#'hey whats with the colors on e-' SHUT UP SHUT UP IT WAS AN ACCIDENT

[rithmeres]

anatomy practice (exacting a pound of flesh from commanders 14 & 13)

[royalty-unknown]

i love your writing so much 😭 it brings so much comfort. can you write one where you go to your little place by accident because you’re so stressed from school and it’s in front of Jason. he obviously has something to say about it 🫤 & with the caregiver being eddie please <3 thank you and never stop writing 🤍

MEANIES!

Cg!Eddie Munson x little!reader

Requested by: Anonymous 

I love your writing so much 😭 it brings so much comfort. can you write one where you go to your little place by accident because you’re so stressed from school and it’s in front of Jason. he obviously has something to say about it 🫤 & with the caregiver being eddie please <3 thank you and never stop writing 🤍 

WARNING!!: Slight anti-agere (from Jason), Bullying, crying, shoving, Fighting, Skin to skin contact (With eddie), name calling, Mentions of blood, yelling, Slight angst to heavy bunny tail fluff. DON'T LIKE, LEAVE. thank you~

Awwww Thank you so much😭😭! I’m really thankful for feedback. It makes me so happy to see that people love my writing! And I’m glad it brings you comfort <3 Thank you and Your welcome! 😭🤍🤍 I really wished you were not anonymous because I really wanted to have a convo but that’s okie! 

You 're so stressed for a bunny tunnel load of reasons, one being finals. You were an (grade) student And you knew that if you didn’t pass this test you would fail whether you had a good grade or not. So here you were helping yourself and your boyfriend Eddie Munson “The town freak” So you don’t fail and stay back and so he doesn’t fail and stay back for a third time, Not to mention you were feeling little. And you didn’t want to tell Eddie because he was busy with his campaigns, deals, make-up and extra credit assignments. So you felt like that would be an inconvenience even though Eddie has made it clear multiple times that you are not an inconvenience. 

But still something in you just wouldn’t listen but you regretted it when you were tutoring Jason you started to regress and even worse it was in the cafeteria in front of everyone. “So um chu would wanna pwut- I um mean p-put.. D-da” she tried to speak like a big girl and speak her shit, but she was already small. “Why the hell are you speaking like a baby” Jason teased, loud enough for the whole table to hear and the two tables next to them. ‘I-I’s no mwean two..” y/n whispered tears threatening to spill from her E/c (eye colored) eyes onto her S/c (skin colored) cheeks. “Aww is the baby going to cry? HEY EVERYONE THE FREAKS GIRLFRIEND IS CRYING AND TALKING WIKE A BWABY” He yelled to the whole cafeteria and mocked her which only made her cry more and made everyone laugh at her. It was humiliating “Was wrong chu want your paci?” he mocked her once more before she got up but he shoved her down on the ground causing her to drop the books that she was using to help him study with. 

“WHAT THE FUCK MAN” Eddie yelled tackling jason on the floor and starting to punch him with everyone chanting “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” over and over again was too much for you. Everything was so loud and you just wanted it to stop. So you screamed a very loud “SHUT UWP!!” which made everyone stop what they where doing including Eddie and look at you. “TOO L-LOUD!” You say sobbing and covering your ears which made Eddie who got off of Jason and Gareth run over to you “Hey hey little one sh shh” Eddie said trying to picking you up but you got a glimpse of Jason and gasp “Daddy chu huwrt him” you said crawling over to Jason. “Care Bear we gotta go” Gareth said as he heard everyone whispering ‘Principle Higgins is coming’ “Now! Please!” Eddie said tugging your hand before gareth decided to just pick you up and run while Eddie grabbed your stuff and ran.

You three heard a faint “EDDIE MUNSON!! GET BACK HERE!!” from principal higgins but they were already gone hoping into Eddie's van with Gareth and Y/n in the back and Eddie quickly drove off. You weren't afraid nor scared of your daddy, you were actually thankful he stuck up for you. But you didn’t like violence and what he did to Jason scared you. Both Gareth and your daddy knew that. You whimpered into Gareth’s ear and said “Garebear..Daddy’s gwot bwood on hiws hawnd” you said seeing how red his hand was that was also handling the steering wheel. “Sh shh i know love bug your daddy was just trying to protect you. And make sure no one upsets his little and makes her cry..that’s all” he said rubbing your back with one hand and patting your Diapered/Underwear (Your choice <3) bottom. 

They went to Eddie’s trailer to wind down and talk about what happened, to the little. Eddie got out going in bc gareth already was already inside with his little. “Little one come here please” He said sitting on the couch patting his lap and she came to him sitting on his lap and crying into his neck “I know I know daddy’s sorry baby..” He said rubbing your back and bum “Please forgive daddy” he said about to cry himself “I’s no mad at dada! Pwease downt cwry” She said sitting up and gently placing her small hands on his face and you kiss his nose like he does you when your upset “Twank chu fo protwecting me!” She said hugging him “Mwy dada is a hewro” she said smiling which made eddie shead a couples tears.

Gareth came back with a nice warm bottle of milk, your paci, your warm pj’s, your stuffie, and your nice fluffy warm and cleaned f/c (favorite color) blanket. “Let's get you ready for bed kitten” Eddie said, picking you up to take you to the bathroom to wash you up. While Gareth was making a pallet for you, him and Eddie, when you were dressed and had your paci in your mouth you crawled to the pallet that Gareth was laying on his stomach with his face in the blanket. “Gware bear” Y/n said, shaking him, earning a slightly groggy “hm?”. “I’s cawnt sweep” you said snuggling up to his side as you waited for Eddie come out in his pj’s which was just gray sweatpants with no shirt. He picked you up and laid on his back on the pallet of blankets (he was going to do skin to skin with you to help you sleep bc that’s what helps me alot :) ) He gently unstrapped your onesie and pulled it up revealing your princess parts but you just layed your  chest on his and he just simply patted your Diapered/underwater bum as you two slowly drifted to sleep.

<3 

Word Count: 1218

Hi my lovelies! Please let me know about your thoughts and opinions but in a respectful manner. Again thank you so much for this request hopefully it met what you were looking for if not please let me know! This request was very fun to write and I do hope to receive more from you and others and I will hope to improve as I go and continue writing stories! But anyways hope you're drinking 1-4 water bottles/cups of water and eating at least 1-2 meals a day! Until the next one my fellow Victims~

 Your Friendly Neighborhood,

      ☢Killer Bunny☢

[lonely-lost-soul]

Let Me Worship You

(C!Technoblade X Gn!Reader)

Request 9: Could I perhaps request a c!techno x gn!reader where maybe the reader is good friends with Dadza and meets Techno one day and they fall for each other? Bonus if the reader is maybe a great builder like dadza but too shy to actually meet anyone so they just build things quietly and then move on and no one but dadza really knows them? Soft! and/or protective! Techno would be cute but not needed!! 😊😊😊

Requested By: 🍀 Anon

I hope you don't mind the shameless art I made for this lol.

At this point in his life, Technoblade had known Phil for centuries, they started their own brief empire together and he watched him raise Wilbur the best a single father could. It was about five years ago when you started following Phil around, the first time Technoblade met you was entirely by accident. He just needed to drop off some building supplies to Phil and Wilbur when he saw you trifling through Phil’s stuff, you had gorgeous white wings and when the sun hit them just right he saw flecks of gold peek through. His piglin side was immediately enamored with the gold wanted to reach out and run a delicate hand through the feathers. Technoblade set his jaw and summoned his ax to his side, you turned around (e/c) eyes widening with shock and fear. Technoblade couldn’t help but feel pure satisfaction rush through his veins seeing your fright. You held up your hands and everything you were holding tumbled to the ground, wings puffing up with shock and horror. Hearing the noise Phil wandered into the room and was quick to diffuse the situation, you hid behind the taller male and Techno gave a grunt of an apology in your direction.

From that moment forward you were as much of a staple in his life as Phil was, Phil had explained Wilbur had found you half dead a little ways away from his home. You had wings like his and Phil couldn’t let you die without answers, his crows would never let him live it down. After he got what he needed from you, Phil noticed just how handy you were around the house especially when you were building things so he kept you around. Technoblade never really interacted with you unless Phil was there to interpret, you weren’t much of a talker and Technoblade was never one for long-drawn-out conversation anyway. However, when Phil had killed Wilbur and he and Technoblade had to move north you inevitably followed the birdman. That’s when Technoblade really began to understand and get to know you and your little quirks. He noticed that when you concentrated on blueprints to a certain build you’d stick your tongue out all cute like, or the soft songs you’d hum when you thought no one was listening.

But Technoblade always listens.

He also noticed that since you and Phil had moved in there was an abundance of not only Phil’s crows flying around but a few stray morning doves pecking at the snow as well.

With the encouragement of the voices, Technoblade had gathered up enough courage to attempt to hold onto a conversation with you. As he walked up to you he noticed the soft coo of a dove was heard, catching your attention. You turned around and your eyes locked with his own, he watched your shoulders tense and face flush a little as he approached you.

Off to a rocky start already. Great.

“Ugh. Hey?” Technoblade grunted hands crossing over his chest,

‘Hey? HEY? is that the best you can do? Look at them they’re cowering. Good, they should be, which means we’re well known.’

Technoblade cleared his throat a little as you held up a hand with a shy wave, “hello.” You greeted, your voice was soft and sweet like honey in his ears. The exact opposite of Wilbur and Tommy’s, he found himself enjoying the tone. “So um...did I do something wrong?” Your wings folded back and he watched you methodically run your fingers through the feathers.

‘Look at the gold flecks! I want them! I wanna pet them they’re so cute! So small and helpless like a little worm. Worm? Really? What it’s an analogy! A bad one! Shut up she’s giving us a look!’

“No? Did you do something I should be concerned about?”

“No!” You sputtered out in panic, dropping the bricks in your hand stumbling back so they wouldn’t crush your toes.

You had fast reflexes, that’s good.

The morning dove around you cooed in distress fluttering up to your shoulder, nesting there like it was its home. “I’m alright,” You whispered eyes going soft as you scratched under the bird’s chin, Technoblade watched with interest. Technoblade gathered why Phil really liked you, you were almost an exact replica of the mild manner builder, other than the anarchist tendencies.

“Didn’t mean to make you drop your stuff,” Technoblade clicked his tongue softly bending down to gather your materials. “Where do you want them?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I asked you a question kid.” Your mouth snapped shut and your lips pressed into a thin tense line. Technoblade observed as your eyebrow twitched, oh you were annoyed. You didn’t voice your annoyance he couldn’t help but mentally comment how cute that look was on you. A huff spilled past your lips and you directed him where to place the bricks in their proper locations. The both of you fell into light conversation after that, he caused you to laugh a few times and it made him feel oddly warm inside. He didn’t even realize that the sun began to set until you pointed it out, Technoblade rubbed the stubble on his chin glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You were staring up at the sunset, the orange and red colors shone through the gaps in your feathers, your eyes were alight with wonder. You looked like an old Greek statue, an angel carved out of the finest marble and gemstones.

He flushed when you turned to face him, embarrassed to have been caught staring at you so blatantly. You smiled the tips of your pointing ears turning pink, “You should stay the night.” Technoblade spoke without really thinking about the consequences, “there’s plenty of room.”

“Alright. I think I will. It’s not safe flying at night anyway.” Your smile only growing in size at his offer, he made the right decision then, he led you and your little dove through the snow and into his cabin.

Spring rolled around and there was a little house set up right next to Technoblade’s home. It fit his aesthetic nicely, made out of wood, and always had its lanterns lit, it was your home. However, you began to spend most of your time at Technoblade’s home talking with the retired Blood God. You and Phil also had begun molting which was Technoblade’s least favorite time of the year mostly because of all the feathers. However, this year in particular he was particularly enamored with your shiny golden feathers he would find around his home. Maybe he collected them and kept them in his ender chest, it wasn’t creepy he was cleaning. At least that’s what Technoblade told himself, not because he found your feathers beautiful or anything and was enamored by the shine.

“Hey Kid,” Technoblade asked from his seat across from you in his sitting room, you picked your head up and tilted it to the side in a questioning manner. Your wings were ruffled, messy and you looked uncomfortable to be interrupted from your grooming. “Need some help?” He watched your entire face turn bright red in the process, “look you can say no. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable!” You argued, “just caught off guard a little Tech. I never thought it’d be something you were interested in.” Standing up from the chair you spread your wings wide, pulled over a stool, and flopped in front of Technoblade. He was a little shocked at how quickly you agreed, they must’ve really been bothering you.

“Do I...just stick my hands in there or…”

You tossed your head back and let out a roaring laugh,

“heh? What’s so funny huh? I don’t wanna hurt you.” Technoblade snapped at you with an embarrassed huff, your laughter slowly dyed down after a few more seconds.

“Sorry I just. Is that what you say to the ladies too?” Technoblade choked and blanked never once have you said something so dirty before, he didn’t even know you were capable of making jokes like that.

“I say that to everyone actually, I don’t discriminate to just women- I’m not helping my case am I? I should stop talking.” It only served to send you into another set of loud giggles, Technoblade was red in the face and stuck his hands into the little feathers by your back. He felt you tense up for a moment before relaxing into his touch, you let out a soft sound of pleasure. Technoblade chose to ignore the sound even if it sent the voices into a frenzy, to mark and claim, and...he was absolutely not going to finish that thought. You both sat there for about an hour and thirty minutes, fixing up your feathers making you preen at the touches. You were smiling like an idiot by the time he was done and you spread your feathers wide, almost like you were showing them off. Technoblade couldn’t help but feel proud that you liked the work he did so much,

“They’re so soft! Thank you Techno!” You turned towards him, eyes practically glowing with adoration. His face turned red, you were stunning, he kissed you that night and by wintertime, the both of you were an official couple.

Phil was quick to catch onto the change in demeanor between the couple, he clapped Techno on the back as congratulations. You were out on another building project, making a little farm because you knew how much Technoblade loved potatoes, you really were attentive. Surprising Technoblade, Phil had also threatened his first cannon life if he ever hurt you in any way, shape, or form. Techno was a little surprised Phil would go as far as to threaten him, but he promised his old friend he wouldn’t let any man, woman, or creature lay their hands on you, including himself.

It was the dead of winter and temperatures had dropped drastically, Technoblade had made both you and Phil warm clothes for the occasion that matched with his own winter gear. He had given you a friendship emerald and in return, you made him a necklace with one of your golden feathers on it.

Technoblade cherished the gift with his entire being. On occasion, while he was out on a long journey he’d press gentle kisses to it when he missed you, and he swore sometimes he swore it moved on its own. He walked into the cabin to see you spread across his couch, a book on your lap, wings curled in tight against your body. He smiled softly dropping the wood he gathered by the door, he snuck over to you and pressed a kiss against your cheek.

“Hi, sunshine,” You greeted turning your head to look at him, his face burned and his chest filled with warmth. Technoblade moved to sit in your lap with a smirk, he plucked the book from your hands to look at the cover. You frowned in his direction, “You lose my spot and I’m hitting you over the head with it.”

“Violent.” He tutted softly bopping you on the head with said book, you shot him a cold look.

“Hypocrite.”

“Nerd.” He responded casually, you let out a little huff, wings ruffling in frustration.

There’s that look, he loved that look. God, you were so cute.

You slapped your hands on his cheeks, and it shocked him back to attention. He felt your fingers spread across his cheeks and your thumbs brush against the apples of his face. Technoblade’s eyes softened and he snuggled into your open palms, he saw you smile and his eyes dropped to a content close. Technoblade did something he hadn’t done in years, he felt the rumble in his throat before it happened, he purred.

His eyes snapped open with fear and embarrassment, but the way your eyes were sparkling quelled the feelings immediately.

“Did you just purr?”

“So what if I did?” He grumbled another purr mixing with a growl,

“That’s the cutest thing in the entire world Mr. Big Bad anarchist. You only purr for me?” The light teasing in your voice sent him aflame, “Aw you do!” You cooed rubbing his cheeks with your thumbs again, he buried his face in your chest as more purrs spilled from his mouth without him wanting them to. “No need to hide it, keep them purrs coming.” Technoblade’s entire face was red as you reached forward to pluck his glasses from his nose. You placed them on the end table and grabbed a blanket wrapping you both inside a cocoon of warmth.

“You tell anyone about this and we’re breaking up.”

“Deal. Your secrets safe with me.” You hummed quietly running his hands through his pink locks melting against your touch. He finally relaxed completely resting the side of his head against your chest to listen to your heartbeat. Technoblade purred and you could feel the rumbles of his chest against your own. The ferocious Blade was akin to a cat, grumpy on the outside but a big softie who wanted attention on the inside. Leaning forward you kissed his forehead, another louder purr was pulled from the man and pressed his forehead back against your lips. “Good boy.~” You teased scratching under his chin he sent you a tired look but the redness in his cheeks gave away how much he enjoyed the praise.

“Shut up. You’re being cringe.” He growled with no real bite or fire,

“Take a nap big guy. You deserve one. You’re safe with me.” Technoblade yawned loudly at your words, his jaw unhinging a little, only proving to show how tired he really was. “I’ll protect you, always.” Technoblade smiled sheepishly and allowed himself to let his guard down just this once to fall asleep in his lover’s arms.

[cheesus-doodles]

Back at it again with the incorrect quotes, this time featuring rotten onion I mean Izana, Furu getting bullied and being big dumb, and more Koji x Boss shipping!

______

Izana: Do you have a new boyfriend?

Boss: Yea.

Izana: I hope he dies.

____

Hase: I'm so upset.

Furu: Why, what happened?

Hase: Shut the fuck up.

Furu: Okay man, fuck you. Hope your day gets worse, actually.

____

Boss: Busy?

Koji: Free for you, busy for others.

Boss: Stop being so cute.

Koji: Cute for you, rude to others.

____

Boss: Hey Koji, what do bees make?

Koji: I know this joke, but I love you and wanna follow through.

Koji: ...Honey.

Boss: ...Yes, dear?

____

Boss: I talk alot huh?

Koji: Yes, but it's nice. I like hearing your thoughts.

*meanwhile*

Furu: Grapes are easy to acquire and easy to eat.

Hase: If you say anything else on this topic, I'm going to murder you.

____

Furu: How do you spell orange?

Masa: O-r-a-n-g-e

Furu: No that's the color, I meant the fruit.

____

Furu: Jun?

Jun: *Looks so done* Yeah, Furu?

Furu: What color is an orange?

Jun: Furu you dumbass, it's color is the same as it's name!

Jun: Just like a lemon.

___

*idk I have a feeling Hase would like wolves*

Furu: Let's fight.

Hase: About what?

Furu: I dunno. What's your favorite animal?

Hase: Wolves?

Furu: Fuck wolves.

____

*Boss and Izana texting*

Izana: I want you

Izana: That wasn't me

Izana: Sorry

Boss: Who was it then, huh?

Izana: My demons

___

*After Boss left the Red Dragonflies*

Furu: When are you coming back???

Boss: Ok.

___

Boss: Honestly I want to rip a mochi violently.

Boss: Like just violently.

Jun: I want to rip somebody's neck.

Boss:

Boss: Not that violently, Jun.

___

*Furu and Boss texting*

Furu: I'm learning the ukrllgfj

Furu: !!

Furu: ukelfjfd

Boss: Same

Furu: ukrlekd

Boss: Take your time

Furu: ukelala

Furu: umkelee

Furu: fuck it, mini guitar

Boss: There you go

___

Furu: I'm busy now.

*later*

Furu: I just ate glass by accident.

Hase: You what.

Furu: Leave me the fuck alone.

Furu: I ate glass.

___

Furu: Humans are a lot like cats.

Boss: We love attention and always send mixed signals?

Furu: We both eat mice.

Boss:

Boss: Furu-

___

*Furu and Hase texting*

Furu: Your an asshole!

Hase: You're*

Furu: omg your so fucking annoying!

Hase: You're*

Furu: STOP DOING THAT. YOUR PISSING ME OFF.

Hase: You're*

Furu: FINE. I'M GONNA KICK YOU'RE ASS.

Hase: Your*

____

Jun: I'm gonna go eat.

Furu: What are you gonna eat?

Jun: Can you leave me alone for 5 fucking minutes???

asdjnalskjndalskjn I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THESE HAHAHAHAHAHA i actually laughed reading these ahhhhh made my day and week!! hope you like these memes i doodled over anon! ^^

couldn't do all of them but I'll def try to do somemore!

‎

Masterlist

mandatory bump for red jacket in the mirror and previous incorrect quotes huehue

[gureishi]

Hey there! I can't even put into words how much i adore your writing 💕 Could I request 21 (wanna love you in the daylight) with Saeyoung and a female MC? NSFW would be fine if it's okay with you~

I am absolutely delighted that both of you requested something spicy for this prompt with my favorite boy. And thank you soooo much for saying such kind things! Asks like this really make my day ♡♡♡ Aaaand here is...a scenario I’ve been wanting to write for ages—so thank you for giving me a good reason to finally write it!

wanna love you in the daylight

Saeyoung X Reader, E (smut warning!), Words: 2313

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Summer—and the sound of the wind whistling through the rolled down windows weaves itself into the music that’s playing at full volume over the radio; and he’s driving fast, like always, the late afternoon sun lighting up his hair a million shades of red and gold and amber. You lean back in the warm leather seat, using one hand to hold your windswept hair off your face. The winding road is long and empty—there’s no one out here but the two of you, and the endless fields of fragrant lavender, and the summer sun. He has one hand on the wheel and the other draped lazily across your thigh, like he left it there by mistake. 

You’re not headed anywhere in particular.

You are the one who got him out here in the first place: tugging him behind you, a finger looped through the belt loop of his jeans, shaking your head as he protested that he was in the middle of—he just needed to—

He is always in the middle of something, and usually that something is an excuse to stay inside his big, air-conditioned home with its bright colors and empty rooms. But the air outside today feels like swinging on a swing set and running barefoot through the grass; but you want to see the late summer sunset reflected in his sparkling eyes.

So you are driving to nowhere, fast enough that your heart races—and he is content like this: calm and collected in a way he never seems inside the home that he claims is his sanctuary. He feels safest cooped up in his house—but he feels happiest out here, where he can feel the car’s engine like a mechanical heartbeat and he can make perfect turns at top speed on the curvy road and grin when you scold him for it.

You don’t scold him too much. Because you trust him—because he looks like he thinks he’s flying when he drives this way, and you wouldn’t take that away from him.

“Look at the road,” you tell him now. It’s extending ahead in a straight line—up and over a hill—and he has turned his sunlit head to gaze at you.

“Can’t,” he says. He smiles your favorite half-smile, tilting his head, intense eyes somehow taking in all of you at once. You shiver, because he is looking at you with all the heat of the sun that’s beating down on your bare shoulders.

“Saeyoung.” You try on a stern voice and he laughs softly, the very tip of his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. Oh, what you would give to be inside his mind for just one single, shimmering second.

“I’ll be good,” he purrs—and he does turn back to the road, with a dramatic toss of his head, as if to show you how serious he is about it. A new song comes on the radio: a softer one, with a beat that matches the sound of the tires on the road and the fingers of the wind in your hair. Just as you are thinking this—and although he is looking ahead now, accelerating over the little hill—his hand begins to creep ever-so-slowly up your thigh.

You shiver again, nibbling your bottom lip. He seems to be radiating energy—his rough, calloused fingers skim under the seam of your skirt, tap tap tapping their way across your leg. They tickle your skin, and you feel squirmy—they dip inward, curving around your thigh, and you’re startled by the desire that pools suddenly—hot and insistent—in the pit of your stomach.

You crest the hill, and he eases up on the gas, letting the car coast downward. He grins coyly; his eyes glitter with concentration.

“This is dangerous,” you tell him—and you know he hears the raspy longing in your voice, because he smiles bigger.

“I’m looking at the road,” he says, his tone honey-sweet. “Just like you told me to.”

Ah—his fingers find your underwear, which is soft and silky smooth. He knows as soon as he feels it that it’s one of his favorites, and he laughs triumphantly. You hear him through a sort of haze: his index flinger flicks against you insistently now, and there are bright sparks edging in around your line of sight.

“Did you pick these out by accident?” he sings. He is too happy with himself, you think—almost drunkenly—reaching clumsily for the door’s leather handle so you can squeeze it. Your toes curl in your shoes. His finger moves quicker—softer.

“‘Course not,” you pant, hating (loving) how easily he has left you helpless. And it wasn’t that you were scheming, dragging him out of the house so he would touch you under the hot summer sun—but it wasn’t as if you hadn’t thought about it, either.

How could you not, when he looks this good in the sunlight, and the air smells like the sound of ice cubes clinking in a tall glass, and the hum of the car makes your skin shiver?

He accelerates.

You whimper, and the sound mingles with the song that’s playing over the radio and the wind whips you hair around and he makes perfect little circles with his fingertip, eyes on the road, grinning because he loves the way you sound when you’re falling apart.

“Saeyoung,” you gasp.

He swings the car around a sudden bend in the road and you know he feels the way your thighs shake because he is going faster, faster—and there are sparkles everywhere, white glitter and blurry lavender and the rumbling of the engine and the specks of gold dancing off his hair as he drives straight into the sun.

He takes his eyes off the road again.

And it is this—the heat in his gaze and the feeling of his fingers against the smooth fabric of your underwear and the way the sunlight strikes his shoulders—that does it.

You can see nothing but glittering gold and blinding light; you know you’re crying out but you can’t quite hear it; and your body feels weightless, like paper—like his finger alone is tying you to the leather seat, and otherwise you would float off into the cloudless sky.

And then sensations return—your toes, curled tightly in your shoes, and your fingers, tense as they clutch the door handle.

You say his name again. His face swims back into view: golden and delightful and—and—

There is something new there, too. His eyes have darkened, and he looks like he’s lost. His hand trembles.

“You are—that was—” His voice is low, and it sends another little spark through through your weightless body. There is a hunger, and a desperation, in the way he watches you now; he looks like he is about a minute from falling apart himself.

“Saeyoung,” you say—louder and firmer than you’d intended. He jumps, like you’ve taken him by surprise. “Pull over.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

With one hand still on your leg—he’s gripping it now, his fingers squeezing hard enough to bruise—he veers off the road, slowing to a near-perfect stop on the grassy shoulder. The car does jolt the tiniest bit—unusual for him—and he lifts his arm from your leg to throw it in front of you, as if he’s going to single-handedly protect you from inertia.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to—”

“Get out of the car,” you tell him. His eyes flash. You are already undoing your seatbelt, stumbling ungracefully from the car onto the flattened grass around it. But he is quicker than you are—and by the time you’ve shut the door behind you, he is in front of you.

“That was fast,” you say, giggling. Your head still feels hazy, your thoughts swimming lazily through a pool of pleasure.

“God,” he hisses. His hands fall to your waist, and you can feel the bulge in his pants pressing into your hips as he walks you back into the car door. “I really—I want—”

You throw your arms around his neck, and he understands. He lifts you easily, both hands gripping your thighs—and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you around the front of the car. He peppers desperate kisses over your neck, across your shoulder; with one hand, he touches the hood of the car—and he winces.

“It’s too hot,” he mutters, his teeth sharp against your skin.

“Don’t care,” you say. 

He lowers you slowly, cautiously—and it is hot, but not overwhelmingly so. You pull him closer with your legs around his waist and he groans.

“Come here,” you say. The look in his eyes is irresistible—the sounds he is making as you buck your hips up, grinding against him, are intoxicating. You unbutton his pants with one hand, tugging down the zipper.

“Impressive,” he croons.

He slips a hand up your skirt again—his other hand bracing you, holding you in place—and tugs your underwear off in one swift motion. You notice that he sets them carefully beside you; they are one of his favorite pairs, after all.

The sun is just behind him, nearly blinding, and its flames seem to dance in his golden eyes. His fingertip flutters over you again—slips inside you, curling delicately.

“I wanna…” he mumbles, gazing down at you, spread out before him on the hood of his sleek little car. You moan and his hips twitch.

“God,” you say. “Please do.”

He grins, and his smile is as bright as the sun that’s just starting to set over his shoulder. He closes the tiny bit of distance—pulling his jeans and his boxers low on his hips, shivering a little as he feels the heat that’s radiating from the car on his exposed skin.

“Are you sure it’s not too—” he mutters: nervous, now, like you haven’t seen him in a while.

And you’ve said his name all sorts of ways today: as a reprimand; as an exclamation of ecstasy—but now, when you say it, it is a plea.

“Saeyoung.”

He obeys. He always does.

He shifts closer, a mysterious sort of delight dancing in his eyes. He steadies you.

“You—” he says. “You are…”

He thrusts into you, and you never hear the next word, if there is one at all—the blinding sparks are back, bursting in your peripheral vision, and you feel him against you, inside you—his hips tremble, and his hand on your waist is firm. You grab fistfulls of his t-shirt, wanting it off, lacking the mental capacity to get it over his head—and he thrusts into you again (harder, rougher), groaning as you toss your head back and grasp at his skin with needy fingers.

He finds a rhythm: and he is looking at you, still looking at you, fire in his eyes; lips parted, breath coming hard and fast. He is trying to keep it together, you think—and the car is warm beneath you, and the sun is hot on your shoulders, and his skin is tingly, sparking, full of fireworks.

You angle your hips upward, your eyelids fluttering shut, your legs feeling like they are suspended in some thick liquid. You need him, need him…

And he lowers his head to your shoulder—moving faster now, harder—and you wish he would absolutely consume you. You squeeze tighter around him and he understands.

He rocks you back into the hood of the car—and it’s too hot, not hot enough, just right—and the wind blows your hair into your face but you can’t quite feel it, and your toes are numb, and your heart is in his hands, in the air, in the steadily cooling engine and the smoke between you and the flames that dance over his skin.

You say his name again.

And he is shaking—rocking into you faster, faster—his hand on your hip trembling as he groans, biting down on your shoulder.

Losing himself entirely.

Losing.

Lost.

Gone.

The sun begins to set. Slowly, slowly—he stills. Starts to breathe.

And he presses his lips to your shoulder more gently now; he lifts his head. Mindlessly, you tangle a hand in his hair and pull him close. His lips taste like your sunscreen and you can feel the rhythm of his heart in your bones.

“Can’t believe,” he whispers, turning his head to nibble the side of your ear. “Can’t believe we’ve never done it on one of the cars before.”

You laugh; you feel giddy. He pulls away carefully, staring into your face as he tugs his jeans back over his hips.

“You’re always so focused on driving,” you say. He shakes his head, and his hair falls beautifully into his eyes. He leans against the hood of the car, beside you, and you take his hand.

“Not true,” he says.

There are magnificent colors in the sky now—lavender like the flowers all around you, pink and orange and gold.

“You like driving,” you tell him. He laughs, and the sound is radiant—like the way the air tastes.

“Yeah, I like driving,” he says. You turn and find he’s looking at you again—and all the colors of the setting sun are reflected back at you in his magnificent eyes. “But I’m focused on something else.”

He smiles a smile of sunsets and the purr of the engine and the balmy air on your shoulders.

You don’t have to ask him what he means. You, say his fire-colored eyes; and you, says his steady hand in yours. Focused on you.

Every second; every minute; every single day.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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[azucanela]

ack anon with the dress hcs here- tysvm for those!! my heart~ ok so another random idea i just needed to share but bakugou/deku/todoroki first frenchie kiss with their s.o. and neither of them have much experience 😖 lots of fluffy awkwardness y'know? idk. again go ahead and add on but don't stress yourself!

FRENCH KISSES WITH THEIR S/O [GN!HEADCANNONS]

[ft. bakugo katsuki, izuku midoriya, todoroki shouto]

SUMMARY: someone decides to bring of french kissing and as expected; its chaotic.

WORD COUNT: french kissing? nothing explicit, very mildly suggestive

WARNINGS: kissing, maybe second hand embarrassment but i doubt it, awkward situations

A/N: my search history is “how to french kiss now” which is the main reason i held off on doing this one ajkshdkjah also this is my first time writing for our boy deku so uhhhh be kind to me, also anon you are now dress anon also i tried something new because i couldn’t bring myself to write full scenarios also i can’t write for midoriya i TRIED BUT I THINK HIS IS BAD

BAKUGO KATSUKI

HEADCANNONS + MINI SCENARIO

lol this is funny

THIS

this is peak comedy right here

hes gonna be so embarrassed but hes gonna try to act like hes completely unaffected by everything that is going on

i feel like he knows what french kissing is and has definitely thought about french kisses with you but he would never bring it up because it embarrassing for him

he might just randomly try it and place you in a complete state of shock, like y’all are just making out and— whoops would you look at that somehow you two are now french kissing! wonder how that happened... 

if you ask him he will flat out deny you the first time around because he is embarrassed, but keep trying!! after a few attempts he’s gonna claim to be annoyed but it’s actually because he wants to

“Hey Katuski, you know what we should do—”

Bakugou slams the textbook that laid on his lap shut, a sound reverberating through the library the two had gone two, which earned him a strict glare from the librarian seated at the front desk. His eyes narrowed as they look to Y/N, “if you say French kissing, I swear I will break up with you right now.”

Despite his harsh words, Y/N can see the pink blush that dusts his cheeks as they lean forward on their arm, tilting their head at him innocently as they reply, “actually, I was thinking we could go see a movie later.” Their words only worsen the blush on Bakugou’s cheeks, causing him to snap his head away in an attempt to salvage some of his reputation, “but that works too.” 

“Shut up you damn nerd.” The boy grumbles, brows furrowing as he leans back in his seat, looking away as he says, “if it’ll get you to stop asking then I guess we can try it.” Y/N is about to open their mouth to reply but Bakugou quickly adds, “only once though! Damn nerd...”

A grin finds its way onto Y/N’s face and they nod slowly, “great.”

“I hate you.”

honestly i feel like he would lowkey be bad at it the first time around and bakugou is the type of person where if he tries something and isn’t good at it immediately he either avoids this activity entirely or tirelessly works to improve his skill

luckily for you this happens to be a skill that bakugou wants to improve, alot because for some reason you wanted to try this and if he’s not good at it then whats the point

regardless the first time around is like a solid 6.75/10 sorry bakugou oops, you tried, but i feel like he’s already a really like aggressive and like harsh kisser so this is just gonna make things a mess

he can be soft sometimes tho i swear

i feel like he would get good at it after some ~practice~ but even then its a rare occurrence to french kiss with bakugou, its really intimate and he saves it for special occasions or when hes bored lol

IZUKU MIDORIYA

HEADCANNONS + MINI SCENARIO

THIS ONE

OH YOU ARE GOING TO KILL HIM WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GO AND DO THIS like apologize, apologize rn for the stress you are about to cause him

if you try to initiate a french kiss with izuku here, you NEED to tell him ahead of time or else things will go south very very fast. he’s going to panic because this is new and he does not understand what is happened oh my-

give him a heads up whenever you want to try something new, so when you pull this while kissing him he’s going to pull away like what a r e you d o i n g 

once you tell him he’s gonna be like let’s do this tomorrow, and then will spend the rest of the day RESEARCHING how to french kiss properly, like he’s on wikihow and everything this boy wants to treat you right and is going to make sure you enjoy it

which is when when y’all finally french kiss he is going to be good at it okay, he’ll learn every strategy possible and then he will be a PRO like you’re probably going to be shocked for a hot minute because wait when did he have the time to get good at this—

you’re definitely his first partner and he had no experience prior to you but he trained himself because going into any anything blind and without a plan places him in a state of distress

this was a PLANNED EVENT it was like a date except without all the date stuff just french kissing, like he texts you “hey lets try that thing you wanted to try...” all shy and stuff like he literally took five minutes to actually send the text, and you are trying to figure out what that thing is because deku do you mean like the coffee shop ?? what ??

you make him specify and he nearly dies but its fine its fine, when he finally gets his point across you’re like okay! cool!

overall its a pretty nice experience, i feel like he would be really gentle with you per usual but it was also probably really awkward like homeboy fr sat you down on the bed and just stared at you with bright red cheeks for like

a really hot minute

Y/N brow raised as they stared at Izuku, who’s eyes had pierced into their head since they’d sat down. Oddly enough, Y/N found his meticulous planning of this to just make the situation more awkward, it had done nothing to relieve the burning sensation in their cheeks. But Y/N had a feeling that only one of them could flustered about this or else everything would fall apart rather quickly. It had also been their idea in the first place so, there was that factor too.

“Are you alright, Izuku—”

“FINE. I—I’m fine, I mean.” He cleared his throat as he sat across from them, his cheeks a bright red color as Y/N tilted their head at his antics.

A small laugh escaped them, “If you don’t want to do this Izuku, we don’t have to.” He’d always been easily flustered, so Y/N couldn’t say his reaction came as a shock, but he’d agreed to it nonetheless just yesterday.

This seemed to bring the boy back to reality as he shook his head, “no... I want to.” He straightened in his seat, looking away from Y/N as he tried to collect himself.

A grin spread across Y/N’s face as they leaned closer to Izuku, “fantastic.” Their words only served to fluster Izuku further, though Y/N could feel their cheeks warming as well. 

“Right.”

french kissing will not be a regular occurrence, izuku feels embarrassed whenever it happens, he gets shy, all around a very rare thing for him that will only occur if you initiate it, but PLEASE let him know ahead of time, he needs to mentally prepare himself

he enjoys it though 

hehe

TODOROKI SHOUTO

HEADCANNONS + MINI SCENARIO

why am i laughing rn

okay but like shouto probably discovers it online entirely by accident or like hears kaminari talking about it and decides he should educate himself because hes fluent in french and knows alot about the culture of france because of all the tutors his father hired so why doesn’t he know what this elusive french kissing his? 

shouto is also fluent in kissing he honestly just really enjoys kissing you, he doesn’t know why but its probably because hes touch starved and just likes intimacy like that but he never really knew how much he liked physical touch until he actually experience it [in a positive way] and also you are SOFT :D

regardless shouto is the one who brings it up and honestly you are gonna be shocked because how did this clueless bb find out about that??? sir??? who is teaching you these things?

“You want to do what?” 

Y/N couldn’t help the shock that flooded them as they stared at their boyfriend, Shouto Todoroki, who sat with his legs crossed before them on the bed as he replied, “French kissing.” The boy in question repeated, tilting his head at them as he watched her reaction.

Y/N shook their head in an attempt to clear their thoughts as they looked back up at him, meeting his eyes, “who taught you about that?” In the past, Y/N had been forced to explain... certain subjects to Shouto because of things he’d overheard in conversations or seen online. Sometimes it was entirely innocent and other times, well it wasn’t. This time around, it seemed Shouto had took it upon himself to learn, rather than asking Y/N. 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” Come his response, brows furrowing at her question, “however, if its not something you’re interested in then—”

“I didn’t say that!” And Y/N couldn’t help how their cheeks warmed at how quickly they cut him off, hands coming to their face in embarrassment.

the internet and unintentionally kaminari, or maybe intentionally 

he doesn’t do any research in fact, he might not even bring it up, next time he sees you in a private space, he’s just gonna start kissing you and you’re probably gonna be like aight bet thats chill this is normal

UNTIL he just grabs your thigh and in the shock your mouth gapes open and SHOUTO STRIKES

honestly i feel like he would be ridiculously good at french kissing for no reason, i don’t know why, i have no explanation, he’s just good at it 

its a talent

of all the boys he is the least embarrassed he has no shame, its just natural curiosity right? whatever happens happens. it is literally so annoying how UNFAZED HE IS

probably really liked it because hes a touchy kinda guy, so this will become a more frequent thing when you two are in private, he just enjoys it 

TAGLISTS[lmk if you wanna be added or removed via asks or replies]

[calpalirwin]

Tranquil Waters

Summary: Bucky finds peace at the aquarium.

A/N: A gift for @jessalyn-jpeg, that was also beta read by her.

Word Count: 1.9k

And away, and away we go!

__

Even with a plain, battered ball cap covering up hair that brushed along the tops of his shoulders, as if he was hoping it would somehow make him inconspicuous, you took notice of him. After all, how many men came alone to an aquarium? How many still could be transfixed by the shark exhibit for hours, sitting on a bench looking up at the tunnel, or leaned against the railing as he peered into the lagoon below? And how many of those men would return day after day, no matter how long he had watched the sharks the day before?

“You know we have a membership,” you told him on his eighth consecutive visit. “Probably cheaper at this point.”

He didn’t say a word, just tilted his head slightly to the side in confusion.

“I mean, if you’re here every day. Might as well. Save yourself a few bucks.”

“Oh,” he said, clearly startled that anyone had picked up on his habit. “Uh…”

“It’s a hundred for the year. Unlimited visits. Come as little as five times a year, and it pays for itself. Come more often than that, and it’s a steal.”

“Is there a payment plan option? I’m uh… it’s weird to explain. I have the money. It’s just a…”

“Budget thing?” you guessed. “Totally get it. Yeah, we have payment options. I can have today’s ticket count towards the pass if you like. Then the bill is monthly, but you can pay it off sooner if you like.”

“Uh, yeah, that’d be great,” he said, giving you a small smile, and laying a twenty dollar bill down.

You pulled open the little drawer that held the passes, selecting one that specifically had sharks on it for him, before scanning it into working order. “Here you are,” you said, handing it over along with his receipt.

“Thanks,” he nodded, turning the card over his hand, the smile still rooted in place. “Sharks, cool. Thanks again…” his eyes flickered down to read your name tag, “Y/N.”

“Enjoy your visit.”

It came as no surprise to you that, after he nodded politely at you again, he headed straight to the shark exhibit. It also came as no surprise to you that he was still there when you made your rounds to clear the aquarium of visitors for the night.

“Sir, we’re closing in ten minutes. So if you wouldn’t mind making your way towards the exit.”

“Oh, is it that time already?” he asked, rising slowly from the bench. You took notice as he stretched out his right arm, but didn’t feel the need to do so with his left.

“Unfortunate, I know. See you tomorrow, sir.”

“Bucky,” he said.

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. It’s Bucky.”

“See you tomorrow, Bucky.”

“See ya tomorrow, Y/N.”

~~~

Four more days of visits, each started with Bucky handing you a twenty dollar bill to put towards his pass, and ending with the two of you bidding each other farewell until the morning.

On the fifth day, out of habit, he walked up to your window, the twenty dollar bill already in hand. “Oh, you’re all paid off, Bucky.”

“Oh… Right… Sorry, force of habit.” His cheeks flushed a soft color of pink. “See you later I guess.”

“Send the sharks my love.”

“Will do.”

As you watched him walk off, you caught sight of the stack of flyers beside you. “Wait!” you called out to him, grabbing one of the flyers.

“Hmm?” he asked, coming back to your window.

“Here,” you said, sliding him the flyer. “We’re hosting a lecture on shark migrating habits.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Is it soon? I haven’t seen anything put up about it.”

“No, it’s happening next month. We just got the flyers this morning. Figured you’d want to know though.”

“Well, thanks for the heads up.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Bucky turned to go visit the sharks, but at the last second he turned back around, a shy look on his face. “You wouldn’t happen to be going to this would you?”

“I am, yeah. I got lucky in that they scheduled it after aquarium hours.”

“Cool… Would you maybe want to go together?”

“As a date?” you asked suggestively.

“Or as two people who share an appreciation for sharks? Whichever reason gets you to say yes.”

You gave a small laugh. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

~~~

Even though you’d seen Bucky daily for nearly two months, you still felt shy flutters in your stomach as you raced to change out of your work polo and khakis, and into something that felt more “first date” appropriate.

When you got back to the aquarium, you spotted Bucky outside waiting, sporting a long-sleeved red henley shirt, and surprisingly no baseball cap. “Hey, Bucky,” you greeted, walking up to him.

“Hey,” he said softly, a hand digging into the pocket of his jeans. “I was going to bring you flowers, but I thought that’d be awkward for you to carry around all night. So, I hope this is an okay replacement.” He took his hand out of his pocket, unfurling his hand to reveal a shark pin resting in his palm, no doubt something he picked out in the gift shop.

“It’s perfect,” you laughed, stretching up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling the warmth that flooded his face. “Thank you.”

“Course,” he mumbled, trying to undo the pin with only his right hand. But undoing the pin without using his left hand proved to be difficult.

“Um, it might be easier without the gloves?” you suggested. “Or maybe if you used both hands?”

“Oh, to hell with it,” Bucky grumbled, taking the fingers of his left glove into his mouth, tugging it off to reveal a metal hand. Swiftly, he also took off his right glove, and got the pin undone.

“Wh-what happened?” you questioned as he attached the pin to your blouse, paying special care not to knick you with it.

“War accident,” he answered shortly, quickly putting his gloves back on.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could think to say.

“It was years ago,” he offered as a way of explanation, before jerking his chin in the direction of the aquarium doors. “Shall we?”

You linked your arm through his right arm when he offered it to you, walking into the aquarium and following the small crowd to the theater where the lecture was being held.

Quietly, you and Bucky sat side by side, his hand resting on your thigh as you both listened to the lecture. It was easy to tell when the lecturer said something that Bucky found particularly interesting because his fingers would squeeze into your leg. And anytime you stole a glance, his eyes were shining brightly, a soft smile on his lips. And anytime he caught you staring at him, he’d give you a small wink.

“The aquarium is so different after hours,” Bucky commented, making conversation as you walked out, hand-in-hand after the lecture. “More peaceful somehow.”

“Is that why you like the shark exhibit? It’s usually our quietest area. Certainly less crowded.”

“Nah, I like sharks because they’re misunderstood. Everyone thinks they’re killers. But, they’re just doing what they need to do to survive.”

“Something you can relate to?”

“More than I’d like to, that’s for sure.”

You looked around at all the guests flocking for the exits, an idea forming in your head. “You wanna see something really cool?”

“What’s this really cool thing?” he asked as he let you pull him away from the crowd of people and deeper into the aquarium. His excitement however died down significantly when you pulled him into the security office. “This was the really cool thing?” he asked skeptically.

“Shh,” you said, fixing your focus on the cameras, watching the aquarium empty. “Just wait.”

With a sigh, Bucky watched the monitors with you.

“Annnnd, tada!” you announced as there was a loud sound of the lights shutting off in the building with the exclusion of the security room.

“We’re alone in the aquarium?” he questioned with the same note of skepticism as earlier.

You grinned up at him, nodding. “We’re alone in the aquarium.”

“Can’t we get in trouble for trespassing?”

You pulled your work badge out of your purse, along with a set of keys. “Nope!”

Bucky gave a soft chuckle. “You’re a little troublemaker, aren’t you?”

“You wanna go see the sharks or not?”

“Lead the way.”

~~~

“So,” you started, your voice quiet as you both leaned against the railing, watching the sharks swim in the lagoon below. “Is you liking sharks because you can relate to being misunderstood related to your hand at all?”

“A little. And it’s not my hand. It’s my entire arm.”

“Your entire arm?!” you screeched, turning sideways to look at him fully.

He sighed, turning towards you. He pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow, and pulled at the collar of his shirt to show you how the metal went all the way from fingertips to shoulder. “Yup.”

“Bucky,” you said to yourself. “As in?”

“As in the former Winter Soldier. Yup. Or as in James Buchanan Barnes, but people nowadays tend to not remember that part.”

“Holy shit… Wait. So you’re a fuckin’ Avenger, and you tell me that you spend your free time coming to watch sharks all day?”

“Well, sharks were originally the reason. Now, they’re just an additional perk.”

“I’m not following…”

“Well, I like sharks. Always have even before I could relate to them. But then I got a crush on one of the workers. And as much as I like to think I’m still here for the sharks, I’m also here for her.”

“Oh, you mean me?!”

“I mean I did ask you out on a date.”

“So you admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That this is a date.”

“What else would you call it?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe two people who share an appreciation for sharks?” you teased.

Bucky laughed. “Alright. In my defense, I said that to make you not feel bad if you told me no.”

“What made you think I was gonna say no?”

“I’m me. The 100 year old with an extremely complicated past.”

“Mmm, then maybe I should let you in on a secret.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that Miss Troublemaker?”

“I have a soft spot for the misunderstood.”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Saying things like that are gonna make me want to kiss you.”

“Saying things like what? Things that suggest I’m just as interested in you as you are in me?”

“Yes.”

“And what if that’s what I wanted? For you to kiss me?”

“Then I’d have to do this.” He stepped forward, his hands gently cradling your face as his head ducked down. You stretched upwards on the tips of your toes, meeting his lips halfway. Underlying the softness of the kiss was a strength you wanted more of. Somehow sensing that want, Bucky deepened the kiss, one hand moving to cup the back of your neck, the other dropping down to rest on the small of your back, pulling you in closer to him.

“That was one hell of a first date kiss,” you gasped when you broke apart, each of you breathless.

“You’re one hell of a girl,” he said, nudging your nose with his and drawing you back in for another kiss.

__

Tag List

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[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

He Was a Sk8r Boi

Happiest of Birthdays and best wishes to one of my most beloved and darling friends on this earth, the fantastical @hailhailsatan ! May your sass never cease.

modern au - college student Jaskier - the Kaer Morons are all skater punks

tw: mild injury (scraped arm)

---

Jaskier took a seat on what remained of a crumbling stone bench and pulled his black-and-white composition notebook onto his lap, opening it to the closest blank page. He tugged his favorite pen out from its place of honor behind his ear and waited for inspiration to strike.

And waited.

And waited.

After half an hour of staring into space and getting absolutely nothing written, the frustrated college student stood from his seat and jammed his headphones into his ears. If nature wasn’t going to help finish this stupid poetry assignment then maybe he could find a person or two to observe for inspiration instead. Glancing around the otherwise empty benches and pathways of the public park, Jaskier sighed and shook his head. “Fuck this, I’ll try the other side.”

He pulled his MP3 player out from the pocket of his light autumn jacket and painstakingly scrolled through every song available until finally giving up and pressing the “Shuffle” button. As a heavy, angry guitar riff began to filter through his headphones and lighten the load of the world from his shoulders, Jaskier found himself approaching a half-hearted attempt at a skatepark.

There was one cement half-pipe to his left and a few rails and quarter-pipes scattered around the vicinity, bolted into the ground in a seemingly random pattern. Several oddly shaped cement bowls were sunk into the earth, obviously made to work like ramps but with a larger and less predictable surface area.

There were only three skaters enjoying the park on this particularly grey afternoon, zipping back and forth from one piece of equipment to the next like emo hummingbirds. Jaskier took out his headphones again as he made his way to a nearby bench - wood this time - and casually sat himself down. The skater dudes were yelling back and forth to each other as they swanned over and around the equipment on their boards, mostly insults from what the student could hear.

The loudest of the three had springy orange hair that he wore pulled back into a small, messy half-bun at the top of his head. The rest fell down against the back of his neck in an equally messy sheet, reaching nearly all the way to his shoulders but not quite touching them. He was wearing a bright red t-shirt with a catchphrase that Jaskier couldn’t read and plain denim jeans.

“What the fuck are you doing, Eskel?” he laughed, pointing to the tallest of the group and pulling a face.

“Shut up, Bert,” the brunette shouted back at the redhead, doing a quick kick-flip over the far end of a metal railing. “You can’t skate for shit.”

“I’m better than you!”

The third member of their little gang was the quietest so far and, in Jaskier’s personal opinion, also the prettiest. He had a mass of long white hair that fell all the way to the bottom of his shoulder blades, pointed and stiff in a way that meant it had been straightened and sprayed into submission. The silvery strands were being held out of the stranger’s eyes by a baggy black beanie and Jaskier desperately wanted to know whether or not that hair color was natural (though he heavily suspected that it was not).

The white-haired guy was also the most talented of the three gathered skaters, flying from one end of the half-pipe to the other and landing a few flips in between as if risking his life was as simple as breathing. He wore no knee pads over his ripped black skinny jeans and no elbow pads either; Jaskier noted with a little zing through his nervous system that the skater’s arms were muscled like a Greek statue’s and equally pale.

He was fucking hot.

“Geralt, do a three-sixty!” the redhead jeered, chucking something at the pretty one.

“I can’t land one yet and you know it,” the white-haired guy, Geralt apparently, replied. His voice was low and sonorous and Jaskier nearly fell off his bench in surprise. The student hadn’t realized how far forward he had been leaning in order to listen to their conversation and he scooted back again with a self-conscious little blush. In the distance, Geralt continued. “Why don’t you get up here and try it yourself, asshole?”

“I just fucking might, White Wolf,” Lambert huffed, turning his board back toward the half-pipe and picking up speed. The dark-haired one, Eskel, caught Jaskier’s eye from across the park; the student blushed an even darker shade of red and looked down at his lap to avoid any sort of confrontation. If any of these guys wanted to start a fight with him, Jaskier would surely lose.

By the time the anxious student worked up the nerve to look at them again, Lambert had already climbed to the top of the half-pipe and taken a defensive stance. His eyebrows were furrowed and his arms were crossed over his chest in a projection of almost childish anger. As Geralt came up the cement incline, Lambert lashed out with his foot and kicked the other man’s board out from beneath his feet.

Eskel gave a wordless cry of alarm.

Geralt wavered in the air for a moment - cartoonishly, Jaskier thought, almost like Wile E. Coyote - before plunging to the pavement and rolling limply down the inside of the half-pipe. Eskel chucked a rock at the redhead and started screaming, “Fuck off, dude! You could have cracked his fucking skull! You could have killed Geralt, you absolute cock-toboggan!”

“Fuck! Shit, I didn't-,” Lambert fell on his butt and slid down the ramp to Geralt’s side, kneeling over him with concern written all over his face. “Are you alright, man!?”

Jaskier couldn’t hear if Geralt replied or not, but he suddenly remembered the first-aid kit sitting right there in his bag. Jaskier was a total klutz and tried to keep a handful of bandages and a tube of disinfectant on him at all times just in case he ever needed them. Thank goodness they would be able to come in handy, and for a far nobler purpose than patching up yet another one of his table-smacked knees.

Without thinking any further ahead, Jaskier grabbed the strap of his bag and took off running towards the site of the accident.

“Hey!” he shouted, coming to a stop a few feet away. “I have - uh, I have a first-aid kit if you want to use it.”

“Cool, thanks,” Eskel said, glancing over his shoulder with a curt nod. “Come on over, we don’t bite. Well, I don’t.”

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” Lambert apologized to Geralt once again. When Jaskier glanced over at him, the redhead looked legitimately upset and guilty. Geralt looked up at the newcomer from the pavement, his silver hair spread out around him in mimicry of a halo - the black beanie was lying a few feet away, forgotten or ignored.

Up close like this, the stranger stole the breath out of Jaskier’s very lungs. The man's eyes… His fucking eyes were a gorgeous molten gold in the late afternoon sun, sparking and shining like gemstones. Holding Geralt’s gaze made Jaskier feel as if his very soul was catching fire.

“Do you need a band-aid?” Jaskier asked rather stupidly, holding out the little cardboard box. Geralt nodded stoically.

“I think I scraped my arm.”

“Let me help,” Jaskier said. The student knelt beside Geralt and set the box of band-aids down. He flung open the kit and retrieved some ‘pain-free’ disinfectant, then returned to the box of bandages in search of one without a Disney princess on it. “Do you guys always do this without wearing any protective gear?”

“I’ve got a helmet,” Geralt said. He pointed towards three mismatched backpacks piled near the edge of the pavement; a bright red helmet with several semi-familiar logos stuck to it sat atop one of them.

“It’s very useful over there, keeping your backpack from cracking its skull open,” Jaskier chastised lightly, trying to keep his nerves in check. He was feeling oddly protective of a guy he’d never even met before and it was very fucking weird.

“Sorry,” Geralt shrugged. He was still laying on his back, his topaz eyes flickering between Jaskier’s hands and face. The student applied a thin layer of medical cream to the shallow scrape with shaking fingers and then wiped the remaining goo on his shirt, uncaring of the damage it may have done. He bandaged the minor wound quickly and leaned back, glancing between Lambert and Eskel as if just noticing their presence on either side of Geralt's head.

“Thanks,” Eskel grinned, holding out his hand. “I’m Eskel.”

“Jaskier,” Jaskier replied shyly. “And the loud one is Lambert, right?”

Geralt chuckled from his place on the ground and Jaskier’s heart seized painfully in his chest. What a laugh, ye gods. “Yeah, that’s Lambert. I’m Geralt.”

“Nice to meet you, Geralt,” Jaskier could practically taste the name as it melted across his tongue. “Well, not the nicest way to meet you, but I’m glad I met you all the same. Anyway.”

He stood up with a little grimace and took a step back.

“Where are you going?” Eskel asked. “You came to Geralt’s rescue so I think that means he owes you like, at least an ice cream, or something.”

“Yeah,” Lambert piped up. He smirked at the man on the ground and then turned back to Jaskier, mischief clear in his expression, “Let him take you to get an ice cream.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Jaskier squeaked. Then he realized he’d sounded rude and held up his hands as if offering surrender (surrender for what, he wasn't exactly sure), “Not that I wouldn’t like to hang out with you more but I’ve got an assignment due and I’m sure you’re very busy doing skater things and I-”

“Am I not good enough for you?” Geralt asked, finally sitting up. He straightened his arms out behind him and rested there, reclined comfortable, a god in his temple.

Jaskier shot the older man a half-annoyed look, beating back his anxiety with a stick. “I listen to Avril Lavigne. I know not to underestimate pretty skater punks.”

“Pretty?” Geralt raised his eyebrows. Jaskier hid his face behind his hands and turned on his heel.

“Anyway, nice meeting you!” Jaskier shouted, hoping they could hear even if he was facing the opposite direction. He took off toward the edge of the park at a brisk walk, verging on a jog. He needed to go hide behind a tree and cry. What the fuck!? He was terrible at flirting and now he’d gone and ruined his chances with the guy he’d… literally just met. Chill out, he told himself - just before a strong hand clamped down over his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks.

“So not ice cream,” Geralt said. Jaskier slowly turned back to face the mostly-stranger. His lip was caught fast between his teeth and Geralt lifted one large hand to gently thumb it free again. “Maybe a boarding lesson, instead? It would give me an excuse to put my hands around your waist and you could put yours on my shoulders.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Jaskier asked. He fluttered his eyelashes and took half a step into Geralt's space.

The broad-shouldered punk smiled down at the Little Mermaid band-aid on his arm and then turned that smile to Jaskier. “Yeah.”

[goldafterglow]

dissolve me (repost)

(deleted this post on accident, reblog of original here)

Summary: We find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Except the Tootsie Pop is Horacio Carrillo.

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Word Count: 5k+ (look away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, gory metaphors (I use figurative language to mask the scent of flaming trash)

A/N: This is literally the first thing I’ve written in like 3 years so you have to be nice to me. Please give me feedback!! But it has to be exclusively positive or I will spontaneously combust!!!

Horacio is cold.

It’s a little past midnight and the Sun has been asleep for hours by now, but not Bogota. Instead, the city moves in slow motion, the weight of slumber heavy on its creatures as the few visible stars shush the agitated crickets. Somehow, even despite the Sun’s absence, it’s influence still blankets the trees. It accumulates, even. The hot radiation permeates the lungs of taxis and buildings, but the cool darkness brings life into the air as water begins to materialize on the sides of newspaper stands and underneath Horacio’s shirt. His clothes stick to him so tight (more than usual) that he thinks he may be drowning under the moon. He can taste the ocean on his tongue and the sensation is only relieved as he steps off the pavement and onto the tile of the rundown convenience store. The building, heavily air conditioned, makes each drop of sweat feel like icicles pricking into his fried red skin, but his body still burns from the residual heat.

Somehow, Horacio still maintains that icey core in his chest. So even as he makes a beeline for the refrigerated-goods, yes. Horacio is cold.

He exists as a green-sheet ghost walking through the aisles of the grocery store, barely conscious at 2 am as he searches for some goddamn milk. He knows he works too hard, knows his life is concrete and bricks screeching against his steel heart. Every morning he walks on glass to enter his office, and every morning he forces his feet to bleed. What else is there for him? His body has been adorned with splinters and cuts for so long now, so what’s a few more? Each night, he drags his body flat across the floor, just trying to make it out the door. Trying to escape an office that chews him up and spits him out, saliva covered and filthy.

But fuck if he just wants some milk.

So he makes this small trip before he heads home. Once he finds the dairy, his heavy eyes hoist themselves upwards, to the second-to-topmost shelf in the refrigerator. The last carton of fat free milk -  dairy-flavored water - that he’ll chug the next morning. But just as his hardened fingertips reach for it, they meet something else; a third wheel to this toxic milk-Horacio romance that is ruining his plans for what might as well be the best morning he’s had in the past three milk-free days. His mind, once fuzzy from the sleepy grey clouds filling his lenses like cataracts, now feels a sharp jolt of electricity soar through it as his machine body is activated and his surroundings suddenly become clearer, laser vision kicking in. His senses are now sharper and his guard is completely up. His nerves begin racing as the data from his hands shoots straight to his brain to get integrated and that thing he’s feeling is...warm? Shit, no it’s hot. It fucking burns his skin and immediately he pulls back because his motherboard is screaming at him that he’s in danger.

His head shoots up and his eyes dart to the side as he turns to look, expecting a raging bonfire or boiling cast iron, but instead he sees a human. A sweet, candy person that looks almost surprised as he does, but with softer features and kinder eyes. He smells the caramel seeping out of your pores and it stings his olfactory nerves but perhaps he wants to smell it again so it can fill his lungs and then let it harden inside of his cold body. So that it can stay within him forever.

“Disculpame,” you say, remorse dripping out of your golden mouth and if his ears were in control, he’d beg you to say it again. Say anything. He recognizes your accent. Not a Columbian, but a gringo. His brain reminds his heart that hey, we don’t like selfish, egotistical gringos. His heart doesn’t listen.

“Go ahead,” he says, and shit he sounds horrible. He sounds fucked up, and it’s probably because he is fucked up. He talks like toothpicks and needles, but it’s okay because he got to speak to you and he’s never spoken to an angel before.

He notices how you relax a little at the sound of his English, and he feels that heat spread at the beautiful notion that he did that all by himself.

“No really, I don’t need it,” you insist, a small smile gracing your lips. “You’re very sweet for offering, though.” Huh?

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. He doesn’t taste like sugar or chocolate or berries. Horacio is bitter gourd, burnt toast and that shitty part at the end of the banana that no one wants. Copper and hot tar oozing down taste buds and burning the frail pink dots along the way. Straight black coffee that’s tear-inducingly retched. Pepto Bismol and whatever the fuck is inside of those plastic pill capsules. Raw beef festering with E. coli and flies, a rotting corpse under a wake of vultures, the creepy old man that sits next to you on the train, mace burning your shivering eyes while you collapse to your shredded knees onto a floor of thumbtacks.

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. But you said he was, and you are oh so persuasive. That’s when he felt the first one. Crack.

His mind goes into overdrive as panic sets in - what was that sound? What just broke? What crevice of his mind just ripped a little and how can he staple it back shut? He feels the slimey pus of his emotions begin to seep out of the opening a little, and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to put his guard back up and regain control of this situation the way he’s been trained to do by offering you the carton and then leaving; defying your orders and following his own.

But who is he to refuse you?

“Thank you,” he says, and he’s just noticed that your hand is back at your side and your eyes shine a little brighter as your smile widens at his defeat. That was me, too. But then you’re turning around and leaving, messy bun flopping up and down as you walk towards the cash register and his heart is furious. It’s pounding in his ribcage like a ravenous shark caged in glass, telling him to not let you get away because it wants to burn in your soft flames and turn to ash in your fingers, but he stays planted. Watches you walk away and take that gentle radiating heat with you, leaving him just as hard and frozen as he was before he’d ever let you poke around into his soul. Suddenly he understands why you’d burned him so bad; doesn’t even the lightest match make that violent sizzling sound when it touches ice? But he can’t deny that you had melted him, just a little bit, and he can’t deny that he likes being a little watery.

He sees you again just a few days later. It’s a Sunday morning and Bogota is now wide awake. Pastel streaks fly down the streets as manifestations of yellow taxis, dusty red cars, and pale blue cyclers bring the canvas of the city to life. Horacio decides to be adventurous, introduce true exploration and child-like color into his monochrome world, and walk to the cafe near his street. A truly exhilarating touch, if he did say so himself.

Except he hadn’t prepared himself for the anarchy that would occur within him when he saw you again. The girl that was awake at 2 am and offered him white calcium water in a carton and called him sweet. You’re wearing one of those pink dresses that you just know is sleeveless, but a light denim jacket guards your shoulders and he can’t help but wonder what would happen if he just tugged on your collar a little bit, exposed some of your delicate skin and traced his fingers over it. Just closed his eyes and leaned down to brush his lips over - shit, fuck. What is he thinking? His eyes don’t know where to look, his heart doesn’t know how to beat, his lungs don’t know how to take in air. What do you do when you see a pretty thing in a pretty sundress? Certainly not function. Horacio wasn’t doing that at all. So he did the next best thing: sit at a table and watch you. That’s the next best thing, right?

He watches as you smile at the young man taking your order, talking to him like you know him, care about him. All you were doing was listing the ingredients you wanted in your drink, but your bright eyes twinkle with a sort of endearment that he isn’t used to. Like you were happy.

He is in awe of you. Horacio has worked so hard to stay numb, to feel nothing but that rusty scrape of motivation that made him do his job. But you made it look so easy to gush, to overflow and spill your delight with life onto everyone around you until that tired, overworked teenager behind the register was smiling too as he said “next!”

You turn your head to find a table once you pick up your order and panic settles into Horacio’s bones again as he reflexively turns his head away from you, but your keen eyes spot him. Oh, how you must pity him. The poor, miserable apparition from the grocery store. He feels that radiating heat begin to grow as you approach him at his table, so he pretends to not notice you. Pretends he’s numb as you thaw him into a dripping mess of thin ice and water.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask him, nodding to the other chair in front of him with a cup of coffee in your supple hands. Horacio’s tactful eyes scan the cafe once more; there’s other seats in the building, other men and women for you to pity. He’s been chosen. And he just can’t resist you, is too weak to deny himself that addicting sugary sweetness that you’re coated in because he’s not sure he’ll ever feel so soft again and he wants to savor it.

Horacio looks up at you, clearing his throat as he takes the kind of breath that you can feel as the air fills his lungs. He’s priming his voice to talk to you because this time, he wants to make it count.

“No,” he says. Fuck. In that moment, he couldn't remember having talked before. Has he ever spoken? Certainly not, or he’d know how to do it. But you don’t seem to mind his cold tone as you take the seat in front of you, and those damned eyes of yours are blinding to look at but god, who needs pupils anyway?

He can tell you’re curious about him. You want to pick him apart scab by scab and take him apart into individual fibers until you get to that soft mushy center that is Horacio Carrillo. You want to see him naked and open, but that’s not something Horacio can give you. How could he? He’s taken that weak, inferior soul within him and crushed it under concrete and plaster of paris, secured it with walls and steel and barbed wire until the protective layers become so extensive that even if someone could get through them all, why the fuck would they want to? It wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“You know, I’ve never been here before,” you say, taking a sip of your drink, and he hums, knowing that’s how people interact but not quite knowing what is going on with him. You’re just saying things, just want him to talk back. You’re trying to have a real conversation with him, and he doesn’t understand why, but maybe for just once in his life he doesn’t need to fucking understand everything.

“Then what brings you here?” he asks, and slowly he begins to regain a little feeling inside him. Not enough that it unleashes his pain, but enough that he can feel that ice water slosh around inside him easily. A gentle flow of slush that mixes with your amber and makes him feel like a person.

“A student of mine recommended it to me,” you explain, and he’s starting to put together a little picture of who you are in his mind. 

“You teach?” he asks, probing you for your life. He wants to study your mind, hear the music that leaves your mouth when you speak. You nod thoughtfully, and he can tell he’s mentioned something you enjoy. He learns that you teach at a local university and hears about just how passionate you are about what you teach. His dark eyes begin to fill with that precious light you possess as you tell him about your students and how though you’re new to Bogotá, you already love it. But that doesn’t surprise him so much; somehow he just knows that you’ve got plenty of love to go around.

“Well now you know what business I have in a grocery store at 2 am,” you conclude after you tell him about your late nights grading subpar papers, curiosity twinkling in your eyes like fairy lights in the dark. “What about you?” It isn’t until the focus is back on himself that he notes the smile that graces his features. A real smile. He smiles not out of diplomacy but because right now, he’s happy. He’s high on you and serotonin and he’d let you ruin him if you wanted to. But your question troubles him. He can’t really tell you why; he can’t bear to take his ugly, black, acrylic life and stain your lavender and daffodil backdrop. So he tells you the bare minimum: that he’s a colonel and leads a special ops unit called the Search Bloc. He leaves out the blood that paints his eyes everyday, forgets to mention the agony he’s felt and inflicted on others.

“Your drink isn’t ready yet?” you question, like a sudden realization has just hit you. Your kind features are furrowed into slight confusion, and Horacio wants to let a black sky swallow him into his own misery because he forgot to order something.

“I didn’t get anything,” he admits, face starting to glow light pink as his foolishness begins to manifest on his hardened features. You don’t look confused anymore; you’re curious again. Forever wondering about the enigma in front of you, except he’s no mystery; he’s a labyrinth. Full of questions and doubt without one single answer, and once you enter you can’t ever escape.

“Then what does a colonel do at a humble cafe?” you ask. And all of the sudden, for a man that makes a living out of repeatedly evading death, he wants to evaporate into the beige, worn tile beneath the teal cushion of his seat because the answer to that question will surely ruin the delicate, blushed bubble around the two of you. But you’ve incapacitated him with your stupid fucking pretty eyes so much so that you must be the enemy in this story. He can escape gunpoint, rouse himself from a concussion, but he hasn’t got a single clue how to regain his quick wit and pistol mind in the face of something much more sinister: a pretty girl.

“I-” he starts, but all of the sudden his throat won’t cooperate because his mind is helpless to lie to you but his body is resisting. His body rejects that frozen, dreadful state of nothing that it’s normally kept in. You’ve spread the warmth of fuzzy blankets and blissful vertigo throughout his stomach and his body wants to stay warm. “I was just…” he coughs, hard, willing his esophagus to heed his commands, “...I was watching you.” Horacio is flustered now, completely out of his element as he feels his blood seep to the topmost layers of his skin, exposing his embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he adds almost immediately, his eyes wide as he tries to avert his flushed features from your careful gaze. “I know that’s weird. I didn’t mean to-”

“Horacio,” you interrupt. Say it again. Say my name again. “It’s okay. Actually, it’s kinda cute.” Crack. That steel fortress that he thought was so impenetrable was beginning to soften into something moldable, pliable only to your hands so you could transform him from a wall to a rose.

Horacio lets out a soft chuckle, biting his lip so hard he almost can’t feel his teeth digging into his own chapped flesh. His pink cheeks are full and for the first time in so long his eyes glimmer with life and adoration.

“I don’t want to be too forward and scare you away,” he says, a little nervous but so much more giddy, “but could I see you again?” You giggle, a beautiful melody that floods his ears and softens his brow.

“Yes, Horacio, I’d really like that,” you agree, and he can’t help but feel like he’s not in a cafe but somewhere in the cosmos as a compliant planet orbiting a bright, burning star. Somewhere far more heavenly and celestial than this godforsaken planet. He watches you glance up at the grandfather clock situated against the wall behind him and then back at him. “I need to get going, but take this.” You pull a pen out of your small bag and scribble a string of digits onto your coffee cup, holding the marked cardboard out to him. He’s slow to take it from your hands; he doesn’t want to keep you here, but at the same time he very much does. He allows himself to brush his fingers against yours again, like they had the night before, so that your potent you-flavored syrup can inject into his bloodstream and fill his capillaries. 

As you stand to leave, he can tell you have one last lingering thought itching at your brow. “For the record, you couldn’t scare me away,” you assure with a smile that borders on teasing. “You’re just not scary.” And he watches you walk away, leaving him completely and utterly dumbfounded as to who you had just spoken to because it certainly wasn’t Horacio Carrillo, world class murderer and notoriously inhuman interrogator. Crack.

That next Friday, Horacio sees you again. He shakes as he knocks on your door, roses trembling in his fingers as you swing the door open. He knows the bouquet resting under his chin is pathetic, an overused display of affection, but it makes you gush as you take them from hands and bring them to your own wondrous features and let that stupid cheesy token fill your lungs with its scent. 

He takes you to a restaurant like a proper gentleman, not that he gave a single shit where he was as long as it was with you. You put him far too out of his element for him to get creative with his date idea, so instead he pulls every last cliche out of the book and piles it on you. He holds the door open for you and pulls your chair out and orders wine for you because he doesn’t have a clue how to tell you that you turn him into sugar bubbles floating on warm cocoa but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to show you.

So evening after evening he finds himself leaving work just a little earlier each day. He spends less time in poorly lit grocery stores and more time loitering at the open farmer’s market under the real sun, perusing lazily amongst the various produce and trinkets because why not? He starts wearing pink and stripes and maybe a polka-dot shirt because he starts to realize that the world has so much beauty in it and all things beautiful remind him of you. He waits a little longer to shave his face so he can hear that ethereal symphony of giggles play from your throat when he uses his scruff to scratch against your soft shoulder. You start showing up in his life in places that you don’t even exist and filling his odd corners with a pretty white glow.

He lets little things bring him joy; your tongue wetting your lips when you’re deciding where to eat for the night, your neck craning to look up at him from the couch when he walks through your door, the way the stacks of student papers that rest on your kitchen island are always different sizes.  Your tongue tapping his skin when you lay a lingering kiss to his face. Your lipgloss sticking to his tricep when you don’t feel like getting up to kiss his lips, leaving a shimmer on his skin that he never wipes away. Your feather fingers sweeping his torso and turning his skin to cotton candy. The fumes of pencil lead and your perfume choking his lungs when he buries his face into your neck and breathes you in. And every fucking time you call him cute, adorable, pretty, beautiful, baby. All of those forbidden words that you dare to use in vain, courageously sacrilegious considering how he worships you, create more little cracks inside of him.

Horacio may not know how to communicate, but he knows you. He knows which compliments make you turn the reddest. He gets you your favorite artists’ CDs imported from America. He shows up at your door with your favorite pastry from your new favorite cafe. He hugs you from behind and peppers kisses down the column of your throat because it makes you giggle. He flutters his fingers where you’re ticklish until you’re so overstimulated that tears form. He cooks meals for you, insisting that all you can do to help is sit on the counter and look pretty for him. He kisses you deeply, so hard and intimate that the two of you are breathing the same air and taste the same. He does everything he can to make you smile for him because in return he gets called a “beautiful boy” and “my sweet soldier” and an “angel,” all words that send him beyond the stars and spin his head like a top until all he can think to do is giggle.

Passed weeks turn into a month, a month becomes two, and before he knows it he’s twice the man he used to be with you filling in half of him. Horacio is still, however, a man adorned with flaws. And with each moment that you occupy, he starts to really collect cracks. The powerful resolve that keeps him from ever admitting that he’s absolutely gone for you becomes compromised because you are powerful. Without even trying, your soft voice is like a wrecking ball to his defenses, breaking him down as you probe into what you call the “pretty parts” of him that he hides. But you don’t have the first clue what he’s hiding.

Horacio is not a man without emotions. He gets angry and frustrated, but those kinds of emotions sit at his surface, above his armed fortress. He can let them all out in his work through stony grimaces and raised voices and guns and fists. But he also feels sorrow, regret, shame. So much shame. These emotions are unsightly black and blue dents in the soft, fragile mush that sits at the very core of him. Under his walls are wounds still wide open and full of splinters, gushing blood and pus, septic and untreated. And they fucking hurt. So he gathers them all together along with his love, his adoration and sweetness, and ices them over, freezes them away and covers them in layer after layer of concrete until he can barely even remember that they’re there.

But he’s starting to feel again.

His fondness for you is explosive and wild, greedy for your affection. But he’s afraid. He knows you adore him, because you are brave. You can speak your feelings into existence and not feel like something inside you has fractured. But Horacio is a coward. He can’t say he loves you, he can’t love you. He knows that if he did, his filthy rotting core would be unleashed and he’d feel an agony worse than anything he’s ever subjected anyone to. But you’re leaving him full of cracks, making him weak and vulnerable in the security of your arms, and he doesn’t think you could hold all of him together if he was truly unleashed. He thinks you might realize how much of a lost cause he is and leave him on the side of the road to bleed out.

The last crack you leave in him is so small, you don’t even notice.

He sits next to you on your couch, your head tucked into his neck as a shitty telenovela radiates through the thick glass of your TV set. Neither of you say anything because you don’t need to be talking to feel comfortable with each other, so you don’t notice how he hasn’t glanced at the TV in 15 minutes. He can’t take his eyes off of you, hermosa, the puny glow of Rodrigo telling Lucia that “it’s not what it looks like” barely doing your face justice. He notices each pore on your face, the curve of your jaw and the bridge of your nose forming sweeping lines that sculpt your face, and he knows he is so utterly fucked. He knows he’s so dangerously in love with you.

He only blinks when you yawn softly, those lines contorting as you scrunch your face. He relaxes a little as you move to sit up, leaning forward to grab the remote from the coffee table and blindly turning the TV off as the preview for the next episode plays. He fills to the brim with amazement as you stretch your back, letting out a gentle squeal. Now it’s just that antique lamp on the edge of your couch illuminating the room, and it’s still not enough light. Nothing is ever bright enough when you’re there to rival it.

“It’s late, baby,” you whisper, a sleepy rasp scraping your voice a little as you look up at him with a rosy smile. You reach up to run a hand through his dark hair, taking care to let your fingers caress his scalp. “You can stay if you want,” you offer, as he’s stayed the night before. “I sleep better with you anyway.” Crack.

“Cariño,” he breathes, his features turning pained as his lip begins to quiver like never before. “Cariño I love you.”

Horacio crumbles in your hands.

Like a mound of brown sugar after it’s poured, the dome losing its form as it slowly collapses, grains dragging over each other as they sink to the bottom of the bowl and the dome is destroyed. No longer held together by tight, sticky molasses and instead a helpless, feeble puddle too broken down to be considered a shape anymore. Just a pathetic sea of lost particles, helpless in putting itself back together. He falls apart right in front of you.

He feels tears that are years old begin to flow down his cheeks, falling off his chin and onto the baby blue cloth of his too-tight shirt. He is completely unprotected, every last defense around that shapeless, dark flesh inside him falling to dust as you hold it in your kind hands. Your arms are quick to wrap around his head, bringing his face to your chest where he is safe. He’s never been more raw and vulnerable in his life, and yet he’s never felt more secure.

He bares his soul to you. He chokes on his words as he gushes his dried, brown blood onto your cotton skin and you soak up every ounce of him. He tells you he is ashamed, that he is remorseful, that he is afraid. And you listen, skin absorbing him in until you’ve got him enveloped in your big, beautiful heart. And whereas every touch used to break him down, your fingertips are now healing him, building him back up and reshaping him into something better than what he was. He can feel his scars begin to heal and the pain begin to dull as an intense awe for you overcomes him.

He knows you can’t just fix him with your fairy dust overnight. He knows he will need time to restore himself from beast to man. But fuck if he doesn’t want to do it with you, can’t do it without you.

You’ve led him towards your bed, undressing him slowly because you know that he just needs to breathe and feel the air cool his irritated skin. Once you’re both down to your underclothes, you’re careful in letting him onto the mattress. You sit down first, leaning back against the pillow, and then you sweetly tug on his arm to join you. He dives into your body head first, face nosing into your neck as his big arms wrap around your midsection. You reach for your softest blanket, enveloping the two of you in the added warm as his breaths begin to even out against your chest. He feels you wrap your arms around his head again, for the second time reminding him that he is safe.

He can feel his emotions getting the best of himself again as you whisper sweet nothings into his hair, telling him how strong and brave he is, how beautiful his soul is now that he’s really showing it to you. His muscles melt into you as you take those fragments of him and begin to piece them back together, filling the cracks you’d made with your marshmallow fluff and liquid gold.

He feels warm again as you call him your “baby,” and this time he doesn’t try to run away from it. He embraces it, leans into it. He was being protected by bones and bricks, but now it’s by honeycomb and delicate flesh. Horacio finally starts to feel like he’s beautiful because you’re letting him borrow yours. And as long as you’ll have him, he’s willing to share.

[cinnamonrusts]

together, we can make it out alive - 1

[a/n: originally posted on my Ao3 and I decided to revamp my series some with my updated writing techniques. Hope you enjoy.]

                                                                  ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚

*BEEPBEEP BEEPBEEP*

The electronic chimes from your alarm clock blared loudly in your ear. Groans escaped your dry throat as the clock stirred you from your slumber, "Not yet--," your hand fished for the large snooze button on the top of the clock. Five more minutes, that is all you would need. Well, five minutes came and once again the alarm beeped in your ear. Your eyelids slowly lifted as you read the blurry red digits that stared in your face. "3:45 PM", it read. "Shit..." you cursed as you knew that you needed to get up and get around for your nightshift turn.

Your legs swung around the edge of your bed as you stretched with a loud yawn. Daylight peaked in through your blinds and shined directly into your eyes, "I really need some black out curtains," you mumbled to yourself as you made a mental note. This was just your daily routine now. You slept in the morning after getting off work from the Raccoon City Police Department and woke up around 3:00 PM. Ate, exercised, showered, and relaxed all before you pushed pencils on the clock at your desk.

Don't get it wrong. It was a job and you were thankful, but your duties weren't exactly what you expected them to be after the headache that was the police academy. You didn't hate your job, you just didn't -- like it. Also, you really fucking hated Raccoon City. It was not the same place that you remembered as a kid, not to mention all the weird things that had been going on lately. You just really wanted out of there. Maybe go to a warmer city... like Los Angeles or something.

You pushed yourself to a stand and turned around on the balls of your feet to head to the bathroom. When you reached the shower, you turned on the faucet and ran your fingers under the warm water. Just as it reached the perfect temperature, your phone rang. You ignored it and waited for the voicemail to pick up. But it just rang again.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" you yelled at the telephone as you stomped through your apartment to the device on the wall. "Hello?" you answered.

A familiar, yet unwelcomed voice barked from the other end of the line. "[L/N]! Where the hell are you?!" It was Lt. Branagh. "Home. My shift doesn't start until 10." your eyes rolled as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Get your ass over to the station! We've had reports all day of violent attacks all over the damn city!" He couldn't be serious -- it was 6 hours now until your shift! "I don't come in until--," Branagh cut you off, "I expect to see you soon, [L/N]." the call ended.

You kicked the open moving box that sat in front of you in anger. It flipped onto its side and the contents spilled out onto the floor. It was a bunch of papers that you failed to file away and as you picked them up, you noted a familiar picture on top of the mess. The photo displayed two very recognizable faces that had smiles displayed happily.

You and Leon S. Kennedy.

He was your partner in crime during the police academy. Leon was the only one who didn't see you being a woman as a weakness. The two of you hit it off immediately after he introduced himself and complimented your skills.

On top of your heads were colorful party hats that seemed to be a bit too small. Both of your arms were slinked around his shoulders as you pulled him in for a close hug. His right hand was rested on your waist and the left held up a large mug of beer that was about to spill out onto the floor. Your thumb caressed the image of his handsome face and a smirk spread across your lips. You flipped the picture over and in faded pen was your handwriting: "Graduation Celebration! JULY '98"

Leon crossed your mind often. The two of you lost contact with one another after something happened between the two of you. It was as if that party happened yesterday -- the night that he kissed you. Your eyes closed and you could picture Leon's face perfectly - the way that his lips puckered and the way that they felt.

The two of you stood outside of the bar on that warm summer night. Leon was leaned against his shitty blue car that was wrapped in faded paint and rust. You stood in front of him with your arms crossed and your eyes focused on the clear sky that hovered above. Then the sensation of fingers over your skin drew your attention from the sky, to the man. Your gazes locked and his lids were half shut but a smile was on his lips. "Leon, you're drunk, aren't you?" you chuckled. His fingers wrapped around your bicep, "Maybe," he cooed as he brought you close to him. You could feel and smell his breath, it was warm and stunk heavy of booze.

With his free hand, he moved it to your cheek and tickled it lightly with his knuckle. Your [E/C] eyes stared deep into his moonstone ones, Leon's pupils dilated before they closed. His lips met yours. They were smooth but a bit chapped - he must be an avid user of Chapstick, you thought. The kiss was quick but meaningful. When he pulled away, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for another. When the two of you broke apart, you noted the way those moonstone pools in his head looked at you -- you could get lost in them -- forever.

The fond memories brought warmth to your heart that you lost the track of time. Pounds from beneath you interrupted your reminiscence. Your neighbor below screamed through the floorboards. "Hey, you fucking idiot! Stop using all the hot water! You're not the only one who fucking lives here!" he continued to pound and yell. "Shut up, you fuck!" you screamed back as you scrambled to your feet. Your clothing was stripped from your body as you dashed to the shower, and jumped directly into the lukewarm stream.

You knew that Branagh was most likely boiled over in anger because of how late you were already. Once you finished your shower, you pulled on your police uniform, styled your hair into a neat bun, grabbed a bagel, and ran out the door. Your car was parked pretty far down the road and rain began to fall from the sky. What a perfect start to the day. You shoved the bagel into your mouth and dashed for your car. The key slipped in your hands as you fiddled with them to get the door unlocked. Just as you grabbed the correct one, they fell onto the ground and so did your bagel.

"I've already had enough of today," you cursed and sighed to yourself as you bent over to pick them up. When you stood back up, a woman came from nowhere and threw herself onto you. She cried in panic and spoke incoherently. You noted the large wound on her shoulder and blood was seeped heavily into her shirt. "P-Please! Help me!" she grabbed onto your shirt with blood stained hands. "Ma'am!" you yelled and pushed her off of you for your own safety. She stumbled back and fell to her knee, "Let me call an ambulance!" you started to run to a nearby pay phone but she stopped you with a stutter that it was too late. "There's more of them!" her head turned in the direction of an alley to the left, then she took off from the ground in a haste. "Ma'am, wait!" you yelled as you watched her run away around the corner and into the city.

"Who's coming?" you whispered. With curiosity, you walked toward the alley that the woman had looked down but saw no one. Maybe she was one of the crazy people that were noted to be around the city and around the Arklays... If you saw her again, you'd probably call in some backup... the crazy look in her eyes... it unsettled you. You managed to shake the image of them from your mind and focused on getting out of the rain.

As you walked back to your car, you noticed the red stains that were now stained into your uniform. Whatever. You would worry about it after you made it to work. Once you got into your car, the radio started talking about more and more unrest that had spread more and more through the streets. Your finger pressed the power off, "Enough of that." the news was just the same and you just knew that you had to deal with it first hand once you arrived at the station, it just made it worse.

In front of the parking garage for the RPD were several cars that seemed to have been in an accident. Your car couldn't go any further than where you were at, so you hopped out of the vehicle to walk the rest of the way. People dashed around the streets in a panic and it seemed as if it were the apocalypse. You tried to flag people down to stop them but they all ignored you. What the hell is going on?! When you entered the station, there was even more chaos. Officers ran around like wild and some seemed to be injured as well. You felt anxious and confused by everything that was going on. What had gone on in your brief time away?

Phones rang, people yelled, doors slammed, and everything soon overwhelmed you, you could feel yourself going into an overload. But a strong hand on your shoulder was a saving grace. "There you are, [L/N]!" it was Branagh and a brief look of relief washed across his face. "I left a stack of paperwork on your desk. Sort through it and then you're going out on patrol. Some crazy shit is going down..." he gave you a light push in the direction of your desk.

As you walked to the back of the office, you noticed the banner that was spread across the ceiling in blue and yellow.

"WELCOME LEON"

Your heart pumped in your chest and you could feel your skin begin to turn clammy. There was only one Leon that you know of that was a cop. The man that you shared a kiss with and so many more feelings... Leon -- Kennedy? Was he actually on his way here? He always told you that after the academy he would eventually come find you in the city and be your partner again. You thought that it was just a joke -- but now, it didn't seem that way. How could he come here without saying anything to you? No call? No email? Nothing?

Your eyes remained on the banner and you asked your co-worker who sat on the desk beneath it, "Hey, Rita. Who's this, Leon?" She didn't look up from her desk, "I dunno. Some new guy from out of town. Last name starts with a K or something like that. Ask Neil, I'm sure he knows." You could feel a knot in your stomach and you darted to your chair. The desk that was across from you was normally piled high with boxes of paperwork, but now it was cleared off. You leaned over the divider and snatched the piece of paper on the desk. Your eyes darted across the text:

"Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment. Your mission is to... unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names."

The note confirmed it. It was indeed that Leon. You plopped back into your seat and gnawed on the nail of your thumb. Your thoughts were now consumed as to how both Leon and yourself would react when he arrived. You could see it now...

He would laugh with the other officers as they shot the shit with him. He would be in the center of the group, they would slap him on the back and tell him how happy they were to have him on the force. His gaze would eventually land on you and he would excuse himself from them. Leon would smile and show off his perfect teeth. He'd saunter over and slowly shake his head, "I didn't expect to see you here, [F/N]."

You swallowed hard but your thoughts were interrupted when the sounds of glass shattered right outside of the office's door.

The chatter and hubbub in the office halted as everyone's attention turned toward the door.  An officer who wasn't much older than you rushed toward the noise, he couldn't make out exactly what it was from behind the glass of the door but drew his gun in preparation. He looked back at the office filled with you and your co-workers before opening the door slowly. "Hello?" he called out. His gun was pointed out into the hallway but found that there was nothing there. Then a sound of something you had never heard before or ever would forget echoed loudly in the empty hall.

It sounded like a monster, there was no other way to explain it. It pierced through your ears and then the sounds of the officer's shrieks shook your core. A loud gurgle erupted from his throat as he was tackled by a person onto the floor. This - person, dug their teeth deeply into his throat and proceeded to rip it out. Bright, red liquid sprayed from the wound across the floor. Two male officers threw themselves onto the assailant and tried their hardest to pull him off but soon were attacked as well. Gunshots blasted off in the office which then were accompanied by more sounds of broken glass. The assailant dropped dead beside the officers on the floor and everyone exchanged glances of pure terror.

"More are out there!" yelled Branagh as he held his weight against the door to stop any more of these "people" from killing everyone his subordinates. "Pistols aren't going to keep us alive for much longer," Rita cried out. "But Irons insisted we hide everything else away, remember!?" your fellow officers shouted at each other as tension rose - fear and panic began to set in.

"I know where some are," you piped up. "I have the keycard for the weapons locker," you reached into your shirt pocket and pulled out a white, plastic card. "Perks of being the newbie, I guess. I'll go." you walked toward the back door but stopped when Branagh barked at you, "You can't go alone!" You shook your head, "I will be right back, I promise." you disregarded his arguments and with a deep breath, opened the door and took off on your mission.

The hall was dark and quiet, the electricity must had been cut out in this section of town. You swallowed hard and with your pistol in on hand with the flashlight in the other, you took quiet yet brisk strides down the long stretch of hallway. All you could hear was the sounds of your bootsteps and the groans of those things that lurked just outside of the fences that kept the building somewhat safe. You needed these guns, no matter what. Or you and your co-workers would end up just like those officers - dead. Your breathing was heavy and your heart raced which could be felt in your skull, "Easy girl," you spoke out, "Just a few doors and you'll be there."

Time was not on your side, so you took off in a sprint. The feeling of being so vulnerable next to a stretch of windows worried you as you could fall victim to whatever those things were at any time. They weren't exactly "things" they looked human and most likely were but maybe they were deranged with some sort of illness. But nonetheless, they were dangerous and deadly... Just as you feared, one of them crashed through the window. Their greedy palms reached for you over the broken glass and managed to snag you by your hair. You screamed in pain and terror as their strength pulled you in but when you pulled away, you only pulled them closer. Your pistol flew from your hands and slid across the floor, too far for you to reach.

Their bloody jaws snapped as they tried their hardest to sink their teeth into your soft flesh. You could feel their breath on your skin and you struggled but could feel your strength giving way to theirs. There was only one thing you could do and it was to grab the knife that was attached to the side of your right leg. Your fingertips were just barely able to reach the handle but with one quick lunge of your body, you grabbed hold of the weapon. The desire to survive charged your strength and you began to saw through the strands of your hair that were gripped tight in the clutches of the creature. Tears poured down the sides of your face as you sawed through the strands that were the barrier between you and certain death.

The creature was now halfway over the window and their hand still had your [h/c] hair in between their fingers, jaws still snapped at you as they begged to taste your flesh. You scrambled on all fours as you attempted to gather yourself so that you could press on. Your foot slipped on a large piece of broken glass which sent you across the floor, you then landed onto a large chunk of broken glass. The sharp piece embedded itself deep into your knee and you cried in pain as you held your leg close to your chest. The creature dug its nails into the tile floor and started to crawl toward you with dead eyes, and bloody teeth. You took several deep breaths as you prepared to yank the glass from your leg and with one last deep inhale, you yanked it out. You cried in pain but knew that you had to keep going, your muscle burned as it now was exposed to the air. You made sure to grab your pistol from the floor before you continued on.

Your sprint was now resorted to a quick limp but you managed to make it to the locker room. To your dismay, it was mostly empty besides a couple of shotguns and some ammunition. "Fuck! Fuck! This isn't enough!" you screamed as you pounded your fist against one of the lockers. Inside one of the open lockers was a weapons bag which you were able to fill with the lackluster amount of supplies. As you zipped up the bag, the metal door to the room opened and the sound drew your attention. Your pistol was ready and you limped around the corner to hide behind a row of lockers to hide from who or whatever it was. The room was dark but a flashlight flipped around the room, whoever it was, they were there to look for those guns or you. Your thumb slowly pulled the hammer back on the weapon and rounded the corner, "Stop right there!" you yelled.

It was a man and he seemed to be normal for the most part. He complied and raised his arms in the air. "Turn around!" Again, he complied and did a slow 180. Through the faint glow of his flashlight, your eyes caught a glimpse of a set of familiar moonstone pools.

"[Y/N]?!" his voice raised in shock. The entire city was faced with an apocalypse scenario or even the whole world for all you knew and the one person you run into is Leon -- Leon Kennedy.

He dropped his arms and grabbed hold of your, then pulled you into a tight hug. Leon smelled of sweat and cologne, the very cologne that you bought for him as a graduation gift. You breathed him in as it registered to you that this was real, he was really here. But you pulled away, "Leon, we have no time for chit chat. We gotta get moving, people need these guns!" you pointed to the bag that sat on the floor by your feet. As you tried to throw it over your shoulder, you winced in pain. "Here, let me get it." Leon attempted to take it from your hand but you paused before you surrendered the precious cargo, "I can trust you with this, right?" your grip was tight on the strap, "When have you ever doubted me?" he asked with a smile, "You don't want to know that..." your grip released as you responded but also pointed the fact that your leg was injured.

"Sorry to be a liability," you apologized, but Leon pulled you to his side, "Nonsense. I got this and you, just keep an eye out for zombies."

You led Leon down the hallway that you had your close brush with death in, the zombie, as Leon called it, was now gone. But when the two of you reached the door to the office, it was eerily quiet. Not a good sign. You pushed the door open to find the office void of any life, nothing but blood. Lots and lots of blood. Your heart hurt as you felt a pain in your chest, was everyone dead? The lifeless body of Rita laid on the floor with her eyes opened, her brown orbs were absent of the vibrant life she once had.

Tears welled in your eyes but as you turned to flee, you bumped into Leon's chest. A look of horror on Leon's face matched yours, "I-I left them not even an hour ago..." you cried into his shirt for a moment as he held you lightly with one arm. When you pulled away, you wiped your eyes and Leon took your hand from your face.

"I'm happy you're alive, [Y/N]," you examined your matured features and you did his. His hair grew a little longer than when you had seen him last and he examined your frazzled locks. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a door behind Leon opened and shut. A man walked out from the shadows and into the light, it was Branagh. He held onto his side and you could see he was injured with his shirt heavily stained with what was most likely his blood.

Leon pulled his pistol out and pointed it at your superior while he had a protective hand on your arm. Branagh coughed a wheezed laugh and shooed his gun out of his face. He looked over to you and smiled, "Good to see you're still breathing, [Y/N]." The Lieutenant approached your male companion and placed a bloody hand on his shoulder,

"You must be Leon Kennedy -- well, son, welcome to Raccoon City."

[kat-katsuki]

Sunflower and White Rose | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader Part 1

Fantasy AU

Genre: Drama

Masterlist

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

WC: 2.4k

The northern tribe of the dragon riders had a tradition. Every year, the tribe holds a fire festival, also known as the coming-of-age festival, to celebrate those step foot into adulthood. All the 16 year olds will gather around the bon fire to dance with their partners. It is said that lovers who dance together will be blessed by the fire god, and their love will last for all their lifetimes to come.

Bakugou Katsuki was prince of the tribe, and the bravest, most skilled dragon rider of their generation. He is the dream man of almost all the young ladies in the tribe. This year, he was to come of age. The young fifteen and fourteen year olds cried to their parents, asking why they weren’t born a year or two earlier.

Little did they know the young prince already had his eyes on someone. You.

You were quite the black sheep of the tribe. The tribe was full of dragon shapeshifters and riders. Your people were known for bravery and freedom. Children were taught at a young age how to soar through the sky, whether it be on their own wings, or riding a winged one. You, on the other hand, were terrified of heights.

You were often made fun of by your peers. Even Bakugou himself had once made fun of you for being a coward when the two of you were just children.

However, you had the kindest soul the world has to offer. Even though you were the laughingstock of your generation, you never got mad or embarrassed. You simply smiled and treated everyone with respect. You weren’t jealous of those who soared the sky. Instead you focused on the wonders the earth had to offer.

Because you were neither a rider nor a shapeshifter, you made good friends with Midoriya Izuku, the young outsider who lived a few miles outside the tribe. He and his mother had moved here when he was very little. Although the tribe had a reputation for being savages and fearful of outsiders, the dragon tribe was actually very welcoming. Bakugou’s mother made friends with Midoriya’s mother almost immediately, and Midoriya was raised alongside of the youngsters of the tribe. However, because Bakugou often made fun of Midoriya for being scrawny and weak, Midoriya had few friends in the village. Midoriya’s mother was a healer, so Midoriya too, studied medicine.

You were always fascinated by herbs and flowers, so you often went to Midoriya’s house to learn from them. When you weren’t at their house, you often laid in the flowerbed, enjoying the scent of nature.

How Bakugou fell for you was an accident, literally. He and Kirishima, his dragon, were soaring through the skies, practicing the new tricks they’ve learned, and that was when the accident happened. Bakugou lost balance, and accidentally steered Kirishima into a large boulder on the top of the mountain, and the two fell right onto the flowerbed you were laying on. Thousands of flowers were crushed under the large red dragon, petals and pollen scattered into the sky and then falling down like rain.

You stood in the sea of flowers, wide eyed. The prince had fallen. The best rider of the tribe had fallen. You quickly rushed over to the fallen prince and his dragon. Kirishima was protected by his strong and sturdy scales, so he only ended up with scratch wounds and maybe a concussion. Bakugou, on the other hand, broke his left arm.

When Bakugou saw you his eyes widened with horror as his face turned into a deep shade of crimson. Someone had saw him fall out of the sky. Of all people to see him embarrass himself, it was you, the loser of the tribe. “Don’t you fucking dare tell anyone about this! Or else I’ll kill you!” he threatened you.

“O-Okay!” You nodded timidly. “B-But your arm is broken. It needs to get treated immediately or-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! I DON’T NEED HELP FROM A FUCKING FAILURE!” He slapped your hand away.

“Katsuki that’s not very nice. She’s just trying to help!” Kirishima said when he transformed back into his human form. Despite his insults, you didn’t hesitate to help him and Kirishima to a small cave far away from the village, where they can rest and heal in peace. Normally, when dragons or riders get injured, they’d call a shaman to do a few chants, and let the gods heal their wound. Herbs and medicine are foreign practices that were not used in the tribe, so when you brought the medicine you had made for the prince and his dragon, he refused to let you put it on him.

Kirishima, on the other hand, was very open to these foreign stuff. He let you put your homemade creams on his scrape wounds to stop the bleeding. “Oh man this feels so good! Katsuki you gotta try it!”

After a lot of persuading, Bakugou finally let you put some medicine on his scrape wounds. The cream stung at first, but after the stinging sensation was over, it left a cool feeling on his skin that soothed the pain. Bakugou couldn’t help but notice how the wounds healed much faster with the strange green plant juice you put on him than the chants of the shaman. Eventually, he let you wrap his arm to a stick, which you said will help his arm heal.

You tore the cloth to your dress, shortening it to barely over your butt. You gently raised his broken left arm, placed two straight logs to either side of his arm, and wrapped the cloth around them. Only then did Bakugou finally take a closer look at you for the first time in his entire life. For a failure, you were breathtakingly beautiful. Your (e/c) orbs seemed to sparkle under the moonlight, and from your (h/c) hair, he could smell a faint scent of flowers.

Every day you’d come back with food, water, and medicine. While Kirishima’s wounds were healed a long time ago, he waited with Bakugou for his arm to recover. Before Bakugou knew it, he began looking forward to seeing you everyday.

You almost always had cuts and bruises on you somewhere. Bakugou knew exactly how you got those. Ever since you were a kid you were always bullied by the other children in the village. You and Midoriya were always the targets of their rock throwing and sharp shooting practices. Although Bakugou never bothered to join in, he used to always scoff at your miserable state. Now, seeing those dark purple patches over your skin, he could only feel his blood boil. “Who did it?” he’d ask, but you would only show him that annoyingly goofy smile of yours, telling him that you fell, when you clearly didn’t.

He didn’t know why he felt a strange disappointment inside him when you told him he was fully healed. “You can go back now,” you said.

“Alright! Now we can go flying again!” Kirishima cheered.

Bakugou stared at his left arm, now good as new. Your medicine worked miracles. He couldn’t even find a single scar on his body. You left before he could tell you ‘thank you.’ Just like that, he and Kirishima went back to the village. The moment they arrived, they were surrounded by their friends and family, asking them where they’ve been the past few weeks. It was then that he realized he never once thanked you for saving him and keeping his secret.

Since then he’s had his eyes on you. Every time he spotted you in the crowd his eyes would follow wherever you went. Whenever he went flying with Kirishima, they’d always fly over the same flowerbed to see if you were there.

Kirishima quickly caught onto the feelings of the young prince. Whenever they saw you at the flowerbed, Kirishima would lie that he’s tired and needs a rest. He’d land at the flowerbed just so Bakugou could be with you. However, despite Kirishima’s efforts, Bakugou never seem to know what to say to you. He’d try to ask what you were up to, but the words that came out of his mouth were, “Hey coward, here sniffing flowers again?”

You’d always give him the same goofy, and slightly timid smile with your signature, “Ehehe” chuckle. Kirishima would nudge Bakugou and tell him to go talk to you, but Bakugou just sat there watching you pick herbs, refusing to utter another word to you because he knew nothing good will ever come out of his mouth.

He always sees you bringing home injured little animals: birds, squirrels, rabbits, fawns. Instead of eating them like what the other people in your tribe would do, you treated their wounds and released them back into the wild. You were just so weird, weirder than that outsider Midoriya. But for some reason Bakugou can’t get his mind off of you.

Finally, it was the awaited day before the fire festival. On this day, all the sixteen year olds of the tribe will be participating in the flower exchange event. Flower exchange is the special event held the day before the fire festival for the new adults to find partners. It is also the traditional day where the young adults declare their love for one another. Of course, it is common for some people who don’t have a love interest in mind to partner up as friends, and for some people to wait for their younger significant other to turn sixteen before choosing a partner. However, for most sixteen year olds, this is the most important day of their life.

Bakugou had already planned everything out in his head. He’s going to ask you to be his partner. He practiced day and night so that he won’t accidentally call you harsh names. He swore that this would be the one day where he won’t say anything mean to you. He’ll tell you how he feels, and ask you to be his partner, his lover, the one who would forever be with him for their many lifetimes to come.

He had your favorite flower in his hand, a ghost of a smile on his face. He had watched you pick flowers for months. He had noticed how your eyes would always soften, and your lips would always curve upward when you saw this particular flower. The white rose.

Everyone else were holding such vibrant colors in their hand, red being the most common. Red roses, red salvia, tulips, violets, peonies, buttercups, you name it. He had always wondered why you were so obsessed with this plain looking flower. Your taste in flower was just as unique as your fear of heights.

Flower exchange was held at the center of the village. Every year the entire village would come to watch the youngsters exchange flowers. It can easily be deemed the most important event of the year. A swarm of girls and boys ran up to Bakugou, asking to exchange flowers with him. “FUCK OFF EXTRAS!” Bakugou growled at them as he violently searched for your silhouette in the crowd. Weird… He knew for a fact you turned sixteen this year. Heck he even saw the shitty Deku, who was invited by Mitsuki to join the tradition. He held a sunflower in his hand, and stood at the corner looking almost uncomfortable to be there. His face was a dark shade of crimson, and his legs trembled.

“Pfft! Sunflower? Who brings a sunflower to flower exchange?” Bakugou could hear a few people laugh at the young green haired teenager, and he just scoffed in agreement.

Kirishima had exchanged flowers with his childhood friend, Ashido Mina. You were still nowhere to be found.

Soon, most of the new adults were already partnered up, clearing the area. “Prince, will you be my partner?” girls kept swarming around him, and he had to push past them to find the familiar (h/c) silhouette.

That was when he saw you.

He expected you to stand there awkwardly. He expected you to be without a partner.

He didn’t expect you to show up without a flower.

You stood there kicking the pebble by your feet, a hint of sadness in the depth of your eyes. “(Y/N)-chan where’s your flower?” Mitsuki asked.

“Ehehe~” you smiled at the wife of the chief and scratched the back of your head almost guiltily. “I forgot about that.”

“Bet she knows that no one’s going to partner with her, so she just didn’t bring one,” someone laughed.

The smile never left your face, but Bakugou had a strong urge to punch them in the face. What was he going to do now? Exchange of flower symbolizes exchange of love. Did you not bring any flower because you had no love to give? Or was it true that you just forgot?

Whatever. None of that matters. He was going to give his flower to you no matter what. “(Y-”

“(Y/N)-chan. If you don’t have a flower, I’ll give you mine!” Midoriya stepped in front of you and held out his sunflower to you, pink dusting over his freckled cheeks. Bakugou froze, wide eyed.

“Izuku what about you? Aren’t you going to exchange flowers with someone?” you asked your friend.

“Well, it’s not like someone is going to partner with an outsider like me for something as important as the fire festival. This is such an important tradition to your culture, you should take it,” Midoriya placed the sunflower in your hand. “In fact I was….actually going to give it to you in the first place….”

“Psh! Outsider and loser, how fitting.”

Mitsuki shot a glare at whoever uttered those words.

You just smiled at Midoriya, and asked, “Then you wanna be partners for the fire festival?”

The white rose fell from Bakugou’s hand. At that moment it was as if the sky came crashing down on him, weighing over his shoulders, pinning him to the ground. He was the prince, the next king of the dragon tribe, yet the only person he has ever loved, asked someone else to be her partner. The people around them dove to the ground fighting for the rose that fell. Almost in an instant, the poor flower was torn to shreds, just like his heart.

He ran.

He could only run. He had to get away before he puked on site. Why…? Why? Why?! WHY?!! Why the shitty Deku?!

The necklaces clattered, and the cape on his back fluttered with the wind. His teeth were clenched and his sharp nails dug into his palm. He was furious at you, furious at Deku, but most of all he was furious at himself. Why didn’t he go up to you before Deku? Why did he run away without even attempting to ask you. He always called you a coward, but he was the true coward.

PART 2 | PART 3 |  PART 4

Also on AO3! A kudos would be greatly appreciated!

[scullydubois]

memory-bound: a revival one-shot

Set between Rm9sbG93ZXJz & My Struggle IV, Scully moves back into the Unremarkable House after her smart home burns down and returns to an age-old ritual: coloring her hair.

T, 1.8k, fluff/domestic fluff, read on ao3 here.

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

Lamp light casts shadows on the wall as Scully unpacks in a place she never thought she’d find herself again: the master bedroom she and Mulder shared for almost a decade. She lays her remaining clothes on the tribal-patterned bedspread and smirks at how little the room has changed. She expected to be put up in the guest room and was perfectly fine with that. They had rarely gotten any use out of it--she figured an inhabitant would do it some good. Imagine her shock, then, when Mulder told her he hadn’t slept in “their” room since she left. That the room was all hers.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that after a decade of a bed, he returned to what he knew upon losing what he had known. He swapped the couch he slept on for seven years for a Barcalounger. An old man needs his amenities, he joked while showing her its heat and massage functions. And she felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach, the mark of a fool.

She salvaged what she could from the fire, but most of her Bethesda things were ruined. That soulless smart house was never worth its automated thermostat system, let alone any of its other data mines disguised as gizmos. Mulder hated it--hated it, like, wouldn’t step foot in it, and if she’s being honest, that was the only selling point for her: the shelter it offered from his incessant search for truth & his unsatisfiable conscience. This was back when she felt like that was something she needed to get away from, of course. She had wanted to settle somewhere and mean it. Now, she realizes they were settled all along.

She rests a pile of folded clothes in the crook of her arm and pulls open her old dresser. She envisioned cobwebs--maybe even a whole family of spiders--in there, but instead, a ratty New York Knicks t-shirt greets her. And a Spaceship Earth one under that, and a Wile E. Coyote one under that. Her holy trinity of Mulder t-shirts. She refused to take them when she left, though he insisted. And in protest, he hadn’t worn them. She knows this instinctively, though the lack of laundry scent confirms it. They’ve been waiting in this drawer all along, captives to Mulder’s fantasy that one day she would open it again.

Scully squeezes her eyes shut, slips the pile in next to the shirts, slams the drawer, and grabs her toiletries bag off the bed, striding into the bathroom. She can’t dwell...she can’t. She’s learned by now that regret is a state of mind that freezes her up, and there’s no being frozen, not any more.

Unzipping the bag, she lines her various products along the counter. Age-defying this, anti-aging that...sunscreen is really the only thing that’s done her any good. That, and hair dye. She keeps the others around for show.

Speaking of...she pokes at her roots, scouring the mirror for signs that yes, she could theoretically be a grandma--and she can’t say for certain that she isn’t--but to her knowledge, she’s not, and as long as no one calls her Grandma, she won’t accept the title.

She won’t accept the gray hairs, either. One day, sure, but not yet. Mulder’s not even gone gray yet, and he has years on her. She’s told him that he would look great, and that the silver fox nickname would be nothing short of perfection, but he swears that he just hasn’t lost his “natural luster” yet, that he’ll embrace the gray when (if!) it comes.

Scully’s not been so lucky, though it doesn’t show. She’s been coloring her hair every three weeks since she was twenty-eight to keep the ravishing red. She’ll never forget when Mulder realized it wasn’t her natural color...the way his eyes widened as he moved between her legs…

It’s not as if he didn’t know; her mousy auburn had been on full display when they first met, and yet he’d gotten so used to seeing her as she is that it slipped his mind that she hadn’t always been that way. And once they moved in together--in this very bathroom, actually--he loved to help her with the coloring process, was as fascinated by it as the prospect of alien-human hybrids.

She chooses the tube of Rock it Like a Redhead dye from her product line-up, looks at her reflection. It’s been five--no, six--nearing seven--years since she performed this ritual in this room. She glances down, and sure enough, the tile still bears a rust-colored stain from one of her sessions gone wrong. It makes her smile...she has a history here. They have a history here.

She sighs. For old time’s sake, she might as well...she’s found herself thinking that a lot lately.

Her old robe--her usual attire for the occasion--fell victim to the fire, but she’s got a good substitute in mind. She pads back into the bedroom and plucks the Wile E. Coyote shirt from the drawer. It’s black, hopefully that will hide any stains. Her slacks are too damn expensive to risk an accident, so she briefly considers stripping to her panties before settling on a pair of gym shorts.

Her get-up in place, she grabs a few clips from her bag and pins her hair up in four sections. This is one of the reasons she got her chop; her long hair was sexy, but it was a bitch trying to cover all those layers. Plus, Mulder is fond of “the Scully shag” as he calls it, though she corrects him every time (it’s not a shag Mulder, it’s a bob!). It reminds him of their firsts, she imagines. It’s almost as if the longer her hair got, the further apart they drifted. And once they were okay again, it was imperative that she bear her neck to him...show him the place where his lips should land.

She decides to stand in the shower (water off, of course) so any mess can be rinsed away. She wonders, suddenly, if the square mirror they used to keep is still suctioned to the glass interior. It’ll be hard to do this alone if it’s not.

She peeks in, and it’s not there, and that must be the only thing in this house Mulder has moved. Figures. She slips off her shoes and grabs the applicator and dye tube. She’ll do the best she can, then use the bathroom mirror to make any touch-ups.

Scully steps into the shower. Its characteristic lemon scent is gone, and that makes her sad. It used to be a welcome change from the antiseptic hospital smell she dealt with all day. Wielding her tools, she starts at her roots, spreading the dye along her scalp with expert precision. Surely this counts as a workout--it takes a lot of energy to hold your arms over your head for this long. Will her Fitbit calculate how many calories she’s burning, she wonders?

She’s just started a new strand when a gentle rap echoes through the wall.

“Scully?” Mulder’s voice rings from outside the bedroom. She pulled the door slightly shut when she entered.

“Come in!” she calls. “In the bathroom.”

She hears footsteps in the adjacent room, then a hesitant breath as Mulder pauses at the doorway. “Are you decent?”

Scully looks down at herself. What a picture. “I’m in a Wile E. Coyote t-shirt and gym shorts. Does that answer your question?”

Mulder shuffles in, smirking at the sight of her through the open shower door. “What are you doing?”

She points to the crown of her head--which is already well within his field of vision--so she’s not sure why he needed to ask the question.

“Well, I see that,” Mulder concedes, “but I mean, why are you hunched over in here like you’re hoping to grow a third arm?”

Scully shrugs. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“That’s just as lame as ‘boys will be boys,’ and you know it,” he counters, remembering a spirited lecture she once gave him on the misogynist undertones of the phrase. Scully smirks. They had that conversation years ago...post-William, pre-Bahamas. She’s surprised that it stuck with him.

She tilts her chin in a way that makes Mulder certain she’d have her hands on her hips if they weren’t occupied. “What do you suggest?” she challenges.

“Let me help you,” he proposes before she can launch a protest. His sneaker’s rubber sole meets the shower tile as he slips in beside her. The wall is cold against her elbow as she scoots back to make room for him.

“I’m fine. I’ve been doing this on my own for years, and I was long before you.”

“But now you have me,” he professes. “Here. Right now,” he clarifies, not meaning to label their as-yet undefined relationship status.

Their eyes meet, and Scully’s hit with the last time the two of them were in here--her legs around his waist, his hands sliding through her hair, droplets that couldn’t be placed as shower water, sweat, or tears. Her spine straightens against the very wall where she was pinned. Times change, yet they don’t. History repeats itself in a slightly different key.

“When I was younger, I did this because I liked the color,” she tells him, finishing a section and lowering her hands. “Now, I do it out of necessity. It’s sad, Mulder.” She juts her lower lip out in a faux pout. “We’re getting old.”

He would hug her, but he’d mess up her hair and it would be a whole thing. “Hey, I’ll be pushing your wheelchair with my wheelchair, remember?” he says, taking her slip into sentimentality as permission.

Scully nods, the delicate memories of years past bringing a slight frown to her face.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asks, raising to her tiptoes, then lowering again. Her eyes twinkle.

“Of course.”

She offers him the tube of dye, looks up at him with a smile.

“Can you get right here?” She points to a spot right above her temple, one she could definitely reach herself if she wanted to.

Mulder admires her. His woman, back in his old t-shirt and all. He plants his lips on her temple, breathing her in. No matter what she says about aging or being old, he’ll never believe her. She is as she was back then: the only semblance of peace he’s ever known.

He pulls away to meet her gaze, his voice warm and smooth. “Is that about where you want it?”

Scully grins. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

[night-rook]

Misled | Uraraka Ochako x Reader |

Word Count: 1973 Reader Type: Neutral Gender, Hanahaki Disease  Story Type: Requested, UA Traitor Uraraka x Reader(?) Beware: Curse words. Summary: The teachers of Yuuei have been during search for the possible traitor. While Reader has been suffering from a violent fit of coughs since the start of the year.  Key terms:  (Y/n) = Your Name (E/c) = Eye Color (S/c) = skin color                             ━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━ It was a normal day in Yuuei High. The students were studying while teachers were teaching. Instead of joining your classmates, you were on your way to deliver papers to Principal Nezu for Aizawa. The reports were important as each document held classified information from the USJ and Training Camp incidents. Papers filled lined by line of every thing that was recorded to deepen the investigation.

Yuuei staff was conducting a search through classes A and B as those were the prime targets the villains attacked. However, Class A was in a deeper end of the search because the students were involved in both attacks.

As you walk down the hallway, a sudden burn erupted from the depths of your chest. You place your free hand over the center of your chest as the burning grew hotter. Slowing down your pace until you stopped dead in your tracks, the aggressive burn began a boiling trail upwards. Cough Cough Cough A-HA! The release was so powerful your body hunched over as the coughing roared out of you, pushing itself out of your lungs. Pressing a hand against the wall, your other hand covering your mouth while heaving out hot air. The violent coughs continued to ransack your aching lungs. The organs desperately try to clear whatever was inside your system. Your throat receiving a blazing itch while the coughing coursed through. Coughing was normal to everyone, but these violent attacks weren’t. For the past couple of weeks the simple cough turned into assaults. Each pass became harsher than the last one. It wasn’t this bad when you were in class. You would cough here and there, but Uraraka gave you a cough drop before you left to hand the reports. The small strawberry piece was still in your mouth but the assault of coughs was still there. Leaning back against the wall, you closed your eyes to take a moment to think. When was the last time you felt healthy? When was the last time your body didn’t have these violent coughing fits? These thoughts run through your mind as your body eases from having to take a ten minute attack. Carefully inhaling and exhaling, for a split second, the image of the human mochi made an appearance across your brain. “Is it possible you like Midoriya?” a childish voice echoed around the empty hallway. “What! O-Of Course not!” the mochi yelled. Your (e/c) orbs glance over to the brunette as the three of you hold onto the railing. Thirteen using her quirk on the trio, slowly advancing forward. The pink on Uraraka’s plush cheeks grew as she started to overthink before she let go of the railing. Being quick to react, you let go of the metal bar to grab onto her wrist in order to prevent her from getting sucked into the vacuum. The sensation in your throat that day was unbearable. You tried to speak but your voice never came. After the exam, you left to see Recovery Girl on what was happening. The elderly woman was puzzled by your symptoms  because your body appeared to be healthy. She examined you thoroughly and even held you overnight to see for further symptoms. But, in the end, she wrote your cough as seasonal allergy. The days following that were hell on earth to you. The coughing never creased! They were worse when you were in class. Seeing the girl interact with the green boy, the annoying burn would settle in your chest as you walk by. Goosebumps would coat through your (s/c) flesh when she would smile and talk to you. Her cheerful demeanor set a light through you and made you happy. The warmth when her hand would touch yours as your two would study. Shaking your head, you pushed yourself off the wall to head towards the office once your breath had evened out. “Maybe I should book an appointment.. Probably get some medicine to help.” you mumbled under your breath as you continued with the day.                            ━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━ To say for the least, the coughing assaults only grew more painful. You were training with Bakugou on trying to improve your reaction speed. You were doing well for the past hour. Sweat dripping down your forehead as you blocked the hothead’s ruthless attacks. You got ready to trade fists with the blonde when the soft ring of laughter reached your ear. Taking a simple glance towards the direction of the laughter, your pupils dilated at the sight of the brunette as she laughed at the nervous wreck that was Midoriya. Your heart skipped a beat at the way her ivory cheeks were coated with a light dust of pink. The blonde sent a hook punch towards you when the throat murder came out. The punch collided against your ribs and knocked your body towards the left. Hitting the ground, your body skipped across the floor as the coughing assaulted your throat. The gym that was once filled with yelling and laughter grew quite as the violent coughing reached everyone’s attention. “Dumbass! Your fucking weak body can’t take a hit, huh?! It wasn’t even that strong a punch!” the blonde yelled at your curled form. “Ah! Kacchan don’t yell at them! Can’t you see they-” “Shut it Deku!” “Man, Bakubro, ya could have gone easy on them. Sheesh.” Kirishima chuckled while walking over to the blonde. “Hey, (y/n). Are you okay? Can you stand?” she questioned, reaching out a hand to your fallen form. It was an innocent gesture. The type that held no ill will behind it. Uraraka kneeled as her earthy eyes were shadowed with concern and worry. But, something off. Her eyes were usually warm and filled with cheerful joy. These brown orbs were cold and distant in comparison to the bubbly girl you were classed with. Guard up! Something clicked as your hand pushed hers away from you. Your eyes widen at the bold action before a sharp pain course through your chest. Fisting the fabric material around your chest, the organs in that location started to pound. Your heart pulses out blood as rapid as it could but your throat tightens while your lungs begin to burn. You took a step back as the girl in front of you watched your hunched form. “Get away from me..” it was a hushed mumble. The words forced out of the unbearable tension in your voice box as you tried to glare at the girl. Uraraka’s back was towards the others as she faced you. The shadow look grew darker as you stared at one another. The earthy eyes became cold while her posture remained innocent. Her inner appearance being the opposite of what was presented to the world.  You glared towards the female despite the pain that was being dealt to your body. The boys witnessed the scene. You never once raised a hand or were opposed to a helping hand, especially from the brunette. To see you go cold, it was uncharacteristic to the class. Think now. You were there when that psycho blonde attacked.. Ochako pinned her down but the way she was attacked... It seemed practiced, right? (Y/n), you know fake wastling when you see it! Your inner conscience yelled at you while your eyes focused on the brunette. The memory of when Toga had attacked Tsu and Uraraka. You had rushed to the scene just in time when the blonde had pinned the sweet frog tree. Activating your quirk, you managed to push the blond away from Tsu before Uraraka came in to pin her down to the ground.  That look she had at the blond, it was similar to the one on her face at this moment. “What’s wrong, (Y/n). You’re acting really weird.” her sickly sweet voice rang out to you. Clenching your jaw, you remained quiet while watching her. She wasn’t asking for a response, that was clear with her facial expression. The pain wasn’t ceasing while you had your standoff. If anything, it was escalating by the ticking second. The nerves in your body were pulsing. Blood Cells flowing within veins were burning throughout your body as muscles felt like they were being torn. Your knuckles turned white from the amount of pressure you used to distract yourself from the agony. “Tell me.. ” as hoarse as it sounded, your voice managed to maintain a steady wave. “It’s weird when we pair up, now that I think about it. I get these strange dots in areas you hit…” “What do you mean? Those are probably blood clots-” “Nope. Those dots aren’t clots. I know because I did my research along with some examinations from Recovery Girl.” You cut her off almost immediately. Her composer nearly breaks from the straight answer. “What’s even weirder, my lungs received the most damage. The coughing and hacking got worse by the day. I’m surprised to not be hospitalized at this moment.” Right on cue, the inner assault made and appearance. You wheezed out the violent attack and hunched over only slightly, using your hand to cover your mouth the best you could. As it passes, a trail of crimson leaked out from the corner of your mouth. The eyes of those around you widen at the sight of blood. Everyone knew you had been having fits but not this bad. “I was curious why I had them. The assault of coughs and wheezing after the USJ accident, but I shrugged it off because it could have been from the dust caused by the villain attacks. But, that night with Toga, Tsu tossed you just as I arrived.” There it was. It was tiny and barely visible to the others but it was clear to you. Uraraka flinched at the mention of the blond girl’s name. She gulped down the lump in her throat as a way to calm down. You could be bluffing to her in order to get a reaction. She had nothing stacked against her, and she was sure of that. “What are you talking about? You arrived just as I pinned her down.” “Not exactly. I pushed her away from Tsu before she was stabbed. But it was odd because you pinned her down. Even though you appeared right behind me, when you were tossed a head of us.” Her eyes widen at your words. That was all it took before you activated your quirk to try and trap her, but she regained her composer and dodge. Uraraka floated up with the usage of her gravity quirk. The shock was written on the faces of all the students as they witnessed the brunette not struggle. You were about to pursue her when the next assault comefore, causing you to drop to your knees. Uraraka smirked down at your fallen form. Through the course year, she had grown fond of you out of everyone in class. Getting close enough to make you lose your guard when she came to you, never once refusing her requests of studying. She exploited your helpful nature and made you victim to her mask of innocence.  Black mist appeared next to Uraraka. She floated towards it before turning back to give the students of class A one last smile.  “It was fun while it lasted.” With that, the brunette vanished from the gym. The shock in everyone left them paralyzed from moving. The bubbly girl they all had grown accustomed to, the female who looked to be a cheeky cheerful joy.. She had played them all. Trying to regain your breath, you opened your eyes to see a small pile of saliva in your hands. Your (e/c) eyes darkened at the reddish liquid but that wasn’t what caught your attention. In the center of the goo, a small pile of soft looking petals rested in the center.                            ━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━ 

[spoondrifts]

long post ahead I'm sorry-

crack au where Jonah Magnus is a good guy but everything keeps going wrong and he spends all of his time running around trying to stop his employees from diving headfirst into their Fuck Up™ of the week

in this au Jonah is almost entirely incompetent but he's got the exasperated parent thing down enough to make up for his lack of braincells

he's also at least 7% dumber than he is in canon

s1 Jon: please call pest control there are so many worms

s1 Elias: I already did

Jon: and??

Elias: they ate them

Jon: the worms?

Elias: the pest control guys. the worms ate them

Elias spends the entirety of season 2 desperately trying to convince Jon that none of them killed Gertrude (in this au Gertrude just had a stroke or something in the tunnels). Elias stops Jon from destroying the table but a week later something heavy falls on it and the NotThem escapes anyway. Elias bashes in Leitner's head with a pipe after mistaking him for the monster and Jon gets framed.

now Elias has to convince this hunter that Jon is innocent while Jon runs around and harasses various fear avatars (who are all very amused with Elias' wayward Archivist). Jon assumes Elias knows nothing about all this bullshit because Elias is just his weird and uptight boss who accidentally killed someone, he can't possibly know that there are literally fear gods ruling over them

olive ⚰ has named the group 'Avatars ✨'

JMagnus 👀: Jude please don't hurt him. I'll explain everything when he gets back to the Institute.

🔥: too late

JMagnus 👀: What?

🔥: too late

🔥: burned him

[JMagnus 👀 is typing]

JMagnus 👀: Where is he now.

🔥: going to mike

JMagnus 👀: Mike Crew???

🔥: ya

Elias RACES to Mike's house but he. he fucking misses them. the Beholding helpfully tells him that they're all going back to the Institute so Basira and Daisy can interrogate him, which isn't ideal, he'd really like to not go to jail, so he drafts up an employment contract on the way back and barely manages to escape the whole thing with his life intact.

then he explains everything to Jon because if Jon is going to end up being the Archivist, being uninformed won't do. Jon becomes the Archivist completely on accident and Elias is desperately trying to make all of this work because, haha, the Unknowing is coming up, and Elias is not in the fucking mood to deal with clowns.

olive ⚰ has named the group 'all that is terror uwu'

spidey🕸: lmfaooo jonah how do you make an archivist on accident

JMagnus 👀: He stumbled into it. All I can do now is ensure he doesn't die.

JMagnus 👀: Or get further injured by the rest of you.

🔥: woops

🎭: hEy gUyS lOnG tiMe nO sEe

🎭: gEt iT eLiAs

🎭: sEe

JMagnus 👀: Beholding puns are not amusing from a manifestation of the Stranger.

🎭 has named the group 'eLiAs bE niCe tO niKoLa cHaLlEnGe'

🔥: haha

spidey🕸: I'm sure Nikola will be on her best behavior

🎭: yEaH i wOnT kiDnAp yOuR aRcHiViSt

[JMagnus 👀 is typing]

mike n ike: hey guys what'd I miss

🔥: arent you dead

mike n ike: yeh but I came back

JMagnus 👀: NIKOLA ORSINOV WHERE IS JONATHAN SIMS

🔥: can't you see haha

mike n ike: heh "see"

JMagnus 👀: NIKOLA

spidey🕸: wow he must be pissed

spidey🕸: he left out the punctuation

JMagnus 👀: I WILL BREAK ALL OF YOUR PLASTIC BONES WHERE'S MY ARCHIVIST

🎭 has left the chat.

JMagnus 👀: what the FUCK

since he's still a coward Elias sends Michael to go fetch Jon, only finding out after the fact that he very nearly almost signed Jon's death warrant. Elias is now speedrunning Jon's development because fuck the Unknowing is coming up really quickly and Tim is a self destructive mess and Melanie keeps trying to stab Elias and Martin is a pining idiot and goddammit he didn't sign up for this

Elias prepares Jon the best he can for the Unknowing, because even though he knows the ritual will fail, the Circus can still cause a considerable amount of damage and he needs them out of the way.

the Unknowing happens. Jon ends up in a wack ass coma, Tim is dead, Daisy's in the coffin, and Basira is starting to look like the better choice of Archivist because jesus christ Jon has no self preservation instinct. Elias doesn't get arrested this time around but his ex husband starts coming by the Institute and fucking with all his employees. and the Flesh is attacking. jesus. goddamn.

olive ⚰ has named the group 'bully elias'

JMagnus 👀: Why are you all so mean to me? I'm arguably the nicest one here.

🔥: ur joking right

Peter Lukas: you're not nice you didn't buy me an anniversary gift 😢😢😢

JMagnus 👀: I was busy.

Peter Lukas: doing what

JMagnus 👀: Stopping the Flesh from destroying my Institute. Besides, you didn't remember my birthday.

Peter Lukas: you're 200 years old how could I remember 😓

helen!!!!!: We All Know I'm The Nicest One Here!!

JMagnus 👀: How did you make your text that colorful?

helen!!!!!: IDK

JMagnus 👀: Liar.

helen!!!!!: That's Literally My Job

olive ⚰: hey eli your archivist just woke up I think

🔥: ew why

helen!!!!!: How Delightful!! Maybe I'll Throw Him A Glad You're Alive Party!!

olive ⚰: should we invite him to this chat since he's an avatar now

Peter Lukas: no 🙅 🚫❌

Peter Lukas: I hate archivists 😤😤

olive ⚰: still mad about gertrude huh

🔥: were all still mad about gertrude

🔥: but jons fine once you burn some manners into him

JMagnus 👀: Can you all please stop hurting Jon? Or talking about hurting him? I would like my Archivist to not acquire any more scars.

🔥: damn

Peter Lukas: damn 😔

Elias keeps trying to teach Jon how to pick certain victims to feed off of because personally he has no qualms about feeding from innocents but Jon!! actually trusts him!!! so Elias doesn't want to push Jon into making decisions that will offend his moral sensitivities.

things are actually going okay for a while. Elias starts going home at a reasonable time in the evenings and Jon is actually getting some sleep. and then-

Elias is having a nice dream about Peter trying to fish Simon Fairchild out of a sky filled with eyes when he abruptly sits up in bed, wide awake.

"Ah, fuck," he says to Peter, who is laying on the floor where it is Lonelier™. "Jon's doing something stupid. I Know it."

Peter's mumbled "isn't he always" goes unnoticed as Elias hurries to the Institute, where he finds a fucking rib on Jon's desk and the coffin in the middle of the room.

Peter Lukas has named the chat 'archivists ruin my sleep schedule and my sex life'

JMagnus 👀: What the fuck do I do?? I can't go into the Buried! Why is Jon so stupid? I didn't know he had zero braincells when I hired him!

🔥: ngl why havent you fired him yet

JMagnus 👀: Beholding won't let me. We're all bound to the Institute.

🔥: F

JMagnus 👀: Why are there no Buried avatars in here? Please someone help me.

mike n ike: lol the buried is gross why would anyone go down there

spidey🕸: does he have an anchor?

[JMagnus 👀 sent an image]

🔥: is that a fucking rib

spidey🕸: wow that's not a good anchor at all

spidey🕸: he needs someone he loves

JMagnus 👀: Thanks. Gtg.

spidey🕸: np

🔥: are we not going to talk about his rib

🔥: how the fuck did he get that out of his body

🔥: yall

🔥: YALL

it takes three days for Elias to find Martin.

"Please tell me why the fuck you're dabbling in the Lonely," Elias says as Martin steps sheepishly out of the fog.

"Ah. Well. Jon can't See into it very well and sometimes we like to spice up our se-"

"Stop before I have to gouge my eyes out again."

"A-Again-?"

Elias drags Martin back to the Institute. Martin starts setting tapes on the coffin because "Jon loves these" and Elias starts bashing his head into the wall.

Jon climbs out of the coffin with Daisy and Elias almost considers locking Jon in his office so the damn archivist can't do anything else ridiculous. instead, Elias very calmly takes Jon by the shoulders, and shakes him like a rag doll.

"Stop fucking with entities, you stupid, stupid man," Elias says, shaking Jon more viciously now.

after several hours of breathing exercises Elias returns to his house and doesn't take his Sight off of Jon for the rest of the night, which is a fun experience for Peter when he wakes up and finds Elias' bloodshot eyes staring directly at him in the morning.

JMagnus 👀 added Daisy to 'archivists ruin my sleep schedule and my sex life'

Peter Lukas has named the chat 'archivist hate club'

JMagnus 👀 has named the chat 'shut up peter'

Peter Lukas has named the chat 'you love jon more than me'

JMagnus 👀 has named the chat 'I don't love either of you I'm heartless'

Peter Lukas has named the chat 'I want a divorce'

spidey🕸: jeez take your marital dispute elsewhere

spidey🕸 has named the chat 'lonelyeyes dni'

Daisy: wtf is this

mike n ike: it's a chat for avatars

mike n ike: and ex avatars ig

Daisy: didn't I kill you

mike n ike: yea

JMagnus 👀: Hello, Daisy. Welcome to the group chat.

Daisy: why is Jon not in here

Peter Lukas: because I hate him 😁

spidey🕸: Elias talks mad shit in here and Jon would get offended

Daisy: if you talk bad about Jon I'll rip your throat out

Daisy: :)

JMagnus 👀: Noted.

mike n ike: he's kinda rude tho

Daisy: I've killed you once

Elias' only goal now is to keep Jon and his assistants from pulling any more wild stunts without his supervision. his renewed involvement with the archival staff results in a few things he'd hoped to avoid: drink invites, physical contact (Martin is surprisingly quick to start hugging Elias once he realizes Elias won't stop him), and- shudder -feelings. because Elias genuinely cares about his staff and doesn't want any harm to befall them. especially Jon. Jon is his Archivist, the only one to ever succeed like this, and Elias will be damned if he lets anything happen to him.

"Why do you care?" Jon asks, once, compulsion thrumming like static on his tongue. "About us, I mean. I would've assumed you'd want to perform the Beholding's ritual."

Jonah Magnus attempted the Watcher's Crown once, when he was young and new. he'd brought his patron close, but not all the way through, and the backlash of power killed all the inmates at Millbank and severely crippled Jonah's connection to the Eye for months afterward. he grew to assume that the Beholding simply preferred the world as it was--ripe with fear for watching. it didn't need a ritual.

he instead dedicated himself to growing stronger, cultivating his Institute of knowledge, his stronghold. if he tore out a few people's eyes when he got too old, then, well, collateral. but he doesn't want the world to end, and knows now that no ritual will ever succeed unless it brings in all the Powers at once. and he doesn't want that either.

it's concerning to him that Jon seems to be collecting marks regardless. the only ones he's missing are the Dark and the Lonely, and Elias is determined to keep it that way.

he explains all of this to Jon who, to his credit, takes it pretty well. Jon is fascinated with historic life and Elias spends some time simply recounting tales of his youth, when he still bore the name Magnus.

they bond. it's good.

and one day Basira does a little too much research and discovers the dark sun waiting in Ny Alesund. she insists they need to go and see what's left of the People's Church, they need to ensure everything is taken care of. Jon is rather insistent too. and Elias wouldn't have been inclined to let them go, except Peter was finally home after weeks at sea, and it wasn't like Jon was defenseless, he could call Elias if anything went wrong...

so, very reluctantly, Elias gives them the all clear. Basira, Jon, and Martin head north, and Elias almost forgets they've gone when he arrives home and Peter already has dinner prepared.

Jon comes back marked by the Dark.

Elias curses himself, over and over, for being foolish enough to let them go, for not keeping a closer eye on them. he knows the ritual won't work unless a certain incantation is spoken, so he'll just have to keep world-ending written chants away from Jon. easy. and it's not like Jon will even get marked by the Lonely. Peter wouldn't.

(but Martin doesn't have the same level of control, and sometimes...)

it's an accident. Martin and Jon are testing it, pushing the boundaries, when Martin pulls them both into the Lonely. Elias threatens divorce until Peter caves and fetches them, but it's too late. Jon has been marked by all fourteen Powers.

Elias tells him, and warns him to check everything he reads.

helen!!!!! has named the chat 'apocalypse babey'

JMagnus 👀: How are you doing that?

JMagnus 👀: And the apocalypse is not imminent. I have the situation under control.

olive ⚰: ha yeah

JMagnus 👀: What do you mean by that?

olive ⚰: nothing

JMagnus 👀: Well, now I certainly think it's something.

olive ⚰: it's just

olive ⚰: don't you think it's kinda weird that @spidey🕸 has been offline for so long

🔥: thats weird shes always online

JMagnus 👀: Oliver, what are you implying?

olive ⚰: idk

olive ⚰: just weird, that's all

🔥: never good when the spiders are quiet

olive ⚰: hear hear

Elias gets a sinking feeling in his stomach, and beside him, Peter looks alarmed. meanwhile, in his flat with Martin making tea in the other room, Jon has a statement clutched in his grasp.

Hello, Jon.

I would apologize for the deception, but I'm afraid that's quite what I'm good at. I'm not one to monologue, that's more Jonah's shtick, so shall we get on with things?

I admit I underestimated Jonah Magnus. He's still remarkably easy to manipulate, but when he abandoned the Watcher's Crown ritual I knew I would have to take a different approach. The Mother is not so satisfied with the world as she may have insinuated. It is our turn to rise, Jon.

At the age of eight, you were marked by us. We sent you to the Magnus Institute in the hopes that a new Archivist would rekindle Jonah's desire to end the world. Unfortunately, it seemed as though he grew fond of you, and so we brought in a new plan. We marked you. One fear at a time. Jonah gave an admirable attempt at protecting you, but ultimately, he is an incompetent old fool, and I am a Weaver. Even Jonah Magnus dances to invisible strings.

Everyone underestimates a spider until it bites. Poison is poison, Jon, regardless of the medium in which it is served.

You will be safe in this new world. Martin, too. Perhaps even Jonah and his Lukas, if the Mother deems them worthy.

Now, please repeat after me...

Jon reads the ink scratched words, eyes welling up with tears and hands trembling, as thunder crashes outside and a howling gale picks up beyond the windows. Martin is shouting something, there's the crawling press of Elias' gaze as it rests heavy behind Jon, a silent observer. He can feel Elias' soothing presence, cool and calm in the raging storm.

Elias is still watching out for him.

Strings are wrapped around his wrists, jerking his arms up in a poor mockery of religious regard, strange hysterical laughter clawing out from his throat.

Jon's tears run red. Somewhere, Elias is still watching.

The door opens.

[cant-see-sam]

Electric Love pt1

Ok I guess I gotta do something to gain followers

Y/N POV

I never meant to be a mystery, a freak show, I just wanted peace.  For about three years now I have been chased by people in protective suits.  It just so happened that one day at school I blipped out of reality.  I've been isolated ever since.

**Flashback **

'Yet another boring day at middle school.'  I thought as I walked the dull looking halls.  Kids were walking back and  fourth through the corridors.  I spot my friend in the cafeteria.  I call their  name but they don't respond.  A plot pops into my head as I walk up to them.  I slow my pace and attempt to doge all the other kids.  I creep behind them and place my hands on their shoulders.  "Boo!"  They jump really hard and snap their head back to.  "Ow!  What the heck Y/N!"  I roll my eyes and sit down next to them.  "Stop complaining, it didn't hurt that much"  they rub their shoulder.  "No, it felt like an electric shock"  They pull down their sleeve to reveal a red mark spreading across their skin.  "Woah, we should get you to the nurse"  I grab their bag and help them up.  They give a small thanks and start walking.

We get to the nurses office and knock on the door.  A muffled "come in"  rings through.  We walk into the sterile room.  Bright lights shine down on the white floors almost blinding me.  "What can I do for y'all?"  The nurse, Ms. Prior asks.  I came here a lot in sixth grade so we got to know each other well.  We approach the desk and tell her what happened.  She stands up and gets an ice pack for y/f/n while we sit down.  When Ms. Prior walks over she hands my friend the small bag and smiles at them.  She sits back down at her desk and starts typing on her computer.  She takes a small look at me and looks surprised at something.  "Y/N, I thought your eyes were e/c,"  this confused me.  "Yes ma'am, they are, why?"  She simply sighs and hands me a mirror.  I look into it and see an inhumanly gray pair of eyes looking back at me.

We stayed in the nurses office until the bell rang signaling that we were late.  We say goodbye to Ms. Prior as she hands us excuse slips and we make our ways out.  I head into math class while y/f/n goes to science.  I get many stares as I put the small pink slip on the teachers desk and make my way to my seat.  

The day goes on while I try not to touch anyone.  I still bump into people in the halls though.  They seem to almost cry out in pain when I slightly brush them.  I always apologize and try to avoid anyone else.  Afterwards I see them at the office.

'At last, home'  I think as I walk into the familiar building.  I say hi to Gurtude the desk lady.  I walk up a the stairs and pull out my set of apartment keys.  My mom is waiting on the other side when I walk in.  "Y/N,"  she says in a dangerous tone.  "Come here."  I do as she says, afraid of what to come.  "I got a call from your school today, they said that you were hurting kids."  "No, ma'am, they were just accidents". I knew that  it was pointless to argue but I try anyways.  "That many?"  I look down in shame.  I couldn't help it, I always feel a small weight in my chest when I get lectured.  "Look at me when I speak to you"  I look up at her, making eye contact.  She gasps.   "Your not my daughter"  She murmured "W-what?"  I stutter out.  She grabs my chin and starts examining my face.  Her nails dig painfully into my skin. "Mom! It's me! Stop!" I try to get her to stop.  I grab her arm and she shrieks.  She pulls it out of my grasp.  The same red mark that was on y/f/n shoulder was on her wrist.  Tears well up in my eyes when she grabs her phone and taps the buttons that beep three times.  It rings a few times when the person on the other side picks up.  A muffled "nine, one, one, what's your emergency?"  When I heard those words I sprinted out the door.  Down the stairs and out the doors of the apartment.

End of flashback.

Here I am now, three years later,  hiding out in an abandoned house.  I was only thirteen when I left.  It was for the better.  Now I can't hurt anyone else.  I've learned to control the shocks a little more.  I've practiced on myself to control the pain and power of the shock.  I also learned how to shut off the power all together, the only thing that never changes is the horrific color of my eyes.

I was sat down on the floor shocking my arm.  Whenever I did this I would slowly increase the pain.  Starting with the kind of shock that normal people get after going down a slide, to the shock that you feel when you touch an electric wire, to the type where you feel like you got touched by a taser.   I've desensitized myself to it, it doesn't even hurt anymore.

This went on when I heard a pounding on my door.  The men.  I've had to switch my location so many times because of them.  I grab my scuffed up backpack and run to the window.  I open it up and start creeping along the side of the building.  I get to an emergency exit and start climbing down the ladder.  Every time I move I plan out an escape route.  I'm very careful to make sure I always ended up somewhere hidden.  Apparently I wasn't as careful this time because when I reach the small secret ally I planned to hide there were more.  Some dressed in white lab coats, holding clipboards, looking up at me eagerly.  Others were dressed in protective armor and helmets.  One person caught my eye though, a young boy dressed in jeans and a green collared shirt with a lab coat on the outside.  He seemed to be my age, when we made eye contact the world around me seemed to freeze.  'No' I think.  'You can't be distracted by another thing right now'  I snap out of my thoughts and hop down cautiously.  Everyone just stares at me, not knowing what to do.  

A small smile creeps on my face as a plan forms in my head.  I tilt it to the side, to look like I was surveying them.  "Hey!  Good to see you guys again"  I say in a way that I was sure to catch them off guard.  'Now!'  I think, sprinting out of the small alleyway.  Into the streets.  I follow where my feet take me and keep running.  I start to slow down after a while.  I've lost them.  Or at least that's what I thought until a hand grabs my arm.

My head snaps around to be met with a pair of sorrowful blue eyes.  It's the same kid from before. I wanted to shock him but I couldn't find the strength in me to do it.  Something inside me stops me from doing it.  I look down in his other hand and see a small syringe with a clear liquid inside.  A tranquilizer.  "Please don't do this." I whisper.  "I'm sorry"  he whispers back.  His voice is calm but frantic at the same time.  He has a smooth British accent that calms me down in a way.  He slowly lifts the needle up to my neck.  I try to wiggle my arm out of his grasp.  But it's no use, it's too tight.  I feel a small pinch in my neck as he pushes the liquid in.  I hear voices from behind us.  The kid talks to me as the world starts to spin.  I stop resisting and turn to meet him all the way.  He puts the syringe in his pocket and holds my other arm, keeping me steady.  The last thing I hear before I black out was another voice saying.  "Good job Toby!"

Toby's POV.  A few hours earlier.

My best friend runs through the halls of the foundation his lab coat flying behind him.  His blonde hair is messy and he looks exited.  "Toby!"  he runs up to me and bends over to catch his breath.  "Wil- Wilbur wants you in the garage.  He-"  he pants, trying to finish his sentence.  "He says he has something he wants you to see."  I put my arm on his shoulder.  "go get some water Tommy, I'll go see what he wants."  he nods and runs off into the break room.  I go in the opposite direction.

The garage is a big open room with vans lined up in a neat row.  On the side there are cages for the more dangerous SCPs.  Wilbur is leaning up against a medium sized van.  "Toby, your finally here, did Tommy tell you why your here?"  I shook my head.   "No"  He sighs,  "of course.  Get in the van, I'll explain on the way."   He opens the door to the drivers seat and I get into the passengers.

Wilbur keeps his eyes on the two vans in front of us as he speaks.  "Okay, so, you read the papers on T- 4350, right?"  "Yeah"  T - 4350 is a humanoid who has electric properties.  We don't know too much about it.  Just that every time we are about to catch it, it always finds a way out.  Granted, we would always have too little security.  "Well," Wilbur continues "We got a call talking about someone matching it's description."  "And how do I fit into all this?"  Wilbur taps fingers on the wheel.  "From what we've gathered it seems to be your age.  We thought you, being the calmest of our two juniors, can help distract it."  "Ah"  I guess I'm doing this.

After a few hours we pull up to an abandoned building near the side of the highway.  It looks like it was falling apart.  With rotting wood and some missing bricks.  Definitely the perfect place for someone trying to hide.  We hop out of the van and walk up to the security guards waiting by the side of the building.  We determined that me, Wilbur and the other scientists will wait with some guards at the point where we estimate it uses to come and go while everyone else goes into the apartment.

We wait in the dusty ally for the SCP to be flushed out.  I'm looking around and fiddling with my lab coat when Wilbur taps my arm.  "Look!"  I look to where he's pointing and see a girl climbing down the ladder.  She has a black backpack with some patches hanging off.  Her t-shirt,  jeans and beat up high tops seem ratty.  As she climbs down I take note of her y/h/c pulled back into a high ponytail.  She looks behind her and sees us.  Me, to be exact.  Her eyes are a piercing gray.  She looks scared, dazed, almost.  I couldn't imagine being her, running away from her problems at such a young age.  She steps off the ladder.  A calm demeanor taking over her face.  She breaks a small grin while she looks around at us.  "Hey!  Good to see you guys again!"  She says.  I look at Wilbur.  He seems shocked.

 While we all stare at her I understand what she's trying to do.  I slowly take the pack of tranquilizers from Wilbur's pocket.  I take a syringe from the box.  All of a sudden she takes off running.  I chase after her.  My feet hit the cement hard as I run.  Without thinking I reach out and grab her arm.  She turns to me.  She looks even more beautiful up close.  She sounds terrified when she whispers, "please don't do this."  It almost pains me to respond.  "I'm sorry"  I move my hand up, holding the tranquilizer up to her neck.  Just as it touches her skin she starts to pull her arm.  I keep my grip on her tight though, it's for the best.  I'm surprised she hasn't shocked me yet.  I push the plunger down.  Almost instantly, she starts to calm down.  Facing me fully, she grabs my other arm. I keep my hands under her elbows.  For a second I thought she was going to hurt me but I figured she was too weak to do so.  Instead, she puts all her weight on me.  She almost falls when I hear Wilbur speak behind me.  "Good job Toby!"

Wilbur grabs her from my arms and carries her to one of the cages.  We load her into the van and drive back to the foundation.

Y/N's POV

The first thing I feel when I wake up is a pounding headache.  The blinding lights above me don't help.  I sit up in the small bed I'm laying in and look around.  The first thing I noticed was a giant window. It took up a whole chunk of the wall.  Next to the bed is a small table with drawers.  Theres a table in front of me and a sink to my right.  I do notice a door on the far side of the room. I'm still in my clothes from before.  I throw my legs across the bed and stand up to look for a way out.  I run my hands along the walls.

I continue doing so until I hear a click and a hiss coming from the wall with the door.  I frantically search for what I did until I hear a deep voice coming from behind me.  "Hello 4350, I'm Eret.  I wouldn't try looking for a way out, there is none."  I turn around.  "Okay, first off what did you call me? And second, back the frick up."  He nods head and comes closer.  "Ah, you have some sass.  We can fix that." I put my hand up to seem like I will do something.  I've experimented with my lightning, but never mastered it.  "I said, back up"  even closer.  I try to concentrate all my energy to my hand.  All of a sudden a bright light explodes from my it.  Yes!  I wasn't trying to hurt him, just rock his boat a little.  The light is cut short.

 I see the man, Eret, I think it was.  I saw Eret standing in front of me, unfazed.  He twitches his head and two guards storm the room.  They grab my arms.  Eret walks closer to me and sticks his finger under my chin.  "You won't try that again, do you understand me?"  I don't respond, just tilt my head down and try to bite him.  He pulls his finger away and laughs.  "I'll get something out of you soon sweetheart."  He walks out, his hands behind his back.  The guards walk out soon after him.

For the next few weeks many doctors come in to ask me questions.  Some stay where they are, others get too close for comfort, ending with them getting a small shock.  Not enough to leave a mark, just a warning.  I could tell I was beating them down.  I might have a chance of escaping.

The days were mostly the same, wake up, get served my "breakfast", if you could even call it that.  Next some doctors would come in and ask me questions.  I try to keep it as vague as possible, just to tick them off.  They would try at that for a while, until they realize that it was futile.  I got lunch and dinner somewhere in between all that.  It was like that.  Day, after day, after day.  But today, instead of sending in some doctors they sent in the boy from before, and another.

"Hey,"  the brunette said in a soft voice.  I can feel myself shrink back against the wall.  I got that feeling, the one I had when I first got caught.  Like I wasn't, no, couldn't hurt him.  "Hey, it's me, do you remember me?  I'm Toby, this is my friend Tommy,"  he points to the blonde behind him.  He gives an awkward wave.  I giggle softly at his actions.  "Yeah, that's it.  we're not going to hurt you"  I look back at Toby.  "That's what they all say"  He laughs at this.  "Yeah, I know, I've seen."  He takes a step closer.  Keeping eye contact with me.  When he sees that I don't react he steps even closer.  I thought he was going to come even closer, but he just sits down.  He look back at Tommy and waves him over.  When he sits down next to Toby I slide down the wall.  "Can you tell us about yourself?"  I nod my head.  "Good, what's your name?"  His soft tone convinces me to talk.  "Y/N"  he smiles.  "That's a beautiful name, how old are you?"  "Sixteen,"  his smile gets even wider.  "Same, can you tell us when you ran away?"  "Three years ago"  he nods his head.  "That was very brave, why did you do it?"  "My mom called the cops on me"  "I'm so sorry"

Everyday Toby and Tommy come in.  Everyday they would get a little closer.  And everyday, I let them.  I knew that they wouldn't hurt me.  I trusted them.  We got so far that we shared a group hug.  They have truly became my best friends in this period.  Toby would stay a little longer than Tommy though.  Sometimes he would even be there until I fell asleep in the bed.  Sometimes he would sneak me some food from the lounge.  He makes being here livable.  Not nice, no, never nice, but livable.

One morning I woke up to Eret in my room.  I immediately sat up.  "What are you doing here?"  He chuckles.  "Come with me"  I rolled my eyes and followed him.  Bad idea.  When I walk outside my cell I get swarmed by guards.  I can tell this isn't good.  I'm walked to a bigger room where I'm strapped down on a table.  "What's going on?"  I'm being hooked up to all these machines.  A doctor grabs my arm.  I try to shock them but they don't react.  Stupid protective suits.  The doctor hold my wrist down while he sticks a needle in.  He squeezes the bag it's attached to and I start to feel woozy.  The last thing I see is Eret standing above me.  "Goodnight Y/N"

Toby's POV

Tommy and I walk through the halls over to Y/N's cell.  We've made so much progress with her.  I just can't understand that feeling I get in my stomach when I talk to her.  It feels like my heart just flutters.

I walk past the other cells and over to hers.  I feel the snickers bar in my pocket hit my leg while I walked.  It was her favorite.  I brought her one every morning.  I see Tommy run past me.  He stops at her cell and yells my name.  "Toby, you might want to come see this!"  I pick up my pace and make my way to her cell.  I look through the window.  It was empty.  "No way"  I walk into decontamination and into her room.  "Y/N!?"  "It isn't here"  I hear a deep voice behind me.  Eret's voice.  I  turn around.  "What did you do to her?"  "It, Toby, it"   I feel anger bubble up inside me.  I see Tommy walk in.  Eret spins around to see him.  "Ah, perfect.  Boys, I will need you to come with me."  He says calmly.  "Not before you tell me where she is."  He laughs.  "IT.  You've gotten too attached to it"  

We follow Eret through the foundation.  We are led to a room without cameras.  Guards force us sit down and makes sure we stay down.  Eret walks to the side of the room.  He grabs a small syringe with a purple liquid in it.  "I'm so sorry it had to be like this boys, but it must be done."   He walks up to Tommy.  He uses his hand to push his head up.  "Eret?  What is that?"  Tommy asks frantically.  "Just some memory serum, don't worry though, you won't remember a thing"

He comes to me next.  I feel tears well up in my eyes.  "Eret!  How could you?  I've worked with you for hours!"  He sighs and pushes my head to the side.  "It was never meant to be"  he pushes the plunger and my mind went blank...

[crazy4dragons]

Everything Will Be Okay

Astrid comforts Hiccup after he finds out his injuries from a car accident are more serious than he thought. Pure fluff! Like Heaven AU. Hiccstrid are about 16 here.

Hearing her phone ring, Astrid turned her attention away from her homework and looked at the caller ID.

Hiccup 😜

“Hey, Hiccup,”  she greeted as she accepted the call.

“Are you busy?” came Hiccup’s voice through the speaker.

“I’m just doing homework. Why, what’s up?”

Hiccup sighed. “I had physical therapy today. You know, for my leg. And my therapist told me that I’m not making the progress he thought I would.”

“Listen, you shattered your bone pretty badly. And with the fracture in your ankle, too, it might take longer than expected for everything to heal all the way.”

“That’s the thing, Astrid. It’s not going to heal all the way.” Hiccup’s voice cracked. “The doctors are recommending I get a second surgery. And if that doesn’t work, I might have to use a wheelchair off and on for the rest of my life. Or maybe just a cane if I’m lucky, but I don’t want to be walking around like an old man with a walking stick. Do you know how much I’ll get teased at school? If I can ever go back to school?”

“But there’s also a chance the second surgery could work, right?”

“I guess, but even if it does, my limp will never go away permanently.” He sniffled.

Astrid frowned. “Hiccup? Are you crying?”

He didn’t reply.

“Are you still there? Hiccup?”

“Can you…can you come over? I need you,” Hiccup said, still sniffling. “And if it’s okay with your mom, do you think you could just stay the night?”

“I’ll ask, but she might say no because it’s a school night. Are your parents there?”

“Yeah, both of them are here. I’ll be honest with you, Astrid, I cried the whole way home from physical therapy, and cried more when we got home. My mom sat with me for a while, but she thought that maybe it would help take my mind off of everything if you came over.”

Astrid shut her laptop and, putting her phone on speaker and resting it on her desk, began to pack up her school supplies. “Yeah, I can come for at least a couple hours. I’ll check with my mom about sleeping over, too. Is there anything you want me to bring?”

“No. But if you’re down to cuddle, that would be great.”

“Of course I am.”

“Great. Well, I’ll let you go, then. Do you need my dad to come pick you up?”

“No, I can walk.”

“But Astrid, it’s freezing out. And dark.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll ask my dad come get you. I’ll tell him to be there in fifteen.”

“Okay, if you insist. I’ll talk to my mom about the sleepover and text you to let you know what she says.”

“Sounds good. See you in a bit, then.”

“See you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

…

Twenty minutes later, Astrid walked into Hiccup’s house, her overnight bag over her shoulder and a pillow under her arm.

“Hello, dear,” greeted Valka. “I’m so glad you could come. Hiccup could really use a friend.”

“Is he in his room?”

“Yes, love, he’s in his room. Did you have dinner yet? Stoick made pan-seared salmon and noodles. We have leftovers if you’re hungry.”

“No, I didn’t have dinner yet. Do you mind if I bring a plate to Hiccup’s room?”

Valka looked at the things in Astrid’s arms. “Why don’t you go on up and get settled in, and I’ll bring it up to you?”

“Thank you,” smiled the blonde. She ascended the stars and knocked on Hiccup’s door. “Hey, it’s me.”

“Come in.”

Astrid twisted the doorknob and, after putting her bag and pillow down, shuffled over to where Hiccup was sitting with red eyes and a box of tissues and wrapped him in a hug. “You know, no matter what happens, you’ll still have me.”

Unable to hold back his tears, Hiccup broke out into a sob. “I just want to be normal,” he cried, burying his face into Astrid’s shoulder.

“Shhh, it’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay,” repeated Astrid, running her fingers through his hair and hugging him closer. By the time Valka came upstairs with her dinner, he had stopped crying and settled back against the pillows, clutching Astrid’s hand for comfort.

“Here you go, Astrid,” Valka said, handing the blonde a warm plate of food. “And what about you, dear? How are you feeling?” She bent down and kissed Hiccup’s forehead. “Do you want any dessert? Or a soda?”

Hiccup shook his head. “No thanks, Mom.”

“Alright, well if you change your mind, just call me. I’ll be back to say goodnight in a little while. Just try not to worry too much, okay? I love you.”

“Love you, Mom.” Hiccup briefly hugged his mother before turning back to Astrid. “I’m just tired of the hospital. And surgery. And being stuck in bed. And I know the kids at school are gonna tease me if I show up with a cane. Or even a wheelchair.”

“They’re jerks if they tease you,” said Astrid, scooping noodles into her mouth. “But as for me, I’d much rather have you alive and needing a little help to walk than have you in your grave. Do you know how worried I was when I heard you were in an accident? And how scared I was when you were in your coma?”

“The coma was only two days,” Hiccup pointed out. “And seeing that I don’t remember it, it’s the least of my worries.”

“But from my perspective, all I could think about was, what if I lose my best friend?”

“And what kind of a friend will I be if I can’t do anything with you besides sit and talk?”  

“I like talking to you,” shrugged Astrid.  “And besides, you’ll be able to move around more soon. Even if it’s with some help. You’ll adapt.” She took a bite of fish. “You want any of this?”

He shook his head. “I already had some.”

“How about you put on Netflix or something so we can find a show to watch? As soon as I’m done eating, I’ll cuddle with you, too. I put on cozy clothes before I came here just for that reason.”

“What time are you getting up for school tomorrow?” Hiccup asked as he grabbed the remote.

“Six. I’ll try to leave without waking you, but I do have to give a warning that I have to set an alarm for myself.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I I can’t go back to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Are you still getting your assignments e-mailed to you?”

“Yeah. Right now I’m working on the project for my history elective, so at least I have something keeping me busy.”

“And you’re still making drawings to go with it?” Astrid asked between bites.

Hiccup nodded. “Yeah, wanna see?” He reached over and grabbed his sketchbook from the bedside table. “Here’s Thor and his hammer. And here’s some dragons. And here’s Freja and her cats.”

“They’re awesome.”

“I still have to color them in. I also have to draw Loki and Odin. And I want to do a scene of Vikings sitting in the Great Hall listening to stories. Then I have to get all these drawings on a poster and write a few paragraphs of background research for each of them. What about you? Any big projects you have to finish?”

“I have my AP bio exam coming up soon. That’s kicking my ass right now.” Astrid finished up her food and laid her plate aside. “But it’s okay.”

“And how’s it going with your boyfriend?”

“You mean David? He’s not my official boyfriend yet,” laughed Astrid. “But he is taking me out again on Friday night.”

“Is he treating you good?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have agreed to a second date if he wasn’t.” She snuggled against Hiccup’s side. “By the way, what are we gonna watch?”

“Will you hate me if I put on Vikings? I know how much you love historical dramas.”

Astrid laughed. “Put on whatever you want. I’ll just snooze. But wake me up when this episode is over because I need a shower before bed.” She draped an arm across his middle.

Grinning, Hiccup pressed the play button before tossing the remote aside and hugging the blonde. “Your boyfriend won’t mind us cuddling, will he?” He winked.

Astrid playfully punched his bicep. “He’s not my boyfriend!” she insisted.

“That’s what you say,” teased Hiccup.

“And even if he was, he wouldn’t be any longer if he had a problem with our friendship.”

“Aww, you’d break up with your crush for me?”

“Of course. Friends come first.” She tugged the duvet over their bodies and kissed his tear-stained cheek. “I mean it. No matter what happens, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” returned Hiccup, squeezing her tighter and rubbing his nose against the side of her face. “And thanks for coming here tonight. This is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re allowed to kiss me, you know,” laughed Astrid as she felt him nuzzle her cheek. “You don’t have to do whatever this is.” She reached up and flicked the tip of his nose.

Smiling, Hiccup pressed kisses into Astrid’s hair and against her cheek. “There, is that enough for you?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged playfully. “Maybe one more.”

Hiccup gave her cheek one last kiss before burying his face against her shoulder.

A warm feeling surged through Astrid’s veins as she let out a contented sigh and closed her eyes. “Alright. I’m gonna nap now. Remember, wake me up after this episode is over.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” teased Hiccup.

“Unless you want me to walk around school smelling like a yak tomorrow, you’ll wake me.” She snuggled into his chest. “And Hiccup?”

“Yeah?”

“Everything will be okay.”