Genya reaches for Y/N’s hand. “His own people are dying simply for who they’re born as – humans, Shu, Druskelle, they’re all sharpening their swords. If he’s not feared, we’re all dead.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, Y/N closed her eyes. Exhaling, she faced Genya once more.

“Does that mean I should applaud him for the way he’s treated the First army so far? How can you defend him when he’s the one who brought you here…to the emperor?”

Retracting her hand, Genya flashed a smile – one too strained to be believable. “He tried to defend me and got himself punished for it. So I’m here and I’m telling you to give him a chance.” Walking past Y/N, Genya stops just a few paces behind her, “He might surprise you.”

All the things Genya said became faint echoes inside Y/N’s head. When she returned to the room, she was ready for a new quarrel with Kirigan. Despite her readiness, he was sound asleep as she slipped her kefta off. With trembling fingers, she lifted the comforter only to stifle a laugh upon a surprising sight. Not only had there been a pillow to separate them, but three to ensure she wouldn’t accidentally roll on his side during the night. Perhaps she did smother him the night before and for once, she didn’t feel ashamed, rather satisfied. If he’s so insistent on sharing a bed, why would she make it any easier on him?

Tossing the pillows aside, she slid onto his side. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she tried to wrap an arm around his middle, but she couldn’t do it with her heart clenching wildly inside her chest. She drew back, forming tight fists at her side as she glared up at the canopy in frustration. If she’s going to play well and win, she’ll have to swallow her pride and withstand some discomfort.

Staring daggers at the back of his head, Y/N held her breath as she half climbed atop of Kirigan. Waiting to see if he’ll wake, Y/N finally released a shuddered breath. Burying her nose in the crook of his neck, she finally felt herself warm up after being outside for so long.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled his scent – woodsy and clean as if he had just had a bath. She never realized it before, but he smelled the same way on their wedding day…and night. But also earlier when he was pressed against her, devouring her mouth. Just the thought of his arms around her, his tall frame against her and the feverish kiss they’ve shared had caused her heartbeat to quicken with no shame.

And while she drifted off, she failed to realize something else – the Darkling was very much awake.

Instead of moving away when he felt a weight atop of him, he struggled to even his breathing. She smelled like spring, like lilacs and oddly enough, he enjoyed it. Most times, he’d crinkle his nose in disgust for strong, flowery scents made him nauseous, but she didn’t have the heavy, unbearably thick air of perfume cling to her – it felt like it’s her natural scent.

Smiling, the Darkling allowed himself to relax once her breathing calmed down and while her hands and feet felt like icicles, her cold nose brought most of the discomfort. Once she warmed up, by stealing his body heat, the Darkling began to drift away too. After all, he was winning.

A single ray of sunshine came through the window, its heat tickling Y/N’s nose. Sleepily, she brushed at it then tried to turn away, but something blocked her way. She lazily opened her eyes and saw the strange bed canopy overhead. When she remembered where she was and how she fell asleep last night, she felt her face grow hot as blood rushed to her cheeks. Even her body seemed to blush. She moved her head toward the other side of the bed and looked at where her husband’s supposed to be, yet he was gone – only the pillows she could have sworn she removed remained.

There was no way of knowing it, but each morning, the Darkling opened his eyes and looked at her first. No matter if she was drooling or her hair matted on her face, he quite enjoyed his view. She seemed gentle, almost like a saint sent to remind him light can exist along with darkness he’s been shrouded in.

Disgruntled, she sat up and huffed. She wanted to wake up at the same time as he did. One, she wanted to see his reaction and laugh, two, she really wanted to discuss the kiss from before. Then again, she just wanted to see the general at his most vulnerable state – waking up disheveled, just like any human would. His perfectly styled hair unnerved her and she couldn’t help but wonder if Genya used her power on it because she had never once seen a hair out of place, not even after their kiss.

For the rest of the day, Y/N tried to catch him alone. Unfortunately, she barely saw her husband at all. A fleeting glance of acknowledgement was all she received as they passed each other in the hall, both surrounded by others.

At night, she laid awake in hopes of speaking to him before bed. The faint candlelight on the bedside table kept the darkness away, relieving her fear. Would he laugh at her if she admitted to it? After all, isn’t he the one who can create darkness out of thin air? Perhaps he’d shroud her with it and prove he truly is cruel, but she had no way of being sure. He must never know of it and she truly hoped never to see his display of power.

Lost in her thoughts, she blinked and it was morning.

Wide eyed, she sat up and looked to his side. It was unmade, the pillow dented right where his head was and yet she can’t remember hearing him arrive in the night or leave in the morning. She never does.

“Fuck”, she mutters under her breath as she slams a fist in his pillow. Grunting, she buries her face into it, muffling her frustrated scream.

“Are you done?” Genya frowned at her, waiting by the door while Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs into a pillow.

“YOU’VE GOT TO STOP SNEAKING UP ON ME!”

Scoffing, Genya rolled her eyes. “You need to be more perceptive about your surroundings.”

A knock on the door had startled them both, enough for them to both let out a strangled scream. The door opened before either of them gave the permission and once they realized who it was that entered, they didn’t need a reason as to why.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The Darkling grinned at his wife who narrowed her eyes at him immediately.

“Your voice gives me a headache”, Y/N complains.

Squinting at her, the Darkling wondered if a woman could be so infuriating without wielding some mystic power to make her so.

“I believe you agreed to ride with me.”

“Oh”, Genya smirks, “She’ll ride you –“, covering her mouth, Genya giggles as she sees Y/N’s glare is on her, “I meant, with you.”

“I’ve prepared the horses”, he waited for her to respond, to give him reason to dislike her yet she didn’t.

“I will keep my word”, Y/N stood with her formidable gaze on his. She dared not look at his lips for they brought memories and self-loathing she’d rather avoid. After all, what kind of a woman quivers for her enemies touch?

“Wonderful”, he smirks, “I’ll wait for you to dress.”

Remaining in his spot, his hands at his sides, Kirigan raised his eyebrows as both women stared at him.

“Get out”, Y/N waves him off and he clicks his tongue.

“You may not let me touch you, but I can look.”

Angry, she narrowed her eyes at him, “That didn’t stop you from pinning me to a door.”

Genya’s eyes widen, pressing her lips to stop herself from commenting on their little exchange.

Shrugging, he stepped closer. His eyes raked over her body, the nightgown leaving little to imagination. “You didn’t seem to protest”, he leans in, “Especially since you proved you could easily escape me.”

Swallowing thickly, she exhaled through her nose. She couldn’t argue with that, now could she? If she wished, she could have forced him to unhand her. She could have fought him, but she didn’t. She may have been startled when he kissed her but she barely tried to push him away and still, when she had the option to back away, she was the one leaning in for a kiss when he lifted her onto the table. He played a game with her and she lost that day and now he gets to be smug about it.

“As your husband, I promise to protect you from all others. If anyone harms you, they’ll part with their life. For that alone, I deserve an occasional view.”

Winking, he takes a step back and sends a smile in Genya’s direction before turning on his heel and walking out.

“YOU KISSED HIM?!”

Groaning, Y/N throws her head back, “Sort of. It’s more like he kissed me and I didn’t fight him on it.”

“So, does this mean you like him?” Wiggling her eyebrows, Genya squealed in excitement. “Are you bringing him on this plan of yours?”

Holding out her hand, Y/N shook her head, “No, no and no. I don’t trust him one bit and he isn’t exactly a man who’d go along with it.” Exhaling loudly, Y/N decided, “He must be removed along with the emperor.”

When she walked outside, Y/N breath was caught in her throat. The sight of the general on a horse truly felt like a fabrication. Never had she seen a man as majestic as him, as proud and aggravatingly cocky all at once. With his black kefta and the cape, he rode on a black stallion as if he were a mere extension of his will.

She wasted no more time in mounting her white mare, chasing after the Darkling who seemed to only then notice he’s not alone.

Her horse was not above average size, but she was alert and slender-limbed. Her muscles and good nature allowed Y/N to keep up a fairly good pace, never too far behind the black stallion her husband rode. The stallion was clearly riled up, competitive by nature. Anyone else on its back would be a great danger for the rider, but he clearly trusted Kirigan.

The wind blew her hair back and the cold was rather unforgiving on her skin. Passing him narrowly once they entered the woods, she didn’t look back. Instead, she gripped the reigns tighter and continued to breathe as the cold air made her mouth dry and throat scratchy.

Feeling his gaze on her, she relents, looking back at him.

“Where’s your coat?!” He shouted after her and only then did she realize it must have fallen off. Genya made it pretty for a romantic ride, not quite as practical for a race. But that’s not what truly made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. The hint of worry laced in the words of an angry general is what betrayed him and she couldn’t help but wonder – what if it’s more than just lust for him?

“It was slowing me down”, she couldn’t suppress a victorious smile just as he couldn’t suppress an annoyed grunt. Yet they both slowed down, neither of them speaking as they turned around and headed straight to the palace.

“You’re an avid rider.” The general conceded as he dismounted. Before she could blink, he was beside her, his hands on her hips as he pulled her of the horse and effectively stole her breath away.

The rosy colored cheeks left him defenseless as he stared at her too, a little too intently for it to be innocent. Taking her hands in his, he brought them up to his mouth, blowing at them. She kept her gaze at him, undoubtedly in shock as her cold hands started to tingle with the warmth of his breath.

“I’ll have to leave for a few days”, he speaks before she has a chance. “You’ll have the bed all to yourself.”

“Don’t I have to come? If it concerns my peo –“, she began, but he silenced her.

“It’s got nothing to do with the army. I’m merely doing an errand for the emperor.”

Looking at her hands still in his, she pursed her lips. “Doesn’t he have enough servants to do his bidding?”

A breathless chuckle escapes him, “Why? Will you miss me?”

Rolling her eyes, she snorts, “Why? Do you fancy yourself as someone of importance?”

He looked at her like she's the Sun, angrily squinting at every second she spent in his presence. He never looked at her other than in frustration. At least she thought so. It’s how he looked at her a month ago when they first met on a field stained with Druskelle blood. He stood there, alone and victorious as she stepped over the bodies after arriving on this side of the fold with a Sandskiff.

All of their conversations were arguments – she’d narrow her eyes and he’s squint at her, throwing jabs at each other every chance they get, but this felt different. Something changed after the wedding and she wasn’t entirely sure what.

Achingly aware of their closeness, she couldn’t help but ask. "What is this between us?"

Pausing, he looked at her with wonder. If he could put it to words, it wouldn’t make any sense. His mind could hardly fathom what exactly she meant to him other than being a nuisance, but he didn’t exactly hate her as he believed at first when he admittedly hoped she’d find herself eaten by Volcra while crossing the Shadow fold. What he hated was not having a choice. He hated how arrogant she is and how little respect she has for her superiors. He especially hated her mortality, her species and all the atrocities they’ve committed against him and his kind.

He didn’t love her, that he was sure of. He couldn’t possibly care for her either. Lust, winning this game, feeding his ego by having Zlatan’s daughter at his feet is what he longed for. So no, he didn’t love her, but a part of him feared he might love her in time. For the first time in a very, very long time, the Darkling had a fear and it carried her name.

Perhaps that’s why he reacted the way he did when she asked him if there is something between them.

"Nothing." He grabbed the back of her neck, his lips pressing against hers hard.

He was right, she realized. There was nothing between them, nothing between their lips, not even air.

Pulling away, he smirks as she inhales sharply.

"Did you feel a connection?" He looks her in the eye, his lips set in a firm line.

"Yes", she whispers shakily.

His eyes harden as an ache in his chest reminds him of his fear. Someone like him must give up anything he could possibly love for the loss and disappointment are inevitable. She’s mortal, an enemy behind his borders he can never trust. So he will shut his heart out. Love is not an option for the Darkling, he reminds himself. The last time he allowed himself to love was also the day his heart turned to stone. So, he will not love her and she will not love him. He will destroy that possibility, cut any ties that bind them. Lust is the only thing he will let fester.

Leaning in, his lips brush hers softly as he whispers against them, "That's why you're a fool." Stepping back, he heard her gulp. “The connection you feel is lust, that’s all we have and it’s all we will ever have. Accept it.”

“Is that true or are you just afraid?!” Her voice wavers and she instinctively steps toward him, asserting dominance she felt was lost.

“General”, Ivan calls out, just in case Kirigan needed an excuse to leave.

“Afraid?” The Darkling chuckles dryly, averting his gaze to Ivan who waited for him at the entrance. “I’m not afraid of anything”, he remarks as his eyes lock on her lips again, “Certainly not of my wife.”

As he stepped back, the Darkling caught the strangest look in her eyes. It looked like clarity, total and complete sobriety from the ecstasy his presence gave her. She stood proud, despite the self-loathing in her previously warm eyes that slowly turned them back to the ice she held when she first laid her eyes on him.

=============================

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart​

Part 5  

[yandere-sins]

"Stop fucking looking at me like that!"

Referencing this post I made, I thought why not :’D

»»———————— ♡ ————————««        

Rummaging through the big chest, Enderman supplied it with the new items he gathered. Meat, vegetables, a potion for the worst case. Buckets of water and milk, everything you needed to have as a human. It should be enough to last at least for the upcoming weak, but you had been complaining about it rotting and molding since you couldn’t eat it fast enough or preserve it. You were also craving fruits. Biting his lip, he thought hard about how to accommodate your wishes better when he suddenly heard the growling of a zombie nearby, making him come to an immediate stop.

If he was quiet enough, the zombie shouldn’t be able to make you out inside this little, sparely filled room he created. No one said it would be easy to accumulate enough obsidian to build this hut. Still, it was the only way to keep you safe, even if it took him forever. All these monsters and treacherous villagers outside were after you, and even if he was able to keep them at bay for a long time, what if one day he couldn’t be around to keep you from harm? Perhaps it wasn’t a very pretty domicile, but it was safe. The only light source was one window, but he built it high enough so no zombie, skeleton, or creeper would be able to look through it. He collected a bed for you, chests, and books from the village, but that was all there was to keep you busy.

Enderman listened intently, waiting for the footsteps and grunts to disappear before he could let out a sigh of relief. Even with all the precautions he made, one could never be too safe. Even if he wasn’t worried about himself, if it was for you, he’d do everything to keep you far away from the dangerous mobs roaming the world. Continuing to pack your chest with edibles, he didn’t notice you slowly waking up, rising behind him. Enderman made a point out of coming at night rather than day to avoid the one thing that made him uncomfortable. While he would have loved interacting with you, the human custom of keeping eye contact was something he could never bear to endure. Not even for you.

Even now, your eyes drilling into his back, he began to shake anxiously, hoping you’d recognize him and go back to sleep.

But you didn’t.

You never did.

“It’s late,” he chuckled nervously, slowly closing the lid of the chest before standing up. He had to raise the ceiling quite a bit after realizing he couldn’t fit the space after he built it. Even if he could teleport in and out at his leisure, with his size, it would have been hard to stay with you in an emergency had he kept it at his first draft. But he learned that humans quite liked high ceilings, and secretly he hoped that meant you liked him too, considering his size.

“You should be sleeping. I brought new food, so you can rest assured.”

Was he just talking to overcome the awkwardness? You’ve been nearly killing him with this silent treating of yours, only ever looking at the back of his head. It was unfathomable why you’d treat him with such disrespect. He had voiced his discomfort more than once, but you insisted that you hated his treatment of you, and as such, he’d have to endure the same. But how could you? All of this was only ever in your best interest. Out there, you’d have done the same to keep safe - build a home and gathered food - so why did you hate it when he did it? Wasn’t he good to you? Didn’t he try his best to fulfill all your wishes? Was it too much to ask for that you were safe under his care?

“Please stop,” he whispered with clenched teeth, the shaking of his body getting stronger. “What more do I need to do to make you stop looking at me like that?”

“Let me go,” you finally spoke up, the sound of your voice almost as beautiful as he remembered it--no, even better! A quiet gasp escaped him after finally receiving a word from you, and he turned around for the first time in forever to face you.

A big mistake.

Your eyes met as Enderman suddenly felt overcome with a wave of emotions. He wished it had been only positive ones, but there was no way he could escape his instincts. Doubling over in pain, he grunted, trying to keep himself under control, but to no avail. Even in his state, he could clearly perceive the shuffling of blankets as you got up, noticing the state he was in. Though he wanted to believe you cared for him, it was clear you were merely concerned about what to do if something happened to him. But that would be enough. Even if you just liked him for his use, it would be enough to satisfy him. As long as he could keep you safe, you could use him as much as he wanted.

The obsidian made no sound as he gripped you by the wrists, slamming you into the wall. Your body, on the other hand, made an absolutely horrifying crack, so much so, Enderman feared the worst already. But one look at your eyes showed them clear as day, still very much able to perceive him. Perhaps adrenaline soothed your pain momentarily.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that! I told you so many times to fucking stop! When will you listen?!”

His yell filled the whole space around you two. If he hadn’t been seething with anger, he’d have instantly regretted raising his voice. No less because it could have attracted unwanted visitors. Enderman had never lashed out at you before, never done anything that would put you into the opposite of what he wanted - danger. But here he was, eyes falling to your mouth as your breath hitched, unable to form a word. All you did - finally! - was looking down and away from him before pinching your eyelids close tightly.

Immediately, he felt much calmer, now that you weren’t drilling holes into him anymore. Regaining his senses, he let go of you, letting you plummet back onto the bed he held you above. Whether or not you were in pain wasn’t something either of you seemed to notice. Instead, you were quick to hug yourself, fearful tears rolling from the closed corners of your eyes despite no sobs escaping you. You had no weapons to defend yourself, and a punch didn’t do as much as one of his did to you. It must have been a big shock for you to see the other side of Enderman, one you had a hard time comprehending.

Placing his hand on your shoulder, you flinched noticeably before finally breaking down into crying, collapsing forward onto the mattress. Enderman stood there lost for words or actions to console you, wanting to say something, apologize even! It didn’t matter who’s fault it was, he never wanted to see you hurt or crying! That’s why he did all of this after all!

Instead, he remembered the peculiar thing he found in one of the villages. It was a banner, something he thought you might enjoy hanging up in your tiny home, but when he reached for it now, he had a different idea of what to do with it. Ripping off the bottom wasn’t easy even for him, especially since he allowed no tools or scissors in this safe space. But once he had it, he returned to your side, kneeling next to your bed and lifting your head gently. You tried to turn your face away, but he had a tight grip on you, nudging you to face him. Good as you were, you kept your eyes closed still.

Even if he couldn’t be sure how to do it, he loosely tied the cloth around your head, covering your eyes with it. “W-What…?” you stuttered meekly, feeling the fabric on your skin, and Enderman hushed you gently. “This will do. You won’t be able to look at me this way. You’ll never need to be afraid anymore; this will keep you safe, I promise.”

Whether his assurance went through to you, he couldn’t decide, unable to read your expression as you bit your lip. Your body began to shake again, and it felt almost like his whenever you made him uncomfortable and anxious. Enderman knew this feeling all too well, but you wouldn’t need to bear it alone. He could if he had to, but he wouldn’t let you go through these complicated feelings alone.

Easily, with inhuman strength, he picked you up, sitting down where you had been just seconds ago, and lifted you into his lap. Finally, his big body and long arms were good for something, even if he hadn’t expected it would be comforting you. If it was for him, you two could have continued the relationship you had. Enderman would have simply stayed by your side while you slept, brushing the hair out of your face and pulling up the blanket over you to make sure you had a good rest. You didn’t need to recognize his efforts, and you could even scream at him if you’d prefer that, but it wouldn’t have mattered. He knew you were safe and well-taken care of, and he’d never forget you needed him. That was enough.

But now that he held you in his arms, he wasn’t sure if it was enough for him anymore.

Now that this awful habit of looking at him had been prevented, nothing was stopping him from being close to you. Now he could touch you, hold you, comfort you tenderly! All without fearing what might happen. “It’s going to be alright now,” he hushed you sweetly. “I’m so sorry I lashed out, I will do everything to make it up to you! I’ll bring new books and flowers to decorate with soon, everything will be okay. You can always rely on me; I’ll keep you company from now on, trust me!”

He meant it. Even if he didn’t understand most of the complicated feelings you had, you must have felt relieved as you started to cry even more. And so was he. He was relieved too. Who knew being with you so close, holding you, and swaying back and forth with you felt so wonderful. The only other time he held you, felt your warmth and heartbeat, had been when he teleported you inside of this room. Enderman had always believed that to be the height of all emotions, but he now realized there was so much more! So many more opportunities and feelings to explore. But you had time, right? He wouldn’t be greedy; he’d take his time to explore them all with you and enjoy them thoroughly.

After all, you were safest with him.

And he was the happiest with you.

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii

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

word count: ~9.4k

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

You’re his only solace. 

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

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

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

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

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

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

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

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

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

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

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

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

Waste away, all alone.

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

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

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

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

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

It’s a harder descent. 

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s grim in its predictability. 

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

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

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

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

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

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

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

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

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

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

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

It feels comfortable, warm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want to be called?”

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

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

His mouth is dry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was. 

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future. 

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.) 

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted. 

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze. 

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings. 

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming. 

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.” 

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest. 

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face. 

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?” 

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t. 

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa. 

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least. 

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind. 

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively. 

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap. 

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?” 

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do. 

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you. 

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible. 

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words. 

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy— 

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none. 

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments. 

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could. 

“Do you see now?” 

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch. 

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky. 

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning— 

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.” 

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side. 

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness. 

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.” 

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do. 

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan. 

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see. 

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection. 

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep.  The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue. 

It bothers him— 

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror. 

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while. 

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can. 

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant. 

All the same, the trim feels good. 

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back— 

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!” 

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!” 

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him. 

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.) 

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity. 

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning. 

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much.  The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering. 

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with. 

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach. 

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it. 

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree. 

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was. 

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh. 

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.” 

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet. 

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress. 

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely. 

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone. 

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

 Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes. 

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile. 

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up— 

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart. 

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later. 

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard. 

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead. 

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too— 

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement. 

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try. 

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered. 

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks. 

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.) 

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business. 

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat. 

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders. 

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—” 

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough. 

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands. 

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night. 

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?) 

But you’re not in the common room. 

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath. 

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten. 

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard. 

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him. 

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more. 

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone— 

...

Keigo leaves the next morning. 

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn. 

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse. 

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died. 

All disgusting reminders. 

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had. 

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he. 

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time. 

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave. 

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes. 

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.  

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter. 

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it. 

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears— 

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some. 

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought. 

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?” 

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe. 

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self. 

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

[loth-wolffe]

Do you think we could get “ i guess somewhere along the way, i fell in love. and i don’t know how it happened, or when, but… “ with Rex, please? I read a really heart breaking fic with him last night and could just really use something sweet and fluffy with a happy ending. If not, totally fine! :)

@generaldumbbitch kindly asked: could i request rex x jedi reader with the prompt “I've been trying to talk myself out of it." "Then talk yourself into it."

Do I wanna know?

(if this feeling floats both ways)

Pairing: our precious blonde captain x jedi!reader.

Word count: 1,6k not proofread you know the drill.

Warnings: mutual pining and yearning come with their own warning. this is a lil bit of a slow burn I think ?? the use of sir is neutral in this house. mentions of rex touching himself 👀 but nothing explicit okay it's a safe space here.

It wasn't usual for Rex to get injured, but it hasn't been one of those days where he got minor scratches, maybe a few dark bruises here and there but most of the time he has been untouched.

Today, though, war has been rougher than usual, a deep cut was found on his side that he doesn't know how he got, face covered in small, little cuts and he could still taste the blood from his split lip.

Which had led him to you, in a way, as he looked for supplies he ended up finding you, and in your stubborn nature you had offered to help him clean his wounds, with a racing heart and fluttering butterflies he had no option but to let out a rushed "yes sir."

After properly applying bacta on his side, you take extra care with his face, skilled hands softly pressing the wet cloth on the wounds. He doesn't hiss, nor shows discomfort, only flinching occasionally, as if he was too familiar with the feeling, too used to the pain it brought.

Amber eyes find you sometimes, as he takes quick glances he hopes you don't notice. He takes a good look of you, the way you bite your lip in concentration, your furrowed brows, how your hair looks, the little necklace hanging from it's hidden place under your robes.

"Is there something on your mind, Rex?"

Sometimes he forgets you're a Jedi, a General, his superior, when he has you so close, this close, and when your hands brush together when he hands you whatever, his heart beating loudly in his ears, mostly when you touch him, your hand on his shoulder or back, on his forearm or waist when you pass by and to move him in the slightest.

He forgets the most at night, when he thinks on where else you could touch him, in how your lips would feel against his, your hands exploring his body and his name falling from your lips in a state of delirious bliss. Shame crawling back into his mind right after as he remembers again who you are, always out of his limit but he can't find it in himself to stop, not when you look at him like that.

"Nothing, General." He finally admits, a lie he hopes you don't sense but you do.

Pulling back to assess him, he already misses you, you give him a look, one that tells him you're not impressed.

"No need for formalities, I have already told you that." You give him an easy smile, one that feels like melting his insides and turning into a puddle.

Only you have the power to leave him nothing but helpless. He's not sure he hates it.

"Sorry, Ge–" your pointed eyes make him chuckle, quickly changing the rank for your name. You give him your most charming smile and he's left hypnotized, sucking a breath when you lean over again, going back to tend his wounds.

He's got it bad for you.

"So?" You ask, in the simplest of murmurs, as if speaking any louder would break your concentration.

"So?" He echoes, confused, warm eyes never leaving you and when your eyes meet, he blushes slightly.

There's something about the intimacy of it all that leaves him this I don't know what in his chest that makes him feel like a cadet all over again.

"The thing you want to tell me, what is it?"

"I don't–" There is something in your eyes he feels drawn to, magnetized by the color of your irises and the emotions they try to shield from him. Rex sighs, he knows there's no way around this, and he wonders if this was your plan all along, to corner him somewhere and casually urge him to confess. "I've been feeling something," he eventually mumbles, eyes looking forward to the door, he's not sure he wants to see your expression.

There's this little mhm that leaves your throat, and he can see from the corner of his eyes how your attention falls in the cut on his forehead. Your eyes flicker to his.

"I wanted to ask you..." he thinks, if you feel the same? "for an advice." He doesn't wait for you to answer, already knowing you're willing to help him out, like you have always been. "There's this– someone." You stop your movement, surprised for a moment and he finds that your unreadable expression makes him anxious.

There's no turning back now.

"And I'm not sure they feel the same, so I've been trying to talk myself out of it, and–"

"Then you should try to talk yourself into it."

You sound so sure, he's sincerely surprised. He watches you go back to the task at hand, the cloth trying to remove the dried blood from his skin.

"You think?"

"We need more love in the galaxy Rex, there's been too much pain these days to stop ourselves from feeling anything but something that resembles it, don't you think?"

He frowns, taking in your words and he supposes you must be right, you're a Jedi, at the end of the day, wiseness is something you have by default, isn't it?

"I guess."

There's a silence that follows, where it's just you working and the rumble of the machines. It's not awkward, per se, but it's not as comfortable as it was when you first begun.

"It's you," he says after a while in the most casual tone possible. He's got nothing more but his life to lose.

You take a step back, looking at him with confusion written in your face, and his hands are shaking with all the emotions he's trying to put at bay. He can't take it back. Not now. He's never been one to stand down from a fight.

"I–" he clears his throat, "the one I have uh, feelings for. I guess somewhere along the way, I fell in love." He finds your eyes, and there's nothing in them that calms him down. He panics, an awkward cough leaves his throat and he feels his neck and ears burning. "With you. And I don't know how it happened, or when, but I, I, I do."

Before he gives you a second to react, he's already standing up, probably opening the cut from his side with the action.

"I apologize if this is too unprofessional, I should probably head out and–"

"Wait," it's a whisper, and it could be humiliating the power you hold over him if it wasn't for the excuse in the back of his mind that reminds him he was bred to follow orders. "You don't want to know what I have to say?"

He hesitates, torn between wanting to know, if the gentleness in your tone and the barely-there smile you're giving him is something to go by, or not wanting to know for the possible consequences of whatever answer your might give him.

If you don't love him back, he doesn't think he'll be able to live with it, much less with how close you and his General are, always working together and Maker, Cody is never going to let him hear the end of it.

But if you do, he could be court martial if anyone finds out, but that's nothing compared to you being casted out from the order. He knows their ideals, he has heard enough from the Commander, you could be torn away from everything you know. He's not worth it, he knows. Compared to everything your life is, he's nothing.

Yet, he nods.

You walk towards him, closing the distance that separates you, Rex wishes you didn't, he can never think straight when you're so close, hence the predicament he finds himself in.

When your hand cups his cheek, he flinches, he has never felt anything close to soft against his skin, always the end of someone's knuckles, the steel of some droid, the heat of a blaster shot. Never something so tender as someone else's hand, slightly calloused by the arduous training of the art of holding a lightsaber and the constant firmness in your grip that these unrelenting times need you to have.

Your eyes fall on him, analyzing his expression that lays so vulnerable in his face when there's nothing that helps him mask it, he seems timid, and like he was about to brace for a punch that never comes.

"You know," your voice serene, warm, and he doesn't understand why, how in the middle of all this, buried in corpses and hands dripping with blood you still find a way to shine so bright, to illuminate a path for him in the chaos of everything and anchor him back. "If you weren't so ready to sprint back to your quarters, I could tell you that I'm in love with you too."

"You are?" You smile, warmed by his naiveness, and he gulps when he sees your eyes flickering to his lips.

"I thought I was obvious," you try to explain, the amused glint in his face warms his cheeks, "I've been flirting with you since I met you, Captain, what took you so long?"

"You were?"

You chuckle, pressing the lightest of kisses on the corner of his mouth, a peck, soft and sweet for him to crumble down at your feet. He feels light-headed and you have barely done anything.

"Are you going to kiss me, trooper?"

He nods, licking his lips with anticipation, taking a moment to learn by heart the gleam in your eyes, and the little marks of your face, and the shape of your lips, and everything that makes you, you.

Rex smiles lightly, closing the gap between your bodies with a single step, his own gloved hands cupping your face.

"Sir, yes sir."

taglist: @foodandbooksplease @dottiechan @ladykatakuri @tacticalsparkles @lightning-wolffe @hellothere-generalangsty @beskarprincessjenny @badbatch-simp24 @milppa @obi-bae-kenobi @rowansparrow @queencousland101 @dagobahbound @huntersbandana @kavecika @paige6768 @thetiredtoad0-0 @baroclinicinstability @murdertoothpick @ahsoka1 @kybacrystal @smoldjarin @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @amaryllis23

[watermelonlovershigh]

Harry Gets Food Poisoning While at Your House

This prompt was requested by this ask and I just put my own take on it. Hope everyone enjoys.

Things to help you understand this story better:

(Boyfriend-Girlfriend/Dating for 2 years/Harry stays over at your place a lot/You ate something different than Harry/Dunkirk Harry era)

(wish that photo was really Harry but unfortunately its not. dead give away by the hand :( )

Harry and yourself decided to order Chinese take-out for a at-home date night. You both scoffed down the tasty food while sitting on the sofa watching romantic comedies. Once you finished eating, you and Harry cuddled together on the sofa under a warm fluffy blanket. You laying on your back and Harry laying on his tummy between your legs, with his head resting on your boobs. While focusing on the film, you run your small fingers in his brown curls and he relaxes into your touch, letting out content sighs.

About an hour after eating, Harry becomes restless on top of you. Before, he was laying peacefully, but now he's squirming every few seconds. "You alright babe?" you question down to Harry on your chest.

"Mhmm my stomachs starting to hurt." he replies truthfully. He's unsure the cause but his stomach is swirling and his heart rate is picking up at the mere thought of having to be sick. Especially the thought of being sick at his girlfriends house during the at-home date you had planed. He doesn't want to ruin it by getting sick.

"Oh m'sorry. Do you think it was the Chinese food?" you speak remorsefully.

"I don't know but I don't want to be sick," Harry says with a voice crack indicating he's actually getting upset, "and ruin our date night." When he finishes his sentence, he starts softly sobbing into your chest.

"Hey, hey, Harry," you say sternly but still in your caring voice, "you would not be ruining our date night. You can't help if your feel sick. Do you maybe want to go sit in the bathroom so you're closer to the toilet?"

Harry just nods his head and you help him stand up from his position on your chest and onto his barley stable feet. Then you guide him to your downstairs hall bathroom because its the closest bathroom to your living room. You walk Harry up to the toilet and help him kneel down in front and you squat down behind him. "I feel so sick y/n!" Harry moans out through shallow breaths.

"It's gonna be okay Harry. I'm right here. It's okay to be sick. I won't be mad." you reassure your boyfriend so he knows he doesn't have to keep in his sick for your sake and so he'll feel better. Because you know undoubtedly he has food poisoning from the Chinese food he ate earlier and if he keeps the toxins in his body, he will just feel sicker and sicker.

Harry's back arches over the toilet as he lets out a sickly sounding gag. You grimace at the noise but know you must keep it together to take care of him and comfort him. He's breathing rather heavy with his mouth hanging open and saliva dripping out into the water. "Shhh babe, just relax and throw up. Your tummy will feel so much better after." you gently coo in his ear. You have one hand rubbing circles on his muscular back and one hand pushing back his curly bangs that's falling in his face. He lets out a harsh dry heave and it follows with a long stream of vomit exiting out his mouth and splattering in the toilet water. You have to close your eyes to not be sick yourself.

In-between spells of emptying his stomach, Harry mutters, "You can leave me in here alone. Don't want you seeing me like this." He is absolutely crazy to think you'd leave him in such a vulnerable state. You love Harry and him being sick doesn't stray you away from being by his side in such a situation.

"Harry, I am not leaving you. I don't care if you're sick. You've seen me sick many times and took care of me each of those times. So I'm taking care of you." you calmly say back. Honestly, Harry feels so sick that he doesn't try and argue with you. If he's being truthful, he's actually thankful you're with him, comforting him, because he hates being sick alone. He may not admit that out loud but its true. Something else that happens when Harry's sick, alone or with someone there with him, he gets emotional. An uncontrollable emotion that follows during or after getting sick. One thing he hates most about this situation right now is looking weak in front of you. He's always so strong and being this vulnerable in your eyes suck.

What Harry doesn't know is that you like this side of him. Not the sick version of course but the weak side. It shows he isn't perfect and you honestly don't think you could even date someone who puts themselves out as such.

Harry forcefully throws up a few more times until he's just dry heaving with nothing more to expel. "I think you're done babe." you tell Harry softly as he's dry heaving with no results.

Harry just shakes his head weakly and replies, "I still feel sick though. My stomach hurts so bad." Tears are rolling down his face and his hands that grip the sides of the toilet seat are slightly shaking.

"I know but I think the toilet is making you feel more sick." You reach over him to flush his puke down the toilet so he doesn't have to look at it a minute longer. Harry sits up straight and turns his head back slowly to look at you. This is the first time you have seen his face clearly since he's gotten sick tonight and the first thing you notice is how red his eyes are, probably from all the gagging and dry heaving, and you see the wetness of his cheeks due to crying. Along with the bit of vomit that his on the corner of his pink lips and line of sweat on his forehead. You feel horrible for him. You'd hate to be in his position but almost wish the roles were reversed, just to take his discomfort away. That's how much you love him. You'd do just about anything for Harry. Even if that means take his food poisoning away from him and have it yourself.

You reach for some toilet paper and rip a piece off to wipe his mouth clean. While wiping his vomit covered mouth, Harry just sits and stares at you. He feels so little right now. Almost like he's a small child who's just been sick and their mum is cleaning them up. Even though Harry is embarrassed he got sick on what was supposed to be a lovely date night where you both ate non contaminated food, watched film after film, trying not to fall asleep, or maybe had some romantic intimacy at the end of the night, he actually feels happy right now. Not happy his stomach is upset but happy he got lucky enough to have a caring girlfriend that is by his side during his ugliest moments. He thinks he may have just fell more in love with you. Seeing how compassionate you are towards him when he's sick.

When you finish wiping around his mouth and a little bit of nasty drainage from his nose, Harry becomes emotional again. Like stated previously, he always gets quite emotional when he's sick but that's not the only cause of his emotions right now. He is also crying because he's thinking about how much he truly loves you and how he never thought he'd find someone with your level of compassion.

You throw away the soiled tissue and pull Harry forward so you can embrace him in a warm hug. You don't really understand why he's crying so much. Is it because his stomach is still hurting or he's embarrassed? "Why are you crying Harry?" you question him then continue, "It's alright. I'll give you medicine to make you feel better. Don't worry about that."

While rubbing both hands up and down his sweaty back, Harry says through soft sobs, "I just love you so much. How did I get so lucky. I've had partners in the past to push me away when I was sick and you didn't. You stayed and took care of me." He lifts his head so he can view your face when he mutters out the rest. "I'm gonna marry you one day you know. Want to call you my wife. Want to have lots of babies with you. Be with you till I'm a hundred. Promise I do."

His words have brought tears to your eyes. Knowing how grateful Harry is that you're taking care of him when he's sick means so much. You didn't think twice before helping him when he said he felt sick, so it must be the true love you feel for this man crying in your hold. With a shaky smile and watery eyes, you look at him in his glossy green eyes and say, "I would kiss you right now but I have a feeling your breath smells like puke so I'll pass. Love you so much Harry and of course I took care of you. I love you and that's what you do for the people you love. Take care of them in their weakest moments."

You hold him for a few more minutes on the bathroom floor until your bum gets sore from the hard tiles. You help Harry stand to his feet and walk him to your bedroom located up the stairs of your house. Then you help him slide into bed and tell him you'll be right back with some medicine and a glass of water.

A few minutes later, you come back with the upset stomach tablets and water for Harry to take and ease his turning tummy. Once he's taken the medicine, you go grab your mini trash bin in your bathroom and place it beside the bed incase he feels like he's gonna throw up again. Then you turn all the lights off and crawl under the warm blankets with your boyfriend. Without hesitation, Harry scoots over and places his head on your chest. He's past the point of being scared to look weak. He just wants comfort and the one thing that brings him the most is you. The love of his life. "Thank you for taking care of me tonight." Harry whispers with a hoarse voice.

"You don't need to thank me babe. I was glad to be there for you. I know you don't like getting sick and I was happy to at least make the experience a little bit better. Now go to sleep and if you feel sick again, the bin is on the floor beside the bed for you. Also don't be afraid to wake me up if you feel nauseous. I want to be there to comfort you." you reply back in a whispered tone. You kiss the top of his messy curls and Harry relaxes into your hold on him. Feeling safe and secure in your loving arms. Then you both fall fast asleep.

Thankfully Harry didn't get sick anymore through-out the night and the medicine you gave him seemed to have worked. The next day he was just exhausted form exerting so much energy being sick the day before but other than that, his stomach felt calm. You made him homemade chicken soup and cuddled him in bed, watching his favorite movies all day. Loving every second you get to spend with Harry before he has to leave and go on his world tour in a months time.

MASTERLIST & My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

[bruhlsbees]

broken wing || dr. laszlo kreizler x fem!reader

summary: laszlo catches reader attempting to play the piano

pairing: dr. laszlo kreizler x fem!reader

warnings: this shit just pure angst but at the same time so soft

word count: 2924 (this got a little out of hand LOL)

a/n: based on this set of prompts specifically "stroke - my muse gently runs a hand over your muse's back/arm", takes place before the events of the first season of the alienist

You knew you shouldn’t have been in here. You were supposed to be helping Cyrus in the back with something to do with the chickens...or was in the weeds? To be quite frank, you hadn’t been paying much attention to what the man needed help with, you were fixed on doing one thing and one thing only…

Playing the piano.

The piano that sat in Dr. Kreizler’s study always fascinated you. You didn’t know how to play, but you were always tranced by the music that came from the keys. You had heard someone play once before, in one of the fancy restaurants that Dr. Kreizler often went to. While you hadn’t exactly been inside to see the pianist perform, you were out on the street, dancing under the light post to the adoring classical music of Mozart.

At the time, you had no idea that it was Mozart, but later that week when you were prepping Dr. Kreizler’s dinner, he overheard you humming the tune and questioned your knowledge of it.

“I heard it...on one of my walks. It’s beautiful - although I do not seem to be familiar with the composer.” You explained, looking down at him after setting his plate in front of him.

Looking up with a weak smile, Dr. Kreizler nodded once, picking up his silverware to cut into the chicken, “It’s Mozart. Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor to be more specific,” He put the slice of chicken in his mouth, chewing it in thought before swallowing, “I had no idea you were fond of the piano.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “I enjoy music, Dr. Kreizler...anyone who enjoys music is fond of the piano.”

Nodding his head once, Dr. Kreizler paused, glancing ahead of him at the piano that sat in the corner of his study. The tune was not one he had fond memories of, as they were attached to his childhood. It pained him to know how much she adored it, and how incapable he was of even being able to play it for her.

Pulling back from his thoughts, Dr. Kreizler looked up at you and his expression fell slack, as if something changed in the air that left him sour, “Thank you for bringing me my dinner. I wish you a good night.”

You were taken back slightly by the dismissal, not understanding what you did to upset him. Embarrassed by the situation, you could find yourself only nodding, bowing slightly before turning on your heels and quickly leaving the room.

Ever since that night you hadn’t brought up pianos or Mozart again. You found yourself biting down on your tongue when you were around the doctor to avoid from humming the tune and upsetting him again. But as much as you tried to forget, tried to avoid the subject, your curiosity only grew.

And here you were, in his study sitting at the piano, the keys glossy and free to be touched. You noted how the keys looked as though nobody had played them in so long.

Running your fingers gently along the keys, you smiled as your fingers maneuvered over the black and white keys. You felt like a sneaky child, sitting at the piano, trying to not make a sound and get caught. Your fingers would occasionally slip down too hard and a low note would echo from the instrument, sending chills down your spine. The smile on your face though never went away, no matter how on edge you felt.

You noticed the music book sitting on the stand in front of your eyes and your hands moved from the keys to the book, running your fingers down the cover.

Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor.

A light gasp escaped your mouth and you instantly opened the book to the first page, looking at the notes that were on the pages. Did the doctor know how to play this?

While you read the music, humming in your head what you thought it sounded like, based on what you heard outside the restaurant, you knew that it wasn’t accurate. You had no idea how to read music, nor did you understand what any of this meant. You wished you knew how to play, to be able to recite note for note what you heard.

Sighing, you dropped your head down slightly and closed the book, not bearing to look at the music anymore, only feeling your heart twitch in pain...envy in a way, as to why you couldn’t play, yet so many others could.

Sliding off the bench, you figured it was time to go find Cyrus, before he came looking for you and turning the Institute inside out. As you turned around to leave, taking a step forward, you immediately stopped in your tracks, mouth gaped as you jumped, seeing the doctor in the entryway.

“Dr. Kreizler! I-I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be in here I ju-”

“You’ve been intrigued by one of Mozart’s many fine compositions,” He said, cutting you off. A smile formed on his face as he made his way into the room and towards you, brushing past you to sit at the bench, looking at the music book, “I can’t say I can blame you. I do admire his work.”

While the doctor didn’t seem upset with you in his study, your body still felt tense, as if you were walking on eggshells. Your body stayed in place while your head turned, looking behind you as the doctor lifted his good arm up to the keys, playing a few notes.

The silence that fell over the two of you alerted him of your discomfort. “Please, why don’t you join me? I assure you I am not upset.” He explained, his voice soft as he knew the state of your emotions at the moment.

You were hesitant at first to join, part of you almost telling him that you couldn’t and had to go help Cyrus - but the chance to listen to the doctor play overcame you and you found yourself seated tightly beside him, looking at the keys in awe.

While you didn’t notice, the doctor was looking over at you, smiling in admiration at your newfound love for the instrument. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I believe that everyone should have the chance to learn. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Feeling his eyes on you, you glanced to your left for a moment, cheeks pink as your eyes faltered back to the keys, a small smile on your face as you nodded.

The doctor nodded back, smiling as he reached across with his left hand to open the music book to the beginning of the song, licking his fingers once to unstick the pages. When the book was at the beginning, he smoothed the spine so the book would stay open before leaning back.

“I must admit, I do not believe you’ll be able to play this piece today, but if you continue to practice and stick with it, I have no doubt your capability of performing the piece.” The doctor explained, pulling his weak arm up to the piano.

You noticed that Dr. Kreizler was a bit frustrated with the state of his weaker hand, not being able to properly show you how to play. He let out a faint grunt as he attempted to move his right hand to play the keys, failing miserably.

While learning to play was something you found yourself yearning for, you knew it was wrong, given the state of Dr. Kreizler’s condition and not wanting him to be embarrassed. Seeing him in so much pain broke your heart, as you couldn’t understand how the man who cared so much for the ones he saw didn’t have anyone to do the same to him.

Reaching out, you found your own right hand placed over his, stopping him from attempting to push down on the keys. In surprise, Dr. Kreizler looked over at you, eyebrows furrowed for a moment before the turned into a somber expression.

“I believe I got in over my head,” He admitted sadly, “I used to play, you see, but after my arm, I haven’t been able to play as it requires two hands.”

You didn’t want to press on the manner. You never knew much about his weaker arm, but assumed that it was a sore subject for him. Smiling weakly, you shook your head and took his weaker hand off the keys, placing it in your lap as you squeezed his hand, gently running your other hand up his arm.

The delicate flesh that sat under his shirt was noticeably thinner than his other arm. The bones felt more prominent and his muscles were miniscule, perhaps not even there. You could hear his breath hitch in his throat as you stopped as his bicep, holding his arm close to you, almost in a hug.

“Dr. Kreizler...you do not need to push your own comforts for me and my lust for the piano,” You admitted, turning to look at the man in the eyes. “Perhaps one day I shall be able to play, but right now it is not necessary.”

Dr. Kreizler returned the smile, staring down at you and into your eyes contently, his breathing still hitched from his rising nerves, “Perhaps...but it still doesn’t excuse that I wished to teach you,” He admitted before continuing, “And please, call me Laszlo.

Your hand that was holding his reached to his face, your fingers running down into his beard, “Laszlo…” You whispered, almost as if to test the name as it came from your own mouth. You noticed his smile twitched bigger at the sound of his name coming from you before closing his eyes and pressing his chin down on your head.

The both of you stayed in that embrace for moments, enjoying the sound of one another’s steady breathing and the scent of one another. The moment went on for several more minutes before you finally pulled back, smiling once more at Dr. Kreizle- Laszlo before leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Forgive me, Laszlo, I just felt as though it would be nice to kiss you.”

Laszlo could only smile, his cheeks pink before he nodded his head, “There is nothing to forgive...if it wouldn’t be bold of me to ask, perhaps I could return one for you?”

Pausing for a moment, your smile crept into a toothy grin before nodding, watching as he leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss to your cheek, your face twitching slightly at the tickle of his beard.

“If you wish, I would still be willing to teach you,” Laszlo began suddenly, leaning back now and untangling himself from you, looking back at the piano. He looked over his right shoulder and smiled down at you, “We could have dinner together and practice for an hour. As part of our new nightly routine...that is if you are not busy after dinner.”

The offer was more than what you could have asked for. Dinner and time to practice the piano? The doctor was spoiling you, there was no doubt about that. But how could you deny the offer? It was far too good to turn away.

Nodding your head furiously, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh, ecstatic now for what lied ahead of you two, “Yes, yes I would quite enjoy that proposition, Laszlo. Thank you.”

Pleased to hear your agreement, Laszlo nodded and turned to the music book, pointing at the first note before directing you where to put your hands on the piano.

The rest of the afternoon and evening in the Institute was filled with repeating rhythms and phrases as well as the occasional echo of laughter between you and Laszlo. The time you shared that night went on for hours until you found yourself drifting off onto his shoulder as you listened to him explain the next measure that was more complicated than the others.

Laszlo couldn’t be mad at you for falling asleep as he was talking - in fact he was quite pleased to see, and feel, you asleep on his shoulder. Turning his body slightly, he looked over your face before leaning forward to place a gentle kiss to your forehead, pulling away after a moment. He heard light footsteps approaching and turned his attention from you and to the entryway where Cyrus now stood.

“Cyrus, please help me in assisting her off to her room. I don’t believe she will be waking up anytime soon.”

Approaching the two, Cyrus nodded and carefully scooped your sleeping figure into his arms, wishing the doctor a well evening before taking you up to your room, leaving the doctor to his thoughts for the evening.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Laszlo was more than impressed to see you seated at the piano no more than two months later, flawlessly playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor. The two of you had spent every night since the night he found you practicing until you were seated there now, playing for himself and Cyrus.

You worked hard to be able to perform the piece for the two men, working late most evenings and oftentimes on your own once you were able to understand how to play without Laszlo’s assistance. He went above and beyond with you as his pupil, being more than patient and understanding when you couldn’t get the measure right after numerous tries or when you first started and you couldn’t understand the proper wrist form.

But here you were, no more than a couple months later being able to play the piece without any hesitations. You could hear the other accompanies in your head - the strings, woods, and brass - which made your playing more confident as you felt as though you were on a stage, performing for a grand hall.

When the song finally came to and end, however, you lightly moved your hands up, letting the notes finish ringing out before dropping them into your lap, mouth opened in awe at yourself for being able to perform the piece. Turning your head, being brought back to reality and into Laszlo’s study, you stood from the bench and bowed, like you were told by Laszlo that performers do once they are done, before your smile spread wide, seeing them applaud you.

You couldn’t help but blush, especially when both Cyrus and Laszlo presented you with flowers picked from the garden out back.

“That was wonderful. I haven’t heard such a lovely song in how long.” Cyrus praised, his hands back at his side, a proud smile on his face.

You couldn’t help but feel warm, not expecting the praise from Cyrus, “Thank you, Cyrus. Your words are too kind.”

Nodding, Cyrus smiled and gently clasped Laszlo’s back, “As much as I’d love to stay up and chat,” He said after a moment, “I better be off to bed.” He bid you both a good night before going to retire to his room, leaving you both in study to yourselves.

Twirling the two flowers in your fingers, your attention was fixed on the yellow and orange daffodils, doing your best to ignore how obvious it was that Laszlo was staring at you.

Your attention was soon pulled from the yellow and orange to meet the honey brown of his eyes. A smile grew on your face as you laughed lightly, motioning towards the flowers, “I should be giving you one of these, at the very least, after all, you were the one who taught me.”

Plucking the stem of one of the flowers, you gently placed the flower in the front of his coat pocket, taking a step back before letting out a giggle, thinking he looked charming, yet silly. “I don’t know, Laszlo, I don’t know if daffodils are your flower.” You teased.

Before your hand got drop fully back to your side, Laszlo quickly caught your hand with his good one, holding it as he looked down at your. His smile turned weak, shaky almost, as if he was trying to not cry. You frowned, confused by the sudden reaction before he beat you to it.

“I haven’t been able to play in so long, and now hearing you tonight play…” He found himself choking on his words before he swallowed the painful lump in his throat, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss before holding it against his face, “Thank you, for bringing some I love back to life.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his confession, how close you were to him, and how extraordinarily handsome he was this evening. Your mouth fell open, unsure as to what to say next before you found your gaze wandering to his lips.

“Laszlo I-”

But before you could make out your sentence, you felt his soft lips on your, his beard tickling your face as he kissed your sweetly. Instantly closing your eyes, you melted into the kiss and shifted your hold to be around his neck, kissing him back.

You felt his weak arm placed on your waist and didn’t mind the connection, in fact, you adored it. Moving your left arm down, you gently ran your grasp down his weaker arm, squeezing the flesh delicately. As you pulled away, you pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes to preserve the moment before hearing him speak again.

“Thank you, for letting my passion fly again.”

[cowboycakes]

Hi! ur writing is incredible and i saw that requests were open and i just had to go for it. could you possible write a ReinerxFem! reader where she’s really seriously injured and tries to hide it from everyone, until she passes out in Reiner’s arms (cliche i’m sorry) and he’s just SO mad at himself for not noticing before and he’s so worried and he cares for the reader so much while she’s unconscious and after she wakes up? Just like so much fluff and angst and Reiner being a guilty fucker as he is but also like extremely protective and caring? Sorry it’s so specific. Thank you!🥺❤️

Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this fluffy little piece!

Tender Loving Care 

Pairing: Reiner Braun x fem!Reader

Themes: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, Reiner’s guilty ass 

Warnings: Reader uses she/her pronouns, severe injury/blood and bleeding/recovery, fainting, hospital setting, profanity

Word Count: 1.5k

You stumble into the medical tent, plopping your sweaty body down on a cot. Dirt covered hands rummage through a med kit until they come across a bundle of white bandages. You form them tightly around your thigh, applying pressure that you hoped would stop the bleeding. You’d really messed up on the mission today, completely misfiring your ODM gear when the first titan came into view. Your legs hit a tree branch, hard. Nerves would often get the best of you like that.

And now you’re left with the consequence - a giant gash. The sight of it made you feel faint. Blood wouldn’t cease to seep through the mesh material surrounding your wound, even after rewrapping it a few times.

You pack some extra gauze into it before trying to stand up and go to find the rest of the group. Before you take your first step, the tent door flies open. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! What’s wrong?” Reiner shouts, rushing over to your side. 

You secretly relished in the feeling of him worrying for you sometimes. 

This whole dynamic between the two of you began from a chance pairing in some training exercises. Reiner had played the cocky tough guy at first, trying to show off and take over every exercise the two of you were supposed to do together. This irritated you to no end, obviously. Your solution was to get under his skin: make him laugh, tease him and poke at him until that hard headed exterior of his cracked. With time, it eventually did, revealing a big softie who cared for you more than he’d like to admit. 

“Just me folding under pressure. The usual,” you sigh, taping your bandages down, “it’s just a scratch.”

“Don’t lie, let me see it,” he says gently, crouching down in front of you to inspect your injury. 

“No!” you laugh as you press a hand onto your bandage, “I’m perfectly fine! We need to get going, anyway.”

Reiner looks up to you, unimpressed. He could always see right through your fibs. You smile guiltily at him as he stands up. 

“I’m not convinced that’s just a scratch,” Reiner mumbles.

“Sure it is! Just watch,” you declare as you walk toward the exit. 

You couldn’t hide your limp. 

“Nope. Absolutely not,” Reiner interrupts. He stands in front of you and motions for you to get on his back. You sigh, but reluctantly climb on anyway. 

You loop your arms around his neck as he moves his hands to support your thighs, being extra careful around your injury. 

The pain wasn’t getting any duller, even though you weren’t trying to walk now. You lay your cheek down on Reiner’s shoulder as his big strides carried you toward the horse and cart that was set to take everyone back to headquarters. Your body goes limp on the short journey, feet dangling and heavy eyes closing. 

Reiner gently sets you down beside him whenever you two reach your ride. He instinctively puts a big arm around your sore shoulders, pulling your body in close to his warm chest. 

“That better just be a scratch, or you’re never gonna hear the end of it,” Reiner teases, squeezing your arm. 

You huff in response, closing your eyes again. 

The rest of the group eventually arrives at the cart - most of them as sweaty and beat up as you were. However, you were feeling weaker by the minute. 

“Woah, y/n, you ok? You look pale...” you hear Annie question as she boards the cart.

You look down to your leg, quick to cover it with your hands before Reiner could see. Blood had made its way through your bandaging again.

“Yeah, I’m just fine,” you laugh nervously, “thanks Annie.”

You weren’t fine. You were becoming increasingly lightheaded - feeling yourself break into a cold sweat as your breathing becomes shallow.

The cart eventually starts to move, its wooden wheels creaking as it makes its way over the bumpy path home. You try to focus on the scenery moving around you, but your vision is too blurred. 

The state of your body was now making you nervous. You decide to close your eyes and lean your head against Reiner’s chest, gripping a sweaty hand on the back of his shirt, trying to ground yourself.  He rubs his hand up and down your arm slowly in response, calming you down a bit.

“We’re almost home. I’ll get you feeling better once we’re there, ok?” Reiner says.

“Ok…” you smile, beginning to feel yourself fade in and out a bit.

The cart finally comes to a halt. Reiner stands up before you and helps your woozy legs to straighten with the support of his hand in yours. He steps off the wooden cart first, opening his arms up so he could pick you up again. 

“Reiner, I’m okay,” you say, letting go of his hand, “promise.”

You look down at the dusty ground from your position on the cart, now standing completely unassisted.

Ok, just a small step, right? Three feet at most. Just move your foot forward, out into the abyss below the cart. 

Suddenly, your vision is a mere tunnel, blackness encroaching rapidly from the outsides of your eyes. Your body is in free fall, no longer under control of your mind. 

The last thing you sense is a pair of big arms catching you princess style. 

••••••••

“Dammit!” Reiner hisses, turning fast on his heels toward the infirmary. He’s quick to dodge the other scouts walking away from the cart, moving as fast as he could while keeping your limp body still in his arms. 

I’m always so fucking oblivious. Why do I ever listen to her? Always trying so hard to make sure she’s not being a burden. Of course she was lying to me, why couldn’t I have just taken better care of her from the start?

He slides through the infirmary front doors, alerting some nurses behind the desk of your condition. He keeps you tight in his arms as they swiftly guide you to a room. You let out a little groan once he sets you down on the hospital cot. 

God dammit. This is all my fault. Damn I can’t stand to see her face like this, all tensed up - she must be in so much pain. Shit, I am not about to tear up right now. 

Nurses rush over to you, quick to put you on some fluids and start sewing up your leg. Your condition quickly stabilizes, allowing the nurses to give you some much needed time to sleep off your injuries. 

Reiner insisted on taking over the nurses' duties after that point. Big, gentle hands would change out your bandaging every so often, along with keeping cold rags on your head and holding your hand when looks of discomfort appeared on your face. In his mind, it was the least he could do to subdue his guilt - to make it up to you.

He sat there all night, a big nervous mess in the chair he pulled up next to you. He hated getting so emotional like this, especially around someone who he needed to believe he was invincible. Luckily for him, you were still sleeping like a baby, unaware of his concerns. 

You finally open your groggy eyes early in the morning - the sun hasn't even peaked over the horizon yet. Your unfocused gaze wanders to the side of the bed. 

There he is - his head sits in his hand as he stares out the dark window from his chair. His short blonde hair is disheveled, probably from nervous hands running through it all night. Dark circles encompass his upper cheeks. He clearly hadn’t slept a wink.

“Hey,” you whisper.

Reiner jumps a little bit from his daze, quickly turning to look at you. He lets out a long sigh of relief, wiping a hand down his tense face.

“You had me worried sick,” he grumbles. You hum in response, a sleepy smile accidentally forms across your cheeks.

He half-smiles back, studying the sweet look on your face, “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“Did you sleep?” you question.

He blushes a little, “You don’t need to be worrying about me, y/n.”

You scoot over on your cot, pulling the sheets down to expose a little spot for him to lay. His eyes get wide, darting back and forth between you and the empty half of the bed a few times.

He gets up from his chair quietly and makes his way to your bed, sliding under the white sheets and placing his tired head on the pillow. You move in close, placing your head in the nook between his chest and his bicep. A muscular arm wraps around your waist as his head leans over to rest against yours.

The two of you lay together in the silence of the hospital, chests rising and falling at slowing rates. You felt completely at ease now, knowing all the lengths Reiner had gone to in order to keep you safe.

“You know, once I wake up,” he yawns, his words becoming slower and slower as sleep creeps over him, “you're never… gonna… hear… the end of it.”