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hitlikehammers · 6 days

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Kas!Eddie versus the Upside Down Steve Harrington

(it's still steddie though don't worry)

The plan was to send him through the cracks remaining around the gates, and simply let the beast in him, in this new resurrected version of him, do what it was bred for.

The flaw in the plan was believing that this creature was a novelty; that there wasn’t a beast inside Eddie Munson long before the bats had picked him clean.

It left certain things—little things, nothing so vital as to truly override his commands—but it left the man who was Eddie Munson certain capacities to control. Mostly idle ones, inane memories of being himself. He thinks it’s worse, that way.

Like how he remembers grabbing Steve’s arm in the woods, not knowing why, what his next move was going to be but his heart hand been pounding—so human, a scathing voice echoes in him now, taunting; patronizing—but he’d pulled hard enough to draw Steve’s bare and bandage chest to his only to freeze when their lips brushed entirely by accident and Steve had spoken without moving back an inch:

Later. Let’s make him pay first, then we’ll have time.

And Eddie had half-gasped on weak lungs: Im gonna hold you to that, baby, wholly missing salacious and sticking on squeaky-breathless with his tone, knowing he didn’t have the balls to follow through, if they managed to crawl out alive.

But it is why his parting words were what they were. Make him pay.

A coward’s way out to beg it: give us the chance in the after.

And Steve’s eyes had widened, dilated even in the dark and he’d nodded. He’d agreed. There was a future for them worth fighting for and—

Eddie remembers these things.

The beast in him, that’s he’s become more than any other thing, the creature whose master reference to ask Kas: that beast laughs.

The beats Eddie’s always carried in his chest, for all the wrong and hurts he’s already survived: those beasts long desperately to tear this Kas-thing to shreds.

But the Kas-beast holds the reins; the other beasts can seem to wrangle them free.

Which is how he ends up at this house. This window sill. Slithering up the siding to crawl inside.

His landing could be silent; Kas has the capacity. And the deed could be done instantaneously—Kas could do that but won’t.

Eddie’s beasts, and the heart with wishes beyond merely housing dragons; Eddie makes his landing hard, to draw attention.

The Kas-beast growls and vows a slow and painful show.

Eddie steels himself inside himself, bites at his tongue and hates that the taste feeds Kas as it repulses all that Eddie still is—bur Kas’s promises mean time.

More time. More time to try and grasp some control, some capacity to fail and not, not—

“Eddie?”

Eddie snaps his attention, turns toward the voice: he’d made noise to wake his prey on purpose.

He hadn’t expected even Steve Harrington to be so skilled as to know his shape even so altered, what’s left of the face of him under every scar and shift—impossible.

But Eddie’s breath catches anyway.

Weakness. Failure. He means nothing. Why hesitate, cretin? Atta—

“Eddie,” and Steve’s standing, his full height still matched to Eddie’s own, the Kas-beast had transformed his shape but he doesn’t tower, even if he’s broader—he’s built for speed now. An efficient tool, the Kas-beast was called by its master.

Eddie, for whatever he’s worth, for whatever what’s left of him could possibly be worth: Eddie shudders, feels sick when he hears that voice. Knows the touch of those vine-wrinkled fingers tracing his face and—

“Fuck, god,” and the hands on Eddie’s face—whole hands, warm and unhesitating, tracing his cheeks, testing his pulse where is slower, deeper, thunder-like except now it’s a tempest, like two different creatuely muscle vying against themselves inside one chest because Eddie’s human heart’s racing, Steve is touching him, is eyeing him like a muscle and it’s heady hit horrific Bevause Eddie didn’t come alone.

And the beast in control has no attachments; shows no mercy.

“I’d,” Steve blinks, when he moves his hand from Eddie’s neck back to his face, framing in both splayed palms but Eddie still whines at the loss of the feeling of a delicate touch at his throat—it comes out as a growl, menacing, and a piece of him wants only to cower inside himself; from himself.

Steve, though. Steve doesn’t even fucking flinch.

“I thought, Eddie, I couldn’t have even hoped, you were so,” and oh, oh, Steve almost looks like he’s going to tear up, he looks flat out fucking overwhelmed and Eddie wants to reach, he wants to reach out and hold but his hands are indelicate, and the claws—

“Are you in pain?”

Of course Steve sees the way he grimaces, the war inside him to reach but no, no because it will tear through flesh like paper and then the voice, ehe thunderous tattoo building reach, reach, end him—

You have your orders.

“Steve.”

Eddie realizes he hadn’t really bothered to try his voice above ground, hadn’t paid attention below. He should have. He sounds ragged, half gravel and half bat-screech.

Steve stills, then, but doesn’t back away. Doesn’t move his own hands from Eddie’s face. His own face softening, like, like…

Maybe he didn’t expect his first name, versus his last name. Maybe he didn’t expect Eddie’s voice at all, nevermind bastardized like this. Maybe he…didn’t expect Eddie to remember his name at all, maybe he sees the changes, maybe he...

Whatever he sees. He can’t possibly…understand.

“I’ve come to kill you.”

Eddie thinks he means it to come out pleading. The beast that’s not him wants it somewhere between a threat and a promise.

It ultimately lands flat. Almost tired.

Steve just tilts his head, the gorgeous moron.

“That’s what you’ve decided?” Steve runs a thumb across Eddie’s scared cheekbone; “or that’s what you were told?”

Eddie stills. Screams in his own mind. The Kas-beast snarls; writhes, howls.

“So much to tell you, now,” Steve leans closer, runs a thumb along Eddie’s lower lip, exposes the fangs Eddie knows are pointing lethal from the top; “so much, baby, we—“

Eddie’s hands move without his own conscious choosing; yet he Kas-beast doesn’t even seem to know what the body they share is aiming on doing as it pushes Steve into the nearest surface: the bed, folding Steve at the knees back onto the mattress and falling to straddle his hips, the claws drawing red lines on Steve’s skin, the glow of it almost precious, the dotting of stars Eddie can’t see down below; the temptation of it delicious, the beasts in him all ravenous, his own and the interloper alike just…

Different kinds of ravenous as Steve’s chest rises and falls beneath him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Eddie whispers, sandpaper over ice, like the low pitch will hide the words from the enemy; “but he will end me if I come back without your head.”

Which ‘he’ Eddie means isn’t clear, even to himself. Which enemy is uncertain.

But Steve’s cheat just rises, falls. He doesn’t pull away from the dig of claws into the skin of his arms, the gloves of his shoulders—leans into it further, in fact. Like he wants Eddie to break, and the beast that isn’t his to win out, to fulfill its mission, its purpose but how could he? He can’t want to die—

The human heart left in Eddie’s chest skips: Steve did throw himself to danger. In the stories Eddie barely believed before and in the flesh of it all, here and now. What if, what if—

“Oh darling,” Steve coos, and it’s not, it’s not blind to the danger, or the horror. His hand reaches back to the spaces Eddie knows his wings burst free from in agony and traces the scarred-up lines: “you half-died there weeks ago,” and none of it, he realizes, sounds lamenting. Or hesitant.

It’s almost…patronizing.

Steve blinks, and his eyes don’t darken like Eddie’s ever seen before; his voice pitches in a way that forgoes what’s left of Eddie and speaks straight to the foreign beast:

“I’ve learned what it means,” Steve, or, or: maybe the beast that lives in Steve Harrington, that maybe always did, that’s piquing something in the Kas-creature for its timbre, something that makes it draw back for the first time. That scares it, in a way Eddie can’t be quite scared, not by Steve and yet he’s trembling anyway, and the Kas-creature isn’t even vying for the blood beading where Eddie’s new-grown claws dig into Steve’s flesh—whatever is dark in Steve’s eyes, sharper than usual in his features, and glistening when the kids of his gaze close the wrong fucking way, blink side-to-side as Steve seems to sense it, like whatever’s in him seeks to snuff out the Kas-creature for Eddie’s sake like protection, almost possessive even but beyond that like it’s sough out less as a threat and more like a nuisance as Steve bares his teeth and Eddie’s still straddling him, but he feels no sense of control, of power, here, as Steve circles a vice grip on Eddie’s wrists, their own sharp edges more like a firm caress somehow before Steve hisses again:

“I’ve learned what it means to live there,” and he sneers, and Eddie feels almost wholly himself, almost his human heart alone threatening to burst for the way it pounds when Steve’s teeth reveal themselves like the mouth of a whale, the soft sifting parts just razor sharp behind Steve’s lips.

And it really just feels like Eddie, then, above Steve but wholly at the mercy of him and his beasts alone, and maybe they were some of what Steve had said he’d wanted to tell him—so much baby, so much to tell you now—as Steve blinks wrong again and snarls, like life stripped raw:

“For years.”

🖤

For @medusapelagia, who requested 'Dark AU' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

divider credits here

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posletsvet · 1 month

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Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies, all I see...

—

Although it does not depict a scene from the fic, this piece was greatly inspired by @fushiglow's glorious work Over the Threshold (is anyone surprised by it anymore, lol?). The part of Glo's story that sees Suguru rising to prominence and stardom even before Satoru's first ventures in the music industry isn't (yet? 👀) covered in the fic, but my mind tapped into it and ran with it — and this came to me as a result!

Hope y'all will enjoy this as much as I did drawing it!! Literally had the time of my life with Satoru's jacket and Suguru's hair, teehee!

#as per usual #please click for better quality!#jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanart #geto suguru #gojo satoru #satosugu #threshold fic #fushiglow #my art #even though you've already seen this earlier please think of this as my birthday present to you glo <3 #i love you very much glo!!! you and your beautiful mind are such a gift to all of us #oh and!#the caption is the lyrics from blue skies by birdy #please go ahead and listen to it if you want!#its wistful melancholic sound with a blissfully expansive feeling of longing seeping into it goes incredibly well with the tone of this art #me thinks

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suddencolds · 2 months

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Atypical Occurrence [1/?]

Happy birthday to my dear friend, @caughtintherain!! I wanted to give you some Vincent suffering to chew on for the occasion, so please take this fic (or, first part of a fic) as a gift <3

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I’ve written for these two! chronologically, this fic takes place a month or so after the last installment leaves off :)

Summary: Vincent shows up late to a meeting. It just goes downhill from there. (ft. fake dating, the flu, a house visit)

—

Vincent is late.

Yves tries not to stare at the empty seat across from him. The meeting—their first meeting of the day—started five minutes ago. If there’s anything Yves knows, it’s that Vincent always comes in early.

In stumbles Cara, handling a morning coffee with probably more espresso shots than anyone should have at 8am. Then Laurent, briefcase in one hand, paging through a folder of files in his other. Then Angelie, Isaac, Garrett, Ray, Sienna. Then they get started, and Yves turns his attention towards the graphs projected onscreen at the front of the room, and tries very hard not to think about Vincent.

It’s five minutes later that the door swings open, near-silent.

Sienna—who’s presenting—stops, for a moment, to look back at Vincent from where he’s standing in the doorway, which means that of course, everyone looks.

Cara turns around in her seat, raising an eyebrow. Angelie frowns at him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Vincent says, quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

Isaac shrugs. Angelie looks a little concerned, but she turns back to her work, anyways. Sienna resumes her presentation. All in all, it’s nothing—or it should be nothing. Probably traffic, on the way here; a particularly unlucky commute. An unlikely occurrence, but—to anyone else—not anything worth dwelling over.

It might be a sufficient explanation, if Yves didn’t know better.

Vincent takes care to close the door quietly behind him, then heads over to the only open seat, across from Yves. He unzips his briefcase, quietly, unobtrusively, and takes out his laptop. Yves tries to focus on what Sienna is saying—she’s giving a review of a client’s current investment strategies; he’d reviewed her work on this just a couple days ago.

Vincent asks good questions throughout—he always has a good sense of what areas still lack clarity, Yves has found. Today is no exception. He takes part in the meeting with such calculated precision that Yves almost misses it.

Almost misses: the slight stiffness to his shoulders, as if it’s taking more than the usual amount of effort to keep himself upright. The way in which he clears his throat before speaking, like it might actually hurt. The way he rests his head on one hand, halfway into the meeting—as if even now, barely forty minutes into the workday, he’s already exhausted.

It’s subtle enough to go unnoticed, subtle enough that Yves wonders if he’s just reading too much into it—if, perhaps, Vincent is fine, after all.

—

He doesn’t see Vincent again until lunch.

Or, more accurately, he doesn’t see Vincent again until he’s headed down for lunch with Cara and Laurent. Vincent is already on his way out of the cafeteria, a takeout container in hand.

“You’re not going to eat here?” Yves asks.

Vincent doesn’t look at him. “I have some work to get done at my desk,” he says. He clears his throat again, like it’s irritating him.

“Okay,” Yves says. Vincent turns to leave, and Yves thinks of a hundred ways in which he could possibly prolong this conversation, and then decides against it. Vincent is already so busy.

“You look tired,” he settles on, instead.

He expects Vincent to dismiss this, to reassure him that it isn’t true. But Vincent looks up at him at last, blinking, as if he’s surprised that Yves noticed at all. His eyes are a little dark-rimmed underneath his glasses.

He doesn’t deny it, which is as much of a confirmation as Yves needs.

“The sooner I can get this work done, the sooner I can go home,” he says. Yves supposes he can’t argue with that.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Yves says, even though he wants to say more, even though he feels like there’s more that he should be saying. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent nods, at this, and resumes walking.

—

Yves is probably overthinking it. There isn’t anything concrete, really, to justify his concern.

Vincent’s lateness to the meeting could just as easily be the consequence of an alarm he’d forgotten to set, his exhaustion just as easily a side effect—of recent late nights in the office, of arbitrary changes to the projects he’s on, of last-minute demands from clients.

The next time he sees Vincent is at the end of the work day. Yves always takes the elevators on the north end of the building—they’re ones that lead directly out into the parking garage. When he gets out to the hallway, Vincent is already standing there, waiting for the elevator.

Yves watches Vincent stiffen, slightly. Watches him raise one hand up to his face to shudder into it with a harsh, “HHihH’iKKTSh-hUH!”

A thin tremor runs through the line of his shoulders, as if he’s too cold, even though the office air conditioning is no colder than usual. His hand, cupped to his face, remains there for a moment more before he lowers it.

He sniffles, then, rummaging through his pocket for—something. When he doesn’t find it, he just frowns a little, sniffling again.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

“Yves,” Vincent says, his shoulders stiffening a little. He clears his throat, turning around so that he can address Yves properly.

It’s only a few seconds later that he’s turning sharply away, tenting both hands over his nose and mouth for—

“Hh-! hHiH—HIHh’DZSSschh-uhh! snf-!”

“Bless you again.”

Vincent sighs. “Don’t bother.” He really looks exhausted, Yves realizes. During their brief interaction at lunch, he’d already sensed as much, but the harsh white glare of the bright corporate lighting only makes it more evident.

Vincent looks a little paler than usual, if only slightly, and there’s a slight flush that spreads itself over his cheekbones. He looks—well, nearly as put together as always, distilled only by the slight crookedness of his tie, as if it’s been on too tight; the near-invisible sheen of sweat over his forehead. The slight redness to the bridge of his nose, the slight shiver to his hand as he reaches up to adjust his collar.

Yves frowns, taking this all in. “You look kind of…”

“Terrible?” Vincent finishes for him.

Yves winces. “...Well, terrible is a strong word. I was going to say, you look like you could use some sleep.”

“I’m… feeling a little off,” Vincent says, staring straight ahead, as if it’s not an admission at all. But Yves suspects, from the way he avoids eye contact, that perhaps it was something he was intending on keeping private. “You should keep your distance.”

The elevator dings. The sliding doors part, and he steps inside.

“First floor?” Yves asks, hesitating next to the panel of buttons.

“Yes,” Vincent says. Then, quietly: “Thanks.”

“You know, now that busy season is over, the world is not going to end if you take a sick day,” Yves tells him. “Even if you do like, twice the amount of work as everyone else on the team, if you needed to call out, I’m sure something could be arranged.”

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly. “I must look pretty bad if you’re saying this to me.”

“Yes, I was lying,” Yves says. “Clearly, you look terrible.”

It isn’t true at all—even here, even like this, Vincent doesn’t look terrible, not even in the least. But Vincent still smiles, at this—a tired smile.

The elevator doors slide open.

“Text me if you need anything,” Yves says, impulsively. “Seriously. Tissues, soup, medicine—whatever. It’s not far of a drive.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Vincent says. “I will see you tomorrow.” And then he steps out of the elevator, and Yves is left with an inexplicable sinking feeling in his stomach. As far as he knows, it has no place there. Obviously, Vincent can take care of himself. Obviously, Vincent can handle a cold. Yves has nothing to be concerned about.

—

The next day is rainy—a constant, torrential downpour, which makes his commute to work take almost twice as long as it usually does. It wouldn’t be spring here, Yves supposes, without dreary weather like this.

Back in uni, when he rowed crew, they’d practice out for hours out in the rain. Now that he spends the majority of his day inside, he supposes he can’t complain. The shelter of the office building is a reprieve.

Vincent doesn’t show up.

“I think he’s out sick,” Cara says, when Yves asks. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t think I’ve actually seen him take a sick day before.”

“For how hard he works, he definitely deserves one,” Garrett says.

“He seemed fine yesterday, when I saw him,” Cara says, with a shrug. “Probably came on quickly.” Yves nods.

But that isn’t quite right, is it? Vincent hadn’t seemed fine, had he? Yves thinks back to the things he’d noticed—Vincent, uncharacteristically exhausted during the meeting, though it was clear he’d been just as engaged as usual. Vincent, shivering in the elevator, telling Yves to keep his distance. How poorly had he been feeling already, yesterday? How poorly does he have to be feeling today to have called off of work for it?

He finds some time just before lunch to text.

Y: how are you holding up? Y: yesterday’s offer stands if you need me to bring you anything!

He doesn’t get a response from Vincent, which is a little concerning. He checks his phone halfway through lunch, and then twice more, in between his afternoon meetings, just in case he’s missed a notification.

“Are you expecting a text from someone?” Cara says, looking a little curious.

“Just a friend,” Yves says, which is and isn’t true.

To make a point—to Cara, and possibly to himself—he shuts his phone off. He very pointedly does not look at it again for the remainder of the hour.

It’s not until mid-afternoon that he finally gets a response.

V: Sorry to get back to you so late.

Yves sits upright, fumbling with his phone to get it unlocked. The text bubble pops up again, somewhat intermittently, to show that Vincent is typing.

V: If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a blue folder on my desk labeled 2-A.

Yves blinks at this, a little disbelieving.

Y: you’re asking me to bring you work files? Y: arent you supposed to be resting 🤨 Y: paid sick leave, remember? as in, leave your work at work??

V: I meant to pack them yesterday.

Y: that’s like a genie grants you 3 wishes and you ask for an extra day of assignments Y: terrible waste of a wish if you ask me

V: As a genie, you’re quite judgmental

Y: ok ok Y: as your loyal lamp dweller i’ll be over around 8pm with folder 2-A Y: you need anything else?

V: Nothing else V: You can just leave them outside my door

A beat. Then Vincent sends:

V: Sorry to trouble you

Yves thinks of twenty responses he wants to send to that text. Then, thinking better of himself, he shuts his phone off and gets back to work.

—

It’s a little past seven when he finally checks out of the office.

Outside, the rain hasn’t even begun to let up—it falls, straight and heavy, in large, globular droplets. The streets gleam with water. Yves leaves his umbrella in the trunk, tunes out everything but the static of the rainfall, and drives.

Yves has only ever been to Vincent’s apartment once—to pick him up for the New Years’ party Margot hosted—and even then, Vincent had met him at the door. But he recognizes the unit, nonetheless.

For a moment, he considers leaving the folder of files outside of Vincent’s door and taking his leave.

But it’s windy, and he’s afraid the papers might fly away, torn up by the biting wind, and get lost face down in a puddle somewhere, which would defeat the purpose of him coming here in the first place, and would probably also breach some employee confidentiality policy. So instead, he knocks.

It’s silent for a moment. Rain beats down on the slanted rooftops, a constant thrum.

Yves is about to reach out to knock again, when the door swings open.

There stands Vincent, in a pale blue hoodie and loose-fitting pajama pants, with neat rectangular cuffs.

He looks tired. It’s the first thing Yves registers—the unusual fatigue to his expression, which he can’t quite seem to blink away; the flush high on his cheekbones. The way he holds himself, his shoulders stiff, carefully, defensively; as if despite his exhaustion, there’s a part of him which wishes to appear presentable still.

It’s only a moment later that he’s taking a halting step back, ducking into a hoodie sleeve. Yves catches the shiver of his expression, his eyebrows pulling together, before it crumples, and his head jerks forward with a harsh—

“hHihh’GKkTT—! Hh-!! iHH-’DZZSCHh-uuUh!”

The second sneeze sounds louder and harsher than usual, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve. It betrays his congestion all at once.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent emerges, sniffling a little. When he speaks, he sounds a little hoarser than he did yesterday. “I thought I said you - snf-! - could leave them on the front step.”

“You did,” Yves says, glancing down at the folder in his hands. “But it’s windy, and it’s raining. I figured you’d prefer to have your files intact. How are you feeling?”

Vincent blinks at him. He’s leaning heavily against the doorframe, Yves realizes, one hand gripped tightly around the frame, his knuckles white from the pressure, as if it would take him too much effort to stay upright otherwise.

“Alright,” he answers. “Thanks for making the trip here. I… it must’ve taken longer, in the rain.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if his head hurts, as if the light coming from outside is exacerbating his headache. “If you ever need me to pick something up for you, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Yves says. Despite himself, he reaches up to press his hand against Vincent’s forehead.

The heat under his fingertips is alarming, to say the least. Yves blinks, lowering his hand, and tries to keep the worry out of his voice. “Have you taken your temperature?”

Vincent shakes his head. “I don’t think I have a thermometer.”

“Have you eaten, then?”

Vincent averts his glance, looking sheepish. “I… was planning to stop for groceries, yesterday,” he says. Planning to.

Yves thinks back to the elevator ride yesterday. Vincent had probably already been feeling very unwell, then. And yet, he’d talked with Yves as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I’m feeling a little off, he’d said, as if anything about his current affliction could possibly be characterized as “little.” I will see you tomorrow—as if he had really, genuinely been intending on showing up at work.

“So I take it that there’s nothing in the fridge, either,” Yves says.

“If it’s any consolation, you’ll be pleased to know that I slept,” Vincent says, in lieu of answering.

Then he shivers—the sort of concerning, full-body shiver that is a little concerning, coming from someone who is usually unaffected by the cold—and Yves is immediately reminded that the door they’re speaking through is open.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“You probably shouldn’t,” Vincent says, before his expression scrunches up, and he’s ducking away with a— “hh—! hHih-II—TSSCHHh-UH! snf-!”, smothered hurriedly into the palm of his hand. He sniffles, emerging with a slight wince. “This came on pretty quickly. It might be the flu.”

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I got my flu shot in the winter. And anyways, I’ll be careful.”

Vincent is quiet, for a moment. Then, frowning, he says, “I’d feel terrible if you caught this.”

That’s the least of Yves’s worries—he doubts he’s going to catch this. Even if he does, it will just mean a few days off of work. Not the end of the world, by any means. Nothing to warrant the expression on Vincent’s face—Vincent looks upset, as if he’ll really can’t think of anything worse than Yves catching this. Like even the thought of it is worth being upset over.

Yves shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” He pushes past Vincent to step inside and shuts the door behind him. “Here, I’ll set these down on your desk. Where is it?”

“Down the hallway, to the left,” Vincent says.

Yves takes the folder, leaves his shoes at the door, and heads inside.

Vincent’s bedroom is small and organized—it’s the kind of bedroom that’s tastefully minimal, in the sort of unified manner that implies that everything in it has been carefully arranged. There’s a small white desk in the corner, a stack of files arranged neatly next to Vincent’s laptop, its lid halfway to shut. There’s a bookshelf, leaned up against the wall far; the bottom shelf looks to be filled with textbooks; the top shelf lined with books, both in Korean and in English. The walls are painted slate gray, the carpets lining the floorboards picked out to match, and there are pale blue curtains hanging from the windows, pulled tightly shut.

There are signs here, too, of his illness, but they are subtle. A tissue box, nestled between his pillow and the headboard, half empty. A waste bin at the foot of the bed, conveniently in reach. A small bottle of aspirin on the bedside counter; an empty packet of cough drops sitting at the edge of his nightstand.

Yves sets the folder at the end of Vincent’s desk, next to the rest of his files, and turns to face him.

“You’re not going to work on these until you’re feeling better, right?” he asks.

“Only if I can’t sleep,” Vincent says, which Yves supposes is a satisfactory answer. Then he twists away, his eyebrows furrowing, lifting a loosely clenched fist to his face to cough, and cough.

The cough is harsh and grating—his entire frame shudders with the force of it, his breaths shallow and raspy. He really sounds awful. This must have come on quickly, Yves thinks.

If it’s upsetting, seeing Vincent like this, it’s even worse to be standing here, in his room, doing nothing. So—if only to make himself useful, if only to convince himself that there’s something he can do—Yves ducks out into the kitchen.

The pantry is meticulously organized—glasses lined up in neat rows; stacks of bowls sorted by size. He fills a glass with water, shuts the cabinets, and takes it back to the bedroom.

By the time he gets back, Vincent is sitting at the edge of his bed. His glasses are folded neatly, left at the very edge of the countertop.

“Here,” Yves says, crossing the room, holding out the glass for him to take.

“Thanks,” Vincent says, taking it gingerly from him. He takes a small, tentative sip, and then another—his hands are a little shaky, Yves notices. “You - snf-! - should really go.”

“I’m not entirely convinced you’ll be fine on your own,” Yves says.

“Of course I will be,” Vincent says, with all of his usual certainty. He lays down, pulling the covers over his body. “I have been fine on my own for years.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, Yves supposes. But he doesn’t feel reassured in the least.

“Thank you again for bringing me the files,” Vincent says, at last, shutting his eyes.

“You could’ve asked me to get you groceries,” Yves says. “There’s a supermarket not far from here, right? And you’re out of cough drops.” He takes a few steps over, towards the desk in the corner of the room. “These—” He examines the bottle of ibuprofen on the table. “—are expired.”

“Just because you’ve extended this kindness to me,” Vincent tells him, “doesn’t mean I should take advantage of it.”

Yves blinks, a little taken aback. “It’s only groceries. I wouldn’t have minded, really.”

“See,” Vincent says, with a note of—something in his voice. It sounds a bit like resignation. “That’s just the kind of person you are.”

Yves doesn’t know what to say, to that.

Before he can think up a fitting response, Vincent’s breathing evens out. Yves lets himself listen to the shallow, steady cadence of it. Lets himself acknowledge the heavy, painful feeling in his chest for just a moment. Then he shuts the lights off and heads back out into the hallway.

#snz fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #i wanted to end somewhere more conclusive but i was falling asleep at my keyboard trying to end this so #please take this for now 🙏#my fic #it is very late rn so i am scheduling this for the middle of my work day tomorrow... now i need to run to sleep T.T #i will finish off the latter half of the house visit in the not too distant future!#yvverse #ps caughtintherain if you are reading this ily and i am so grateful to you for letting me consult you abt these two 😭😭 and i hope it's #okay for me to post this as a gift jafkhjfslk ANYWAYS pls read this at your leisure and happy birthday again!!!

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farfromstrange · 6 months

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New Year's Day | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You recount your history with Matt and the highs and the lows of your relationship.

Warnings: Fluff, descriptive writing & lack of dialogue, mentions of blood, but this is mostly very tame

Word count: 2.5k

A/n: This One-Shot is dedicated to my bestie, @blackshadowswriter. I'm a bit late, and I'm sorry for that. It took me a bit to finish. I just want to tell you how much I love and appreciate you. I also know you love Taylor, so I thought "why not write a fic and use as many song references as possible? She's going to LOVE that!" You're my favorite person in the world and you deserve this. I love you. I'm all out of words because I'm anxious as hell about showing you this. It took me two days to finish. I wanted it to be as good as I could make it. I'm still not 100% sure, but I never am when it comes to giving gifts. I hope you like it <3 (This is also why I'm not tagging anyone else because this is a gift for my best friend and I intended it as such)

From the moment you bumped into him on the corner street of your favorite café, you knew that he was the kind of chance that would only come around once in a lifetime.

It wasn’t like you, at least not back then, to buy a stranger a coffee. And it was even less like you to give him your number afterward.

You had never been big on dating at that point in your life. You used to take things exactly the way they came to you, and dating never really seemed to fit into that narrative.

You preferred to lose yourself in your own world, a world where no one could touch or hurt you the way you’ve been hurt so many times in the past by people who claimed to care about you—people who claimed to love you, and in the process, you lost sight of the fact that there are still a handful of good people out there.

No one can blame you for thinking like that though. Your heart has been broken one too many times, and not just by broken relationships.

Deep down, you craved to find someone capable of understanding all of you, not just the pretty parts. You almost felt pathetic for pretending you didn’t need it and still thinking that way.

But deep down, you craved to find someone who wouldn’t be afraid of sticking around, someone who would never leave you because life tends to get hard.

It seemed nearly impossible to find a person like that without breaking your own heart, so you decided to retreat into your shell. Better to keep your heart safe and protected than put yourself out there and be broken all over again, right?

Those stupid love songs on the radio and the endless romantic stories of your friends’ dating lives, however, fueled your need for the same kind of connection only a few songwriters know how to put into words.

You wanted to fall in love, find the right person, and heal. You wanted to figure out why love wasn’t like the burning red of sex and passion but golden, like daylight. A love living for. A love fighting for.

You felt so stupid, secretly pining for an innocent childhood dream that eventually got crushed after years of heartbreak, but that is what happens when someone becomes chronically lonely. You turned to daydreaming because at least in your head, your life could be perfect. Not just good, not just livable, but filled with love and happiness.

Truth be told, when you’re your own worst enemy and have an inner saboteur set out to destroy everything that could be remotely good for you because you truly believe you don’t deserve it, it’s hard to allow yourself to be open. So perhaps that is why you chose to lock yourself away and live in delusion instead. Not facing reality became standard procedure in your way of life.

You tried blaming it on your past, your broken relationships, and disappointments, and while that played a big part in your trauma, you also slowly started to realize that you might have been hurting yourself so you wouldn’t have to open up ever again.

In an attempt to erase all the problems, you became the problem. You became your worst enemy, someone chasing ghosts that stayed long in the past and only came back to haunt the living shit out of you. But that’s a survivable condition.

You tried therapy, you tried turning your life around and starting anew, and while that helped you find a job you love, find a nice group of friends, and make peace with what’s been broken, nothing else seemed to change.

You had barely started putting yourself back together again when you bumped into him. You were late for a meeting, so your focus was on your phone instead of the street before you.

It was your fault. He was just trying to make his way over the sidewalk, his cane tapping in a steady rhythm to make his way forward, and you stepped right in the middle of it.

You remember him grabbing your arm, catching you before you could fall. He wasn’t even irritated. When you looked up in shame, seeing the red glasses and the came, you begged for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“I’m so sorry,” you said. “I wasn’t looking. Are you okay?”

But before you could go on a rant about your stupidity, he cut you off, and in the silkiest voice possible, he said, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Are you?”

“What?”

“Are you okay? You seem in a bit of a rush. Don’t want you to accidentally bump into a car next.” He chuckled, adjusting his glasses. Blood rushed to his cheeks. “That was a bad joke, sorry.”

You just about melted. “It’s okay,” you found yourself chuckling. “And so am I. I was too focused on my phone. That was my fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself. It happens,” he said. He was so calm about it, unlike other New Yorkers you’ve met before.

Maybe the fact that you found him extraordinarily attractive and easy to be around compelled you to ask if you could buy him a cup of coffee to make up for bumping into him, completely abandoning your plans to make it to your work meeting five minutes late.

He introduced himself as Matthew. A lawyer. Not one of those rich defense attorneys who simply do it for the money. No, he does it to help people, and you fell for him right then and there.

Maybe it was fate, maybe it was destiny, or maybe it was just dumb luck, but that day, when you got home after work, his number in your phone and a stupidly giddy smile on your flushed face, you knew that you’d somehow been enchanted to meet him.

You never believed in love at first sight until you bumped into Matt Murdock, but the second you did, your life flipped upside down and changed in ways you could have never predicted.

It is possible that the song playing over the speakers in the café right before you bumped him played a part in how you perceived the interaction. You’ve never been one to believe in coincidences. Nothing is ever accidental, and neither was your meeting. It couldn’t have been.

You found each other when you needed someone, anyone, both of you, and it stuck. Thankfully, it did.

Summer that year was cruel with New York drowning in an excruciating heatwave. You’d been meeting up with Matt for a couple of weeks, but you didn’t have it in you to put a label on whatever delicate thing was starting to build between the two of you. You didn’t want to wrap your hand around it and accidentally shatter something you could see growing into something more in the future.

He was unlike anyone you’d met before, and he treated you in a way that made you believe, finally, that you are worthy of love. Not just giving but receiving because Matt himself struggled to see his worth after years of being disappointed and being there for everyone but himself.

Love is a fragile thing though, and you have never been quite good with fragile things.

After a night of drinking away your sorrows at a nearby bar, you made your way to his apartment. You took a cab, too wasted to find your way there by yourself. You remember that you were crying; you were miserable and loathing yourself for several reasons that didn’t even make sense to you then.

When you arrived there, you knocked on his door. You didn’t get an answer. Just as you started to turn around and make your way back outside, you could hear a thud from the other side of the door. Panic settled in. You didn’t even hesitate before you opened the door, which was surprisingly unlocked, and made your way into the dark interior of his apartment.

Finding your blind, catholic not-boyfriend in a pool of his own blood, wearing a leather-clad suit with the horns of the devil had not been on your to-do list until that night. Reality hit you just as fast and knocked sobriety back into your senses as the adrenaline started to take over.

He let out a grunt. Your name passed his lips. He sounded so weak, so fragile, and you just stood there, your heart pumping too much blood for your body to handle.

“What the fuck?!” you said. You didn’t yell, you didn’t snap, you simply didn’t know how to process this information.

You were well aware of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen parading outside at night, beating up criminals and giving them a good fright—Matt did not fit the picture you had of the guy until you saw him lying there, obviously injured.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said hoarsely. He tried to roll over, but the pain turned out to be too severe.

Needless to say, he passed out on you without a proper explanation, and you somehow had to use what little you could remember from first-aid to help this bleeding mess of a man. You feared that you would lose him that night, and that was when you realized that, on top of falling for him, you didn’t care who he was, you only needed him to live.

When he woke up to you hovering over him, he groaned. “I’m sorry,” was all he said. “I’d understand if–”

“Don’t talk,” you cut him off with a finger on his lips. You wouldn’t let him push you away. Not after everything you’d been through.

He tried to sit up. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“It’s not exactly something you lead with on a first date. I get it. What I don’t get…”

“I didn’t lie,” it was his turn to cut you off. You remember looking up at him, and you heard him out. You had to. In your mind, there is an explanation for everything, and you were once again proven right at that moment.

He bared his life story to you, how he survived through tragedies no human should ever have to face. How he turned blind, how his senses heightened, and how he lost the one person he could always count on. When his father died, something changed in Matt. He tried to go straight, to do his father proud, but he couldn’t ignore this desperate need for justice forever. He felt cursed. So, he became someone who could make a difference, and not just as a lawyer.

He expected you to walk out, but you didn’t. You saw him for who he was, and you accepted him.

“I think I’m falling for you, and it scares the hell out of me,” you blurted out that night.

He stared at you, his unfocused eyes bewildered, his lips moving soundlessly as he tried to find an answer.

Just when you thought he would break your heart after putting your trust in him, he let out a shaky sigh and he kissed you.

He wasn’t ready to say it back just yet, but he spoke to you through actions that made you feel confident in what you were growing again.

You somehow already knew back then that Matt Murdock would be the man you one day would marry and spend the rest of your life with.

The truth is, you two have been through a lot throughout your relationship. It hasn’t always been smooth sailing, but you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t worth it.

From the moment you met him to the countless dates, sharing coffees over empty takeout containers, kissing in the rain, Daredevil, fighting over the beautiful women in his life that almost broke you, and fighting over his desperate need to push those away who only want what is good for him because he is own worst saboteur.

It all led you down a journey that turned out to be harder than expected and not at all the love story you envisioned, but it still turned out to be the best thing that has ever happened to you. He is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You used to run away from happiness out of fear of getting hurt, and Matt did the same. He feared to admit it, but then he met you and he finally realized that running was of no use because you were more than ready to stick around through everything. Through every disaster and heartache—through every broken bone, you stuck around.

You saw something in him from the moment you met that no one can ever take away. You got a taste of heaven from the devil himself, and even though he was darker than the sunshine you wished for in your life, you managed to find a way to bring some light into his life.

You are sunshine, even on your worst days, and he’s midnight rain. But you love the rain. You love him.

Your first kiss happened in the rain. He took your hand and asked you to dance, and you did. You danced to the sound of the raindrops pattering against the asphalt beneath your feet, and it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—Matt engulfed in the soft moonlight, his hand in yours, and a big smile on his irresistible lips.

You want more of those nights. Even the nights you’ve had to patch him up or hold him as he broke down from all the weight he often enough carries on his shoulders, you want more of those. You want all of them.

You want him and all the strings attached to him, no matter how painful because ever since he can remember, people have walked out on Matt and hurt him in ways you can only fathom. You don’t want to be that person.

He opened up to you. He decided to be vulnerable. He stood with you through everything and fought for you when you thought you two wouldn’t last.

He gave you his best smile and his tears, and he laughed with you every night that you waited up for him to come home safely. He quickly became the moonlight to your sun—it is a different kind of light, but it is a light that sustains you nonetheless.

You want all of his laughter and never miss it again. You want his smiles. You want his tears. You want to spend every waking second with him. You want to miss him and welcome him back home after an agonizingly long night of worrying. You want to cheer him up in court and be his lucky charm. You want to wear his initial on a chain around your neck, in Braille, because he got it for you on your birthday.

“I know I don’t own you,” he said to you, “but I love you. And I know you. I want you to carry me close to your heart the same way I’ll always carry you close to mine.”

And his, you are. You’re no one else’s but his, and even if that sounds a bit territorial, you don’t care. You want all of it and more because it’s Matt you’re talking about, no one else. Not a stranger but the man you love so desperately it hurts sometimes.

All the girls he loved before don’t matter because he’s got you now. You forgave him more times than he probably deserved. You held on when he barely had any strength left. In return, he has shown the same kind of devotion to you time and time again. How can you ever say no to any of that when you are so in love?

All those memories replay in sudden flashing sequences right in front of your inner eye. You love him more than anyone has ever loved him. You pulled him out of a very dark hole. You saved his life. And he saved yours.

As he’s kneeling in front of you now, your hand in his and clutching the small, velvety box in his other, your life passes by before your eyes. Your life alone and your life together. You recount every memory in a millisecond, too shocked to even comprehend what is happening. But it is happening.

Matt Murdock is kneeling on the floor before you, the glitter, confetti, and sticky champagne someone spilled earlier most likely leaving a stain on his good dress pants, but he remains unwavering in his decision to open that little box and show you what he’s been hiding for a while.

It’s a diamond ring, something he probably took months to save up for. It’s small yet elegant, and it’s staring right at you. He’s taken his glasses off to try and do the same. You would marry him with paper rings, that much is true.

Matt says your name oh-so-softly. “Will you marry me?” Four words that stop your heart and restart it at the same time.

He sees right through you. You see right through him. Even in your worst times, you were there for each other, and now he’s asking you to spend the rest of your life with him. Together. To give him all of your days and nights and he will give you all of his in return. He is asking you the question you’ve been wondering if he would ever ask it, and he did.

The fireworks go off in the distance, in your stomach, everywhere. The new year has rounded the corner. People are cheering and celebrating around you, but you don’t pay attention to them.

The clock strikes midnight and with the softest smile, you say, “Yes.” You don’t need to tell him that you would do it a million times over because he knows. He knows your heartbeat, and he knows that you would never lie to him.

He doesn’t waste time to pull you into his arms and kiss you softly, passionately, as if both of your lives depend on it.

It’s a bit cliché, to get proposed to on New Year’s Eve. To start the new year with the man you love and a ring on your finger. But that only means that you will still be together on New Year’s Day, and all the days after that.

Matt chose you. You chose Matt. You chose a life together that is as unpredictable as they come, but at least you have each other to hold onto.

And he will never be just the stranger that you bumped into in front of your favorite corner café ever again. You have him now. Maybe that was your plan all along. Maybe you are the mastermind he knows that you are. None of it was accidental.

And now, Matt Murdock is yours. Forever and always.

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #charlie cox #daredevil x reader #birthday gift for my bestie #taylor swift references #song fic #new year's day #matt murdock imagines

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trappolia · 3 days

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MY SWEET VILLAIN, MY DARLING GOD ── nanook + gn!reader, 1.3k

nanook's birth was a fiery thing; a light piercing through the clouds like golden death, scorching the world once known as adlivun. their birth preceded the collapse of an entire universe, one that had somehow persevered through the emperor's war and was strengthening their defences against the coming of the swarm's march. the old towers of this already dying world had crumbled as the sun rose for the very last time in adlivun, marking the coming of destruction incarnate.

but for all the chaos and death their birth brought upon, the day they came into being is of no real importance to nanook. they do not remember the constellations shining upon their home when they first ignited it, nor do they recall whether or not the heat remained or if the cold dark was the first thing they felt, for adlivun was long gone by the time their golden irises illuminated what was left of the world.

it is a curious thing; for all they have discarded and forgotten of their birth, they remember yours.

what is a god? certainly not immortal, that is for sure. pantheons have collapsed with the passage of time, forgotten in the seas of lost religions. aeons are just as susceptible to death and collapse as the universes they traverse and conquer. on the same spectrum, the birth of a being as powerful as an aeon is an anomaly felt by the entire universe, a single ripple that results in the violent waves of a turning tide. such concepts are merely specks of dust for them. what use do they have for such worries, when their lives are mysteries in the known worlds, tipping the balance of the scales simply by existing?

nanook’s fascination with you could be dismissed as another consequence of the butterfly effect. they should have nothing else on their mind beside righting the worlds’ wrongs, ridding the universe of the cancer that emerges from the boundless stars to taint civilisations. war. death. destruction. finality. nanook is a jagged puzzle made up of the gods and mortals they had killed, universes scorched from existence like a supernova; and yet, you fit into their life like you were meant to be there all along.

“my sweet villain,” you whisper into their ear, saccharine sweet and painfully loving in all the ways they do not deserve. “my darling god.”

no, they want to say. they are a villain, yes — your sweet villain, if you continue to insist — but a darling god? no, that has always been you. for a being whose existence has been dictated by their status as avatar of entropy since birth, nanook finds that everything seems to come together when you press your lips against theirs, your taste sweeter than ambrosia.

you are their most infuriating distraction, they think as you sit together amongst the stars of a universe that has yet to die, clinging onto their last rays of sun and hope before nanook ends it all. it is their sweetest punishment, to have to sit here with you in their arms, so easily drawing their thoughts away from their duties and ideals— and for what? looking at the stars together? how pathetic.

pathetic, in the way they recognise these stars, these constellations. it is rare to come across any two galaxies that have the same formation of stars, as likely as to find a needle in a haystack, as mortals say. but here they are, their eyes dragging over the stars glimmering in the abyss. they know these patterns. they know their stories.

they remember the day.

“it’s your birthday,” they murmur. even in this soft tone that nanook only ever reserves for you, their voice is a booming bass that reverberates throughout the galaxy. somewhere, another star dies out.

“hm?” you say cluelessly, looking up at them with eyes that shine brighter than the golden ichor that drips down their arms.

“a mortal custom,” nanook replies gruffly, feigning nonchalance even as a shiver runs down their spine at the touch of your fingers upon their skin. “the stars are the same as they were the day you came into being.”

“ah. so it is,” you say when you finally look at the constellations.

it is a strange thing— a humiliating thing; the way nanook can barely breathe when you are looking at them, and how the air grows stale when you aren’t. it’s as if the aeon of destruction is utterly dependent on your attention, your love. how pathetic. how miserable.

how true.

the aeon may have only ascended recently, the youngest of all known paths, but they have made their mark on the universe already; whether it is with the presence of the antimatter legion, or the existential crisis brought upon by nanook’s very life. with their birth, one could no longer deny that destruction is the inescapable destiny of all the known universes; expansion, fusion, and then annihilation. it is the same for aeons; the survival of the fittest, to destroy or be destroyed, to absorb or be absorbed. for as long as people still walk on the path of destruction, nanook will continue to aim for the complete devastation of this tainted universe. they alone are the sole being who truly understands what a mistake the birth of this universe was. each ship and planet may follow a different path, but what civilisation does not speak the common tongue of war? what universe does not know death, pain, destruction?

“what universe does not know love?” you would ask them in response to that. your hands come up to cup their cheeks in your palm, and nanook is undone. “even you know love, my violent delight. why else would you have remembered the position of the stars the day i was born?”

“would you like your death day to be on the same day as your birth?” nanook questions you without any real malice, their voice breathless as you drag your thumb over their bottom lip.

you laugh, and nanook hears the stars sing with you.

why is it that mortals bother in the struggle of survival? they think. nothing lasts forever, not even the great aeons themselves. civilisations rise and fall, galaxies materialise and collapse. for a new beginning, the book must end. it is simply the way of things. nanook knows this. nanook has always known this.

and yet, in these moments with you, they cannot help but cling onto your immortality. they cradle you close, because if the aeon of destruction — of all things lost to violence and death — cannot kill you, then what can? if lan of the hunt shuns yaoshi of the abundance for loving the living too much to the point of cursing them with immortality when it is too heavy of a burden to hear, then it is only a matter of time until they realise that nanook is a threat to the balance as well. what is life without you? merely the act of existing, rather than living— chasing a goal, without ever stopping to see the stars and consider the stories behind them.

in death, nanook will be remembered as many things, and the antimatter legion will carry out their legacy just as all the previous aeons’ factions do in the present day. even if they must continue nanook’s ideals in the shadows, the aeon of destruction will shadow the known universe for all of eternity— for what civilisation exists without the pain of violence and death? destruction is a concept as sure as life and death; immortal, even if its aeon has long passed. that is nanook’s goal, their sole purpose of living.

but on this day, nanook allows themself a singular moment to hope that when they die, the universe will know them not only for the destruction they had reigned upon the universe, but for the fact that they did it in your name, for they had loved you above all else.

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woodchoc-magnum · 2 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Tommy Kinard, Marisol (9-1-1 TV), Maddie Buckley, Howie "Chimney" Han, Bobby Nash, Ravi Panikkar, Frank (9-1-1 TV), Henrietta "Hen" Wilson Additional Tags: Minor Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard, Minor Eddie Diaz/Marisol (9-1-1 TV), POV Alternating, POV Outsider, Falling In Love, Speculation for 9-1-1 (TV) Season 7, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Confusion, Bisexual Evan "Buck" Buckley, Double Dating, POV Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), POV Evan "Buck" Buckley, POV Tommy Kinard, POV Marisol, Confused Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Feelings Realization, Coming Out, Evan "Buck" Buckley Loves Eddie Diaz, Love Confessions, First Time Summary:

Season 7 spec (kind of?), in which Marisol and Tommy have no idea what they've gotten themselves mixed up in.

To be fair, neither do Buck and Eddie.

#911fic #911onabc #buddie #buddie fic #9-1-1 #911 fanfic #9-1-1 fanfiction #evan buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #911 #911 fic #author: woodchoc_magnum #woodchoc-magnum #woodchoc_magnum #also this is an early birthday gift from me to you #it's my birthday tomorrow you guys #have a fic #season 7 spec

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basiatlu · 3 days

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☆ Happy Birthday to @mono-chromia ☆

A wee gift collab between your pals! Thank you so much for being energetic and supportive and most of all my friend 🥺✨️ (also shut up its your birthday MONTH ok? Still totally on time)

#birthday gift #drarry but in SPACE #fic collab #fic art #art #drawing #harry potter #sketch #doodle #drarry #boshdraws #draco malfoy

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minimallyminnie · 9 months

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The Day of Your Birth is my favorite day.

Happy birthday Ryker! Thank you for being one of the best moots ever!

What would they do on your birthday? The Knight duo

Tags/Tw: None! Just fluffy! Well and multiple Tangled eggs. Can you spot them all?

Silver Vanrouge

Enjoying your birthday, Silver decides to take you out into one of flower gardens.

It’s quiet. No students are there besides the both of you. You wonder why, looking around until he speaks up.

“I…I wanted a private date. It’s your birthday. Not a random date.”

The sweet message warmed your heart.

“Master Malleus, Sebek, and Fa-Lilia helped. They asked for some help from the rest of the housewardens to handle their dorms…and considering Diasomnia’s reputation in the school….you can guess how easy it was for people to just leave.”

Ack! Did Silver just have to shoot thousands of arrows into your heart like that?! The things he does sometimes makes you feel like you’re walking in air…

“Thank you Sil…you didn’t need to…”

He hums. “You’re correct. I didn’t need to. But I wanted to.”

Your intertwined hand grips his a bit tighter.

Sevens. This man made your head spin.

You two end up in the middle of a peony field. You remember briefly how peonies were a rare commodity…People waited a whole year for peonies to grow. Silver…

“My love? Are you alright? You’re just standing there…”

“Oh! Sorry Silver!” You rush to walk to your boyfriend again.

Just simply walking around the fields of flowers, both of your hands intertwined…Your heart skipped thousands of beats. This…overwhelming sensation of simply just being…

Loved.

Just being able to be vulnerable, to be honest, to be open, to be everything with Silver.

Just for your birthday, no, not even, every time you’re spending with him, he always tries his best for you. He tries to not fall asleep (which he does end up doing but, when he sleeps on your lap, you just can’t stop smiling at his peaceful expression), he goes above and beyond every time.

Your heart feels like you’re about to burst.

Silver turns around and cups your cheeks in his hands. He wipes off your tears. Tears? You had tears?

“Are you alright…? Is this too much? Are y-you allergic to peonies? Oh no…I’m so sorr—“

“I love you.”

His eyes widened in shock before he goes to a soft smile

“I love you as well.”

A soft pair of lips meets yours and then when they part ways, he starts again

“I met you in a dream.”

“You did?”

“Before we met, I dreamt of someone who loved me no matter what that wasn’t my father. They didn’t look like you. But, I know for sure because I dreamt it multiple times.”

You laughed softly at him. His hair moving with the wind as the sunlight reflects on his hair. “Silver, how do you know it’s me if you dreamt of someone else?”

“I said I dreamt of someone who loved me. Not mainly about another person silly. As an old saying says in Briar Valley, “They say if you dream a thing more than once, it's sure to come true." And…I found you.”

He moved one of his hands down to hold yours, his other hand moving stray hairs away from your face

“Silver…you’re going to make me cry again on my birthday…?” You sniffled

He brushes your tears away again. “I love you. You’re remarkable and I have no words when I look at you…I look at you, and I’m home.”

You met his lips yet again.

“Happy birthday my dear beauty. I hope for the rest of time, you’ll be by my side”

Sebek Zigvolt

“You’re foolish to run! I told you to be careful!”

“Yes yes…dear croco I beg for mercy…and for you to just let me down!”

He’s giving you a spiteful piggyback ride after you had carelessly ran down the hill and ended up falling on your front

Didn’t hurt really, well nothing hurt besides your dignity of falling in front of your boyfriend…

Who refuses to let you down!

“Sebby! Lemme down—!”

“Don’t speak such nonsense! Your knees are scraped! Your hands have cuts, and there’s stains on your lovely outfit!”

You sigh and let him take you to a nearby bench. He fusses over the tiniest scrapes. Even though it really is nothing, he fusses over you.

“See, if we let this be, what if it gets infected? What if it blisters over and you are in even more pain? Oh no…all on your birthday nonetheless! How terrible!”

You note how he always has bandages on himself. For Malleus, Lilia, or Silver usually but…he saves some for you too.

His touches are gentle. But they don’t treat you like you’re fragile. They treat you like a normal person. He opens the bandage wrapper, unwrapping half of the bandage and putting it on you before taking off the other side.

It’s a perfect fit. He does the same on your other knee before he grabs your hand and starts to put some ointment on the small scratches.

Oh.

Sebek really looks like a knight here.

Kneeling down while holding your hand

And you promptly get hit in the back of the head by a pan yet again like when you first fell for him, your thoughts blew up. Images of Sebek pop up everywhere and boom, you’re blushing yet again

Realizing he’s still talking, you decided to take his hand and kiss it

“Oh my loyal knight Sebek, won’t you trust my words for once?” You dramatically say and then set your hand down. “Kidding, kidding…but please. I’m ok. Don’t worry so much. For my birthday wish with you?”

Instead of answering, Sebek takes your hand and presses a kiss to your hand like a knight…wait he is a knight.

You look at him in shock, usually he wouldn’t do that so…straightforwardly

He has pride in his relationship with you, happily showing you off if someone asked. He loves you as much he’s loyal to Malleus. But, when giving affection…he hesitates. What does he do? What if you don’t like it? What if he goes overboard?

So for him to just…not hesitate on kissing your hand, even though it’s a small gesture, it felt huge.

A burst of affection plowed its way from your heart and you kissed Sebek on his lips before pulling away with a grin while his face turns bright red

“I-I! Th-that was…unexpected! O-oh sevens…Human, you caught me off guard!”

“Catching a guard off guard? Score!”

He simply averts his eyes with a small huff and takes your hand to the town’s center where flowers are everywhere.

It was a small break from school so a lot of people were there. But you only saw Sebek.

And he only saw you.

Music started playing by some of the townspeople and multiple people started to get together and go with the music

The sharp toothed man stood in front of you and outstretched his hand

“May I have this dance?”

You smiled and nodded, slipping your hand in his.

To anyone else, you two were just npcs but…to the both of you, you were the only ones in the whole town. A world to both of your eyes

He never really had a dream. His only goal and dream was to be the best knight he could be for Master Malleus.

A rare soft smile spread across Sebek’s face

“You were my new dream.”

Your heart burns hot.

“And you were mine.”

He gently pushed your head onto his chest as you two swayed from side to side

“Thank you for being born on this day my light.”

Leona Kingscholar

By no means is he purrfect but, he always find a way into your heart.

Either laying down or fighting for his life for your heart—

On your birthday, you thought he forgot

No texts

No sight of him

And not even a peep of him from Ruggie

…Yeah…when you were walking home to Ramshackle, you didn’t even listen to Grim who was talking about how much birthday wishes and gifts you got.

The bags of gifts from your friends felt light compared to the emptiness in your heart that had a label for Leona Kingscholar.

You loved the presents and birthday wishes from your friends! But…it hurts to not even get a word from your boyfriend…

You waited for him to tell you…but…No avail.

Going inside your dorm, you put you stuff down and tell Grim to go hangout with Ace and Deuce (which he was confused about but listened.)

You changed into your pajamas and ignored how your phone dinged with messages. Probably more birthday messages from your friends or invitations if you weren’t doing anything.

Laying down in bed felt more comfortable than picking up the device.

Suddenly, the sound of knocking was heard and you went to answer it. Probably Grim coming back early

Well. You were definitely wrong.

Your eyes were covered by a blindfold and you were picked up and carried away

You tried to fight off the stranger but for some reason, they just didn’t let go

“Let me go you lunatic!”

“Good grief…hang on.”

Leona?!

He set you down on the ground and then untied the blindfold. Looks like it was of use of something!

And it was worth it too, your eyes sparkled in delight as the stars under the night sky showed themselves to you.

The stars above were shining brighter than ever in the ebony night skies.

You heard a small grunt, that translated to “Hey, I’m still here” behind you. Turning around, you see the beast man standing behind.

Hand in his pocket and one in his hair, expression as nonchalant as usual, you’d think he didn’t really care

But clearly his tail was waving side to side.

You smiled before he came closer and held your hands

“Is this why I didn’t see you this whole day?”

He huffed.“I was…trying to set up something…better.” He gestures to the blanket on the ground along with present that looked like the wrapper attempted but gave up and clawed into the box.

“I…Fuck. Shit, I messed this whole day up for you didn’t I?” He brushed the hair in front of his face up with his hands. You can hear the frustration and regret leaking through his voice.

“I wanted to make the end of your day special and not crappy…but I messed it up. The reservation I got at your favorite restaurant got too crowded, guys back at the dorm trampled the damn flowers…and I got too frustrated at the wrapping paper…” His eyes sharpened and he looked down with a scowl

“Damn it…I’m sorry for ruining your birthday…”

You blinked

Leona apologizing? That’s rare.

Instead of saying anything, you kiss him on his head to bring his eyes back on you

“Silly kitty. I didn’t want anything spontaneous from you. I wanted you.”

His eyes slightly widen before he averted his eyes with a blush

“Tch…strange wish. Guess it’s your birthday though.”

Smiling, you took Leona’s hand and laid down besides him on the blanket, watching the stars

You laid on his arm, close to him as you pointed at the different stars

“That one’s so bright!”

“Mmh. You are.”

You turn your head around and he’s not even looking at the stars, he’s looking at you.

“Wow. How smooth of you.”

His face shows a big smug grin as he laughs

“Oh really?”

“Yes beastie. You know what else could make this day better though?”

“What?

You smiled and cuddled closer

“If I could have a kiss from you?”

His cheeks were dusted with a dark shade of red but he scoffed and kissed your head, your cheeks, and then your lips. His tail wraps around your waist and you scratch behind his ears with a laugh

Sevens, you made him soft.

“…I see the light when I’m with you.”

“Gasp. Leona Kingscholar saying stuff like that?”

“Shut up. I won’t say it again.”

He held you close as you watched the glittering night sky with him.

“Happy birthday herbivore…Thank you for staying with me for as long as you have. I hope you make it longer.”

WAHHH I’M SORRY I MISSED YOUR BIRTHDAY RYKERRR I’M SUCH A BAD FRIEND DD:

Happy belated birthday! And to anyone who’s reading this on theirs!

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bloody-cupcakes · 2 months

Text

Yandere/dark Tenth Doctor x reader; he helps you celebrate your birthday

Tw: yandere/dark content, soft yandere, threatened force feeding (it doesn't happen though), implied kidnapping/Stockholm syndrome, gender neutral reader, the Doctor uses affectionate pet names such as star, angel, and love, brief swearing, referenced past hypnotism/mind control

A/N: it's my birthday and I happen to share it with none other David Tennant himself so naturally I had to write something a little dark with the Tenth Doctor in order to celebrate 🥳🎈🎂

The bed dipped down beside you as you tried to play it off like you were still asleep. "Happy birthday, star," the Doctor softly cooed in your ear, gently shaking you as you laid there. Obviously he figured out you were faking. "It's time to get up so I can give you your gift."

You pressed your face closer into the pillow and let out a defiant huff. "I don't wanna," you whined quietly, almost too quiet for him to hear. As much as you might've enjoyed your birthday before, you'd recently been dreading its approach due to the circumstances you found yourself in.

Part of you had hoped that maybe he wouldn't remember, and then you could say you didn't remember either if it ever came up in further conversation, but unfortunately you had no such luck. You didn't even question how he knew it: at this point you didn't want to know where he got any additional information that you didn't willingly give up.

"I said, it's time to get up." His tone was a bit more forceful than before; it made you gulp nervously and sent shivers down your spine. "I don't want to have to repeat myself again, understood?"

"Yes, sir," you responded obediently, your voice sounding timid and meek as you slowly sat up in the bed. "I'm sorry." You stuck your bottom lip out and widened your eyes, trying to make yourself look as innocent and unsuspecting as possible, something you knew he always fell for.

"I guess I'm just a little upset that I won't be getting to spend today with my family." It could very well have been a bold faced lie, but he didn't need to know that. It wouldn't matter, anyway. You knew he wasn't going to take you back home, but at the very least you were hoping for some sympathy, which you got.

"Oh, angel..." His voice went back to its usual soft spoken tone as he pulled you onto his lap, his brow furrowed as his eyes filled with concern. "I know you miss them, love, but I can't take you back. You know that. Besides, this is your home now." He gestured to your room inside the TARDIS, one that he filled with items he'd taken from your old place.

Against your better judgement, you cuddled up close to him on his lap, nuzzling your face into the side of his neck. You inhaled the scent of his aftershave, something that you thought you'd always hate when he first took you. Now, though, it provided you some much needed comfort whenever you were feeling down.

"I'm going to go get your gift, okay? I'll be right back." You made a soft noise of protest as he slipped you off his lap and back onto the bed, watching as he got up and left the room. Pouting, you crossed your arms and just sat there, waiting for him to return.

The Doctor soon returned, carrying a plate with a large slice of birthday cake on it. He chuckled upon seeing the grouchy look on your face. "I told you I'd be right back." He walked over and took a seat back on the bed, setting the plate down in front of you. "Boy, you must've missed me an awful lot, hm?"

You stuck your tongue out to show you didn't appreciate his teasing. "Careful, otherwise your face is going to freeze like that." He picked up the fork and stuck it in the slice of cake, breaking off a piece before holding it up. "Look, I got your favorite."

Knowing exactly what he wanted, you kept your mouth shut, refusing to eat the piece of cake on front of you. If you were in a better mood, then maybe you'd be fine with it. After all, you'd grown used to him feeding you, even if it was a tad bit degrading.

But today was just not the day for all of that. You couldn't be sure exactly what time it was, as there wasn't a clock in your room, but you were fairly certain he'd woken you up just past midnight . Honestly, the nerve to not even let you sleep on on your own birthday.

"I don't want any. I'm not hungry," you mumbled as you looked down, not feeling brave enough to meet his gaze, even if you were openly defying him by refusing the "gift" he'd gotten you.

"Very funny, star. I woke you up early, so now you're going to be a brat and refuse to eat your cake," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes at you. "Look, would you just eat it? It's only one slice, love, c'mon now."

"No. I said I don't want to," you blurted out in frustration, glaring at him. The moment his eyes darkened, you felt your blood run cold, realizing you'd made a mistake. "I- I'm sorry, I'm just a little tired-"

Your poorly made excuses were cut off quickly by the Doctor's harsh tone. "I don't care how tired you are, do you hear me? We are going to sit here until you eat every damn bite, if I have to force it down your throat."

A loud whimper of fear escaped you at his scolding tone, causing him to let out a sigh as he recognized he'd gone a bit too far. "Love, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to be so rough sounding with you," he gently reassured you as he shifted closer to you on the bed.

Deciding it wasn't worth it to fight him (despite how much you really didn't want to be held), you allowed him to pull you onto his lap for a second time. "I'm sorry, angel. I didn't mean to upset you in that way," he spoke in a low and soothing voice while wrapping his arms around you.

"You were mean," you choked out as your eyes began to fill with tears. Although it was ridiculous to believe, especially with no proof, you always thought he'd done something that made you much more emotional and sensitive than you used to be, just so he could have the chance to comfort you.

(Technically your suspicions weren't all that far off, as he'd asked a favor from his best enemy back when he first took you. He figured that maybe if you were more docile and submissive it'd be easier to make you stay with him, so he convinced the Master to hypnotize you in an effort to change the chemistry of your brain and make it so you'd be dependent fully on him. Of course, you didn't know any of this, though it wouldn't have surprised you even if you did.)

"I know I was, love, and I'm sorry." He reached over and moved the plate, resting it on your thigh as he picked up the fork again. "Just eat this, then you can go back to bed, okay? I promise." The offer was certainly tempting, and the cake didn't actually look (or smell) that bad.

"Okay," you sniffled in a small voice, opening your mouth just enough for him to stick the fork in. The taste of the buttercream frosting hit your tongue first, the silky smooth texture followed by the fluffiness of the cake. The Doctor smiled in delight as he watched you eat it.

"Good, good. There you go, see? I knew you'd like it." He broke off another piece from the slice and held it up to your mouth again, feeding you in almost the same manner a mother would to her child. "You're doing so well for me, star, I'm so proud of you."

You felt your face heat up in a blush at his praise, humming happily as you continued to eat. His words of encouragement pushed you to keep eating, even if you weren't really that hungry to begin with. A full belly and an empty plate later, you were finally done, licking your lips clean of icing.

"See, that wasn't so bad, now was it?" He placed the fork on the plate and set them both down on the bedside table. "Did you enjoy your gift, star, hm? I thought you might like it, seeing as that's your favorite."

As you were still savoring the final bites of the slice of cake, you nodded your head eagerly. He grinned in response, glad to know you'd liked it. "Good, I'm glad." Noticing there was some icing smeared on your upper lip, he leaned in and dragged his tongue across it suddenly, an action that left you both shocked and flustered.

Laughing at your reaction, he gave your lips a quick kiss before saying in a low and suggestive voice, "I'm sorry, angel, I just couldn't resist. You looked too sweet not to taste for myself."

Too embarrassed to say anything, you turned and buried your face into his chest, which only caused him to laugh harder. "Oh, star, you're always so easy to tease." He ran his hand up and down your back in a comforting fashion, smirking playfully.

A soft yawn could be heard coming from you as drowsiness started to overcome you. "I'm really tired, can I go back to sleep now?" You asked in a sleepy mumble, looking up at him with eyes that were droopy as an effect of being woken up in the middle of the night.

"Of course you can, love. I won't keep you awake any longer." He pulled the covers over top of you before flicking off the lamp beside the bed. Pressing a loving kiss to your head, you could hear him faintly murmur just before you drifted off to sleep: "happy birthday".

#a birthday gift I wrote for myself that I'm deciding to share 🥳#doctor who #tw yandere #dark fic #doctor who x reader #dark doctor who #doctor who fic #yandere doctor who #tenth doctor #yandere tenth doctor #dark tenth doctor #tenth doctor imagine #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor #10th doctor imagine #10th doctor x reader #david tennant x reader

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soulreapin · 3 months

Text

1/1

5.4k

klance

birthday gift for @nostalgicish !!!

Summary:

He feels his eyes bug and twitch. “In the entire library, you have one copy of Little Women?”

“Yup.”

“Can I at least know who has it checked out?” Lance sighs through his nose, defeated.

She shrugs, turning to her brick of a computer and typing something in. “A guy named Keith.”

“Who?” He’s never heard of a single person going to Altea State University named Keith.

or, lance is suffering through classical lit 101 with a teacher that assigns required reading like its air. every time he goes to check out that book from the library closest to him, a man named keith has checked it out. the same day, a letter falls out of the book checked out to him marked “k. kogane.”

#inspired by two of stal’s prompts!#also her birthday gift #if you rock w this please rb it #vld #voltron #keith kogane #vld keith #vld headcanons #keith voltron #headcanon #lance mcclain #vld lance #klance #soulreapinfic #fanfiction #klance fic

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giggly-squiggily · 7 months

Text

A Special Kind Of Pen (My Hero Academia)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY NYM!!!!! :D To the amazing @intheticklecloset! Thank you for being such a great friend to me; you never fail to make me smile and I'm beyond grateful to have the chance to befriend you! I hope you enjoy this humble birthday gif featuring your boys Shindeku! :D

Summary: Midoriya's love for keeping a notebook is something Shinsou supports completely. However- the scratchy pen he uses however- not so much.

Midoriya had two great loves in his life: Shinsou, and his notebook.

No but really- the green haired hero kept that thing on him 24/7. Anytime they had hero work to do and opportunity was there, he’d whip it out and fill out a section. Post work- Midoriya was filling out the day’s events on the bus ride home, doodled in pictures and everything. Sometimes if they were lucky he could get a picture with whatever hero they ran into. He’d stick those in his notebook as well.

Shinsou couldn’t complain. There was something so joyful about the way Midoriya worked in it; using the scrapbook kit Shinsou got him for christmas to really bring his analysis journal to life. He scratched and scribbled away for a good hour most nights; occasionally mumbling to himself the things he wrote.

But that’s just it.

The scratching.

Scritch, scritch, scritch, scritch, scritch.

The pen Midoriya used was old- really old. It was also something he treasured- likely the reason being “Vintage All Might merch”- though if you asked Shinsou it looked more like the pens that came in a happy meal toy. It worked fine for the most part, but it made the most dreadful noise against paper. Sometimes Shinsou could hear it even when Midoriya wasn’t around.

He’d found ways around it; headphones in with music playing, watching TV while Midoriya worked in another room, etc. He even had a gentle but firm conversation with Midoriya about the pen- “Could you at least use a different one during the night?” he asked.

His boyfriend was a sweetheart and worked with his compromises, and for the most part; things were fine.

Today though. Today was truly testing him.

Scritch, scritch, scritch, scritch, scritch.

Shinsou had been staring at the same equation for the past five minutes, the sound of that damn pen far too distracting. His usual go-to’s weren’t there; his headphones needed to charge and TV was far too distracting while doing homework. Not to mention he hadn’t seen Midoriya all day today and didn’t want to waste a second apart; meaning they decided to do their work together in their bedroom.

Together- and that freaking pen.

“Oh man- please don’t die on me now.” Midoriya tapped it against his palm a few times, trying to get the ink to flow. His notebook- usually fairly pigmented, was faded; a sign the pen was on its last leg. “Come on- just a few more pages!”

“Why don’t you put it in a case? Really memorialize it.” Shinsou offered, trying not to let his giddiness show in his voice.

“What- no way! This is too precious to never use again. OH! I have ink refills!” Midoriya smiled as he put down the pen, hopping out of the bed and running to the hallway closet. “I can change the ink out and it’ll be good as new!”

“...steller.” Shinsou sighed when his boyfriend left, glaring at the pen. The design was starting to fade, All Might’s smiling face looking less defined by the day. Such an old pen- it wasn’t like there weren’t more out there! All Might’s legacy lived on despite his retirement; people still make tons of stuff with him all over it- including pens!

Staring at the villainous weapon, Shinsou made a bold decision.

~~~

“Okay- I got the ink; I thought I had more but I ran out. Luckily Yaoyorozu was still up so she made me another…” His words trailed off as he sat down, realizing his pen was missing. “Huh…Hito? Have you seen my pen?”

“Last I’ve seen it was in your notebook. Did it roll away?” Shinsou didn’t look up from his own work, but he did peek as Midoriya checked around himself. “Do you want another pen?”

“No- I can find it.” Midoriya looked beneath the bed, patted smooth the wrinkles of the blankets, patted himself down. Nothing. “Where’d it go? I literally just had it!”

“Strange.” Shinsou nodded, checking around himself too. “It’s okay- the thing was dying anyway. We can get you a new one.”

“.....” Midoriya blinked, then he looked at him. “Hitoshi.”

Oh no. “Yes?” He asked innocently.

“Hito- my shining star.” Midoriya climbed back into the bed, tossing his notebook shut as he crept over. “My blinding moon, the love of my life.” Oh damn- he’s laying it on thick with the pet names! Hitoshi felt his collar heat up as he was pushed back against the pillows. “My star crossed love. Did you take my pen?”

“Why would I do that?” Shinsou asked, hating how shaky his voice sounded but hoping it’d come off from how close they were. “I have plenty.”

“Hito.” Midoriya was sitting on him now, easily taking his wrists in hand before pinning them above his head. “Darling.”

“Izuku-

“Did you take my pen?” His free hand raised up, fingers wiggling. Shinsou held his breath. “Last chance.”

“I..did not.” He declared, fate made. Midoriya only smiled.

Then the tickles began.

“AH! Ahhahahahhahha, I-Iihihihihizuku!” Shinsou jumped when a hand found his belly, pushing past his gengar hoodie and tickling the skin beneath. “Aheahhhahahhaha, I dihihihiidn’t I sweahahahhare!”

“Sure you didn’t. That’s why you’re laughing right? Cause you’re being truthful?” Midoriya teased, really going for the soft spots along his torso as he dragged his fingers against his belly. “I’m SO convinced!”

“Ahehahahahhaha, yohohoohoohu’re so sahhhahhahssy tohohoohooday! Gehahhahahaha, wahhhaait- wahhhahait doohohohohohn’t!” Shinsou arched when that dastardly hand moved to his side, walking up and down his ribs with ease. “Nohohoohot the rihhihihihibs!”

“Tell me where my pen is~” Midoriya requested, focusing his efforts on the middle set knowing how ticklish it was for Shinsou. “That’s all you gotta do. Then this will all be over!”

“Nehehehehehhehver! Wahhahait I meahhehehaha- I doohohohn’t knohohoohow AH!” Shinsou all but squealed when Midoriya switched from prodding to pinching, sending a new feeling of ticklishness throughout him. “Ihiihiihihzukuhuhuhuhuu!”

“Never? So you DID take it!” Midoriya shook his head, more amused than anything. “Where’d you hide it, Hito? Is it here? Here?” His hand was everywhere- prodding at each side of his ribs as he “searched” for his pen. “Did you hide it in your ribcage? Or is it beneath your arm?”

“Aheahhahhahahahha! Ihihihihzuku, don’t you dahHAHAHAHHAHAHRE!” Shinsou all but screamed when his armpit was tickled, pulling at his boyfriend’s grip reflexively. “FIIIHIIHIHINE I’LL THEHHEHEHEHELL YOOHOOHOOHOU!”

Satisfied, Midoriya stopped his tickles, waiting patiently.

Gasping for air, Shinsou ran a hand over his flushed face, giggling through greedy breaths. Then he reached behind him, pulling the pen out from beneath the pillow. “Thehehehere…”

“Was that so hard?” Midoriya teased, taking his pen back. He leaned down and pecked Shinsou on the lips before crawling back to his original spot, taking off the bottom of his pen to change the ink.

“Eheh..heheh…Why do you insist on using that pen anyway?” Shinsou asked when he could, sitting up so he could watch. “I know it’s All Might, but you could easily have Yaoyorozu make you an identical pen; one that doesn’t scratch the paper.”

“...you really don’t remember?” Midoriya looked up after he changed the ink out, giving it a few clicks with a nod. “You gave it to me.”

“I did? When?” Shinsou blinked, surprised at the revelation. Then it hit him.

~~~

“Check it out!” A guy in his class- Shinsou couldn’t remember his name- ran up to him with three bags. They were bright and colorful- the back featuring an array of pens with various prohero designs. “I got these on sale! They’re mystery bags!”

“Oo, can I have one?” A girl ran up. The guy didn’t hesitate handing her one. Then he smiled at Shinsou, giving him the other. “I only really want Best Jeanist. If you get him- we’re trading!”

“Oh I…” Shinsou looked down at the package. That’s all it took for the guy and girl to run off, him hooting about getting Jeanist and her swooning over her new Hawks pen.

“I guess I’ll take it.” He opened it and peeked, brows raised.

~~~

“I knew you loved All Might- you were the first person to come to mind when I opened it.” Shinsou laughed at the memory. What was that- a year ago? They weren’t dating yet- but the way Midoriya’s face lit up upon receiving such a gift, the tears of joy staining his eyes and the death grip he gave Shinsou when he hugged him; it was all a core memory he’d never want to lose.

“I know! I was so shocked when you gave it to me- I’ve used it everyday since.” Midoriya twirled it in his hands, expression fond. “It’s a little scratchy- I think the twisty part nicked- but I could never get rid of it. It was the first present you’ve ever given me and the second best gift I’ve ever received.”

“Second? What’s the first?” Shinsou raised a brow. Midoriya only smiled.

“Your heart.”

Shinsou flushed, eyes widening. Then he smiled- a soft one that melted Midoriya on the spot. “Oh you…come here.” He pulled the other close, kicking away their notebooks and homework for a proper cuddling session. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Midoriya leaned up and kissed him.

They could do homework some other time.

Thanks for reading! And a happy birthday to you, Nym :)

#mha/bnha #tickle #tickle fic #hitoshi shinsou #izuku midoriya #shindeku #birthday #birthday gift #HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL!#May this day be full of amazingness and happiness #Thank you for being my friend :)

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