[boytouya]

cloud, he/him, black!

sfw x male/gn reader blog ݈݇⎼ <33333 not spoiler free!

♡» – directory;¡.

m.list* — rules/byf/dni - -16 block #.thunderstorms

moots — anons — charanons — carrd

hotlines need help? free palestine blm sah taglist

inbox: ♥︎♥︎ ♥︎ ♡♡

[boytouya]

Uhhh idk if you still use this blog- I can see on your blog that the last time you ever interacted on here was 2023 so here goes nothing lol

I'm bat anon! I'm so sorry for disappearing and everything- I don't remember why we stopped talking or why I changed blogs. But I've missed you lol. I've got a new blog now- I noticed your blog as I was looking for Aizawa fics so I guess some things never change?

Even if you don't come back to this blog or you don't respond to this ask- I missed you 🫶

-🦇

i do remember you !! hello !! i hope you’re doing well, and i missed you too ! i’m still on tumblr, just not here .. some things really do never change lol !!

[boytouya]

𝘓𝘖𝘚𝘛 𝘛𝘐𝘔𝘌

wc: 2.01k

pairing: aizawa shouta x male reader

a/n: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY WHOO!! BEFORE THE DAY ENDS WHO WANTS TO CONFESS THEIR UNDYING LOVE FOR ME i hate this so bad

Love is in the air, a thickening aroma that’s much too sweet for your liking. It sticks to the peeling wallpaper within your room, it clings to your goosebump ridden skin, it’s plastered to every screen you turn to. It’s excruciating. It’s exhausting. There’s something wary, deeply injected into your bloodstream, that dims your eyes and dampens your expression when you catch another enamored by the undeniable paradox of love.

Still, there’s a twinge in your chest that you can’t quite place. Of something forlorn, something distant. Your jaw aches as you unclench your teeth and search for the remote tangled in your bedsheets. You assume your neighbors face the same tiresome debacle, with the sound of a creaky headboard smacking into the wall that separates your apartments. You’re not jealous, the thought of brushing your fingertips against warm, bare skin is almost nauseating. Of that, you are sure.

Valentine’s day, you deduct, is equal parts Heaven and Hell. Sweets are discounted, customers of your average, 9-5 job are a tad bit more relaxed— it’s the personal conquests you have to battle. Even the little things, like remembering how you left the remote in your living room.

You sigh, practically sinking into the floor as you drag yourself past the safety of your bedroom.

Quietly placing your feet on the ground, cold floorboards moan in protest with every painstakingly slow step you take. Your feet drag behind, making a humiliating mural out of your already pathetic appearance. The doorknob feels heavy as you twist it, sliding into the dimly lit living room with strained ease.

The impenetrable force of gravity pulls at your limbs as you search plush cushions, stress racking your body as a blanket of sudden tremors. The loud knocking at your front door startles you awake, your hunched back suddenly straightened uncomfortably. The idea of your friends (or maybe, lack thereof?) prepared to bother you into the night slows your stride, but something about the persistent knocking is unfamiliar. Not nearly as annoying.

Swinging the door open, you stretch the collar of your shirt with your pointer finger. The fabric doesn’t protest, loose enough to distort your silhouette to your liking. Leaning against the doorframe, you take in the piercing eyes staring back at you. The man, whoever he is, looks excruciatingly tired, with dark circles that cast shadows down the entirety of his chiseled face. Though, surprisingly enough, his stubble is cleanly shaved, not a hair out of place. Long, dark hair frames his face in two symmetrical strands, though they seem to have come loose from his low ponytail. Despite the styling he looks disgruntled, as if the crisp white button up is too tight at the collar, and his slacks are clinging to his strong thighs. Suspiciously your type.

“If you’re here to ask about how often I pray—“

“I’m not,” He blinks, slow as his eyes open and close. They look rather dry, heavy lidded and sleepy. His voice catches you by surprise, deep and smooth— but nonetheless warm and comforting. Still, he shifts in the doorframe, crinkling the gift wrapped bouquet of flowers in one hand, and nearly smacking the heart-shaped tin of chocolates in the other. Then, almost hesitant, he holds them forward, pressing them against your warm chest. “I’m your boyfriend… For the day.”

Suspicious rises in your throat, and your eyebrows furrow. Whatever that means, you don’t like it, even if he does wear the uniform to the overwhelmingly busy and overbooked ‘boyfriend-experience’ café downtown. He sure doesn’t look the type.

Plus he seemed much too eager to add in that last part.

You grunt, ready to slam the door in his flawless face before he opens his mouth to speak again and uses his foot to catch the slamming door. He doesn’t flinch, instead sighing as if this isn’t the first time he’s had his toes (and shoes) crushed beneath the weight of wood, “I was hired as a gift. From your….friend.”

Something tells you his lack of enthusiasm is highly against protocol.

You can’t help but discreetly laugh at his dryness, slowly opening the door to stare him down. Friendly enough, considering he’s being paid to be here, and you have to admit— the chocolate was a nice touch. Maybe your friend paid for that too. He lets you take the gifts from his hands, finally, with warm fingers brushing his knuckles. Admittedly, the contact is nice. Maybe even more than that. “You can keep your shoes on, I don’t care.”

You allow him to step into your apartment, disregarding the lack of emotion in his face as he takes in the sight of your house. Homely, clearly lived in— but bone chillingly lonely. His posture straightens at that, eyes settling on your back as you disappear into your bedroom. To change, he presumes, as you’d opened the front door in just boxers and a t-shirt. Cute.

He watches you waddle back out, socks padding against the floor as you scratch the nape of your neck nervously. What were you supposed to say? What do boyfriends who aren’t-really-boyfriends… do?

“Shouta Aizawa,” He— Shouta introduces himself, bowing his head in your direction. He clears his throat, listening to your voice chime in his ears as you introduce yourself in return. He lets you speak, though he was already told your name. While it’s a bit chilly outside, he considers the sight of you on a ferris wheel, watching as the Sun sets below the horizon, yellow light dancing on your face and across your eyelids. He remembers your interest in reading, and how you have an embarrassing passion for romance storylines. “Where do you want to go today? My treat.”

It really was his treat, the books you’d shyly bought despite assuring him time and time again that you didn’t need anything, resting in a cutely designed plastic bag that he held for you. Sure, it came out of his paycheck, but your shell was cracking. The previously hard and standoffish demeanor from your initial meeting was melting away. And, really, you just seemed very lonely. Aizawa falls into the boyfriend role much faster than he’d like to admit, sometimes clasping his hand around yours to get your attention— he’s a man of very few words. Each and every time, without fail, your face would brighten, as if the missing pieces of your puzzle were found and completed.

You get a few comments from strangers with genuine smiles, very polite and quiet responses of how cute you are together, how well you compliment each other. There’s a twinge in your chest that you can’t quite place whenever you hear it. Something forlorn, something distant.

Finally, Shouta lets you pay for the freshly made, heart-shaped meat-buns that happen to be twenty five percent off for the holiday, your cold hands curling around the warmth of the treat. He opts for a cat-shaped one, absentmindedly trailing his fingertip across the scored whiskers as he takes a bite. Your heart catches in your throat, beating loudly in your ears as you take note of the endearing habit. Your gaze must linger, because the same dark eyes from before are staring back into yours, almost looking right through you.

You laugh nervously, sinking your teeth into the warm dough before he can comment.

Selfishly, you don’t want the day to end.

He listens to you talk about your hobbies, interjecting more often than not with grunts of engagement. Your voice was nice, a smooth tone that made his heavy eyelids even heavier, and had it not been for the high pitched meow that interrupted your train of thought, he’d surely end up asleep in the middle of the sidewalk.

The two of you swivel around, sharing a silent glance as a stray cat scurries across the street. You’ve seen it before, a black and white tuxedo cat with lime eyes and a flat attitude. Its walking is tired and sluggish today, as if it’s had a particularly long one, and you quirk your head to the side, “He kinda looks like you.”

He tilts his head in the opposite direction, narrowing his eyes at the cat. He settles by the grass, sleepy and disgruntled eyes closing quickly after curling in on himself. The pattern of his front legs make a poorly drawn heart, and he wonders if you got him to look so closely solely because of that. Heat rises in his cheeks, but he buries his face into his sleeve, clearing his throat. Warmth floods the man’s stomach, planting sunflower seeds and blue skies. He turns his face away from your survey, clearing his throat as the air suddenly becomes much too humid. It seems you take his silence for an answer in itself. Very funny.

“No, really! I feed him sometimes, his posture’s crazy and he’s always tired.”

Ignoring the potential dig at his posture, Shouta takes a moment to imagine you feeding stray cats, snaking your fingers at them and running your hands through their soft fur. Your presence must be so comforting, so kind. You remind him of a prince, with warm features and a soft smile, albeit a little awkward.

Heart fluttering in his rib cage, Aizawa starts to feel like maybe he was the one who rented a boyfriend.

Continuing down the streets of Musutafu, Shouta doesn’t mind the way your shoulders brush. The way your cold hands brush against his, or the way your pinkies find themselves locked together. Comfortable warmth blooms from your body, and he wants nothing more than to hold it in his hands, cherish the comfortable silence and bathe in your body heat, hidden away from the chilly air that signifies winter’s overstayed welcome.

And, like clockwork, his deep eyes make contact with the bright star occupying the setting sky. Difficult to see through the trees and amalgamation of branches and leaves, but it shines through the cracks and into your hair. The smell of your skin lingers in the air, Aizawa’s mind empties, and his thoughts simultaneously erode whilst coalescing into a serene hum stuck in the far back of his head. The bittersweet tranquility floats above him for just a moment, descending as soon as sunlight leaks out of the trees. It stares back into his chestnut eyes, taunting him.

With a makeshift, golden halo, you speak. Unknowingly shining brighter than the brightest star in the sky. He can’t afford to fall in love on the job.

Shouta breathes, ragged and rushed and oh, so rocky as his heart hammers in his chest.

“I’ve always wanted to adopt a cat,” You start, nervous embers igniting in your lungs and smothering you from the inside out. It shouldn’t matter, maybe you’re crossing a boundary. This was his job, to make you feel cared for.. loved. Just for the day, he’d said it himself. Just for the day, which was nearing a close with every step closer toward your apartment. “A stray, I mean. I think the one we saw earlier has a partner, though.”

Aizawa raises an amused eyebrow at that, briefly thinking about his cat at home, “And?”

“Do you think on their first… date… That probably, honestly, wasn’t really even a date and happened on, uh, circumstance…was really a date? Like, did he ask his partner for a second one—could there be a second one? But… Without the…circumstances?”

“I think he speaks in circles,” You wince at his flat tone, nodding deprecatingly as you wait for him to continue. Your keys feel much heavier in your pocket, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip. “Did he think his partner would say no?”

“Would he?” You ask, carrying yourself up the steps to your front door.

“No,” Aizawa stays where he is, watching as the gray stone sits unbothered beneath your feet. When you look back, it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile with teeth, pink lips quirked upward, and a bit wobbly from lack of use. “He’d agree to a second one. Free of charge.”

want more? —

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @zawadni @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @dilfchoso @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-dOg @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @mhasimp666 @princejasno @onehellotasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shadows-of-nightmares @double-homicide @rintarosaku @saturnsbend @trailsnix @luckduckanon @oddball215 @toodeepintofandoms @devilgirlcrybaby @playbOysuna @uwiuwi @yuzukeni *if you've changed your username pls let me know!

[boytouya]

𝘓𝘖𝘚𝘛 𝘛𝘐𝘔𝘌

wc: 2.01k

pairing: aizawa shouta x male reader

a/n: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY WHOO!! BEFORE THE DAY ENDS WHO WANTS TO CONFESS THEIR UNDYING LOVE FOR ME i hate this so bad

Love is in the air, a thickening aroma that’s much too sweet for your liking. It sticks to the peeling wallpaper within your room, it clings to your goosebump ridden skin, it’s plastered to every screen you turn to. It’s excruciating. It’s exhausting. There’s something wary, deeply injected into your bloodstream, that dims your eyes and dampens your expression when you catch another enamored by the undeniable paradox of love.

Still, there’s a twinge in your chest that you can’t quite place. Of something forlorn, something distant. Your jaw aches as you unclench your teeth and search for the remote tangled in your bedsheets. You assume your neighbors face the same tiresome debacle, with the sound of a creaky headboard smacking into the wall that separates your apartments. You’re not jealous, the thought of brushing your fingertips against warm, bare skin is almost nauseating. Of that, you are sure.

Valentine’s day, you deduct, is equal parts Heaven and Hell. Sweets are discounted, customers of your average, 9-5 job are a tad bit more relaxed— it’s the personal conquests you have to battle. Even the little things, like remembering how you left the remote in your living room.

You sigh, practically sinking into the floor as you drag yourself past the safety of your bedroom.

Quietly placing your feet on the ground, cold floorboards moan in protest with every painstakingly slow step you take. Your feet drag behind, making a humiliating mural out of your already pathetic appearance. The doorknob feels heavy as you twist it, sliding into the dimly lit living room with strained ease.

The impenetrable force of gravity pulls at your limbs as you search plush cushions, stress racking your body as a blanket of sudden tremors. The loud knocking at your front door startles you awake, your hunched back suddenly straightened uncomfortably. The idea of your friends (or maybe, lack thereof?) prepared to bother you into the night slows your stride, but something about the persistent knocking is unfamiliar. Not nearly as annoying.

Swinging the door open, you stretch the collar of your shirt with your pointer finger. The fabric doesn’t protest, loose enough to distort your silhouette to your liking. Leaning against the doorframe, you take in the piercing eyes staring back at you. The man, whoever he is, looks excruciatingly tired, with dark circles that cast shadows down the entirety of his chiseled face. Though, surprisingly enough, his stubble is cleanly shaved, not a hair out of place. Long, dark hair frames his face in two symmetrical strands, though they seem to have come loose from his low ponytail. Despite the styling he looks disgruntled, as if the crisp white button up is too tight at the collar, and his slacks are clinging to his strong thighs. Suspiciously your type.

“If you’re here to ask about how often I pray—“

“I’m not,” He blinks, slow as his eyes open and close. They look rather dry, heavy lidded and sleepy. His voice catches you by surprise, deep and smooth— but nonetheless warm and comforting. Still, he shifts in the doorframe, crinkling the gift wrapped bouquet of flowers in one hand, and nearly smacking the heart-shaped tin of chocolates in the other. Then, almost hesitant, he holds them forward, pressing them against your warm chest. “I’m your boyfriend… For the day.”

Suspicious rises in your throat, and your eyebrows furrow. Whatever that means, you don’t like it, even if he does wear the uniform to the overwhelmingly busy and overbooked ‘boyfriend-experience’ café downtown. He sure doesn’t look the type.

Plus he seemed much too eager to add in that last part.

You grunt, ready to slam the door in his flawless face before he opens his mouth to speak again and uses his foot to catch the slamming door. He doesn’t flinch, instead sighing as if this isn’t the first time he’s had his toes (and shoes) crushed beneath the weight of wood, “I was hired as a gift. From your….friend.”

Something tells you his lack of enthusiasm is highly against protocol.

You can’t help but discreetly laugh at his dryness, slowly opening the door to stare him down. Friendly enough, considering he’s being paid to be here, and you have to admit— the chocolate was a nice touch. Maybe your friend paid for that too. He lets you take the gifts from his hands, finally, with warm fingers brushing his knuckles. Admittedly, the contact is nice. Maybe even more than that. “You can keep your shoes on, I don’t care.”

You allow him to step into your apartment, disregarding the lack of emotion in his face as he takes in the sight of your house. Homely, clearly lived in— but bone chillingly lonely. His posture straightens at that, eyes settling on your back as you disappear into your bedroom. To change, he presumes, as you’d opened the front door in just boxers and a t-shirt. Cute.

He watches you waddle back out, socks padding against the floor as you scratch the nape of your neck nervously. What were you supposed to say? What do boyfriends who aren’t-really-boyfriends… do?

“Shouta Aizawa,” He— Shouta introduces himself, bowing his head in your direction. He clears his throat, listening to your voice chime in his ears as you introduce yourself in return. He lets you speak, though he was already told your name. While it’s a bit chilly outside, he considers the sight of you on a ferris wheel, watching as the Sun sets below the horizon, yellow light dancing on your face and across your eyelids. He remembers your interest in reading, and how you have an embarrassing passion for romance storylines. “Where do you want to go today? My treat.”

It really was his treat, the books you’d shyly bought despite assuring him time and time again that you didn’t need anything, resting in a cutely designed plastic bag that he held for you. Sure, it came out of his paycheck, but your shell was cracking. The previously hard and standoffish demeanor from your initial meeting was melting away. And, really, you just seemed very lonely. Aizawa falls into the boyfriend role much faster than he’d like to admit, sometimes clasping his hand around yours to get your attention— he’s a man of very few words. Each and every time, without fail, your face would brighten, as if the missing pieces of your puzzle were found and completed.

You get a few comments from strangers with genuine smiles, very polite and quiet responses of how cute you are together, how well you compliment each other. There’s a twinge in your chest that you can’t quite place whenever you hear it. Something forlorn, something distant.

Finally, Shouta lets you pay for the freshly made, heart-shaped meat-buns that happen to be twenty five percent off for the holiday, your cold hands curling around the warmth of the treat. He opts for a cat-shaped one, absentmindedly trailing his fingertip across the scored whiskers as he takes a bite. Your heart catches in your throat, beating loudly in your ears as you take note of the endearing habit. Your gaze must linger, because the same dark eyes from before are staring back into yours, almost looking right through you.

You laugh nervously, sinking your teeth into the warm dough before he can comment.

Selfishly, you don’t want the day to end.

He listens to you talk about your hobbies, interjecting more often than not with grunts of engagement. Your voice was nice, a smooth tone that made his heavy eyelids even heavier, and had it not been for the high pitched meow that interrupted your train of thought, he’d surely end up asleep in the middle of the sidewalk.

The two of you swivel around, sharing a silent glance as a stray cat scurries across the street. You’ve seen it before, a black and white tuxedo cat with lime eyes and a flat attitude. Its walking is tired and sluggish today, as if it’s had a particularly long one, and you quirk your head to the side, “He kinda looks like you.”

He tilts his head in the opposite direction, narrowing his eyes at the cat. He settles by the grass, sleepy and disgruntled eyes closing quickly after curling in on himself. The pattern of his front legs make a poorly drawn heart, and he wonders if you got him to look so closely solely because of that. Heat rises in his cheeks, but he buries his face into his sleeve, clearing his throat. Warmth floods the man’s stomach, planting sunflower seeds and blue skies. He turns his face away from your survey, clearing his throat as the air suddenly becomes much too humid. It seems you take his silence for an answer in itself. Very funny.

“No, really! I feed him sometimes, his posture’s crazy and he’s always tired.”

Ignoring the potential dig at his posture, Shouta takes a moment to imagine you feeding stray cats, snaking your fingers at them and running your hands through their soft fur. Your presence must be so comforting, so kind. You remind him of a prince, with warm features and a soft smile, albeit a little awkward.

Heart fluttering in his rib cage, Aizawa starts to feel like maybe he was the one who rented a boyfriend.

Continuing down the streets of Musutafu, Shouta doesn’t mind the way your shoulders brush. The way your cold hands brush against his, or the way your pinkies find themselves locked together. Comfortable warmth blooms from your body, and he wants nothing more than to hold it in his hands, cherish the comfortable silence and bathe in your body heat, hidden away from the chilly air that signifies winter’s overstayed welcome.

And, like clockwork, his deep eyes make contact with the bright star occupying the setting sky. Difficult to see through the trees and amalgamation of branches and leaves, but it shines through the cracks and into your hair. The smell of your skin lingers in the air, Aizawa’s mind empties, and his thoughts simultaneously erode whilst coalescing into a serene hum stuck in the far back of his head. The bittersweet tranquility floats above him for just a moment, descending as soon as sunlight leaks out of the trees. It stares back into his chestnut eyes, taunting him.

With a makeshift, golden halo, you speak. Unknowingly shining brighter than the brightest star in the sky. He can’t afford to fall in love on the job.

Shouta breathes, ragged and rushed and oh, so rocky as his heart hammers in his chest.

“I’ve always wanted to adopt a cat,” You start, nervous embers igniting in your lungs and smothering you from the inside out. It shouldn’t matter, maybe you’re crossing a boundary. This was his job, to make you feel cared for.. loved. Just for the day, he’d said it himself. Just for the day, which was nearing a close with every step closer toward your apartment. “A stray, I mean. I think the one we saw earlier has a partner, though.”

Aizawa raises an amused eyebrow at that, briefly thinking about his cat at home, “And?”

“Do you think on their first… date… That probably, honestly, wasn’t really even a date and happened on, uh, circumstance…was really a date? Like, did he ask his partner for a second one—could there be a second one? But… Without the…circumstances?”

“I think he speaks in circles,” You wince at his flat tone, nodding deprecatingly as you wait for him to continue. Your keys feel much heavier in your pocket, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip. “Did he think his partner would say no?”

“Would he?” You ask, carrying yourself up the steps to your front door.

“No,” Aizawa stays where he is, watching as the gray stone sits unbothered beneath your feet. When you look back, it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile with teeth, pink lips quirked upward, and a bit wobbly from lack of use. “He’d agree to a second one. Free of charge.”

want more? —

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @zawadni @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @dilfchoso @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-dOg @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @mhasimp666 @princejasno @onehellotasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shadows-of-nightmares @double-homicide @rintarosaku @saturnsbend @trailsnix @luckduckanon @oddball215 @toodeepintofandoms @devilgirlcrybaby @playbOysuna @uwiuwi @yuzukeni *if you've changed your username pls let me know!

[boytouya]

⁺　 ୨୧ . ᕀ rent-a-boyfriend !

shouta aizawa (mha)

gojo satoru (jjk)

bakugo katsuki (mha)

dabi (mha)

nanami kento (jjk)

other (in the tags/replies)

Voting ended onFeb 17, 2023

[boytouya]

⁺　 ୨୧ . ᕀ rent-a-boyfriend !

shouta aizawa (mha)

gojo satoru (jjk)

bakugo katsuki (mha)

dabi (mha)

nanami kento (jjk)

other (in the tags/replies)

Voting ended onFeb 17, 2023

[boytouya]

OMG CLOUD ILY 🫶🏾

ILYT🫶🏾

[boytouya]

⁺　 ୨୧ . ᕀ rent-a-boyfriend !

shouta aizawa (mha)

gojo satoru (jjk)

bakugo katsuki (mha)

dabi (mha)

nanami kento (jjk)

other (in the tags/replies)

Voting ended onFeb 17, 2023

[boytouya]

「SAINT」 ; takami keigo | hawks x male reader

wc: 1.5k

warning: suggestive themes & language, religious themes, one (1) crude joke about nuns, abrupt ending (scrapped fic)

additional tags: priest reader (kinda), incubus hawks, probably some religious trauma, agnostic writer who doesn’t know how to write things relating to demons + religion

a/n: this is loooong overdue and also months old, i’m so rusty so i’m so sorry if this isn’t good. anyway there’s about 3-4 versions of this fic so if you see it somewhere else dw abt it (unless stated otherwise)

Your fingertips trace the thin, pale paper of your annotated Bible, cold pages crinkling under the weight of your palms. Covering for your father, a well-liked priest, was not an easy job— especially when you strayed further and further from the Holy eye with every passing moment. The pews of the church remain dimly lit, moonlit and almost sparkling under the glass stained windows. The rich, brown and polished wood glows, light dancing between warm yellow lights aligned by the aisles, and despite the unwavering wholeness you should feel, you stare back at the empty seats with nothing but loneliness.

It was only a matter of time before you begged someone, anyone, for even a sliver of company.

You exhale slowly, reaching up to readjust your hair, even if it doesn’t actually move. Your wrist in your peripherals momentarily consumes your vision, but you make no effort to quicken your movements. The last time you’d felt this way he encountered something darker than light, something tempting. Something that, still, reminded you of your own loneliness, and the exhaustion that comes with it. The memory remains fresh, as though you were hit with a hammer amalgamated from the darkest parts of your mind, unbeknownst to the consequences.

In a Church, you suppose, love is always in the air, a thickening aroma that’s much too sweet for your liking. It sticks to the murals within the room, it clings to your goosebump ridden skin, it’s plastered to every page you turn to. It’s excruciating. It’s exhausting.

And yet, with the smell of his skin lingering on your body, your mind empties, and your thoughts simultaneously erode whilst coalescing into a serene hum stuck in the far back of your mind. The bittersweet tranquility floats above you for just a moment, descending as soon as moonlight peeks through the windows and into your darkening, tired eyes. It stares back into your irises, taunting you despite your expensive effort to avoid it.

It and it's dark children who hide behind the muse of a wickedly comforting smile. But, you decide, it’s because that’s what you seek.

It, who sleeps beneath darkening shadows, moonlight dancing across its shiny eyelids and painting its face with a silver hue. The way it bounced off its skin, you’ve ong since decided night was made for it. An Incubus. With warm skin and a glowing, crimeon tattoo below his belly button, a thin tail with a pointer end, strong dark wings, and a scantily clad choice of clothing. With angelically golden locks of hair, that fall in his face from time to time, and just as golden eyes.

A strong jaw, furrowed eyebrows, calloused and veiny hands that look rather large— or so they’d seem when they glide across your skin, sharp claw-like nails that drag against the wood pulpit.

It— or, he, who’s hands curl into fists as he grasps at the decorative cloth on the pews’ arms like a lifeline (or in most cases, your hair), as if holding them tight would somehow keep you there with him, limbs tangled and lips locked. Sinful in a place supposedly free of sin.

He, who stirs under the sun’s gaze, uncomfortable warmth blooming from his body. But you… You want nothing more than to hold it in his hands, cherish the comfortable silence and bathe in his inviting body heat, hidden away from the chilling air that signifies winter’s welcome.

He— Keigo, you’d come to learn, who wakes at the feeling of your trivial eye, with long eyelashes that bat against his cheek with grace. A smile places itself upon his lips, but before he can speak, a yawn ripples out his mouth. You watch as his sharp teeth nestle into his gums, completely relaxed under your critical gaze.

The rosary beads wrapped around your fingers slip, smacking against the ground where you two stand, and gasps leave both your lips. You, somewhat mortified as you quickly kneel, tucking your feet beneath your body as your shaking hands reach for the blessed beads. Keigo quirks an eyebrow, much more awake as he steps out to place his heavy boot just beside your fingertips.

There’s a sickening sound of friction against the polished wood beneath his shoe.

“You look better this way,” He exclaims, an uncanny smile splitting his lips as he crosses his arms. It’s almost impossible to notice the bulge of his biceps, your eyes trailing the way his fingertip taps against his flawless skin. Ignoring how obscene this must look— kneeling beneath an incubus in the middle of a church, with no one but the moon as your witness— a scoff leaves your mouth, and you decide the tainted prayer beads will do fine resting on the floor. “No, really! You should stay like this.”

As you begin to stand, his warm palm presses into the swell of your shoulder, keeping you hunched over, your face basically pressed into his hip. It slithers upward, resting at your cheek. His large hands obstruct your vision, nimble fingers pressing into the meat of your cheek as if it’ll leave a mark. Under different circumstances you’d have keened into the— almost — intimate touch. Under different circumstances you’d have kissed his palm.

“Keigo—”

“It’s almost natural at this point. You and the nuns must go crazy in here,” His eyes shift, much darker than before, and something tells you he doesn’t find that joke funny. From what you can see, his body stiffens awkwardly. His jaw clenches, then his Adam's apple bobs, and suddenly the air feels much thicker. “Don’t you.”

His question falls flat on deaf ears, as you’re too lost in thought to even think about what he may be insinuating. His thick eyebrows twitch at your hesitation, the hand resting on your cheek suddenly tightening around your jaw. Your lips pucker, forming a small ring as he forces your eyes to meet his.

And, finally, like you’ve fallen out of a twelve story building, the weight of his words hit you like concrete. Against his strong hand you mutter, “Don’t even say things like that.”

“Hm.” He hums, releasing your jaw with faux disregard, releasing the prayer beads beneath his feet. He watches your frantic gaze flicker back and forth, your lips pursed as you chew on the insides of your cheek. You’re as cute as he is touchy.

He could just eat you alive.

Why’re you here, demon.” Your tone falls flat, missing whatever malice you were supposedly injecting into your tone—and even if it had come out as a hiss, it wouldn’t have phased the being.

“Ooh, ouch,” The blond knocks a large fist to his chest, knocking himself down and stumbling dramatically as he feigns offense. Your stare is heavy on his form, despite the constant insults you just can’t seem to look away. “You wound me, Father!”

“Keigo.” His tail jumps, straightening at the sound of his name passing by your lips. He grins, cheeks blessed with dimples and freshly shaven facial hair. His demeanor remains relaxed, tufts of hair swaying ever-so-slightly as he steps around you in circles, taking in the sights as if he hasn’t seen them a billion times before.

“Always so angry!” Takami chirps, long nails brushing against your cheek as he pinches at whatever remnants of baby-fat you had on your face. Suddenly, the goofy, love-struck expression on his face faulters, and his golden eyes harden. “Whether you want to believe it or not, I felt you calling for me.”

There’s a glowing, magenta ring around his irises that you aren’t sure were there before, burning bright in comparison to the dwindling candles adorning the walls and hallways. You’d hate to admit it out loud, but there’s something inviting about it. As unfamiliar as neon lights accompanied by city streets and the smell of recreational drugs, but simultaneously as familiar as the warm buzz of the sun through glass-stained windows.

“Liar,” You bite your tongue, the bitter taste of nickels and dimes drowning your senses. Blasphemy. “I’d have to be a whole different type of desperate to even—“

“Aren’t you?”

Ignoring the prickles of heat that dig into your skin, you let out a frustrated sigh. You almost want to yell at him, loneliness and desperation are different levels of isolation, and you don’t want to think about where that puts you. His silly, ill-attempt at rendering you speechless wasn’t in vain: he’d won. For now. Proud of himself, Keigo hums in assurance and places his hands on your shoulders. He runs much warmer than the average human, and if he’d been any warmer, his palms would burn right through your clothing and scorch your skin.

”I know,” He pulls you forward, placing a hand behind your head as he cradles your face into his neck. You can hear him take a deep breath, probably trying to engrave your scent into his brain. To bottle it, keep it there, and have it whenever he needed. His warmth makes your eyelids heavy with sleep, and you find yourself sinking into his embrace. Reluctantly, your hands rest at his waist, the pads of your fingertips digging into his toned back, equally wary of his tailbone. “You’re not. Maybe I’m the desperate one.”

TAGLIST: @zawadni @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @dilfchoso @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-d0g @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @mhasimp666 @princejasno @onehellofasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shadows-of-nightmares @double-homiecide @rintarosaku @saturnsbend @trailsnix @luckduckanon @oddball215 @toodeepintofandoms @devilgirlcrybaby @playb0ysuna @uwiuwi @yuzukeni *if you’ve changed your username pls let me know!

MASTERLIST

[boytouya]

「SAINT」 ; takami keigo | hawks x male reader

wc: 1.5k

warning: suggestive themes & language, religious themes, one (1) crude joke about nuns, abrupt ending (scrapped fic)

additional tags: priest reader (kinda), incubus hawks, probably some religious trauma, agnostic writer who doesn’t know how to write things relating to demons + religion

a/n: this is loooong overdue and also months old, i’m so rusty so i’m so sorry if this isn’t good. anyway there’s about 3-4 versions of this fic so if you see it somewhere else dw abt it (unless stated otherwise)

Your fingertips trace the thin, pale paper of your annotated Bible, cold pages crinkling under the weight of your palms. Covering for your father, a well-liked priest, was not an easy job— especially when you strayed further and further from the Holy eye with every passing moment. The pews of the church remain dimly lit, moonlit and almost sparkling under the glass stained windows. The rich, brown and polished wood glows, light dancing between warm yellow lights aligned by the aisles, and despite the unwavering wholeness you should feel, you stare back at the empty seats with nothing but loneliness.

It was only a matter of time before you begged someone, anyone, for even a sliver of company.

You exhale slowly, reaching up to readjust your hair, even if it doesn’t actually move. Your wrist in your peripherals momentarily consumes your vision, but you make no effort to quicken your movements. The last time you’d felt this way he encountered something darker than light, something tempting. Something that, still, reminded you of your own loneliness, and the exhaustion that comes with it. The memory remains fresh, as though you were hit with a hammer amalgamated from the darkest parts of your mind, unbeknownst to the consequences.

In a Church, you suppose, love is always in the air, a thickening aroma that’s much too sweet for your liking. It sticks to the murals within the room, it clings to your goosebump ridden skin, it’s plastered to every page you turn to. It’s excruciating. It’s exhausting.

And yet, with the smell of his skin lingering on your body, your mind empties, and your thoughts simultaneously erode whilst coalescing into a serene hum stuck in the far back of your mind. The bittersweet tranquility floats above you for just a moment, descending as soon as moonlight peeks through the windows and into your darkening, tired eyes. It stares back into your irises, taunting you despite your expensive effort to avoid it.

It and it's dark children who hide behind the muse of a wickedly comforting smile. But, you decide, it’s because that’s what you seek.

It, who sleeps beneath darkening shadows, moonlight dancing across its shiny eyelids and painting its face with a silver hue. The way it bounced off its skin, you’ve ong since decided night was made for it. An Incubus. With warm skin and a glowing, crimeon tattoo below his belly button, a thin tail with a pointer end, strong dark wings, and a scantily clad choice of clothing. With angelically golden locks of hair, that fall in his face from time to time, and just as golden eyes.

A strong jaw, furrowed eyebrows, calloused and veiny hands that look rather large— or so they’d seem when they glide across your skin, sharp claw-like nails that drag against the wood pulpit.

It— or, he, who’s hands curl into fists as he grasps at the decorative cloth on the pews’ arms like a lifeline (or in most cases, your hair), as if holding them tight would somehow keep you there with him, limbs tangled and lips locked. Sinful in a place supposedly free of sin.

He, who stirs under the sun’s gaze, uncomfortable warmth blooming from his body. But you… You want nothing more than to hold it in his hands, cherish the comfortable silence and bathe in his inviting body heat, hidden away from the chilling air that signifies winter’s welcome.

He— Keigo, you’d come to learn, who wakes at the feeling of your trivial eye, with long eyelashes that bat against his cheek with grace. A smile places itself upon his lips, but before he can speak, a yawn ripples out his mouth. You watch as his sharp teeth nestle into his gums, completely relaxed under your critical gaze.

The rosary beads wrapped around your fingers slip, smacking against the ground where you two stand, and gasps leave both your lips. You, somewhat mortified as you quickly kneel, tucking your feet beneath your body as your shaking hands reach for the blessed beads. Keigo quirks an eyebrow, much more awake as he steps out to place his heavy boot just beside your fingertips.

There’s a sickening sound of friction against the polished wood beneath his shoe.

“You look better this way,” He exclaims, an uncanny smile splitting his lips as he crosses his arms. It’s almost impossible to notice the bulge of his biceps, your eyes trailing the way his fingertip taps against his flawless skin. Ignoring how obscene this must look— kneeling beneath an incubus in the middle of a church, with no one but the moon as your witness— a scoff leaves your mouth, and you decide the tainted prayer beads will do fine resting on the floor. “No, really! You should stay like this.”

As you begin to stand, his warm palm presses into the swell of your shoulder, keeping you hunched over, your face basically pressed into his hip. It slithers upward, resting at your cheek. His large hands obstruct your vision, nimble fingers pressing into the meat of your cheek as if it’ll leave a mark. Under different circumstances you’d have keened into the— almost — intimate touch. Under different circumstances you’d have kissed his palm.

“Keigo—”

“It’s almost natural at this point. You and the nuns must go crazy in here,” His eyes shift, much darker than before, and something tells you he doesn’t find that joke funny. From what you can see, his body stiffens awkwardly. His jaw clenches, then his Adam's apple bobs, and suddenly the air feels much thicker. “Don’t you.”

His question falls flat on deaf ears, as you’re too lost in thought to even think about what he may be insinuating. His thick eyebrows twitch at your hesitation, the hand resting on your cheek suddenly tightening around your jaw. Your lips pucker, forming a small ring as he forces your eyes to meet his.

And, finally, like you’ve fallen out of a twelve story building, the weight of his words hit you like concrete. Against his strong hand you mutter, “Don’t even say things like that.”

“Hm.” He hums, releasing your jaw with faux disregard, releasing the prayer beads beneath his feet. He watches your frantic gaze flicker back and forth, your lips pursed as you chew on the insides of your cheek. You’re as cute as he is touchy.

He could just eat you alive.

Why’re you here, demon.” Your tone falls flat, missing whatever malice you were supposedly injecting into your tone—and even if it had come out as a hiss, it wouldn’t have phased the being.

“Ooh, ouch,” The blond knocks a large fist to his chest, knocking himself down and stumbling dramatically as he feigns offense. Your stare is heavy on his form, despite the constant insults you just can’t seem to look away. “You wound me, Father!”

“Keigo.” His tail jumps, straightening at the sound of his name passing by your lips. He grins, cheeks blessed with dimples and freshly shaven facial hair. His demeanor remains relaxed, tufts of hair swaying ever-so-slightly as he steps around you in circles, taking in the sights as if he hasn’t seen them a billion times before.

“Always so angry!” Takami chirps, long nails brushing against your cheek as he pinches at whatever remnants of baby-fat you had on your face. Suddenly, the goofy, love-struck expression on his face faulters, and his golden eyes harden. “Whether you want to believe it or not, I felt you calling for me.”

There’s a glowing, magenta ring around his irises that you aren’t sure were there before, burning bright in comparison to the dwindling candles adorning the walls and hallways. You’d hate to admit it out loud, but there’s something inviting about it. As unfamiliar as neon lights accompanied by city streets and the smell of recreational drugs, but simultaneously as familiar as the warm buzz of the sun through glass-stained windows.

“Liar,” You bite your tongue, the bitter taste of nickels and dimes drowning your senses. Blasphemy. “I’d have to be a whole different type of desperate to even—“

“Aren’t you?”

Ignoring the prickles of heat that dig into your skin, you let out a frustrated sigh. You almost want to yell at him, loneliness and desperation are different levels of isolation, and you don’t want to think about where that puts you. His silly, ill-attempt at rendering you speechless wasn’t in vain: he’d won. For now. Proud of himself, Keigo hums in assurance and places his hands on your shoulders. He runs much warmer than the average human, and if he’d been any warmer, his palms would burn right through your clothing and scorch your skin.

”I know,” He pulls you forward, placing a hand behind your head as he cradles your face into his neck. You can hear him take a deep breath, probably trying to engrave your scent into his brain. To bottle it, keep it there, and have it whenever he needed. His warmth makes your eyelids heavy with sleep, and you find yourself sinking into his embrace. Reluctantly, your hands rest at his waist, the pads of your fingertips digging into his toned back, equally wary of his tailbone. “You’re not. Maybe I’m the desperate one.”

TAGLIST: @zawadni @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @dilfchoso @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-d0g @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @mhasimp666 @princejasno @onehellofasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shadows-of-nightmares @double-homiecide @rintarosaku @saturnsbend @trailsnix @luckduckanon @oddball215 @toodeepintofandoms @devilgirlcrybaby @playb0ysuna @uwiuwi @yuzukeni *if you’ve changed your username pls let me know!

MASTERLIST

[boytouya]

i think i’m just gonna post scraps and call it in

[boytouya]

its been a hot sec since ive been on tumblr

anyways happy new years 🎉

hopefully your doing good???

same to newspaper as well, missed her

and you too ig

dont actually take that "ig" seriously im joking

-toshi 💜

god hates me and wants me dead

[boytouya]

if i, hypothetically, wrote for avatar (2009 and 2022) would y’all be interested.

[boytouya]

MERRY CHRISTMAS

i’m so late merry christmas!!!!!!! i hope everyone had a great one, happy new year too!

[sl4sherf1lmz]

idk if i’m ever even gonna finish this anytime soon but here’s a. preview if anyone wants it

[luulapants]

stop feeling hopeless, start getting ready

If you are in a red state, your state either has an abortion ban in place or is rated by the Guttmacher Institute as likely to enact a ban. Your focus should be on protecting yourself and others who need abortions.

stop using electronic period tracking apps or software

educate yourself and others about pregnancy prevention and join groups that are making preventative birth control more accessible

learn the nearest and most accessible routes to states where you and your loved ones can access abortion

contribute to mutual aid funds to help transport people over state lines if they are in need of abortion

consider joining The Satanic Temple so you can claim protections under the Religious Abortion Ritual if you are prosecuted for obtaining an abortion

keep a stock of by-mail abortion pills for yourself and/or others who may need them (you may need to travel out of state to obtain them)

form community provider networks and see if you or someone you know can be trained to use manual vacuum aspiration kits or a Del-Em

all of the above should be done in complete secrecy using verbal communication, end-to-end encrypted apps such as Signal, or a VPN

If you are in a yellow state, you currently have constitutional abortion protections but they are in jeopardy. Get active in local political groups NOW to fight back against constitutional amendments to ban abortion. Your focus should be purely on political action.

If you are in Michigan, you currently have a ban in place which is being challenged, and your governor is working to add abortion protections into the Michigan state constitution. Your focus should be on supporting the work that is currently under way.

If you are in a green state, your state has constitutional protections for abortion that are unlikely to be challenged. Your focus should be on helping others to enter your state for abortion care.

connect with abortion access groups such as Aid Access, Abortion on Demand, the National Network of Abortion Funds, or Just The Pill

volunteer to help people enter your state for abortion care, either with transportation help or letting someone crash on your couch

if you live in a green state with no current or predicted primary routes from other states for abortion access, you can focus your efforts on supporting political action in other areas

If you are in a purple state, your state currently has no constitutional protections for abortion but is unlikely to implement a ban. You have two focuses: pushing for constitutional protections AND helping others to enter your state for abortion care (see green state list).

[suuniva]

POSTING THIS AGAIN!!!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BE CAREFUL OUT THERE!!!