Secret Notes And Misunderstandings - Sugawara Kshi X Reader

Secret Notes and Misunderstandings - Sugawara Kōshi x Reader

Pairing: Sugawara Kōshi x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 3 420 Warnings: Use of y/n, Tanaka and Noya Summary: You receive secret notes from someone. If only they were from your crush Suga A/N: I’m not really happy with the style of this one…

Masterlist

It had to be every schoolgirl’s dream, receiving cute notes written by a secret admirer, pushed into her locker every morning. And the notes were cute, they really were. Never creepy or offensive, just sweet.

It had started almost a month ago. One morning you had opened your locker, only to find a small note fluttering out. Not recognizing it, you had unfolded the paper that seemed to have been ripped from a Kanji exercise book. In an unfamiliar handwriting, using what seemed like a fine 0.3mm black ink pen, a few words had been scribbled down, making a smile pull at your lips.

“I’m too shy to tell you this in person, but your presentation on the United Nations yesterday was crazy good.”

You had folded the note back together, and placed it in your pencil case, where it made you smile every time you glanced at it.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Sugawara, your classmate, had grinned when he had passed you during lunch break on this way to the sink.

You had shrugged, your heart beating faster when you had realized that Suga had addressed you. The feeling that ran through your body at every interaction with him was so different from the feelings the note had sparked, so much better.

The notes had started that day, and there had not been one day of school since then, that there hadn’t been one shoved into your locker in the morning. Over time they had gotten more personal, leaving less and less doubt about the author’s attraction to you. He (and you knew it was a guy by the words he used), was never offensive or creepy, just plainly sweet, complimenting the hair clip you had worn the other day, or sometimes even admitting how he wished he would be brave enough to talk to you normally, without these notes.

And the more he revealed his own thoughts, his own insecurities and wishes, the more he revealed of his heart, the worse you felt. The notes were cute, sweet, and normally you would have been dying to know who went through all the effort just for your sake. Maybe you would have been trying to find out who it was and asked them out, just because you felt like after all the effort he had made, he deserved you take a risk too.

But no matter how much you wanted to feel excited and honoured by these notes, there was still Suga. Suga who was in the same class as you and your mysterious admirer, Suga who was working hard in every subject, who helped the other students when they struggled, who laughed loud and unashamedly in the breaks, who’s smile was warm like summer sun beams, even when it was only late February. So really it was Sugawara’s fault, you thought to yourself, that you couldn’t reciprocate the feelings these notes conveyed. If it weren’t for your stupid, stupid, unrequited crush on him, you’d have tried to get into contact with the author of these notes weeks ago. But your heart was hopelessly hung up on someone else, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself to let these feelings go.

So, when you stared down on what had to be the boldest note yet, you felt a little sick.

"I've been trying to work up the courage to ask you to sit with me for lunch for weeks now, but every time I think about getting up and asking you, I get so nervous that I can't even think properly anymore. Maybe I’ll ask you tomorrow. I want to make salmon onigiri, I know you like those. What do you think?"

The nervousness of the author as he had written these words and then pushed the note into your locker was basically seeping out of the paper into your hands, pleading you to be as nervous about him as he was about you. But instead, you knew he was just setting himself up for heartbreak. This had to stop. Now. You had allowed this boy to bring up his hopes for far too long now. You had to end this. Even if it would hurt him. Even when you would feel awful for breaking his heart.  But it was better to end this now than to have him work up the courage to face you and then tell it into his face.

Although he did deserve a gentle let down, he didn’t deserve to torture himself before it. So, after your last class, you ripped out a page of your notebook and grabbed one of your pens. During class, between paying attention to the teachers’ words and the way Suga was bouncing his leg under the table on the other side of the classroom, you had mentally prepared what you wanted to write.

“Dear friend, thank you very much for all the notes over the past weeks. I have enjoyed reading them, but I’m sorry to tell you that I can’t reciprocate your feelings. I already have someone I like, and it wouldn’t be fair to let you keep hoping I will return your feelings. In fact, I should have told you this a lot sooner, and I’m sorry for the pain I’m causing you now. Let this be the last exchange.”

You had been tempted to add words of reassurance or comfort, but you were worried they might make him hope against hope that you would eventually return his feelings. When the last class was over, you used a thin strip of washi-tape and stuck the note to your locker so it was blocking the little gap in the door. This way the note couldn’t possibly go unnoticed by whoever had sent you the others.

The next morning rolled around, and you were almost nervous, when you took off your shoes and placed them in the rack, going to your locker to grab your books for the day. The note you had stuck to its door the day prior was gone, and you already feared someone else might have removed it, but when you opened the locker, no new note came sailing out. You were almost a little disappointed. But you had asked him to stop writing, so you had gotte what you wanted. This was for the best. Let him be disappointed or maybe even a little heartbroken, and by next week he would have moved on.

When you entered the classroom, you found, much to your surprise, that yesterday’s note hadn’t been the last. Instead, someone had placed two wrapped onigiri on your table, and a note underneath. Up until now, the paper had always been torn neatly out of notebooks, the signs evenly paced and written with precision. This time, even though it was the by now familiar handwriting, the page seemed to have been ripped out in haste, the words smeared over the paper, smudging the ink.

“I already made these, and I thought you should have them. If you don’t want them, leave them on the desk during lunch break and I’ll take them back. This is my last note. Thanks for your honesty.”

You bit your lip, staring down at the paper. You could tell his hand had shaken when he had written this note. While nervousness had seeped out of the other notes, this one seemed to ooze pain. He’ll get over it, you thought to yourself, over me.

Quickly you crumbled the note in your hand, pushing the onigiris to the edge of the table, not intending to eat them. With a few steps you made your way to the paper basked, discarding the final note of your secret admirer. On your way back to your desk, your eyes skipped over to where Suga was sitting, as always when you got the chance.

He sat backsided on a chair, arms crossed over the backrest, chin propped on his lower arm. He had taken off his jacket, leaving him in the short sleeved, white button-up of the uniform. Warm spring sunlight flitted in through the window, catching in his silver hair and making it gleam like star light. He looked angelic, you thought to yourself. Even though Daichi was telling him something, and laughing at his side, Suga barely seemed to listen, his gaze absentmindedly directed into the distance. He looked pale, you realized, pale and tired. Hopefully he wouldn’t get sick in the last weeks of the school year.

Suddenly his gaze drew away from wherever he had stared of to, and directed itself to you instead. You felt like your heart almost stopped at the way his coffee brown eyes bore into you, and feeling your cheeks heat up, you lifted your hand to wave at him with a smile. Instead of returning the gesture, he only seemed to tense, before tearing his eyes away from you and sitting up, saying something to Daichi instead.

Confused at his unusual reaction, you walked back to your seat, sitting down. The onigiri in front of you seemed to mock you, and far more frequent than usually your gaze flickered over to Suga during the day. His mood didn’t seem to better though, and in fact it grew only grimmer when he caught you staring at him once.

You were not the only one who seemed to pick up on his unusual behaviour, because as the bell rang for lunch break, you overheard Daichi ask him if everything was okay. Suga only answered he was fine, even though he sounded upset and annoyed, but the rest of the conversation got drowned out by the voices of other students.

Like every day, you left the classroom at the beginning of lunchbreak to refill your bottle at the water fountain in the hallway. Today you made sure to take an extra few minutes; hopefully giving the author of the notes you had received enough time to retrieve the onigiri from your desk. And sure enough, by the time you returned to the classroom, they were gone.

The rest of the day went by without any other incidents, unless one counted Suga’s terrible mood. Even across the classroom it seemed to rub off on you. Originally you had wanted to pay closer attention to the other boys, trying to see if anyone’s behaviour differed from usually which might give them away as the author of the messages, but instead your focus was entirely on Suga and what you could do to cheer him up.

When the last class ended, and you still hadn’t thought of anything useful to say to Suga, you just opted for a wave and a smile, as you usually did, bidding him goodbye before heading off to your club. But unlike all the other days, he ignored you completely, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and your heart heavy.

It was already growing dark outside when you hasted through the corridors of the school again. Your club had finished only a few minutes ago, when you had remembered there was a book you needed for homework, so you were on your way back to the lockers. You had almost reached them, when suddenly the voices of two students made you stop.

“He explicitly said not to get involved,” the one nagged.

“But have you seen him? Can you really just stand by and watch him suffer like that,” the other voice replied.

Carefully you snuck around the last corner, finding two boys standing in front of your locker. Even in the dim light you could make out the one’s buzzcut and the other’s unruly hair. They were both in the year below you, you realized, and members of the volleyball team, teammates of Suga’s. The one with the unruly hair was trying to push a piece of paper through the gap below the door into your locker.

You were about to ask them what they were up to. After all, neither of them couldn’t have been the one writing the notes you had received; that person was in your class. You knew that from the references to your classwork he had been making.

“You know, he’s gonna hate you when he finds out you got involved.”

“So what, let him hate me! As long as he gets his girl! (Y/n) just has to give him a second chance!”

“Who am I supposed to give a second chance,” you asked out loud, stepping out from behind the corner.

The two boys jumped in surprise as your presence, the one with the unruly hair, quickly hiding a piece of paper behind his back.

“Well, you see, the thing is our set-,” he started, immediately receiving a harsh nudge from his friend.

“And what were you trying to push into my locker,” you added. Usually you were not very intimidating, but being a year older than them had its perks: they had to respect you. Demanding, you held out your hand.

The boy with the blond streak in this dishevelled hair shot his friend a side glance before stepping forward and dropping the paper into your outstretched hand.

“Have you been the ones putting notes into my locker,” you asked.

“Yes, well, no. Maybe. Sometimes,” the boy with the buzzcut answered. Tanaka, you remembered.

“What is it now. Have you or have you not?”

“Sometimes,” the other one – Nuka? Nayo? Noya? Oh yes, Noya was his name – answered. “Sometimes we delivered them for our friend, when you had club late and there was the chance of you running into Su-“

He got interrupted by another shove between his ribs. He coughed.

Biting your lip, you twirled the paper between your fingers. You could find out who had sent you all these notes, you realized. You just had to ask now. Tanaka would probably be quiet, but Noya seemed eager to make you like whoever had sent them to deliver them. But did you want to know? Did you really want to go to class tomorrow, look at the person who had written these notes and pretend you didn’t know?

“Please,” Tanaka interrupted your thoughts. “Can’t you give our friend a chance? We know you like someone else, but you’ll forget about that guy in no time, I promise! Our friend is like- he’s the best guy there is really. He’s smart, and patient, and funny-”

“Charming, good-looking, athletic,” Noya continued. “A little chaotic sometimes maybe, but he has like the biggest heart-”

You shook your head. “Listen guys, Tanaka-kun, Noya-kun. I appreciate your effort and I know you just want to see your friend happy, but as I already wrote him: there is someone else I like, and it wouldn’t be right to let your friend hope that my feelings will change eventually. That’s just not fair.”

“But you should’ve seen him today during practice,” Noya continued. “He was not himself! He was devastated! And Suga’s ready to let you walk away because he respects you, but I- we think-”

“Wait, wait,” you lifted your hands in the air, signalling him to stop talking. Your heart was racing. “Say that again.”

“He respects you and-”

“No, you said his name,” you disagreed.

The boys exchanged glances.

“He’ll kill you,” Tanaka mumbled to Noya.

“Did you say Suga,” you asked.

Their silence was answer enough.

All this time you had wanted Suga to notice you and all this time it had been him who had sent you these notes? And then you had rejected him? Was that why he had been so pale today, why he hadn’t smiled at you today? Because you had rejected him, not even knowing who you had rejected? Your heart dropped and the floor felt like it was giving way beneath your feet. You had to fix that. Somehow you had to fix this stupid, stupid situation.

“Do you have a pen?”

Tanaka rummaged around in his pocket, before handing you a blunt pencil. You took it anyway. Unfolding the paper you had taken from Noya, you placed it against the closest locker, flipping it to its empty side.

“What’s Suga’s favourite onigiri filling,” you asked, glancing at Tanaka and Noya from over your shoulder.

“Salmon,” they answered at the same time without hesitation.

You furrowed your brows. “Are you sure?”

“We talked about it just the other day,” Tanaka assured you.

“He said, he likes them because you like them,” Noya added. You exhaled slowly, trying not to laugh. This sounded so much like something Suga would say.

Putting the pen down, you began writing.

“Noya and Tanaka ranted you out. Don’t be mad at them, I made them tell me. Let’s eat lunch together. I’ll make salmon onigiri, I know you like those. We can eat outside under the plum tree. The blossoms are your favourite, aren’t they?”

Quickly, before you could change your mind, you folded the paper, and pushed it into Suga’s locker, making the two boys exchange wide eyed glances.

“What did you write,” they asked excitedly as you returned to your locker to retrieve the book you had come here for.

“Are you giving him a second chance?”

“You’ll see,” you answered with a smile.

The next morning, Suga was already sitting in the classroom when you entered, like he did every morning. When he saw you sitting down behind your own desk, he quickly exchanged a few words with Daichi, before walking over.

Pink was dusting his cheeks, the colour almost matching that of the plum blossoms outside. He was nervous, you could tell, fiddling around with a piece of paper between his fingers. Watching him walk over, your own pulse spiked. Yesterday you had been filled with confidence when you had written the note, but today it all seemed unreal. That was until he dropped the small piece of paper on the desk in front of you, leaning against the table.

For a moment you looked up at him, his chocolate brown eyes nervous but also filled with warmth as he glanced down to you, then you reached for the paper. He had rolled it into a tight scroll, probably an act of nervosity while he had waited for you. For the first time the note didn’t contain any words, only a doodled Smilie. The smile on your face was instantaneous, and quickly you looked back up to Suga, who was full on blushing now.

“I know, I said I’d stop it with the notes, but…” he shrugged bashfully, making you laugh quietly.

“No, that’s okay,” you let him know.

“I do gotta ask though- not that I’m complaining, just curious – what changed your mind?”

He’s still smiling, but you could hear the insecurity in his voice as well.

Inhaling deeply, you settled for the truth. “Turned out the guy I rejected was actually the guy I was rejecting him for.”

Suga just furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What I mean is,” you shuffled in your seat a little, wondering if the words would come any easier if you sat differently or if Suga weren’t nailing you to the chair with the intensity with which he was considering you now. “You’re the guy I was talking about in that note, the person I like. I didn’t know you were also the person sending me these notes.”

Finally, the last bit of hesitation seemed to melt away from Suga. “Lucky then, that I like you, too,” he teased, making your heart stutter and his cheeks tint an even deeper pink. “Sooo, are we eating lunch together?"

You nodded. “I made onigiri, like promised. Is salmon really your favourite filling?”

Suga laughed. “Yeah, it is. Always has been, since I was little.”

He was about to say something else, but was interrupted by the teacher, calling the beginning of the class.

Quickly he pushed away from your desk, winking at you mischievously. This Suga was so very different from the disappointed, heartbroken Suga from yesterday. You knew exactly which one you preferred. He turned around and hurried back to his desk, but not before dropping another note to your table, this one folded several times.

As the teacher began the class, you quickly unfolded the paper under your desk, reading the few words Suga had written down. This time they were a lot neater than the note he had left with the rejected onigiri the day prior.

“I mean it. I really like you too.”

And underneath he had drawn a tiny, almost hesitant doodle of a heart.

Prompts 22, 23, and 28 for Lucifer Morningstar please!

Prompts 22, 23, and 28 with Lucifer

I am feeling a little better, compared to earlier. I had plans on baking a banana cake earlier, so if I keep this little recovery up I may resume those plans!

I hope you enjoy, Anon! C:

MOVING IN TOGETHER

You don't have to worry about carrying your things in, with just a snap of his fingers he can put everything into place... Just tell him where to put everything! He already has a guest room waiting for you, until you're both ready to sleep in the same bed. Things are going to be taken... very slow. I hope you don't mind, he just... needs to get used to this all over again. What with having a relationship now as well as not living alone anymore. In the beginning he tries to keep the house spick and span, though it's mostly because he doesn't want to make a bad impression. It happens slowly, but over the course of weeks it gets a little messy due to the man not having the mental or physical energy to keep it tidy... mental illness, you know? He doesn't mean it to get that bad, and he will feel a little guilty if you step in and fix things. It does push him to seek help or at least a better coping mechanism, so at least he's taking a step towards healing... Sometimes he keeps himself in his work room making... lord knows what. Likely ducks.

BEACH EPISODE

Hubba Hubba he's going to be respectfully staring the second you step out in your swimwear. He will shoot daggers at anyone who tries to gawk at you as well... though I can easily see him putting you up on a pedestal, "yeah! That's my partner and they're smoking hot!".. not those exact words, but... you know..! He burns so so easily, you'd think being an angel would make him exempt from that but he just... doesn't tan. He offers to give you shade under his wings... he is going to regret that when he eventually gets sand into his feathers. You both spend the day in the sun! Lucifer doesn't really get into the water other than a quick dip every now and then to cool himself down... he probably makes a grand sand castle! If you help him he's going to want to marry you on the spot. Supporting his creativity is one of the quickest ways to butter him up.

FIRST DATE

He is... an absolute mess on your first date. He's a romantic so he's going to rely on those to keep things moving along, but it's just been so long since he's been in the dating scene! Also taking into consideration that Lilith may possibly be his first or only serious relationship, at least she's the only one that we are aware of... Even worse for him if you are his first date after the separation. He wants you to have a good time, he really does, but his nerves are just eating him from the inside out. Likely for a first date you two go out to eat, something simple and classic while allowing you two to get to know each other. He's polite, and on his best behavior. He may forget some of the topics and what was brought up, but that's really due to his nerves... Definitely the type to give you flowers on the first date.

lucifer morningstar x fem reader (with the side of alastor) ⋆ ｡ﾟ ☁︎ [ brandy glass. ] 1k words. — lucifer takes you to a fancy bar, only for a certain gentlemen to send you a complimentary drink. lucifer takes it surprisingly well … or so you thought. ft. jealous lucifer, signature ‘v’ on lucifer’s lips, alastor making eyes at you.

just wanted to write a little something of our boys vying for your attention. alastor’s attempts can be seen as both platonic or romantic! pls credit me if you use these gifs <3

requests. mlist. < contains my other gifs and works!

“It’s a gorgeous night, isn’t it?”

Lucifer propped his elbow on the bar, his cheek rested on the back of his palm as his eyelids dropped to half mast. A large smile greeted you and you nodded in response.

You absentmindedly brushed down your red dress, held up by two spaghetti strings on both shoulders that were barely visible. You sipped the last of your drink.

“It’s a beautiful night, Lu.”

Lucifer had taken you to a high class bar on the other side of the pentagram and away from the hotel for a bit. He’d been wanting to take you somewhere special for a while now and you knew you shouldn’t have been impressed by the fact that he knew that doing anything with you within the perimeters of the hotel would have caused an outburst. But tonight wasn’t about that.

A modern gold chandelier glistened as its hanging gold cylinders swayed to the wind’s command. The bar had almost stunned you with the pristine glow that traveled like a bullet train all across the counter.

Lucifer opened his mouth to speak, but jumped at the buzzing sound of his phone vibrating. “Oh, sorry, Charlie texted, I’m sorry beautiful—”

“Lucifer,” you gave a composed chuckle. “You’re allowed to respond to texts. What happened to ‘a casual night out’?”

Lucifer’s gaze softened, shoulders sinking as he gave you a warm smile. “It’s hard to be casual around you, you know that?”

You shook your head as you returned his smile. “Go text your daughter.”

As with many fine dining and bar establishments, there was the occasional clatter of utensils every so often but it was drowned out by the idle chatting of the other couples in the bar. Many of the women dressed in something eye-catching like sequins. The dress Lucifer had gifted you to wear tonight was made of silk, and had its own way of making your cleavage both modest and revealing with the way the fabric made many crescent shaped folds just above your sternum.

“Ma’am, for you.”

“Oh, I didn’t order another—”

“It’s from one of the other gentlemen across the bar,” the bartender interjected, though still managed a polite tone as he continued to hold the drink towards you.

“Which one?”

He looked over at a man with a glowing red aura and a toothy grin.

One look at that pinstripe overcoat was all it took for your lips to curl into a sheepish smile.

He seemed to mirror you, sealing his lips together to make a less intimidating smile, but that was just your personal guess, even if the efforts proved to be rather futile in your opinion. But it didn’t matter as Alastor looked his dapper best even if nothing much had changed about his appearance, and judging from his excellent posture and smug side glances at your date, he knew this, too.

You looked over at Lucifer, but he was hunched over with his phone under the sparkling white bar, still texting Charlie.

Alastor nodded to you, crossing one of his legs over the other. He picked up his brandy glass and leaned it in your direction, as if to cheer to you from a distance.

You picked up your own as well, your smile sliding higher in your cheeks before he put his own glass to his lips.

He cocked his head to the side as his eyes zipped to the back of the bar and back at you.

Your shoulders tensed as both your elbows were now on the bar, with one of your hands sliding around the base of your nape.

“I hope that was on my tab,” Lucifer said in a lowered voice as he leaned his shoulder towards you, nearly making you jump out of your seat.

You chuckled nervously. “It’s … it’s not mine.”

Lucifer frowned as he straightened his posture. “Whose is it?”

Your eyes widened for a split second before you muffled your sigh with your palm, elbow still firmly planted on the gleaming counter. You swirled your drink in idle motions. “Some gentleman from the other side of the bar.”

Lucifer’s chin shot up from the crowd and you swore you could almost hear beeping as he scanned the room for anomalies. His pivoting gaze came to an abrupt halt a few seats away from one corner of the square-shaped bar.

“Alastor?” Lucifer deadpanned with a voice deeper than it had been before. He raised a brow at you and it took you a moment to take a mental deep breath at the fact that … there had been a lot of things going on at once.

There was something in Lucifer’s eyes you could tell had been used to handling the fire that was often ignited within them. You could almost see it tonight. Almost. You saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and his hand found its way to his empty glass.

“Yes,” you confessed softly.

“Oh, honey,” Lucifer cooed, head tilting as his stone demeanor deflated. “May I?”

His hand reached for your glass. You were barely touching it to begin with so when you pulled away by instinct, he swiped it away and turned towards Alastor.

He scowled as his glare stiffened on Alastor’s own. The radio demon’s signature grin returned at Lucifer’s attention and only stretched crooked and sinister as Lucifer took the drink into his throat, gulp by slow gulp.

He slammed the brandy glass down, licking his lips as he turned back to you, ever the gentle, silly man he was. It had almost been like he hadn’t just chained a man to a wall with his stare alone.

“Tell him I said thanks,” Lucifer sterned.

You glanced back at Alastor, who just shut his eyes and gave you a languid shake of his head.

“Well, this bar just got too crowded,” Lucifer beamed, his voice returning to its usual cheery cadence. He intertwined his fingers together and gave them a good stretch, then hopped off his seat and bowed before you to offer his hand. “I know a better place for us to … indulge on this beautiful night.

“Shall we?”

You took his hand and in one swift motion his hand sat snugly on your waist, almost like both you and the dress had made a lucifer’s-hand shaped hole for him to fill.

As you left the bar with Lucifer, you pretended not to notice that he turned back to Alastor one last time. You also pretended not to notice the ‘V’ he made with his fingers to his lips, his forked tongue slipping through the gap.

𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉 「𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔯」 ೀ⋆｡˚

content. f!reader. discussions of separation/divorce, friends to lovers, (name) is a fallen angel, sexual harassment, insecurities, discussions of mental health, spoilers for hazbin hotel season finale, implied/referenced not-safe for work. not proofread. 3.3k+ words.

author's note. i'm not sure if i'll be making a valentine's day post, but i haven't updated in a while, and i wanted to post something. so here's another hazbin hotel oneshot that's been in my drafts for a while! (sorry to all my bsd readers, i will be posting content soon!) i hope you guys enjoy ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

synopsis. two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.

OR someone comes in to try and ruin your relationship with lucifer, and he isn't happy about it.

You remembered the sensation of an eternal inferno, the mark of damnation that scorched your fingertips, submerging your divine being within a cluster of flames. Exiled from the heavens—a fate worse than death to most became an accepted element of your newfound reality. You never belonged perched atop clouds, even with the virtue nestled in the recesses of your heart. A part of you feared the unknown as you descended through novas and clouds, but it felt like a pressure had lifted from your being as those imposing gates shrunk behind you.

As the first of a cluster of falling stars, your impact landed you on the steaming ground of a new, hellish landscape, your mind scattered from the force of the fall, limbs trembling with their aching joints. And that was when you saw him, a brand-new man who held out his hand, smile desperate yet reassuring. The Morning Star himself, brought upon the same fate, still shaken from the tragedy of his descent—it had been much more personal for him.

“It’ll be okay, (Name),” his familiar voice reassured, but it was impossible not to hear the waver in his tone as your hands intertwined. “It’ll all be okay.”

And with a single touch, traversing hand-in-hand through this foreign land, you knew that someday, he would be right.

But that happened many millennia ago, a tale for storybooks rather than a memory that should’ve constantly been on a loop in your mind, held onto during the dead of lonely, bitter nights. Despite your long-standing friendship, the both of you held very separate lives—him with his family, you with your industry. You worked in tandem in relation to the public and aristocratic duties but otherwise barely spoke past the occasional smile and wave. And no, you couldn’t help the desolation that had sprouted inside your heart, the muscle aching as you observed his radiant smile from across ballrooms, the king exchanging affectionate glances at his wife while coddling his sweet daughter. But you were happy for him all the same. He deserved to be surrounded by those he loved, deserved to be happy after years of heartbreak, even if you weren’t in the picture.

But you knew that you could depend on each other, even if you hadn’t spoken in months. It was an unspoken connection between you, a rule unbroken. Which was the reason you knew his midnight call one evening had been serious. His voice was flooded with anguish, sputtering out incomprehensible words as his breath caught with every beat. You dropped everything, the paperwork and meeting planning, flying over with speed so fast that the denizens of Hell whispered for days about the shooting star that had flown across the sky that evening. 

In your journey, there was one persistent question that kept bothering you—why wasn’t his wife the one to comfort him? It wasn’t that you minded, not at all, but the entire situation struck you as odd. However, your answer became clear as you cracked open the doors to his bed chambers; the room was frozen and still as if left abandoned. However, the knocked-over furniture and smashed artifacts only made it look like it was robbed, which you highly doubted. And there in the center of the chaos was the Morning Star himself—no, Lucifer. Simply Lucifer. His body crumpled to the ground, painful hiccups leaving his lips. You slipped inside with ease and were about to grab his attention, and then you spotted it, the large lettering of a familiar type of document—a divorce agreement.

You were aware that the relationship between Lucifer and Lilith wasn’t perfect, not by any means. When they had fallen in love, there wasn’t a guideline for navigating relationships and marriage. They had to play it entirely by ear, leading to rushed decisions and a shaky foundation. You had always believed that they were each other’s perfect half, but it was only because their punishment and subsequent banishment had tied them together and forced them to suffer the same fate. At least, that was their belief for a couple of millennia. It didn’t mean that the split that was bound to happen didn’t hurt.

His cries had been hard to hear, throaty and painful, his body trembling as he mourned on the floor. It took a culmination of your mental and physical strength to unravel him, forcing him away from those papers and into an embrace, slowly steadying his breath with yours as he clung to you as if you would leave if he let go. That night set the standard for weeks of a miserable routine, with the former king reduced to sobs and silence. It was unbearable, especially as he pulled away from those who cared for him—his fellow sins, his friends, and especially his daughter. But you continued to hold on, not leaving even with his harsh utterances and occasional outbursts. You wouldn’t let him be alone, couldn’t let him be alone, moving into the broken family’s manor to care for him full-time.

And he would always be thankful for that.

His mental health was climbing uptick for years, fluctuating back and forth until he had stabilized, at least in comparison to his state before. He became fantastic at masking his depression, brushing it underneath the rug as he delved into his own creations, pushing many of his relationships even further away as he stopped leaving home. You were the one to bring him food and clean the estate—his staff had drifted to other careers over the past few years. You were the one assuring that he wasn’t left hunched over a bench in the worst posture possible, toiling away with his latest obsession, no matter the cuteness of the ducks.

In his more conscious moments, you would listen as he ranted about his issues, even though you both were aware they were a product of his self-isolation. But in those instants, whispering quietly as if the heavens still held onto your every word, hiding from its light as if the touch of it would scorch your skin, an intimacy blossomed from the depths of your former friendship. It had remained idle for centuries, underlying the foundation of every interaction and word, leaving fleeting touches and shared laughter in your blissful youths for stern support and brief softness in your demonic adulthoods—neither of you ever noticed that you saw the other through heart-shaped lenses. Two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.

But that had been the norm for thousands of years.

And without knowing, you had fallen into a relationship stage humans had archaically dubbed as “courting,” traveling outside the estate for the chance to spend time with one another, exchanging personalized gifts whenever the opportunity arose, swapping words of encouragement and affection. It was only after you had kissed him on the cheek one night that you both realized your feelings, and it only spiraled on from there. There were scars from his past love—undoubtedly, you had nurtured them with care—but even despite those, you worked to establish a healthy, balanced relationship as you navigated this strange stage in your lives.

However, there was someone who had not been quite so fond of this new development. You had attended meetings with the Heaven Embassy for many years as a favor to Lucifer, his absence becoming common after his separation from Lilith, but you could still remember locking eyes with the first man as you entered the room, dropping the chicken drum in his hands as his mouth widen agape.

“Hot damn.”

His flirtatious and oftentimes self-centered advances didn’t fly past your head like you wished they would. It seemed despite having thousands of years under his belt, he was unable to learn any kind of manners, but he had been the original sexist prick. And for his status as a divine man, he fucked around a lot. You didn’t doubt that was due to his own insecurities about both of his wives preferring someone else’s dick over his.

Once you and Lucifer had started dating, you happened to make the mistake of slipping that information to Adam in the hopes that he would back off, but it only seemed to provide him a challenge as his flirtations increased tenfold. From then on, your meetings no longer consisted of the same old information surrounding the exterminations; rather, they were him pointing out the many sexual accolades that he had roped under his belt and the way that apparently made him better than Lucifer—his favorite line was always that “that snake must have a little snake.”

Your disdain was obvious, repeating over and over for him to shut his mouth, but he would only smirk, taking your response as a sign that he had struck a nerve and that it was an opportunity to dig deeper. You decided to take over all the meetings with the embassy, keeping Lucifer away from the lecherous banter of the man, no matter the discomfort that formed in your gut from his unabashed perverseness and the predatory stares at your body.

“Come onnnn, babe,” Adam whined, in the middle of biting the meat off a chicken bone.

You shot him a look. “I’m not your babe, Adam.”

“Babe.” If you were able to reach over and strangle him, you would’ve. That was probably the reason the coward used a hologram instead of coming here himself. “A guy like that couldn’t possibly please you the way I could.”

You massaged your nose bridge, pointedly ignoring the flicker of his eyes from your face to your chest, unable to maintain stable eye contact. “Can we just get on with the meeting?”

“You know I’m right, but I’ll let you off the hook for now.”

You groaned, slamming your head onto the table.

From years onward, his nerve only increased, but he had never shown his bloodlust to you before until the exorcist army descended from the heavens to wreak chaos and death upon the doorstep of Lucifer’s only child, Charlie. You and the ever-so-optimistic princess of Hell developed quite a soft spot for one another, which wasn’t difficult since you had already been considered family in centuries past. The title of your romantic relationship with her father initially came with questions and a couple of awkward moments, but it wouldn’t stop either of you from growing a deeper friendship and understanding, walking through the process together. And it definitely didn’t stop you from defending the girl you had seen for years as a pseudo-daughter, along with her noble ambitions.

“Charlie!” you yelled, knocking Adam away from her as he attempted to strangle her. Charlie sputtered, holding her throat with a pained cough, and you raised a steady hand to her back, helping her rise to her feet. You gave her a once-over, relieved to find that she had no substantial wounds besides a couple of cuts and bruises.

You sighed, cupping her rosy cheeks. “Thank goodness you’re alright. Sorry for being so late. Your father will be here any moment.”

Her formerly desolate expression quickly changed into a beaming smile, eyes glimmering with revitalized determination. “Good! We need all the help we can get.”

However, the moment was cut short by the overexaggerated breaths of a particular man, Adam wobbling to his feet as he cradled his bruised ribs, which you didn’t doubt had been cracked in the impact. It was hard not to smile as he struggled to stand, a wave of retribution twitching through your fingertips.

“You bitch,” he groaned between shallow gasps, though his voice drifted into a humorous lilt. “You know, I’m all for feisty women, but this shit’s a bit extreme, don’tcha think, babe?”

“I am not your babe, Adam.”

You cringed at the moan that left his lips, knowing it was not from the pain of his bruises. “God damn, I love it when you say my name.” He chuckled. “It’d be better if you screamed it.”

“You couldn’t have been that good if both your wives left you for someone else,” you muttered, swallowing your bodily urge to vomit as you rubbed the burgeoning headache coursing through your temples.

His expression drained of any warmth or humor, only leaving behind the rotted, sinful corpse of a man that he pretended not to be. “What the fuck did you say to me, bitch?”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, rolling your eyes. “Did I strike a nerve there?”

His mouth contorted into a snarl. “You know, the only reason that snake keeps your ass around is because he needs a couple of assets,” he barked, curving his hands to gesture toward your curves. “To distract him!”

“Hey! Don’t talk about him—”

He cut you off, his imposing figure towering over you. “You’re only a convenience. A pretty face and a hole to fuck.”

You gasped, but he didn’t let you speak, a smirk curling up on his disgusting face. “You don’t mean anything to him, hun,” he sneered, his voice sickeningly sweet as he grabbed your chin, craning your neck at a muscle-aching angle to stare into your eyes. “You had a chance at heaven, slut. A chance to be with me. And you fuckin’ blew it—!”

He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, a bone-crunching punch tunneling into his face, his body cast off the hotel, which rocked under the aftershock, before it started to crumble like a deck of cards. With no time to waste, you and Charlie haphazardly jumped from shrapnel piece to shrapnel piece, able to land on the ground with barely a tumble as it collapsed into your foundation. The moment would’ve been devastating if your focus hadn’t been pinpointed elsewhere, the screams of a dying man drawing everyone to the impact pit.

“You have a lot of fuckin’ nerve,” a low voice scowled, sweltering steam blocking everyone’s vision away from the pair until it evaporated into the air, and that was when you spotted him. His voice was barely recognizable. The duplicated tones and whispers surrounding each word made him unidentifiable. But you knew who it was; those familiar sets of wings and the eyes of his tailcoat were clues enough. You hadn’t seen him take this form in decades, centuries even—he had no use for it, and to go to such an extreme was unlike him. He was shaking more than ever before; his fists balled up Adam’s collar as he pinned him to the ground.

“Intruding on my fuckin’ realm. Hurting my daughter.” And with each offense, another blow was added to the first man’s face, which looked more like roadkill than a former human with each malefaction. “Harassing and insulting my future wife!”

“Don’t you mean your little whore?” Adam managed to utter, that cocky tone still persistent. 

But that was a terrible mistake.

Lucifer did not respond to his comment, not at all. Instead, he paused, finding himself unprepared for the sheer audacity of the man underneath him, a man only clinging to life through recesses of holy power and spite. To the unsuspecting bystander, it would seem the king had calmed himself down, but instead, an inferno blazed between his fingertips, his form threatening to tear with the amount of heavenly light that he balanced on his palms. The ire of his many eyes looked upon Adam, and they saw to it that his judgment day had come early.

“Die.”

“Dad!”

Luck seemed to have Adam’s back as Charlie intervened, one of the few people who could ever draw her father out of such an irate warpath. However, it was only after a moment of contemplation from Lucifer, whose eyes stared at Adam, his face unreadable as his fingers twitched before he cracked a wicked smirk.

“How’s mercy feel, bitch?”

The next moments were a blur, though those eyes had turned towards you instead, not with the anger they had towards Adam, but of sheer contemplation—not that you paid attention to them, watching Adam’s death unfold in an ironically anti-climatic sort of way. You would’ve felt bad if your mind didn’t remedy the guilt in your gut with memories of your several encounters, most of which were not PG-13. The rest of the staff and residents gathered their bearings, joining to work on rebuilding the hotel, but you did not have the strength to. Instead, you took a moment for yourself, thoughts toiling through your head as they often did, not understanding the icky, nauseous feeling pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

You flinched at the brush of a hand that rested on your shoulder, only to find that it had been Lucifer, his brow furrowed in that same contemplative expression. And much like those times alone in the estate decades prior, a patient silence persisted as he sat next to you, gauging each touch as he pulled you closer, allowing your limp body to lean into his.

“You know none of what that asshole said is true, right?”

Is that what you had been so concerned about? You couldn’t tell. Your thoughts surrounding your relationship, especially in the context of his former love, had always been indecipherable, even to yourself. His question brought a small beam of clarity into the shadowed pits of your darkest thoughts, but it wasn’t the time to talk about it. Not now, at least.

“Yeah, I know.” Your voice was more shaken than you wanted it to come out, but he understood the underlying message. He could tell it wasn’t the truth, not entirely, and that the roots of your insecurities weren’t something to be remedied through a singular conversation. But it was a start. He intertwined your fingers, caressing the bare area of your ring finger.

“I wish you would’ve told me,” he spoke, his voice soft. “I would never have let you go to those meetings.”

You stayed staring out into the distance. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

However, he believed differently, tilting your chin as he cupped your face, much more loving compared to the hands that had grabbed you prior. And his eyes, ones that had been filled with hatred, now glinted in sharp concern. “But it is a big deal. That’s sexual harassment.”

“You were going through so much,” you replied. “It was just one additional thing I didn’t want you to deal with. Another burden on your back.”

“(Name),” he said, voice stern.

The gruffness of his uncompromising tone drew your eyes to your hands. “Any insult to you is an insult to me. Always has been, always will be. People don’t get to talk to you like that. It doesn’t matter what shit I’m going through. That doesn’t mean you get to be thrown under the bus.” He cracked a smile. “And anyone who even thinks of treating you less than the perfection you are deserves to be roasted alive. You’re not a burden. You’re priceless.”

“You’re really into those cannibalism metaphors recently,” you quipped, a bit of your reprieve and humor returning back. He laughed, his heart falling into ease, though he recognized the nod towards his disdain for a certain radio demon, his expression contorting in disgust.

“I’m not gonna eat him! Think of how gross that thing would taste. Just awful, bleh—!”

You cut him off with a kiss, making his rosy cheeks redden more. “Thanks, Lu.”

You tried to stand. His arm braced underneath your back, a hand brushing across the sensitive skin of your waist as he hovered above, his lips locked onto yours. You sighed into his mouth as his fingers mapped every beauty mark of your face, only for him to split, panting. His eyes shone with recognizable desperation, but the smirk on his lips told you he was prepped to tease, brushing the stray baby hairs out of your face that had been ruffled in the fray.

“If someone ever bothers you like that again, you tell me. Got it?”

You only sighed. “Lucifer, I can handle my—”

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, mouth upturned in a cheeky grin at the way it cut you off. “It’s not smart to fight without your shield, now, is it?’

You relented, unable to withhold your bashful grin. “Of course.”

A silence persisted.

“Your future wife, hm?”

“…shit.”

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @little-miss-chaoss

© ɢᴜᴀᴄᴍᴏʟᴇʀᴏʟʟ 2024 — ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ. ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇᴅ

CALLING THEM "DUDE"

gn!reader | oikawa, akaashi, suna, atsumu, aone

OIKAWA, predictably, lets his jaw drop and acts as if you’ve broken up with him. he teeters between draping his entire body over yours and whining, or crossing his arms and huffing while turning away. calling you dude feels foreign on his tongue, an insult to you, in tooru’s mind. but he’s nothing if not a little petty, and will call you it until you apologize.

“thanks, dude.”

tooru freezes, plate of cut up fruit in his right hand that mere moments ago, he pictured he’d be feeding you. but now—“dude?”

off the court, he’s nothing but predictable. you bait him with a smile. “yeah?”

“no! what- you called me dude! me?!” tooru holds his free hand to his chest.

“tooru—”

“oh, now i’m tooru? sorry, only the love of my life can call me that and be fed fruit from my personalized platter, bro i don’t know.”

AKAASHI cares a little—it feels kind of awkward and he finds himself overthinking the term. but once he’s comfortable, he can tell if it’s just something you say or if you’re messing with him, in which case he’ll have a knowing smile as he refers to you as his friend. but if he’s tired, he’ll drag out the bit just long enough to make you regret it.

“you okay, dude?” you ask as he finally comes out from the washroom, ready for bed.

keiji doesn’t respond, the pout on his face and his slow steps speaking for themselves. he climbs into bed, curling into your side and draping an arm over you.

his breath is warm against your collarbone. “no, dude. i think we need to stop capitalism. can i have a hug now?”

wrapping yourself around him, you place a kiss on his head, hair more ruffled than usual. “i’ll collapse capitalism for you.”

“you’re the best, dude. love you, dude.”

“keiji, please.”

SUNA doesn't really care. the times rintarou 'takes offense' are for a bit, and he sounds amused the entire time. if you don't care either, he'll call you “dude” himself and means nothing negative about it. this isn't to say he won't call you "baby" or "babe" or even "hon," but he—in his words—considers a large nickname vocabulary to be diverse and for the better.

"what the fuck are you talking about, dude?" you laugh.

rintarou rolls onto his back to look at you as you rest against the bed's headboard.

he squints at you and frowns—the look of disbelief on his face isn't at the term, but your reaction. "you're supposed to get me like no one else as the love of my life."

you raise an eyebrow. "maybe you should try making more sense?"

"i'm gonna 'dude-zone' you until you take that back."

"rin—"

"what, dude?"

ATSUMU instinctively responds as if you were osamu, not used to hearing the word in your voice. as soon as it clicks, he's as offended as you'd expect him to be. it becomes nonsensical bickering as soon as you act offended, until you're both laughing and ‘apologizing’ to each other.

“dude, where is my towel?”

“huh? i dunno, why would i touch your nasty ass towel?” he asks, eyes honed in on the game on his monitor.

you blink, and a moment passes before atsumu pauses and whips around. “wait, ‘dude’?”

his expression mirrors yours as laughter builds in your stomach. “what the hell did you just say to me?”

“y’just called me dude!”

“my nasty ass towel?”

atsumu’s own words finally hit him and he stutters, “babe- wait- i thought you were ’samu—”

“samu?!”

“wait—”

AONE’s gotten so used to you calling his first name, or using terms of endearment that he thinks he’s done something wrong. his anxiety doesn’t last long, not when you take a look at his hesitant expression and posture while he works up the courage to ask about it. he wishes it didn’t bother him so much, but he admits that he’d like having a special name, or just his first instead.

“hey, dude, can you pass me my charger?”

“...huh?”

“my charger? it’s next to the couch by your feet,” you explain.

takanobu’s brows furrow as he quietly picks it up and hands it to you. he wonders if he’s imagining things when you shoot him your regular smile and thank him.

a few minutes go by, and it’s nowhere near unusual for the both of you to sit quietly together, but he hasn’t sat comfortably since you asked for your charger. moving closer, you apologize and hold onto his arm. “’m kidding, ’nobu, just wanted to see your reaction.”

his body relaxes as the both of you lean into each other, and he smiles, albeit a little embarrassed. “that’s good to know.”

“...i like your nicknames for me more.”

my new tag list form if you'd like to be tagged! ^^ sorry old tag list. love u.

@dira333 i know u like aone.. i don't write for him a lot but He is here. thought of u. and @reverie-starlight u r of course my local tsumu fan. YAAAY!!!

these boots WEREN’T made for walking | m. izuku

cw: father! izu, reader and izu have two kids.

-reader and a pair of uncomfortable boots she begged for. if you all have seen friends, it’s based on that one time monica bought those expensive ass boots she could barely walk in lmao

“you’re not going to wear them,” izuku stated plainly, mouth forming a thin line as you held up a flashy pair of high heeled boots, much too tall for what you usually wear.

“am too. they can go with that dress i just got,” you smiled proudly, turning to scan the different sizes to accommodate for your own feet.

“that dress, yes, and what else?”

you paused your hand on one of the boxes, pursing your lips to think for a second but you were drawing serious blanks. you knew better than to look his way since he was probably raising those thick eyebrows of his, giving you that damned knowing look that always made you cave.

“what do you know about fashion anyway, deku?,” you huffed, squealing in victory when you saw they indeed had your size in stock.

it wasn’t that money was an issue, even if the boots were a whopping four hundred and fifty dollars, plus tax, but he knew you well. every time you got fancy shoes you wore them about two times max before chucking them somewhere in the depths of the closet to never again be seen with as a matching set. even you not wearing them wasn’t his biggest concern, you always chose shoes that hurt your feet, gave you horrible blisters and aches. it was a sad sight to say the least when he caught you limping around in his peripheral.

“i know that by the end of the night in those, you’re gonna be pouting for me to give you a piggy back ride because your feet hurt.”

“nope, you’re wrong,” you were busying yourself with pulling one of the boots onto your foot, zipping it up the calf and gaping in awe at the way it sucked you in like a glove, “these are extremely comfortable. i love them…god if i could marry a shoe.”

izu held up his hands in surrender, not that he was going to fight long on the topic of giving you whatever your heart desired. he aimed to please, liked watching you smile.

he had to give you your props, almost every day you had managed a way to worm your new boots into your outfits. you were stubborn, sometimes enough to even best kacchan, and you were determined to prove you could milk the money’s worth out of these boots. izu chose to pick his battles, even when he came home from a tiring day of hero work just to see you vacuuming the living room in heels. it was cute, really, how hard you tried to make your point, and he let it play out without rebuttal. truth of the matter is, you were starting to hit your peak, heels burning and ankles aching from the amount of times you had twisted them from tripping when your husband wasn’t around. you’d hate for the bastard to be right, he was always so smug when he was. so you put on brave faces and strutted around in your prize, until you were out of eye sight so you could wince in peace.

there were bruises forming on the knuckles of your toes, cramps taunting your soles every time you flexed your feet too graciously. it was getting about that time for these death traps to hit the back of your closet. you just hated the idea of giving izuku the satisfaction of his win, that and you didn’t want to put his hard earned money to waste. it was a constant nag in the back of your brain. you knew he’d never tell you no (not really anyway) and he had spoiled you heavily with the fruits of his labor from the moment the currency started pouring in. it was why you couldn’t help but ask for things, and he wanted you to have everything, even if he teased you about it being a ridiculous purchase. but anxiety was still a bitch. you had to show these shoes love, it was like- in your mind- being extra grateful for his generosity.

your final straw was a long walk in the park. foolishly you had slipped on the horrid boots, they went well with your attire. izu warned against it, told you it sounded like a dumb idea when you were going to have to chase your three year old down, but you only shut him up with a kiss, giving him a twirl to show off your outfit. park days were rare, but when the family could get a chance to go out, izu pushed for it. he hated extended periods of time away from you and the two little ones, aika and a beautiful baby boy, nix. he wished he never had to leave or at least that he could shrink his perfect pack and put them in his pocket for safe keeping.

it was nice outside, the coos of spring rolling in, flowers blooming and spreading their plumes of pollen into the air. you were taking a well needed rest on a bench, shaded by the bright green rooftop of a gazebo. your feet were screaming from the confines of your shoes, but you bit back complaints as you pushed the two seater stroller back and forth. your son was sleeping soundly, tiny fists clutching onto his teether for dear life. just a few feet ahead on the playground, your tall tree of a husband was pushing at your daughters back, sending her way higher than you would have liked on the swing set. the little one seemed to love it though, screaming in delight as perfect green curls flowed in the wind. she enjoyed his strength and his supernatural abilities, it only meant getting to be spun around or pushed high into the sky in a rickety swing set, a height many three year olds would probably have a fit at. though maybe it was just her love and admiration for her papa, she knew even at a young age, he’d never let her fall. nothing was scary when izuku was around.

perceptive as ever, izu cast you a look as if he could feel you staring. he greeted you with a dimpled grin and a wave to which you giggled. he was such a dork and it always amazed you how easily that switch could flip when he was in the midst of battle.

when aika grew tired of all the playground had to offer and was clipped into her side of the stroller, already dozing off and quiet, you and izu marked it time to head home. except, the long way home seemed like a hike through hell now that your feet were throbbing and swollen, still, you stood from the bench your thighs were glued to, outwardly whining. you stumbled slightly, catching ahold of your husband’s bicep with a huff.

“love, just take off the boots already.” his voice was stern, guiding you to sit back down, kneeling before you like a knight off duty.

you pouted, “i’m fine, ‘zu, let’s just go-“

“y/n. now.” he patted his thigh for your heel to be kicked up on, using his ‘father voice’ no less.

you did as told with each foot, watching as he careful undid the boots, sliding them off and tossing them into the stroller pouch. you slumped in relief, cool air from outside feeling so nice on your clammy skin. he sucked his teeth in disappointment at the sight of your battle scars, shaking his head at your stubbornness.

“i can’t walk home barefoot, babe.”

he gave a slight turn, offering his back to you, “don’t be dense. i’ll carry you home. hop on.”

it was probably a sight to see to others that the number one hero was walking the length of the sidewalk with a double stroller to his front and his wife clinging to his back like a feral koala. you had you face nuzzled in his neck, taking in the honeyed pine scent of his shampoo, legs wrapped snugly around his waist. he wasn’t even struggling, or breaking a sweat for that matter, just walking as if he was carrying nothing more than a backpack. another marvel of his strength.

“you know,” he started, voice vibrating through you, “i was only giving you a hard time about the shoes. i didn’t actually expect you to wear them so much.”

you absentmindedly toyed with the small chain around his neck, it seemed almost dainty on him, but it was so beautiful with the way your named was carved in cursive on the base.

“i didn’t want them to go to waste…you paid so much for them.” you didn’t mean to sound so dejected, but it was the truth, “i wanted you to know i actually do appreciate all you do.”

he chuckled softly, “silly girl. i know you do. just the way you should know i love gifting you things. i can’t think of a better use of my money.”

“still. it was an awful lot for a pair of boots.”

“baby. if i could, i’d buy you the whole milky way wrapped in a silk bow, even if it meant you would only look at it once. your happiness is the only repayment i need.”

your ears heated from his words, unable to respond. you chose to tighten your arms around him. so he continued to speak.

“gifts, money, hell- i’d give you every organ i have in me. nothing i do is transactional. you’re worth every penny.”

“you’re such a sap.” you choke out, cursing your hormones for the tears brimming your eyes.

“by association. i think that makes you a sap too, yes?”

“no. no just you, broccoli top. just you.”

you were totally a sap when it came to izuku midoriya.

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