#I have Ry about a year soon and only now I noticed the scars on his left leg

[chevvy-yates]

[NC_RES]-31102049-EUR-GER scharfenberg_g_portraits_029_HW_TG.file ///core:_ryder_von_scharfenberg.file\\\

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⚠️ READ: Please do not repost/reupload any of my art here or to any other platform, or I will be forced to do anything to get it annihilated.

Richard Ripper shorts collection (Mr. Stud) by @wanderingaldecaldo.

[rebelssvy]

vulnerable ✧.*

bakugo x reader

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ “you drew stars, around my scars.”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

summary: fluff, somewhat sad. you get hurt and bakugo comes to cheer you up. you cry to him

you felt utterly helpless. after the most recent incident, you were left on a bed rest. hurting both your knees, and back lifting a building off civilians.

you sat in the dorm, as everyone else was at school. left in silence and your emotions. your thoughts became overwhelming. falling into a slumber you your mind drifted off.

it wasn’t long until you heard a knock on your door. “come in..” you mumbled, throat dry and scratchy. you weren’t sure who would be coming in to see you. it had been days since everything happened and only your close girl friends dropped by.

watching the door handle twist and pop open. katsuki stood in your door frame.

“holy shit it’s fucking depressing in here.” he stated before flipping on your light switch and closing the door behind him. you didn’t want him to see you like this. you had been very fond of him since first year. slowly growing closer to him as you became adults, about to graduate soon.

“hi..” you croaked out. become very aware of your voice. you gave him a weak smile.

“hey loser” he said dropping a bag onto your desk and pulling the chair over to your bed. before he sat down.

“i brought you some snacks. maybe you’ll be less rude to me i thought” he said with a chuckle.

“i-i haven’t seen you.. in what feels like forever.” you said hushed. not able to generate much volume in your speech.

he took in your expression. you looked slightly unkept, he still thought you were utterly gorgeous. you had yourself hidden in your hoodie and blanket.

“they took m-me for surgery.. right after i passed out. i guess adrenaline can only get you so far..” you said as if he wasn’t aware. you didn’t know it but he had stayed at the hospital the entire time.

his hardened expression switched to one of love and care. he dropped his head before saying “can i see..” he looked sincere.

you nodded before sitting up, moving your blanket out of the way. you showed him your legs. all bruised and scarred, some of the pen from the surgery still apparent.

you awaited his reaction. wondering if he would feel disgusted or not. would this be the moment he decided he would never like you, or the opposite. maybe he would think i am strong. you thought

“i already think your strong, y/n.” you gasped, can he read your mind? “i can read you like a book.” he stated chuckling. you laughed with him.

you sat in silence before sitting up farther. “do you.. want to see my back?” you asked him. almost wanting a form of validation. for him to tell you your scars didn’t ’make you’.

“yes. show me.” he responded, still calm. you noticed a subtle blush on his face.

you reached around your back, finding the hem of your hoodie. before groaning. you were still in a lot of pain. unable to get it over your head.

“can you help me?” asking weakly. he didn’t respond verbally, he just smiled softly and brought his hands to yours.

for his quirk being so hot, his hands were often cold. you drew in a quick breath when he made contact with your skin.

he studied you, bringing your hoodie up over your head. holding it over your naked cleavage. the doctors still didn’t want you wearing bras for it could mess up your stitching.

once again you felt vulnerable. waiting for him to say somthing. he ran his fingers near your incision. you watched his face as he did so.

you felt your eyes gloss over. growing very emotional at his touch. trying your best not to cry, you let your eyes fall to your knees. staring at them instead of him.

“you can cry around me… cry baby.” he said softly, his eyes now on your face. without another word you started sobbing. all the emotions that had been off, switched on from his touch.

you sounded embarrassing, stifling, groaning. you felt every emotion at once. quivering, you whispered, “i’m sor-ry you have to see me like this.”

before you could say anything else he pulled you into a hug. hugging you like you could slip away at any moment. you grabbed onto him, dampening his hoodie.

the moment was just you, intimate. vulnerable.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

i think i’m gonna make this but with kiri!! why not loll. please give me asks. i’m beggin

[nyctolovian]

Summary: Where Jon and Martin get to grow old together and live out the rest of their lives in a village. Told from the POV of a 7-year-old girl, Trish, who just moved in next door.

Written in preparation for the emotional trainwreck that would be the finale of TMA :”)

Trish peeked out from behind the bushes to look at the cottage. She was new in the neighbourhood, but she had already heard all sorts of stories about it from the other kids she played with. There was a ghost in there, or a wizard, and anyone who stepped foot into its boundaries would be cursed and get kidnapped by a giant clown with claws for hands. 

If you asked Trish, she’d tell you she didn’t believe in stupid fairytales and ghost stories like this. While the other kids still believed in Santa Claus, she already knew that it was just her parents sneaking treats into her Christmas socks. There was no way there was some sort of cursed monster living at the bottom of the hill.

Still, as she stood outside it’s fences, wiping her sweaty palms against her skirt, she gulped nervously. The way the other kids acted as they told her to get the ball because “you were the one who kicked it there!” still scared her. What if there was a bad guy in the house? She was only seven! What could she do?

She ran through several possible scenarios. She’d run. If she couldn’t, she’d kick the bad guy as hard as she could; her aunt had always said she had a good kick. If not, she’ll bite as hard as she can. Or she could–

“Excuse me. What are you doing in front of my house?” came a low voice.

Trish leapt backwards in fright with a squeak. 

Standing behind her was an old man with a stubble in a long yellow dress (woman?), carrying several bags of groceries on her left arm. With her other hand, she wielded a cane. There were pale scars all over her dark skin and Trish wondered if this old lady might have been a pirate. Her dark eyes seemed to stare into Trish's soul as her lips were set in a downwards curl. Her eyebrows were thick and tightly knitted in a permanent-looking scowl. She reminded Trish of Mdm Taylor from school, except older and grumpier.

"I… Uh, I…" Trish shifted from foot to foot, her palms growing even sweatier. "I… My ball…" She pointed towards the ball in the lawn. 

The woman with the beard followed her gaze to the bright pink ball beside the front door. "Ah," she said, sighing loudly. She walked to the front gate.

With her hands full, she had to fumble with the latch for a good minute before pushing the gate open. "There we are," she said. "Get your ball."

Trish blinked. It was that easy? 

She ran past the lady with the beard and picked up her ball. She hugged it close to her chest and looked back up at the old lady, half-expecting her to declare that there was a price for taking the ball back, or that she was trapped here forever. 

However, instead the old lady just hobbled through the gate. Some of her grocery bags got caught between the gate and she let out a groan. Trish's eyes darted between the old lady and the bags before she placed her ball back down, stepped forward and took some of the groceries from the lady with the beard. 

"Oh, um," she said. "Thank you."

"It's okay," Trish replied, lifting the bags and walking towards the front door of the cottage. "I help my Ma take the groceries all the time."

The lady with the beard followed after and reached into the pockets of her dress (which were very deep pockets, Trish enviously noticed). As soon as she unlocked the door, Trish lugged the grocery bags into the house. 

It was a clean house, and it smelled a lot like her Gramma's house. Old people smell, she reckoned. 

"Where's your kitchen?" 

"Over here."

Trish followed after her into the kitchen and she placed the groceries down where she was told. 

"What's your name?" the old lady asked.

Trish froze. Her mother told her not to trust strangers and not to tell strangers her name. But perhaps she had already broken some of the rules since she just walked into a stranger's house. But she wasn't kidnapped yet so it was probably safe.

"I'm Trish."

"Ah, thank you so much, Trish. You have been of tremendous help." The lady with the beard began to pack her groceries away. "Usually, my husband would help me with all this."

"What happened to your husband?"

"He's in the hospital."

Trish gasped.

"He's going to be fine. Don't worry. It's just his knee. He'll be back in a week."

"Phew!" Trish dragged her hand across her forehead. "That's good. What's your name by the way?"

"Oh. My name's Jon."

"Jon?!" Trish shouted. "But that's a boy's name!"

The old lady looked confused. "I… yes? It is a masculine name, I suppose?"

"Are you a boy?"

Jon's eyes widened. "I see. Well… I'm neither a boy or a girl. But I am a he. As in, um, for example, 'his name is Jon and he likes eating peaches.'" 

"How are you both not a boy or a girl though?"

Jon frowned in thought. "I just am. It just happens sometimes for people. Some people aren't a boy or a girl."

"Then, what are you?"

Jon frowned. "I'm nonbinary."

"Non…"

"Non-bi-na-ry," Jon repeated, slower, and Trish followed after. He smiled. "It can be a difficult word to pronounce."

"It's not that hard. I can do it," Trish said, rolling her eyes. Adults always made it seem like everything was too hard for her to do. "Nonbinary! See!"

Jon smiled. It was a small one, but Trish spotted it anyway. 

She puffed up her chest and announced, “I need to go now. Bye bye!"

"Bye," Jon replied, waving his hand.

On the way out, Trish picked up her ball and made sure to close the doors behind her.

***

When Trish next spotted Jon, she was at the market with her father. As soon as she sees him, she tugs her dad's shirt and whispers loudly, "That's Jon at the fruit place. He lives in the cottage at the bottom of the hill."

Her father hummed absently as he picked out the vegetables. "Why don't you go say hi, sweetheart?"

With a nod, Trish headed over to the fruit stand where Jon was. He spotted her before she reached him and gave her a little wave. Today, he is in a button-up shirt and black pants.

"Hello, Trish," he greeted. "Helping your mother out?"

"Nope. My Da's shopping this time." She points to her father, who was still engrossed in examining the vegetables. She peered into Jon's basket and saw that in it, there were apples, mangoes and peaches. "Is your husband back yet?"

"Hm? Yes, he is. But he's resting at home. The surgery did a number on him."

"Surgery?!" Trish screeched. Jon winced at the shout and she muttered an apology.

Forgivingly, Jon shook his head. "Sometimes, when you get old, your joints will get a bit painful so the doctors have to replace it with an implant. He's on the road to recovery now so no worries."

“Implant…?”

Jon took time to explain what that meant. Trish had a million questions swirling around her head and she continued to press him for answers. Unlike a lot of adults, Jon took time to answer her questions to the best of his abilities. 

Trish was about to ask how on earth someone can survive being cut open by another person when someone interrupted them. "Retired to teach primary school children, eh, Jon?" the fruit seller said, folding her arms. "Didn't know you were taking in new students."

Jon scowled. "You know full well—"

"Enough of you," the fruit seller brushed him aside in favour of leaning over her counter to look at Trish. "Heya, pipsqueak. Haven't seen you before."

"I’m not his student… My Ma and Da and me moved in last last week. My Da's there," she said, pointing.

It was also then that her father seemed to have settled the payment for vegetables and came over. “Trish, there you are. Where’s your friend? I thought you went to talk to him.”

Trish tugged Jon’s shirt. “Here.”

Da's eyes widened. “Oh! You’re Jon?” He quickly schooled his expression into a friendly smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. The way she talked about you… I just thought she was talking about her classmate so I was…”

“Expecting a seven-year-old and not a seventy-year-old,” Jon replied, raising an eyebrow. “That’s understandable. I’m Jonathan Blackwood-Sims. Nice to meet you.” 

“Nathan Fujisaki. I’m Trish’s dad. Nice to meet you too.”

Jon’s phone began to ring and his brow furrowed. “Apologies,” he muttered as he placed his grocery bag on the stand before fumbling out his phone. He frowned as soon as he saw the caller-ID and picked it up immediately. “Martin, what’s wrong?” His eyes darted from side to side before he cupped a hand over the receiver and turned away from the rest of them to whisper into the phone.

“His husband,” the fruit seller said. “The two of them fuss over each other a lot.”

"Is that so?"

The fruit seller's eyes lit up with glee at the opportunity to gossip a little. "Yeah. When they first moved in, I was, like, 15? It's a lot better now but back then, the two of them were hardly ever apart. He taught me for a year, you know? And I don't know what arrangement they had with the school but they were practically glued to the hip anytime outside of class."

"So he is a teacher!" Trish exclaimed. "He reminded me of Mdm Taylor so I thought he might be a teacher."

"Yeah, he does have that vibe about him, doesn't he?" the fruit seller said. "Cross about everything and anything. He had that even when he was my teacher. And he was pretty scary back in the day too. Nothing seemed to get past him."

"If you truly believed that, you would know better than to gossip about me," Jon countered as he returned to pick up his grocery bag. 

"How is he?" Trish asked.

Jon winced. "It's… better now. But I should head back as soon as I can." He began to make his move and said, "Take care."

"Would you like a lift?" Da offered. "It's on the way."

"I…" Jon glanced down at his cane before he let out a sigh. "Yes, please. I would appreciate that."

It didn't take very long to fetch Jon to his house. Da gave Jon his contact number in case he and his husband needed any help. Jon stared openly, expression unreadable for a moment, before he gave a brief nod and rushed into the house.

On the way home, Da was frowning. "He seems familiar…" he muttered when Trish asked. "Like I've seen him somewhere before."

***

Stupid Da. Stupid Ma. 

They weren't listening to her. In a fit of anger, she ran out of the house and to the first place she could think of. It wasn't fair, she thought. Trish's lower lip wobbled as she curled harder into herself. 

Suddenly, the door to the cottage at the bottom of the hill opened. A large old man with a thick beard wearing a pair of boxers and a singlet emerged and his eyes fell upon the small girl who had squished herself into a corner of the porch. "Oh my god!" squeaked the old man. "Wh-What are you doing out here? Where are your parents?"

Trish glared up through the tears in her eyes. "You're not Jon," she said, her voice rough from crying.

 "Oh, he's… he's out right now," the man said, smiling apologetically. "Would you like to come in and wait for him? Or, uh, or not. We can wait for him outside."

Trish nodded.

"Feel free to sit in the chair there.”

Trish shook her head. 

“Okay. Would you like something to drink then? We have tea, and milk."

"Milk."

With a gentle smile, the man went back into the house and came out, dressed in a knee-length skirt and a loose shirt. He had also brought out a cup of milk, which he placed in Trish's hand. He went back inside for a moment, before returning with a piping hot cup of tea for himself.

The man limped over to a rocking chair and sat down heavily with a sigh. As he placed his own cup down on the table beside himself, Trish noticed the massive scar on his left leg that ran from his mid-calf up to his knee. "Are you Jon's husband?" she asked. "Martin?"

The man's eyes practically lit up. "Oh yes!" He drummed his fingers against his belly delightfully. "I'm guessing that you're Trish then?"

She nodded.

"Jon's told me a bit about you," he said.

"Are you also non… nonbinary," she said the word slowly to make sure she got it right.

From the look of it, she had because Martin smiled again. "Nope. I'm a man. Just one who finds skirts incredibly comfortable."

"I don't like skirts," Trish said frankly. "They're too wooshy and swishy."

"Perfectly understandable." Martin nodded. 

"Where's Jon?"

"He's doing groceries."

Trish stuck her lower lip out. "He's always doing groceries."

Something between a laugh and a sigh escaped Martin's chest. "He is, isn't he? My poor husband just can't sit still. He has to go to the market once a day or he'll get cranky. Or crankier than usual."

Trish nodded as she took a sip from her cup. 

"So, what are you doing here?"

Trish lowered her cup. "I don't know."

"Did something happen to make you cry?" Martin asked.

Curling in harder into herself, she muttered, "I'm not telling."

"Oh, um… Sure."

"Does it hurt?"

"Hm?" Martin followed her gaze to his knee. "Oh, you mean my knee? It was hurting really badly before I went to the hospital. I mean, it's still hurting a bit now because I'm recovering so I take a bit of painkiller to deal with that. It'll get better soon."

"Does it hurt when they do it on you?"

"Mm… not really? They give you an injection that makes you sleep through the entire surgery. It's kind of when you wake up that you start feeling the pain."

Trish frowned. It sounded a bit unrealistic. How could you sleep through being cut open? She didn’t get the opportunity to ask Martin anything though because, in the distance, a small figure could be seen hobbling towards the house. Martin immediately straightened up. "There he is," he said, before waving. 

Trish followed suit with a big wave of her own, putting her entire arm into it. 

“You have a little visitor,” Martin said as soon as Jon stepped past the gate.

“I can see that very well,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. He made a small detour to their side of the porch to give Martin’s forehead a kiss. Then, he looked at Trish and probably noticed her red-rimmed eyes. "Did something happen?"

Trish frowned. "Ma and Da won't let me have a birthday party. They said it's a waste of time and I'll forget it anyway."

"Oh…" Jon pursed his lips. "Do they know you're here now?"

"No. And I don't want them to."

"They must be worried sick," Martin remarked with a small frown. 

Shrinking into herself, Trish muttered sourly, "Let them."

“I know you’re angry at them and you don’t want to see them right now but it is quite  unkind to cause them needless worry,” Jon reasoned gently. “I shall give them a call, okay? Just to let them know you’re here. I promise I’ll let you stay here until you’re ready to talk to them again. But you wouldn't want them to think you're in danger, right?”

Trish pouted hard, but eventually nodded.

“Right,” Jon said with a nod before heading into the house. He came back out after about 5 minutes with some cut fruits. “We have permission for you to stay until dinner,” he said as he sat down in the other chair with a low grunt. “Now, I hope you didn’t have to suffer Martin’s nagging for too long while I was away.”

“Nagging?!” Martin shot back with an offended voice. “And don’t you think I suffer when you insist on leaving a trail of cups all over the house? Do you think you’re Gretel or something?”

“Actually,” Jon said, knowing full well what he was doing, “Hansel was the one who left the trails.”

Martin groaned comically and Trish giggled a little.

***

“You know what?” Trish yelled as she threw the door open. From the kitchen, Martin made a weird squeaky noise.

“It would be polite to knock. Martin’s already got a weak enough heart already,” Jon chided as he stood up from his sofa and went to the entrance. 

“Oh… Um...” She gently closed the door again before knocking. Then, she patiently waited as the sound of Jon’s shuffling slippers got closer.

“Trish,” Jon said exasperatedly as he opened the door. “You don’t have to close the door again if you’re already inside. We know you’re here.”

“Oh, okay,” Trish said, walking in.

Martin came into view and he was laughing a little. “God, you sound like such a curmudgeon.”

Frowning, Trish asked, “Cur…?”

“A grumpy old person,” Martin explained. “You know, like Jon.”

Teasingly, Jon poked Martin’s rib. “Oh yeah? Is that resentment in your voice, Mr Blackwood-Sims?”

Martin grabbed the offending hand. “Oh, absolutely not. You’re my curmudgeon. I’m not resenting you anytime soon.”

“Sap,” Jon muttered, covering his mouth with his hand, but that did nothing to hide the smile in his voice.

Trish rolled her eyes. “Aaaaanyway,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “I’m here to announce something.”

“Yes, yes, announce away,” Jon said.

But he was making goo-goo eyes at Martin so Trish decided she’d leave the very important announcement of her birthday party for another day.

***

Having chicken pox and being forced to stay in her room for an entire week was already bad enough. But then, it just had to be on the week of her birthday. What’s worse was that Trish had gone and scratched at her skin, and even though it was healed, she had some scars on her arms and face. And she really did not appreciate scars as a birthday present.

Ma chided her for not listening and handed her a bottle of cream to apply over the scars. “If you properly apply it, then maybe it’ll get rid of those scars,” she said.

Not wanting any of the scars to remain, Trish religiously applied the cream every night. But they didn’t seem to be going away anytime soon.

“It isn’t the end of the world if it does leave scars anyway. Look at the both of us! We have scars and we’re doing fine,” Jon comforted her, which wasn’t very comforting.

“It’s okay if you two have scars. You’re old people anyway,” Trish said, popping one of Martin’s freshly baked cookies into her mouth.

“Ouch!” Martin said, sitting down beside Jon at the dining table. “That’s a bit mean, Trish.”

Wincing, she muttered, “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Jon said. He peered over at her arm. "I think it's fading. It's just a bit slow so be patient with it."

Trish nodded. However, even as she sat there talking with them, her index finger kept returning to rub over the most prominent scar on her forearm. The tiny bump of the scar annoyed her and she wished she could tear it out, but she knew that would likely only make the scar worse.

"You know, Trish," Martin said, "it's normal for kids to get scars. We all get scars from at your age too."

"Jon too?"

"I…" Jon frowned. "I don't recall much of when I was young unfortunately."

"How come?"

"Complicated stuff," Jon said, making a vague gesture. "It'd be too long a story to explain."

"Well," Martin interjected, "he doesn't remember his. But I do." He lifted his arm to show the pale jagged patch on his elbow. "This one I got from when I fell off a tree outside my house. I got a kite snagged onto the branches so I had to get it down. It's a bit faded now actually." 

"Yeah, but that's a cool scar. Mine is just from stupid chicken pox," Trish grumbled. Then, she lifted her head. "What about those though? The dot-dot ones both you and Jon have? They're not from chicken pox too, right? They're really big."

"Oh, these?" Martin said, running his hand over the pockmark scars on his face and arms. 

"Yeah. How did the both of you get it? It looks really bad…" Trish frowned. "What kind is it?"

"Um… yeah," Jon said. "It... It was a… bad disease."

Martin sighed. "It was an office-wide infection. From when Jon and I worked in the same place." He then switched the subject by showing a long scar he had on his finger. "Oh, Trish, look at this one. Guess how I got this one? It was kind of dumb. I got it when I was, I think, 5 years old? I stuck my finger into the fan."

Trish scrunched her face. "Why did you do that?!" she shouted. "What if it got chopped off?"

"I don't know to be honest. I was five, Trish. I wasn't a very smart five-year-old."

"Five-year-olds generally aren't very smart," she assured Martin, who threw his head back and laughed.

They continued to talk about scars and dumb injuries for the rest of the afternoon. And by the time Trish went home, she realised that even if the scars remained in the end, she wouldn't be that upset. 

***

As Martin’s knee got better, he began to join Jon’s grocery trips more often. The marketplace got a little bit more noisy on the days Martin went with Jon. 

Firstly, Martin and the fruit seller seemed to have this bit that involved making fun of Jon, even though Trish didn’t necessarily understand most of the jokes. (For some reason, Martin likes to make fun of Jon for liking peaches.)

Then, Martin had what Jon called “itchy fingers'', which meant that Martin liked touching things he wasn’t supposed to. There was this one time when Martin had decided to poke something pink on the side of a carton, which turned out to be used gum. “You’d think you’d grow out of touching things unnecessarily, Martin,” Jon reprimanded as he dragged his husband to the toilet to wash his hands.

Trish just thought they were quite funny.

Sometimes, she would be with Da for groceries when she bumped into them. On those days, Da would talk to them about grown-up stuff that Trish had no hope of understanding. But it was fine since, with Martin at the front seat most of the time, this meant that Trish can lean to her side and whisper to Jon.

Sometimes, Trish would see Jon and Martin walking around together in the neighbourhood. More often than not, Martin joined Jon on his daily trips to the market, and they would slowly walk hand-in-hand. It was during those times that Jon most often had a smile on his face, and at times bursting into uproarious laughter.

Sometimes, Trish would dash over to greet them. People often told Trish that she was a bit too chatty for her own good. But around those two, she felt that maybe it was alright to talk a bit more because Martin would always smile warmly at Trish as she talked about the frog she found on the side of the road or about her stupid homework assignment. Jon, on the other hand, often had something to add to whatever Trish was saying, be it with questions or a weird trivia of his own. 

Of course, there were days where Trish was far too busy to call out to them. It was highly impractical to rush out to them during a game of Hide-and-Seek.

Sometimes though, the two of them would walk especially close to each other, and they’d be whispering, or at least, one of them would be. There were times when Martin looked greyer than usual, and his gaze would be distant even as he ran his fingers along railings, fences, or any surface available. Other times, Jon would look rattled, his eyes darting about and breaths shallow. The non-cane-wielding hand would not be holding Martin’s on those days, instead, it would be tracing the scar over his neck, or twisting his hair in a quiet frenzy.

And then, sometimes, they would sit together on the park bench, holding hands and whispering and chuckling to themselves.

Those were the days when Trish knew better than to disturb them.

[cyber-sub]

All’s Fun in the Haunted House.. until it’s not🍂

heeeeeellllloooo wonderful crepe customers! i wanted to apologize for having this out after Halloween- there’s actually gonna be a few halloween themed Pumpkin specials post Halloween due to uhhhhhhhhhhh my commitment issues what’s been going on in my life as of late but i think my posting schedule is gonna be a bit better!! so thats gr8 ANYWHOO sorry for rambling 

warnings: tw: anxiety attacks

genre: uhhh uhm angst with a happy ending !

“FUCK!” you gasp, clawing into your own palm, the pain from your nails taking your attention off your ragged breathing. This idea was not as good as you thought it would be.

-

You had been extremely stressed out as of late because of those damn college exams coming up but you also wanted to enjoy what the treats of Autumn had to offer in it’s entirety: The horror film marathons, pumpkin patches, warm drinks, and haunted houses, etc. so, when you saw you had a free day in your schedule- right before Halloween no less, you proposed the idea of going to the annual UA haunted house to your boyfriend.

Katsuki shrugged his shoulders, as expected, but nevertheless agreed.

Despite his cool composure, you knew he loved Halloween, much to contrary belief. You took notice of the small smile playing on his lips as he watched you prance around the apartment singing the whole of the Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack. You also saw how his face slightly lit up when you guys passed the Starbucks by your place, gaze glued to the sign that promoted the drink called “pumpkin spice cold brew”. It was even painstakingly obvious how his eyes stayed on the costume section of Target a bit longer than normal while you guys shopped for toilet paper. He loved everything about it actually, but in his own unspoken way… or maybe he just really loves the fact that the holiday entails scaring children to the brink of crying. You wouldn't put it past him.

In all honesty, once Bakugo heard the suggestion come from your pretty little mouth, he couldn't wait to go. You guys had been together for a little under a year now and this was your first Halloween together. He would never admit it out loud but he couldn't wait to do all the couple-y things he had read/heard about during the season of tricks and treats. Anything to end up closer to you, physically and emotionally.

-

The token haunted house was a stand alone building in one of the forest training facilities. It looked just like a creepy mansion you would expect to find in horror films; one of those houses where you could just tell that something was going to go wrong.

You couldn't have been more excited, your eyes wide with fascination as you gave a little squeeze to Katsuki’s arm, trying to ignore the feeling that something was off; You pushed the notion away. You were going to enjoy this break whether you liked it or not.

At first, Bakugo didn't notice anything.

You were as cheerful as always and extremely ecstatic, bouncing around as you both waited in line to go in. It was dark out so he was less focused on people noticing the amount of blush that creeped onto his cheeks and more so on how it felt to have your chest pressed against him with those bright eyes looking up at him.

Things started getting weird not long after you entered.

You didn’t cling tighter to him like he had secretly hoped, you actually let go of him all together and seemed a bit overwhelmed- but he just figured that was due to the intricacy of the haunted house. Bakugo didn’t want to crowd you so he just watched you from a short distance.

It wasn’t until after the first scare that he finally became aware of your heavy breathing, the way your chest heaved up and down- but wouldn’t lighten up. Every little jump scare petrified you and he was becoming concerned.

You were acting odd… clutching onto yourself way tighter than you should be and way too tense for a silly haunted house. You were going to give yourself scars.

He inched over to you, not wanting to cause a fright as h e lightly cupped your balled up fist with his warm hand. His eyes grew wide at the sight of tears spilling down your face while your breathing became unhealthily heavy. He knew your adrenaline kicked in when your focus was going in and out- he had to calm you down. He stopped you mid step and brought both of you down to a crouch.

“Y/n.. you pushed yourself to go out tonight didn’t you?” He asked with clenched teeth and a tensed jaw.

You couldn’t form the words so you shook your head.

“You’re lying to me.” He sighed with displeasure before tipping your chin up.

This was not the first time Katsuki dealt with a panic attack but it was the first of yours. He didn’t know what you needed in particular but he knew that you needed to get out of that house as soon as possible and the last thing he should do is leave you alone to go look for an exit.

“Okay baby, I’m going to pick you up and we’re gonna go find an emergency exit.” He said, indirectly telling you to brace for the action of being lifted. Once in his arm, you hid your face in his shoulder and kept one hand clutched to the collar of his shirt. The shaky staggered breaths you were releasing broke his heart, the only thought in his mind was that he just needed to get you outside. He could help you outside.

Thankfully he found an emergency exit sooner rather than later and next thing you know, the cool air hit your face, crisp and in an instant.

A few steps outside and your boyfriend turned his head to you before whispering, “I’m gonna put you down now in the grass, okay?” With a slight nod, you were gently placed down. Your breathing had lulled and you quietly reached one hand up to wipe the tears that trailed down your face while the other stayed planted in the soft grass.

Standing beside you, Katsuki was looking out into the trees surrounding the house, his eyebrows drawn together with his jaw clenching and unclenching. You had made him mad, you just knew it.

More tears began to escape your waterline, the sniffle you made caught his attention.

Red eyes now wide and looking down at you, guilt shot through chest hard.

“Kats-suki, I’m s-sorr-ry. I jus-st wanted to go out w-ith yo-u and I rui-nned it.”

“Y/n…” He sighed and crouched down to your level, “I know you’ve been stressed. You can’t push yourself like that, stupid girl.” He cups your face and catches a falling tear with his big calloused thumb.

You close your eyes and lean into his touch.

“Okay, we’re going to go back to the apartment and spend the night watching scary movies since you can’t seem to handle dealing with jump scares in person,” He smirked, “and you can cling onto me as much as you’d like… scaredy-cat.”

His words were underlined with an inviting warmth that you greeted without delay by sniffling and letting out an airy chuckle. Katsuki ran his thumb over your cheek once more before asking how your legs felt and if you think you could walk.

Trying to use your words, you let out a shaky, “I can t-try.”

Extending his hand to follow you up, your knees wobbled and you fell into his homely hold.

Leaning into him, you both walked back to the entrance before calling a cab and heading back to your place. The whole time, you were looking at how your boyfriend glowed under the street lights, his beautiful blonde hair softly glowed an orange halo around his head. The lighting hadn’t done the trees justice as it had with your boyfriend, it only made the wilting trees look more sorrowful as a few leaves broke away from the branches.

Now curled up under the softest blanket you could find with an oversized tee and fluffy socks on, you curled closer to Katsuki as you stared at the screen in dread. Freddy Kruger walked down a dark and eerie alleyway, his arms swaying, freakishly stretched out and knives scratching the buildings he was in between. The image alone caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. Bakugo could feel the small prickles under his palm that rested on your thigh.

Pulling you close, he murmured in your ear, “Baby, don’t worry,” the chuckle that came from his chest was deep and whole. He raised a hand from under the blanket and you heard the infamous crackles before watching sparks fly from his palm, “he wouldn’t dare to hurt you. Not while I am around.”

A small giggle left you as your gaze settled on your man.

Safe. You were safe.

[flameo-hotman]

Zukka prompt!! Something canonverse with protective Sokka? Bonus points if it's before Zuko's an official part of the Gaang! Zuko just goes through a lot of crap & it would be nice if Sokka could protect him ;-;

I don’t know if this is what you were hoping for but this is what my brain came up with when I saw your ask.

Not Dead In The Water

The boat that the Northern Water Tribe had provided them with was massive compared to the ones of the Southern Fleet. It wasn’t nearly as large as the standard Fire Navy ship, but it had to be large enough to house Appa on the deck of said ship, and not have the sky bison be in the way of the crew. It was big enough that everyone was able to have their own room even. Something which Sokka took instant advantage of it. He hadn’t even had his own room back home. It was nice to have a space of his own, however briefly.

“Well, that didn’t last long…” Sokka sighed to himself, as he passed back and forth, taking brief glances at the unconscious fire bender currently laying in his bed.

Last night he had wandered around, having trouble sleeping, due to how quiet his room was, and he’d leaned over the railing of the side looking out at the water below, shuddering at the sight of dead lifeless bodies floating down bellow.

But they were fire nation and that made them the enemy.

Still, the sight of death would always bother Sokka,  but then he saw a familiar ponytail down below, mixed in with the dead. His brain stopped for a moment.

Zuko?

Sweet mother of rain and ice, how was that even possible? Prince Jerkbender of the Fire Nation dead? It didn’t seem possible! Somehow it seemed deeply wrong. The guy was so filled with fire and stubborn determination, that Sokka hadn’t thought it possible that Zuko could die. The absurd thing was that even in death, Zuko had somehow found his way to their current location.

That’s when he noticed a light breath of pale fog pass Zuko’s ice blue lips…

Sokka didn’t think. He just acted and dived right into the frigid arctic water. He swam to Zuko and pried his frozen fingers off of the driftwood the guy was clinging to. Then Sokka wrapped an arm around the guy and sawm for the rope latter that hung from the side of the boat.

Why am I doing this?!? This guy is our enemy! WHY AM I TRYING TO SAVE HIM?!?

Climbing the latter was awkward with only one hand, but Sokka managed it, and once back on the deck, he kept to the shadows. If he got caught, he didn’t think Pakku and the other water tribe warriors on board be very forgiving despite Sokka being from their sister tribe and a personal friend of the Avatar. Which really begged the question of what Sokka’s plan for this whole thing was?

What was he just going to nurse him back to health, and drop him off once they got to port? Where was he going to keep the guy? How was he going to get Zuko off the ship? How was he going to explain it to the jerk bender? He didn’t even know why he was doing this outside of, he didn’t want to see the guy dead. The idea of a dead Zuko was just wrong. Yeah, the Fire Prince was totally going to buy that! No, the best bet was telling the guy he was doing this to save his own skin, just in case the Fire Nation won. Saving Zuko would convince the Fire Nation not to kill him out of the life debt Zuko would owe Sokka, blah, blah, blah.

Sokka wasn’t though because Aang was going to defeat the Fire Lord.

He did have his own room on the ship, which he had been told would stay unbothered due to him being a young male with needs, as Pakku had so prickishly put it. Gross, but both true and now very convenient. He sent up a prayer to Yue that no one would catch him, and then slunk back inside the ship with a very cold fire bender held in his arms.

It wasn’t bridal style though. It just looked like bridal style. No, this was the Sokka is carrying the enemy in his arms like he’s a very much dying guy and Sokka doesn’t want to see him dead and this is the easiest way to carry the guy style.

Luckily no one was in the halls this time of night, and Sokka was able to get to his room without being seen. Once there, he deposited the fire bender in his bed and went through the checklist of how to warm up something who had fallen into the arctic water. Something everyone in the tribe was taught once they could talk.

Step one, get them out of their wet clothes…

Of course, the spirits, sans Yue, hated him. Why else would any of this be happening? Sokka wished not for the first nor the last time, that he had never gotten involved in this saving the world nonsense in the first place, but he knew he would do all of this again, given what he knows now back then. And that included trying to save the son of the evilest man on the plant.

So he gathered himself and undid the sash around Zuko’s waist, which was waterlogged and didn’t want to unite. Screw it, Zuko would likely whine about this later, but Sokka didn’t want to waste time and fail to save the guy because he was worried about damaging a piece of fabric. So he pulled out his whalebone hunting knife and cut it.

Once that was over with, he was able to pry off the wet logged cold gear Zuko was wearing as an outer layer, which took a few minutes. The undersuit of it was also wet, albeit a slightly warmer wet, but still freezing. Sokka really didn’t want to see the Fire Nation Prince naked, but it looked like he was going to see the Fire Nation Prince naked. Isn’t that just great? Of course, it is! Why wouldn’t seeing his sworn enemy naked be great?

It isn’t like Sokka actively hates the guy or anything.

Soon the wet clothes are piled in a corner, and well it seems he’s on to step two which is warming the affected person up. So Sokka pulls the blankets over the guy, leaving his head exposed. Sokka now removes his own wet clothes because what he has to do next would be defeated by not doing so, and Sokka doesn’t want to become hypothermic himself. Then against his better judgment slips into the bed next to him because this is about Zuko and not Sokka. Sokka shouldn’t care if Zuko lives or dies but he does. So here he is naked and in bed with his sworn enemy, and he is going to have a very shouty, very angry fire bender once the guy wakes up.

And he will because the spirits hate Sokka. Just great.

How long was the guy in the ice for anyways? He barely has a pulse and isn’t shivering at all. For all Sokka knows the guy is already as good as dead. As it is, it has only been a few days since the siege, but he knows not even Zuko could survive that long in the ice-cold waters of the north. Or maybe it is more like ONLY Zuko could survive the ice-cold water for so long. Maybe the guy had a raft and got washed off of it? Which now brought up the question of how many other fire nation soldiers had managed a raft? How many of Zuko’s people would survive?

Zuko trembled lightly against Sokka’s body.

The beetle roach was going to survive this… Of course, he would. That was just Sokka’s luck.

Sokka now looked at the pale teen in his arms, and he felt like he was seeing him for the first time… There were the fresh cuts and bruises on his face that he realized weren’t from the guy’s fight with Katars, and of course, there was the hair cut, which was terrible and nothing like his wolf tail, thank you very much, stop laughing Katara! And there was the scar covering nearly the entirety of the left side of the guy’s face.

It actually looked kind of… Hand shaped.

Sokka’s brain ground to a sudden halt because the scar on his enemy’s face was hand-shaped and looked at least a few years old. Zuko hadn’t done that to himself, and by the looks of it, the scar had been deliberate. Like someone had held a flaming hand against the guy’s face hot enough and long enough to do the damage it had done…

Zuko looked about what sixteen? He looked about Sokka’s age when you only looked at the unscarred side of his face, and the burn looked maybe three or so years old? So someone had burned the teen’s face when he was what thirteen? And they had done it on purpose… Okay, Sokka knew the guy rubbed most people the wrong way, but you had to be some sort of heartless monster to burn a kid’s face-off, and even the Fire Lord wouldn’t do that… Except a previous Fire Lord had wiped out Aang’s people women and children included.

Whoever had done it must have been punished… Right? The Fire Lord wouldn’t just let some creep get away with assaulting the heir to his throne? Why was Zuko hunting Aang in the first place? None of this made any sense. There had to be something pretty massive riding on it if the guy was as obsessed as he was. What it was, Sokka couldn’t figure out, but it wasn’t like Zuko had been given a lot of resources for the task.

Sokka signed and snuggled closer, rubbing circles hoping to not have a dead guy in his bed come morning. Zuko gave another shiver, and this time it had lasted longer.

“P-please, F-f-father, I only ha-ad the F-f-fire Na-tion’s be-ehst int-t-trests at hea-art.” Zuko murmured, as his teeth chattered. “I-I’m sor-ry I spoke ou-ught of tu-tur-n”

What? Sokka wondered as he looked at the distressed look on the other teen’s face. There were tears beginning to prickle around his right eye. What was Zuko talking about?

“I-I mean-t you n-no disr-reh-spect-t-t… I-am your loy-yal s-son.” Then a pause, like someone was saying something to him, and Sokka suspected it was likely Zuko’s father who was answering him in the dream. “I won’t f-fi-ght you.”

HOLY MOTHER OF ICE AND TIDE! What did Zuko just say?

And then Zuko screamed, and Sokka had to push him down and cover his mouth before someone else heard and came running to check on him. Then gold eyes shot open to meet his own, and Sokka hissed quietly, “Scream and you die.”

Zuko stopped struggling and looked up at Sokka in terror. Then he screwed his eyes shut, tears coming faster now, and spread his legs. His hands still pinned down by Sokka’s free hand.

“What are you-” Sokka began, before he realized what this both looked and sounded like. “It’s not like that! I wasn’t-” And he threw himself off of the suddenly limp teen. “You had hypothermia! I was trying to warm you back up- Both of our clothes were wet- I would never-”

Sokka had never felt more horrified in his life. Not even when Aang had communed with the Ocean Spirit and wiped out the Fire Navy fleet. Zuko had woken up in a strange place, naked in bed with someone else, who told him “Scream and you die.” How else could Zuko interpret that? He woke up after a horrible nightmare, that had revealed to Sokka some pretty horrible stuff, and though he was about to be raped while he was still weak. What was even worse was that he didn’t even try to fight. No, Zuko had submitted to it, thinking there was no way out of it.

Zuko was still and silent for a few moments before he gave a violent shudder and lifted the sheets to welcome Sokka back in, whimpering, “M-my f-flame wen-ent ou-ut. P-ple-ase…” And Sokka dove back inside, pulling the shivering fire bender flush against him again and Zuko was full-on clinging to him for dear life.

“Hey, buddy?” Sokka asked, “What do you mean by your flame went out?”

“T-t-too c-cold-d t-to b-b-bend. Li-ke we-went Z-zhao k-killed the m-moon.”

Wait, what?

“You’ve lost your bending?” Zuko nodded into his neck. “Has this ever happened before?”

“W-when I-I was-s bu-bu-banished.” Zuko shuddered, clawing his way deeper into Sokka’s warmth, and that didn’t sound good at all. Not when coupled with the nightmare that Zuko had just a few minutes ago. Sokka didn’t like the picture it was painting. Not when it sounded like Zuko’s dad had picked a fight with him for saying the wrong thing and then scarred and banished him. Not when suddenly everything was making a horrifying amount of sense. Not when it looked like Zuko had been trying to capture the Avatar to make it up to his piece of snow rat shit father.

“How do we relight it?”

“Uncle di-did las-st t-t-tighme w-with h-his b-bu-bending.”

“Well, let’s just keep you alive until we can get you back to him.”

Zuko didn’t answer, he just shivered. He held onto Sokka like Aang did a hug. Sokka couldn’t stand the silence so he started talking. “I don’t know why I decided to pull you out of the water, but I’m glad I did. At first, I thought you were dead, and it just seemed so wrong. But then I saw you were breathing, and I didn’t even think before I was jumping in to save you. I couldn’t stand by and watch you die. I’ve seen too many people die… I didn’t see my mom die, but Katara did… She didn’t speak for an entire year after that. I never thought she would ever again. She was different after it though, and she never said what had happened, but me and dad… We found her curled up to mom crying. Dad shut down for a while as well, and Gran-Gran had to take care of us after that. Once he finally came back to himself, he organized the warriors and left to fight in the war.” And Sokka began telling Zuko his entire life story, two fish hook in the thumb and all, and by the time he was done, Zuko had fallen back asleep and wasn’t shivering anymore. The guy was nowhere near as warm as a fire bender should be, but it was better than how cold and lifeless he had been when Sokka had fished him out of the ice.

He finally breathed a sigh of relief, glad he had locked the door and fell asleep himself.

Right now Zuko was safe and sound in his arms, and Sokka was going to make sure things stayed that way. He had to protect the guy, now that he’d gone through the effort of saving his life. He wouldn’t let that all go to waste. Which meant he had three weeks to come up with a plan before they docked at the port.

Sokka was the plan guy after all, and if anyone could come up with a plan to protect Zuko it was him.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22462120/chapters/53671633