#Get yourself a man that will ignore how drenched in dirt and sweat you are just to have you in his arms again

[bakudekubuoy]

If I don’t brush my I have not showered teeth within the next in two months two hours I will LITERALLY DIE

#bakudeku #they both have hygiene problems #Bnha #bkdk #love these two #They’re boyfriends your honour #I just wanna smoosh their faces together #srsly tho do you ever think about how filthy Deku was in his vigilante arc #like #he was probably crusty #And despite how much of a clean freak Kacchan is he just #held him? #Get yourself a man that will ignore how drenched in dirt and sweat you are just to have you in his arms again #i want what they have

[liibrii]

Kita Shinsuke x gn!Reader

Synopsis: Hitchhiking through the countryside you catch a ride from a handsome stranger, which just might turn out to be the greatest decision of your life – or your greatest mistake.

wc: 2k || thriller-ish, mystery-ish

a/n: heavily inspired by one of my all time favourite songs; The Count of Tuscany. tbh this fic was just an excuse for me to listen to it on repeat for several hours :P as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

In the bathroom of the roadside gas station you change into your best clothes and brush through the tangles in your hair, wash your face, scrub your hands to make sure there's no dirt beneath your nails. No one in their right mind would pick up a scruffy looking hitchhiker.

You decide to stand outside where everyone who drives in to fill their gas tanks will notice you. On a small chalkboard you bought for a few hundred yen in a convenience store you write the name of your destination with the prettiest writing you manage and even add a smiley face. That should do the trick of gaining attention.

You've almost reached your destination already. The western sea of Japan. Being born on the eastern coast you have watched the sun rise above the ocean your entire life. At least once in your life you want to see it sink in the vastness of the sea hugging your homeland.

Would a train or a bus bring you to your destination faster? They would, sadly your wallet disagreed with that option. Hitchhiking really was the best option even if you often waited for hours with no luck. Still it wasn't all bad; one time an elderly lady stoped to give you a lift. You sat in the back as the front sit was occupied by her dog who excitedly turned to sniffle and lick your face, begging for scratches. She made you stay for dinner and even prepared a futon for you to sleep. “All my children and grandchildren moved to the big cities.“ She scratched behind the ears of her dozing four legged companion as you drank tea while sun slowly set behind the hilltops. “Slowly but surely we are bein' left behind. Seein' someone so young come 'round makes these old bones incredibly happy.“

Following morning she wished you good luck on your journey. Her name and address are written in your dairy. When new year comes in a few months you mustn't forget to send her a gift. You watched her stroll away, one slow step after another, dog trailing behind, her back bent under the weight of years. Is that what the future holds for you?

You try to keep a positive outlook, at least you get to see the beauty of the countryside. The green hills and vast fields of rice swaying in the wind are a sight that takes your breath away. Summer's coming to an end. It will soon be harvest season.

Your legs are starting to hurt. Hours have passed and nobody pays you even a second glance. Under the hat your hair sticks to your skin, droplets of sweat trickle down your back. You're all but ready to give up and start looking for a place to stay the night when a man about your age approaches.

He has caught your eye before. Something about his overalls and silvery hair glimmering in the sun made him stand out from the others. He kept glancing over at you while filling his tank.

“I'm not goin' as far as ya want,“ his eyes glance over the chalkboard you're holding. “But if ya want I can give ya a ride to the next town over.“

You eagerly nod. “That would be great!“ You offer him a hand. “You can call me y/n!“

His hand is calloused. Hand of someone working outside. “Kita.“

Ride is comfortable. Kita is more on the quiet side but once you mention how pretty the landscape looks with all the swaying fields he laughs . It's a bright sound that makes your heart skip a beat. He tells you he works the fields, not all you see, but many of them. Talking to him quickly becomes easy. To your surprise you find you have a lot in common. When you arrive to the town and he stops by a small inn offering rooms you're almost reluctant to leave his company. He hesitates when taking your backpack from the back seats. “I know we just met,“ he softly says, “but could I take you out for dinner? Maybe tonight?“

How could you possibly say no? You've been travelling on your own for the past two weeks and the loneliness is starting to get to you. And he's cute.

When he picks you up a few hours later he's wearing a nice button down. He combed his hair though you preferred it when it was all messy. “I'm not late am I?“

“No, I'm just a bit early.“

“Here,“ he shyly averts his eyes when he hands you a small bouquet of spider lilies that have yet to open in full bloom.

Your cheeks flush. It has been a long time since anyone gifted you flowers. “Thank you,“ you say, sincerely.

Kita takes you to a small family owned restaurant down the street. He opens the door for you and pours you tea while you skim through the menu. Talking to him is so easy. He mentions he used to play volleyball back in high school, that many of his old teammates went on to play professionally. Embarrassed you have to tell him you know very little about volleyball. As you speak his eyes linger on your face. Sports have never been your strong suit, you admit.

“Don't feel bad over it,“ he reassuringly smiles. “So how come yer travellin' these parts?“

Your dream of seeing the sunset over the sea seems so simple when you tell him but Kita nods. There's wisdom in his eyes you don't usually see in your peers. Why are you so relieved he doesn't find your dream childish? “I just want to see the country, get to know the land and the history,“ you eagerly continue.

“There's an old castle ruin not far from the town. Tourists often visit it. If ya want I can show ya 'round,“ he offers.

A trip to ruins does sound nice. Even a little bit romantic. One more day staying around couldn't hurt, right?

Kita's smile widens when you agree. “I'll pick ya up tomorrow. Would around midday be alright?“

For the rest of the night you're all giddy on the inside. You can't wait for tomorrow to arrive. Kita walks you back to the inn and waits till you're inside before heading his own way. What a gentleman, you think to yourself. Meeting someone like him was the last thing you expected.

Whatever road lead to the castle in its days of glory has long since been claimed by the nature. Kita walks with steps of someone who has walked this path a thousand times before. You trail behind him, your clothes getting caught in branches all the time. When he sees you struggling he slows down and even offers to carry your small backpack for you.

“This castle used to be really important back in the days,“ he explains while you catch your breath. “It's strategic position is really important. There's a legend my grannie used to tell me. Durin' the Sengoku period the youngest son of a shogun fortified himself in this castle and defended it for months. Then his enemies dug tunnels beneath.“ He offers you a hand to help you climb over a pile of rubble marking what once were the castle walls. “Filled them with wood soaked in fat and set it aflame. Castle crumbled and buried hundreds of soldiers beneath it. Some say the son of the shogun still haunts this place.“

“An interesting story,“ you say, ignoring how every hair on your body stands up.

By the time you reach the ruins you're drenched in sweat and yet once the view of the valley beneath opens up you forget all about the fatigue. You step closer to the ledge and peek over it. The side of the hill plunges straight down. Deep below you see tree tops. If you slipped -

A hand grabs your shoulder. “Careful. The stones 'round here often crumble.“

You murmur an apology. Kita's hand lingers on yours, his eyes following when you walk away to have a closer look at the ruins. They're covered with grass and small trees sprouting from the crack between stones. Funny, you can't see any tables with information about this place. Having a map would surely help with orientation. You can't be the only tourist with a knack of getting lost.

Kita approaches you with a smile. “Wanna see somethin' really cool?“

You follow him inside the ruins. “Watch yer step,“ he holds the branches of a lonely tree so they don't smack you as you walk by, “it's easy to trip 'round here.“

Walls here are better preserved, higher. The shadows they cast seem longer. You follow Kita inside the labyrinth of crumbled stone. An uneasy feeling of being watched grows inside you as your approach scares off a flock of birds.

Kita pushes away a curtain of poison ivy to reveal a gaping hole where the walls lean on the cliff towering above. Cold gust of wind makes you shudder. “Here,“ Kita offers you a torchlight. Your hands are cold. Fingers barely capable of wrapping around the black plastic.

He turns to you, his eyes carefully examining your face before he enters. “Ya comin'? Be careful where ya step, the stairs are slippery.“ He offers you his hand. It's warm.

“There's a natural cave beneath the castle.“ His calm voice echoes through the winding staircase. “Apparently it used to have a small pool for the nobles to cool in durin' summer. It's filled with rubble now.“

Light of the torches casts eerie shadows on the walls. Stone surface under your fingers is cold and damp. You follow Kita through a narrow hallway and soon enough you reach a small cave. It probably used to be bigger but a part of the ceiling caved in.

Rubble crunches under the soles of your shoes. In the eerie silence all you hear is your breathing and unsteady thumping in your chest. Somewhere in the distance perhaps a ghost of a long deceased soldier- you curse yourself in your head. Why are you trying to scare yourself?

You look up to see stalactites growing from the ceiling. How many thousands of years old must they be?

“They only grow about a millimetre per year. Must be tens of thousands of years old.“ Kita's voice makes you jump. How did he know exactly what you were thinking?

Only now you notice he's standing between you and the exit to the hallway. His eyes are fixed on you. He's closing off the only exit. Pounding in your chest quickens. This place is starting to suffocate you. 

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

You really did follow a complete stranger into a cave beneath an abandoned castle. What an idiot. Naive, trusting idiot.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

Slowly, like water dripping from the ceiling it sinks in you may not make it out of here.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

Ah, don't be stupid! You still have years to live! A boring office job to take on! When was the last time you spoke to your friends?

Kita's eyes never leave yours as he steps closer. In the dim light it all seems so- Kita wouldn't- But you don't know him, do you? Torch rolls from your shaking fingers.

Is this really how it ends? Hidden from the sunlight, caught like a mouse in a trap of stone and cold cutting to your bones? You can't breathe. Will they ever find you? Tears well up in your eyes. Why? What have you done to deserve this?

You're shaking. Will you ever see the sunset over the vastness of the sea? Will you lay beside the unfortunate soldiers from centuries ago till you become only clean, nameless bones?

A shaky plea for your life is all you manage to stammer. Through the tears his face is just muddled colours. Is this really how you die?

Warm touch of his hands cupping your face, thumbs wiping away tears, his soft, gentle voice, paralyse you. “Hey, why are ya cryin'?“

#kita shinsuke #kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #kita imagine #kita #hqcorenet #inarizaki x reader #inarizaki x y/n #hq #haikyuu!! #haikyuu imagines #libri scribbles #before spider lilies bloom

[pjoseries]

“i bear it so they won’t have to” + curse of achilles percy

oh this one’s a doozy, thank u emma 😋

(TLO AU)

══════════════════

Percy doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it—the bloodlust. It starts out as a whisper, a simple low hum drifting across the nape of his neck. It crawls in his ear and settles inside his brain and every time he uncaps Riptide, a single persistent thought crosses his mind: Show no mercy.

And he doesn’t. Not when a hoard of monsters comes barrelling through their ranks. Not when he sees the other campers on their feet, but flagging, exhaustion bogging them down as monster after monster charges at them. Percy holds his own on the front lines, raising his voice to be heard, “Fall back!”

He repeats it again for good measure and the piercing, confused stares from them quickly fade as he gains the attention of every monster in his vicinity. A grin slides across his face and he gives Riptide a twirl. 

“How many of you do I have to kill before you get with the program,” Percy taunts. He lets one of them come close enough to sink their claws into his skin, but it just slides right off, ripping through his shirt instead. 

The monster gapes for a moment and attempts to slice through him again, but Percy just tsks and tilts his head. “Nice try, but no dice, man.”

He impales the monster in a quick movement, leaving him in a shower of dust. He grimaces and looks at the others. They march towards him, but Percy doesn’t even think. He blocks and jabs and slices his way through the dust and the dirt and he feels nothing. The curse really works. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes to slay the last monster. He just knows that at the end, he’s drenched in monster dust and sweat. Percy finally rolls his shoulders, taking in the damage. The borders are safe for now. He spots a few campers a ways away limping and handing each other ambrosia. Footsteps come towards him and he whirls and points Riptide at empty air. 

It takes him a moment, but even that’s too long, before he lowers his sword. It’s Annabeth, of course. He furrows his brows. He knows it’s her. She wipes the sweat off her forehead and tucks her cap into her back pocket. 

“Percy, what was that?” she asks, gray eyes glinting in the afternoon light. 

“I, uh,” he says, pocketing Riptide back into his jeans. “I’ll tell you later. We have to check on—”

Annabeth stomps towards him and grips his arm. Logically, he knows how tight of a grip it is, but it’s weird that it doesn’t even sting. “Did you… gods, you didn’t. That trip with Nico… Percy, that is stupidly dangerous.”

She knows. Of course, she figures it out. Percy’s just a fool for thinking he could have broken the news to her later. 

“I did what I had to do.” Percy grits his teeth and steps back.  

She tugs him closer. “You could’ve died.” 

Percy makes the mistake of looking into her eyes again, shiny with unshed tears and he falters. He can’t stand to see her cry. He musters up a wry smile and shrugs. “I’m here, though.”

He tells her nothing of what he saw as he made his way out of the River Styx, doesn’t say a single word about how the first time he ever felt like he would drown that her voice was the only thing he grabbed onto. All he does is loosen her grip with his free hand and gives it a small squeeze. 

“I’ll tell you more about it later, okay?” Her hand is warm and callused from training and it takes him a few seconds to remember he has something to say. “We need to go to the Big House.”

Annabeth just nods and he lingers for a moment before he lets go. As they make their way to Chiron, their hands brush and all thoughts of the fight vanish from his mind. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It’s on the bridge when he gets an inkling that something is wrong, not with the curse or with the battle itself, but him. It’s similar to the last fight, Percy yelling at the Apollo campers to retreat, but the last of the monsters are dead. All that remain is Kronos himself and his demigod army. 

He slows himself down, aiming to knock them off their skeletal horses and send them running, not maim. Their swords bounce off his skin harmlessly and Percy vaguely notes that he’s ruining his already low supply of shirts. 

The voice is louder now, but still the same. Persistent as a tic: Show no mercy. 

Shut up, he wants to bite back, but he already looks insane just charging through a swarm of demigods and coming out completely unscathed. They make their way almost to the middle of the bridge when Percy freezes, like a lightning bolt just jolts through his body. Then: Annabeth screams. 

“Annabeth!” he yells and turns. A guy stands over her, his knife bloodied and dripping. Percy sees red and the voice persists louder again and he’s almost tempted to take its advice if it isn’t for Annabeth’s weak gasps. 

Percy would’ve died, if not for Annabeth and Annabeth’s dying because of him. Because he’s too damn focused on that stupid voice in his head that makes him want to tear the bridge apart and everyone in it. She doesn’t even know that’s his weak spot. 

He locks eyes with the demigod—Ethan, his mind supplies—and stalks towards him. In a beat, Percy slams his sword hilt into his face and feels a bitter sense of satisfaction as he grunts out in pain and moves away. A couple of other demigods try to come closer, but he swings Riptide as a warning. 

“Get back!” he growls. “No one touches her.”

Kronos merely hums. “Interesting.”

Percy just scowls and steps closer to Annabeth. Suddenly Achilles words come back to him: The heel is only my physical weakness, demigod. He was dumb enough to ignore Achilles’ warnings and now his weakness is staring him right in the face, her face turning ashy as her breaths weakening. Annabeth. His tie to the mortal world. He should’ve known. Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind, he always knew, but the war took precedence. Now look where it got him. 

She’s dying and he’s surrounded by enemies. 

“Bravely fought, Perseus Jackson,” Kronos says. “But it’s time to surrender, or she’ll die.”

Annabeth sits up and groans. “Don’t.”

Percy clenches his jaw and bites back the panic at the sight. Her shirt is soaked in blood and he has to get her to a healer. His mind swirls for an escape route and, in a second, he yells out, “Blackjack!”

The pegasus swoops and carries her out and away from any immediate danger. Percy’s glad he knows what to do because he doesn’t have any time to explain. Luke—Kronos’ face twists. 

Percy meets the scythe with Riptide. 

Then their battle begins. And for once, Percy lets the voice in his mind take over. 

Show no mercy.

Percy smiles. He won’t. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The voice stays with him, long after the war ends. Despite how many hours he’s clocking in that affects his sleeping schedule, or the lack of one, he notices that he’s itching for a fight. 

It makes no sense. He wants to rest, but the voice tells him he has the curse for a reason. What use is he to his friends, to his family if he lets them go off on dangerous quests to get injured or worse? A couple of extra more hours of sleep is a petty consequence when it means saving everyone the trouble of getting hurt. 

So despite Annabeth’s warnings, he volunteers to guard the fleece, or to head training, or to do any of the more dangerous missions. There’s an undisputed agreement amongst the campers that they’ll let Percy do whatever he wants which is kind of weird but it works in his favor, so he’ll take it. Well, unless their names are Annabeth and Grover, that is.

But after this one quest—if he can even call it that, maybe just a favor for his father—Percy lands back on the shore, sitting with his knees tucked to his chest. His hands tremble as they flex over his own legs. The water rushes to his ankles, an attempt to calm him down but he just flinches. It just makes things worse. 

Percy’s no better than the monsters he fights. 

He wonders if monsters never exploded into dust, if they bleed like he does. He wonders how much blood he’s spilled, how much it stains his hands, his heart, his soul.

“Percy?” Annabeth says quietly. She pads over to him, settling down right next to him. The water drenches her shoes, but she just places a warm hand on his. “Percy, hey. Are you… okay?”

Her tone is awkward, but there’s an earnestness to it that makes him soften slightly. So he lifts his shoulder in response and stares out into the water. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Percy clears his throat. “Do what?”

“Go on all these quests. Try to save everyone. The war’s over, Percy. You can just enjoy camp like everyone else, too. You don’t have to do everything. You’re not Atlas.”

“Annabeth, this curse… I have a responsibility. Why let everyone else get hurt if I can do it? They’re just kids.” Percy unfolds his legs and lets Annabeth’s weight ground him. It’s like the voice gets muffled when she’s near. “And besides, I bear it so they won’t have to.”

Annabeth’s fingers find his cheek and he crumbles under her touch. He turns and Annabeth has this expression on her face that he can’t parse out. He closes his eyes and lets her smooth out the wrinkle between his brows, lets her trace a swooping pattern on his cheek. “You’re sixteen, Percy, not sixty-five. You have to let yourself take a break, Percy. The others need to know how to survive out there without you. You’re not always gonna be there to protect them. You’re gonna run yourself to the ground and I’d like to see my boyfriend awake once in a while.”

“Guess my eyes have to be open for that.” Percy smiles into her fingertips and blinks exaggeratedly at her. She giggles and it sends warmth all the way down to his belly. She stands up and brushes off the sand from pants before she holds out her hand. 

Golden light shines behind her, circling her like a halo. He’s suddenly reminded of his dip in the Styx, the way dream-Annabeth held in her laughter as she grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Real-Annabeth wiggles her fingers and he lets her haul him up. 

“Promise you’ll take it easy?” she asks. 

And his answer is an easy one. He kisses the side of her head. “Promise.”

Then they walk back to camp, their hands swinging between them. 

#percabeth #percabeth fic #percy jackson #annabeth chase #f: pjo #p: percabeth #misc: fr #misc: fic #fic: living on a wire #t: ask #emma tag #* #my writing #bipercabeth #je réponds #la poste #prev. biannabethchase #100

[hawkbucks]

is- is that royal aus post some ask prompt thing? bc if so I would just die for some of that muse playboy tony and instructor bucky au please say yes 🥺🥺🥺 also I love your aus so much!!!

It’s James’ job to notice the little things. Little openings, little hesitations, little mistakes, all those could mean the difference between carrying on in battle or being run through with a sword, and considering that his pupil is none other than Antonio Stark, heir to the Stark throne, Muse of the Valley, Ever-Ethereal, the Golden Heart, and 6 other superfluous, flowery titles, he would really rather like it if Antonio weren’t impaled on a blade should he have to partake in any conflict. 

It’s James’ job to notice the little things. That’s why he can see the way Antonio oh-so-subtly sticks out his backside whenever he approaches. He can see the way Antonio looks up at him through his lashes, fluttering them coyly. He can see the way Antonio chews on his bottom lip, leaving it bright red and plump and shiny.

(Okay, those aren’t exactly little things--Antonio may as well be shouting his interest across the kingdom--but the point still stands that James notices them.) 

James can see all of that. And he’s not interested. 

(He may be a little interested. Antonio is a beautiful young man; there’s a reason he’s heard many men and many women lamenting the fleeting time they have spent with the young prince, but it would be a major breach of his ethics if he were to get involved with a student of his, no matter their beauty.) 

“I do believe this is the fifth time I’ve had to correct your stance, Your Highness,” James says as he stands behind Antonio, ignoring the way the young Prince presses his back against his chest. “You’re holding your sword far too high.” With a gentle hand, he reaches over and grips Antonio’s forearm, lowering his arm. “Relax your grip. It’s too tight.” 

“Many people have said they like my tight grip,” Antonio disclosed, tone on the lascivious side. 

James scoffs. Heat rises up on his cheeks. He’s glad Antonio isn’t facing him. “I’m sure they have,” he responds, putting as much neutrality into his voice as possible. “Unfortunately for you, your sword doesn’t.” He looks down. “Spread your legs further apart.” 

“How forward of you, Sir Barnes,” Antonio teases as he does so. “Not even an offer of dinner first?” 

“Focus,” James grunts, the heat spreading to his ears. Lord, but he wishes that Antonio was more dutiful, more concerned with his training than unlacing James’ breeches. “I’ll be sparring with you personally today.”

He doesn’t need to see Antonio’s face to know that the man is smiling. 

“Your shirt does not need to be unbuttoned,” James blusters. 

Antonio winks at him, undoing the third button on his shirt. “It makes it easier for me to move, sir Barnes.” His hands fall to his sides, and James can see the way his chest is framed, tan skin a compliment to the madder-dyed fabric. 

James’ throat clicks as he swallows. He bows his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Very well. If you feel like it would help.”

“It will.”

James unsheathes his own sword and tosses it into the air, catching it by the hilt. Cocky. “It won’t.” 

Antonio ends up below him, splayed in the dirt, the tip of James’ sword settling underneath his chin. “Do you not pay attention to anything I teach you?” James asks, affronted and frustrated. “Every move I made could have been easily deflected. If you were more concentrated on your training and not on trying to b--” 

James’ back hits the ground as his feet fly out from under him, eyes going wide. 

Antonio crawls on top of him and straddles his stomach, the edge of his blade pressing against the skin of James’ throat. “Maybe if you were not running your mouth,” he countered before getting up and laughing. “You should see your face.” 

James shakes his head to regain a modicum of composure. “That was a dirty move, Your Highness.” 

“If you really want to see a dirty move, you should join me in my quarters tonight.” 

James sighs heavily. He lets his head hit the dirt. 

“What will it take for you to visit me at night? It is cold when I am by myself,” Antonio whines, draping himself over the back of James’ chair and resting his chin on James’ shoulder. “You are but three summers older.” 

“I’m still your teacher,” James says, taking a bite of his apple. “Three summers or not, you’re still my student.”

“And if I were not your student?” 

James pushes the side of Antonio’s face lightly. “I may consider it.” 

Antonio giggles.

Oh, Lord. 

James’ blissful sleep is so rudely interrupted by knocking at his chamber door. “Sir Barnes?” someone calls out from the other side. He recognizes the voice as belonging to Sir Rhodes, Head Imperial Knight, and one of Antonio’s oldest childhood friends. “His Highness Antonio Stark requests your presence at the training grounds.” 

James scrubs the side of his face with a hand and groans quietly. He squints his eyes, realizing that sun is not even shining through his drapes just yet. “Is His Highness aware that not even the roosters are up?” 

“He is aware. He is also very persistent.” 

“I see,” James grumbles. He likes to think he knows Antonio quite well--besides the knowledge he’s gained from the various rumors swirling around the castle and the kingdom--and he just knows this has something to do with the conversation he and Antonio had a few days ago. “Tell him I’ll join him in a handful of minutes.” 

“Very well, Sir Barnes.” 

“James!” Antonio calls out, waving from his spot in the middle of a ring of lit candles. They barely provide any meaningful light, but they do well in helping James find out where Antonio is. 

“Do you have any idea what time is it?” James asks in lieu of a greeting, mouth shaped into a frown. 

Antonio leers at him. “Was I interrupting any dreams?” 

“No.” 

Antonio waves a dismissive hand, then cocks his hips. “Pity. As it stands, do you remember what you said to me? About how if I were not your student--”

“I’d consider courting you?” James finishes, raising an eyebrow. 

Antonio nods enthusiastically. “Yes! I have chosen to take the route where I, the student, become the master, and therefore you wouldn’t have to be my tutor anymore. Then, we may--” 

James holds up an index finger, silencing Antonio. “If you become the master. I’ll consider yourself no longer under my tutelage once you can make me hit the ground three times. None of those dirty moves from last time.” 

“Continue to teach me, sir Barnes, and I will tell you when I feel I am ready to challenge you in an honorable duel.” Antonio actually bows, showing respect that James is honestly unaccustomed to seeing from him. 

Antonio, surprisingly, hasn’t flirted with James even once throughout the past couple of weeks that he has decided to take his training seriously. Not once has he attempted to unbutton his shirt, and not once has he found any excuse to press himself against James. 

He listens to everything James tells him with rapt attention, and the fluidity and grace with which he moves is inspiring. Antonio has always been called a genius, a prodigy, and James is now starting to understand why. Few can learn at a rate like he can; his mind absorbs information like a sponge.

Antonio manages to block a couple blows.

James smiles at him, and Antonio smiles back. 

Antonio’s sword comes down against the strong of James’ sword, and, before James has any time to react, Antonio grabs James’ blade with one of his hands and shoves his sword up until both of their rain guards are meeting, wrenching downwards and ripping James’ sword away from his hands.  

“You’re learning!” James exclaims. 

Antonio drops both of their swords and runs in for an excited hug. 

James gladly accepts it. 

Antonio’s back hits the dirt for the nth time. “I was so close,” he groans, rolling around without care for his garments. “I keep getting close, but you always do something!” 

James helps him up. “We’ll work on it.”

James’ back hits the dirt. “Wow,” he says. “You didn’t have to kick me or anything.” 

Antonio snorts. “That was one time. I have to do this two more times, right?” 

“In a row.”

Antonio crosses his arms. 

Antonio continues to learn, continues to improve. He starts to anticipate what James’ moves are going to be before he even makes them. 

James will admit that he’s been going easy on the lad, but now he thinks he can ramp it up a bit, make him sweat, make him work for it. 

Antonio lands on his ass so many times that he calls for a break in the middle of the session, saying he needs to go sit on a cushion for a while. 

James laughs heartily, then offers to grab Antonio a pillow, granted he doesn’t try to sit on it in the dirt. 

“We’ll duel in a week!” Antonio promises as he runs into the castle to get himself firmly planted on that plush chaise lounge he has in his quarters. 

James lands on his stomach, sword clattering a foot away. 

“Two more times, right?” Antonio asks from above, sounding positively giddy. They’re both drenched in sweat, and Antonio has some dirt smeared on his cheekbone. 

“Two more times,” James agrees, pushing himself back up. 

This time, it’s James who lands on his ass. “Where did that come from?” He’s kind of in shock. The move that Antonio pulled off is sure as hell not one that he taught him. 

“I can think on the fly,” Antonio says. “One more time?” 

Lord, James thinks, Antonio might actually win this. Not that James would mind, honestly. These past few weeks have really... opened him up to the idea of possibly having Antonio as a lover, although he’s still hesitant to start anything while Antonio is under his tutelage. Again, ethics. 

Time slows down to a crawl as James falls once again. He swears to the Lord that he can see his life flash before his eyes, the pollen carried by the wind. 

“Oh,” he groans as his back, indeed, hits the ground. 

Antonio straddles his stomach, much like he did the first time. “I am going to be honest,” he chuckles, “I also got some training from Sir Rhodes.” 

“That’s cheating,” James mutters, looking up at Antonio. 

“Maybe, but I think I have proven that I no longer need you to tutor me, correct? It does not matter where my knowledge comes from, as long as I am able to apply it.” Antonio places his hands on either sides of James’ head, back dipping. He lowers his head, bringing his mouth closer to James’ until their breaths are mingling, then--

He sits up. “I enjoy daffodils,” he says, “and my favorite dish is beef bourguignon. I believe that would be sufficient enough information for you to court me?” 

“You are a wretched creature,” James breathes out, eyes hooded.

Antonio takes James’ hands and guides them to his hips. “I have the utmost faith in you, Sir Barnes. Perhaps you will have me courted by the end of this month.” 

#Me: Wow I love the name Antonio for Tony sure wish that was canon (in more universes). #Me: Wait this is an AU. #Me: I MAKE THE CANON. #Tony has buttons on his shirt that's how you know he's royalty. #winteriron #filled #There be some harlots in his household. #ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE KIND WORDS! #I'M SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY AU'S KLASJLDS #anon

[flimflamfranky]

Day 14 - Heat Exhaustion

Franky discovers a drawback to his cybernetics.

~

It was so hot.

Franky tugged at his shirt, trying to fan some air in there, as he followed Nami through the town. They had just landed on a new island, some small fishing village on the way Sabaody, for a quick pit spot. He and Nami both needed more ink and paper, so they had set out together.

(Nami also claimed it was to “curb his horrendous spending habits”, which, rude. He wasn’t that bad - he only barely went over the limit last time! But still, he didn’t mind the company.) It was supposed to a fun little outing - get out, stretch the legs, see the sights, pick up some supplies. Franky had been looking forward to it. It was nice to have quiet trips to land between all the adventuring. But apparently, this was also a summer island, and summer islands were hot. Too hot. How could everyone else stand it? His back felt it was drenched in sweat, and everyone else was walking around like it was a perfectly pleasant day! A fun outing, Franky bemoaned to himself. This was miserable.

Eventually, they got to what seemed to be a town square - it was a plaza, with benches and trimmed bushes, and a small fountain. Nami stopped to ask some locals where a stationary store would be and Franky immediately narrowed on the fountain. Water! Cool, refreshing water! He rushed over, and sprawl out as much as possible, leaning back into the faint spray of water with a relieved sigh. He briefly considered just jumping in, but he’d definitely get chewed out by Nami. He did stick a foot in there, though, and ignored the weird looks he got from the locals. “Wow, tired already?” Nami teased as she joined him. “You’re such an old man.” “I ain’t that old!” Franky protested. And then he looked at her, confused. “Aren’t you hot, too?” He asked, waving to her outfit. It was a smart outfit - colorful buttoned up shirt and khakis - but Franky broke out into another sweat just looking at it. “No?” Nami said, looking down at herself. “It feels fine to me.” “That ain’t fair. I’m over here sufferin’, and you’re fine and dandy.” Franky wiped at the sweat on his brow. “I swear, Water 7 never got this hot.” “Yeah, because of all the water,” Nami said, smirking. “You’re just not used to this kinda heat.” Franky grumbled a vague protest, and glared up at the sun. Well, squinted vaguely in its direction, but still. “If it’s bothering you,” Nami said. “I can go by myself-“ “No, no!” Franky forced himself up. “It’s fine. I can handle it.” “Well, alright,” Nami said, and she pointed down one of the streets. “That lady said there was a shop down this way that sold ink and papers.” Franky gestured for her to lead the way, and followed her at a brisk pace. He wasn’t about to let some measly heat get the best of him! He’d just tough it out. Maybe he’d even get use to it, after some exposure. Either way, he could totally handle it. Everything was going to be fine. ~ Everything was not fine. If anything, it got worse. It felt like his cola was boiling inside of him. The store hadn’t helped matters - it had been stifling inside without the light breeze. He had to leave the whole transaction up to Nami. Not that she would’ve allowed otherwise, but he had barely been able to focus on even picking out some paper. He was having a lot of trouble with that, focusing. It was like he was in haze, like his brain was melting into a puddle of goo. He felt heavy. Lethargic. It super sucked. At least they were heading back to the Sunny, now. He can handle that, no problem. “Franky?” “Huh?” Franky looked down to see Nami peering up at him. The look on her face made hin suspect she’d been calling him for a while. Oops. She squinted at him, face drawn into a frown. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Franky waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Honest.” “You don’t look fine,” Nami said, unimpressed. “Come on, we can go sit somewhere until-“ “No!” Franky said, stubbornly. He wasn’t gonna give up because of a little heat! “I can...make to back to the Sunny.” “Ugh, why are you guys always so stubborn? You don’t have to push yourself like this!” “I’m not-“ Franky cut off as he stumbled over his feet, just barely catching himself before he ate dirt. “Woah, hey!” Nami was sounded panicked now. Crap. He didn’t want to worry her. “It’s fine.” Franky tried say. He felt strangely breathless. “I must’ve just...tripped over somethin’...” “No, that excuse won’t work on me,” Nami snapped as she reached out to steady him. “You should really- Ah!” Her hands had rested on his arm, but she immediately withdrew, shaking her hands. “Jeez, you’re burning up!” Franky blinked at the ground, hard. Something was beginning to feel wrong. Wrong with his cybernetics, wrong. He thought it was just the heat, but there was something else, he could feel it. He...needed to get back to the Sunny. Now. He opened his mouth to tell Nami that, but his tongue felt heavy and he couldn’t get his breathing right. He...he needed to get up. He forced himself up, hands out to steady himself. His eyes snapped to the horizon, and for a moment everything was good, but then, almost in slow motion, everything began tilting, going all sideways, and that was weird- “Franky!” Oh, he was on the ground again. That wasn’t right. He needed to get up. To...the Sunny. That’s right. He tried to get up, but his limbs wouldn’t respond right. It was like he was moving through oil. Someone was standing over. Hands hovering. Orange hair. Nami. He couldn’t worry her. He needed to get up. He needed- ~ Franky woke to a headache. The dull throb almost shocked him awake, pulling him from a hazy half-asleep state. Then he became uncomfortably aware of other things - a scratchy throat, clammy skin, cramping muscles. He winced. “Franky?” Franky cracked on eye open. The glaring light hurt, but he was able to make out Chopper hovering over him, holding something. He tried to say something but his mouth was too dry and his throat was too sore so all that came out was a pathetic wheeze. “Can you sit up? You need to drink this water.” Franky scowled at the thought of moving, but he did shuffled up into a vaguely vertical position, helped by Chopper’s gentle hands. Then, a glass of water was pushed into his hand. “Drink. Slowly, please.” Franky nodded absently, and took a small sip. The cool relief was almost instantaneous, and Franky found himself draining the whole thing in one go. “I said slowly!” Chopper yelled, wacking him lightly on the arm. “Sorry,” Franky mumbled, weakly, handing the glass back. Chopper refilled it, and passed it back. Franky drank, slowly this time, taking measured sip under Chopper’s stern watch, until Chopper deemed him hydrated enough. Once he handed the glass back, Franky slumped back down, feeling exhausted. Had just drinking water drained him that much? Yeesh. Chopper hovering over him. “Do you remember what happened?” Franky furrowed his brow in thought. “Yeah, I went shopping with Nami, and is was super hot. Too hot. And I...fainted?” At Chopper’s confirming nod, Franky groaned. “That’s embarrassing.” “It’s concerning, that’s what it is!” Chopper said, his voice going even more squeaky. “You almost had a heatstroke!” “Oh.” Franky blinked. “Is that bad?” “Yes!!!” Chopper wailed. “You could’ve died!” “Oh.” Franky winced, and sunk down further into the pillow. “I...I didn’t think it was that bad...” Chopper wiped at his nose with a sniffle, and gave him a glare. “Nami said you were being stubborn.” Ah, and there was that guilt. He’d gone and sacred everyone, hadn’t he? “I’m sorry,” He said. Then, he remembered, vaguely, Nami panicking over him, and...burning herself? “Is Nami alright?” “She’s fine,” Chopper said. “A little shaken, but fine. She got Luffy to bring you back here.” Franky sighed in relief, and he grimaced. “Ugh. She’s gonna super chew me out later, isn’t she?” “Yes. And you’ll deserve it,” Chopper said. “And I’ll deserve it,” Franky repeated, resigned.  He settled further down into the pillow with a deep sigh. There was a moment of silence before Chopper spoke up again. “You know you don’t have to prove anything to us, right?” Chopper said, worrying his hooves together. “We wouldn’t think any less of you.” “Yeah, I know,” Franky said, reaching out to give Chopper a pat on the hand. “It just seemed like such a little thing to brought low by, ya know? And honestly,” Franky chuckled sheepishly. “I thought, being a cyborg n all, I wouldn’t be effected by these sorts of things as much.” “I suppose that makes sense.” Chopper said, reaching up to grab Franky’s hand. Franky let his hand slide down so Chopper could hold it easier. “I have a theory, actually.” “Yeah?” “Yeah!” Chopper nodded. “You were really hot to the touch, earlier, your metal. And, I’ve noticed, you tend to run hotter than everyone else. I think, maybe; your cybernetics caused you to overheat faster than normal.” “Yeah,” Franky sighed. “That’s my theory, too. Means I gotta lot of work ahead of me.” Chopper titled his head, confused. “Eh?”

“I’ve already got a coolant for my fridge, so I just need to beef up that system and rewire it through my body.” Franky chewed at his lip, pensive. “This’ll probably happen in cold weather too, so I should probably add a heating system as well...Gotta figure out how to make it automatic, but manual wouldn’t hurt either...”

He trailed off when he felt Chopper grip his hand tighter, and he looked to down to see Chopper getting teary-eyed again.

“You can fix this?” Chopper asked, blinking up at him.

“Well, yeah, bro,” Franky said, patting Chopper’s check. “Wouldn’t even be that hard, really.”

Chopper slumped against his hand, letting out a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear!”

“I really worried you, huh?”

“It was hard not to be,” Chopper said. “I’m not exactly a mechanic, ya know.”

“Oh. Yeah, I could see that being a problem.” Franky let his hand relax, held up by Chopper’s grip, as he yawned. “I can teach ya a few things. If ya want.” “I’d like that,” Chopper said, with a wobbly grin. Then he sniffled, and put on his stern doctor face. “But first! You need to rest more! I shouldn’t have kept you up so much!”

“I don’t mind,” Franky said, grinning, even though he did feel exhausted. “I’m not taking medical opinion from you, Mister-Ignore-My-Symptoms.” Chopper bopped him gently on the head. “Now rest!”

Franky chuckled, but he settled further into the bed, making himself comfortable. “Aye, aye, Doctor.”  

#one piece #opfanfic #franky #cyborg franky #whumptober2020 #no.14 #heat exhaustion #fainting #nami #chopper #wow this one really got away from me whoops #it's like...six pages?? #franky and chopper just would not stop talking #my stuff #thepilotsfic #no shirt no shoes no service #whump

[minghaos-pet]

sucker punch (1/?)

eventual smut

group: ateez

member: fighter!jongho

word count: 3k

warnings: violence, language, sexual suggestion, drug use, fear???

“Can you not drive any smoother?” Jongho groaned beside you, clutching his side and wincing each time you drove over a bump or pothole.

“I’m trying my best,” you glared at him for a short while, “it’s not my fault the roads are fucked up.”

“You could at least try to avoid them,” he spat, “I’m fucking dying in your passenger seat.”

“No you’re not,” you clenched your jaw trying to look as steely as possible, but deep down you had to admit you were a little worried he actually was dying in the seat next to you.

“Fuck,” Jongho cursed amidst a sharp exhale as the road beneath you turned from pocked asphalt to straight gravel and sand. The car bounced violently along and your face was practically pressed against the windshield trying to see the road in front of you enough to avoid rocks.

“I need to turn the lights on,” you reached for the knob when his hand shot out in protest, “I can’t see a goddamn thing on the road, Jongho.” All he could do in response was whine, too agonized and exhausted to form words. Regardless of his lack-of-response, you didn’t turn the lights on, knowing that if you did your chances of being stopped by any stray cops would raise tenfold. An injured-Jongho was one thing to deal with, having someone dig through your car in the middle of the night was another. “Are we--”

“Stop the car,” he interrupted and swung the door open as you slammed on the brakes, practically throwing yourself across his lap to prevent him from rolling out of the car as he vomited outside the open door. After a minute or two he righted himself, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and pulled the door closed.

“You good?” You looked at him with (mostly fake) disgust.

“Fuck you,” he smiled weakly as you pressed on the gas, “I think I ruptured my spleen.”

You bit your lip and kept silent, continuing to drive the last couple miles to your destination. A ruptured spleen, or any other medical malady that could bring Jongho practically to his knees hurling onto a dirt road was far from good. You knew the medic you were visiting could fix up some lacerations, a broken rib or two, but something more internally damaging was out of the question as far as you were concerned. “Jongho…” your voice was quiet and riddled with anxiety, you looked over at him, his forehead drenched in sweat, lip split, and bloody knuckled pressed tightly against his right side, “should I take you to a hospital?”

In the darkness you could see his eyes soften as much as they could, “I’m fine, baby,” you could hear the effort he was making to hide the pain in his voice, “I’m just being a bitch, is all.”

You hummed in acknowledgement and refocused on the road, scared that if you tried to speak your voice would crack. Your relationship with Jongho was complicated, and definitely not one that either of you filled with emotions. You found him a year ago when he needed a manager, someone to allocate his earnings and pay-off his debts, patch up any injuries, someone to fuck if the occasion called for it. For 13 months you’d done exactly that, he paid you relatively handsomely (but you always snuck a little extra cash if you could) and it got you out of the depressive post-grad hole you’d been trapped in. It was mutualism at its finest.

When you pulled up to the house the lights outside were off. They were supposed to be on. You parked the car in the driveway and watched Jongho swing the door open and struggle greatly to exit the vehicle, if the circumstances weren’t as pressing you might have laughed at him and thought it was cute. “Do you need help?” You asked.

“No, y/n, I can exit a fucking car on my own,” you watched him struggle for a few more seconds before he turned to you pouting, “...yes, please.”

You sighed and slammed your door behind you, walking around the front of the car to Jongho; “where can I not touch?” 

“Avoid my entire right side if you can, and my shoulder’s a little rough too, but not as bad.” You wrapped your arm around his back and under his shoulder as gently as you could, preparing for his weight as you helped him slide out of the car, “you might have to help me walk too,” he said sheepishly as you did your best to close the door behind you and lock the car.

“Anything for you,” you rolled your eyes and sarcastically smiled at him, hoping he was smiling back in the dark. When you reached the door of the mobile home you knocked quietly, not wanting to wake up any neighborhood dogs. You were about to knock again when the porch light flickered on and the door opened slowly. “You’re late. I thought you died along the way,” the gruff man in front of you said to Jongho, ignoring your presence entirely...not that you were complaining; it was better to be invisible in situations like this.

“Yeah,” Jongho shot you a glance and in the yellow light you could see the blood caked on his cheekbone, “she can’t fucking drive, I guess.” You transferred Jongho to the man in front of you, relieved to let your shoulders and back have a break. The house was small and poorly decorated. A box of medical supplies set on a dining room table next to a glass of water and a picture of an old 1970s grandma. Jongho collapsed into the pulled-out chair and you helped him take off his shirt while the other man washed his hands. “So what’s wrong with you this time? You look like shit.” He asked from the kitchen. “I think I have a broken or bruised rib and maybe a ruptured spleen,” Jongho kicked his shoes off under the table, “but nothing too serious other than that. Might need to pop my shoulder back in though.”

“Can’t do anything for a ruptured spleen,” he responded, “needa go to the hospital for that one or you’ll bleed out internally in a day or so.”

You gulped, feeling the anxiety raise in your body once more. You stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, disappearing nicely into the ugly floral wallpaper. You could have sworn Jongho’s eyes flicked up to you, but you weren’t completely sure.

“Well then,” Jongho placed his hand on the table, “I’m sure there’s no ruptured spleen here.”

“If you get nauseous or pass out you should be worried.”

The doctor--could you call him a doctor?--stitched up Jongho’s face and looked at his side, pushing slightly on the purple flesh as Jongho’s face screwed in pain. Surprisingly, he was quiet though, a glaring contrast to the whiny, annoying mess you drove for an hour and a half through the dark. You wrung your hands, wondering if you should tell the doctor more details about what happened; surely it would allow Jongho to get the care he needed, even if it wasn’t pertaining to his bruised ribs or cut up face. “Um,” you squeaked from the corner and cleared your throat to speak clearly, “he did throw up on the way here...could that be a spleen-thing?”

Jongho looked up at you and gave you a look that told you you should have kept your mouth shut.

“Next time don’t bring your mouthy girl,” the doctor glared at you for an instant, “I don’t like people telling me how to do my job.”

“Not my girl,” Jongho said flatly, “woulda left the bitch at home anyway if I could move without feeling like I was gonna keel over dead.” He looked at you while he said it, his voice monotonous but his eyes apologetic. You crossed your arms over your chest, you knew he didn’t mean it, but it still didn’t feel good to be disrespected like that.

“What’s her name?” The doctor asked Jongho and looked you up and down more thoroughly.

“Don’t--”

“It’s y/n,” you cut him off, receiving the harshest warning look from Jongho. He shook his head slightly, but you didn’t pick up on it. The doctor pushed his chair back and stood up, walking slowly towards you while you sunk further into the wall, Jongho went to move as well, but his condition left him glued to the chair.

“How much?” He asked Jongho, but his focus maintained on you, his eyes sweeping over your face.

“Not for sale.” You could hear the resentment drip from Jongho’s tongue. A twisted part of you wished you could see through the man and watch Jongho get angrier, the way his fists balled up and his jaw set.

“Then get out of my fucking house,” the doctor backed away from you and made his way back to Jongho.

“W-what?” You were confused and a little frightened, even though you knew better.

“Get out of my fucking house,” he repeated, “unless you having something to offer me I’m not in the mood for guests.”

“Just wait outside, y/n,” Jongho said exasperatedly, “I’ll be done soon.”

You gave him one last look before crossing to the door, dragging your feet over the threshold and onto the small porch. Moths fluttered around the porch light and you could hear insects in the trees behind the road, you sighed deeply as you squatted down, your back against the laminate siding of the mobile home. You reached into your coat pocket for your phone before remembering you left it in the car...the locked car. The key to which was on the dining room table of a man who kicked you out of his house to sit outside alone in the cold. “I’ll never hear the end of this,” you said quietly to whatever creatures were listening in the dark. You should have gone in with no questions asked, no words spoken and stood against the wall quiet until everything was done, but why should you have? You weren’t Jongho’s girlfriend, you weren’t some naive teenager, you were his manager. In technical terms, you were the one in charge, not Jongho, not the sleazy, illegitimate doctor. You contented yourself on the porch for the next few minutes, fuming and running over the various ways you would chew Jongho out when you got in the car in just a few minutes; until the light shut off.

You weren’t sure if it was automatic or if the doctor shut it off purposefully, but regardless of the intent or lack-thereof you were in the dark. Sitting on a strange man’s front porch in a backroads neighborhood with no car keys and no phone. “It’s okay,” you whispered to yourself in reassurance, planting your butt on the ground and pulling your knees to your chest, “it’s already been like fifteen minutes,” you wrapped your arms around your knees. Fuck, it was cold. “Jongho’s probably already done and he’s just talking shit with the doctor.” You could see your breath now that it was dark, the grey clouds of condensation hanging in the air momentarily every time you spoke. You hummed to yourself to keep track of time, going through songs you remembered one by one until seven had passed. “Jongho…” you whined quietly in the dark, “it’s been over twenty minutes, just leave already.” Another seven songs, another twenty minutes. Your heart began to race slightly, blood pressure rising as you wondered why you couldn’t hear anyone talking inside while your brain conjured up countless horrible theories that involved one or both of them being dead. Should you stand up and knock on the door? Should you go inside? You wrapped your arms tighter around your knees, knowing that if you went inside and something had happened to Jongho there would be no way for you to defend yourself. If anything, your best bet was to wait outside until morning and find someone to break into the car, or maybe someone from another house nearby would help you. Your breathing slowed a bit, anxiety evening out as you formulated a plan just in case what you feared came to fruition. You sat there like that for another few minutes, running over new plans and courses of action; managing the situation, even though you usually handled other peoples’ affairs. You were mid brain wrack when the porch light clicked back on and you heard footsteps towards the door, and you unfolded yourself from your position and stood up, preparing yourself to run until you heard Jongho’s voice from the other side of the door.

“There you are,” Jongho hobbled out of the doorway smiling, obviously feeling much better than he had before, “I was getting a little lonely in there without you nagging me every 30 seconds.”

“I just gave him some oxy,” the doctor said to you, pushing Jongho out of the door towards you, “there’s more in his coat to take later, he’s gonna need it.”

“Thanks,” you forced yourself to say, not wanting anything to do with the man who kicked you out of his house in the middle of January, “did he pay you already?”

“Don’t give him anymore,” Jongho put his hand on your shoulder, steadying himself on his feet, “the motherfucker already cheated me out of everything I had.”

“The Blues are gonna kick in soon,” the doctor ignored him and backed up back into his house, “get him in the car before you have to drag him.” The door closed behind you and the light shut off once more, affirming your earlier suspicions that he had deliberately left you in the dark.

Jongho shuffled down the steps and through the dark to the car, head lolling onto your shoulder as you neared the passenger side, “keys?” You lifted your arm to get him upright again.

“In my pocket,” he mumbled, “my arms are asleep.” You reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a handful of assorted pills, but no keys. You sighed and shoved your hand into the front pocket of his jeans, and wrapped your hand around your pepperspay keychain. Almost instantly he shot away from you, eyes wide, “damn, y/n, can’t it wait until we’re in the car? Fuck.”

You scoffed, “here I was thinking it was perfectly acceptable to grab your dick in the middle of this bumfuck neighborhood,” you pretended to aim the pepperspray at his face and lightly smacked his butt, “I’ll just settle for this I guess.”

Giggling, Jongho’s hand came down heavily with your lower back, sending you jolting forward, you pulled the door open for him and rubbed your back with the other, knowing it would bruise, “you missed, you fucking asshole,” you muttered and shoved him into the car.

“I can’t help it baby, I’m high as shit right now.” The drive to Jongho’s apartment was peaceful, primarily because he was knocked out the entire hour and a half. By the time you pulled into a parking space you could see the sunrise peeking through the dark; you unbuckled your seatbelt and rested your head on the steering-wheel, glad to finally have a break. You turned your head to face Jongho who was still asleep, his mouth formed into a pout and his head slumped forward to rest on his chest. Regardless of the narcotics he’d taken, you knew he was exhausted. Normally a fight night ended with him walking home from the gym after splitting the money and you driving safe, comfortable, and a little bit richer to your apartment. You reached under the driver’s seat and pulled out the ziplock bag of cash, you loved this--even if it wasn’t all your money--but the thrill of being able to hold a few hundred (or sometimes a few thousand) dollars every few nights was indescribable.

“Jongho,” you poked his cheek, hoping he’d wake up easily, “Jonghoooo,” you poked him harder, not wanting to have to carry him up the stairs of his apartment.

“Mmmmwhat,” he hummed and peeled his eyelids open.

“We’re at your apartment,” you tucked the money into your coat pocket and reached over to unbuckle his seatbelt, “wake up so you can go to sleep in a real bed.”

Jongho groaned once more in protest, but didn’t press the issue any further, even in his altered state. You were not above leaving him to sleep peacefully on the curb outside his apartment building, and he knew that. You had your arm wrapped around his back once more, but it was mainly to make him feel more emotionally secure as you both stumbled tiredly up the stairs; if he legitimately started to fall backwards there was no way you’d be able to catch him--break his fall, maybe, but you’d rather one of you be seriously injured than both of you.

When you reached his door you punched the code and practically pushed him inside, he uttered some sort of complaint about you knowing his lock-code, but you were too exhausted to open your ears to him anymore.

Arms hanging loosely at his side, he beelined straight to his bed, collapsing onto it with nothing more than a slight squeak of discomfort. You sat on his bed next to him, leaning over to take his shoes off, “you can’t get in bed with shoes on, Jongie,” you smiled at the nickname, knowing that if he was in his right mind he would have thrown a fit hearing you call him that, “that’s gross.” After tossing his shoes out of the room and into the hall, you worked on the rest of his clothes; his shirt was soaked with sweat and some blood, and you cringed at the thought that he had so willingly gotten into bed in them. You made a mental note to remind him to wash his sheets in the morning.

“Take yours off too,” he mumbled and grinned to himself while you pulled on the hem of his shirt, “it’s not fair that I get to be the only naked one in this house right now.”

#ateez fic #ateez #ateez writing #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez angst #jongho fic #jongho x reader #jongho imagine #jongho smut #jongho angst #jongho ateez #ateez jongho #kpop smut #kpop imagine #kpop writing #kpop angst #yn

[doginshoe]

A Flicker Of You - September 1st

Summary: Ghost AU. If you could change someone's fate, would you? Death is at the end of everyone's road and always comes when you least expect it. It’s irreversible, except maybe for a flickering soul who haunts her own life and is shown that the red string stretches even into the afterlife.  

Part 1.

Pairing: Nalu

Genre: supernatural, mystery, humour

-

Natsu stuffed his hands into his pockets, hot breath mixing with the cool air to form a puff of fog. His dark eyes shifted uneasily over his surroundings, occasionally letting out a hiss as he tripped on a stump covered in crumpled dried leaves or having his foot sink into the wet dirt, suctioning onto the bottom of his shoes. He felt the itch to whine as he and his friends trudged further into the woods. Though, he knew his pride would never allow him to voice his own thoughts.

The young man didn’t think that Gajeel had meant this when he called them to have a ‘bit of fun,’ as he had described it.

Heading into the woods by the outskirts of Magnolia in the cold and middle of the night had never made Natsu’s list of fun. Not once. The tall pine trees made him feel small, their shadows making the forest even darker as it blocked out the pale moonlight and every snap of a twig had the hairs on his arm standing on end. He wouldn’t admit it, but the east forest had always given him the creeps and he generally tried to avoid it.

It was a feeling he couldn’t shake. Ever since he had come here in his junior year - a stupid bet to see who could last the longest out in the ‘haunted woods.’

  It had been fine at first. Natsu didn’t believe in monsters, or anything supernatural. Especially not ghosts. There was nothing in this forest that could hurt him. Except a wild animal, or possibly a serial killer, but he had shoved that thought to the back of his mind and laughed as he and his friends all ventured into the thick foliage.

He shook his head, pushing back down the growing knot in his stomach as his mind veered to what that stupid bet had led to. He had hit his head back then. That was all. Though, Natsu still couldn’t wipe away the memory of what he thought he saw that day.

The air had nipped at the back of his neck and the overhanging dark branches left him feeling uneasy as the wood forked out like a skeletal cage. The spring fog had blanketed the floor, the forest pitch black as the grey clouds covered any light that would filter through the trees. He couldn’t shake the sense that there was someone behind him, his smile slowly fading as he kept glancing back - eyes flicking from side to side before turning around to the back of his friends who were all pushing each other as they screamed out into the night.

He wasn’t afraid of anything, at least that’s what he had repeated to himself. There was nothing that he couldn’t protect himself from, and if he could fight it then he saw no reason to be scared.

Natsu still believed that.

Though, that night - he had stiffened when a chill had climbed up his spine, paralyzing him in place. He frantically searched for his friends that had been just ahead of him and felt his throat close up before he could speak. Yet, their forms had disappeared as the expanse of the forest stretched out before him. His stomach had dropped as he smelt the stale scent of perfume and he immediately jerked his head behind him.

Then he saw it. The light burned at his eyes, yet Natsu couldn’t bring himself to look away. He was stock-still as he locked eyes with… something. The wind picked up around him, pink locks whipping across his face as he heard a soft voice whisper into his ear.

“Please. Help me.”

The light got brighter until he eventually had to force his eyes to close and then he had awoken, chest heaving and drenched in sweat. His green eyes were blown wide as he came face to face with his friends who had all gathered around him. He had refused to calm down, pushing himself across the ground, smearing dirt along his jeans as he fisted clumps of leaves and rocks in his hands.

It had taken them a moment before he would listen to them. His best friend, Lisanna, was called out in the middle of the night so that she could take him home as he couldn’t stop shaking. They were convinced he was concussed. Though, nothing he had experienced had ever matched with what they said. Except for the gash across his cheek that indicated to them of his nasty fall once they had found him unconscious at the bottom of a steep hill.

Natsu rubbed at the prominent scar that had been left on his face from that night as he swallowed and looked over his shoulder, fisting the cloth of his pants inside his pockets before he tried to steady his breathing. That same feeling seemed to be resting on his shoulders at this moment - the lingering weight that had him rushing to keep close to Gray who stood a step ahead of him.

Natsu had sworn to himself that he would keep his distance from this place no matter what. Yet, he had allowed himself to be dragged out once his shift had ended at the ghoulish hour of 2am and he followed begrudgingly after Gajeel and Gray.

“What’s wrong? You scared or somethin,’ Natsu?”

He looked back up, eyes locking with his friends that had a smirk playing on his lips causing Natsu to scowl.

“Of course not!” He yelled, pulling his foot from the mud and taking another step after them. “I would never be scared of some shitty forest.”

Gray pulled a face, his smirk disappearing as his lips twisted into a frown and brows drew inwards. “Shitty forest? What the fuck does that even mean?” He turned his eyes up, gliding over the large trunks that towered over them as they walked before his smile returned. “You’re just mad that you’re scared of some trees.”

“Why don’t you come a little closer and say that.” Natsu gritted his teeth, fists already raising as Gray turned around and stopped. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted as a screech resounded throughout the woods.

Natsu jumped back and all eyes turned up as an owl flew overhead, large wings spread out as it came to perch on one of the branches above them. It ruffled its feathers, head twisting around as it stared at them with large yellow eyes that seemed to be illuminated in the dark. A moment passed between the trio, the silence of the forest consuming them once again until Gajeel laughed.

“Ghi-hi, Not scared, huh?”

Natsu buried his face further into his scarf, grumbling as he did so, “I just got caught off guard is all.”

Gray clapped a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t suppress his grin as he chuckled alongside Gajeel. “Sure. Don’t worry – I won’t tell anyone how chicken shit you are.”

“Yeah.” Gajeel started walking again, adjusting the bag hanging off his shoulder. “He won’t, but I sure as hell will.”

He shrugged off Gray’s hand, as they both started to laugh once more, and trudged after the leading male. “What are we doin’ out here anyways? You never even told us what you had dragged us out here for.” Natsu dug his hands further into his pockets, almost as if he could feel the air bite through his clothes. “It’s fucking freezing.”

“Speak for yourself. I think it’s nice out,” Gray murmured from his side and he threw him a burning glare, ready to butt heads with his raven-haired friend who let the breeze cool his exposed arms in his singlet.

“We’re conductin’ an experiment of sorts.” Gajeel ignored the bickering, his gravelly voice drawing both males’ attention. “Shrimp and I have another score to settle.”

“What?” Natsu shouted, “We’re out here cause you had another disagreement with Levy?”

Gray crossed his arms, his scowl mirroring Natsu’s annoyance. “You can’t bring us along every time you have a bet with your girlfriend. Especially when we all know you’re going to lose.” They both nodded in perfect sync. “That’s what you get for dating someone who’s too smart for you.”

“Oi,” Gajeel turned around, eyes blazing as he raised his fist at them, “Shrimp and I are neck and neck! And I ain’t losin’ this time around so expect a new winner after this.”

Gray rolled his eyes. “Yeah? So what exactly are we ‘experimenting’ with then?” His face didn’t change from it’s uncaring expression as he waited for Gajeel to answer. Though, Natsu felt himself lean back a bit, his muscles stiffening as their friend laughed into the night.

“Ghi-hi, we’re…”

The pause had a shiver run up Natsu’s spine and he only realised how creepy Gajeel really looked cloaked in the forest’s shadows with his piercings glinting in the slithers of light that shone down on them.

“...ghost huntin’.”

He raised up his arms, moving his fingers for extra emphasis as his lips quirked up into a wicked smirk. His black hair fell forward, framing his mischievous expression as his red eyes lit up with his excitement.

Gray scoffed. “You have to be fucking with us.”

Though, Natsu froze up. His eyes blew wide, much like a rabbit staring a predator in the face as he took in a sharp breath. The urge to turn around pricked at the base of his neck as the hair on his arms rose and he took an involuntary step backwards - the crunch of leaves sending shivers all the way up from his ankle.

The weight on his shoulders made his knees weak as he swallowed. If he were to actually believe in those types of things then maybe he would’ve caught onto the familiar scent that seemed to pass in the second he took in a deep breath of air, or the shift in temperature as he suddenly felt way too hot in his jacket. But, he didn’t believe in that. He didn’t believe in ghosts and it was just his nerves messing with him from that night he had hit his head all that time ago.

Natsu shook his head, rolling his shoulders as he tried to brush off the anxiousness that was making knots in his gut.

His actions weren’t noticed by his friends. Both gearing up as Gajeel breathed air out his nose, fists clenched as he gritted out his rebuttal to Gray's disbelief.

“They are too real! N’ I’m gonna prove it.” He stuck a thumb towards his chest before he brought it back to point at the man in front of him. “To you and Lev’s.” His smirk turned into a grin, large and full of teeth. “Shrimp won’t even know what hit her when I tell her about the spooky shit we got goin’ on here.”

There was a pause before Gray spoke again, looking completely unimpressed as his dark locks swayed in the slight breeze in the forest. “Right. And you expect to find these ‘ghosts’ how?” He unlocked his arms from their place crossed against his chest, bringing up two fingers to quote Gajeel.

The Cheshire smirk was back in place as Gajeel tapped his nose. “I’ve done my research. Don’t doubt that, Ice Queen.”

He turned back to walking and Gray fought the urge to roll his eyes again, following his hard-headed idiotic friend - Natsu doing the same as he looked around hesitantly.

“You didn’t think I just took you out into the east forest without being prepared, would ya?” Gajeel shouted over his shoulder. “I’ve got it all worked out.” They continued trudging through the forest, yet his voice accompanied the wind now instead of the three men walking in silence.

“It might not be apparent to you two idiots, but there’s a helluva lot of signals if you’ve got the trained eye - and if you prepare for the right circumstances.” He snickered, “Ghi-hi, we’ve just gotta find the right spot. Then you’ll see.”

Gray couldn’t help himself as he spat. “Absolute bullshit. You just read about this on wikipedia, didn’t you?”

Natsu swallowed, hands squeezed tight in his pockets. He made sure to clear his voice before he spoke, forcing himself to join into the conversation as they continued to walk, “Yeah. Ghosts aren’t real, Metal Head.”

Gajeel stopped abruptly and held up a hand causing the two behind him to come to a halt. Both of the males raised a brow, but he only jostled in his pocket to pull out his phone. There was a moment as he fiddled with the device and then he held it up, the screen calling Levy.

“Just what in the world do you think you’re -”

“Shhhhh,” Gajeel hushed, a piercing glare being thrown at a grumbling Gray as they waited for the call to connect. Though, there was only the steady beep that followed as it failed.

Natsu would’ve hoped that meant there was no signal out here, but the shit eating grin that formed on Gajeel’s face was enough for him to know that it wasn’t the only thing it was telling the self-named ‘ghost hunter.’

He took in a breath of air. “I think this is it.”

Natsu looked over their surroundings. This part of the forest looked the same as the rest of what they had seen on the walk here. He didn’t know what he had been expecting - an alter? Or maybe a small clearing. Yet, the trees here seemed to close in and tower above them, the foliage so thick on the ground that he sunk down to his shins.

“You’re full of it,” Gray countered, but the dark haired male was already stepping forward as Gajeel started unzipping his backpack and was handing off the contents to his friend.

Natsu’s eyes blew wide. “What’d ya think you’re doing with all that shit? You planning on killing us and starting a porno out of it?” He watched Gray fiddle with the camera, large and chunky as he held it with both hands whilst he booted it up. The next thing was a tarp as Gajeel smoothed it over the ground before his eyes looked up at Natsu with an annoyed look. “I don’t know about Gray, but I am not into this!”

“Not today, punk.” He placed a candle on the floor that looked like it was from Kmart until another camera followed - smaller in size that Gajeel set beside him. “Now, what’re you doing just standing around ‘ere? Help me would ya.”

He had to stop himself from grumbling, only narrowing his brows as he came to kneel on the tarp that he had set down on the ground, crunching underneath his added weight. “What do you want me to do?”

The smile he got in return made him feel uneasy. “You’re gonna play the main part, pinky.”

Natsu watched as he finally pulled out the last thing. A box. There was no branding. Just a plain, stale white box that was ripped on the edges and looked as if it was falling apart whilst being lined in a thick layer of dust. Gajeel handled it carefully as he pulled open the side and slid out a wooden board that had Natsu reeling back.

“I’m not fucking using that!”

“Don’t be such a pussy, Natsu,” The man in front of him chided, ”All you’ve got to do is slide this thing around and say some shit. Come on - you owe me.”

Natsu scowled. “I don’t owe you shit. And why can’t you or Gray do it?”

“I’m filming,” Gray shrugged, a smile on his face as he seemed to focus the camera on Natsu’s disgruntled expression.

Gajeel shoved it further into his face. “And I’ve got to make sure he doesn’t miss anything by setting up another angle. This has gotta be good if Shrimp is gonna accept the fact that I’m right, Knucklehead.” His pierced brows narrowed. “And you remember when I worked a double shift last month to cover ya ass. Don’t think that I would forget about that.”

“Fine.” Natsu grabbed the board alongside the planchette before he shoved it on the ground in front of him.

“Wait-” Gajeel lit the candle and placed it in front of the board before he pulled back as he fiddled with the camera. “I’ll tell ya when I’m ready.”

The nerves built up in Natsu’s gut, his eyes burning holes in the board as he looked over the numbers and letters marked in ink on the wood. He had seen an ouija board enough times in movies to know what it was, but had never actually had one or used it. He didn’t mess with shit like this. It was unrealistic and he had seen people crack the myths surrounding them so he saw no point. Yet, he couldn’t help feeling on edge - a strange sensation pulling through his hair as the wind eased off.

He didn’t like this.

“Off you go.” Gajeel was grinning as he held up the camera alongside Gray. “It’s time to get summoning!”

Natsu eased his eyes back to the camera before he grumbled, pulling up his scarf as he grabbed onto the planchette. It was smooth between his fingers and he sucked in a quick breath as he slowly put it onto the board. He hesitated, but not from the ouija board. Natsu could feel something in the air, the similar presence stirring up more memories of that night that he had tried to push down. The candle flickered as the hairs on his neck stood up, yet he hadn’t started moving.

He flicked his eyes to the side of him. There was no zap of energy as he had his hand firmly pressed against the wood, but the feeling of something behind him was growing and he couldn’t help but feeling more anxious as more time passed.

“Hurry up.” Gray drawled, shoulders sagging as he looked bored. “Let’s just get this over with so we can go home.”

“Right.” Natsu sucked in a breath. The quicker he proved that there was nothing out here the quicker he could go home and sleep. He would be out of this stupid forest in no time and then he could never step foot in here ever again. A new life rule that he would follow - do not fuck with this east forest.

He cleared his throat. “Is, uh... anyone here?” It felt weird asking the question out loud, waiting for a response from the board as silence met the three males. Natsu tried to keep his hand loose, but his muscles were tensing as he struggled to keep his cool. His patience was wearing thin as the minutes passed - eyes flicking up occasionally to check their surroundings.

“I told you this was bullshit, Gajeel,” Gray stated, but the male in turn raised up a hand.

“It takes time!” He shouted, “Ya have to wait. Natsu, ask again.”

Natsu grit his teeth as he glared. “Would anyone like to prove this goddamn idiot right so we can all go home already?” His breathing was becoming more laboured as his agitation grew - stomach twisting into knots as he kept looking around the forest. There was something there, the sensation of someone behind him growing stronger and stronger giving him the urge to run.

“Hey - Natsu, are you alright?”

Gray spoke up, but he ignored him as he started again. “C’mon fuckers. Show yourself! If ghosts are real then prove it. Make some noise.” His voice was laced with anger. “We’re all waiting.” Natsu was no longer looking at the board, turning around himself as he stared out into the dark, but he saw nothing - only feeling the heat soak into his clothes as he started to sweat.

“Fuck this.” He stood up, letting the planchette clatter onto the thin wood. He wanted to get out of here, he wasn’t here to fuck with shit that didn’t exist. Though, he froze in place as he turned around. His green eyes were blown wide and his feet seemed to be buried in the mud beneath him.

“Oi! You’re not meant to let of -”

Though Gajeel didn’t get to finish as his camera began to sizzle and became hot in his hands. “Shit,” he cursed, letting the technology fall onto the foliage beneath him - Gray doing the same as he let out his own string of cusses beside him before meeting his gaze.

“Okay.” He sounded nervous now. “What the fuck is going on?”

Yet, neither could answer as Natsu screamed - blood curdling and making their hair stand on end as they both freezed up, staring at their friend who looked pale. His entire body was frozen in place as he stood with his back turned to them.

Natsu only had one thought in his head as he struggled to breathe, feeling his blood run cold as he came face to face with the transparent form of a girl in front of him.

I don’t believe in ghosts.

#fairy tail #fairytail #nalu #natsu dragneel #Lucy heartfilia #gajeel redfox #gray fullbuster #levy mcgarden #my writing #a flicker of you #doginshoe #AFY #ft fanfiction #Nalu fanfiction #fairy tail fanfic #Nalu fanfic #ghost au

[lopithecusfanfiction]

My Favorite Place Is Inside Your Hug: Chapter One

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3113 Alternate: AO3 Summary: “’Eddie,’ it’s Chimney who speaks this time but everyone’s voices still sound far away, as if they’re behind some kind of glass wall. ‘Eddie, Hen and I need to check you out.’

‘Chim wait!’ Bobby’s warning comes too late. Chimney touches Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie just reacts, swinging his elbow back and knocking Chimney in the nose. Chimney grunts, falling back onto his bottom, nose bleeding.

Hen lunges for Chimney while Buck lunges to grab a hold of Eddie again, forcibly tilting Eddie’s head down into his shoulder.”

When Eddie gets stuck in a hole while trying to rescue a kid, he remembers Afghanistan and how many people were lost. Luckily he has Buck in his corner to help him get through the memories. Warnings:

Hurt/Comfort

PTSD

Author's Note: So… I wasn’t originally going to write this but then I couldn’t stop thinking about it and well… it was downhill from there. Yes, I was inspired by the “Eddie Begins” episode for the whole falling into a well/hole ordeal. ;) I hope you enjoy!

Eddie isn’t exactly sure how he got into this predicament. One minute he’s helping a child out of a hole and the next, his harness is snapping and he’s falling right back into said hole. Luckily, he was close enough to the top that Hen and Chimney could grab the kid before he too fell back with Eddie but unlucky enough for Buck to not be fast enough to catch Eddie. So Eddie finds himself falling, feet first, and hitting his head on the sides of the hole. Thankfully he’s wearing his helmet. 

He tries to brace himself for the impact of the ground but the hit to his head makes him dizzy for a few seconds and he lands haphazardly in the dirt, rolling onto his side with a pain-filled groan. He knew he should have let Buck come down instead.

“Eddie!” he hears Buck’s call but he’s too out of it to answer. Instead, he lies there for several seconds, waiting for the pain in his legs and head to go away. Except they don’t and suddenly he’s very concerned about his own well being. Eddie doesn’t think he’ll be able to get out on his own.

Struggling to roll onto his back, Eddie squints his eyes open. Buck and Bobby are peering down at him, concerned looks on their faces. He slowly raises a hand and gives them a thumbs up. “I’m okay.”

Buck is still frowning but Bobby steps out of view, saying something to Buck. “Do you think you’ll be able to harness yourself back up if I throw one down to you?” Buck asks and Eddie almost, almost, wants to laugh at the whole thing. Though he’s not even really sure what’s so funny about the situation. By the look on Buck’s face, the younger man doesn’t know either.

“I think I’m pretty banged up here, Buck.” He takes a deep breath and tries to sit up. It’s hard but he manages somehow. The exertion takes the wind out of him though and he’s left there panting. He’s probably got a couple of bruised ribs. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much of anything.”

Buck’s frown deepens but he yells down to Eddie to hold on and then disappears. Eddie refrains from yelling up to him that he has nowhere to go. With a sigh, Eddie looks around. It’s dark and there’s not much to see but dirt. It reminds him of Afghanistan and a surprisingly very similar situation. Although, at the time, he wasn’t the one stuck and was the one doing the rescuing. Still, he might as well have been stuck with how much of a disaster that mission turned out. A lot of people had died. He almost died.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm his beating heart, Eddie lifts his hand from his aching side and looks at it. His glove is covered in blood. Eddie hadn’t even realized he’d gotten hurt that bad though he supposes that landing on rocks would do that. With a swallow that feels thick in his throat, he presses his hand back to his side. He’s starting to shake and his heart is racing. He knows what’s about to happen. He knows because he still wakes up screaming sometimes, with blood on his hands and gunshots ringing in his ears.

“Guys!” he calls, already feeling himself slip away. “I… I need to get out of here.” He’s gasping for breath by this point and shaking violently. There’s so much blood.

Buck’s voice sounds far away, muffled by sounds of explosions and screams. “Don’t worry, I’m going to come down and get you.”

Eddie blinks, trying to clear his head but the walls are closing in and people are dying around him. He closes his eyes tightly and presses into his wound, trying to ground himself back to reality. “It’s not real. It’s not happening,” he repeats over and over the mantra his therapist told him after he had come home from the war. “It’s…” he can’t breathe. All Eddie smells is blood.

Dirt clinks on top of his helmet and Eddie’s hands fly up to cover his head, hearing the resounding bang from an explosion overhead. He can hear someone yell to take cover and Eddie folds into himself, ignoring the pain in his side. Someone is saying his name. Touching him. Touching his face.

“Eddie!” Eddie blinks and there in front of him is Buck. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here.

“Buck?” But Buck can’t be here. He’s going to get killed. He’s going to get shot or blown up. He has to leave. “You have to-”

Buck is looking confused and he grabs a hold of Eddie’s shoulders, gripping tight. “Grab onto me.”

Eddie does as instructed without question, wrapping his arms around Buck’s shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck to drown out the sounds and sights. The extra harness that Buck is carrying doesn’t even register in Eddie’s mind.

They’re slowly pulled up, Buck’s hands firmly on Eddie’s waist to keep them steady. When their feet leave the ground, Buck grunts and shifts his hold to accommodate Eddie’s weight but he doesn’t complain. It doesn’t take Bobby and the others long to get the two up and out of the hole. Bobby and Chimney grab a hold of Buck and drag the two away from it, Eddie refusing to let go of Buck.

“Eddie,” Buck says soothingly, one hand on his back and the other on his helmet. Eddie feels like he’s suffocating and he keeps his face buried in Buck’s neck, hands gripping the back of Buck’s shirt tightly. 

“Eddie,” it’s Chimney who speaks this time but everyone’s voices still sound far away, as if they’re behind some kind of glass wall. “Eddie, Hen and I need to check you out.”

“Chim wait!” Bobby’s warning comes too late. Chimney touches Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie just reacts, swinging his elbow back and knocking Chimney in the nose. Chimney grunts, falling back onto his bottom, nose bleeding.

Hen lunges for Chimney while Buck lunges to grab a hold of Eddie again, forcibly tilting Eddie’s head down into his shoulder. Eddie is shaking wildly and still gasping for breath. He reaches up to claw at his helmet. “I need… I need this off. I can’t… I can’t breathe. Buck, I can’t…”

“I’ve got it.” Buck helps him with his helmet, letting it fall to the ground with a muted thud. Buck’s hand immediately cards through Eddie’s sweat-drenched hair, massaging his head to calm him. “What’s going on?” Somehow, Eddie knows the question isn’t directed towards him so he doesn’t bother trying to answer. Instead, he lets himself be held tightly, slowly calming in Buck’s embrace.

Bobby is the one who answers, addressing the entire team. He’s sounding closer now, not so muffled. “I think he’s experiencing a PTSD episode.”

“PTSD?” Buck asks, hand still smoothing out Eddie’s hair. “He’s never shown signs before.”

He hears Bobby take a deep breath but Hen is the one that continues the conversation. “PTSD can manifest in different ways. Triggers could be a multitude of things. There’s no real answer on how it works. Something down there must have reminded him of something to cause…” she trails off for a beat and then, “I think he’s starting to come back. Eddie?” He hears her approach slowly. “Can you hear me?”

Eddie licks his lips, ignores the fact that his tongue grazes Buck’s skin, and nods. Shakily, he pulls back from Buck. “Yeah, yeah… I’m sorry.”

Hen gives him a reassuring smile. “No need to be sorry.” Her eyes skirt to his hands before going back to his face. “Can Chimney and I touch you? We need to look you over.”

That’s when Eddie realizes he’s still got a death grip on Buck’s shirt. He lets go quickly, clearing his throat. “Yeah.”

He sits there as he’s prodded, avoiding looking at Chimney and his already swollen nose. It turns out, the cut on his side is superficial and only requires a few bandages but no stitches. His mind had tricked him on how much blood had really been on his hand and suddenly he feels pretty embarrassed. When they’re done, Eddie finally looks up at Chimney.

“I’m sorry about your nose,” he apologizes as he gets up from the ground slowly.

Chimney shrugs. “I’ve had worse.” They both chuckle and Chimney pats him on the shoulder to show Eddie there are no hard feelings. “Come on, let’s get back. You look like you could use some rest.”

Taking a deep breath, Eddie bends over to pick up his helmet and follows Chimney back to the firetruck, trying to ignore Buck’s eyes on him.

*~~~*

At the end of their shift, Eddie sits in the locker room, already changed into his civilian clothes. Bobby had put him on light duty for the rest of the day and in normal circumstances, Eddie would have complained, but with the afternoon that he had, he was thankful for the consideration.

He startles slightly when someone knocks on the doorframe and he turns to see Buck standing there, peering into the room. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Eddie stands and closes his locker door. Buck watches him for a brief second before nodding and turning away. Eddie stops him, panic clutching at his chest. “Buck, wait!” Buck stops and turns back to face him, eyebrows raised in question. “Do you want to come over tonight?” Eddie shrugs. “I’m going to have nightmares and I don’t want them to wake Christopher for the hundr-”

Buck cuts him off. “Yeah, sure. I get it.”

Eddie nods his thanks and follows Buck out. Of course, Buck understands. Afterall he is the one that had a ladder truck fall on top of him and survived a tsunami. They get into Eddie’s truck and he drives them to his house, already dreading having to put up a front in front of Christopher. He knows his son is smart and will most likely sense something is wrong, he always does, but Eddie hopes to hide most of it from him.

“Dad!” Christopher immediately goes up to Eddie as soon as he steps foot into the house and then beelines it to Buck once he realizes he’s there too, giving him a big hug.

“Hey Buddy!” Buck says enthusiastically and picks Christopher up, twirling him around. “Guess who’s going to make supper tonight?”

“Hopefully not Dad,” Christopher says and Eddie places a hand on his chest, mock hurt.

Buck is smiling wide and cheerfully, sucking in a breath from between his teeth. “You feeling alright from that burn, Eddie?”

“You two are cruel,” Eddie says goodnaturedly, chuckling.

Buck sets Christopher down and directs him to go finish his homework. “So, what do you want to eat?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Eddie informs him.

Buck shrugs, looking in the refrigerator. “I want to.”

Carla decides that’s the perfect time to show up in the kitchen. “Hey you two.”

Eddie looks at her disheveled form. “What happened to you?”

“Your son decided he wanted to play with the water guns.” She laughs, looking down at her damp shirt. “He’s a good aim.”

“Learned from the best, I’m sure,” Buck comments.

Eddie frowns. “I would never teach him that.”

Carla and Buck stare at Eddie for a few seconds before Buck speaks up. “Eddie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine.” Eddie opens one of the pantries and reaches in to get a spaghetti box. “How about spaghetti? We can’t mess that up, can we?”

Buck is still frowning but he takes the box anyway. “I can’t mess it up. You on the other hand…”

Eddie rolls his eyes and relents, stepping away from the stove. “Thank you, Carla, for watching Christopher today.” He leans down and gives her a hug which she gladly embraces him in. He then turns back to Buck who has started to boil some water. “If you’re going to be insistent on making us supper, I’m going to go take a shower.” The only answer Eddie receives is a small nod. With a heavy sigh, he heads to the bathroom and takes a much needed hot shower.

Thankfully, during supper, Buck takes it upon himself to entertain Christopher. That leaves Eddie with the ability to sit there in mostly silence as the two of them chat enthusiastically, with Christopher only asking Eddie a couple questions here and there. When supper is done, Buck orders both him and Christopher to the living room and to fire up a game while Buck cleans up the dishes. Eddie tries to protest but Buck is hearing none of it.

Eddie lets Buck and Christopher play a game and instead chooses to sit back and watch. Buck throws Eddie a suspicious look but Eddie ignores him, lying his head back against the couch. Before he knows it, he is fast asleep.

Bombs are going off around him and people are screaming in pain. Eddie skids to a halt next to a man with one of his legs blown off. “Hold on. I’ve got you.” The man, John Shepard, grabs a hold of the front of his army jacket, pulling Eddie closer to him, struggling to talk. “Hold on,” Eddie says again. “Just hold on!”

“Eddie.” Eddie startles awake, taking a gulp of air as he sits up. One of Buck’s hands is on his shoulder while the other is held up in a calming gesture. “Hey, it’s okay. You were just dreaming.”

“Christopher?”

“I put him to bed about an hour ago,” Buck answers and Eddie allows his shoulders to relax. “You were fast asleep, man. I didn’t want to wake you.” Eddie doesn’t know what to say. He’s thankful for his friendship with Buck. He doesn’t know what he would do without him. 

Eddie looks into Buck’s eyes, blinking tiredly. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem.” Buck studies him, one hand still on Eddie’s shoulder. “Hey, come here.” Buck pulls Eddie into him, allowing Eddie to drop his head to his shoulder and bury his face in the crook where the neck meets the shoulder.

They stay like that for several minutes, Eddie soaking in Buck’s calming presence. Buck smells good. He smells like soap from his shower at the fire department but there’s still a hint of smoke and sweat. It was a hot day that has turned into a hot night and Eddie knows Buck runs warm. Eddie moves his head slightly, burrowing more into Buck to better smell him. He doesn’t know if he’s being discreet enough but somehow, Eddie really doesn’t care at the moment. He’s warm and comforting and Eddie wants to stay here for eternity.

“You tired?” Buck’s voice rumbles through him and Eddie nods against him. “Here.” Buck cups the back of Eddie’s head and neck, sliding down the couch so that the two of them are lying down, Eddie on top of Buck.

Eddie pushes up and looks down at Buck. Buck licks his lips, hands still on the back of Eddie’s head and neck. “Buck…” he swallows. “Don’t you think this is a little… awkward?”

Buck shrugs. “I’m just a friend trying to comfort another friend. That’s all.”

“Buck…” Eddie trails off, not knowing what to say. With a frustrated sigh, Eddie lowers his head to Buck’s chest, forehead pressing into him. “Buck… I…”

“It’s okay, Eddie.” Eddie looks back up and Buck gives him a small smile. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that Eddie doesn’t want to think about too closely.

“This is insane.”

“If it helps.” Buck shrugs again. “Why not? Come on.” Buck pulls at Eddie’s neck, encouraging him to lie down.

Heart hammering in his chest, Eddie complies and lowers his head once more, grazing his cheek against Buck’s. They had been on an eighteen hour shift so Buck hasn’t shaved yet. Both their stubbles scratch against the sides of their faces and, God, Eddie loves the feel of it. He’s breathing right into Buck’s ear, panting really, and he can feel Buck’s breath tickling the hair at the nape of his neck. Eddie can also feel how hard Buck is through his jeans. He’s not faring any better.

Licking his lips, he drags his cheek back up against Buck’s and stops when his mouth just barely skirts over Buck’s, their noses touching. “God, I want to kiss you,” he breathes, eyes shut.

The hand in his hair travels down and stops on his lower back. Buck massages Eddie’s neck and holds him tighter. “What’s stopping you?”

“You.”

With how close they are, Eddie can feel the confusion against his face. “Me?”

“I didn’t know if you…” With a frustrated breath, Eddie pulls back in order to see Buck’s face. It’s bright red, which he hadn’t been expecting but can’t help but chuckle at. “I didn’t think you…” he searches for the word and when love comes to his brain, he shies away from it. Instead he says, “felt the same.”

“You know, if you had asked me a couple months ago, I would have obliviously said that I didn’t,” Buck tells him. “But after everything…” Buck shakes his head. “With the lawsuit and you going to shady fight clubs,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “I’ve realized how much you mean to me. You and Christopher.” Once again, Eddie is rendered speechless, not knowing what to say. Slowly, a mischievous smile pulls at the sides of Buck’s mouth. “Are you going to kiss me now?”

With an amused huff, Eddie lowers himself until their mouths touch, kissing Buck softly. As hard as they both are at the moment, Eddie doesn’t think he can muster up the energy to do much more than that and thankfully, Buck seems to understand that because he’s the first one to pull away. Buck cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “Do you want to stay here or go to bed?” Buck asks and then quickly adds, “To sleep! Nothing else.”

Eddie chuckles and lays his head back down on Buck’s shoulder. “I’m in love with you,” he mumbles softly.

He can feel the laugh that goes through Buck’s body by the way his shoulders shake. “What?” he asks, not having heard Eddie correctly.

“Here.” Eddie sighs, finally feeling more relaxed than he has in hours. He closes his eyes and snuggles closer. “I want to stay here.”

Buck kisses his temple and though Eddie knows they’ll have to talk about things in the morning, from his PTSD to what they are doing currently, at the moment he’s perfectly content to fall asleep in Buck’s arms where he knows he is safe.

———————————————————————————————————–

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed it!

#Buddie #Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #911 #Buck #My Favorite Place Is Inside Your Hug #My Fanfiction

[pitter-pattering-ink]

The Immediate Danger of Not Knowing What Danger Is

The doctor asks, 

"Are you an immediate danger to yourself?"

And see, that's a tough one, though I don't suppose it seems like one to others. Because I have been living with this internal sickness, this pain in my chest that has been watercolor-bleeding out into my heart, for so, so long, and I'm not sure what is seen as dangerous and not anymore. 

The first and only time I was caught, when my skeletons fell from my closet, they only fell because I needed a ride to the hospital. And when we got home it was so terribly quiet that I was so sure that the rattling of my bones would no longer be mistaken for the air-conditioner's murmurs, or the sobs behind my closed first would click as not being the whistles in the wind- so sure that that I felt the urge to fall into myself with the relief of a thousand pounds of dirt being lifted from my grave. But my mother simply looked at my closet, saw the spillage, and helped me stack them back in. Nice and neat, like her mother used to teach her. I was not seen as a danger to myself then- let alone an immediate one. So how can I stand here before this doctor, tapping lyrics to songs that stay in my head into the wood of this chair, and tell him that I am somehow more dangerous to myself than I was back then, not yet a teenager and experiencing for the first time what it looks like to see skin peel back and reveal the fat underneath? How do I stand before this doctor, the man who I am paying to ask me questions I have been asked a hundred times before by different faces and different voices, and tell him, 

"Yes. I am in danger, I am dying, and I'm not sure the promise of tomorrow is satisfying my curious urge to die. Please, help me."

Because I have been there. I've lived through nights where my chest felt like a black hole, sucking all the hopes and dreams I had been taught to have by people who were too uncomfortable to see me without, and I've lived through days where my heart felt less like a heart and more like a water balloon about to burst, about to drench my soul and all who dared come close enough, and every time, I had thought, 

"This is it. I can't go on anymore."

Except I did. Again and again and again, I did. I got through the nights that felt impossible and landed myself here, sitting in the office of a man who promises to help, and trying to distinguish what the meaning of danger is. Am I in danger? Maybe. Maybe not. It's a tricky one, you see, because when you become used to the swirling smoke of lightning and rain that your brain is pelting, you can no longer tell when the storm is bad. It all becomes muddy. The black mixes with the white and becomes shade after shade of gray that I can not distinguish, a meshed rainbow of emotions that I have stared at for so long I've become colorblind. I do not remember what it means to be alright. The opposite is much the same. So I ask the doctor, 

"What does that mean?" 

because a question is often times easier than an answer. The doctor tilts his head.

"Well, do you want to die?"

What does it mean to want? My mental health is a scale of one to ten, as my friend once said, and I seem to be permanently stuck on seven. But seven feels so high, and I have felt this way for so long, so I tell myself I'm more of a three. A voice in the back of my head whispers, 

"It's foolish to climb up a latter when you ignore where it ends."

I block it out. I've never feared death. In fact, I've craved it since I was young. So when does craving become want? When does an apathy for dying become the want to die? I had a dream, once, that I smoked a cigarette, something I have been warned against by nearly everyone in my family. The burning in the back of my throat, the fire flickering in my stomach, were all so clear and so tempting that when I woke up I had a craving to smoke. I have never acted on it. Can you be addicted to something you have never tried, but crave? Am I an addict? Suicidal ideation. The fluctuating passive want to die. Like not being hungry, but eating anyways. My relationship with suicide is a shrug and a nod at the same time. When you know enough victims, you become numb to the thought of becoming one. Tempted, even. It's not a hard pit to fall in. My grandma makes me promise never to do what I have done behind locked doors again. As if I have not lied before, as if a broken promise is against my morals to the point of refusal, as if I can control my own emotions. It's not her asking me not to do it again. Not really. It's her wanting to be comforted. It's her not wanting to worry. It's her wanting to live her life in peace. I wanted to be comforted once. I don't think it's my place to ask anymore. So I promised. And we never talked about it again. If I am to deny myself from feeling what I feel like my grandmother asks, then how does this doctor, the one who is humming to the beat of the ticking clock, expect me to know when I am in danger? I want to tell the doctor, 

"I don't know. But the other night I was cutting meat for dinner, and the butchers knife glinted against the light in a way that made me pause. For a good five minutes, I stood there, looking from the knife to my arm, the one that is still numb to the touch, and thinking. Thinking about things I can't repeat and things I don't have the words for. Thinking about promises I've made and how far away the nearest hospital is. I ended up throwing out the meat and making mac and cheese instead, and I've worn long sleeves ever sense. The knife is at the bottom of a drawer I never use. What does that mean? What does this say about me? Is this what danger feels like? Is danger in my drawer? A man who jumped from the golden gate bridge said he regretted it as soon as he jumped. Was I about to loose my footing? Doctor, I ask, where were my alarm bells? The red flags, the fire, the flashing of my life before my eyes? The adrenaline, the sweat, the fear? Where were they, doctor? Do I need to repair my defenses? Did I have any to begin with?"

But this is only the first session. And there are ten minutes left on the clock. If that, if this, is danger, then I don't think it would be wise to bring it up now. Not so soon. So I shrug, and I joke,

And I say, "I'm in school- I think we all want to die, sometimes."

The doctor blinks. He does not say anything for a long while, and my tapping has quickened to match the beating of my heart, But slowly, the doctor nods, and cracks a smile I'm sure he has given out to a million before me. Cold and comforting, like my hands against a cup of milk. It isn't pleasant. So the doctor sends me away, and when I get into my car, my hands hover above the steering wheel. I'm suddenly acutely aware that I am shaking. How long have they been doing that? Is this my fire alarm? I force my hands down on the hard leather and they sweat beneath my palms. Cold. Clammy. My eyes are burning. Is this a warning? I look at the street and think. My house is five minutes away. Traffic hour is over. Why am I so anxious? Something in the back of my mind whispers through a choked-up throat,

"If a car comes our way, we aren't going to move."

I bite my lip. Is this my red flag? Maybe. But home is so close. And I am so tired, so the red looks more like brown. More like gray. More like a checkered flag at the start of a race. I have driven this car a million times, and gotten through a dozen times more days like these. This has happened before. And I've been fine. So why would I not be this time? Is there a danger in not knowing what danger is? In not knowing what immediate implies? Are these my signs of danger? I don't know.

I start the car.

#tw self harm #tw questionable mental health #tw neglect #depression #addiction #my writing #my poetry #? #poetic #ig???? #vent #self harm #mental health

[howfarwevecome]

CHAPTER 1: AFTER THE END

He found her the following morning as he went to gather wheat for the day’s bread. She was an odd sight, beautiful but broken, slouched on the ground with her arms folded around a large box strangely decorated with pink hearts.

Pale skin covered in blood, scars and sweat, her brown hair tied back in an oily mess of a ponytail. She wore a white singlet in-scripted with some strange brand name and the remains of a bright orange jumpsuit, strange boots strapped to her slightly curled legs. She was breathing faintly seemingly in a rough sleep, as if half way through a nightmare.

Sighing he approached, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder. She woke with a start and stared up at him confusion flashing in her grey-blue eyes, underlaid with déjà vu and mild disappointment as if he wasn’t the person she was expecting to see.

“ah, miss? Are you okay?” He asked concerned, stepping back to give her some room as she glanced around, “you look as if you’ve been through hell. What happened?”

She shook her head, placing a hand on her forehead and blinked, but made no move to respond. With a small sigh he offered her a hand and helped her to her feet, stepping back but remained close enough to catch her if she collapsed.

Once she was on her feet she seemed to regain some function. She blinked again and took a breath, shaking her head once more to clear her mind. Seeing as she seemed to have gotten some sense of consciousness back he decided to ask another question.

“what’s your name?”

For a while she just stood there as if the question confused her, but she soon glanced up, making direct eye contact for the first time since their meeting, and made a slight movement with her hands. The man stepped back confused.

“sorry, I don’t understand sign-language,” he admitted and she glanced away in defeat, “but I’m willing to learn,” he added giving a smile as she glanced back at him.

“i’m Mitch, by the way, Mitch Stevenson.”

Smiling in return the woman knelt down to write something out in the dirt. Motioning to the small sentence in the dust she signed it out as the man read: I’m Chell.

“Chell,” he smiled warmly, glancing back up at her face, “great name. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Chell.”

She nodded, signing like-wise and they shook hands. After a minute or so they drew apart and that was when the woman glanced down, spotting for the first time since their meeting the odd curved blade at the man’s side, and the large wicker basket already half full with mechanical junk. Following her confused gaze he glanced down.

“Oh,” he laughed, running his fingers through his sand coloured hair, “parts, for my workshop. I’m an experimental mechanic you see, kind of a hobby of mine. Although my real job is... it’s kind of stupid really. I run a bakery, that’s why I’m out here actually. Fresh supplies for the store. If... if you’d just give me a few minutes i could take you back to town with me? If you’re interested, i mean. Do you have anywhere you have to go? Family even?”

She shook her head and in the end decided to take him up on his offer. Settling down on the strange cube she waited, watching as he gathered up his sickle and went to work. As he worked, he chattered happily, barely seeming to mind that she couldn’t answer or that he couldn’t understand her if she did. She didn’t mind either, she was just happy to have found such a friendly man to be with after almost a lifetime of danger.

“It’s amazing what you can find out here,” Mitch continued, taking a moment to wipe sweat from his forehead, he turned back and motioned beyond the small barn with his sickle, “take over there for example. You’d assume at first glance that it’s nothing but wheat for miles, but just a little bit down the hill, near a small lake is a giant junkyard full of the most amazing and bizarre machinery i have ever seen. Don’t even know where any of it came from. It’s almost like it just appeared out of nowhere.”

She gave him an absent smile as he turned to her for an answer, shrugging it off as clueless. It was only when he went back to work did she allow her true feelings to show on her face. Giving a silent sigh of remorse she glanced away, rubbing a hand gingerly along one of the burns on her shoulder, a reminder of the bomb she had miraculously survived.

In that one moment her mind was forced back to the night before, and the bright moon shining overhead. Deep down she had wanted it to be a dream, a horrid nightmare and nothing more. That was why—she admitted to herself— she had been disappointed by the sudden sight of Mitch.

At a glance he had been easily mistaken for him. But on a further observation she noticed obvious differences: hair too dark, sandy while his had been gold, eyes didn’t have the same glow and had a faint green undertone, and height, although Mitch was tall it wasn’t quite the same. Mitch was also a lot stronger in comparison, well muscled and fit. In the end she had to admit, and hated herself for it, that Mitch was rather attractive.

I shouldn’t have let go, the thought came unbidden, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself that it had been GLaDOS and not her the thought still lingered, i should have held tighter... i should have grabbed him...

That was when she noticed the tears. Hurriedly she wiped them away just as Mitch glanced up, a bunch of cropped wheat in his hands. He smiled at her and she forced herself to return the expression.

“That should be enough for a few loaves, let’s head back to town.”

Nodding Chell forced herself to her feet and picked up her companion cube, struggling a little under the loaded weight. Things would have been so much easier if she still had her portal gun. Unfortunately she had left it behind, just another bad memory wanting to be forgotten. Giving a quick nod to Mitch she followed behind, allowing him to lead her into town and hopefully—she thought to herself—a better life...

...

The town was small, nothing more than a few houses spanning across a couple of streets. It was even hard to tell the difference between storefronts and houses, many having been combined sometime ago. In the middle was a wide square of pure green grass, not a single sign of settlement could been seen. The sight was both beautiful and intimidating to her, this being the first time since she could remember seeing this many people.

All of them seemed to know Mitch on sight and would call out and wave as he made his way through the streets. The place being small enough for everyone to know everyone else. Which was also the reason why everybody they passed seemed to take a second glance when they saw her, that and her strange outfit accompanied with that large cube.

They continued on, passing a small group of kids playing in the road, being over-watched by a few gossiping parents. A few children stopped to watch them pass, one boy snickering at Chell’s dirtied clothes, another wondering out loud what was in the box, both got scolded by their mother, who apologised to them before hurrying both boys inside. Mitch laughed outright, telling her not to worry, they would all grow accustomed to one another as the days go by.

They walked until they came to the last house on the street. The building itself wasn’t that big or grand, old white brick, possibly reaching two stories. The front of the house, quite like the others, appeared to have been remodelled into a quick setup bakery, the back half being blocked off as the living quarters. Dwarfing the whole building was a large grey garage next door, which was clearly Mitch’s workshop.

They both paused at the front, Mitch taking a step forwards to unlock the door, only to be nearly blasted off his feet when it was forced opened from the inside and he was wrapped in a sudden hug.

“Welcome home, big brother!” Squealed the girl, who’s dirty blonde hair sprung up like ringlets around her rounded face.

He laughed and returned the hug, “hello Matty. Just the person i was looking for, actually. Matilda this is Chell. Chell this is my little sister Matty. Don’t let her appearance fool you, she’s the town’s tailor. No one knows fashion better than her. Just ignore the fact that she acts like a kid.”

Does she have a medical degree, Chell thought to herself, not unkindly as they shared a rather awkward hug, in fashion? From France?

“Oh you poor thing,” Matty fawned, holding Chell’s hands out to observe the scares on her skin, “you’ve been through the wars haven’t you? What happened?”

“Oh i should have mentioned,” Mitch broke in as Chell pulled her hands back awkwardly, “Chell can’t exactly talk.”

“Oh, sorry,” the young woman pulled herself back, before returning with a bright smile, “you’re full of mysteries aren’t you? I want to learn everything about you. I just know we’re going to be... really... good... friends...”

giving another squeal she gave Chell another unwanted hug, “why don’t you get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll get some clothes ready.”

Before either Chell or Mitch could answer she ran off, disappearing into a side room. Once she was out of sight Mitch sighed, running his fingers through his hair and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry about that. Hope you don’t mind being her toy for this afternoon.”

At Mitch’s words she moved back, adapting an almost defensive stance before letting her agitation go with a sigh. In the end she shrugged, she needed some new clothes anyway and didn’t really have any other option.

He motioned a thumb casually over his shoulder, “bathroom’s over this way if you want to wash off first.”

Nodding her thanks she made her way in that direction. A shower was what she was looking forwards to most of all, to finally rid herself of all the sweat and blood. That and the fact that her hair really needed a wash, it was just the perfect way of finally getting rid of everything.

Nearly half an hour later she was out, dressed only in a towel, steam rising from her skin and drenched hair. She stood awkwardly in the back room lounge-room, waiting for Matilda while Mitch busied himself with the baking. If it was up to her she would have just gotten redressed in her current jump-suit, but she had to admit to herself that her old outfit was nothing more than trash now.

It took a few more minutes but eventually Matty returned, bringing in with her a rack of clothes in almost every colour and size, stacks of shoes and scarves accompanying the set.

“sorry it took so long,” Matty huffed, ever smiling, “but I couldn’t find a colour that best suited you, so I figured why not choose for yourself?”

Hearing his sister’s voice Mitch stuck his head in, dusting his hands of flour.

“aren’t those Madeline’s old shoes?” He asked, to which Matty shrugged

“i’m sure she won’t mind,” she answered just minutes before there was a knock at the door. The siblings both smiled at each other.

“speak of the devil,” Mitch smiled as he went to answer the door

Though she was smiling pleasantly Chell could tell that their older sister was more strict than their younger. Tall and thin where Matty was short and soft. Even their sandy coloured hair was styled differently, Madeline’s being long and straight. Smiling she came over and gave Chell a quick, welcoming hug.

“welcome to the neighbourhood,” she said before moving back to address her brother

“Sorry about the short notice but the others have decided to host a ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ party for miss Chell here. It’s a big deal you see, her being the first new coming in literally years. Mitch make sure to bring your best batch of pastries and Matty... help Chell find something nice to wear. Hopefully something that brings out her eyes.”

With that she made a quick farewell and left, as prompt as if she owned the place. Sighing Mitch shook his head.

“That Sissy, always having to act like the boss, just because she’s older than us,” smiling he turned to Chell, “Mad is a very busy person around here, and very renowned, not only does she manage the local grocery store she also part time’s as a teacher at our school. Well i better get started with the pastries. Matty, you’re up.”

The squeal of excitement she made would have been enough to send any dog within the area into a frenzy. A couple minutes later Chell had been fitted out in a silvery blue gown that, although it folded perfectly to her body, revealing curves even she didn’t know about, it was still flowy enough to splay out when she twirled.

She glanced in the large oval mirror Matilda provided, swaying from side to side and admiring the fabric, a genuine smile crossing her lips at the sight as Matty fussed about with her hair, deciding whether or not it should be up or out. in the end they went with up. Finally a little makeup to show off the linings of her face and a silky scarf that matched the gown’s silvery colour to hide most of the burns and she was ready.

The celebration was to take place in the grassy clearing in the middle of town and went all afternoon and well into the night. Chell was tossed between people all evening, learning names and hearing stories until long after the sun had set. Finally the last introductions were given and the party started to break up. As she made her way back across the field she found herself walking along side Mitch who sighed up at the darkening sky.

“Beautiful night,” he noted, forcing her attention up to the sky for the first time that day, and the slowly rising glow of the full moon, “so clear and peaceful. Oh, i got an idea, why don’t you come star gazing with me?”

The sudden question caused her eyes to widen. Shaking her head fiercely she fumbled with the little notebook they had given her and wrote out a quick excuse: tired... big day...

Sighing but trying desperately to not let his disappointment show he relented and offered to walk her to Matty’s house, where they had agreed she would stay until things could be more permanently set out.

“Next time, then,” he said, smiling to cover up his disappointment and it was only when they had reached the front door of Matilda’s house did she answer with an uncertain: next time...

...

They had gotten her set up in the spare room at the back of the house, right next to Matty’s, fitted in one of Madeline’s old light purple pyjamas. The window next to her bed had it’s blinds closed on her request, but they still didn’t close all the way, causing a small beam of silver-white light to sliver through the glass, flowing across her pillow as she tried to sleep.

Against her better judgment she rolled over on the well-worn mattress and almost forced herself to focus at the glowing, milky sphere. Tears stung her eyes as she rolled back to face the darker, more reassuring wall, rubbing the palms of her hands against her eyes with force enough to hurt, but it still wasn’t enough to stop herself. in the end she gave up trying and allowed herself to cry silently. Apologising over and over in her mind as she finally drifted off to sleep.

I’m sorry.

I’m so—

#wheatley #portal #portal 2 #chell #aperture science #fanfiction #glados #space #portal fanfic #chelley

[amethystunarmed]

A Story About Monsters

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou; Minor Asui Tsuyu/Uraraka Ochako

Word Count: 6849

AO3 Link

My piece for the @krbkbigbang! Wonderful art for this fic was done by @writerdragon!

Bakugou was sent out of the palace to find a monster and stay out of the way of peace negotiations. Instead, he finds a lost prince, and the key to his kingdom’s safety. That is, if curses, bandits, and swamp witches don’t stop him first.

~~~~

To say Bakugou was pissed would be an understatement. Even the mere thought of his conversation with Aizawa had him grinding his teeth. “Stupid fucking Deku,” Bakugou muttered as he tugged his cape from a thorn bush, “Gets to stay in the castle and babysit a fucking prince and I’m out here chasing a fairytale.” Or a monster, apparently. That’s what the townspeople had called it when he had asked around. A great winged creature appeared above the forest. Pleas for aid had been coming into the castle for weeks now, but Bakugou wasn’t stupid. He would have needed to be to not notice the fact Aizawa sent him out only three days before the arrival of King Enji and the rest of the party from Endeavor.

“You’re trying to get rid of me!” Bakugou had shouted. Magic had sparked at his fingers, until Aizawa leveled red eyes at him.

“This is a serious mission, but I will not deny that diplomacy isn’t your strong suit.”

“Fucking show you a strong suit, dammit!” He angrily slung an explosion at the brush in front of him.

“So, you’re the one who’s been causing all of those explosions, huh?”

Bakugou looked up and realized he’d entered a clearing. Now that he was beyond the tree line, he could see an ivy covered tower, seeming impossibly tall to be constructed this far from town. The grass nearby had been converted into a massive garden, which was currently being tended by a guy tall enough that Bakugou would have to look up at him..

He was leaning on a hoe, absolutely drenched in sweat from the work. His shocking red hair was pulled back with a bandana, and dirt coated his hands. A smear of it rested across his cheekbone, like he had tried to wipe his sweat away.

He was smiling at Bakugou like he was the greatest thing he’d ever seen.

“Some of us live out here, ya know?” he continued, teasing like his presence here made any fucking sense.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, meaning Bakugou had full view of his biceps and pecs and abs and fuck—

“It’s magic, moron,” Bakugou growled. He clenched his fist shut and the few fires left from his explosion died. “I’m not gonna start a forest fire.”

“Glad you have a plan. You don’t have a wagon, so I don’t think you’re here for me—“

“The fuck does that–?“

“—so what brings you all the way out here?”

Bakugou huffed. “Some people reported seeing a ‘monster’ in these woods. Heard anything about that?”

The other man’s smile faltered. His eyes widened in what looked like panic.

“Nah, haven’t seen anything like that out here… You sure you’re in the right forest?”

Bakugou had pretty good intuition, but didn’t need it to know this guy was full of shit. He cracked his knuckles, and when he rested his hands down, he rested his palm against the hilt of his sword.

“Uh-huh… You gotta a name?” Bakugou asked. The guy bit his lip.

“I’m Eijirou…” That name rang a bell in Bakugou’s head, but he shoved it away for now.

“Eijirou, you gonna tell me why you’re lying to me?” 

Eijirou sucked in a breath.

“Well, you see,” he began.

And promptly dashed for the door.

“Oh no you don’t!” Bakugou yelled, and dashed after him. 

~~~

The last thing Bakugou expected to find when he broke down the door were the luxurious furnishings that decorated the house. Velvet curtains hung over the windows, plush blue cushions adorned every seat and couch. He was pretty sure the vase on the table was actual porcelain. 

“Dude! Do you have any idea how hard that is gonna be to fix?” Eijirou whined, but Bakugou ignored him. He tackled Eijirou to the ground, and held a sparking hand over him. Eijirou’s chest rumbled under him as he groaned. He glared at Bakugou and for a moment, Bakugou swore–

But Eijirou slumped down, totally normal.

“What’s this about?”

“Did you steal this stuff?” Bakugou held tighter to his throat.

“What? No! It’s mine!”

“I’m supposed to believe that some fucking farmer has a claw footed sofa?”

“Uh… it’s a family heirloom?”

“How’d you even get this tower, huh? Why did no one in town mention you either, despite pointing me in the perfect direction to find you?”

“You don’t understand–“

“Make a nice hideout for yourself and then spread a rumor to keep people away?” He slammed Kirishima against the ground. “I’m taking you back to Yuuei–“

“Kirishima!” He shouted, and shoved Bakugou off of him so quickly, the world blurred. Bakugou skidded to the side, too shocked to retaliate.

“What’d you say?”

“Kirishima,” Eijirou panted, and now Bakugou remembered why that name seemed so familiar. “Eijirou Kirishima. I’m a prince of Riot.”

Bakugou scowled. “That’s a legend. The prince is dead.”

“I can prove it!” Kirishima insisted, and scrambled over to a nearby desk. He rifled through the top drawer, spilling yellowed parchment without a care. With a relieved gasp, Kirishima pulled forth a small silver object, and held it out for Bakugou to gaze upon. Bakugou sharply inhaled. It was a signet ring, with the image of a crown inside a gear, with two touching fists below it. The symbol of the crown prince, supposedly buried with the ill-fated firstborn.

Bakugou grit his teeth and steadied his voice.

“How?”

“What do you-”

“How are you here? How are you alive?”

Kirishima stared at the floor.

“I... I wasn’t fit to be a prince,” he said, “So... I was sent to live out here.”

“That’s messed up,”Bakugou said before he could stop himself, and Kirishima’s eyes widened. He stuck his hands out, waving them as if to ward off Bakugou’s assumption.

“No, no, they took care of me! They sent nannies to look after me until I was old enough to care for myself, and sent supplies every month! They didn’t just abandon me out here!”

“Until you were... How old were you?”

Kirishima tapped his chin and thought for a moment. “I must have been... five or six, I think?”

What the actual fuck. What the hell could a five year old have done to lose the rights to a crown? Why would parents just abandon their child? Why is he defending them?

Bakugou’s head pounded with questions, each drilling into his brain like a flock of woodpeckers. He blurted out the first one he could manage to piece together.

“So you’ve just... stayed here?” 

Kirishima’s shoulders hunched. He tightened his arms around himself.

“Why would I leave?” He mumbled to the floor. “They sent me everything I needed, until I was fine on my own.”

Bakugou looked around, at the fine furniture, scuffed and scratched with overuse. At the pants Kirishima wore, shoddily patched with too big stitches, only reaching his mid-shin. At the dirt and sweat coating him, from growing his own food outside.

And Bakugou realized what had happened.

“The supplies stopped coming.”

Kirishima bit his lip.

“They know I can take care of myself.”

A second realization hit Bakugou.

“You don’t know.” 

Finally, Kirishima looked up at him. He cocked his head to the side, gazing at Bakugou in honest confusion.

“Know what?”

The reason the Endeaven Royalty was visiting Yuuei. The reason King Todoroki and All Might Yagi were locked in fierce debate. The reason the balance of the kingdoms was at risk.

Bakugou took a deep breath.

“The Riot kingdom fell a little more than eight years ago. The royal family is dead.”

Kirishima stumbled, and fell to one knee.

“They... They’re dead?”

Somewhere in the back of Bakugou’s brain, he realized he was talking to a king. He took to one knee and clamped a hand over his chest. He bowed his head.

“I’m sorry for your loss, your Majesty.” 

Hands clamped around his shoulders and pulled him to his feet.

“Don’t- Don’t do that,” Kirishima stammered, “I’m... I’m not...”

“A king?”

Kirishima let out a high pitched squeal that might have been a laugh.

“I’m barely even a prince!” He knotted his fingers in his hair and tugged at it. “I can’t- I’m not-” His eyes leveled with Bakugou. “What happened?”

“Have you heard of the sorcerer All for One?”

Kirishima frowned. “Isn’t he just a myth?”

“And the prince who lives in the tower in the woods isn’t?”

Kirishima’s nose crinkled, but he didn’t interrupt again.

“He sent his successor, Shigaraki, into the very heart of Riot. It was a massacre.” Kirishima flinched, and Bakugou felt a twinge of something in his stomach. He ignored it. “For nearly a decade, he and his band ruled the land, terrorizing anyone who tried to stop him. Until All Might Yagi and King Todoroki defeated him. Now of course they’re fighting over the rights to the kingdom.” Bakugou scoffed. “That’s where I would be if I wasn’t busy chasing fairytales.”

“Wait, one of the other kingdoms is just... taking over?” Kirishima said.

“Obviously,” Bakugou snorted. “It’s not like the Kirishima family can...” He paused and gazed at Kirishima intently. Kirishima’s eyes widened. 

“No–” He tried to step backwards, but Bakugou snatched his wrist. He cackled.

“Bad at diplomacy my ass! I’m about to stop the biggest war in Yuuei’s history!”

Kirishima shook his head and tugged at Bakugou’s hold. “Dude, let go of me. I mean it. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Psh, like you could. Now come on.”

Bakugou tried to pull Kirishima forward, and the world inverted.

Bakugou gasped as the flip slammed him into the floor. He hadn’t prepared himself to take the hit and he was paying for it now. Kirishima stood over him, already back in a fighting stance. He grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry man,” he chuckled, “That wasn’t very manly of me.”

“I’ll get you back to the castle if I have to drag you there myself!” Bakugou spat, and launched himself to his feet. Kirishima took a breath of hesitation, and Bakugou tackled him to the floor.

It was an ugly fight. Even though Bakugou couldn’t use his magic in such close quarters, he was prepared for an easy fight. One lucky shot at the beginning didn’t mean anything. Yet Bakugou quickly found himself pulling out every trick he knew. Kirishima was clearly untrained, but strong and desperate. He clawed and bit without shame, anything to shake Bakugou’s superior training. More than once, Bakugou found himself face down in the dirt, having to quickly roll out of the way an incoming punch. He managed to get Kirishima out of the house, but he refused to move further than beyond the boundaries of his garden. He tiptoed around the areas with intricate care, like he was afraid of getting too far from the tower. It was distracting him.

The fight had been a long one, and Bakugou could tell Kirishima was losing steam. All he needed was one mistake and– there. Bakugou reached forward and grabbed Kirishima’s vest. He tugged Kirishima forward, intent on getting him in a headlock. He was prepared for surprise, for the movement to catch Kirishima off guard. What he didn’t expect was for Kirishima to completely go limp in his hold. Bakugou’s knees buckled and the two of them dropped.

They slammed against the ground, and before Bakugou could react, Kirishima flipped him on his back.

“Why do you want me to go with you?”

“What the hell?” Bakugou sneered.

“Tell me!” Kirishima was glaring directly at him. He was still lying on top of Bakugou, hands firmly pinning Bakugou to the ground. Bakugou’s face felt hot, from more than just the exertion of the fight.

“Because I’m gonna be the hero of the kingdom and show Aizawa what a mistake it was to try and get rid of me!” He snarled, desperately trying to break free of Kirishima’s hold.

“The real reason,” he insisted. It was a statement, no doubt in his voice.

“That is the reason!”

“Give me a reason to trust you, or I swear on the whole pantheon of Gods, I will lock myself in that tower and you will never get me out.” Bakugou could feel Kirishima panting. The force behind his words pressed their chests together. He tried to shove him away. Kirishima only glared.

“Fuck,” Bakugou sighed, “Okay, listen. King Enji is a warmongering tyrant. With Riot’s resources, he’d have enough power to conquer Yuuei, and any other kingdom he wants. And Yuuei is too far from Riot to properly protect it. Endeavor would just take it over anyway, or, worse, All for One may return. You coming back and taking the throne? That’s the only chance of this whole disaster not ending in bloodshed, alright?” He turned his head to the side and stared at the trees. “Happy?”

Kirshima hummed, and thought it over. He then beamed up at Bakugou, so bright he felt blinded.

And so Bakugou gained a travel companion.

~~~

Honestly, traveling with Kirishima wasn’t that bad. Bakugou had kept a close eye on him at first. He couldn’t understand the sudden change in attitude, the way he went limp into Bakugou’s hold after they fell beyond the tree line. Despite being a hermit, Kirishima was dense with muscle and (though Bakugou would never tell him this) that fight was one of the closest matches he had in awhile. If Kirishima had really wanted to run, Bakugou wasn’t certain he could have stopped him without knocking him out. 

And Aizawa would actually kill him if he learned Bakugou assaulted a prince.

But Kirishima never tried to run, despite his earlier protests. He merely trailed behind Bakugou, quietly at first, but becoming chattier as the day went on. At first, he paused after sentences, giving Bakugou space to respond. After Bakugou’s fifth uninterested grunt though, he seemed to take the hint, and talked more at the forest then at Bakugou. He commented on Bakugou’s fighting skills, talked about how manly Bakugou’s moves were. He babbled on about the training regimen he’d created for himself at his tower, the equipment he’d created for himself (which Bakugou honestly was a little disappointed that he hadn’t been able to see.) At one point, he stopped in his tracks, and gasped at the site of a fawn lying in a glen. He’d slapped Bakugou’s arm so hard, Bakugou instinctively flipped him and pinned him to the ground. Even then, the dopey smile never left his face.

That’s not to say Kirishima wasn’t weird as hell. The dude was twitchy as fuck. Bakugou initially assumed he just wasn’t used to being in open spaces after being locked up in that tower, but there was more to it than that. Kirishima jumped at every snapped branch, followed every bird that circled overhead with his eyes. At one point, a squirrel dashed across the path in front of them, and Kirishima lunged at it with his staff. He bared his teeth, and the look in his eyes went distant. Bakugou was pretty sure he saw him run his tongue over his canines.

“Shitty hair,” Bakugou grunted. He knew better than to touch someone with that look in their eyes. “It’s a squirrel.”

The rigidity melted from Kirishima’s posture, and Bakugou bit back a chuckle at the sight of his blush. He ducked his head. 

“Right, sorry. I just...” He trailed off.

“I don’t care.” Bakugou hadn’t meant the words as a comfort. They were just true. But from the way Kirishima smiled at him, Bakugou may as well have hung the sun. The sight made something twist in Bakugou’s stomach.

So yeah. All in all, he wasn’t a bad travel companion. Gods know he was leagues better than Deku. And... there was something familiar in the way he carried himself, in the way his eyes snapped to sharp movement in the brush. Bakugou had seen it in his comrades on the battlefield, had seen it on the face of a little girl found in the remains of a burned out village. He’d even seen it in the mirror some nights, when memories screamed too loud to even consider sleep. There was a comfort in being with someone who saw the world the same way as you.

He supposes that’s why he fucked up. Why he forgot Kirishima wasn’t a disciplined soldier. Why, after a week of traveling together, he had no qualms letting Kirishima take first watch. Why he let himself slip into a deep sleep instead of a light snooze.

Then again, the whys didn’t matter. It was still his fuck up.

~~~

Bakugou grunted awake when someone kicked his side. “Fuck, shitty hair, just wake me like a normal person,” he mumbled. He blinked his eyes open, and his first thought was that it was darker than it should be. The fire was low, nearly down to embers, casting the world in a hazy red undertone. Bakugou figures that’s why it took him a moment to realize Kirishima wasn’t the person standing over him.

The blade at his throat was a pretty good indicator though.

The guy was clothed in all dark colors and kept his face halfway hidden by a scarf. Basically the most stereotypical stickup outfit Bakugou’d ever seen. He opened his mouth, mainly to call this guy a fucking jackass and hopefully warn Kirishima, but the blade pressed closer to his throat. Bakugou hissed as he felt it pierce the skin.

“Ah, ah, ah,” his captor chuckled, “No yelling. Unless you want to get your friend involved?”

Bakugou looked over and was suddenly grateful for this darkness. He didn’t want this asshole to see him pale. But he couldn’t deny the flash of fear in his chest as he saw the other bandit with Kirishima in a headlock, knife at his jugular.

Goddammit Shitty Hair. 

Bakugou sighed. “I’d fucking kill for a decent squire.” Kirishima squinted at him, and Bakugou was grateful neither of the bandits were facing him. Never let this idiot play poker, Bakugou noted.

“Aw... they can’t find a worthy apprentice for the great Katsuki Bakugou.”

Shit.

Today just keeps getting better and better.

“You morons know who I am.” Bakugou grinned, baring his lips to show all of his teeth, and the man above him flinched. “Good. That means you know what a mistake this is.” He cackled as he channeled the magic from the air around him. Pins and needles snaked down his arm as the glowing orange warmth of his power pooled in his hands. The ground sizzled beneath his palms.

“H-hey,” the bandit protested, and Bakugou relished in the way his voice cracked. “I think you’re forgetting the position you’re in.”

“Nah,” he scoffed, “I just know I could blast a hole through your rib cage before you could even think about slitting my throat.”

“But, could you stop my partner before he killed your squire?”

Bakugou growled. He hadn’t thought of that. The kingdom needed Kirishima. All Might needed Kirishima.

(His stomach rolled at the thought of a gash through Kirishima’s throat, blood bubbling out like a lazy fountain–)

Against his screaming instincts, Bakugou let his magic drift away.

“Wait, Bakugou–” Kirishima cut off with a grunt as his captor elbowed his stomach.

“Hey, what the hell?” Bakugou said, and the bandit standing over him rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry, we won’t kill him,” the man assured him. “After all, someone needs to tell the tale of how the Dusk Bandits slayed one of Yuuei’s legendary guards.”

Bakugou’s last thought as the sword rose above him was I can’t believe I’m gonna be killed by fucking edgy wannabes.

(I’m sorry Deku... Wish I had told you that sooner.)

Next to him was a roar and a horrible shattering. Bakugou’s eyes snapped to the right, just in time for him to roll out of the way as the man who’d been holding Kirishima launched into his partner. The two crumpled to the ground in a disarray of smashing limbs and Bakugou heard at least one wrist snap.

“What the hell–” Bakugou turned to face the new threat, instinctively reaching for the sword already taken off him by the bandit. His jaw dropped as he beheld the creature before him.

He was enormous. Red leathery wings stretched over the camp in a ten foot wingspan. Foot long horns, so dark they were nearly invisible against the night sky, arched over his head. Scales ran down the sides of his neck and arms, coating his hands. They stretched into long hooked claws at the ends of his fingers. In the light of the dying fire, they glittered like blood. His teeth were fangs, not his canines, his teeth, every single one of them. He roared again, so loud Bakugou couldn’t help but cover his ears. His jaw unhinged a little too far, revealing serrated molars all the way to the corner of his jaw.  And his eyes... they glowed yellow with reflected moonlight, slitted pupils paper thin with rage.

Bakugou’s breath left his lungs.

Kirishima was breathtaking. 

And a dragon, apparently.

“Actually, you know what?” one of the men behind Bakugou squeaked. “Fuck this. That guy’s a dragon.” He heard scrambling and clanking as they scampered away into the woods.

Normally Bakugou would have chased after them, made them pay for daring to think they could best him, but he had more pressing things to deal with. Given the way Kirishima ducked his head, his rage read on his face. The fierce posture from before was long gone. He nervously fiddled with his own tail. His massive wingspan curled in close around his body, as if to make him smaller. His pupils dilated back to normal, and he looked like a kicked puppy. 

“Look,” Kirishima muttered, “I know this looks bad, but–”

“You went easy on me!” Bakugou snarled.

“What?”

Bakugou readied himself into a fighting stance. “Fight me! Right now!”

“No! I could hurt you!”

“Please, you think my magic can’t take yours? I’m the best sorcerer in the all the-“

“It’s not my magic!” 

Kirishima’s chest heaved. He hunched over, curling in his chest. He clamped his claws closed.

“It’s a curse,” he whispered, barely audible above the forest ambiance. “I... I’m a monster.”

Bakugou really couldn’t help it.

He snorted.

“No, you’re fucking not.”

“I am,” Kirishima insisted, nearly pouting.

“Look, I know monsters,” Bakugou said, and looked Kirishima up and down. “You ain’t it. Just ‘cuz you grow scales when you harness your magic, doesn’t mean-”

“It’s a curse.”

“You keep saying that,” Bakugou huffed, “but that doesn’t mean anything! Besides, who would–” He managed to stop himself before saying curse you, but he still considered it a fair point. He doubted Kirishima could go through a village and leave without charming every damn inhabitant.

“It’s a punishment,” Kirishima continued. He stared down at his hands and fiddled with his claws. “Years ago, one of the members of the Riot royal family killed a dragon for sport. Little did they know, the dragon was a young mother, and her babies were left to starve. The goddess Ryukuku was angered by this needless bloodshed, and cursed my bloodline. Once a generation, a Kirishima is born with a monstrous form, hideous to all those who look upon it.” He plucked a scale from his arm with a wince and offered it to Bakugou. “With crimson scales, red as blood, to remind us of our violent folly.”

Bakugou took the scale. It was heavier than he expected, and surprisingly warm. The dimming firelight shone through it, and cloaked his hand in red light. Hideous my ass, he thought.

“So... you can take me back to the tower now.” Kirishima said this with a completely straight face, like he was speaking some known truth into the universe.

“Heh?” Bakugou scoffed.

“I can’t become king, you have no reason to continue with me.”

“How does having badass dragon powers make you a worse king? If anything, it means you're destined for it or some shit!”

“Every Kirishima who ever was born with the affliction was sent away!” Kirishima barked back at him. There was a growl rattling in his chest as he stood and stalked toward Bakugou. “My family would have preferred their extinction to a Cursed taking the throne!”

“So you just wanna get rid of the curse?” Bakugou asked, “Fuck, why didn’t you say that?”

All at once, Kirishima’s eyes rounded into inquisitive pupils, and his tail flicked with interest. “You... You can do that?” He asked, quietly, as though speaking too loud would destroy its possibility.

“Psh, ‘course not.” Bakugou snorted, “But I know a witch who can.”

~~~

The further they went into the swamp, the more skepticism Bakugou could feel radiating off of Kirishima. 

“If you have something to say, say it.”

“The ‘best damn witch you’ve ever met’ lives out here?” 

“Do you think I’d be out here otherwise?” Bakugou spat, fighting to pull his boot out of the muck. “They live just passed those trees. You can see the cabin if you look close enough.”

“Wait, they? Who–”

“BAKUGOU!” 

“Oh fuck,” Bakugou muttered as the wind swirled through the trees and a pink blur shot from the door of the cabin. Kirishima began to growl, but Bakugou was flat on his back before his claws could even unsheath. A woman in a pink dress and matching witch’s hat was perched on his chest. She poked at him with her staff.

“Why did you wait so long to visit, asshole!” She shrieked.

“Because you always attack me, fucking shit!” Bakugou spat back. Kirishima’s eyes darted between the two of them. His pupils were slitted. Bakugou knew he was scanning with a predator’s eye for any sign of threat. He sighed.

“Ki–” Bakugou fumbled on the name but corrected himself, “Eijirou, this is Round Face, the witch I told you about.”

With a flourish, she floated off of him to stand in front of Kirishima. All the annoyance had left her face, only a brilliant smile remaining. She offered him a hand.

“He forgot to mention his best friend. I’m Ochako Uraraka!” 

“Not my friend,” Bakugou grumbled and ducked with practiced timing as Uraraka swung her staff at his head. Kirishima was staring at him like he’d lost his mind. Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Come on Shitty Hair,” he grumbled, and grabbed Kirishima’s wrist. “Let’s go.”  He began dragging him toward the house. The hold was awkward, so Bakugou slid his hand down, interlinking his fingers with Kirishima’s. Uraraka coughed, and when Bakugou looked at her, she smirked. He raised an eyebrow. She slowly looked down at their hands, then looked back up at him. Her smirk grew, and she made a kissy face. His cheeks flushed (with rage) and he had to actively fight to keep his explosions beneath his skin. He was about to scream about how it wasn’t like that, when a croaky voice called out from the door. 

“Hello Bakugou, ribbit.”

Tsu looked exactly like Bakugou remembered, a tiny nixie woman with bulbous eyes and clammy skin patterned like a bullfrog. Her long hair was interwoven with blooming lily pads, and even from here, Bakugou could tell her dress was damp.

“Frog,” he grunted.

“Bakugou!” Kirishima gasped. He smacked Bakugou’s arm but Bakugou was more focused on the space where Kirishima’s hand used to be. His palm felt cold.

“Ribbit, that’s actually pretty nice for Bakugou,” Tsu informed him. “I’m Tsuyu Asui but you can call me Tsu. All my friends do.”

“Fr-friends?” Kirishima sputtered.

“As soon as I know your name.”

“Oh! I’m Eijirou! It’s nice to meet you! You have a very manly house!”

Tsu tilted her head at that, but thankfully didn’t ask.

“Thank you,” she replied graciously, and guided him inside.

“I can’t believe you fell in love with a himbo,” Uraraka muttered once they were out of earshot.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed back and stomped inside.

He could hear her cackling behind him.

The inside was messy as usual. The front door entered straight into Uraraka’s workshop. A cauldron was bubbling in the center of the room, bright stains from potion spills gathered at its base. Wall to wall, the shelves were filled with potion ingredients, everything from basic herbs to shit Bakugou was just hoping wasn’t alive. The air smelled like sour sugar and buzzed with magical potential. It made Bakugou’s nose itch.

“I’m going to make tea for our nice guest and Bakugou, ribbit,” Tsu said, placing a kiss on Uraraka’s cheek.

“Oi! I can be nice!”

“Do you want anything, Ochako?” Tsu continued talking as though no interruption had happened.

“Tea with extra honey please!”

“Don’t ignore me,” Bakugou bristled. Tsu left the room without a single glance in his direction. “Pink cheeks, I hope you’re ready to be a widow!”

“He likes that she stands up to him,” Uraraka faux-whispered, and Bakugou could hear Kirishima giggling, like the absolute fucking traitor he was.

“Shut up! We have a real problem to deal with!” Kirishima’s laughter faded with his harsh reminder and Bakugou felt like an asshole. What else is new? “Eijirou has a curse he needs to get rid of.”

Uraraka’s eyes narrowed. “Really? But he seems perfectly fine.”

Bakugou glanced at Kirishima, who sighed.

“It���s... Probably easier to show you? Let me just...” Kirishima moved to the center of the room, somewhere his wings and tail wouldn’t knock over any of the shelves. He transformed, and it wasn’t any less breathtaking now than it was the first. Uraraka gasped in awe and  clapped her hands together.

“Incredible!” She said, eyes sparkling with the reflection of Kirishima’s scales. “I’ve never seen a spell like it!”

Kirishima’s tail drooped. “You haven’t?”

“Don’t look so glum!” She chided. “That just means I get to be the one to create a solution. I just need these...” She pulled approximately a dozen bottles off the shelves, then trotted over to Kirishima. “And a scale from you!”

“You are not ripping out one of my scales!” Kirishima hissed. His wings puffed up behind him, and Bakugou could hear him growling. “It hurts!”

“Okay, okay,” Uraraka acquiesced, “If you say so– Oh my goodness, is Bakugou smiling?” Kirishima’s head snapped towards Bakugou as Uraraka plucked a scale from Kirishima’s arm. He yelped, and turned to glare at her, but she had nimbly run back to her cauldron.

“Sorry,” she chirped, not sounding sorry at all, “But I need it for the spell.” As she opened a spell book on the table near the cauldron, the jars began levitating around, circling in a calculated, chaotic orbit, bouncing in time with her humming. Kirishima gaped at her, mouth so wide, Bakugou could easily glimpse his serrated teeth. He chuckled and reached over and shut Kirishima’s mouth. 

“Save it for when she actually does something impressive,” he chuckled.

Uraraka made a little indignant huff, but didn’t argue. She knew as well as he did that this display was far from any sort of difficulty for her. As jars unscrewed, and pinches of herbs delicately stirred themselves into the brew, it changed colors. First red, then green, then brown, then, with one last shower of sparks from Uraraka herself, a serene clear, like that of untouched cave water. If Bakugou hadn’t seen the process himself, he would have thought the cauldron empty. The smell changed too, the sour-sugar smell fading into something more like rain.

“This is just a basic divination brew, useful for identifying types of magic,” Uraraka informed them. She held up the crimson scale she stole. “It’ll hopefully tell me what kind of curse was placed on you, and then we can go from there!” 

She dropped the scale in with a plop. It dissolved with the ease of a snowflake. Bakugou braced himself for a loud bang or some kind of horrid fog but nothing happened. The potion maintained its perfect clarity.

For the first time that day, Uraraka frowned. “That’s... that’s impossible.

“What does it mean?” Kirishima asked, voice serrated with anxiety.

“That’s the thing, it doesn’t mean anything!” Uraraka frantically flipped through the spellbook, searching for anything she could have missed. “According to this, there’s no curse on you at all!”

“Dragon shifters tend to be resistant to most magic,” Tsu chimed in as she walked in from the kitchen. She was carrying a tray with four steaming mugs on it. “Perhaps whatever’s wrong with you isn’t a curse at all, ribbit.”

“Dragon shifter?” Uraraka repeated.

“What the fuck you talking about, swampbreath?”

Tsu cocked her hand at them. “That’s the kind of creature Eijirou is? I could smell it from the moment you walked up. ”

“N-No, I’m a human,” Kirishima stuttered. He was paling under his scales. Tsu shook her head.

“You have wings,” She said, like they were all idiots. 

“It’s– it’s a curse,” Kirishima insisted. His hands were shaking. “That’s why they sent me away, it’s a punishment!”

Tsu’s expression stayed blank but a sharpness entered her eyes, a weight to her shoulders. Bakugou was suddenly reminded of the fact that nixies are fierce predators, Tsu included. He wondered if this is what she looked like when she was mad.

Tsu set the mugs down and walked forward to Kirishima. Despite the fact she had to look up at him, he seemed so much smaller than her. Perhaps it was the way his tail curled between his legs, as if he feared the woman in front of him and what she had to say.

“Do you know how dragon shifters come about?” She asked softly. The question clearly threw Kirishima off guard, startling an answer out of him.

“No?”

“Mm,” she hummed, and took a moment to speak. The room was still with her thoughts, populated only by the crackle of the fire under the cauldron and Uraraka’s nervous breaths.

“When a dragon falls in love, dedicated, everlasting love, with a human or an elf or nixie, any humanoid creature, their magic changes them, giving them a form suited for their partner. Children of these pairings are able to manifest dragon features, a trait of the bloodline their ancestor forsook in the pursuit of love.” Tsu reached forward, hands slower than a melting glacier. She took Kirishima’s scaled hands in her own and squeezed them fiercely. “It’s not a punishment at all, Eijirou.” Her words were nearly pleading. “It’s a gift.”

“So... It’s not fixable?” Kirishima panted. His eyes were wide, sweat dripped down his brow. He looked to be moments away from bolting. At his question, Tsu’s blank expression softened. Bakugou would nearly call the look fond.

“No. Because there is nothing wrong with you.”

Kirishima ran for the door. The vials of potions and ingredients clattered with the force of his steps. He floundered with the doorknob, claws unable to get a good grip. He flung the door open and nearly tripped down the stairs. Wings sprung from his back and he took off into the sky.

Without a second thought, Bakugou ran after him.

~~~

The sun had nearly set when Bakugou finally found Kirishima. He was curled up at the base of a tree, wings wrapped around his body. The only way Bakugou knew it was Kirishima and not some other flying beast was the blindingly red spikes of hair poking up. Bakugou dashed forward, sliding on his knees to Kirishima’s side.

“What the hell were you thinking! Someone could have seen you, I thought you wanted–”

“Bakugou,” Kirishima interrupted. He lifted his face and gone was any trace of the smile Bakugou had become so familiar with. His voice was level as a river stone. “Where are my people?”

“Wha-”

“The people of Riot. Where are they?”

Bakugou hummed. “The Riotans had to flee the kingdom after Shigaraki took over... most of them are refugees, living in camps on the borders of Yuuei and Endeavor. Enji’s been trying to clear most of them out though. Arrests any ‘freeloaders’ he finds.” Bakugou couldn’t help the snarl in his voice. The entire practice was despicable. 

“So they’re alone, in a new place, because of something that wasn’t their fault?”

Kirishima’s red eyes gazed into Bakugou. His gaze felt endless. Goosebumps danced down Bakugou’s spine. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He nodded.

“Mm,” Kirishima murmured, “I get that.” He nodded, and Bakugou watched his dragon features retract. He stood. 

“I’ll do it.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll do it,” Kirishima repeated, stronger, more sure of himself. “I’ll become king.” He set his jaw and squared his shoulders. The setting sun painted him in deep golds, igniting the reds of his hair and eyes. His ragged clothes were like gilded silks, gilting in the fading light. He was a gilded statue, a testament to the kings of old, set in the courtyard to inspire future generations. Bakugou felt his jaw drop. He was breathtaking.

And then he did something Bakugou wouldn’t have expected if the gods themselves had warned him.

Kirishima reached out his hand.

“Come with me.”

Bakugou exhaled, either as a gasp or his lungs restarting. “What?”

“I may be the prince but... I don’t know anything about running a country. I need you.”

“No, you don’t.”

The words came out sharper than he intended. He knew his face was twisted into a snarl, that sparks were shooting from his palms as  if in anger, but... Bad habits were hard to break. Kirishima flinched back at the outburst. Good, better he knows now.

“I’m not a good person,” Bakugou cackled, “I’m...” He scrunched his eyes shut, unable to look at Kirishima any longer.

He knew. He knew what he was and what others saw in him.

He saw it in the disappointed look in Aizawa’s eyes after he went too far during a spar.

He felt it in the way Deku trembled when his palms exploded, even when the blasts weren’t directed at him.

He heard it from his mother, when she hissed it in his ear when he developed his magic.

“I’m a monster.”

Kirishima didn’t answer, in fact he didn’t say anything. Bakugou still didn’t open his eyes, he couldn’t bear the thought of watching Kirishima walking away. So he’ll admit he jumped a bit when he felt hands on his cheeks. The claws were gentler than he ever thought possible as they dipped under his eyes and wiped away tears Bakugou hadn’t even realized had fallen. 

“Bakugou.” His voice was soft and sure as a mossy stone, “You’re not a monster.” Bakugou was certain that if he opened his eyes, Kirishima would be staring at him with gentle, trusting eyes, which was even worse than not looking at him at all.

“You, you don’t know,” Bakugou argued. His voice cracked, and it pissed him off. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Look at me.”

Bakugou was quickly learning that he couldn’t deny Kirishima anything.

He opened his eyes. He was right, Kirishima was unguarded and beautiful. It made his stomach churn.

“Do remember when you asked why I never left the tower?” Kirishima asked, and the question caught Bakugou off guard.

“Yeah? What does that have to do with-”

“I lied,” Kirishima barrelled over his question. “I tried to leave. I wanted to, so fucking badly. For years, I did everything I could think of to try and get out but...” Kirishima claws clicked against his scales with nervous tension. “My parents... They had a sorcerer cast a spell over the tower. ‘The prince born of beast will not leave this tower, unless under the will of a good man’s power.’ They thought it was foolproof, because no good man would ever set a monster loose in the world.”

Bakugou sucked in a breath. 

“I was only able to go beyond the boundaries of the spell because you pulled me past it.”

“That’s... They fucked up the spell then, I’m not–”

“People tried in the past.” 

Bakugou shook his head. The world was spinning. 

“A nurse who wanted to hold me captive, bandits who attempted to drag me away, a man... I don’t know what he wanted, but I bounced back the second he got me to the edge of the spell. Every person with ill-intentions who tried to take me with them, found themselves blocked by an invisible wall. So imagine my surprise when you managed to wrestle me out of my prison.” He ran a hand through Bakugou’s hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. “That’s why I agreed to go with you.”

Bakugou tried to answer, but his mouth just opened and closed twice.

“Bakugou, you told me I wasn’t a monster. I don’t think you’re one either.” The hands cupping his face tightened, as though he feared Bakugou would fall through his grasp like sand. The look on his face was akin to that of a man dying of thirst watching water be poured on the ground. Pure, earnest desperation.

“So I’ll ask you again. Will you come with me?”

Bakugou answered Kirishima by pulling him into a kiss.

Because, goddammit, he’d follow this idiot anywhere.

#kiribaku #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #fantasy au #tsuchako #tsuyu asui #uraraka ochako #tw parental neglect #tw emotional neglect #everyone's parents suck #kiribaku big bang #my writing #my fanfic #my bnha fanfic

[spidergoo]

I Think I Left My Consciousness on Your Front Door;

— eeeh i’m scared to share this but it’s a sfw heat?? but this was for my friend hehe so enjoy soft omega peter. reader is he/him but i don’t think i really mention pronouns only like once. xoxo enjoy (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

Peter was doing fine, on the battlefield doing his thing. He ignored the feelings of day before, the warning signs of the heat. Peter never tracked his heats which always ruined him somehow but he had never learned his lesson. The days where he wakes up to a math test or a speech he has to do in English.

Of course he was too embarrassed to tell Aunt May anything on those days. He’ll say he’s sick while Aunt May always tried to give him that “Omega Talk”. The one he dreads and whines over her trying to talk to him. Yeah Peter was an omega but he didn’t find it horrible just the heats were always on the worst timing.

“You okay kid?” Stark asks Peter having an overwhelming sensation of the heat that overcame his body. Suddenly the suit was suffocating, his body heat making it impossible to stay in.

“Yeah of course! Just under the weather a little.” Peter says zippling along the field. The battle was obvious that the avengers could take care of it if Peter needed to go home. He was growing up and the heat and his omega self was being more aggressive, making themselves well known.

“Are you sure?” Stark asks once more pushing the question to Peter, but once he said that Peter couldn’t handle the heat. He took off his mask mid battle sepeerating himself from the war. Breathing deeply his knees starting to get weak. Not now not now not now.

Peter soon couldn’t even stand at this point and he was drenched of his own scent, the sweat producing and he hasn’t even touched the battle. Mr. Stark flew over clicking on his suit to take off his mask.

“Kid, what’s going on?” Peter knew he couldn’t lie. As much as he would like to, this wasn’t just a cold it was much worse and Stark knew.

“H-Heat. In heat.” Peter pants sitting down no longer able to stand up. Mr. Stark grabbing him in his arms flying towards the nearest safest location which was the Stark building. While flying he couldn’t help but hear Peter telling him “he’s fine”.

Setting him down he grabbed his phone, your emergency number was down. You agreed to Peter’s hero lifestyle as long as you were told when he needed you or if something happened. If Mr. Stark said a word about Peter needing you, you were for sure on your way there.

“Don’t call him!” Peter yells from the couch, loosening the suit to make air breeze through is body but he was under a blanket. The blanket was definitely not helping but he does not want to be almost naked with Mr. Stark in the room.

“I’m calling him!” Stark yells from the other room, contacting you. You answered the phone obviously in the middle of driving. Answering the phone you questioned what was going on.

“You need to pick him up, like right now would be great.” Tony says while you suddenly changed your directions to Stark building. Giving him the “Im coming”

“What happened?” You asked while turning the street. Hearing Peter whine in the background you assumed the worst. Did he get stabbed? Was he in the hospital? Is he traumatized? “Is he okay?” You asked once again not controlling the nerves jumbling inside your body.

“Parker is fine. He’s in heat can barely stand up.” Tony says on the phone, you getting out of the car. Seeing the large building in front of you.

“Mr. Stark I said I’m fine! I can be in battle!” Peter gets himself up from the couch holding onto it because he doesn’t trust his body currently. Tony walking over setting him back down on the couch.

“You are not fine. Don’t worry Y/N is coming anytime soon.” Tony lays him down waiting for you to walk in the doors so you could take him off his hands. He didn’t know how to deal with this.

“I swear I am fine! If you let me-” Peter stops mid sentence when your scent filled his nose. The whiff he smelled when you opened the doors basically running inside. The room was filled with your scent and that make his knees basically weak. Peter was well losing his mind over well you smelled. “Maybe I should go home with him.” Peter laughs a little trying to hide the fact he said he could fight two seconds ago.

“Hey are you okay?” You walk near him sitting down. The silk you see producing through his pants luckily you always have spare clothes in the back of your car because this has happened more times then one.

“Fi-Fine you? You! smell really nice.” Peter leans on you sniffing you while you mouth a “thank you” to Tony seeing him fly back to the battle orginally they were suppose to be at.

“Here Pete we gotta go to the car.” You gran him he hooks onto you like a monkey. Going down the lobby grateful that there wasn’t anyone working the front desk currently knowing Peter would never come back from it.

Peter changed into your clothes. And if now your scent wasn’t intoxicating it sure damn was now. Your nice scent with a slight touch of the washing detergent. Perfect combination of his entire life.

You dropped him off at your house since it was closer then his and he didn’t want to worry Aunt May more then he already does he settled for it. Peter clinging onto you while you took the elevator upstairs to your apartment. Your parents thankfully not home to witness Peter in his crisis.

“You need to take a bath.” Flicking his forehead you see he’s gotten you clothes soaked in slick. You felt that this was going to be a normal thing this heat.

“What’s the point if I’m just going to get more slick on your clothes?” Peter sits on the toilet seat, waiting for you to come back with a fresh new set of clothes. You warmed up the bath, helping Peter get into it.

“I’ll put some layers on my bed, you want to just sleep naked?” You put some bubbles seeing Peter pout. “What? You don’t like “Eucalyptus Spearment” bubble bath?” You asked showing the bottle seeing Peter tilt his head because he’s never heard of that scent in his life.

“My friend gave it to me, one christmas have not used it once but! My boyfriend that is in need of a bubble bath will use it for me.” Pouring the substance seeing bubbles start to form. Peter laying down in the bath seeing that he didn’t quite fit. You grabbed the shampoo from your side of the shower pouring some on your hand.

“Thank you.” Peter says under his breath while you rub the shampoo through his hair. The scent of the bubble bath finally hitting his nose. Smiling while you poured warm water over his head washing the dirt and dust out of his hair.

You let Peter do his thing in the bath while you made your bed, making sure you put some blankets under where he would lay down. Espically since he might be overtaken from the scent of you, you aired out some windows grabbing the handy dandy fabreeze. Spraying some here and there making sure not to overload it. You heard Peter call out to you from the bathroom seeing him only in boxers waving at you to pick him up.

“My night and shining.” Peter chuckles in your chest while you laid him in the bed. You placing a light blanket on him. You laid next to him your scent filling up his nose feeling slick run down his thighs.

“This is embarrassing.” Peter says looking up at your ceiling. You got up from laying down seeing him press his legs together trying to stop the slick.

“What is embarrassing?” You ask, honestly he could spill as much slick and you wouldn’t be mad at him. His doey brown dreamy eyes looked at you the blush rising in his cheeks.

“That i’m in heat in your bed.”

“And...” You raise your eyebrow clicking your phone to play a couple songs that you knew he enjoyed to calm him down.

“And? I’m soaking your sheets in my own slick. My dignity? Lost.” Peter gestures with his hands till the end where he slams them on the bed giggling at his little rant.

“You will be fine buttercup. I love you regardless of the slick on my sheets.” Kissing his lips, embracing him separating yourself from him seeing him whine.

“Not. Helping.” He said feeling more slick run down his thighs. You laid back down holding his hand, fit perfectly with yours. His small touches of his made your heart beat faster.

“Are you hungry?”

“Hungry for you.” Peter realizes what he said when he hears you burst into laughter. “Sorry omega thing kinda kick into hyperdrive.” You couldn’t stop laughing.

“God that was incredibly cheesy.” Still chuckling wrapping your hands around him even if he didn’t want to be touched at first, till he basically turned into goo enjoying your touch.

“Why aren’t you getting your ruts? This isn’t fair.” Peter says seeing you burry your head into his neck leaving little pecks.

“We haven’t been together long enough for our heats and ruts to be synced.” Placing your leg over his body even if the small complains of his slick getting on you.

“Also never spray freebreeze in here.” Peter mumbles kissing your knuckles of your hands.

“Why?”

“Because I love smelling your scent.” Peter smiles turning to you. The love eyes he gives you made you coo at him.

“My baby! My sweetiepie! My angel! My honey! My boo bear!” You yelled out basically trying your hardest to not pounce on him with kisses. The sweetest things made you want to protect him from all the dangers in his world.

The night came you two just staying in bed, the small stars you could see from the window. The lights of New York and the cars speeding by the city. You saw Peter falling asleep on you. Peter turning towards you meowing a little.

“Do you need a change of boxers?” You asked moving his curls out of his face. Peter softly nodding half asleep but understanding what you’re saying.

You got an extra pair giving it to Peter while he changed you replacing the extra blanket with a new one. The ironically the spider-man he bought you one christmas. Peter laying on top feeling the fresh clean feeling against his skin.

“How long do you think this heat will be?” You ask turning on a little night light you had that shined on the ceiling. It was more for the looks of the stars that you got it for.

“This is my 3rd one? So maybe it will end by tomorrow.” Peter says letting his head rest on your chest. You ran your hand through his hair enjoying the time with him.

“You aren’t annoyed right?” Peter asks looking up at the artificial stars in your bedroom. Going in a swirly motion.

“No of course not.”

“Good because I was just worried. I can be a lot to take care.” The slow music while the stars allowed the moment to be peaceful. You kissing his hand giving him the affection he well deserves.

“Don’t worry, you will be out back in battle in a matter of time.” You tell him, his spider suit still on your bedroom floor. Not worried that your parents would walk in to see it on the ground.

“You know I enjoy this. Maybe when I’m not producing gallons of slick we could do this again.” Peter yawns seems like he’s trying to talk but his body is shutting down on him.

“I would love to. You can rest baby.”

#peter parker x male reader #spiderman x male reader #peter parker #spiderman #spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader

[blehbleehhhh]

You Feel Like Home ft. EreMika❣️

Hey, embarrassed Eren & shy Mikasa first kiss anon! Sorry it took so long to write .-.  Hope you enjoy and that you see thiskskskndksk.

ps: Pulled this down at first because I wasn’t entirely proud of it lol. So I did some more editing until I was. 🤷‍♀️

A beautiful, fair skinned enchantress with silky raven colored hair lies completely naked in bed on her stomach dressed in only black knee high socks. She smiles sweetly as she tousles her hair, long bangs gradually falling across her angelic face and tickles her cute little nose, allowing a masculine hand to gently rest on her cheek. Dazzling gray-blues suddenly reflect Eren's smiling face while being full of lust, mischief, and desire as she places her hand on his fantastic abdominals and left soft kisses below his bellybutton, her legs bent at the knees so they cross at the ankle. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and bit her lower lip, taking a teasingly long time to unbuckle his belt and loosen his uniform trousers, slowly peeling them down his hips as he's graced with her beautiful smile to see his erection become exposed. His clothing suddenly dropped around his ankles as she leaned in to place a soft kiss to the tip and his hand carefully gathered her hair to keep it away from her mouth while she works, seducing him further under her enticing spell once more. Eren awakes suddenly in his bed feeling disoriented as an adrenaline rush takes over, hyper aware of how fast his heart races and an unfortunately familiar cold and sticky sensation in his boxers which was undoubtedly from having yet another embarrassingly sexual dream about Mikasa. Fuck! He groans, feeling disappointed as he lays back with his mind already thinking about her smile and how it seems to be seen less and less these days. With discontent Eren rolls on his side away from the wall, his heart beating hard against his chest because he now realizes that there was a part of him who always harbored such intense romantic feelings for the girl that he grew up with under the same roof of as luck would have it. I shouldn't feel this way about Mikasa! What the hell! These feelings have been neglected for far too long during his short seventeen years and manifested in dreams ranging from the eradication of all titans and settling down together, to something much more frequent and steamier like the one he had tonight. It all started from her simply bumping into him in the hallway to where their faces were briefly close enough to kiss, but she very quickly pulled away with an adorably bright pink face looking like she wanted to crawl under a rock.

This touch was clearly not like the rest, since she has somehow managed to snap Eren out of that mental block he had up, knocking it down completely unintentionally and made him think that perhaps her smile has always made the world outside his vision of such a glorious sight a blur, because she was all he could see in that moment. Perhaps his heart has always felt like it skipped a beat in her presence, and he simply hasn't been aware of the connection until now. Eren brought the covers over his head and exhaled a sigh of relief that the guys he's rooming with are still asleep but it didn't matter, he already decided when laying back down to wait until they all leave for breakfast to change his boxers. The level of embarrassed he feels is so extreme that he'll willingly put himself through a few more hours of jizz covered boxers just to conceal the fact that he'd had a wet dream about someone he shouldn't be having them for, the girl who has been treated like a sister for years now. But it's not like we're actually brother and sister, either. With that realization he felt a noticeable weight lifted off his chest, though his mind continued to wander further to the day, the exact moment when her body was pressed against his and they were looking into each other's eyes. It didn't take him long after this thought to recognize the feeling of peace, like he was home again, and though that made him want more, he also found it terrifying that his mind went from thinking of her as more of a friend or a sister to wanting the young woman naked in his bed. Hell, Eren isn't sure how to look at her now with these thoughts floating around his mind. Any attempts he makes to block these thoughts or change them with something that's completely unrelated to Mikasa were futile, because his brain was annoyingly persistent and often a distraction even at the most inconvenient times, like whenever they’re running through training courses with giant targets. These targets get hit alright, since Eren has been venting his frustration on them with vicious slices from his gear much more so than usual, though nobody really picked up on a change in his behavior except for his two best friends, one of which actually approached him about this and the strain on his friendship with the girl of their little group at the moment. "Any particular reason why you've been avoiding Mikasa?" Armin holds a boxing safety pad in his hand for Eren, looking just as determined and focused as the young shifter, who was clearly hyped up over something that’s causing increasingly angry punches.

"Nope."

"Why don't I believe that?"

"Don’t know, don’t care."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself," Armin slowly shook his head in disbelief, completely ignoring the typical sharp tone to his friend's voice. "Tell me, Eren, why anyone who has no reason to ignore their friend would then proceed with that anyhow and refuse to be anywhere near that person?" Eren furrowed his brows in annoyance as he stopped throwing punches, already sweating from the heavy training for the last thirty minutes.

"Dude, can you just drop it? I'm really not in the mood."

"Okay," The blonde sighs as another punch was aggressively thrown into the thick protective padding on his hand, then a second, much harder than the previous. "But you should know how much you're breaking her heart." Eren's face was now impossible to read but it’s clear to Armin how angry he is just from how hard he’s punching now, so hard, in fact, that his hand is actually starting to ache.

"She seems fine to me."

"How the hell would you know? You've been avoiding her for almost a week!" Armin’s freehand quickly wiped the sweat from his brow. "Haven't you noticed her missing shit in archery class? I mean, just yesterday she missed a tree with her 3DMG, fell, then got hurt. Mikasa is messing up. I'm relatively certain that she's doing extra training with Levi right now on the big targets." Eren's punching grew much quicker in pace, his fists returning after briefly pulling back with impressive force against the protective padding because he's angry with himself for not noticing the way his behavior effects her despite maintaining a protective eye from afar, so this news is brutally eye opening. Suddenly, Armin was stumbling backwards and falling on his behind in the dusty dirt because one of the punches was thrown so hard that it knocked him over. Only then did Eren's powerful fists finally relax at his sides, his body breathless and drenched in sweat as he offered a hand to his friend, who looked up at him in shock that he was on the ground in the first place.

"I'm sorry," Eren breathed a frustrated sigh as he helped Armin to his feet. "I didn't mean to do that. I think I just zoned out." But his friend just shook his head as he dusted himself off, but he could see that something was wrong. Green eyes so genuinely gloomy.

"No, it's fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

"Are you hurt?"

"It’s not me you need to worry about. You really need to go work this out with Mikasa," Armin sighs to catch his breath as he runs his fingers through his short, sweaty blonde hair. "I hate seeing you two so torn up like this.” Eren placed a hand on the back of his neck and sighed as he proceeded to anxiously crack his knuckles on both hands.

"I don't think I can do that."

"Even if to keep her sanity?"

"I don't know what to fucking say, Armin!"

"Just throw all your cards on the table, you know?" His friend looks away to remove the boxing pad and wiggled all of his fingers as he spins his wrist once. "Be honest. Tell Mikasa what's going on with you, because you owe her that." Satisfied with the state his hand was in Armin looked up to see a significantly softened expression looking down at the floor which indicated to him that he has gotten his mind working.

"Alright, I'll pull her aside later I guess.."

"Thank you. Now," Armin slips the pad over his hand and braces himself for impact as Eren takes his fighting stance, waiting for him to give the word. "I'm ready for you to actually punch now, so, have at it my friend. Clear your mind for all of our sanities, please?" Eren nodded once to silently give thanks and immediately began punching, taking all of his anger and frustration out on the protective pad as he clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw began to hurt. He feels sick with himself for making someone he cares about very deeply feel so horrible that even their behavior has started to change. Worst of all, with her ability to aim being effected, Mikasa’s life is in more danger than it is already amidst a seemingly endless war. But tonight he hopes to begin the complicated journey of mending the damage in their relationship so it can finally grow into something beautiful. And when she was leaving the common room with Sasha for something food related, he gently grabbed her pink cardigan sweater from where he sat near the door with Armin.

"Eren?" But the young man didn't answer, only continuing to pull her down the hallway and out the front door of the barracks so he can speak with her far away from possible prying eyes and ears. Mikasa wasn't sure what was going on but she was delighted that he's finally acknowledging her after going so long without so much as a glance. He seemed to be irritated when he let go over her arm and walked ahead slowly with his hands over his face, conveying to her that he certainly was distraught. She swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her chest, cozied up in her sweater from the chilly October night. "Why won't you talk to me?" Her soft voice trembled with tears and she felt the blush rapidly rising on her face. "Did I do something wrong?" Eren remained still with his hands in the pockets of his sleep pants, desperately trying to wrack through his mind for the right words he can say, but the barely audible sound of her soft cry is breaking his heart. I can't believe I made her feel like this..

"No."

"Are you angry with me?"

"Not really."

"I'm sorry, I-"

"No, you're right, you don't understand. I'm not even sure if I do." Eren finally turns to meet her eyes, already glistening from the tears that he has caused. "The simplest answer I can give you is, no, you didn't do anything wrong. But you did do something to me, Mikasa, a-and -" He stutters as his mind becomes so flooded with things to say, that his tongue simply cannot keep up when he speaks, something he finds to be incredibly frustrating. This just isn’t in his nature. “Fuck! I don't even know how to explain it!" Her face reads as even more confused as she processed what was just angrily uttered under his breath.

"Can you try?"

"Look," He takes a self-soothing deep breath and anxiously moves a hand to the back of his head, where it awkwardly itches a non-existent itch. "Ever since you, like, bumped into me in the hallway last week, I haven't been able to get you out of my head.." The young man groaned as he looked away feeling embarrassed that he's behaving so out of his comfort zone for a girl but this is Mikasa, the girl he spent all of his days with growing up after his parents kindly took her in. "You feel...you feel like home to me." His voice sounded shaky, as if he’s afraid of what how she will react to such news from a very private man. She swallows hard as butterflies surge out of control in her stomach having only dreamed to hear words such as these from his mouth and never once considered that it would actually happen someday. Eren takes a step closer and her heart leaps into her throat from excitement of what's the come. "I've been an asshole, and I'm so sorry.”

"It's okay...”

"No, it isn't, and I wish you’d stop going so easy on me when I fuck up," He hesitantly placed his hand on her cheek and welcomed the relentless nerves making him nauseous. "I've been taking you for granted and I'm sorry." Mikasa's eyes were suddenly doe-like as they reflect the sunset behind him and he couldn't help but study them because they’re just so unusual and beautiful. He leaned in slowly until their foreheads gently bumped together, his nerve to kiss her that he’d worked so hard to increase suddenly lost at the last second, leaving them both with racing hearts and quickened breaths. But there is no stopping him now that they’re finally close enough to touch, her sweet breath dusting across his lips as she curled her fingers into his zipped black hoodie, making him all the more eager to wrap his arms around her waist. Eren holds her close as he bravely leans in for more, his cheeks hot from feeling flustered but he didn’t care, not one bit, because this girl has him hooked and he fell for her hard when he allowed himself to. Mikasa sighed softly into his mouth, relieved that she’s finally kissing the only man she has ever loved after years of waiting for this exact moment, her hands slow to wander up his chest until both arms were extended passed his shoulders and her body was completely flush. He pulled his lips away and rests his forehead against hers once more. “Fuck, yes.” She rewards him with a beautiful, wide grin as he proceeded to kiss her once more and allowed herself to melt in his increasingly loving arms, wondering all the while how their relationship will blossom after this epitome Eren had that has taken it in a completely different direction. The way they’ve both intended for it to be.

#attackontitanfantic #attack on titan fluff #attack on titan smut #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #eren jaeger #eren jäger #eren yaeger #snk eren #snk mikasa #aot mikasa #aot eren #mikasa ackerman #eremika #eremika fanfic #eremika fluff #eremika lemon #eremika fanfiction #mikaere fanfic #mikaere fluff #eren x mikasa #eren x mikasa fanfic #eren x mikasa fluff #attack on titan fanfiction #mikaere lemon #eren x mikasa lemon

[javisjeanjacket]

Moon Song (poe dameron x fem!reader)

A/N: I really went buck wild with this one i’m sorry to those with short attention spans. Phoebe Bridgers' new record, Punisher, came out a few days ago and it broke my heart just like I knew it would. Moon Song really got me so I had to write a fic about it. I put the lyrics of hers that I used in bold. 🌙🥺

“So I will wait for the next time you want me Like a dog with a bird at your door”

Genre: emo, sad boi hours 

Warnings: get ready for some intense pining, drinking / a lil bit of drunk poe, feeling like you don’t belong, straight up simping, cursing as well :)

Word count: 4178 oops

(If i used your gif, please let me know so it can add your tag!!)

-hai 

GIF by @captain-flint​

The Resistance hangar was a-buzz as X-Wings began to return to base from their latest mission. Resistance operatives scurried throughout the hangar, giddy to welcome the brave pilots back to base.

Trying to keep your expression light, your eyes casually scanned over the chaotic hangar for the black mop of Poe's hair or the whirring of BB-8 on the metal floor. Anxiety began to build inside you when you didn't see your friend's black and orange fighter emerge from the cloud of descending jets.

Determined to remain optimistic, you grabbed a sweat-drenched Wexley as he passed by you on the way to the hangar door. "Hey, Snap." You said, smiling tightly.

The bearded man turned to you with an accomplished grin. "Hey, Y/N! How goes it?"

"Have, uh, have you seen Poe? I can't find him." Your bottom lip snuck into your mouth.

"Uh, no. He was the one who ordered us to jump to light speed and come home, I figured he would be right behind us." Wexley's dark eyebrows furrowed and his gaze glided across the busy hangar.

"Cool, cool. Thanks." You said, refusing to allow worry to overtake you.

"I'm sure he's fine. At least he was the last time I saw him." The tall man shrugged and turned back towards a smiling Jess waiting for him in the hallway.

Your fingers began to intertwine themselves together and your heels pushed you to rock back and forth on your toes gently.

Long, drawn out moments passed without seeing the Yavinite pilot.

"Goddamnit." You cursed under your breath. Frustration began to build in your fingertips as your thoughts began to spiral.

'Is it weird that I'm still waiting for him? His squadron believes that he's fine, they're already on their way to the Mess Hall. Should I follow them? What if he's not fine and I'm the only one who notices? Would that even happen? He is the best pilot in the Resistance after all...'  Your mind ricocheted aimlessly between hypotheticals.

In a desperate attempt to save a bit of your dignity, you took quiet steps back towards the hallway outside of the hangar and let your eyes drift to your boots moving under you.

Turning the corner out of the hangar, your shoulder collided with another. Your eyes whipped up from their home on your feet and your mind pulled itself out of the reverie. Your gaze met that of Leia Organa's.

"Lieutenant Y/L/N," General Organa said tersely, a power simmering behind her stare.

Struggling to comprehend what level of treason you had just committed, you began to apologize, "General, I am so sorry. I wasn't paying-"

Softly, her withered hand found a home atop your shoulder. She smiled gently and rubbed a thumb across the tense line of your shoulder.

"You look sick, Y/N. Do you feel alright?" She asked, her head cocked to the side with concern.

"Oh, no, General. I'm just, uh-"

"He'll be here." Leia interrupted, a knowing smile spreading on her face.

Your mouth opened a bit in shock and embarrassment. 'Get yourself out of this moment.'  Your brain was throwing a tantrum inside you, pleading for you to just take it out and put in a drawer to rest.

"Who do you mean?" You scrunched your eyebrows in feign curiosity. You knew exactly who she was talking about, and she knew that you knew.

Putting your comfort before her own desire to tease you, the General ignored your question and continued with her previous train of thought. "We would have heard about it if he wasn't coming back. You would have felt it." She assured you. She smiled softly, moved her hand back down to her side, and walked past you towards the hangar bay.

You shifted your weight in frustration. The spasming in your heart pleaded with you to turn around and follow Leia back to the hangar. To ask her how she knew about you and Poe.

Did he tell her about you? Did he tell anyone about you? Your mind floated towards the muffled laughs and singing coming from the Mess Hall. You could steel yourself, build a fortress around your heart, and go to dinner and pretend like seeing Poe come home safely was of little interest to you.

Knocking you from your thoughts, an orange and white ball droid came barreling through the hallway, stopping to beep and boop in circles around you.

"BB-8!" You exclaimed. You kneeled down to be eye level with him. You scratched his sides happily. "Where is he, buddy?"

BB-8 rolled his eye in a 360 and beeped sarcastically as his head dome motioned towards the hangar.

You turned to look back towards the bustling hangar.

Poe was jumping out of his X-Wing. He wiggled his head out of his helmet and handed it off to the ship tech assisting him.

Your heart swelled with relief. You could feel the adrenaline of worry zipping through your arms and legs. Taking a deep breath, you took unsure steps towards the newly returned pilot.

Poe's suit had several burn marks across the chest and a piece of his sleeve clung to him by a thread. His angular face was covered in dirt and rubble collected in his thick hair.

Your steps began to quicken, seeing him so close to you now and imagining the pain of each of the new burns that he had been given so far away. Your heart flickered with desideratum at the thought of being able to take care of him. Of him trusting you to heal him. A twinge of pain shot across your chest and caught on a hook in your throat.

BB-8 rolled closely behind you as Poe's eyes finally fell upon you.

You smiled brightly, so easily overwhelmed by the pilot's attention.

A soft smile fell across Poe's face and he held out his arm towards you.

Finally reaching him, you pressed your face into the thick of his flight suit and wrapped your arms around his shoulder blades to rest your hands on the tops of his shoulders.

"Good to see you." You whispered. The words seemed to be stuck to the roof of your mouth, forcing you to overchew them on their way out.

Poe held you tight to his body, one hand gripping your neck and the other pressed against your back. His mouth sat buried in your hair, dangerously close to your skin. His breath sent ripples across your cheek as he replied, "You know I had to come back to see you."

You chuckled into the must of his burnt suit.

For this moment, things were as they should be. You had Poe in your grasp and he had you in his. He was safe and victorious and happy to see you.

So that it was too quick to mean too much, Poe pushed away from your rapturous touch.

Your heart burning in your throat, you smiled softly at him. A shaking breath coerced your chest into trembling. You let him go and realized that the two of you had suddenly become a sizable horde of Resistance fighters gathering around the returned pilot.

"Dameron!" Finn's voice boomed from across the room.

You both looked towards your friend's voice as pats on the back and the phrase, "Great job! You're a hell of a pilot!" echoed throughout the hub of people.

Finn pushed past you to gush about Poe to Poe.

"Buddy!" Poe exclaimed as Finn fell into his arms.

Without a chance to fight against it, you suddenly found yourself and the twittering BB unit standing on the outside of a collection of excited Rebels.

You sighed, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and looked down at the confused orange and white droid. "You tired?"

BB-8 twittered in a pattern that could be mistaken for a 'Hell yes' and without warning, the little droid began to roll towards Poe's quarters.

Taking one last look at the Captain, cracks began to splinter down your chest. So entrenched in the love and adoration of his admirers, his mind had wandered from you. You took a deep breath and turned to follow BB-8 back through the hanger, down the hall, and out of the main building to the Captain's quarters.

BB-8 made it to the door before you did and exclaimed happily when you typed in the code, allowing the door to slide open. The small droid zoomed quickly towards his charging pad tucked against a relatively empty bookcase.

This time, entering Poe's quarters felt like walking on eggshells. The memories of his bedsheets on your bare skin, your fingers curling around his bedframe in pleasure, and your clothes scattered across his floor pulled such emotion out of the depths. Your heart seemed to crawl up into itself thinking of how much you wanted to be with him. You wanted people to see you and wonder where Poe was. The mornings when you woke up next to him remained holy in your thoughts and haunted your days.

Beeping loudly in annoyance, BB-8 drew you into the present.

You looked towards him, embarrassed and guilty for forgetting about him.

The droid moved back and forth next to his charging pad, excited to finally get some rest.  

You snickered as you sat up the charging station for him. "Okay, buddy. You ready?" You asked as three blue squares appeared on the pad, ready to charge.

BB-8 whirred onto the metal plate. He twittered a small thank you and then powered down, forcing the charging bar on the plate below him to turn green.

You smiled at the lifeless droid and took a final look around Poe's room. Jackets and partner-less boots littered the floor of his quarters. A curled-up X-Wing manual sat on his nightstand beside a half-drunk cup of water and a broken ear communicator.

Trusting that Poe Dameron would stay true to his personality and want nothing more after a mission than a big meal and a drink, you locked his bedroom door behind you and headed to the Mess Hall, your boots clacking on the floor.

The Hall was sparse, only occupied by those still awake at this time of night and in need of a cup of coffee, as well as the celebrating Black Squadron.

Catching Jess's eye as you walked past the group of chatting fighter pilots, you flashed her a smile.

The warm woman smiled back at you and tapped the table top beside her. "Y/N! Come sit with us." She said.

You laughed and moved around the table to sit beside her.

Helmets and trays of food cluttered the table top under the lieu of conversation between the pilots.

"Man, that high side gun pass..." Wexley stated, shaking his head and shoving another bite into his mouth.

Kare laughed and leaned back in her seat. "Snap, I don't think that would have worked without Poe there to save your ass."

The squadron laughed softly and you pulled the meat of your lip in between your teeth.

Jess elbowed your side softly. "Why don't you get some food?"

You cheeks grew red and you said sheepishly, "Oh, yeah, food."

Standing from the table, you went to the serving line and waited patiently for the Resistance cook, Zeno, to make his appearance behind the line.

Zeno scurried out from behind a huge floating refrigerator, a crate of giant eggs in his arms, and caught a glimpse of you.

"Lieutenant Y/L/N! Uh, just one second, ma'am." The Bothan said anxiously.

You smiled. "Take your time, Zeno."

The man smiled graciously and put away the eggs, wiped beading sweat from his brow and then raked his hands down his spattered apron. Taking his place at the beginning of the line, he asked, "What would you like?"

Your eyes flitted over the tray of steaming Nuna legs, the rack of portion bread, and the assortment of fruit piled up at the end of the line.

"Uh, just a little of everything." You smirked.

Zeno nodded and began the task of fishing Nuna legs out of a pan with tongs. "I saw Finn run out of here with a bunch of other people earlier...the X-Wings make it back okay?"

You nodded heartily and put your hands in your pockets. "Yeah, I think they did."

"Good, good." The Bothan said. His eyebrow raised and his large eyes flicked up to yours momentarily.

A shiver of anxiety ran through you. 'Did Zeno know about you and Poe? How could he know? Would it matter if he knew?'  

You forced your mind to re-center itself by taking the full tray out of Zeno's hands.

"Thanks." You said, a touch of suspicion in your voice. Turning from the man, you had the inclination to run. To run from the Bothan's wandering eyes and the sly looks from Jess and the bubbling excitement of talking about Poe Dameron, the best pilot in the Resistance. Your lungs feeling rickety, you took your seat alongside Jess.

She smiled at you when you sat back down, but kept her attention on the conversation heating up between the other pilots.

"Y/N, does Poe snore?" Kare asked, pulling you into a foreign conversation. Her arm reached across Jess and her fingers extended towards you, throwing the group's attention to your blank face.

You blushed, "What do you mean?"

"When he's asleep, does he snore?" The pilot pressed again, a smirk plastered across her face.

"I-"

Suddenly, a crowd of people burst through the doors of the Mess Hall. The glow of conversation and laughter cast light across the relatively empty dining room.

Finn's head bobbed up and down in the center of it all, his pride for his friends seemingly emitting from his body.

You let out a breath of relief and caught a glimpse of Poe as he was pulled into the Mess Hall by Finn's determined arm.

Poe was laughing and his eyes were shining, even from here you could see them. His eyes were focused on returning high fives and patting backs. He said something unintelligible to the crowd of adorers and they seemed to disperse a bit. Space was created around him and you could see his chest let out a deep breath. His eyes scanned the hall and landed on your face.

You beamed at him, flecks of passion twinkling on your face.

He smiled softly and then waved to his squad. He exclaimed and the pilots around you shouted back in celebration.

Poe was still in his burnt suit, not being able to change out of it yet because of his admirers. He walked quickly towards your table, Finn jogging along loyally. Poe reached out to give Wexley a handshake and Snap wiped his hands on a napkin before returning the gesture.

Finn swung into the seat on your other side, greeting you somewhat gruffly, "Y/N, hey."

"Hey, have you heard from Rey-" You asked, thankful for something to divert your attention from Kare's line of questioning moments before.

Finn answered without diverting his attention from Poe, "No, I haven't heard from her. Poe, what happened next?"

The smiling Captain took a seat next to Wexley and pulled off his tattered gloves. "So, we didn't know what had happened to Blue Squadron, hadn't heard from them at all. We got TIEs coming at us from all directions. So, I-" Poe paused mid-story. "Wait, where's BB-8?"

Your heart began to thump against your dry throat. Unsure of what to say, you shoved a piece of Nuna leg in your mouth.

The pilots of his squad fell silent, looking to the others with raised eyebrows.

Chewing your food aggressively, you tried to work out what, if anything, you could say that would let Poe know his droid was already asleep in his room, but that would still keep the secret of your relationship hidden from his co-workers.  

Kare broke the tension, "Poe, do you snore?"

"What?" Poe exclaimed, irritated that Kare had brushed away his concern for his friend in such a cavalier move.

"We have a bet going and we need to know. Y/N wouldn't tell us." Kare's dark eyes jumped to meet yours.

Finn jumped back from you in confusion.

You swallowed your bite of meat and said defiantly, "I didn't tell you because I don't know."

Poe's gaze met yours. The crinkles around his eyes lay flat and the stars in his eyes seemed to burn a touch too hot. He stood from his seat, "No, Kare, I don't snore. I gotta find my droid."

That was a lie, he snored like a rocket launching.

"I think I saw him rolling towards your quarters, Poe." You offered, keeping your tone casual.

The Captain sent you a cautious glare and retreated back to his seat. "He must have been tired." Poe shrugged, his shoulders shaking off any hint that the two of you were somehow connected.

The rest of his squadron allowed the momentary awkwardness to wash over them.

Snap added a period to the end of the sentence. "Drinks?" He asked.

The pilots around you exclaimed and you nodded yes, your mouth full of portion bread.

The burly man stood from his seat and went back to the serving line to gather the liquor.

Finn snuck a really crunchy piece of fried Nuna skin from your tray and you smirked at him.

Instinctively, your eyes looked to the exhausted Poe Dameron. His fingers rubbed up and down his helmet and the rain of melancholy seemed to cloud his face.

Knowing there was no one else on Base who could see Poe as clearly as you did sat like a curse upon your head. Knowing how fully you would collapse into him almost made you glad he wouldn't let you. Knowing that you could take his pain away, but that he wouldn't let you, gave you the feeling of floating, or falling maybe.

Snap returned with the overflowing metal steins of beer, the contents sloshing over the sides as he sat them on the table in front of him.

Jess slid one to you and you gratefully took a full swig. The liquid burned the back of your throat and tickled the nerves in your teeth.

~~~~

"Can I walk you home?" Poe slurred, his finger drawing abstract designs on your cheek.

You blushed, whether from the alcohol or the pilot, you were too happy to tell. You nodded softly. The tops of your teeth pressed into your bottom lip and your hand wandered underneath Poe's flight suit to graze his bare chest.

The man's body was slumped into his chair beside the empty Mess Hall table. All the harsh lines and scattered regimentation of his job had faded. Poe beamed at you and kissed the inside of your wrist. His smile lines seemed to fill up his face and the strength of his umber eyes seemed to tear at the cracks in your chest.

"Lesss go." The Captain slurred. His strong hand gripped your wrist and pulled you towards the door of the dining hall.

Thinking that he would miss them, you snatched his flight gloves from where they had fallen on the floor of the hall after Snap and Poe had started a game of Sabacc.

Poe pulled you through the door of the Hall and, after looking both ways down the long deserted hallway, threw an arm around your waist. He buried his face in the nape of your neck and took in a long breath.

The feeling of him so close to you punctured your sweet bubble of drunkenness. You wrapped an arm around his back and you walked like this through the sleeping Resistance base.

Poe found it difficult to move without dragging his feet and with every misstep, more of his weight fell upon you.

Finally, the both of you arrived in front of his bedroom door.

"Y/N," Poe slurred, his face still nesting in your neck.

"Hmm?" You responded. You ran a hand lightly through his mess of curls.

"I gotta tell you something." He said quietly.

"What is it?" The beating of your heart seemed to emit from your palms.

"Can I kiss you?" His face moved away from your neck now, but his grip stayed firm around your side.

You turned to him and smiled.

Of course he could kiss you. Of course he could call you in the middle of the night to come over and just lay with him. Of course he could keep you a secret as long as he needed to. Of course, he could.

A fracture of pain struck a chord in your heart as you wrapped your arms around the drunken pilot's neck. "Of course." You whispered, afraid that if you said it any louder he would be able to hear what you wanted to say.

Poe smiled deviously and moved your neck so that he could reach your lips easier. His mouth was kind to yours, pulling gently and tugging with passion.

Your body rested like water in his hands. Making sure to note every texture, you let your fingers wander to the bottoms of his thick curls. Pulling and twisting around them.

Poe's hands gripped your sides and with one last squeeze, he pulled away from you. He smiled softly at you and put in his bedroom door passcode. The door slid open to reveal a darkened bedroom and a sleeping BB-8.

You took in a shaking breath, jealous of the moon light shining thorough his windows. What an honor to spend your life shining across Poe's skin.

For a moment, you waited to hear those words. You waited for him to tell you he wanted you. But, only silence permeated the dark hallway.

"See you tomorrow, Dameron." You conceded, turning on your heel back towards your barracks. Determined to make it to your bed before you started crying.

"I know what you're doing, Y/N." He accused loudly, soberness seeming to return to him in bits and pieces.

You could feel the rush of blood rising in your cheeks. "What am I doing?"

"The answer is still no." He said with an authoritative tone, his head bent down to look out from his eyebrows at you.

You swallowed the ball of fire in your throat. "I'm just making sure you got home safe."

Poe smirked and started to untie his boots already. "You think that doing this stuff will change things," He paused to chuck a grimy boot through his bedroom door. "But it won't. There's things that neither of us can change." He began to untie the other one.

"Well..." You started. The stark reality and the casual way in which he stated it shoved a stake down the canyons in your heart. "I just..want to be here for the next time you want me." Quivering tears threatened to draw trails down your cheeks.

Poe stood up straight and shifted his weight. He placed hands on his hips and the movement reminded you of him hunched around the holopads in the command center. "Y/N, you knew what this would be when we started. You know the rules. There's nothing you can do or say that will change things. I'm not the bad guy here."

You nodded and blinked back emotion. "I know you're not. I just..."

A tug of war began in your mind as you contemplated what you wanted to say and what you should say. The trembling in your chest compelled you and without more than a whisper of forethought you said, "I feel lonely when you're gone and I feel lonely when you're here. I am jealous of your squadron because they get to see you every day and hear your voice for most of their day and...I don't know. I just..."

You cut yourself short and your gaze fell to your boots. The alcohol still in your system threw everything spinning. Taking brazen steps back to Poe, you grabbed one of his hands in yours.

"If I could give you every moon in every single system, I would. I'm sorry if that's hard to hear, but it's how I feel. You're worth it to me, Poe. Whatever we would have to do to be together, you would be worth it to me." Your voice shook and drifted through the hallway in snaggled shards.

Poe's eyes were wide and borrowing into yours. His strong hands turned limp in your grasp.

Desperately, you searched his face for a response. The only thing to be found there was a blank look and deep, mahogany colored eyes combing over your face.

Gritting your teeth, you pulled his flying gloves from your back pocket and placed them in his hands.

"You'll need these." You ended, turning from him and walking as steady as you could back towards your bedroom. Every step carving out more and more of a rift between the two of you.

The promise that the same moon kissing Poe's skin would be kissing yours, gave you just enough comfort to persuade you to fall asleep.

What did you think? I really hope you enjoyed reading my work. Just your liking / re-blogging it means a lot. If you have a moment, I would love to hear your thoughts! Tell me what you think via my ask box or a comment always warms my heart!! Thank you again for reading!

Need more reading material? You can visit my Masterlist for more Poe Dameron content, as well as my other works.

Want to be kept in the loop? Let me know so I can put your handle in my taglist form. Right now, I’m writing for Poe Dameron and Din Djarin, but I have plans to expand my SW character list, and eventually add in my favorites from the MCU as well.

Thanks again for reading! Sending love! -hai

#poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #sad boi hours #poe damneron #poe damn son #poe hot damneron #poe hot damn son #star wars #sw fic #emo #simp #phoebe bridgers #punisher #moon song #this is how my brain works i am not sorry about it #hai writes

[xxisxxisxxis]

Whorehound

A/N: an unrequested surprise that came out of a spur of sudden inspiration

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Reader

Words: 1.6k

Description: Reader usually plays hard to get but makes an exception for Nikki

Warnings: strong language, drug use, explicit sexual situations

———————————————————————

“Have I written an entire album about you yet?”

It fell from your jack covered lips in an arrogant way that made me want to throw my drink in your face.

I thought I was ready. I had faced every guy like you with ease. But you were different.

Fuck off. I’m not interested. I have a boyfriend. I had used every way of telling guys to go away and leave me alone, but I couldn’t get rid of you. Even in your cross-fade laced state of mind, you wouldn’t just leave.

Do you know how infuriating you were?

“I assume not, being that none of your albums hit number one.” I shot back to you, hoping it would obliterate that god forsaken smirk you wore so well, but it was as if you were expecting my rebuttal, and even welcomed it.

“You’re a bitch.” You said with little regard to whether it would hold offense.

It didn’t, incase you were too doped up to notice.

“And you’re a cunt.” Again, I expected some kind of reaction out of you, but you grinned at me with those damn eyes before making me nearly cough up my drink by saying, “you are what you eat” so fucking casually.

“I don’t fuck rockstars.” It was all I could come up with and you moved close enough to me that I could easily smell coke and cigarettes on your clothes, and whiskey on your breath.

“I’m off duty.” You replied, furrowing your brows.

Mötley Crüe were enjoying a break between tour legs, and you obviously were trying to enjoy a break between mine.

“There’s plenty of girls willing to give you what you want, so piss off and find one.” I tried to get you to go away.

“What’s the fun in that, though? I enjoy a chase.” You admitted to me and I raised a brow and scoffed.

“Is that why you chase any high you can get your hands on?”

“Like a hooker chases cock.” You agreed, not even denying it.

Whorehound, I thought.

I saw your teeth with your smug little smile, like a little boy guiltily admitting to pissing on the wall for the hell of it.

I don’t know what your intended reaction from me to your honesty was, but if it was to get inside of me, it worked, didn’t it?

I hope you remember that first time. I know you were out of your mind: you shot up a mixture of cocaine and heroin before I even got my panties down to my ankles.

It was so humid and groggy, because the air conditioning didn’t work in the bathroom of the club, that you could barely push my dress up my sticky legs that were coated with a light sheen of sweat due to the uncomfortable temperature in there.

You sat me on the sink and I had to help keep you standing with my legs as they wrapped around your hips. You drove into me sloppily, attempting to satisfy the both of us and extend your high using my hungry core as an inhibitor.

You hadn’t bothered to tell me your name but it was all I was able to say. I already knew who you were.

I thought you were going to pass out until you pulled out of me, grabbed my (Y/H/C) hair and pulled me off the sink, only to turn me around and bend me over it.

I was ashamed I was even giving it up to you without a fight, but god did I want it.

You wouldn’t let me look down, hand tangled in my hair, forcing me to look at you in that damn mirror that was already covered in expired cum and various shades of lipstick.

It eventually got to the point I was only able to produce whimpers and moans. Words, not even your name, could be formed because my mind was almost as gone as yours.

You were like a god standing over me, head leaned back, sweat dripping from your black hair while eyeliner dripped down your face. Untouchable...but I wanted to touch you.

You were amused when I reached my hand back and placed it over yours that clung to my hip as if I would try to leave you.

You got my gist, reading me like a book, before you leaned over me and grabbed my jaw, your mouth desperate on mine as you continued to push in and out of me.

“I wanna taste you.” I didn’t recognize my voice, it was insatiable.

You didn’t argue, giving me a crooked grin in the mirror before taking a step back and leaving me. I felt empty, already accustom to you stretching me so deliciously, but I didn’t bother to complain because my mouth was full.

My knees ached against the tiled floor, the gritty feeling of unswept dirt scratched at my skin but nothing was going to pull me away from you.

I’m sure I was tasting myself and whoever else you’d fucked that night before me, but it was all void when I got a taste of you, and we were both moaning by the time I went back down on you for a third stroke. You even stopped saying “fuck” and “god damn” under your breath. I had rendered the notoriously invincible Nikki Sixx speechless.

I thought my heart lived between my legs, the pulsing of blood in the flesh there was painfully prominent and you were noticing the slick evidence of unadulterated arousal sliding down my thighs.

“Touch yourself.” You said it like a command instead of an allowance.

I kept one hand working on you, pulling my mouth away for a moment, sliding my other hand between my legs.

Your hazel eyes burned in to my (Y/E/C) eyes, and we probably didn’t have to touch each other anymore to cum.

I knew I had you by the balls, literally and figuratively, when I slid my mouth over you once more and slid my fingers between my legs, moaning at the sparks shooting up my spine.

You looked as if you were about to fall onto your face and worship me, Nikki.

You watched me carefully, making sure my fingers never stopped rubbing against my own flesh, and if it even looked as if they would stop, you would say:

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

I started grinding against my own hand, moaning out around you, tears pricking my fuck-me eyes that stared into yours and before you could cum, you were pushing me away and adding to the mess on the mirror with a lazy chuckle.

I was tired and out of breath, standing to get my shit together, but you weren’t done with me.

I know you don’t remember this part, but everyone else present that night seems to. You got your pants up, not bothering to lace them back up and we both stumbled out of the bathroom, my panties around my ankles and your hand between my legs.

You tossed me onto the bar, knocking people’s drinks out of the way, but no one said a thing to you because you were Nikki fucking Sixx.

I found everyone’s interest funny, I guess I was that wanton. You had grabbed a bottle of Jack and drenched my pubic bone with it before licking it off, I remember that vividly because I was afraid you would get it inside of me. That would’ve burned.

“Spread your fucking legs.” You told me over the loud rock music. I didn’t disobey, ignoring our audience as you feasted on me.

I grabbed at the damp strands of your hair, arching my back so hard I thought I broke it.

Exactly how many women have you gone down on? Because you’ve got a skill for it.

Before I could even start my finish, you were pulling me off the bar, laying down on it yourself, before motioning me up to you. I couldn’t argue.

You knew exactly what you wanted, not giving me any time to waste before pulling me down on your face once I straddled your head. My hands braced on your chest as I quickly found a rhythm to work with, my head tipping back as I let everyone in that damn club know who the hell was stealing my soul.

Your tongue was rough and specific, licking up every drop that left my soaked cunt.

You were right: you are what you eat.

I lost it after a few more minutes, pornographic noises leaving my throat as I fell victim to your mouth. But you weren’t finished.

Two of your fingers joined the mix at some point at an erratic speed, milking more from me than I thought was possible to give.

I convulsed above you, eyes rolling back and toes curling as violent shivers started in my thighs and spread up my back.

I came again, and you finally let me go, wiping your mouth and licking your fingers as you were praised by every man in that place like a victorious champion while almost every girl looked at me with green eyed envy.

It was good sex.

I don’t know if it’s because you were in your element screwing the life out of a random girl while whiskey, coke and heroin locked your system up, or because practice makes perfect and you had plenty of practice at fucking.

We stumbled out of there and went back to your house on your motorcycle, and I nearly pissed myself when I was greeted at the door by your fucking dog, who was barking and growling at me until you told him to “fuck it off, Whisky.”

Perhaps he was cussing you out for coming home so fucked up with a random woman...again.

#nikki sixx #mötley crüe #nikki sixx x reader

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Seventy-Four: Recovery from ___ ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

He’s always pushed himself too hard.

Even before being given the ultimate goal of revenge, he strove to improve. Partly to impress his father, partly to fulfill his duty as a child of the clan head...but mostly? In all honesty? It was to make his brother proud. Prove that he could be helpful, useful, whatever Itachi would need.

How many hours and hours did he put into conquering Gōkakyū as quickly as possible? How many times did he run from the Academy to the training grounds, wanting to work on the power and aim of his kunai throws? He wanted, more than anything, to become a worthy shinobi. Of his clan, of his father, of his brother.

...and then...he lost all but the last.

And the last gave him a new purpose. Become the strongest shinobi...one that could, and would, defeat the man that slaughtered the Uchiha. Use the hate planted in his heart to burn away all other thoughts, all other goals...until Uchiha Itachi laid dead at his feet, his clan avenged and allowed to rest in peace.

Which is why now, in the last few weeks they have until they (hopefully) graduate from student to genin, Sasuke has spent every spare moment on the training grounds. Practicing his bukijutsu, his taijutsu, the list of ninjutsu Iruka had hinted would be necessary to pass. Because nothing was going to stand in his way. He would ascend to the next level...and from there, continue to climb the ranks until he could hunt down and kill Itachi at last.

For the moment, he’s working on the former. Kunai and shuriken litter a trio of obliging posts, mostly centered as close to the middle of the target as possible. Several are scattered on the ground: the result of hitting the same mark twice and ricocheting off to the well-trod dirt. The sun is high, the Spring day abnormally warm. Having finished his latest volley, Sasuke stands post-throw, shoulders hunched, brow drenched in sweat, breath drawn through his mouth. He’s been at it since the morning hours, and it’s starting to catch up with him. On top of his early start, he forgot any kind of canteen for water. More than once now, he’s promised ‘just one more round’ before taking a break, always wanting to inch a little closer to perfection.

But no matter how stubborn Uchiha Sasuke is...he’s not immune to the needs of the human body. And with one last huff of breath...he collapses.

Blissful darkness.

Fortunately for him...he wasn’t alone at the grounds.

Next thing he knows, consciousness slowly swimming back to the surface, is...something cool on his face? With a great effort, Sasuke drags open his eyes. Above him, tree boughs sway gently in the breeze, lying beneath their shade. Dark irises, fogged with exhaustion and a fair amount of confusion, stare up into the leaves, almost hypnotized by their movements.

“Um...Sasuke-kun?”

Slowly, he rolls his head to one side. Sitting next to him on her knees, hands nervously balled against their caps, Hyūga Hinata looks to him worriedly. “...what…?”

“Thank goodness you’re awake…” she murmurs, heaving a small sigh of relief. “I saw...I saw you collapse! I tried to find help, but...everyone else had - had gone! So I brought you over here, to the shade, and...put a cool cloth on your b-brow. How, um...how do you feel…?”

There’s a vague recognition of her as she rambles. Part of his Academy class. Wallflower. Part of another so-called ‘royal’ clan of Konoha, the Hyūga. They also possess powerful eyes. The Byakugan. But so far, she’s proved to be nothing special. All he has noticed about her is her hanging around that blond knucklehead Naruto.

Of course…‘around’ is a relative term. She rarely manages to get very close before getting all flustered and nervous. It’s obvious enough what’s going on, but...in all honesty, Sasuke hasn’t been able to care. He’s far too busy to really consider the details...even if he can’t help but notice them.

Slowly, he tries to sit up, ignoring her sudden blustering about ‘pushing himself too fast’. Bracing up on a palm, he reaches the other to feel at the clean rag along his forehead. Gripping it, he gives it a stare, still rather loopy and just...fixating on it.

“Um...d-do you need some water? You seemed rather dehydrated, but...I-I didn’t want to try to help you drink until you woke up…”

“ter…”

“W...what?”

“Water,” he croaks, throat horribly dry. As she hands over a canteen, he doesn’t hesitate to start downing it.

“Oh, b-be careful not to drink too fast, Sasuke-kun! You might make yourself - you might puke!”

Forcing himself to stop, he takes a gasping breath, forearm guard wiping at his chin. Gods, water’s never tasted so good.

All the while, Hinata remains kneeled beside him, anxiety still lingering as she watches for any further symptoms. “W-well, you...seem to be feeling better. Are you...do you need anything else?”

“I’m fine.” The reply is mostly reflexive. He doesn’t need anything. Anyone. All he needs is to keep up his training. Which he’s going to do now that he’s had a rest -

“W-wait!” Shadowing him as he moves to stand, the little Hyūga lifts hands as he staggers to one side. “Sasuke-kun p-please - you really should -”

“Stop telling me what to do,” he growls, half-heartedly making to push her aside.

“But -?”

“I don’t need your help! I just...need…”

“Y-you’re going to pass out again!” she insists, stamping a tiny foot in a rare show of determination.

Sasuke, however, doesn’t heed it. “Go home, Hyūga. If you’re not here to train, you’re in the way…”

“Sasuke-kun, please - you’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It w-will matter when you get hurt even worse, and it takes even longer to heal!” She jogs out in front of him, trying to plead her case. “...please. Just...take a little time to rest. You can - you can get back to it tomorrow. If you try to train now...you’ll only get further behind!”

The Uchiha just scowls, making to push her again. But to his surprise...she smacks his arm with the butt of her hand. With chakra. The tenketsu beneath the skin numbs, and his limb lays against his side, useless.

They both stare at it.

“...what...did you just do…?”

Suddenly looking afraid, she retreats half a step. “It...it’s the Jūken. My f-family’s specialized t-taijutsu. With our eyes, we see the chakra system...and we can - we can block it. I...I don’t want to hurt you!”

“My arm, it’s -!”

“I-it will wear off in an hour or so! But Sasuke-kun…” She hesitates, a hand curling at her chest. “I - I’m serious! If you push yourself now, you’ll o-only regret it later! I know...I know why you’re training so hard. We all do. But -”

“You don’t know anything,” he spits back, pointing at her with his good arm.

“...maybe I don’t know a...a lot of things,” Hinata admits quietly, softly, gently. “...b-but...we’re worried about you, you know.”

“...we?”

“All of us…! Your c-classmates! At least...those of us who p-pay attention. You’re going to hurt yourself, Sasuke-kun. And if...if something happens to you - if your body gives out when you push it too far - then...w-who will be left to fight for them…?”

He stares at her. Why does she care…? And how does she know so much? Is it that obvious?

Not getting an answer, her fingers fiddle nervously. “...I’m sorry I s-struck your arm. But...I had to do something. Your body was in v-very poor shape when I found you! And...it’s not yet r-ready to train again. You have to give it time to heal...o-okay?”

Her last words resonate something he’s often told, and Sasuke glances aside. In truth...she’s making perfect sense. But sense isn’t what he needs...he needs results! The risks don’t matter...only the results…

...but…

Seeing him think, Hinata quiets for a time. “...if...i-if you need a spar partner, I - I could help you. I’m not the best, but...well, I need the extra training. If I want to beat my sister, I…” Her tone fades to silence, and Sasuke doesn’t pry.

“...sure.”

“R...really?”

“Yeah, just...don’t do that to my arm again,” he mutters, shrugging the limp limb.

Hinata goes pink. “I...I-I won’t. But...if I promise that, then...will you promise to give yourself t-time to rest…?”

“...hn.”

Blinking, she watches him retreat to the posts, moving to pick up the tools. “...oh! Let me help you, um…” It’s her fault he only has one hand at the moment, anyway. He’ll need to recover from the Jūken strike before he can even think of controlling his fingers. Once they’re finished, she gives a sheepish glance. “I, um...I was going to come back here tomorrow. Maybe...we could spar…?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here.”

“O...okay! I’ll - I’ll see you then! And please...get some rest, ne?”

He just waves her off, watching her gather her things from beneath the tree before scurrying back toward the village.

...what a weird girl.

Of course...he likes weird a fair share better than normal. The normal ones drive him nuts.

Looking to his pack of throwing weapons, he seems to think for a moment before heading back home. He’ll need to be rested if he’s going to spar with the Jūken.

                                                             .oOo.

     V v v tired, so I'll be brief.      A wee fluffy moment between Hinata and Sasuke. Doesn't really have any plot weight, just...random fluff, lol - I like the concept of them training together. Hinata could have grown a lot, and Sasuke maybe could have learned some patience.      Oh well, a girl can dream .-.      Buuut on that note, my eyeballs are screaming, lol - time to go. Thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #a light amongst shadows [ canon verse ] #365daysofsasuhina