#writing in advance

[sweetstrawberrysky]

Prompt; The LADS accidentally walk in on you changing.

Caleb - The quick knock at your bedroom door hardly allows you time to respond before the handle turns. “Hey pipsqueak, I know you care about matching, but are you almost d--” He gets exactly one step past the doorway, one quick glance, and he’s frozen in place.

You’re quick to cover yourself and instinctively whip the nearest item, a pillow, at him. “Caleb! Get out!” The pillow hits his leg and snaps him out of his daze, and he hastily removes himself from your space. He can’t even bring himself to apologize.

His back presses to the outside of your door and his knees give out. His breathing is shaky. A hand runs down his warm face and stops at his chest, clutching the area above his racing heart. “Dummy! Jerk!” He hears you cussing him out from within your room, but he doesn’t care, not after witnessing such a beautiful image that’s bound to play in his head over and over again.

Rafayel - In his defence, he wasn’t expecting you to be changing midday, let alone in his own house. “Cutie, do you-- uh…” And just like that he’s rooted to the spot. Are you… glowing? Is that something humans can do, or are you simply so stunning even the sunlight is on your side?

“Cute…” He mumbled under his breath. His eyes trail all over you until landing on your beautiful face. The tense set of your jaw and pretty tint of red filling your cheeks is enough to snap him back to reality. “Ah! Uh… s-sorry, sorry!” He awkwardly fumbles out of his own room while keeping his gaze down, ears bright red.

Once you’re dressed he doesn’t hold up much better considering you’re flaunting around in one of his painting shirts, radiating like an absolute vision.

Zayne - He’s gotten too comfortable with you. In no other universe with anyone else would he dare to welcome himself into a room when the door is closed shut. “I apologize for returning late,” His sentence is cut short at the sight of you. Vulnerable, soft, delectable.

However, just as quickly as he entered, he exits equally as fast. Not a word is uttered, a sneaky glance isn’t taken, he’s just gone. As soon as you’re decent you open the door and poke your head out. He didn’t go far. His back is pressed against the wall across from you and he’s looking down. Dark green eyes shoot up, scan your face, and dart off to the side. He clears his throat, “I… Sorry. I should have knocked.”

Your head tilts to the side. “…Zayne, are your ears red?” He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to.

Sylus - It was your own fault. Sylus wouldn’t slip up like that, because beneath the surface he’s surprisingly strict about respecting your privacy and boundaries. Mephisto is for your safety, not for being a creep. So, when he accidentally stumbles upon you in a state of undress, in his own bedroom, he’s unsure how to react. Is this a seductive teasing attempt on your end? Or perhaps you’re simply comfortable around him?

His eyes widen a fraction. You’re so ethereal. Though he cocks his head at the freeze response you’re giving. “Sorry.” He places a hand over his eyes while leaving. A few minutes pass when you hear a knock at the door followed by a tender, “Can I come in now?” When you tell him ‘yes’, he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You’re still willing to accept him into your space and that’s more than enough for him.

Xavier - He just wanted to sleep with you, and no, not in that way. He’s tired, he had a long day, and you promised to rest with him. Snuggle, hold each other close, watch something on your laptop while your eyes grow heavy… yet you’re taking so long in your bedroom. He’s aware he should have been more considerate, even in his groggy state, but he doesn’t think twice when calling your name while pushing your door open. It was already ajar, so he wasn’t expecting you to be changing.

He lets out a breath at the sight of you. “You’re… luminous.” His pale features gradually redden. He shakes his head and steps back, clicking the door shut. You hear his muffled voice from the other side, “I’m sorry. The door was cracked open, so I thought you were making your bed.” Despite the heat raising to your own cheeks you sheepishly tell him, “You’re… It’s okay. I should’ve made sure it was shut.” Silence, then a quiet, “…You’re beautiful.” You chuckle, “Thank you, Xavier.” He goes on, “So beautiful.”

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[mail-me-a-snail]

TRUE BLU - CHAPTER ART ii.-v.

the complete collection of the weekly chapter art i did for my fic true blu ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ also, idk if it was obvious before this post, but...

...each piece that has red in it lines up with the next ^_^ if you somehow noticed this before i pointed it out, congrats! you get a billion funny monies

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Sunrise, Parabellum.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[sinnamorolly]

random freak hcs for onyyy<3 (18+, nsfw links)

rbgs much appreciated>~<!

def the type to pause mid stroke to swipe his thumb thru the cream at the base of his dick to feed it to you

fs loves breath play. he likes grabbing ur neck, but he lovesss when you choke on his dick instead. likes watching you struggle to swallow it all while you get lightheaded

makes outtttt with your pussy. and i mean he’s a EATER. thigh bites and kisses before he sucks each lip. holds u open nd his tongue doesn’t leave ur poor clit alone for at least half an hour (he likes making u squirt on his face).

this mans physique?😫his dick is already a solid 8.5in, then its fat ontop of that?????!? it took so much prep the first time he tried fucking you

and the motion match the ocean ok! he got that hip roll with the deep grind right against your cervix typa stroke. only picks up his pace and starts fucking u up when you’re close so he can fuck you thru it and give u another one

oh and donttt piss him off bc you will not be heard from for a solid 4 hours and newly in need of several maintenance appointments. he will absolutely fuck out anything yall are feeling and will make you tell him whats wrong while hes in it

if u ever let him nut inside theres just no going back. the image of your pretty pussy dripping his cum is already permanently engraved into his brain

after he’s fucked you a few times, he dont gaf abt them “too bigg” whines no more, youre just stuck taking it. in fact he usually makes a point to grab your hips and press that last inch in. and i dont suggest pushing at them abs too often, he will jus go buy some handcuffs

his favorite position is definitely upright doggy. he can watch your ass jiggle and get deep up inside you all while still being able to reach everything. he be pulling your hair so he can see your crumpled face before giving u some sloppy ass kisses mm mm mm

loves smoking w you beforee

LOVES the noises you make he could literally cum from the sound alone

how he talks to you*.<3

“mm right…..there hm?”

“ you so pretty like this baby yk that?”

“uh un take that….mhmm there you go”

“move them fuckin hands im not finna tell you again”

“fuck princess thats how you comin?”

“yeah das all you needed huh?”

“so fuckin messy”

“ mhm you gon give me another one ma?”

“who all this for baby hm? use them pretty lips n tell me”

“ yeah you can”

his playlist*.<3

Poison - Brent Faiyaz

Power Trip - J. Cole

Stay Ready - Jhene Aiko

305 - Jordan Adetunji

It Won’t Stop - Sevyn Streeter

ALL MINE - Brent Faiyaz

Coming Down - The Weeknd

Kiss It Better - Rihanna

Damage - H.E.R.

Sorrows - Bryson Tiller

Try Me - The Weeknd

N o C h i l l - PARTYNEXTDOOR

Don’t - Bryson Tiller

[humanjarvis]

whoosh!

for the sixth time this period, a folded sheet of notebook paper whizzes through the air and smacks into your body. 

the culprit? same as the first five times. 

caleb was trying to master his evol by the start of junior year, dead set on perfecting it before he drowned in assignments, sports, and college prep. practicing at home wasn’t enough, he’d said, so he’d taken to bending gravity at school now, too. 

it was a noble effort—he was the most determined teenage boy you’d ever seen. but unfortunately for you, that determination had him floating notes over to you in class every day.

today’s was a paper airplane that always flew just within your reach, pricking your neck or your arm or the back of your skull. but before you could grab it, he summoned it back to him like a boomerang. apparently, just within your reach wasn’t good enough. his aim had to be perfect, and his target was your desk.

“stop it,” you hiss the moment your math teacher turns her back. “this is why you always have to help me with my homework. you’re distracting me.”

wide, unapologetic eyes gleaming in delight, caleb shrugs. with an innocent grin, he gestures for you to turn back around so he can try again. 

but before you get the chance, an accusatory drawl stops you in your tracks.

“is there a problem here?”

“no ma’am,” caleb answers sweetly while you freeze in your seat, feeling your cheeks flame with embarrassment. “she was just makin’ sure i could see the screen over her head. it’s not as small as it used to be, you know,” he quips, earning a chorus of giggles from your classmates.

your teacher sighs in exasperation. “alright then, mr. xia. but don’t let it happen again, you two. or else i’ll have to separate you.”

shooting him one last exasperated glare, you grumble a defeated “yes ma’am” and turn your head to face the front. and for a while, class proceeds as usual—no notes, no disturbances, just complex equations on the screen ahead.

until a thin white object makes a smooth landing on your desktop, followed by a whispered “yes!” from behind you. jumping at the sudden movement, you scramble to unfold the airplane before your hawk-eyed teacher sets her sights on you again. 

and when you read the simple message scribbled on it, your heart swells despite the twitch in your eye.

you look nice today :D

[keferon]

Two Peas in a Pod: part 3/?

_______________________________

Jazz was vaguely aware that Blaster was studying his reaction – or waiting to see if he would give into impulse. But Jazz's excitement had crashed to a puddle of nerves, a bunch of unidentifiable nerves, and he felt anchored to the spot. "Did you find out anything new about – him?" He asked, unsure of… far too much. "Like is there anything I should know?"

"The whole team still has a lot to discuss about," Blaster hesitated, his tone twisting into distaste just before the pause. Yet, relented to whatever it was that was bothering him and continued calmly, "about… him. There isn't anything I have to share, sorry."

He knew the apology was insincere, a show, just another part of the performance. They were friendly, but not friends.

Blaster had always been the one that told him more about what was going on around them than most ever had his whole life. He actively tries to get closer to him more than any past caretaker has and listens to Jazz. A flaw rather than a improvement for their first few years together as Jazz was prone to lying. Still was, but he do so less often and was more withholding the truth with Blaster. But Jazz couldn't quite bring himself to honestly trust him. He did, but not really. Because Blaster was still staff.

And the staff were currently hiding something, something they either didn't want Jazz to know or something they thought he wouldn't understand, so it was pointless. Jazz looked up at him with a – fake and flawless from practice – understanding smile, with the next line in the script. "It's okay."

Blaster smiled back, one that was genuine, than asked, "you calmed down enough for a check up? I got to keep an eye on your blood pressure."

Rather than answer with words, Jazz turned away from the gate and headed for the slope on the pier.

—

He spent the next two hours before dinner between quickly checking the clock and floating in front of the gate. The other orca hadn't even moved, and if not for the clear sound of steady breaths, Jazz would have probably started to freaking-out – okay, he was already freaking-out, but it was back on how he was going to talk with the wild mer. Or, heck, where to start on what to say.

The last thing Blaster said; before finally going home after a busy fourteen hour day, was that there was no need to worry if the wild mer slept until tomorrow. His wounds would recover faster if he didn't move, if anything it was a good thing. For now, went unsaid.

Thus, dinner came and went. Still asleep.

Day staff signed off and night staff came by to sneak a peek. He could pickup on them with his sonar coming by the bay window, but each time voiced disappointed that they couldn't see anything due to the hammock's position. Still asleep.

Dusk came and Jazz struggled to stay awake, exhaustion was finally catching up to him. Still asleep.

—

A wobbling keen caused Jazz to flinch and peek one eye open. It was probably the middle of the night with how dark it still was. As he blinked awake and stretched, his tired brain suddenly realized it understood that sound, that word – {where?}

Jazz quickly rolled over and looked towards the wounded mer. Not quite able to see, but was getting enough of an image of movement with his sonar. Combined with the sounds of shifting fabric and soft rattle of metal supports, Jazz could tell he was awake.

A weak questioning call followed along with a faint splash.

Ah, right, uh–! Jazz panicked for a moment, he didn't want him to become frightened and reopen his wounds, or think they were somewhere all alone. Diving down to an old memory and remembering the warmth, Jazz hoped he could convey his words with comfort, {it's okay… you're safe.}

He didn't get a vocal response, but they became still and within a few minutes, Jazz heard the soft steady breaths once more. He had fallen back to sleep and Jazz couldn't help but smile a little. It wasn't long before he also drifted back off as well.

—

Prowl groaned as he moved, he ached all over, but was given some pretty nasty tugs of sharp pain to remind him of just how bad it was. As he opened his eyes, though still groggy, he took a quick note of the situation as he looked about.

The space. Dim lighting, white walls, an air pocket room with a shallow pool, two doors; one in the water, one on an above-surface area – unusual. Sonar was giving almost unreadable imaging and with a limited range due to other sources of interference – there was a lot of noise to sort out. But he was getting what looked like corridors on one side, large open space on the other. Overall, a simple structure.

His position. A hammock – a bit too snug, unable to rollover, but acceptable comfort.

Injuries. Multiple points of laceration on his arms, flank and tail; claws from other merfolk. Deep punctures along his left side; teeth of a leviathan. Of both arms, the left has more damage and is pinned in a solid net-like cast; potential fracture. Cuts are held shut by a bright coloured, mesh-like covering that clings tightly to his skin by an adhesive, rough to the touch, but not uncomfortable or irritating – likely breathable to reduce infection during the healing process.

Additionally, he noticed in his inspection that his claws had been filed down to his fingers. Irritating, but not unexpected given the extreme caution most give to someone like himself. But in all, this was not first-aid, the treatment is professional.

Conclusion: local clinic.

Prowl gave a breath of relief and relaxed. Someone must have found him adrift after the skirmish and rushed him to a near by town or village. As everything was far to modest to be a big city hospital.

Suddenly, he sensed movement that went over him swiftly and looked up. But whatever it was was gone. Prowl was only picking up empty space above the light-blue ceiling. Then another zipped by. A bird?

Prowl felt everything slow to a stop as cold dread sunk into his bones. That wasn't a ceiling.

That was the morning sky.

_______________________________

I hope I have the right understanding of how advanced the merfolks civilization is... otherwise this is really awkward. >_>; I also wanted to give Jazz at least one human that is trying to make things better for him and be on his side (he's secretly providing inside information to mer activists and trustworthy researchers). Blaster worked hard to gain the position he has to be Jazz's lead caretaker, but fighting the system and working with in it (or risk being replaced by a yes-man) is a frustrating balancing game.

Sorry this one is so short. The next part is going to be really long as Prowl and Jazz get finally meet! I hope it is worth the wait. QuQ

Thank you for the hug, I return the hug!♡♡♡

-GLC

Oohoh my god oh my

The waitinggggggggggggg. Jazz is slowly going insane and so am I *dies*

Upd: I linked all the parts written by GLC together>:D

Link to the previous part

Next

Also the fact that Blaster is actually gives the information away to those activists??? MUAH. SO GREAT. This would also be a pretty solid reason for why Jazz and Prowl wouldn't get separated after the uh. Haha. The violent incident. Imagine if Blaster immediately got the security tapes and uploaded them somewhere? Kinda like it was with Black fish documentary uncovering the murders done by captive orcas?

Point is. People would see that "oh no those two poor mers defend each other so much they turn violent when separated" and pressure the Aquarium to keep them together. Maybe I sound stupid here but it does make sense in my head. It's really nice for Jazz to have someone on his side is what I'm saying. I love that:>

Separately. The tiny interaction they have is so soft and gentle I'm gonna melt. The little {you're safe}?? AUGH

I can't wait for them to interact IM DOING THE JAZZ ARC IN REAL TIME BASICALLY JUST FREAKING OUT OVER THE FUTURE COVERSATION AHAHDKMGMHMFNFMGMF

Also

Prowl: That's a weird looking underwater facility....

A bird: flies

Prowl:

[tearsofastraeax]

cw: ooops i might hafe felt a lil angsty, please don't hate me, also sorry in advance

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

your heart beat heavily in your chest as you stepped up to the bar the 141 usually hung out in after returning from their missions. the pit in your stomach had been sitting there for 3 weeks now, ever since you had that fight with simon. the whole way to the bar you had tried to convince yourself it wasn't as bad as you thought that you were just being your typical overthinking self, that he didn't hate you and it was just a stupid old fight, nothing to worry about. no, not at all. he would be excited to see you barge in through the doors and welcome you with open arms. after all, you haven't seen each other for a while now.

as you stared down at the street, your feet slowly carrying you towards your destination, you tried to remember what you had even fought about. it was some stupid misunderstanding, but simon had been so agitated, you were at a loss, couldn't get a second in to explain yourself.

"just go, please. i'm so done with hearing your excuses", he had muttered for the third time. 

and while you were desperate enough to try again the first two times, your self-respect was still intact enough for you to take the hint. so you had left. 

you were only able to contact him again days later, right before he had to leave on his mission. back then all he had said was for you to not worry about it.

and you had tried. you had tried your best. but the worries were eating you alive, so much so that you decided to surprise him. or ambush him? did he even want you there? was he excited to see you?

before you knew it, you arrived at the bar. your eyes frantically searching for the guys through the window, hoping to get a feel of the situation before you just barged in.

and there they were, gaz and soap laughing about one thing or the other, beers in their hand and standing close to price, who was as calm and collected as ever, as he sat on one of the bar stools, nursing on his pint.

but what made your heart skip a beat, your stomach fill with a heavy stone, weighing you down, and your hands getting clammy by just the sight of it, was simon. who so very casually leaned against the bar, a beer in the one hand and the other wrapped around some pretty blonde thing, that cozied up into his side and giggled at his jokes and remarks.

you weren't sure you could even belief your eyes. was this actually happening to you? was he that done with you? had you been too dumb to catch on to him wanting to break up with you? what had happened to the 'it's always gonna be you'? what had happened to the 'you're my calm'?

your stomach turned around at what you saw. your heart heavy and empty. a cold nausea drifted through your body like you had never experienced before.

and then his eyes met yours.

[misteria247]

Frank could admit to his supposed flaws. Out of all the neighbors, he was the one who was the most prickly, so to speak. He went with logic rather than feelings and was the polar opposite of his best friend Julie. He could admit that his snippy personality could make him difficult to be around. That it could make him unapproachable to some. Yet he wasn't an unreasonable man or puppet. But at the moment.....

'I'm gonna start killing people.'

The grey puppet thought briefly as he grounded his teeth to not get into an argument. Praying to any deity out there to give him some patience. To spare his last nerve that was on its last leg. Across from him was Barnaby, the large blue dog puppet looking just as annoyed despite his easy-going grin.

"I just don't think it's a good idea exposing us."

The larger male said his tone lazy but firm. Frank took a deep breath, reminding himself that Barnaby was only thinking about the others. Just like himself.

"We can't keep this hidden forever. Sooner or later (Y/N) is gonna find out about us. And I think it'd be wise if we eased them into this rather than spring it on them."

Frank explained, trying to get Barnaby to see what he was saying. Just as he'd been trying to in vain to get him to see for the past two days.

"And what makes you think that we can trust (Y/N)?"

Howdy piped up, ever the question asker as much as a salesman. His eyes were narrowed a bit, staring Frank down. The smaller puppet wasn't phased, but he didn't respond. He didn't know how to convey that just from watching you for these past few weeks, he'd just got this gut feeling that you were trustworthy. Not in a way that was the logical manner that he was known for.

"Because they've been fixing us up! Despite all the bumps and road blocks, (Y/N) has done nothing but put us first! If they're willing to fix us old puppets, then I'm sure they're trustworthy!"

Julie chimed in, speaking Frank's thoughts exactly.

"I mean, look at my dress! My hair! Eddie's mailbag and Poppy's feathers! For goodness sake, they'd cleaned you up Howdy! And they just finished Frank's vest!"

The chipper puppet explained, holding the end of her red dress to show your handy work. The tears and holes that once littered the skirt were now patched up with adorable flower styled patches that were sewed on and ironed on. Some of them looked a bit bad, but they were stable enough to stay in place until you could figure out how to make them look better. Yet it was clear that they were done with care. And you'd gotten quite a few burns and pricks from trying to fix it. Poppy, who'd been quiet, jumped a bit, her feathers looking much better since their arrival to your home.

'Countless hours spent preening and fixing those feathers.'

Frank noted remembering how long it'd taken you to get the worst ones out.

"Julie darling....just because they fixed us doesn't mean that they're trustworthy with this."

Sally replied, sounding like she was exhausted and uninterested. The actor was next to Poppy, looking rather unimpressed with Julie's arguments.

"Now, now, let's not fight, please. This is a discussion, not an argument."

Poppy said, ever, the motherly one, as she sensed the possibility of an argument brewing. Julie, who had opened her mouth to reply, closed it, and Sally just sighed, not commenting.

"Well.....I don't know about you and Ms. Starlet, but I agree with Mr. Frankly and Ms. Joyful. (L/N) has been nothing but thoughtful. I think if we just explained, they'd understand."

Eddie, who hadn't really given his stance, put in. Frank looked at the larger mailman, who was nervous but steady in his words. Not wanting to stare too long, he quickly looked away.

"This could end badly if we tell them, you three realize this, right??"

Howdy asked his tone, judging.

"Howdy is onto something, pal. I'm not saying that (Y/N) is a bad person, but they're not him. Humans aren't always nice."

Barnaby threw in, looking a bit regretful at Julie and Eddie's expressions falling. Poppy and Sally didn't say anything else, but by their expressions, they were taking Barnaby and Howdy's words into consideration. Frank wanted to tear his hair out because he understood where they were coming from. He knew humans sometimes were not kind, especially to people or things who were different. But he couldn't give up. Something within him just couldn't let himself completely agree.

Not after watching you fix and clean them. Not after having you talk to him, always friendly save for when you were tired from work and other things. Not after watching you burn, cut, and prick your fingers and hands so much just to make them look better. Everything you did, it just screamed kindness. He wanted to give you a chance to be eased into this, not be taken by surprise.

You deserved that much, at least.

Frank steeled himself to again argue his, Julie, and Eddie's case on trusting you when a voice spoke up.

"No, they're not him. (Y/N) won't ever be him, but........they have his kindness. They've spoken to us and treated us like living beings. I think.....that they can be trusted."

Wally, who had been silent the entire time, had caused them all to quiet down and look at him. The smaller yellow puppet was calmly sitting on your armchair, a thoughtful expression on his face. Frank could see the others' expressions becoming resigned despite their displeasure. While Julie and Eddie perked up immediately at another one of their group agreeing.

"Wally buddy...."

Barnaby started to say, but Wally looking at him with a head tilt, quietly listening to his best friend, made him stop. The dog puppet just gave a sigh, knowing that Wally wasn't one to put his opinion in unless he was sure. And trying to change his mind was futile.

"I don't like this. You better think of a plan on how to do this, Frank..."

Barnaby said, gaze boring into him. Frank just thinned his mouth, meeting it head on.

"I always have a plan, Barnaby. I'm a bit offended you'd think otherwise."

[samaraxmorgan]

Spill Your Secrets

Synopsis: Something strange happened during Sukuna’s most recent fight, he was nearly defeated. Completely losing his ability to harness his cursed energy, he had to resort to bludgeoning his enemy to death with his bare hands. Except after this sorcerer’s death, his techniques didn’t return to him. It won’t be that simple, you see, to regain his abilities he will need to reveal his deepest secret, but what on earth could that possibly be?

Pairing: Heian Era Sukuna x Reader

Contains: blood, lots of mentions of blood, very slight angst but everything ends up okay, tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 2.0k

My Masterlist Here!!

The king of curses is nothing if not blunt, never having any problems being as distastefully confrontational towards anyone who meets his menacing gaze. Anyone and everyone, except for you; it wasn’t always like this, of course, but over the course of your time together he’s become… more reserved you could say. He would absolutely threaten to kill you if you told him he was growing soft, but you’re both more than aware that he would never dare to lay a hand on you, no matter how often you intentionally push his buttons.

Like how you are now, waiting for him to return back home and enter his throne room to find you lounging on his precious throne, your back leaned against one armrest while your legs draped over the other. Uraume can’t help but shake their head, unable to comprehend the amount of absolute nerve you possess, or more importantly, how their lord Sukuna seems almost delighted to keep you around regardless of your constant antics.

The grand doors to the estate open abruptly, slamming into the walls as Sukuna enters, the blood of his foes coating his hands and leaving crimson splatters across his broad figure. This fight must have been messy; you’ve seen him return victorious more times than you could count, droplets of blood scattered on his skin, dripping down his face and torso, but this… It must have been personal. He clearly fought with his bare hands, bruises on his bloodied knuckles and a large open gash spread across his-

Wait.

What?

No, no, that can’t be right. You blink to clear your eyes, they’re surely deceiving you, but as he stumbles into the entryway you realize that the unthinkable- no, the impossible- has happened.

Sukuna is injured.

Within the blink of an eye, Uraume is rushing to his aid as you scramble off of his throne and run towards him. You’ve never seen this look in his eyes before, like a rabbit surrounded by wolves, his hands shaking in what could be perceived as either unrelenting anger or an imperceivable fear.

Your voice wavers, panic clear in your shaky breaths as you speak, “What… Happened…?”

“Uraume, the sorcerer I’ve just fought,” He’s trying to keep his voice steady, but there’s no mistaking the underlying panic in his rushed words, “Research his curse technique and report back to me with your findings.”

With a quick nod of their head Uraume rushes out of the throne room, pulling the doors shut behind them to prevent anyone from seeing Sukuna in this condition. He lets out a shaky breath, his guard immediately dropping with the click of the doors as he presses a large hand into the gash drawn across the side of his torso, gritting his teeth as he attempts to cover the wound to prevent more of his blood from seeping out.

“Why haven’t you healed?” Your voice comes out in a whisper, although you didn’t mean it to.

He whispers right back to you, “I can’t.”

You didn’t know it was possible for your eyes to grow wider, your heart pounding painfully in your chest as you forcefully grab one of his hands into both of your own and lead him to a lounge chair. He stumbles slightly, nearly collapsing into the plush cushions; a sharp breath escapes his throat, his head leaning back against the seat and his eyes squeezing shut.

Sukuna has never had to endure pain, his reverse cursed technique always closing his wounds for him subconsciously. You reach for the foot of your long gown, ripping through the fabric to create a large makeshift bandage. Seating yourself on one of his large thighs, you reach forward to wrap your arms around either side of his waist, pulling the fabric flush against his back and whispering out a quiet apology as you tie each end of the bandage and pull it tight, compressing his wound to suppress the bleeding and causing him to huff out a harsh breath, a low growl leaving his lips as one of his hands reaches to cover his mouth in an attempt to stifle his sounds of pain.

You pull his hand away from his lips, gently placing your shaking palm on his cheek; his eyes crack open and his head tilts subtly to meet your petrified gaze. His long fingers wrap around your trembling ones, an attempt to be reassuring, and he gently pulls your hand to his lips to press a weak kiss to the back of your hand that was now smeared with scarlet blood.

His maroon eyes look hazy as you gaze into them, swiping your thumb in an attempt to clear a drop of blood from his cheek but only smudging it across his features, “Tell me what happened.”

His brows furrow and he clicks his tongue, “That bastard hit me with… something,” He lets out a deep breath, “His attack rendered me incapable of harnessing my cursed energy. I’d assumed that disposing of him would resolve the issue, but,” The tiniest hint of a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, “I assumed incorrectly, it seems.”

Tears begin to well in your eyes, your voice breaking and causing that small smile of his to dissipate and his grip on your hand to grow tighter, “Will you be okay..?”

“Yes.” He declares sternly, two of his hands reaching to cup your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and catching a falling tear on the tip of his thumb, his voice sounding softer now “Yes, my dear, I will be okay.”

Tears begin to cascade down your face as you nod your head, forcing a wobbly smile onto your lips. His thumbs brush your tears away, but leave smudges of blood in their wake. His grip on your hand never falters as his last free hand wraps around your waist, the hands cupping your face sliding to the back of your neck and gently pulling you towards him, your forehead pressed against his as his eyes bore into your own; you’re unable to read the look he gives you, but his pupils grow wider.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“He has to what?”

Uraume shifts uncomfortably in the doorway of Sukuna’s chambers, “To share a secret, I don’t know to whom, but presumably he has to inform someone of a matter he is not willing to discuss.”

The tension had settled significantly in the last two days, Sukuna’s wounds slowly but surely healing on their own with no complications; you’ve been keeping a keen eye on his injuries as you cleansed and wrapped them multiple times a day, dark red scabs beginning to form throughout the slice taken from his side. You felt a wave of relief wash over you when you heard that Uraume had discovered the cure to Sukuna’s condition, but now tension has once again began to bubble up inside of you as you peer over at Sukuna sitting on the bed next to you.

What secrets could he possibly have? He’s never held his tongue for anyone.

Except…

“Thank you, Uraume, you are dismissed.”

They nod their head and turn on their heel, pulling the tall wooden door to the chambers shut as they leave. Sukuna leans back against the pillows adorning his grand bed, staring into the flickering flames of the candles hoisted on iron candlesticks surrounding the bed and painting the room in a soft orange glow. You both sit in silence for a moment, consumed in your thoughts as the curtains sway from the gentle breeze making its way in from the open window.

You’re first to interrupt the silence, crawling backwards on his bed and leaning your back onto the plush velvet pillows, gazing up at him next to you with a soft smile, “Well, at least it’s an easy solution.”

His eyes flicker to yours, and you’re greeted with that unreadable expression once again; his pupils growing larger at the sight of you, dim candlelight softly illuminating his darkened eyes that held something behind them. His lips part for a moment, but no words can grace his tongue; his gaze drops to your lips and back to your eyes, his mouth opening again but there is still only silence. He grits his teeth, his eyes squinting and brows furrowing in frustration as he turns his head completely to look away from you.

You lift yourself to sit upright on the bed, looking down at him laying beneath you and pinching his chin between your fingers, turning his head to look back at you, “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

A soft groan escapes his throat as he wraps a hand around your wrist, gently pushing your hand away as he turns his head to look towards the wall. A beat of quiet passes as his eyes fall shut, a soft sigh leaving his lips, “Perhaps that’s the case.”

You scrunch your brows together, giving him a quizzical look as you gently poke underneath his bottom eye, “Well? Spill it.”

He rolls his eyes, “It’s is not so simple.”

You let out a frustrated huff, “Sukuna, we can’t keep you hidden forever. Eventually the people will hear that the king of curses is curseless.”

He grits his teeth, shooting daggers in your direction as his eyes meet yours once again, “I am well aware. Please humor me with your silence, woman.”

“Woman,” You repeat in a mocking tone, your arms crossing across your chest, you mumble under your breath, “I was My Dear two days ago.”

“You-” Two of his hands take hold of your own and pull them away from your chest while his other two rest on either side of your hips, “You’re always-” his words get stuck in his throat, his gaze up at you softening as that look in his eyes returns once again.

One of his hands leaves your hip to prop himself up on the bed, the mattress shifting under his weight as he leans his tall figure down to have his face hover right above your own. His fingers intertwine with yours as he wraps his lower set of arms around your waist and pulls you into his lap, the two of you now eye level.

His breath fans against your lips as he speaks, his voice hardly coming out as a whisper, “You don’t make this easy for me,” He lifts one of your hands to his chest, pressing your palm against his pounding heart, “My dear.”

He looks beautiful, the warm glow of candlelight cascading across his skin as his dark eyes gaze into yours, longing for you, not wanting to ever have you leave his arms.

Your voice escapes in a whisper, “What do you mean?”

He lifts the hand he had placed between your bodies up to your chin, his thumb slowly brushing over your bottom lip, “Every time I have attempted to tell you, my voice has never ceased to failed me,” He leans further towards you, your foreheads pressed against one another’s, whispering against your lips, “It seems that you always manage to tear my breath from my lungs.”

He breaks the distance between you, tilting his head slightly and running his hand to the back of your neck as he softly presses his lips against yours. Your heart races in your chest but your eyes fall shut as you melt into him, sliding your hand from its home on his heart and wrapping it around the back of his head, attempting to pull him impossibly closer. He lets a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding escape him, kissing you deeper, passion flooding from his lips and against your own.

It pains him to pull away from you, but he doesn’t stray far, his lips still brushing against yours as his eyes are back on yours, clarifying to you that his eyes have always been telling you what he has never been able to say in a breath against your lips, “I Love You.”

A/N: So THAT was his secret huh, I have the BIGGEST headcanon that he refuses to ever ever ever say I love you, and a situation like this is the ONLY way to get him to actually admit he could god forbid care for another person. Anyway I wrote this in a more… formal? style than I normally do bc my usual snarky inner dialogues didn’t really fit the vibes here, so I went balls to the walls with the fancy speak lmfao. I hope you enjoyed!!

[voidsuites]

can you play ken?

IT’S an act of sorts— a performance, if you will— being a notable figure. plaster on a smile in front of the camera, dress to the nines whenever you go out in public, and always thank the fans for getting you to where you are. none of this is new to art at this point in his career, but it’s never been so apparent and in his face until now.

it shouldn’t be. it’s just a few test covers for the next vogue issue— he’s done plenty of magazine photo shoots this far into his career— but it’s never been both him and you modeling together. it’s brand-new territory.

your smile, all pearly and sweet, plastered on your lips from the moment the first shutter was removed. your hand perched atop your favorite spot on his body as of late, lithe fingers curled around his shoulder in a way that feels more staged than affectionate. he’s smizing, his expression cool while his hand curves around your hip. if he squints hard enough, art can tell just how firmly his fingers are digging into the fabric of your outfit. he’s stiff, rigid— just like the ken doll that lily tucked into his suitcase because it “looked like daddy.”

and he does look like art in the photos, down to the cropped haircut, fixed posture, and subtle upturn of his lips. huh. does he look this plastic in real life?

… he can’t ever relax, can he? this kind of thing was always your element— the front-facing side of your shared fame— since he was more than content to stick to the sidelines. smile for the camera. sell the story. prove to the world that your knee blowing out in college isn’t a sore spot between you two— that it should be art prepping for a promising run at the u.s. open and not you.

but besides his fingers digging into your hip like you’re going to slip out of his grasp in the preferred option, the covers are good… really good. it’s the perfect way to generate buzz as you two head into the open, with art taking point and you right behind him leading his coaching team.

“they came out good,” you say from behind him, fresh from the shower if the lingering scent of your body wash gives anything away. your hand drops to that same spot on his shoulder like clockwork, and art’s minuscule flinch doesn’t go unnoticed. “… what’s wrong?”

nothing, he wants to say, nothing, don’t worry about it. however, it’s futile to even try and get away with a lie that even he’s not confident in telling.

“do you ever feel like all of this is just… fake?” art asks, ignoring the way his stomach turns when he looks up at you. just like he expected your eyes are narrowed, your brow raised slightly like you’re waiting for him to continue. so he does.

“the photo shoots, the commercials, the brand deals… it all just feels fake,” he sighs, and art turns back to the spread of potential covers laid out on the coffee table. “i-it’s all staged, and why is anyone supposed to care that i’m trying to win the open again when the article’s focused on what cologne i wear—”

“it’s a personality piece,” you supply easily, running the towel in your hands over your hair to dry off while your robe hangs loose around your frame. “letting the people in on who you are, who we are. that we’re not just out-of-touch celebrities who haven’t been human since 2006.”

he scoffs. “it’s ridiculous.”

“you’re ridiculous.” you shake your head before stepping towards the hotel suite’s closet to find pajamas to change into. “i don’t know why you’re so upset about this.”

art stands from the desk, following you towards the closet while his stomach continues to ache. “because i shouldn’t have to prove that i’m a real person to the world by telling them my cheat meal between dieting and training— i’m a real person because i fucking exist.”

(it’s a happy meal: cheeseburger. fries. substitute apple slices for extra fries. extra-small coke if he’s feeling especially risky, milk if not. no toy unless it’s something lily would like. but that’s besides the point.)

“you can’t tell me that you like this,” he sighs, clearly exasperated as you drop the robe and move to pull one one of his shirts. if his eyes flit elsewhere instead of the bare stretch of your back, he doesn’t say. “it just feels like we’re pretending to be people we’re not, all for the sake of money. attention. bullshit.”

you fix his shirt over your shoulders while you spare him a glance. “it’s a part of the job, art.”

shaking his head, art moves around the edge of the california king and goes to unbuckle his watch from his wrist. “yeah— well i didn’t sign up for this.”

“art.”

“i’m going to bed,” he replies, somewhat thankful that he’d showered and changed earlier when you both got back to the room. it’d be more awkward for him to be all pissy like this, then have to walk past you to go into the en-suite.

“art.” the mattress sinks behind him, and this time he doesn’t flinch when your hand falls on his shoulder.

and this time, he doesn’t snap as he turns around to face you. “what?”

your lips purse when his eyes meet yours, and the pit in his stomach is back. “… we need to let them know what cover we want them to use.” a pause. “did you have a preference?”

his pinched expression mirrors yours. art knows you don’t really mean it— the magazine execs really did a response sooner rather than later— but the synergy’s off and he’s just ready to leave today in the past. no more pretending.

“… i don’t care,” he sighs, hand meeting your thigh as his fingers dig slightly into your skin, “just pick your favorite, babe.”

he doesn’t let you respond as his lips meet yours, but the kiss is more fleeting than they normally are. less hungry, less needy… less art. and even though he’s reluctant to let go of you and turn onto his side, he does.

he wish he didn’t. mottled blue eyes meet the ultramarine, painted-on irises of ken on his nightstand and his stomach starts to ache again.

“goodnight.”

silence. then the mattress shift again as you go to look over the tests covers. art wonders if you recognize just how plastic he looks in the photos (and whether or not you still see it as his eyes shut).

“… goodnight, art.”

[inkskinned]

okay if you're really cool about things, i can be honest with you. before you read further, decide if you're a girl's girl. if you're cool and actually cool or like not cool.

men don't talk in my book because i was fuckken tired of the way they're the center of every fucking story. i was tired of how every story takes a moment to let them talk. men can shut up for literally one fucking book.

unfortunately not everyone is cool. professionally what i usually say is i didn't want to add violence to the world. the only men in my book are abusers, so they don't get to talk. they don't get to take up space. they ruined my life, they don't get to have their words echo anymore.

because like, yeah! you find practically any story about a person surviving trauma and... there's a man at the center. men are often rescuing us from these things. a "good man" is always standing around, being a good man, proving to the victim that good men are the real men. that her experience was unique rather than universal.

the redacted text has not been taken well by all of my early readers. there is this weird, crouching growl that keeps occurring with men-of-a-certain-age. why don't we hear his side of the story?

when i sat down to write everything that happened to me, i couldn't look at the frank brutality of my abuser's words on a page and think to myself: i actually let him speak like that. i had to redact his words from the manuscript. i then left it redacted. no victim is going to read this book and hear the person who hurt them. it is a book for the victims to speak. abusers shut up challenge, forever. for eternity.

my father once told me, chuckling, i should just have a page of redaction where i let the man just finally talk. it is funny to joke about how we should make a whole page in my book about a man that hurt me. this was not the only time someone commented - it feels like you're hiding things. how do i know you're actually a victim if he doesn't get to speak?

there are books where women aren't even present. i even genuinely like some of those books. like, who doesn't like the hobbit?

i keep running into people defending this imaginary man. the default narrative is so true to some people that they will defend any man, just by virtue of the assumption - "if he's acting like that, you had to push him." certain people need definitive proof that you didn't accidentally make your partner into an abuser. they need to decide if you deserved it, because they want to be able to judge you.

which makes sense, i guess, from a hind brain perspective. if you can figure out "why" someone was cruel, you can protect yourself against it. if you defend the bully, the bully might side with you. i don't really know their explanation for feeling this about a character in a book. trust me, i wrote the guy. he is not going to protect you.

i guess i just - there was a time in my life where i desperately wanted anyone to defend me. where i could have really used someone saying holy shit are you okay instead of what did you say to make him act like that to you.

instead, over dinner, a friend-of-a-friend i just met is pouring herself wine. i heard you wrote a book, she says. she gives me the kind of chilly smile i associate with knives. i heard it's unfair to men.

[thenugking]

I see people talk a lot about how Ketheric is the best villain in BG3 because he's serious and has genuine sympathetic motivations while Orin and Gortash are just going "heehee I love being evil" and I feel like these people have missed what a massive fucking loser and piece of shit Ketheric Thorm is. I say this as a Ketheric lover--I am rotating this man in my brain so often--but my god he sucks so bad.

Like I don't want to minimise the grief of losing your loved ones before their time, and I can't even imagine how horrific it must be to have to bury your child. But plenty of people have to do that and then don't become war criminals about it. Ketheric murdered a lot of other people's families in his grief, even before becoming Myrkul's Chosen in return for getting Isobel resurrected. (And ofc, his treatment of Isobel is more Control and Abuse and lying about her girlfriend being dead when he's actually torturing her than about being a sweet doting dad who loves his daughter, but that's a whole other post.)

Gortash is repressing his tragic backstory and delighting in hurting people the way he was hurt. Orin is too deep in a lifetime of cult brainwashing to recognise that she has a tragic backstory until the very last moment, and trying desperately to get family approval the only way she's ever been taught (murder). Ketheric only looks more tragic on the surface because he's marinating in his backstory. He is not in any way a better or more complex person for it, he's just a deeply sad man, in more than one sense of the word.

He absolutely benefits from having an entire act built around his storyline and having it be actually well written, while Orin and Gortash have to share Act 3 and then get upstaged by a talking brain as the Big Bad! But being voiced by JK Simmons doesn't make Ketheric not a loser.

[cvnt4him]

Diaries of Spider-Man.

ch1

Dear diary; what was I thinking?!

synopsis; the disastrous "adventures" of a teenaged spiderman.

This is a WIP, please let me know your thoughts and if this is what you would like to see from me<3

“let's do this one.. last.. time...”

“my name is izuku midoriya, and for the past 3 years, I've been the one and only spiderman. Annnd, I'm pretty sure you know the rest..”

₊˚⊹

Izuku jots away in his notebook before taking a step back to read what little he's written. the groan that escaped his lips was quite audible. He was rather disappointed in what he's written.

When his therapist "prescribed" him to journaling or writing down his thoughts in a notebook which he didn't want to refer to as a diary, his initial thought was;

‘theres no way in hell writing things down would help me.’

However for the past three years, izuku found himself writing everything he could down in those measly little journals his therapist gave him. Each and every year the thick and huge diary journal she gave him would begin to get fuller and fuller of all of his little adventures or simple daily routines.

Izuku was nothing if not a stubborn little shit at times. Of course he would disagree heavily but facts don't lie. You can't tell this energetic know it all anything. He's really smart and well put together. Most of the time. Upon becoming spiderman he hasn't had a lot of time for much. His consistent tasks of being spiderman are always heavy and time consuming. He doesn't have time to study for his driver's test, his normal class tests which define if he passes the grade and gets into college, or even dinner half the time?!

To be frank; the poor thing has been through a lot the past years. Too much honestly. Izukus "power" awakening was an honest mistake. Like your typical movie spiderman, he was bitten by a radioactive spider whilst he was doing something he knew he had no business doing

₊˚⊹

To go back exactly three years 4 months and 17 days ago, you would find a 14/15 year old izuku breaking into an abandoned home with none other than his typical, usual, partners in crime.

Katsuki bakugou and y/n l/n.

Izuku knew it was a bad idea from the beginning, however he always followed the two of you into stupid situations that could eventually get you killed. In this case, it almost did. Izuku helped you get through the window the three of you had busted by letting you climb onto his shoulders, katsuki who had laid his jacket over the glass so none of you would cut yourselves, grabbed you by your arms and pulled you in, the both of you then helped izuku in with basically the same method.

“woah.. spooky.”

“ heh.. it reeks in here.”

You giggled at katsukis exclaim, making izuku pout slightly. He sighed to himself, not wanting to admit the blonde was correct.

“ you guys i- i really don't think we should— ”

“ hey check it out! there are spray paint cans in here!”

Katsuki yells running to the other room with numerous cans of spray paint. You followed him like a dumb lost puppy leaving izuku to groan and follow behind you both.

There were many graffiti stamps left behind from many different people, obviously they had left behind their spray paint for some odd reason, that's what really intrigued izuku.

“ tch, hey deku, get over here so we can sign our names!”

Izuku jogs closer to you two shivering to himself at all the spiderwebs covering the cans. It was dusty and quite eerie inside of this place. Izuku truthfully wanted no part. You and katsuki signed your names right next to each other with little quirky doodles next to them, izuku soon followed suit. He picked up the green can of paint and signed his name ‘izuku’

“ no no, put deku! ‘ts way better than ‘izuku’!”

The way katsuki could make izuku feel bad about his given name should've been studied. And they way you were quick to agree hurt the poor boy even more. He soon crossed out izuku and put ‘Deku’ big and boldly. It was all alone compared to how closely the two of your names were.

The two of you had long began to explore elsewhere, leaving izuku wondering where you two went off to.

“hey! Come in here izu- I mean deku!”

You yell out catching his attention, he follows the sound of your voice to find you two the small critter crawling up his back going completely unnoticed. Some time passed and it only got later and later, izuku was still hesitant about being there but the two of you just kept going deeper and deeper inside of the manor.

Izuku rushes inside of the next room, breaking contact with whatever artifacts caught his eye. He looked for the two of you calling out your names with no answer, he was confused and quite scared, where could the two of you have gone?

“ boo!”

Izuku jumped back falling down to the ground and scraping his little hands.

“ow..!”

Izuku winced at the sudden sting of not only his hands but the pinch of his skin itching and being very irritated next to his neck, he slapped it and the arachnid soon fell into his hands. With a shutter he threw the spider out of his hands feeling rather jittery after the encounter.

“ are you alright, izuku?!“

You were quick to rush over to him. It was simply supposed to be a little harmless joke, he wasn't supposed to get hurt. You helped him up and dusted him off as well heading katsuki suck his teeth in response.

“ yes, i- I'm fine. I've gotten bitten by a spider however.. one unlike any other I've ever seen.. we should head back so I can tell my mom.”

“ oh, oka-”

“ no.”

Katsuki was quick to shut down before you could get out your sentence. You both turned to look at him he seemed angry a bit as if something completely ruined his mood.

“ if you tell your mom we could get in trouble, she might tell my mom who might tell y/ns. you don't want us getting in trouble, do you deku.”

The way katsuki used the nickname against him made his stomach feel sick. He gulped down the rising bile in his throat and coughed lowly.

“ katsuki he got hurt, shouldn't he-”

“ no! I'm not getting in trouble because wimpy deku wanted to be an easy scare!”

“thats not fair katsuki!”

The two of you started bickering, leaving him out causing him to sigh. He felt a bit weird.. kind of dizzy and out of breath as if he'd been running. It was growing warm and he had began sweating, hyperventilating as if he needed to catch his breath.

The sounds of him caught your attention and suddenly the boy looked quite weak, frail of some sort.

“ izuku..? are you...alright?”

Katsuki sooner looked over to see izuku hardly keeping his balance, he wouldn't admit it but he was quite worried at the sight of him.

“ let's go.”

Was all katsuki said as he grabbed izuku by the hand and ran back towards the broken window the three of you came in.

The two of you got izuku home in one piece for the most part, he was dizzy and hardly standing up on his own, the running had him so our of breath it was almost like he was having an anxiety attack. He probably was to be honest, izuku was a very anxious boy. His anxiety levels were very high at all times, with the growing symptoms in his body and the bite from the spider he was so worried about what was happening to him he most likely started having a panic attack whilst running. Luckily he was home now, you and katsuki beat on his door as you heard him mom yelling she was coming.

She opens the door with a smile to see the three of you out of breath with a dead looking izuku, the sight startled his mother causing her to pick up her son and rush him to the hospital. Both yours and katsukis parents had been called and had quite a talk with inko who was worried sick about her son, yelling at your parents and explaining how she has no idea what happened.

You two didn't speak to each other once. Not even looking at each other. Both your parents had taken you and katsuki back home. After that night you'd never spoken to katsuki or izuku ever again..

Izuku was completely fine however. Those symptoms may have been bad but that was all it was. He was able to go home that same day and the doctors called it a simple panic/anxiety attack. His mother was worried sick for no reason.

From that moment forward things only began to get weirder for this normal teenaged boy.

₊˚⊹

Izuku sat at his desk reading his old journals of how he believes he got his powers, scoffing to himself at the memories. He had all his books all over his desk in a completely messy pile nose buried in his book as someone walked over and bumped his desk back into him, it lightly hit him in the stomach causing him to drop the journal in the desk and the desk of the books that were formerly there onto the floor.

He scoffed in annoyance looking up to see you with a shit eating grin on your face as you scowled down at him, not even apologizing as you walked out of the classroom.

Izuku seen as the classroom was completely empty, just him and his messy books all over the floor. He sighed and crouched down picking them up and shoving them into his backpack. His phone vibrated in his back pocket, he picked up up to see w text from his friends.

‘ hey! Meet us in the front?’

That singular text from ochako was all he needed for a small smile to form on his freckled cheeks. Just as he was about to put it away there was a pop up from the news channel he had downloaded on his phone, something about a criminal stealing from a jewelry shop.

He sighed to himself and texted her back explaining he wouldn't be able to meet them and that he'd just head home. However that wasn't the case. He ran out the back door of the school pushing through some students earning some angry and annoyed remarks spat at him; but he didnt have time to care. He ran behind some building and quickly slipped his suit on. He'd rather skip the embarrassing details..

Just as he was about to 'web away' he got a call from none other than katsuki bakugou. Izuku jumped and nearly dropped his phone at the sudden ringing, he quickly answers without thinking, lifting his mask over his mouth to speak,

“ oi nerd, y’heard about that criminal stealing that diamond or whatever?”

The normally volcanic boy has a soft tone still laced with a bit of redness and sass.

“ yes, kacchan, and before you called I was just about getting there so if y’dont mind!!!!”

The blond scoffs on the other side, chuckling as he snorts at his sass. Izuku groaned at the sound of him laughing and simply hung up swinging away as quickly as he could.

“ look up there! It's spiderman!!”

People squealed and yelled at the familiar colors of izukus suit, black along the sides and a deep green painting the front and back of his skin tight suit, and a big white spider over the chest. He'd made the suit when he was younger and had started working out he'd wanted to show it off but as of now he thinks it's quite unnecessary..

He swung through the crowds waving and smiling under the mask, as tiring as being spiderman was he was always thankful for the love he'd gotten. They truly made him feel valuable, izuku struggled with self confidence a lot, it's common in people like that to enjoy attention from all.

It wasn't that izuku needed to be humbled or anything but....izuku swung down an alley that reports seen the criminal go down, supposedly the diamond they had stolen was a very important artifact from ancient times or whatever, moral of the story was he needed to get it back to where it belonged! Izuku could do that!

He dropped in front of the criminal with a hero stance making him appear big n bad in front of them.

“ stop! give me that diamond, criminal!”

Izuku was obsessed with action movies when he was younger, his favorite actor was custom to working in them. He always imagined being a superhero and technically he is! However within these three years the fame and glory really went to his head ..

The criminal halted, izuku tried stepping closer to retrieve the diamond in a cool manner, speaking to the cloaked person in a soft voice trying to get them to come to their senses like some kind of......main character. To izukus surprise they pulled out a crossbow. He was stunned at the size of it,

“ how- how did that fit inside of your— ”

Before izuku could get the rest of his sentence out the criminal shot the arrow, it completely piercing izukus shoulder. He yelled out in pain nearly falling to his knees, that then made him realize that was no joke, this person being unlike any other petty thief hes gone up against.

As the criminal kicked izuku to the ground with a bare boot while he was holding his injured and punctured shoulder they quickly made haste and ran past him out of the alley, crowds soon coming up after the person ran away and seeing izuku clutching his shoulder run pain, all of them having different emotions on his face it would be an understatement to say he was embarrassed.

What had he thought that he was just invincible? Izuku struggled into his knees hearing whispers from the crowd and quickly tried his best to attempt swinging away with a singular arm, his left to be exact and that wasn't his maiden arm either. Izuku was fully right handed and did everything with it, with his right arm basically out of commission he did his best to swing with his left hand but...

He eventually wobbled and hit a sign, he was going at a high speed as well trying to hide his shame and find the person who did this to him, as his body came into full contract with the sign knocking every little bit of air out if his body the arrow got pushed deeper, making izuku groan in agony once more. Blood wetting his skin and suit as it dropped down, he didn't take the arrow out before because he thought about how it would cause him to bleed out and wouldn't be any good...now he wished he had.

He held onto the large sign and tried to swing away once more, he eventually got the hang of it for a little while managing to drop himself behind a building. He leaned against the wall of it and groaned, he wanted to take his suit off but it wouldn't be a good idea, anyone could've followed him or even tried to see who he was. It wasn't a good idea.

With every ounce of energy and strength in his body he pushed himself up from sliding to the ground and called who he knew he could.

“ yo?”

“ ka..kacchan... I need your...your help..”

₊˚⊹

AN: this is js a WIP lemme know what y'all think n if I should add or like yk leave out some things!!!!

[rebelspykatie]

Robin convinces Steve that Eddie is interested in him, just based on how frequently he flirts with Steve. Uses the same logic that Steve deployed to convince her to give Vickie a shot. Except, there’s no doubt about who Eddie could be attracted to. He’s gay and doesn’t really flirt much with women, keeps it more surface level. 

But with Steve, he’s all over him, getting in his personal space, tapping his chin, batting his eyelashes and draping himself over his lap during movie nights. Steve’s confident in his newly discovered attraction to men, and subtly tries to turn up the charm on his end. Flirting back, giving as good as he gets, but it never seems to affect Eddie. 

Steve’s gotten used to striking out. Never really catching anyone’s attention these days, what with the lackluster attempts at being interested in the mundane things some of the girls drone on about, to being afraid to sleep over for fear of a nightmare tearing him from sleep, to the way no one makes his skin buzz. He’s given up the pursuit of anyone else, setting his sights on Eddie, pushing gently at the boundaries that barely exist between them. 

Until the first time Steve and Robin are invited to see Corroded Coffin perform at the Hideout. He watches from afar as Eddie bounces across the room before the show. He hasn’t spotted them yet as he makes his way over to the bar. There’s a cute, older guy bartending, probably in his late twenties, buzz cut hair, ripped leather vest accentuating his arms. 

Steve watches in what feels like slow motion as Eddie leans over the counter to get as close as possible to this guy. That mischievous smirk that Steve’s used to seeing pointed at him is out in full force. Eddie is saying something, looking up at this guy, reaching out to squeeze a bicep and getting playfully batted away. Eddie lets the guy tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, almost a caress along the side of Eddie’s face. 

And there’s a moment where Steve feels like he’s floating on air, suspended in a moment in time before a catastrophic shift changes his trajectory. He’s careening to the ground at break neck speed and crash landing all in a matter of seconds. A vice-like grip squeezes his heart, reminding him that he’s not special. He’s dissecting every memory of Eddie flirting, finding nothing consequential there in the wake of this discovery. 

How stupid could he have been to think that it meant anything? That must be why Eddie never reacted to his advances, they were just a blip on his radar. He’s got this guy wrapped around his finger, just like he’s had Steve. Except Eddie’s never blushed like that around him, or let Steve tuck his hair away. 

As much as he wants to turn around and get the hell out of here, he promised he’d come to Eddie’s show, even if looking at Eddie right now feels like a shot straight through his heart. That inexplicable draw to Eddie doesn’t just disappear. He wants to cross the room and drag him away from this guy, but what right does he have to do that? 

He feels Robin’s hand slip into his, turns to look at her, sees a mirror image of how she looked on the grimy bathroom floor of Starcourt, letting Steve down gently. Their friendship past the point of needing to verbally communicate anything. Robin gently tugs on his arm to convince him to sit at a table, clasping his hand underneath it tightly when Eddie finally spots them and Steve has to pretend like he’s fine. And he is fine. 

But he’s also not. His heart is cracking open with each note Eddie sings, the fault line growing until it feels like he’s split in two, bleeding out on the floor of this disgusting bar. When is he going to get it right? When is it his turn to feel wanted? Nancy and Robin hurt, but he feels blindsided by this one. He was so confident he was right, that this time it was reciprocated. 

But maybe he’ll always be the fool.

[hyruling]

hello 👀♥️ for prompts, free choice out of the following (can be combined too): 3, 67, 68, 70

3. “Could you be happy, here, with me?” & 67. “Don’t look at me like that.”

—

The sun hangs low in the sky, rays throwing shadows across the trees and vegetation in the field beyond the house. Buck’s beer sweats in the heat, condensation running from palm to elbow and staining the wood under his arm.

He doesn’t mind. It’s nice in the thick Texas heat, sweltering even this late in the day. Even better, Eddie is next to him, the two of them swaying on an actual porch swing that Buck helped him install only a few hours ago. He’d spent all day teasing him for being a cliche, but he can’t find it in himself to poke fun at him now. It’s nice, sitting on the porch after a hard days work, watching the sun set in shades of soft orange and brilliant pink — taking in the sounds of humming cicadas, the whoosh of cars passing by. The occasional horn blaring from the train a few miles from Eddie’s house.

And then there’s Eddie himself, lit up golden and beautiful in the sun, a contented smile curled on his face. If this were a movie, and if Buck wasn’t already painfully aware of his feelings for him, this would certainly seal his fate. The sight of Eddie at dusk is devastating, otherworldly.

Or maybe he’s just in love.

“Gotta say,” Buck says, breaking the comfortable silence at last. “I see the appeal now.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, smiling over his shoulder at Buck. He lifts his bottle to his lips, and Buck holds his breath watching him take a long pull.

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “The splinters and bashed thumbnail were all worth it for this. Good old southern porch-sittin’.”

Eddie hums and glances down at Buck’s left hand. Buck watches him reach over and brush his own thumb over Buck’s bruised finger, and Buck has to remind himself to exhale.

“Still hurt?” Eddie asks, eyes fixed on his thumb pressing gently against Buck’s.

“Nah,” Buck says. He wonders if Eddie would keep touching him if he said yes. “Not so much anymore, the ice did the trick.”

“Don’t know why I assumed you’d be able to handle a hammer. Should’ve known after the bathroom sink incident,” Eddie teases, taking his hand away at last.

“That was a wrench, and it got the job done, didn’t it?” Buck says.

Eddie barks out a laugh. “If you say so. We’ll see how well it works when Chris brushes his teeth later.”

Buck snorts, and they share a look — of mingled relief and joy — that Chris is where he belongs, back in a familiar routine that they both helped establish.

Buck had booked a ticket almost the minute that Eddie told him he was back home — when it no longer felt like overstepping, when Chris had not-so-subtly hinted at missing him and Eddie had not-so-subtly mentioned that Southwest was having a sale. And Chris throwing himself into Buck’s arms at the airport after nearly a year apart definitely ranks among the top ten moments of his life.

“Sucks that tomorrow is my last day,” Buck says with a heavy sigh and a sip of beer. “Should’ve put this up day one. I’ll be missing out on some major porch time back home.”

“You could stay longer,” Eddie suggests with a half-smile aimed at his lap. He twirls his bottle around, presses it into the knee of his jeans until a ring of water appears in the fabric. “You’re welcome for as long as you want.”

“Yeah,” Buck says noncommittally.

He feels Eddie’s eyes on him, burning into his temple like a brand, and keeps his own trained on the horizon. He’s spent three perfect days here, full of home repairs and dinners and exploration of Eddie’s hometown; of movies and video games and a trip to the planetarium. He hasn’t wasted a moment, soaking up every second he has with Eddie and Chris while he can. The idea of having to board a plane roughly forty hours from now and leave them again makes him nauseous. Makes him want to fuse himself into the very foundations of the house so he can’t leave.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Buck says, eyes still fixed on the sky.

“Like what?” Eddie asks. Buck can feel him still looking.

Buck squints against the light of the dying sun, against the tears pricking at his eyes. “The way you’ve been looking all weekend. Like — like you want me to…”

“Want you to what?” Eddie asks, so soft he almost can’t hear him over the cicadas.

Buck drinks, to buy himself time. It isn’t enough.

“To stay.”

It stretches, the silence — taut like a rubber band ready to snap. Eddie watches him, and Buck watches the sun. He blinks and the imprint of light is still there, burning and blotting out Eddie from his peripheral, but he can still feel him.

It’s the way he’s looked at him since he arrived — he can feel it in the way his skin prickles with it. He’s felt Eddie’s eyes on him the entire weekend, and while Buck usually craves Eddie’s undivided attention, there’s something different about the way he does it now. A longing Buck recognizes from the mirror, from photos — the way he looks at Eddie reflected back at him. A curve to his smile that Buck rarely sees directed at anyone else; a warmth in his eyes that sets his blood on fire.

“I always want you to stay,” Eddie admits, hushed in the thick silence.

Buck swallows hard and doesn’t reply. He takes another sip of beer, lukewarm now and bitter on his tongue.

“Buck. Look at me?”

Buck sighs. He closes his eyes briefly, and the light sticks behind his eyelids. It’s still there when he looks at Eddie, distorting his features into something unreadable.

“Hi,” Eddie says when their eyes meet, and Buck smiles despite himself.

“Hi,” he echoes.

Eddie’s mouth twists, then relaxes. He asks, “What are you thinking?”

Buck’s eyes clear, and he can see the same smile that he has privately come to think of as his. A piece of Eddie that belonged only to him. The one that sparks a dangerous flicker of hope in his chest.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Eddie says, knocking his bare shoulder against Buck’s. He keeps it there, presses their over-warm skin together. It sticks slightly in the humidity, and he has the insane urge to superglue himself to Eddie’s side.

“I’m thinking it’s hot as shit out here,” Buck says, and Eddie huffs out a laugh.

“It’s only April, this is nothing. You’ve been in Cali too long.”

“Maybe.”

“What else?”

Eddie nudges him again as he speaks and takes a swig of his beer. Buck watches his throat as he swallows, watches the droplets drip down his fingers and feels too warm. A drop of sweat trickles down his temple and Eddie’s eyes catch it, follow it down until it disappears in the neck of Buck’s tank.

“I’m thinking I don’t want to leave,” Buck admits, and Eddie’s eyes snap back up to his. “I’m thinking none of this is fucking fair, and that I must have pissed someone important off.”

Eddie smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Yeah. They’re not too happy with me either, I think.”

Eddie looks down at their laps, hand reaching out to touch Buck’s injured finger. He wraps his fingers around the digit, pushes gently at the bruise, barely enough to hurt. The throb of it ricochets up his arm and into his ribs anyway, makes him reckless.

“And I’m thinking — I’m thinking about how badly I want to kiss you.”

Eddie pauses, goes completely still. He glances up, eyes falling to Buck’s mouth for a split second before meeting his eye, and Buck knows he isn’t misreading this. His heart sits like a stone in his throat anyway.

“But I’m also thinking that I can’t lose you. Not again.”

“You won’t lose me,” Eddie is quick to say. His fingers twine with Buck’s, squeeze hard. “You haven’t lost me. I’m right here.”

“For now.”

Eddie exhales shakily, the warmth of it hitting Buck’s cheek, and he just looks at Buck — the same way he has all weekend, the same way he has for years. The same way that Buck knows he looks at him, has always looked at him. The way that they were both too scared or too deep in denial to face until separation forced their hand.

“Buck are you,” Eddie starts, stops. He lifts his chin and looks Buck square in the eye. “Could you be happy, here? With me?”

“That’s — Eddie, I can’t,” Buck says. It feels like gravel in an open wound, like razors in his throat. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Why? You don’t have a monopoly on big sweeping confessions, you know.”

“Is that what this is?” Buck asks. He’s dizzy, even sitting down — lightheaded from the heat and the alcohol and Eddie, always Eddie.

In response, Eddie tilts forward and brushes his lips over Buck’s. A ghost of a kiss, the briefest taste of tangy sweat and beer and skin before Eddie pulls away, too soon for Buck’s heart to even finish skipping in his chest.

“Yeah, Buck,” Eddie says softly, still close enough Buck can almost feel the vibration of it against his mouth.

Buck drops his chin, presses forehead against Eddie’s. He tucks the empty beer bottle between his legs and cradles Eddie’s face in his hands, thumbs skating along his jaw. Eddie shivers at the shock of his cold fingertips, slants his chin up, and then Buck is kissing him properly.

He takes his time, savoring each drag of Eddie’s lips, the way he twists closer and brushes their noses together. Eddie lifts his own chilled hand to Buck’s neck, sends a cold shock into his heated skin, then trails it down to fist in Buck’s shirt. Buck nips at his lower lip, soothes over it with his tongue, and Eddie makes a soft sound that Buck knows he’ll hear in his dreams.

Buck pulls away to breathe before they end up flipping the swing over — he’s not sure he trusts his handiwork well enough to support climbing into Eddie’s lap. Eddie has a faint flush on his cheeks, eyes tracking over Buck’s face before meeting his eyes.

“Yes,” Buck answers him. Eddie furrows his brows, question long forgotten, and Buck can’t help but chuckle. “Yes, Eddie. I could be happy with you anywhere.”

Eddie smiles and tucks his hand back in Buck’s. “But.”

“But,” Buck echoes, and says nothing else. Eddie already knows.

Eddie nods and rests his head on Buck’s shoulder, a comforting weight that settles his racing heart. They watch the sun sink lower, Eddie’s thumb tracing patterns on the inside of Buck’s wrist. His hair sticks to Buck’s sweaty neck, and they listen to the music of the fading day.

“I can’t promise anything,” Eddie says when the sun has almost disappeared. “It’s — it’s delicate, right now. With Chris. I think he’s ready to come home, but until he says something…”

El Paso is beautiful in twilight; the heat starts to give way to the evening chill at last. Buck shivers and presses a kiss to Eddie’s hair. “I know. I can’t either.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

Eddie looks up, and Buck swears his heart stops at the way Eddie smiles at him — arresting even from the weird angle.

“Buck, I—”

“Don’t say it back,” Buck says. Eddie frowns and straightens up to face him properly, and then Buck is laughing at the look on his face.

“Don’t say it back yet,” Buck corrects, smoothing over a frown line with his thumb. “Not until — until this can be real.”

“But I do,” Eddie says, a bit petulant, and Buck gets honest to god butterflies about it. “And this is real. To me, anyway. You’re not just — some fling.”

“I know. It is to me too, baby, trust me,” Buck says, and Eddie visibly softens. “But I’ve wanted you for so long, I just — I can’t have you halfway. You’re forever for me, and I want — I have to do this right. And if you can’t come to me, if this place is your new forever, then — then wait for me. Please.”

Eddie stares for a long time, expression unreadable. Buck’s heart beats wildly, irregular enough that he might need Eddie’s defibrillator to shock it back into rhythm.

And then Eddie sighs and drops his forehead to Buck’s shoulder. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie squeezes his hand. “Of course. As long as it takes, I — yes.”

“Okay,” Buck says, and drops a kiss to Eddie’s brow.

“I do, though.”

Buck huffs, smiling against Eddie’s skin. “I know.”

“Don’t make me wait forever, Buckley.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Eddie lifts his head, presses a soft kiss to Buck’s mouth, and says, “We still have tomorrow.”

Eddie settles back into the crook of his neck, and Buck wraps an arm around his shoulders, tugs him close.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

—

prompts ❣️