#are starting to meld under Ray’s body heat

[sammaggs]

2x15 Body Language // 3x07 Mountie and Soul | Melt

Constable Benton Fraser watches A Random Man boxing

vs

Constable Benton Fraser watches Stanley Raymond Kowalski boxing

Tell me you don’t see the difference and I will show you a LIAR

Benton Fraser Checks Out His Boyfriend [One] [Two] [Three] [Four]

[philistiniphagottini]

For the event, maybe gender neutral reader and jing yuan with 💋 prompt? 🥺

Thanks for the request. I wrote something short and sweet for our lazy general, I hope you enjoy Anon~

cw. fluff, making out, gender neutral reader

Domestic Bliss

Jing Yuan tasted like cloyingly sweet honey when you pressed your lips against him, lazing in his garden as you crawled into his lap and straddled his hips. The tip of your tongue tingled as you brushed your lips against his once more, a hum of approval rumbling in Jing Yuan’s chest as he welcomed your weight pressing down on him. Large, warm hands curled around your hips to keep you steady, thumbs drawing slow circles into the soft, sliver of skin that peeked out just beneath your shirt. 

You braced your hands on Jing Yuan’s chest as you tilted your head, your plump lips slotting perfectly over his as he kissed you slowly. You swallowed the budding saliva on your tongue, your throat bobbing as a soft moan stirred in your chest. The tips of your fingers tingled as you knot them tighter in his clothes, feeling his thunderous heart beating beneath the palms of your hands as your own beat wildly against your ribs. Your pulse droned in your ears, thick lashes brushing over your warm cheeks when you parted for a brief respite. You immediately dove back in, catching the dozing General by surprise when your lips came crashing down upon his in a passionate flurry. 

A warm chuckle breezed past his lips as he further indulged you, hands slowly creeping up over your sides and arms as he reached for your face. Your skin was searing to the touch as he cupped your cheek in his hand, the other cradling the back of your neck as you huddled your body closer to his. You could feel him smiling into the kiss as the tip of his tongue teased the seam of your lips, quietly asking permission to slip inside. With a soft hum you allowed him to pry apart the bruised skin, wisps of your hair curling around his fingertips as your lips melded together. You could feel his hot breath puffing against your heated skin as his tongue explored the wet cavern of your mouth, languidly prodded at your own tongue with no sense of urgency. 

Your head was starting to feel dizzy as you were slowly deprived of oxygen, a pleasant shiver racing along the curve of your spine as sparks danced behind your closed eyelids. Jing Yuan happily swallowed every pleased noise that crawled out of the back of your throat, your taste simply divine on his tongue as he indulged in you like you were the finest ambrosia. His touch was soft but firm, holding you close and keeping you pressed to him like he never wanted to let go. And he wouldn’t, if you let him. His heart swelled with affection as you brushed your tongue along his in a slow, intimate dance, your body relaxing against his as you both simply lost yourself in the heat of the moment. 

You had to break apart for air, a single string of saliva connected your kiss swollen lips as you pulled away with a heavy gasp. Your eyes fluttered open as you stared up into Jing Yuan’s lidded stare with dazed eyes, lips parted around soft pants as your senses were slow to crawl back to you. You hadn’t realised just how much you had lost yourself and your sense of surroundings when Jing Yuan kissed you like that, like you two were the only ones in the world and nothing else mattered. You smoothed your hands over his uniform, nuzzling your face into the palm of his hand as his thumb pressed into your skin. 

“It’s getting late” you murmured, the warm, afternoon rays of light kissing your skin. 

Jing Yuan hummed in response as he massaged his fingers through your hair, nails scratching pleasantly along your scalp as he gave you a lackadaisical smile. 

“What’s the rush?”

Your breath was warm as you pressed your lips against the pulse in his wrist, feeling it waver under the gentle touch. You took a moment to ponder his question, your head still feeling fuzzy as you were coaxed further under the warm haze of Jing Yuan’s embrace. You struggled to think a coherent thought as they were simply carried away on the gentle breeze that rustled through the trees and made the leaves dance. 

“There’s no rush” you replied after a long moment.

Every hair on the nape of your neck stood up in anticipation as a warm chuckle rumbled in Jing Yuan’s chest, the vibrations dancing under your fingertips. His thumb swiped over your bottom lip, watching the swollen skin pucker into a light pout as he gently toyed with the rose tinted shape of your mouth. 

“Then give me another kiss.”

[cloudbattrolls]

Lamb and Knife

Torvah Verdan | 465 sweeps prior | Civitrecce Shoreline

Civitrecce slept, aside from its skeleton day crew, swathed in light protective clothing as they flitted among its buildings, wary of exposing even an inch of skin. The valley lay quiet in the humid heat, Alternia’s diurnal wildlife roaming freely but unable to get past the invisible walls of force surrounding the fledgling city.

Only Torvah, skin turned to metal to protect them under their favored bright dress, sat at ease on the city's nearby beach as their artifice stood next to them.

The yellowblood put a slim finger to the sand, tracing an approximate shape of a vertebra as their companion watched. Then they added representations of other organs, blood vessels, and bones.

“You don’t remember any of this, yes?”

The artifice, dressed in simple gray clothes, fidgeted. Its bladed hands, barely more than knives with a minimum of padding and basic joints, intertwined nervously. Its fluffy tail tip twitched, the heavy extremity curled around its body.

“No, creator. I don’t. There’s just…feelings. I don’t think I was…distinct until now. I was…” It paused, trying to find the language. 

“Conscious. I was part of a consciousness. But I did not retain. I was not me. I was…a possibility. Infinite possibilities, splitting off again and again. There was no time, no space, not as you know them.”

Torvah’s green psiionic’s eyes gleamed in fascination. “Thank you. So, you don’t mind? Being this way now?”

It paused, eyes of the same green looking into its maker's. “Mind? I don’t have a choice. But, I don’t mind. I can still feel it. It’s all around us, like you say.”

“Ah…” said the lowblood, sighing with jealousy. “How wonderful. Such connection. If only trollkind could feel as you do…perhaps we would hurt each other less.” 

They shook their bald head sadly.

“I have no idea.” Said the artifice bluntly, stretching out its arms, metal melded to dead, repurposed flesh. 

“This world is very violent. You might be driven to insanity and more violence if you had to deal with more sensations than you currently feel.”

Torvah paused, looking slightly embarrassed. Their pointed ears flicked.

“Ah.”

It got up, and began walking off over the warm sand, tail dragging behind it.

Torvah, befuddled, watched it.

“Where…are you going?”

The masked body didn’t answer. Then it started walking into the water.

Torvah sprang up and walked after it.

“Arty! No! You’ll rust! There’s things in the - “

It dove under the waves.

The cyborg tried not to panic as their creation disappeared from sight faster than they could follow. Why was it acting this way?

Several gray-hair inducing minutes later, it reappeared dripping wet and tangled with seaweed, holding an oyster.

Torvah stared at it.

“Why…did you do that?”

It looked down at the oyster.

“Should I have not?”

“Well…” 

The Machinat didn’t really have a good answer for that.

“Please let me know before you do it next time.” They added in as kind of a voice as they could, making a mental note to update its code.

They shook their head, focusing instead on the bivalve held gently in the clawed metal hands.

“You can’t eat that, Arty, why did you go get it? How did you know it was there?”

It petted the oyster.

“I didn’t. But I am…aware. There are things that might be. Things that were. Things that are. Time is so changeable now. I wanted to hold something solid. This is all very different. The world is frightened here.”

Torvah went still.

“Frightened?”

It looked up at the red-lit sky, its metal faceplate gleaming in the sun’s rays.

“Frightened. Of trolls. Of other things. But, I am not afraid of you.”

There was a slight attempt at what Torvah thought was comfort in the usually flat tone.

“Why not?” Said the yellowblood, baffled but fascinated.

Arty turned, and went to put the oyster back in the waves, going deep enough to ensure it would sink again, before returning and answering.

“You will all die some night. I will not.”

Torvah performed the mental equivalent of a record scratch.

“…I think it would be best if you didn’t say such things around the others.”

“Why?” It said, puzzled. “They would want to know I’m not afraid of them, yes?”

“That’s…wonderful, Arty.” Said Torvah slightly desperately. “But it would unnerve them if you also mentioned that they will die and you won’t. Trolls don’t like being reminded of those things.”

“Oh.”

It sounded despondent. Its tail drooped, as did its head.

Torvah tried to give it an encouraging smile.

“We must seem very strange to you.”

“Not really.”

They paused again.

“I don’t know what is strange for you yet.” It said. “Then I will decide.”

The logic was sound. And yet…

“Ah…very rational. Yet, I think I may have to alter your code a bit. I can see now it isn’t nearly extensive enough to manage you.”

It tilted its head.

“You will make me different.”

Torvah tried to smile. “We all change, all the time.”

“You shape things to your wants, so many wants. I wonder - what if I had more wants?” It mused. “Would I be more like you? Do you want me to want?”

The Machinat was beginning to develop a slight headache.

They went over and clapped their soaked creation on its shoulder.

“Well! Let’s get back. At least you’ll dry off soon enough, in this heat.”

It looked down at itself, soggy clothes and all.

“Oh. Yes. The wet. It lingers.”

Torvah laughed, they couldn’t help it.

Arty’s tail flicked.

“That’s a nice noise.”

“You’ll find things to laugh about too, I hope.” The lowblood said warmly.

“Haaaaa…ha.” It said, poorly copying the sound, voice croaky. 

“Not quite.” Said Torvah, as they walked off the beach and back onto the grass. “You’ll learn. You just need time.”

“I will make people laugh.” The artifice declared. “Then they might like me.”

“Ah…maybe.” Said Torvah, feeling incredibly fond of but also worried for their creation.

“Oh.”

It said, despondent again.

“We’ll work on it.” They assured the guardian, and together the pair walked back toward the city, each untouched by the powerful sun overhead.

[skelebonecentral]

Could apply to your want with Pen currently; you and Pen are some of the very few left of your species. You two won't have to take care of the kids if you don't want to because lab techs or infertile but wants to be a parent exists or whatever. details about the actual kids not important, the important part right now is the sexy times and hatefucking for the sake of your species continued survival... and maybe because you think he's hot but you aren't going to telling him that

I wrote it and it was glorious (for me)

words under the cut

You stared at the black and orange male in front of you with animosity.

He was someone you knew, someone you had a history with, but it was negative. He’d hurt your friends and made life awful for them for a long time. But he was part of your species, and you were a dying breed. He’d been chosen as your mate due to proximity, and because you at least knew of each other.

“Penumbra,” you look at him levelly from your seat on the bed.

“Y/n,” he replies with just as little enthusiasm. “I realize neither of us wants this, but duty calls, it seems.”

“you’re lucky your outside is more attractive than your inside,” you huff and lay back, starting to play with yourself so you’d at least not be in pain for this endeavor.

He looked you over, his ray-like head crests surprisingly beginning to glow. So, he found you attractive to look at, too. Good to know those passive aggressive flirts had been real. “I have no experience with your ‘insides’ so I can’t know if I’d say the same.”

He comes over and climbs on the bed with you, sitting on the edge and stroking his tendril to get the natural lubrication going on it. It was black with glowing orange dots up the sides, and you begin to huff as the heat builds inside you.

“Mngh,” he twitches a bit and the growl of his voice sends a little thrill into your belly, “If I’d known you weren’t married, I wouldn’t have been such a jerk to you.”

“Yeah, well, if you hadn’t been such a jerk, I’d have asked you out,” you hiss, brain going foggy as you got more worked up.

“Really?” He turned to you and those golden eyes set the fire in you alight fully. They’re shocked but his sharp teeth are dripping a bit as he holds his mouth open.

“You think I got so mad just because you said some nasty things to me? The first time we met I thought you were going to be some kind of god and here I find a rude lil sh-shit who looks hot but acts like…like a brat…gosh.”

He growled again and slammed himself over top of you, caging you in with his arms and panting, “Oh yeah? And when you told me I’d die alone?”

“Your personality guarantees it, Pen,” you sneer back at him but take your hands off yourself, “Much as I’d love to chat, I need that cock please. Legally required.”

He laughed harshly, and you couldn’t stand it any longer, yanking him down by the shoulder and slamming your mouths together in a desperate, confusing storm of emotions. You hated what he’d done, you hated his attitude, but you also adored his body, his voice, the feeling of his presence in a room. His scent was also driving you crazy, the soft, clean body smell along with a pleasing spiciness and warmth. The both of you were making out like you’d never even seen another being and you felt so good when his tendril wriggled into your hole like a snake hiding from an eagle.

-

He couldn’t believe this was the female he’d been assigned to. He’d been lusting after them for ages, since he’d arrived to get his revenge on Sun and Moon, but they hadn’t fallen to his attempts at seduction to the point of being infuriating. But now it was like their whole body wanted to meld with his, and Pen was adoring every second. The fire in their eyes, the way they matched his condescension move for move with their own disgust, the softness of their skin against his own, their gentle and sweet scent surrounding him, it felt like he was drunk on their attention.

It was embarrassing how literally hungry he was for them, unable to stop his tongue from tasting every inch of their mouth before going out and biting at their neck and shoulders. Stars above, he was going to devour them if he had the chance. He felt his tendril writhing inside their wet heat, making them moan and gasp, weak calls of his name.

He couldn’t control his mouth at this point, either from his biting or from talking, “Gonna make, mph, make you so full of my eggs, ah, th-that nobody will dare look at you. M-mine, gonna make sure you know it. Wanted you from day one.”

They cried out and clung to him, an orgasm shaking their body, “Pen! Stars, why couldn’t you just be kind? I wanted you! So so bad, I want you now, please give me your babies!”

“That’s it,” he continued railing them as they whimpered and began to tear up from the overstimulation, “we’re mating for life. Gonna breed you so good, make those idiots jealous, you’re not gonna be, mph, gonna be empty till we die.”

“Y-yes, please…” that begging, the way their legs trembled against his, the desperation and just…sadness. Their eyes were so sad, and for once it reached his black heart. He kissed them again and snarled into it as he finally came, a rush of fluid filling their chamber before the eggs started to slip out of him one by one, each golf ball sized round settling deep inside. After the third one, they shuddered in another orgasm and he shushed them gently, lapping at the weeping bite marks that he’d left on their skin.

“W-“ They could barely speak from how breathless they were once it was done, “Was that just kink talk or…d-did you mean it?”

He blinked, then snorted, “I don’t say anything I don’t mean. Unless I’m lying, of course. But who has the energy to lie during sex? Hell, who has the energy to THINK during sex?”

They nodded, smiling, “Good. C-cause after that I wanna be selfish and not share you.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have had a chance to share me ever,” He grinned evilly as he leaned in, whispering in their ear, “cause the moment anybody but you touches me, they’re dead.”

“Pen,” they whine, but he shushes them again and wipes away the tears on their cheeks.

“You know I’m serious. You’re my mate, carrying my brood,” he gently pressed his body down on their stomach, swollen out with the load of eggs inside them. “I might be a jerk, I might be a bit too self-aggrandizing to function in society, but I’ll be a pile of scrap parts in the organ donor’s yard before I let anybody ruin this for me. You were the goal the minute I saw you. You were the prize I wanted to wrest from those morons more than anything besides their power core.”

Looking up into his eyes, their own soft ones were disbelieving, and he knew this was what they wanted to hear. How lovely that it was also true.

“And knowing you wanted me too? That seals it. I’ll play nice all day if it means I get to have you and see you walking around full of my kids, wearing my ring, and holding my hand.” He felt more triumphant than he’d ever imagined.

And it definitely didn’t hurt that their mutual attraction made it so easy to fall back into love making the second he finally shut up. Those eggs were going to be very well cushioned by the time the two of them finally fell asleep still entangled.

[wormholxtreme]

@soullesstrouble continued from here

The steam from the shower left the air started to dissipate but the heat between their bodies kept the humidity in the room like a sauna. She was but a puddle in his delicate hands as they roamed over her body. She could feel the heat rising in her core as his skin stuck hotly against hers. Like paints melding together under the heat of passion, becoming one with every stroke of his hips. They were a masterpiece together.

She pushed against him, her back to his chest as she reached behind her. Hands finding perchance in short golden locks as she tried to steady herself. Little curses left her lips between moans and he'd barely given her a taste. She tugged on him, urging for more, desperate to feel one with him. The morning rays poured in from the honeycomb window like honey from the hive, yet nothing compared to the soft glow of her skin as he ignited something so deep inside of her all logic and forethought ceased to exist.

That chuckle, how was he so composed when every flex of his body threatened to bring her to her knees? She wouldn't beg though. She refused. This time she was determined to wait it out as long as possible. Instead opting to arc her back against him, urging more friction as his member slid between her cheeks, so close, yet so far away from where she wanted him.

His weight shifted and Kaylee let out a gasp. The way he manipulated her body against the cool sink sent goose pimples along her chest and arms. She had no choice but to release him, palms against the sink to steady herself as the friction he caused fanned the flames further.

His strength kept her afloat as her knees shook under his welcomed heaviness, and her entire body shuddered. His arm around her throat was a controlled firmness, enough to add pressure but never enough to inflict discomfort. She was his, all his and her resolve was waning fast.

The moment his voice commanded her, that husky deep rumble from his chest, her eyes flew open. She saw herself in the mirror, skin pinked and hot under his touch. Pupils so wide and dark it was impossible to see where the skies in her eyes showed. But Adam? She could always see the stars in his. 

She met his gaze in the mirror, those spectacular eyes of his as they washed over her. Taking in every inch of him ravaging her from behind. The curve of his muscular arms surrounded her, keeping her so close to his body, she thought she might just disappear into him. A welcomed feeling if she was honest with herself. Her whole world changed the day she met Adam, the night their lips met under the stars like two novas colliding. The spark of their connection, an explosion that could be seen across the expanse of the universe. She could melt into him never to return to herself and she'd be content.

He was carved from a piece of marble with chiseled details made specifically for her benefit, he was beautiful and refined. His height towered over her small frame, but only to pepper sweet kisses against her skin. The capabilities of this man who held her so easily in the palm of his hands brought her nothing but pleasure and peace. He was astonishing and every moment with him took her breath away.

Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, rushing through her ears. How did he do that? She promised herself she wasn't going to beg this time but with a few words she was already submitting to his will.

A playful smirk set across Kaylee’s lips as giggled at his pretty words. Oh she sure looked like something but astonishing was a bit of a stretch.  She tried to shake her head, to remotely pass the sound of nuh-uh, but all that escaped her lips was another moan.

His lips along her spine set electric pulses through her and she arched her neck, pushing back into his kisses as he settled at the nape of it. As if she could give him more. The small smirk spread to a wide smile as her eyes closed again, enjoying the feeling of his hot breath as it rolled against her skin.

He had her so dazed, so deliriously aching that when his fingers brushed her little spot she lost all air in her lungs. She nodded in response to his words,  “Oh fuck Adam, please.” She begged, finally giving in but only after his heavy admission. 

She pushed her hips back against him, feeling her walls envelope his tip. She slapped her palms against the marbled counters, pleased that in such a place as this it didn't just crumble under her strength. Their gasps as he entered her slowly was a harmony that echoed in the bathroom chamber. She melted against him, her breath escaping her lungs in a loud moan. 

She rolled her head around her neck, hanging over the sink before her head pulled back up as he expertly wrapped her long hair around his wrist and tugged. It was over before it even began, and all of her resolve to not give in to his demands went out the window as she thrust back into every pump he gave her. “Fuck don't stop, don't stop, don't stop.” She pleaded rhythmically, finding his hands at her sides, holding on to them to anchor herself to his body more than the sink.

The crest of a wave pulsed throughout her body, a small preview of what was to come as her walls spammed around him. She let out a groan, knees finally giving out as she floated in his arms effortlessly.

[sp00kyjellybeans]

Constant Pining [Mickey Altieri x reader]

A/N: part two because i think the last one deserves a follow up :> For this one, I decided to play with the fact that Mickey is a film student, so I kind of figured he would use it to his advantage. btw tho this feels super choppy and cheesy in the bad way so idk how to feel ab it:’) pls lmk what you guys think bc i might rewrite it and cut half of this out

Word Count: 3,425

Warnings: None, this is like... super fluffy

---

It had been two weeks since the party and it was driving Mickey insane. He wasn’t sure what was worse. The fact that life carried on as usual or the fact that you were completely unfazed. He would have preferred if you were all over him or, hell, if you were avoiding him.

Because then he would know how you feel.

But he didn’t. The poor guy hadn’t the slightest clue. Life went on nonetheless. Some days he was able to sit next to you in Psychology (if Halley didn’t try kicking him out of her seat) and the two of you were normal during friend settings. But you never showed up to another party.

Mickey gnawed at his pencil. It was whittled down to practically nothing. He was supposed to be focused on a project that he and Randy were assigned in Film Theory but instead... You were on his mind.

“Can you stop eating that pencil and quit thinking about (Y/n)!” Randy threw a small notebook at Mickey’s head. Mickey snapped out of his daze and easily dodged it. “We need to work on this shit together. I don’t need (Y/n) clouding my camera man’s mind.”

“I’m not even-”

“Save it. You’ve been making the same face for two weeks straight now. It’s the (Y/n)-face. Sid and I coined it.”

Mickey muttered a curse word under his breath and reached for the notebook that was thrown at him. It was Randy’s film book. He flipped through some pages. It was filled with notes for class and film-analysis. Half of the analyses weren’t even assigned for class.

“What are we doing for this again?” Mickey rolled his eyes and threw the notebook onto a table. He propped up his feet and leaned back in his chair. 

The two boys were in a conference room of the film school. A chalkboard had been dirtied with Randy’s ideas for their film project while Mickey was mentally vacant for the time being. The project was to make a movie, each group was assigned a different genre. They were content with being partners, seeing as Randy had the ideas and Mickey had a knack for cinematography. 

“We were assigned to do a documentary.”

“Fucking lame... Everyone else got cool shit. I heard Terry Pusher was assigned fantasy... Fucking fantasy.”

“I know, hell I’d take a love story over this shit,” Randy threw the piece of chalk at the board. 

Mickey paused and sat up. His expression was twisted as if he were onto something. 

“Wait... say that again...”

“I’d take a love story over this shit?” Randy tilted his head.

Mickey stood to his feet and pointed at his geeky friend, an excited expression was evident.

“Exactly.”

The sea of students stormed past you. Your final class of the day ended early so you were more than eager to get back to your dorm. Your roommate was gone for the weekend so hopefully some quiet would get your mind off of Mickey.

The events of the party had been bouncing around the walls of your mind ever since it happened. A part of you thanked Halley for stepping in when she did and a part of you cursed her for it.

You couldn’t fathom dating Mickey. It was unheard of. New. Exhilarating. He was probably one of the hottest guys on campus and he had his hands on your waist.

Sure, he was a total nerd when it came to movies, especially for Tarantino films, and you could listen to his rants for hours, but the thought of him wanting you made your heart skip a beat. If he reciprocated any sort of feelings you’d be sent into cardiac arrest. Did he like you? Was that even possible?

He could have anyone at this school. He knew it, too. But it was possible he could choose you.

Before you were able to expand on that thought, a camera was shoved into your face. 

“And here we have the wonderful, the amazing, the magnificently stunning (Y/n)!” Mickey’s voice imitated a sports announcer. 

His sudden appearance was enough to make your cheeks go ablaze. 

“What are you doing?” You winced and shielded your face.

Randy appeared behind Mickey, “Film project, you’re a part of it!”

“Puh-lease, if anything, they are the star of the film, Meeks!”

You continued to walk to your dorm in hopes of avoiding the nerds but in all honesty, you were smiling like an idiot. 

“What’s it about?” You asked.

Mickey put the camera down for a second and eyed Randy. Luckily, he knew exactly what to say, or rather, what not to say.

“We’re making a documentary. We’re following around a few students, and you’re one of them. Will you watch it when it comes out?”

“Of course,” You grinned. “Just... don’t follow me everywhere with that thing.”

And follow you, they did. 

The very next morning you opened your door to Mickey holding up the blocky piece of tech. He was grinning behind the lens, which forced you to do the same. But you made it a point to shove the camera away. 

This went on for weeks. Mickey would ambush you with his camera everywhere. Meaning that you two were spending more time together. It didn’t matter if you were in the cafeteria or spending the night with your friends. He always managed to film little tidbits of you. 

At first, you would push the camera away or hide your face behind a nearby pillow. 

Then you and Mickey started to hang alone together more often. You found yourself seeking out time with him. Mickey walked you to classes (still filming you with the camera but you didn’t push it away anymore; you just ignored it), he visited you at work and stopped by your dorm frequently. 

Eventually, he had the courage to trap you into a date. 

“Why are you covering my face, Mickey? I know where the cafeteria is...” You groaned, aimlessly walking forward.

“That’s not where we’re eating today.”

“You had no reason to make that sound threatening, Micks... You suck at surprises.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can open your eyes now.”

You opened your eyes to a sprawled out assortment of food on a picnic blanket. 

It was a typical picnic blanket sat under one of the largest trees on campus. It was wide and comfortable. Mickey thought to bring plenty of drinks too. The look on your face filled him with glee as you studied the setting in front of you.

Just last week both of you were talking about your favorite underrated scenes in a romance movie. His answer was the kissing scene in Titanic, but you argued that wasn’t underrated. Your answer was the picnic scene in Armageddon.

Mickey managed to make it come true. If it were sunset, it would have hit the nail on the head.

“Oh my...”

“Do you like it?” Mickey jumped into your line of vision, he looked hopeful. “You said you’ve never been to a picnic before when you mentioned Armageddon and... well that’s just a part of the American dream so I figured- ‘Hey, they shouldn’t miss out on something so fun and peaceful’ so... I made it happen.”

Mickey’s rambling had you smiling wide. Underneath that smooth exterior, he was a nervous wreck around you. 

“Thanks, Micks...”

The food was delicious. You guys talked amongst the meal and the conversation never stopped. Hours passed but you guys continued to laugh and talk. You were having the time of your life. Mickey brought your favorite fruits and snacks, but best of all, animal crackers. You held up the bag excitedly.

“Like from the movie!” You cheered. 

Mickey leaned forward to grab a cracker but you leaned back, smiling mischievously. You loved teasing him.

He furrowed his eyebrows and went to grab again but you leaned back even further. Mickey paused, chuckling, and you thought you won. You reached your hand in to grab a cracker yourself and instead, you felt his body collide into yours. 

You yelped in surprise and fell on your back. The Animal Crackers flew across the blanket and Mickey groaned in defeat. 

“Now look at what you did...” You laughed.

You guys were side-by-side laying on your backs, staring at each other. The blanket was soft. If you weren’t so giddy, you could have fallen asleep right there. Mickey’s body heat enhanced your comfort, the need to lean into him was excessive. 

You giggled at the man, biting the nail on your index finger. Mickey stared back at you, he looked pleased.

“What?”

He shrugged and continued to stare. You faced your head forward to look up at the branches of a tree above you. 

The shade kept you both cool from the sun. Rays of sunshine illuminated your skin, the eccentric shadow of leaves were printed on your face. A breeze flew by, causing your baby hairs to wave in the wind. Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes away.

“Baby-” You said, snapping him out of his trance- “Do you think it’s possible that anyone else in the world is doing this very same thing at this very same moment?”

You slowly turned your eyes back to Mickey, hoping he’d catch on. His toothy grin spread across his cheeks. He thought back to the movie line, hoping to get it right.

“I hope so...” He mumbled but you heard it perfectly. “Otherwise... What the hell are we trying to save?”

His face was an inch away from yours. You could feel his breath hitting your face. It was sweet. It smelled of the strawberries you shared moments before. 

A few strands of his hair hung in front of his eyes, separate from the rest of his slicked-back locks. His large brown eyes were looking at you sincerely. They were inviting you in. Mickey’s lips twitched upward as if he were tempted to make a move. 

But he didn’t.

You wanted to reach toward his face and pull him closer. You wanted to feel his lips meld into yours, allow the moment to overtake you. You wanted to feel his unshaven face press against yours and tickle your cheeks. You wanted to feel his hand wrap around your own. You wanted to feel him, to touch him.

But you didn’t.

Two weeks later Randy and Mickey announced their documentary was done. The finished product was ready to be viewed. You were invited to come to see it.

During those two weeks, you spent time wondering how you could finally make a move. You were sick of this. You wanted this to end and to have a new beginning. You were sure that Mickey had feelings for you. It had to be true. You needed a leap of faith. 

On the other hand, Mickey spent the same amount of time wondering where he was going wrong. Why couldn’t he pluck up the courage to kiss you? Making the first move always worked well for him. Why couldn’t he do it now? More than anything, he hoped that perhaps this documentary will give you an idea of his feelings. It had to. 

So here you were, nervously fiddling with a blocky device in your jacket pocket, avoiding the eyes of Mickey, who sat on a stool in front of Sidney’s TV. She opted that they show their documentary in her and Halley’s room of their sorority house. Surprisingly, they were the only ones with a good enough TV.

Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes off of you. It became a nervous habit. He wanted to know what you were thinking almost 24/7, he was beyond pissed that he wasn’t a telepath.

“Alright alright alright...” Randy strolled up to the screen. “Is everyone here? Does everyone have their snacks and their drinks? You all need to enjoy this to the fullest extent so snacks are a must.”

Everyone glanced at one another, drink and popcorn in hand. You glanced back to see Sidney all over her boyfriend Derek on the couch. You gave a half-grin, wishing that could be you and Mickey. Halley sat on the opposite end of the couch, happily munching on popcorn. 

“Well... without further ado-” Mickey began.

“Wait isn’t this a documentary? This better not be boring as hell...” Halley lifted her hand and we all nodded in agreement.

“Trust me, guys, this is good stuff. Probably our best yet,” Randy reassured us. “I’m going to play it now...”

We fell silent as Randy placed a tape inside of the VHS. He then turned out the lights as the intro began. Randy’s voice came through the TV.

“Love...” Tidbits of students on campus flashed across the screen. “What is love? ...And no, I don’t mean The Haddaway song.”

A few chuckles sounded around the room. Mickey held his glance on you still. 

“Falling in love is one of the most complex things a human can do... The psychology is even more complex. Certain chemicals are released that explain those butterflies in your stomach or why you get sweaty palms around your crush. Well, many scientists believe that humans are wired to fall in love...” Randy’s voice faded along with the screen. 

The sound of talking college students came through and the camera was poised onto Derek in the cafeteria. 

“What do you love about Sid, Derek?” Mickey said through the TV. 

The camera was far too close to Derek’s face, who looked insanely annoyed. 

“Bug off-”

“Just answer the question.”

Derek thought for a moment, then smiled, “Her smile and eyes. I can’t choose one. They just... go hand in hand. They’re gentle, kind, sweet... Like her.”

A chorus of ooh’s and aw’s rang throughout the room and we threw popcorn kernels at Derek. Both he and Sidney were blushing profusely.

The next clip was of Halley walking on the sidewalk. You could hear Mickey again. 

“Ms. Halley, please explain to us what you are doing right now.”

“I am going on a date, which I do not need you two dorks coming with me-” Halley shoved the camera away and the camera didn’t see her again. 

There were a few more scenes like this, the guys asking random couples on campus what they love about one another. 

You were never asked anything while you were filmed, so you were confused, to say that the least. What was your role during this? 

At times, you would lock eyes with Mickey. He looked frazzled but stared at you all the same. 

Randy posed another question to each of the couples, “How long does it take for someone to fall in love?” The screen was black as you heard the answers,

“Weeks-”

“Months, maybe six?”

“Years,” Someone said. 

And you appeared on the TV. 

It was when Mickey first filmed you. There was more than one clip of you, too, each a few seconds long. The first five contained you shying away from the camera but after that, you could see yourself growing more comfortable around him. You were never looking at the lens but always at the cameraman. 

The screen went black once more and another question was asked, “What’s your ideal love story?”

“Something like a Nicholas Sparks book. Tragic... yet romantic.”

“If we hated each other at first, but then we learned to love. The buildup is fantastic.”

“Childhood friends turned to lovers. Something about that constant pining has me reeling...”

You snapped your eyes towards Mickey. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You looked back at the screen to see yourself once more.

“Micks... come on and watch this movie-” You were sat on a couch with a bowl of popcorn. You shoved a handful into your mouth when suddenly you noticed the camera sitting in front of you, “You left your camera in here! ...Hey- are you filming me?” You lifted the device to your face and stuck out your tongue. 

You could hear Mickey chuckle in the background. 

Another clip played of Mickey and you sitting on the floor. It was a different day, you guys were laughing hysterically over something. You’ve never seen Mickey so happy.

More and more clips of questions and answers paired with you played. It was matched together perfectly. Realization dawned on you. Was this a confession from Mickey? 

Mickey’s sweet voice played once more. But this wasn’t for any of the couples. He was sat on the couch, asking you.

“Think about a cheesy but underrated romance, okay? What is your favorite romantic scene from that movie?” 

You were only a few inches away from him, head rested on your hand on the backboard of his bed. 

“I’ll go first, I think the kiss during Titanic is spectacular.”

“It’s good but it’s not underrated Micks.”

“Alright, then what’s your choice?”

“...Armageddon. The picnic scene. I’ve never been on a picnic so something like that just seems so... tranquil.”

“You’ve never been to a picnic?”

“Yep... is that weird?”

“Completely and utterly, (Y/n).”

You laughed loudly in the documentary. The next scene was of Mickey setting the camera up someplace. He looked nervous. When he stepped away from the camera, it was a perfect angle to film the picnic he set up for you. 

You knew the rest. The next couple of minutes showed your guys’ picnic together. Including the movie quote. 

The end of the film was nearing, and Mickey’s anxiety was through the roof. It was far from romantic but once his project stopped playing he was going to confess to you. He was going to confess in front of all of his friends, for you. Just a few minutes left and he was going to do it. 

And then you left. 

Mickey finished the quote from the movie and you left instantly. Mickey’s jaw dropped as he stared at his friends. They looked equally confused. 

“Go after them, dude!” Randy yelled. 

It took a while but eventually, Mickey found you. You were on the porch of the sorority house, leaning against the railing and staring at the sunset. There was a cool breeze and parts of your hair waved in the wind. You had your arms wrapped around your body, pulling your jacket close. Mickey could see the orange glow illuminating your face when he joined your side. 

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t look at him. His heart dropped. He messed up.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to-” 

You shushed him. He fell silent.

“Come here... close your eyes... Step up... No peeking”

“I’m not...”

You pulled on his arm and forced him to stand behind you. You guided him to stand on the lower bar of the railing with you, his body nearly wrapped around yours. He stumbled a bit but he followed your movement blindly. The lack of distance between you two had him trembling. 

“Just a sec...” You whispered and pulled a walkman out of your pocket. “I wanted to get this right...” You said and pressed play.

The instrumental of My Heart Will Go On began to play and Mickey barked out a laugh. 

“What in the world-”

“Put your hands on my waist, Micks,”  You grabbed his hands. “You can open your eyes now.”

Just like the movie, Mickey thought. 

“I realize we can just see more of the campus... not the ocean,” Your words were gentle. They came out like honey. “But I wanted you to see... how you make me feel like I can fly.”

Mickey stared at your adoringly. Your scent filled his nostrils and he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever. His hands ventured from your waist to lift them, like in the movie. Mickey leaned forward and whispered, “Come Josephine my flying machine going up she goes...” His hot breath tickled your ear and you could feel as he intertwined his hand with yours. “Going up...”

You turned to stare at him just as the music of your cassette player swelled. You hesitantly reached his face, and Mickey leaned in instinctively. Your hand comfortably rested on the back of his neck as his lips gently pressed against yours. 

They were hesitant, hot, gentle, almost hungry. His skin was a burning touch. Your hand melded against his skin, touching the curve of his jaw. Mickey’s fingers danced around your body, wanting to explore every crevice for the first time. Mickey had been unknowingly craving the touch of your skin and lips for so long, it felt like euphoria took control of his body.

He poured himself into you. You were willing to drown in his touch.

[shatterinseconds]

Beach

Julance ‘21 day 8

Lance just needs time to breathe. And he does so on the beach. White sand rests on top of his hands; his feet, only half buried, tingle from the last heat of the setting sun. His hair flutters in the salty breeze, brushing across his forehead.

He’s been on Earth exactly seventy-two hours now, after three years of virtually no contact with his family--just a message or two to them that he isn’t even sure the Garrison ever gave to his family. Lance never once thought of his family as too much or overbearing, and yet he’s been struggling to breathe for the last three days.     

The stares when they think Lance isn’t looking constantly grip onto his anxiety--it’s like they are just waiting for him to disappear again, almost daring him to. His niblings barely remember him. His brother Marco is engaged, the wedding set for sometime next year; yet the last thing Lance remembers is Marco swearing off dating after a few too many bad dates. Lance somehow forgot that even though he was gone, their lives continued on without him. He never realized how difficult it would be to fit back into his own family.

They don’t know him anymore, and he barely knows them.

Keith finds him easily, and he is a welcoming presence at least. Sitting down next to Lance, hand crawling under the sand where he hooks Lance’s pinky with his own, Keith remains silent. His gaze rests on the ocean, the horizon, the setting sun. 

Lance studies his profile. His black hair melds into the encroaching darkness, pieces that didn’t make it into his ponytail curling against his jaw. His nose is a little crooked from when it was broken in a fight about a year ago. They never got it to set properly, but Lance loves running his fingers over it when they lay in bed--no different to Keith always tracing his starburst scar on his back. They always gravitate to the parts of each other that shouldn’t exist but do because of war.

Lance sighs, starting the conversation. “Do they think I disappeared again?”

Finally, Keith’s gaze shifts onto Lance’s face. His dark eyes are soft, glimmering with gold from the sun’s rays. “No, I told them where you were.”

“That’s good,” Lance says calmly, nodding--he doesn’t want his mother gathering the neighbors for a search party or anything.

“I also told them not to go after you.”

Lance’s lips quirk a little at that. Keith went from practically staying in the shadows whenever he was around Lance’s large family to directly confronting them. That’s definitely love right there. “Mamá must have loved that.”

“She understands,” Keith says, now holding Lance’s hand fully. His thumb rubs across Lance’s knuckles, a soothing gesture that actually does work. His mind calms down slightly. “It’s just taking them a while to get used to everything.”

“But you think it’ll get better?” Lance has to ask. Honestly, there have been times throughout this weekend where he almost doubts that things will ever return to normal. Or not normal--nothing will ever be normal again--but become something that doesn’t make him constantly feel on edge all the time. 

“You love them and they love you. That hasn’t changed at all.” Keith says it so confidently and without hesitation that it almost catches Lance off guard. Because that is true.

Tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, Lance genuinely smiles. “Thanks, Keith.” He reaches up to pull Keith into a kiss. He hopes Keith doesn’t care that it’s salty and he also hopes Keith knows they’re more happy than sad tears. 

There was a time when Keith probably couldn’t comfort a paper bag if he tried, but Lance is so glad that’s not the case anymore--hasn’t been for a long time.

“You want to stay out and stargaze?” Keith asks when he draws back. Even in the fading light, Lance can tell that his lips are wet and that’s not just from saliva. 

“Yeah.” Lance eagerly nods, already flopping back onto the sand and dragging Keith with him. “We haven’t seen Earth constellations in a long time.”

They stay out on the beach until darkness engulfs them and the stars illuminate their bodies.

[sometimesiwrite]

In Your Arms, In Your Mind

Helloooo friends! ‘Tis I coming to you with ANOTHER collab with Erica @pressedinthepages. This time, we were inspired by Eskel’s face in this stunning work  by @journeythroughunknownlands. Thank you for this incredible piece!  Pairing: Eskel x gender-neutral reader

Summary: The trek to Kaer Morhen is a long one with few opportunities for lovers to indulge in one another. When opportunity presents itself in the warm safety of the long-awaited keep, things get spicy. When Eskel worries he’s indulged too much, you’re there to bring him back with gentle reassurance.

Warnings: Smut, related bruising, concern/comfort Check out MY MASTERLIST HERE Check out ERICA’S MASTERLIST HERE

Enjoy!

The golden sun of late afternoon—soon to be setting behind the peaks of the Blue Mountains—streams past the heavy curtains flanking the ancient window of Eskel’s room in Kaer Morhen. The keep is shrouded in a muted, patient silence awaiting the arrival of Eskel’s brothers and their traveling companions for the winter months. Distant sounds of masonry work suggest that Vesemir is diligently working on the near-lost cause of the outer wall. Eskel should be helping. Instead, he’s doing his fair share to contribute to the more immediate sounds of lovemaking that threaten to fill the entire dormitory wing if this keeps up.

It started innocently enough—a hot meal after the final trek up the mountain, then a hot bath while the fire warmed the chilly walls of the room. But your lips were especially luxurious against his, and hands soon found freshly-bathed skin far too enticing to leave un-appreciated. It had been a long journey, and with the cold weather only growing colder, it was no longer the season for starlit lovemaking. So when two lovers arrive at their destination, skin starved of hands and hands of skin, what else is there to do but make love with abandon?

Flecks of dust dance through the beams of sunlight as Eskel gasps up at you, hips rocking with sinful indulgence in rhythm with you, the glide of his girth a blessed, aching punishment for being the miracle that you are. You feel his fingers dimple the soft flesh of your hips and you know he’s relishing the give of you under his hands. You’re only about halfway to as good as it can be and he’s not stopping anytime soon. It’s been too long. Too long without the taste of you, the smell of you, the sight of you—and Gods if you aren’t the most beautiful thing. The sun has shifted, casting an oblique ray across your body, accentuating the graceful, rolling countryside of your torso as it shifts and flexes, guiding his movement within you.

You roll your hips just so and sound escapes Eskel’s body, cut off by another puff of air as his head falls back, barely able to wrap his head around the reality of you. On top of him. Feeling this good. He brings a hand ‘round the back of your neck and pulls you down, brushing his lips over yours as you surround him, and your breath is hot and wet on his face when you let out a moan and slow your rhythm with the new angle. Your bodies adjust as you continue to roll and glide, new sensations blooming to the surface of your walls.

“Gods,” Eskel breathes, wrapping his arms all the way around your back, pressing your bodies closer, determined to feel as much of you around as much of him as possible. “Ho-oh, how’re you so good to me.”

“Because you’re too good to me,” you whisper, and Eskel lets out a throaty groan as he thrusts up and forward, an edge of hungry desperation colouring his reverence. You let out a gasp and try to speak—fuck-shit-oh-gods it’s so good—but your breath is gone. You can barely locate any part of you in relation to anything else: not your hands, not your stomach, not your thoughts. The only thing you can place is Eskel, everywhere. In you, on you, under you. Hitting something deep and devastating as he grits his teeth, holding himself together as your lungs disintegrate and float away like paper confetti.

Even in this position of relative power, you are rendered completely at Eskel’s sweet mercy as he holds you tightly, feeling you completely, vulnerable and exposed to the relentless pleasure currently overwhelming you. But Eskel knows you’ve adjusted to him now. He can tell that there’s more depth for him to find, but it won’t happen from down here. So he slows a little and shifts so expertly, you can’t imagine how he managed it. But the room turns and now you’re below him. Looking up into his eyes as they shimmer with the sunlight still streaming through the window beside you. He’s breathing heavily, and his body is tight with concentration and the effort of control. He wants you, you can see it in his eyes and the way they darken again as he begins to press deeper.

You let out an indulgent whimper and he feels the strings holding him together begin to snap.

But he knows that taking you now for everything you can give him—with everything he has—won’t produce the earth-shattering results he’s been longing to hear tear from your body for the last two weeks. He redirects his impulses, intensifies everything he can and diffuses the rest, pressing, dragging, every muscle in his body refocused for endurance and precision rather than power and speed. 

You feel his hands start to tingle on your hips, and your skin calls to him, begging for everything he has, but he tries not to listen too carefully. His mouth, open and gasping, drags over every piece of you he can reach, breathing you into his lungs. His hips jerk as he loses the thread briefly, your breathless moan nearly enough to send him over the edge—and he's dangerously close. Eskel fits the slope of his nose right into the crook of your neck and he feels you start to finally, blissfully, completely meld with him.

His weight rests on top of you as he continues to roll, rippling across the surface of you as he glides effortlessly through your wet heat. Your gasps become more desperate, pulling high in your chest and he feels the texture of you change—now firmer, even deeper than you were just moments ago. He can smell your approaching orgasm and he lets out something guttural, half-growl, half-moan at the responsiveness of your body to his. He feels a shift inside him, too. 

Eskel’s pace increases as he chases your release with the search for his own and he's lost in you, wandering senselessly through the melted solder of his mind. He can’t find it in himself to worry. He holds tight, feeling the strands snap one after another, his ears aching to hear you shatter beneath him as he begins to thrust harder, faster, with wicked precision that sends a flare of heat down the backs of your arms as you feel the wave begin to crest

You arch into him, his chest pushing firm against yours as the world brightens and then—goes black. Everything falls away, leaving you raw and exposed to the man above you and you’re still so impossibly full with him, even as he threatens to fall apart himself. You keen and whine against Eskel’s neck and he clutches you tightly, one hand fisted in your hair, the other more than likely leaving bruises on your flank as he tries to bury himself under your skin—weeks spent together but not nearly close enough finally made up for.

The sounds of your approaching climax have Eskel fraying at the seams, desperately trying to hold himself together so that he can come with you—a shout into the crook of your shoulder as his thrusts turn erratic, and you feel yourself clench around him in a way you haven’t before, holding him tight as he buries deep and spills. And gods, you can feel the texture change in you as he drips, thick and warm along your walls and around him. 

Your breath comes in hot whispers against the pretty pink flush of Eskel’s neck, and when the world finally filters back into Eskel’s mind, and he is painfully aware of how tight he is still gripping you. He can feel the blood flowing under the pads of his fingers, under your soon-to-be bruised skin. You hum contentedly, but he doesn’t hear you. His heart in his throat as he swallows back the sick feeling of possibly having hurt you.

Eskel releases his grip almost immediately and scans your placid, dewy body as you pant and tremble beneath him. Panic starts to bubble in his chest. He swallows again. Your eyes are still closed, but he feels a little relief to see the hint of a smile tug at the corners of your mouth and eyes.

"Love? Talk to me, please."

You blink open one eye with a quirk of your brow, letting the smile pull your lips up. “Eskel, you just absolutely —” And then it hits you, the creases on his forehead, the tight forward slump of his shoulders, the emptiness of terror that so rarely decorates Eskel’s eyes. You reach up, smoothing your fingers down the harsh planes of his cheek, doing your best to chase away the darkness that dares threaten to pull him under.

"Did-did I…? Are you…?"

"Hushhh now," you coo, pressing a delicate finger to his lips and coaxing him back down to the pillow. "I made you a promise, didn't I? That I would tell you the minute I feel something I don’t want. And you know that I would never, not a single time, lie to you, yes?"

Eskel nods and moves a piece of hair away from your forehead, his voice husky and vulnerable in your ear, “I can’t shake the feeling that… you have bruises.” He rubs his fingers over the marks on your hip and you can feel his hands trying to take it all back, wipe them away.

“And have you ever considered, my darling,” you murmur, taking his hand away to kiss the calloused tips of his fingers, “that I might enjoy having your touch linger on me after we’ve pulled apart and the day has turned over again?”

Your witcher traces the purpling fingerprints on your hip again, his brow furrowed in thought. "You like these," he states—as much for himself as to confirm with you.

"Mmhmm," you nod and kiss his shoulder. "It reminds me of the passion we share, how close you hold me to you when everything falls away."

"I never thought of it that way..." he drifts off back into the foggy recesses of his mind and you know he's blaming a part of himself that only exists because the rest of the world has put it there.

“Eskel,” you press a kiss to his chest, pulling his molten gaze back to yours, “don‘t go there, stay with me. Keep me in your arms and your mind. I want you, all of you. As you are. And I want you to have me in return.”

"And you'll tell me if I—"

"Always. I promise, I will tell you if something is too much."

"Even if—"

"Even if one or both of us is getting close. Come on, lie down with me. Don't linger on unhelpful thoughts. I've told you I like it, and you know I love you. Let that be enough."

Eskel sighs, sinking back into the embrace of the blankets around him and your arms encircling him. “You’re always enough. More so. More than I think I deserve sometimes.”

“And?” You raise a brow, and you know that he knows that you hate when he talks like that.

“And,” he laughs, “you’re helping me see that I’m enough for you.”

You kiss his forehead, "Good. Now maybe one of these days I'll be able to convince you that you're so much more than I ever could have imagined finding in this lifetime."

"Hmmm this all sounds very advanced."

"Not at all, it's easy," you say, lazily tracing a finger through his soft dusting of chest hair. "You just have to take my word for it."

He breathes deeply and pulls you closer, falling back into the completeness of everything as he feels your pulse slow against his chest. The sweet smell of your sweat mingles with the leftovers of your arousal and the sharp musk of your releases. 

And just like that, he slips into meditation. Completely unintentionally. He doesn’t sleep—that would mean losing this feeling. Instead, he settles into it so deeply, it’s all there is. Just you. His place of power.

You feel the thrum of his chaos find its place under his skin, tingling and rumbling through his bones. It’s a foreign feeling, almost frightening, but it’s also warm and welcome, a part of your lover that you’ve never experienced this intensely, this intimately—the timelessness of him, the ancientness of his magic. You nestle impossibly close to him, holding him while he allows himself this rest, and allow yourself the same.

————————

@criminaly-supernatural @belalugosisdead @the-space-between-heartbeats @thirstyforred @iloveyouyen @enkelikauneus

[gallickingun]

the space between || b.k.

SUMMARY: It’s been a long time since Bokuto has had a Saturday morning off, and you plan to use it to your full advantage. 

PAIRING: Bokuto Koutarou x Fem!Reader RATINGS: T+ WARNINGS: mentions of nudity, emotional cuddles, etc. WORD COUNT: 4.2k+

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a cute, quick little fic about cuddling in the nude with Bokuto and here we are, four thousand words later. I hope you guys like it, my first Bo piece! 💕

The plush of the mattress jostles and you find yourself stirring from the realm of slumber, eyes still glued together with the sleep that fogs your mind. You are living in a haze, a mixture of your sleep deprivation and the boneless way your body lies within the sheets, joints and muscles aching from the tortuous pleasure you’ve been put through by the man you love most.

You want to stretch and open your eyes, to crack open your lids to find him sleeping next to you, a divot in the duvet where his hefty body has taken residence. But it is too difficult and too tiring to even think of putting forth effort at this point, your appendages practically creaking with the gentle movements you attempt to make. And so you settle for nosing yourself further into the down of your pillow instead, drinking in the warmth and the smell of his shampoo off the sheets.

“Sleepy head,” his voice is just a touch too loud for you to find enticing this early in the morning, despite how ravenous you were to hear it only a few hours prior, “s’time to get up, c’mon.”

You whine, screwing your eyes shut even further to the point where your vision throws speckles of fire against the backs of your lids. Every one of your muscles aches and you cannot force yourself to do anything other than lie there and take whatever verbal or physical assaults he chooses to instill upon you.

It starts with his palm, warm and expansive, running up your thighs. You clench the muscles as you feel his weight settle between your knees, his body still above the covers, your bare skin still hidden to him from the neck down. He chuckles and the baritone of it makes your spine shudder, your toes curling in anticipation, the build up before the burst.

With Bokuto, there is always a burst.

A gentle kiss is pressed to your navel, the bow of his lips finding the dip in your skin despite the barrier of a high thread count between the two of you. In response, you turn your head so your cheek is pressed into the pillow, embarrassment flooding your body in the form of a heated flush, singeing his fingertips as he roams your skin above the sheets. You’re too attuned to his ministrations, and everything that he does sends your body into a flurry of desire, as if your atoms were built to suffer until he brings a soothing balm of his own to you in the form of his fingerprints.

“Not ready yet, Bo,” you reach for him with one wavering hand, futile save for the fact that he longs for your skin nearly as much, if not more, than you long for his. Your thumb finds his bicep and it allows you enough of a guide to flatten your palm against the muscle, mapping out he curve along his deltoid, where you hook your middle finger to keep yourself steady, anchoring yourself to him like he was some sort of lifeboat, “Come back to bed.”

Your voice is slurred enough to make even the strongest of men weak, Bokuto thinks. The lilt each syllable carries, the way your eyes roll behind translucent lids, it’s all too much for his flimsy form. He can spike at what feels like one hundred miles per hour, but when he’s this close to you, his muscles atrophy and his heart stops beating.

You are a force to be reckoned with, and his heart always begs for just another whirlwind of you.

Bokuto is laughing again, this time nuzzling the apex of his face along your abdomen, counting out your ribs with the tip of his nose. It’s almost as if he’s making sure that you’re still all here, like he might have lost bits and pieces of you in the night. His breath is warm against your skin, adding to the heat the your body is accumulating from the promise of what is to come if you prove yourself tantalizing enough.

His hands pull the covers down to pool around your hips, gooseflesh pin-pricking your skin at the sudden change in temperature. Bokuto loves watching your body react, each inch of your seized up and stone cold, and he full-well intends to satiate your need for warmth. He kisses the bone of your right hip, nose trailing along the swell of your belly until he kisses the hollow of your navel, a gentle sound resonating in the soft space between your soul and his, “I’m right here, baby doll.”

You pout, forcing yourself to crack one eyelid open so you can half-glower down at him, even though the look has no malice or intent behind it. Bokuto pushes himself upward to snag your lower lip between the bite of his teeth, playfully nipping at the fullness of your skin. The closeness allows you the opportunity to slip your boneless arms around his neck, arching your back upward until your chests are flush with one another. You leech from his heat, begging to be enraptured by his body and stolen by his affections.

Bokuto’s body complies, his blood coursing scorching tendrils through his veins, making his skin sear against yours, a stark contrast to the coolness of your own. He appreciates you for a moment, eyes drinking you in, the way that your body pebbles beneath him, cool and compliant, awaiting his touch. He knows that he has you underneath his thumb, that he could have his way with you in any version of this that he wanted. He has your trust entirely, which is why when he leans down to kiss you square on the mouth, your frame molds to his own, and he is not sure where he ends and you begin.

The melding of your mouths has yet to cease his heartbeat from quickening, time after time. He does not grow weary of your tongue and gums beneath his own muscle, licking at the seam of your lips so he can devour you whole. You welcome him, of course, prying your teeth open so you can feel his heat extend to your own skin even further than before.

Your fingertips wind into his hair, tugging at the dark roots before you allow one palm to stray, trailing down over his shoulder. Bokuto is clad in a tank top, indicative of his morning workout, but it is thin enough that you can feel the corded muscle underneath the fabric, and you take full advantage of the diaphanous clothing to explore the range of his back and shoulders. The tactile difference between his shirt and his tresses forces you to focus on something, allowing you to keep your mind on this plane of existence rather than ascending to another. You moan when you feel the curve of his tongue prodding against your lips again, your knees trying to break free from the pinned position he has you in so you can bare yourself entirely to him.

Bokuto reaches upward to brush his knuckles along your jawline, abandoning your ribs for something closer to your heart. He is smirking against your mouth as he pulls away before he can become too enraptured in your taste and familiarity, “I’ve already had my morning jog and you’re still in bed, babe. I should punish you for being so lazy.”

Your backside throbs at the mention of punishment, still raw and angry from the memory of the long night that has hardly even passed, given the position of the sun outside the window. You feel the warmth of the rays trickling through the shades, golden light creating a tanned hue on Bokuto’s bare skin. You trace the thin beams that have formed shadows against his neck and shoulders, your fingertip finding his jugular and pressing down firmly to feel his pulse shudder under your touch.

The both of you flush with a lustful heat, your ears and nose changing color in tandem with one another. Bokuto can feel you trembling, knows that your mind has wandered to what his hands that are currently gentle and soft can truly do. He nudges his cheek against yours to feel the warmth of your embarrassment collecting there, the shade of your skin different now.

“You have the weekend off, no practice,” your hands flex against the back of his head and his shoulder, “and you seriously don’t want to just stay in bed? You’re always talking about how you don’t get enough sleep!”

Bokuto runs his hands over your torso, circling your waist with his expansive palms, sending a trail of blazing heat in his wake as he maps out the contours of your abdomen. He is laughing again, shaking his head so those silver tendrils fall in his face, obscuring you from his vision, “I guess you are pretty tired, huh? I wore you out last night.”

“Bo!” You reach up to smack his arm, gripping onto his bicep afterward. Your entire body sings with the remembrance of the way he folded you practically in half, his fingerprints ghosting against your skin now in the form of bruises, a tangible memory of his impressive brute strength.

He scrunches his nose as he grapples your forearm, circling his fingers around your wrist so he can pull your hand towards his face, kissing the innermost part of your arm as if he were planting a garden with the ministrations. His lips find your pulse point and he runs his nose along the grain of your arm, running the tip of it up to your wrist before he cracks his eyelids open to fixate onto you with that warm, golden gaze.

“What, did’ya already forget? Do you need a reminder?” Bokuto slips one palm underneath your thigh to grip the globe of your backside, squeezing the flesh harshly. It stings on impact, your hips canting forward to meet his with uncontrollable fervor. You have to bite down on your tongue to keep a moan from slipping between your teeth, the salacious feel of his hand against your ass doing little to quell the fire bubbling up within your belly.

“Koutarou, you little shit,” you’re growling out the syllables under your breath but he knows you have no follow-through, there will be no promise of anger or punishment. Another garbled set of words tries to flee from your tongue but you cannot focus on them because your mouth is otherwise occupied.

Bokuto hitches your leg upward, the sheet falling down from your knee so your thigh is now bared to him. He shivers at the sudden change in texture, from silken fabric to supple skin. It’s difficult for him to concentrate on your mouth when your leg is brushing against his hip in such a way that drives his mind mad. And yet, somehow he finds a way, silver lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks as he closes his eyes, narrowing his focus to the taste of your tongue and the curve of your gums. He is enraptured by you, nothing but a heap of broken bones begging to be pieced back together at the mercy of your hands.

And you oblige him, just as you always do. Your fingerprints are the key to his soul, pressing firmly against his skin and opening him like no other.

You search him, pulling out those groans of ecstasy and aborted thrusts as his hips stutter against your waistline. Bokuto’s mouth draws downward, creating a line of open-mouthed kisses that leave behind a damp trail, as if it were gasoline, clear and slick along your skin. You beg him for the match as you moan his name, your skin matching his in heat now that he has engulfed you like a flame, threatening to light your whole body to a raging fire if you let him linger long enough.

“Maybe you’re right,” he gasps against your jugular, practically wanton in nature as he hovers over your body.

Leaning back, Bokuto reaches for your leg, tugging your calf upward so your ankle rests against his shoulder. He angles his head so he can kiss the bone there, a thin layer of skin keeping your barest parts from him. He chuckles and the warmth of his laughter spreads through your limbs like a raging bonfire, searing just beneath the surface.

He turns so he can look you in the eyes, “Maybe I will come back to bed.”

The smile that graces your lips makes it all worth it.

Bokuto allows you to strip his torso of the offensive article of clothing, the fabric added to the pool of your clothes on the floor beside the bed. Your hands waste no time in mapping out his torso, pectorals and oblique muscles receiving extra dotes of attention. He nips at your collarbones, admonishing you from allowing him to continue to strip down so the both of you are evenly matched, full patches of skin on display so neither of you can hide from one another.

Even bare, his frame no longer hindered by bulky clothes, Bokuto still proves to be a massive man. Bulging muscles and thick bones that pave the way for his thick extremities and loitering weight. When his knees dip into the mattress, you find yourself rolling towards them, the slope of the bed changed with his added weight. You giggle as you try to hold yourself upright, eyes squinting shut when he reaches across the space between your bodies to grip your rib cage. His hold on you is gentle but firm, keeping you in place without bruising you.

The two of you settle into one another as if you’ve been doing this your whole lives, falling into a position that leaves the both of you comfortable and close. Your head is tucked beneath his neck, your chin on his collarbone as you lie still, his breath warm as it dithers into the crown of your hair, your mouth open as you breath against his throat. The tanned flesh sprouts goosebumps and you can’t help the laughter that piques your voice, your nose nuzzling his jugular as his apple bobs when he tries to breathe.

“C’mere,” he murmurs against your forehead, kissing you shortly after the word is spoken. Bokuto’s palm runs down your side, gentle as he hooks his three middle-most fingers around the curve of your thigh, “you feel so good, baby, so warm and soft.”

You roll your eyes and lean back to look up at him, “Just what every woman wants to hear, Bo, that I’m soft.”

“What the hell is wrong with that?!” Bokuto gently bumps his forehead into yours, successfully hitching your leg up over his thigh so your waists are now flush with one another. You hook your ankle around the backside of his thigh reluctantly, narrowing your line of sight until your irises are but slits hidden behind half-hooded lids.

He scoffs, “I swear, you find something wrong with everything I say, woman.”

There is no true frustration behind his words, but you tilt your head upward to kiss him anyways. Your affections usually bring about some form of amnesia, as Bokuto is too enticed by the taste of your tongue to remember you admonishing him only moments prior. His fingers press harder against the muscle of your leg, trailing down so he can trace the dip of your calf and ankle, like he might be mapping out your anatomy so he could memorize it for later.

“I’ve missed you,” you manage when you pull away from him, ducking your head so your forehead bumps his chin. Your whole face is coated in an embarrassed heat, eyes beginning to water at the memory of too many nights spent alone in this bed while he travels the world to play out his dreams on the court.

Bokuto can feel the shift in your demeanor, and he pulls you closer to him on instincts alone. Your chest presses into him and you swear your heartbeats are in time with one another, the slow rhythm like a song that plays for only each other to hear. His hands try to find any part of you that he can touch, your skin calling to him in the quiet of your bedroom, begging to be praised and flourished with affections. He pulls the sheet up to your waists, allowing you some form of privacy despite it only being the two of you who live in between these walls.

“I think about you every day,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, his voice an octave lower than usual. Your chest tightens at the sound of his downcast tone, and you know that those usually bright, amber eyes have lost their golden hue, turning a sad, sallow shade in favor of the standard color. Bokuto nudges his nose over your cheek, sporadic kisses pressed against your skin as he speaks, “I always go back to the hotel room, thinking you’re going to be there by some stupid accident. I look forward to your good morning texts and every time I get to call you, it’s like it’s just you and me, alone in the world. Does that make sense?”

You have tears streaming down your cheeks, but he was too wrapped up in his own range of emotions to notice. Once he recognizes the dampness plaguing his collarbones has nothing to do with his own natural sweat production, Bokuto is tilting your head up with a knuckle underneath your jaw, his thumb gently pinching your chin, “Hey, sweetheart, wh-did I say something wrong? I swear, I’m so fucking stupid with words, I just-”

His rambling musings are cut short by your lips surging forward, swallowing him whole with a simple gasping moan. You dig your nails into his body, sinking into whatever patch of skin is closest. You need this tactile comfort, to remind yourself to come down from this high that he has created by stringing together a few simple syllables.

“I love you,” your voice is haggard and slow, but it does not matter, not in this moment, “I love you, Bo.”

The palms of his hands sear into your shoulders as he runs the heels of them along the curve of your body. He rubs up and down, creating a friction that warns you that you might catch fire if he does not show you distance. You welcome the heat, welcome the burn, because the ache that it leaves behind when he is gone is so much more intense than if he were to keep you at bay. You look up at him, eyes wide and begging for some form of solace in his gaze, “And I’m proud of you, for doing this. Pursuing your dreams.”

“Nah, baby doll,” Bokuto pushes your hair from your face, fingertips lingering on your cheek, held there by some existential force that he cannot fathom, “you’re my dream, yeah? S’all you.”

He angles your head upward again, tilting his wrist as he cups your face, kissing you gently for what feels like hours on end. Your mind slips into a sort of haze, gentle colors passing behind your lids as he prods and tugs at your lips. You feel euphoric, champagne bubbles drifting upwards from your stomach, effervescent and unrelenting. He is a high you would dare to chase for the rest of your life, even if he sits just out of reach. You don’t mind getting drunk off of his love if it leaves you with this overwhelming sense of adoration that warms you from the inside out, leaving your fingertips buzzing with the promise of what is to come next always being better than what has come before.

“Volleyball isn’t forever,” he whispers like he does not want it to come true, but knows it must despite his reluctance, “but you? I’ve got you for life.”

You cannot help the tears that swim down your cheeks, creating glittering rivulets of saltine droplets, sticking into your hair and onto the pillowcase. Bokuto chuckles as he swipes at the sticky skin, brushing away any evidence of your emotions. You want to refute him, to tell him that he can make volleyball something he could do forever if he just worked hard enough. But you know that isn’t true – he is but a mortal, despite your thoughts otherwise, and mortals break, they wither into nothingness. He can not spike like a twenty-something year-old athlete forever, and even if he chooses to coach, it may never bring about the fulfillment that the sound of squeaking his sneakers on a court can.

Bokuto is gentle as he kisses you, a simmering heat spreading from your lips to your toes the longer he stays connected to you at the mouth. His hands fawn all over you, searching each dip and cord of muscle and bone and skin as he does so, mapping out your frame like he has not done this a dozen times and will not continue to do it for the rest of his days.

The hoarse phrase of, “I love you,” is whimpered into the spaces between your teeth, where your soul and his collide. Your heart rolls from within the cage of your ribs, knowing full-well that if it were possible, if you were to look hard enough there would be a bruised outline against your skin from where the organ were beating so quickly that it might look as if it were trying to escape.

As if sensing your thoughts, Bokuto’s hand against your cheek drifts downward, ghosting over your throat before resting against the left side of your chest. His thumb brushes along the swell of your breast, but you know the action is far from sensual in nature, the heel of his palm digging in just enough so he can feel the thumping of your heart underneath your skin and bones. He breathes in slowly as the organ thuds under his touch, taking you in moment by moment, unwilling to miss even the slightest movement or sound.

Your hands find his cheeks, holding his jaw gently in your hands as your lips volley back and forth, soft, audible smacking echoing from your mouths as you kiss. The way his thigh slides between your knees has you clenching around him, your own body trying to accommodate the sizable appendage as he slots himself closer to you.

Bokuto has always been desperate for your affections, from the beginning of your relationship to now, nothing has changed. He wants to be as close to you as possible, practically suffocating you with his proximity and even though you feel like you’re drowning within his hold, you would never come up for air again if it meant being with him. There is little space between you now, bodies melded together underneath the thin sheet, warmed by the golden rays of sunlight beaming through the window. You wonder how ethereal this must look – sunshine on your skin, golden hour in your hair. You two must be the picture of intimacy, wound together and unable to be separated, two bodies become one in the moment of heightened grace and poise.

“Bo,” you manage to breathe his name as he relinquishes your mouth in favor of your throat. Your hands latch onto his shoulders when he leans in closer, rolling his body upwards against you. The hard wall of muscle that ripples when he moves is enough to bring any woman to her knees, let alone one so weak for him such as you.

He lands a kiss to your collarbone before angling his head so he can look you in the eyes, “Yeah, babe?”

You don’t want the tears to fall, but you can’t help it with the way your eyes are watering and when you blink, a fresh set of salted pearly drops are dripping down onto his skin , “Will you hold me?”

Bokuto is wrapping you up into the tightest embrace you think you could handle before you can wheeze out your final syllable. You are warm all over, completely wracked in heat as he holds you closely, your head against his chest so you can count out his heartbeats until your own rhythm has settled. You curl your arms around his shoulders until your palms are flat against his contoured muscles, finding solace in the burning planes of skin there, his body heated from a mixture of lust and adoration that fuels his very being when he is closest to you.

“Of course, baby,” Bokuto is ever the sturdy one, keeping you sane despite your attempts to turn otherwise. He kisses the crown of your head as if he were planting a flower bed, gentle petal-like pecks along each lock of your hair. A light, airy string of laughter is huffed along your forehead, an open-mouthed kiss placed soon after, “I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

You believe him, because Bokuto has always been there to piece you back together when you want to fall apart, crumbling to the ground like shattered and tattered pieces of the person that you are. His strength is unparalleled, and you do not wish to search for anyone who might come close to him because not only would it be futile, but it would be a waste of your time.

After all, how could you ever find someone who so perfectly fits into the spaces between you like he does?

[goopyartiste]

Under the Sunset Sky

Prompt: Leo with Izuku for my 100 follower event!

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: intense fluff. that is all

A/N: this one was so much fun to write! it was nice to write a nervous and flustered izuku while also showing a really caring side to him hehe. since Leo season is near the end of summer and their main colors are orange and yellow, i tried to emphasize that. also, i may have put too much emphasize on the cheerful and warm hearted aspect but whatever. hope you all enjoy <3

Normally, many people would spend the last few weeks of the summer season with a bang, hoping to at least make a few crazy memories. You, on the other hand, preferred to spend it with your boyfriend, relaxing together as the last days of summer drew to a close. The weather had become temperamental, ranging from cooling breezes to excruciating heat waves, yet overall this season seemed the most predictable. At the park, the world seemed to be in a constant state of change. The leaves had started to lose some of their vibrant greens, replacing them with the softest oranges and yellows imaginable. With each speckling of colors, the memories from the summer passed you by. A cool breeze blew around you as you grew thankful for the light jacket you were wearing until suddenly you felt two warm arms wrap around your waist.

Warmth spread across your back, your boyfriend’s own body heat radiating from him. Izuku gently left a sweet peck on your cheek before placing his chin in the crook of your neck.

“Hey sunshine, how long were you waiting out here for me?” he calmly asked, though you could hear his voice shaking a little, still not used to showing affection publicly.

You breathe a sigh of relief at his actions, feeling a sense of relaxation wash over you thanks to the comfort his mere presence gives you. “Not long actually. I’ve just been lost in thought.”

“Ah! That’s good!” Izuku suddenly pulled away, somehow finding a mistake in his own words. “I meant that it’s good that you didn’t wait for me too long. But it’s also okay to be lost in thought! I mean I do it all the time!”

You cut his ramblings off with a slight giggle, turning around to face him. As you did, however, all you managed to do was entrance him with your beauty. While you attempted to stop your laughs, Izuku smiled as he fell more in love with every aspect of you, from the crinkle of your eyes when you smiled to the way your nose scrunches as you laugh. You never ceased to amaze him, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Izu? Do I have something on my face? You haven’t stopped looking at it.”

Izuku jumped slightly at the sound of your voice. Had he been staring? For how long? Slowly, you saw his face flare up with a crimson hue as he frantically began to wave his arms, almost as if to hide the fact that he’s embarrassed. You sent him a small smile, clearly finding his flustered antics endearing. Once he manages to calm down, you bring his scarred hand into yours, clasping them together tightly. He reciprocates while lovingly gazing into your eyes. 

Something catches your eyes in the far off distance. Standing up from your seat on the park bench, you begin to drag him to the outskirts of the park with Izuku letting out a small yelp at the sudden tugging and pulling.

“W-wait, Y/N? Where are we going?” He stutters out, trying to keep up with the rapid pace of your footsteps. 

You continue walking with a purpose, hurrying along the park’s many winding pathways. “You’ll see soon Izu. I think you’ll like this. Now hurry up you slowpoke we might miss it!”

The park’s concrete sidewalks slowly began to morph into millions of tiny sand granules, the lush trees and grass becoming scarce in favor of the wide open sea. Suddenly, Izuku realized what you wanted to show him so bad.

Staring up at the sky on the shore of the beach, the two of you were met with an entrancing sunset, one that melded the natural yellows and oranges of the sky in a spellbinding dance with each other, the blinding sun in the center of all the madness as colors and clouds circled around it.

Izuku breathed out a sigh, “It’s beautiful…”

“The perks of a late summer sky, I guess,” you responded, chuckling slightly at his mesmerized emerald eyes.

“Or it could be the new autumn sky. You know, since summer is ending and all.”

You looked once again at your boyfriend, trying to memorize every single detail of his face, staring into his eyes. He felt your lingering gaze and slowly turned his whole body to face you, grabbing your other hand. You watched him as he drew in a shaky breath, closing his eyes before showing off a small strained smile as he looked anywhere but your eyes.

“Um, Y-Y/N? The sky may be r-really pretty, but I think y-you’re prettier,” he stuttered out, the freckles on his cheeks almost disappearing from how red his face was becoming.

Despite Izuku’s nervous demeanor and his flushed face, he never ceased to make butterflies explode in the pit of your stomach. Letting out another soft chuckle, as you had done all afternoon, you tenderly guided his hands to hold your face as you lovingly gazed into his emerald eyes. Whenever he runs his thumb along the backside of your hands or holds your face gently with every ounce of love he has, all you can do is reciprocate with just as much love.

A soft breeze blew in, bringing the chilling air of autumn from the expansive ocean in front of you two. The rays from the sun caressed every inch of Izuku’s face, dousing every feature in a warm orange glow. His juniper hair was slightly ruffled, but his eyes shone with such an intense drive. At your touch, he felt more relaxed, more at ease with himself. To you, however, he looked more handsome like this, in the moments where it was just the two of you together, relishing in each other’s tender embraces. With a tender peck on his lips, you continued your walk along the shoreline with a flustered Izuku in tow, hand in his as the sea breeze blew around your figures.

The summer season may be drawing to a close, but the two lovebirds couldn’t care less as long as they were together.

Taglist (Open!)

@peach-pops @kirislut @deephasoceanmagic @katsushimaa @hannahalanib1 @estridries @art0saurus @yee-harr @shoutamajiki @spookykiri @animatedarchives @meliorist-midoriya @sugas-sweetheart @suggiebabe @justamultifandomfan16 @ohno-grapes

[aca-oblivious]

When I’m Gone

Merry Pitchmas to @bechloeislegit from your Secret Santa! Thanks so much for the prompt. I haven’t written in a while, so I hope you like this. Sorry for it being a bit late. I blame my California-ness and us being one of the last ones to celebrate Christmas in the world.

AO3 Link

Prompt: On my Pitchmas list this year, I’d like something slightly angsty with a happy ending. Something like Beca and Chloe met when they were young and became friends. Years later they meet up again; Beca has not forgotten her “first friend” but Chloe needs some help remembering (or vice versa; your choice). Do with it what you will

~~~~~~~~~

Beca stood there, absentmindedly playing with the lapel of her blazer staring at the red haired girl across the room. She had tried to get her attention by casually glancing every five seconds in her direction. So far, she had no luck. There was always someone or something in the way. 

It wasn’t a big deal. It’s only been ten years that she’s been waiting to reunite with her childhood friend. They were eight years old the last time they had seen each other. Beca Mitchell a small scrappy little nobody of a girl who had somehow made friends with the most popular girl in school. She couldn’t forget the way she’d try her best to keep herself hidden away in the darkest corners of their small little school only to meet the ray of sunshine that was Chloe Beale moments later. Her crystal blue eyes. Her flaming red hair. Her hundred watt smile. All there for Beca. She truly did not deserve her. But she kept finding Beca every day she needed her until she could not be found anymore.

Now Beca was back. How foolish it was for her to think that Chloe would sense her presence and magically find her again. She probably was glad to be rid of Beca. Chloe was Beca’s first friend after all because Beca refused to have any others. She knew what trusting people brought her. Pain and heartache. Like her dad, who she adored, until he left her and her mom to raise another family. Her parents who cared more about fighting each other than caring for their crumbling daughter who could only watch as her family fell apart.

It was Chloe who comforted Beca during those times. Who found her hidden in the tower at the top of the playground’s tallest slide sobbing. Or under the school bleachers fighting the urge to hurt herself.

And now here delusional Beca thinking ten years later she would just be waiting there for her. Returning to the shell of her once beloved small town. A guest of her father in her last desperate attempt to secure funds to get to LA and become the famous DJ was destined to be.

She sighed and stared at her drink. A once piping cup of apple cider was now a pathetic shadow of a drink that now was just glorified apple juice. She needed a new drink. Let’s start there.

She weaved through the crowds to head towards the beverage station to freshen her cup. In her rush to try to avoid as many human bodies as possible, she slammed directly into someone just a foot away from her destination. “Shit, I’m sorry…” she grumbled. She didn’t need this. Can she just disappear already? Maybe she should leave the party all together. She looked up and was met with those same crystal blue eyes that she had spent so many night thinking about.

“Hey,” Chloe beamed back. Beca felt her nerves seize all her motor functions as the anxiety gripped her. She knew. Didn’t she? That was her Chloe. Saying hi. Say something.

 “Totes okay,” the redhead’s eyes broke from hers and began to scan beyond her.

“CHLOE!!” 

Beca had opened her mouth to say something and an entirely different voice shouted back. A blonde haired woman was waving across the room.

“AUBREY!!” She heard Chloe squeal back. And then she was gone. Swallowed up by another group of friends. None of which were Beca. This time accompanied by two men getting awfully close the blonde and redhead.

The brunette’s face twisted. Beca was speechless. What had just happened?

There were so many things she wanted to tell Chloe. That was her chance and she blew it.

Fuck. 

She didn’t remember her either. This was a stupid idea. 

Fuck.

Nice going, Mitchell.

She steeled herself up and threw her drink away. 

Fuck this. 

She needed some air. Maybe her dad wouldn't notice if she snuck away and walked home. In the snow. Miles away from anywhere she even remotely knew as familiar. 

FUCK.

The room was suffocating her. It was hard enough being back in Barden in general, but familiarity of the banquet hall brought back a flood of memories. Crying as a little girl alone under a tablet after her parents fought the whole way to the party. The ever curious Chloe Beale investigating the noises coming from underneath the table cloth. Catching her dad a few years later cheating on her mom with his graduate student teaching assistant. Her mom had crumpled at the revelation. Chloe holding onto her tight as the world she knew disappeared right before her eyes. And now, even the sweetest memories, were tainted with regret. 

There was a fire pit outside. A young couple vacated their seats as snow began to gently fall upon them. Beca hugged her coat tighter to herself and took an empty chair. She hugged her knees close to herself and let her feet peek over the edge of her seat. For a moment, all she did was watch as the snowflakes disappeared into the flames. Each followed by a tiny crackle as they poofed out of existence. She envied them.

It’s okay, she told herself. I can disappear in LA. I’ll find my place. If only through my music.

Any hope she had left of anyone else caring for her died when Chloe looked past her. It had been ten years. Of course, Chloe had new friends. Chloe had a new life. It was Beca who squandered her moments away. She pushed everyone who ever got close to her ever since away because her heart could not take anymore loss. She’ll be okay. Nothing new here. 

She breathed in and let the pain consume her, but fought to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. She would not break down. Not here. These people didn’t deserve to see that part of her. The loneliness was the other thing she could count on at this moment. She needed to find comfort in that and hold herself together.

“I got my ticket for the long way ‘round…'' she sang softly to herself. Her eyes were focused intensely on the flames that danced in the pit before her.

“Two bottle o’ whiskey for the way,” she let her arms fall lower until she hugged her ankles. She leaned the side of her head against one of her knees. “And I sure would like some sweet company. And I’m leaving tomorrow, what do you say?” 

She imagined a twelve year old Chloe smiling down at Beca. Her arms around the brunette as she sobbed softly to herself. “I’d go anywhere with you, Beca. Promise.”

She felt the heat behind her eyelids grow strongrer. This was the song they sang together. Before she left. To remember her by. To help her from feeling lonely.

“When I’m gone…” she breathed in again. “When I’m gooonnnee,” she prolonged the last word. Sorrow dipping with each note. 

“You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.” 

She shook her head.. Did she even notice she was gone? Why would she? You’re insignificant, Beca. Disappear. Push her away. Like anyone who gets close. You don’t want to feel this pain again.

No one will ever miss you. Your dad is proof of that. Chloe is proof of that. No one cares that you were gone.

“You're gonna miss me by my hair…”

Chloe’s red curls bouncing on her shoulders as she ran to hug Beca like she always did when she saw her. She will never smile at you again.

“You're gonna miss me everywhere…”

A new town. A new school. Not a familiar face. Yet the ghost of feeling. Peering around each corner hoping to have a glimpse of her favorite redhead to save her from herself. The only person who knew how to soothe the constant ache in her heart.

“Oh, you’re sure gonna miss me when I'm gone.”

If only.

“When I’m gone…” she choked back this time as she tried to hold her emotions at bay. A single tear escaped while it had a chance. She quickly wiped away the evidence.

Don’t feel it. 

“When I’m gone…” she let the note ride her roller coaster with her. She took a deeper breath this time, ready to release her sorrow into each following note.

“You're gonna miss me when I'm gone,” her eyes widened as a voice sang softly in unison behind her. Their eyes met. Chloe’s eyes softened as she half smiled back at Beca. There was a pause as they stared at each other.

The blood rushed to Beca’s face. All she could was the thumping of her heart in a moment that dragged into eternity. Chloe raised her eyebrows and nodded encouraging her to continue.

“You're gonna miss me by my walk. You're gonna miss me by my talk,” she sang as Chloe accompanied her. “You're gonna miss me when I'm gone.”

They smiled at each other. There was a pause as they reveled at how perfectly their voices melded together once more.

Chloe was the first to speak. She sat next to Beca, curling up her knees under the dress she wore. Beca continued to push Converse shoes up against the edge of her seat, scraping the sole back and forth out of habit, choosing instead to focus her actual attention on the woman in front of her.

“I love that song…” Chloe smiled. Her eyes watching the flow of the flames this time. “I used to sing it with my best friend.”

Beca stopped fidgeting then. Her breath began to go shallow. 

Did she… remember…?

If Chloe noticed Beca’s change in behavior, she didn’t acknowledge it. Her eyes squinted as she began recalling distant memories. “My mom used to sing it to me before… Before… she passed away,” she swallowed hard. “It was our song. I used to wish…” she paused, searching for the right words to explain the old broken pieces of her heart. She shook her head. There were no words to explain it. She moved on.

“I found her,” she began. “My best friend, not my mom,” she giggled to herself, realizing the sudden change in subjects. “She was crying one day… At a party… kind of like this one,” she looked around, her eyes tracing the twinkling lights lined along the roof of the banquet hall next to them. The various garlands wrapping around each pillar standing alongside the entrance. “Her parents used to fight all the time. It was the first one they had and she was so afraid. She was afraid of losing either of them.”

She began to recall the first night. A younger dark haired girl sniffling in the corner. “I don’t know…” the little girl began, crying on her best friend's shoulder. “I don’t want to choose… Where am I supposed to go?” 

“So we’d sing that song together. Like my mom and I used to. To remind us, that no matter what happened. A piece of us would always follow them.”

“You… remember that?”

“Yeah… of course I do,” the redhead scoffed, staring back at Beca in disbelief. “You’re a hard one to find Beca Mitchell.” She smiled and nodded towards her.

“You… remember me.. ?”

“Of course I do! You may be able to hide from everyone else, but I always find you eventually. The moment I looked into your eyes, I knew it was you. You’re Beca Mitchell. It’s been… years…”

Beca didn’t know what to say. She thought back to how Chloe had left her to join the blonde and the two men inside.

“My friend flagged me down and the moment I turned back you were gone,” Chloe explained as if she were reading her mind. “”I thought you might have run away out here. It’s very Beca-ish.”

“I spent most of my life hiding. And yet, you’d always find me… Until I left…” Beca’s eyes were distant as she recalled the day she moved away with her mom. She didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. “I just thought you forgot about me. Like everyone else. I’m… forgettable...” 

“You’re anything but forgettable.” Chloe paused then, her eyebrows knit together in concern. “I guess, I’m the opposite,” she shrugged. For a moment, Chloe’s light began to flicker. She tried to keep it burning strong, but Beca noticed her sunny exterior fade for the smallest millisecond. “I never heard from you after that night. What happened, Beca?” It was Chloe’s turn find the hem of her dress to be the most interesting creation in the world.

“I didn’t know what to say. My dad left us… For that graduate student…And my mom… She couldn’t stay here anymore. She was broken for a long time, Chlo. Before we knew it I had my life packed up. I could barely function.” Beca thought back to a hollowed out younger version of herself. The little girl drained of all emotion to stay strong for her mother. “It was too late then. I couldn’t go back. Not even for you.”

Beca felt warm arms wrap around her then. Chloe had stood up and knelt in front of her. The dam she tried to shore up began to crumble then as she sobbed into Chloe’s shoulder, just like she did so many years ago. 

“It’s okay, Beca… I know… shhh…” she kissed the top of the other girl’s head. Her hands rubbed her arms to soothe her. “I kind of figured it out when I heard your dad had married Sheila. I tried to find out where you went but no one knew where you two had gone.”

Both women were quiet then as they recalled the last moments they had together in their youth. Chloe didn’t have the words to admit the days she spent searching for Beca. How she expected the brunette to magically appear at her house to pour out her heart once again. How it took her a long time to return back to normal, or close to normal, but never finding anyone like Beca again.

Beca thought back to the days shortly after leaving Barden. Writing letters and throwing away letters to her best friend. Wondering if it would ever matter. Maybe Chloe was better off without her too. But oh, did it feel right to be in her arms again.

“So… does this mean you’re back… or…?” Chloe leaned back to look at Beca. She chewed on her bottom lip nervously as she waited for an answer.

“I… don’t know…” Beca swallowed. She thought about her father’s proposal about college again. “My dad has been pestering me about college.” She rolled her eyes and sniffed, wiping the tip of her nose with the back of her hand. 

Chloe giggled. She missed Beca’s I-don’t-care-but-I-really-do facade. God, did she miss her. “Well… I do go to Barden University… So I can give you a tour if you’re staying for a while.”

“Yeah?” Beca half smiled back at her old best friend.

“Yeah…” Chloe beamed back at her. “And we totally have this awesome aca-pella group you HAVE to audition for.”

Beca cringed and bit her tongue between her front teeth. “Seriously? You do that shit… for fun? Maybe I’ll just go back into hiding...”

Chloe frowned then and Beca’s heart dropped. Shit. “I mean…” she started to back track.

Chloe tilted her head knowingly towards Beca. “Seriously, Mitchell. You can hide, but I’ll find you when you least expect it,” she winked back.

Beca smiled. Genuinely smiled. Maybe things will be okay after all.

[summersubin]

hot boy

- yeonjun x reader

- 1.4k

- you take your boyfriend yeonjun on a trip to the beach for the afternoon, and he’s as sweet as the melted red popsicle stained on his lips.

- a/n: hey~~ this is my first time writing something this long on here, and i put a lot of effort into it so please don’t hesitate to give me feedback! thank you for reading~ enjoy! (i listened to saltwater - geowulf while writing this)

~

you sat on a bench in the sand alongside the white cement sidewalk, hand resting by your leg. yeonjun’s hand lay on the wood beside him as well, only a few centimeters away. you watched as the beach breeze gently blew through his hair, carrying with it the subtle taste of salt. your bare feet touched the cool sand under the shade of a nearby tree, and you swung them, enjoying the feeling. the wind was being gentle for now, but you were afraid that at any moment it would sweep up grains of sand along with it, hurling them against the skin of your legs. yeonjun, on the other hand, looked carefree. he faced the wind with a sweet smile on his face.

the smile was content, much more subdued than the one that had blossomed on his face when you suggested a trip to the beach together. he looked truly radiant, skin practically begging to be kissed by the sun’s rays. he wore only a tight fitted white tank and swim trunks, and idly you thought that maybe you should have pestered him more about applying sunscreen with how much of his skin was showing.

holes in the shelter of the tree branches cast spots of sunlight on your little bench, constantly swaying with the wind. the patches of sun felt warm on your skin. distant shouting and laughter, birds squawking over food scraps, and the sound of the waves lapping against the shore created a nice chorus of noise in the air.

you reached out to grab yeonjun’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his on the wood. he turned his head and met your gaze, a sparkle in his eyes. gripping your hand, he suddenly stood, giving a tug on your arm to follow. 

you stood, letting out a “what-” before yeonjun cut you off. “come on,” was all he said, excitedly pulling you along. the two of you walked leisurely down the sidewalk for a ways, the hot cement burning the bottoms of your bare feet. you took quick, light steps, and laughed when you looked up to see yeonjun wincing slightly. shoving his shoulder lightly, you giggled, “dork, i told you we should have brought our shoes from the car!”

“it’s the beach,” was all he said, weakly, with an embarrassed smile ghosting the corner of his mouth. “i’d say we should walk on the sand, but it’s probably hotter,” you said warily, eyeing the innocent looking white sand. 

yeonjun only responded by swinging your intertwined hands between your bodies, squeezing tighter for a brief moment. then he turned his head and watched you until you felt the inclination to look back.

he nodded to the pavillion building drawing nearer as you walked. “want some ice cream?” he asked, a smile on his lips. “yes!” you squealed. “me too,” he responded cutely, reaching in his pocket to make sure his money was still there.

later, the two of you emerged from the building armed with strawberry popsicles. yeonjun was itching to feel the water, so you walked toward the shore leisurely. the popsicles had already begun to melt and run under the sun’s heat, so eating them proved to be a hurried task. you watched in amusement as his lips were gradually painted a sweet, strawberry red. you stared at the sight conspicuously, something fluttering inside you when he licked them, tasting the sweetness staining his lips. 

before you knew it, you hit the water, sighing in relief as you felt it cool the bottoms of your feet from the hot walk. the strawberry taste was sweet on your tongue, sand massaging between your toes as you continued down the shore with yeonjun’s hand clasped in yours. he hummed contentedly, finishing his popsicle, running his tongue along the wooden stick. you pretended not to notice, blaming the warm flush of your skin on the burning sun.

“the water feels nice,” is all you said, quickly finishing your popsicle as well. 

“want me to push you in?” yeonjun challenged, a glint in his eyes. he nudged his body into yours playfully, making you stumble. “you can try, but then it’s war,” you replied, voice flat and unbothered. he chuckled, placing his popsicle stick between his back teeth to chew on. “here, take mine,” you said, handing yours to him. he looked up at you with an eyebrow quirked, cheek bulging with the stick. cute, you thought.

“you want me to put yours in my mouth?” he asked incredulously, the stick in his mouth giving him a cute lisp. you nearly doubled over with laughter, halting your steps. he stopped a step ahead, still looking confused.

“you have pockets, dork,” you exclaimed, gesturing toward his swim trunks. he glanced down, breathing out a laugh and taking your stick between his fingers. he pulled his out of his mouth as well, sticking them into the deep pocket.

“hey, i mean…” he started, biting his reddened lip gently between his teeth. “not that i wouldn’t…” you let go of his hand then, and he turned his head toward you, a gentle smile growing on his face when he felt your hand wrap around his waist and pull him closer as you walked. he mirrored your actions, thumb gently rubbing at your side. the smile lingered on his face for many following moments.

the cool sea water sloshed and splashed under your feet, and you admired the few beautiful seashells perched in the sand that your eyes happened to fall upon as you passed. “hey, thanks for this,” yeonjun said suddenly. he looked at you then. “i really love it here,” he continued, gaze travelling over the horizon of the ocean and the hectic beach before landing back on you. you hummed. “i know,” you said, recalling the times he had mentioned how badly he wanted to visit sometime. “i’m glad we came, too.” you murmured.

eventually, you had had enough walking and the two of you agreed to head back to his car. you’d have to come back another day to actually get in the water, but as of now it was still too cold to swim in, and the summer was young.

you pranced funnily on the hot sand once again. the water of the ocean made the sand cake onto your feet, but it did little to protect you against the scalding ground. yeonjun walked at a slower pace, but said nothing, discomfort plain on his face.

“i really hate you for making me leave my shoes in the car,” you muttered through gritted teeth. he laughed, “i didn’t make you do anything.”

the sand ended, and soon enough you arrived safely at his car, sandals blissfully deposited on your feet after digging them out of the front passenger seat and slamming the door shut. yeonjun stood in front of you, a hand on the hood, looking at you like the most content man in the world.

you took a moment to admire him, noticing the perfect sun-kissed glow the afternoon had given him. he had a sun-induced flush to his cheeks, and you realized then that you could stare at him all day in his tight white tank, arms and shoulders fully exposed to the air. noticing your stare, he bit his lower lip, straightening himself against the car slightly. you watched his mouth, taking a breath in at the sight of the gentle pink color still staining his lips, wondering if he still tasted of sweet and sticky strawberries.

you stepped closer, and his eyes immediately flickered up to yours. you reached a hand up to his chest and glided it up over his shoulder, and further up his neck. his gaze burned into you, his skin hot to the touch from the sun. you pulled him to you, meeting his lips with yours. the breeze picked up for a moment, sand granules pelting your legs like needles, but you were too distracted at the moment to be too bothered. his lips melded perfectly into yours, warm and sweet. fingertips traced on your waist, and then hands wrapped around it, pulling you closer.

his lips, slightly chapped, tasted of sugar and yeonjun, and he turned his head to kiss you harder, deeper. you sighed into his mouth, reaching your hands up into the hair on the back of his head. you stood there, pushing and pulling back from each other, birds calling on the distant beach, the wind kissing your faces. 

when you pulled away, you smiled, and he smiled back against your lips. “hot boy,” you whispered. his eyes gleamed, and he pulled away a bit further. “yeah,” he started to say, breathless, “i think i may have gotten a bit sunburnt.”

[vannahfanfics]

Off the Beaten Path

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Momo Yaoyorozu, Yosetsu Awase

I was going to work on other request stuff, but I was reaaaally feeling Momo x Awase lately and because of finals I wasn’t able to participate in @bnhabookclub‘s Provisional License Exam event, so… Even though it’s a little late, here’s a MomoWase story for the prompt “You’re really pretty”!

Momo’s vertebrae decompressed with a series of satisfying pops as she stretched her hands over her head and slowly bent back into a forty-five-degree angle. With a contented hum, she held the position for several seconds to ensure her lower back muscles were stretched properly before straightening back up and dropping her arms back to her sides. She did some leg stretches, priming her femoral and tibular muscles for exercise, before standing and planting her hands on her hips to admire the lovely Saturday morning. It was about nine-thirty, pleasantly warm with a consistent cooling breeze, and plenty of cloud cover to protect her from the worst of the burning sun. The birds were chirping. Car engines hummed in the distance. The air smelled sweetly of the various floral fragrances spilling out from the dormitory’s landscaping.

Really, could she have asked for a better morning to go jogging?

She ensured that her laces were tied properly before hopping down the steps of the porch, hitting the concrete pathway in a medium-paced jog. Her arms pumped at her sides as her legs kicked back in series, and she kept her breathing in a steady rhythm to ensure maximum stamina. She was determined to break her mile record today- under nine minutes. Momo wasn’t the most agile or athletic of the students in her class, but she could still attain her little victories here and there. I can do it!

There was a walking track not far from the dormitory that was always open to students and instructors. Momo jogged there in no time at all, and once she trotted through the open gate and greeted the security guard who moderated the comings and goings, she paused to take a swig of water. She took out her phone to ready her timer and then secured it to the plastic holder at her waist. The jaunt there had warmed up her body nicely, so she was feeling quite good when she walked down to the walking track proper. The spongey synthetic rubber-like material bowed slightly under her steps. U.A. spared no expense in any aspect of their campus, so Momo didn’t doubt that the material was of the highest quality and scientifically designed the erase almost all impact damage to the joints. She made a mental note to do some research into its chemical composition; one never knew when the material could come in handy.

“Right then! Nine minutes or less!” she crowed and started her timer, then took off down the track.

Most people preferred to listen to music while running, but not Momo. There was something cathartic to her about the natural world. The walking track doubled as a small nature park, landscaped professionally with shady hardwoods and flowering bushes. Momo usually ran at this time because the animal activity peaked mid-morning; the tree boughs were alive with dozens of birdsongs, melding together in one harmonious concerto. Bumblebees bobbled alongside the path, flying from one flower to the next to gather the succulent nectar. They were joined by a colorful assortment of butterflies, which elegantly flitted along with not much care of their rounder, fatter cousins. The park had a healthy population of squirrels, as well, which would scramble down from the trees to feast on discarded acorns only to fling themselves back up the trunks when Momo came jogging along. They would peer at her with beady black eyes from the boughs and would only descend back to their nutty buffet once she was rounding the corner of the track ahead.

A third of a way into the mile Momo checked her timer. Two minutes and thirty seconds! I’m making great time! She thought jovially and replaced the phone to its holster. She swept the back of her hand across her forehead to flick away the beads of sweat that were accumulating there. A few of her fluffy black strands had fallen out of her bun; she always had possessed impossibly thick hair, and it seemed like it absorbed all the heat from the atmosphere when she was exercising. Just as she was sucking a little more water from her sports bottle, she spotted someone curled up off to the side of the track a few yards ahead. Oh no! Maybe they’re injured! She thought worriedly and sped up her pace a little.

“Hello? Can I help you?” she called out to them. They were seated on the other side of a park bench so she could not see their features very well, but she thought she spied a familiar patterned headband and spiky black hair.

“Yaoyorozu?” Sure enough, that was him.

“Awase!” She stuttered to a halt past the bench to find him smiling tersely and clutching at his ankle. He had his sneaker off and sock pulled down, and she hissed at the gnarly swelling that had enveloped the joint. “What happened?” she asked and crouched down in front of him.

“Well,” he said with a sheepish smile, “I kinda surprised a sleeping raccoon and she didn’t much appreciate it.” Momo blinked in confusion. A raccoon would be sleeping well off the path; what reason did he have to go tromping off into the underbrush? When she asked him, his face took on a carnation-pink hue and he mumbled, “I, uh, kinda had to take a leak, Yaoyorozu…” In turn, her face blazed with a rosy blush and she nodded excessively in understanding.

“Oh! Right! Of course!”

“A-anyway, while I was scramblin’ to get away from her, I tripped over the tree roots and twisted it tryin’ to catch myself.” Momo frowned as she situated herself on her knees, tapping her thighs to indicate for him to prop his foot on the pillowy surface. He leaned back on his hands and grunted before hefting up his leg. A string of curse words flew from his mouth as he quickly shifted his foot from the ground onto her lap. His shoulders sagged after the pain stopped streaming through his nerves and he stared at the swollen joint through lidded eyes. “Man, this is a pain. I look so uncool,” he muttered, almost to himself. Momo gave him a bright smile and shook her head.

“These things happen! Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He flushed again and looked away with a small pout, making her wonder if he didn’t intend to utter it aloud. That’s irrelevant. His ankle is terribly swollen. I hope he hasn’t torn a ligament or even broken anything! She thought worriedly. She had taken a few first-aid lessons from Recovery Girl for use in rescue training and missions, so with a few manipulations she would be able to get a clearer picture of what damage he had done. Only an x-ray and MRI would conclusively diagnose any injury, but it would be better for Momo to have a general idea so she could determine how she should proceed with moving him. “Awase, I’m going to manipulate your ankle to see what you could have damaged. I’ll be as gentle as I can, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, do whatever you gotta do,” he grumbled, but glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes. Leaning down, she gently began prodding various places in his foot. She started on the top of his foot to see if he had damaged the tendons there.

“That hurt?”

“No.” She shifted to the lateral side of his foot, starting near the toes. “That doesn’t hurt eit- Shit! Shit! Ow!” He began to cry out once she began palpating the area near his ankle. There was both a tendon and some nerve endings there, so it could be that he either stretched the ligament or the nerves were reacting to the swelling. Still, it gave her a better picture of where the injury could be.

“Sorry, Awase.”

“S’Fine,” he huffed. His face had taken on a slight flush and sweat was dampening the bottom of his headband. He must be in a lot of pain…

“Do you know how it rolled?”

“Um… I think it rolled inward,” he answered uncertainly. Momo tutted and glanced back down at his foot. Given the method of injury, it could either be his Achilles or his peroneus brevis tendon… I’m hoping it’s the latter, because tearing his Achilles could put him in physical therapy for months! Tentatively, she grabbed the sole of his foot and pushed it upwards, flexing it such that it would stretch the muscles of his calf. He winced a little bit but did not yelp in pain like before, making Momo smile. “What? Was that a good thing?”

“Yes. It makes it very likely that you haven’t torn anything up too bad,” she responded. “Let’s see what this does, though,” she continued and pushed his foot inward. His back arched and he threw his head back with a howl of several very unsavory words, so Momo hastily ceased the flexion. He kept his head tipped back for a few seconds, chest heaving and fingers digging into the loamy soil, before he let out a long groan and wearily looked back to her.

“Fuck, that hurt.” When she apologized again, he frowned slightly and shrugged. “S’not your fault… I’m the one who tripped over myself like a dumbass. Nurse Yaoyorozu, do you have a diagnosis for me?” he asked with a teasing grin. She blushed brightly at the nickname and spluttered out a reply.

“O-Oh! Yes, I think so. I think you may have either injured or torn this tendon right here,” she stated and ran her fingertip ever-so-slightly along the lateral side of his foot, being careful not to apply any pressure and make his pain worse. He made a tsk sound and flexed his leg muscles experimentally, and the way his entire body tensed indicated to Momo that it would be difficult for him to walk. “We should get you to Recovery Girl. She has the proper machinery to tell for sure. I’ll text my classmates so they can send for someone to collect you. I’m sure they can get down the track just fi-”

“Ain’t necessary,” he grumped. His hand snapped up to wrap tightly around the metal arm of the bench, and he pushed himself off the ground with the other hand. He clumsily tucked his good leg under his body to get some leverage in standing up. Momo’s hands fluttered nervously around his injured foot.

“Awase! You shouldn’t move too much! Be careful not to bear any weight on this foot; I can help you to the entrance to the track, but we really should have someone get you from there so you don’t injure yourself further!” As gently as she could while moving fast, she placed his foot back down on the ground and scrambled up to grab him underneath his armpit and help him clumsily climb to his feet. Per Momo’s instructions, he refrained from moving his injured leg at all and just let it slide in the dirt and leaves as he hobbled to a standing position, but even just the contact with the ground made him hiss in agony. His arm wobbled precariously at it was forced to bear all his weight, and Momo saw that his knuckles were glaring white as he gripped the metal arm. “Here. Come to this tree,” she instructed him.

Yosetsu Awase was not by any means a big guy, but her breath still left her in an oof! as his full weight sunk against her. She slung his arm around her shoulders and supported him by the waist as she dragged him to the trunk of the nearest tree.

“How the tables have turned.” A curious “huh?” popped out of her and she looked down at him with wide eyes. He grinned wryly and explained, “Remember the summer training camp? I was haulin’ you around the woods like a sack of potatoes…” Her cheeks brightened as the blood rushed to them, and she looked away shyly.

“Oh… Yes. The circumstances are a little different here, though. You saved my life that night.” They reached the tree, and he reached out to brace a hand against the rough trunk before leaning away from her, spinning on his good foot to flop his back into the woody surface. He gave her a wry smirk.

“Hey, you never know. You coulda saved my life this morning. I coulda been out here, all alone, and dragged off by some wolves.” Momo snorted at his obvious joking.

“Awase, there are no wolves out here.”

“How do you know? Just because you haven’t seen ‘em don’t mean they don’t exist.” His relentless joshing had her giddy, and she held her hand up to her mouth as she began to giggle.

“You’re too much. Seriously, though, walking a third of a mile in your condition, even with my help, will take us half the day. I’ll send for someone,” she told him through little laughs and pulled out her phone. She quirked an eyebrow when she noticed her timer had just hit exactly nine minutes. More important things to tend to than my record, she thought and swiped out of the app. She typed up a quick message in their class group chat and sent it before returning her phone to the waist holster. “I just sent for help. They’re telling Mr. Aizawa and…” Her words trailed off as she looked at him. He was staring at her with a lidded, heated gaze and this little smile on his face that made butterflies take off in her stomach. “I…” she murmured incoherently when his hand reached out to gently cup her cheek, and she compulsively straightened up- and leaned slightly into the touch.

“You’re really pretty.” Momo had never heard a tone so full of… endearing admiration. As soon as his hand met her cheek and he uttered the words, his eyes widened, as if he realized he had actually done so instead of it being in his head. His face flushed red and he went to drop his hand, sputtering out an apology, but Momo pinned it to her face with both of her own.

“No! Don’t apologize!” she cried and took a few unsteady steps forward. Now self-conscious herself, she flushed as well and looked timidly down at her sneakers. “I-I… No one’s ever called me pretty before…” she admitted meekly. She peered up at him through her lashes to find him wearing an incredulous look.

“Really? But you’re fucking beautiful.” His use of a curse word only made the compliment more impactful, and her face grew unbearably hot as she smiled blissfully. She squirmed a little, knowing she was beginning to sweat a little against his hand cupping her face, but unwilling to let it go.

“W-well… Mina says that I’m so intelligent that boys find it intimidating,” she chuckled diffidently. He snorted in laughter and leaned back against the trunk with an amused smirk.

“You? Intimidating? No offense, but you’re about as intimidating as a wet kitten.” She let out an affronted gasp and went to glare at him, but the sultry smirk on his face made all opposition die in her throat. “Guess that’s good for me that they think so,” he said in a low voice, and she yelped as he grabbed her arm and tugged her forward. There was a slight incline in the ground, so she stumbled all the way to the tree and landed against his body with one hand splaying over his chest. The other was now being gripped tightly, and he brought it to his mouth to lay a lingering kiss to the top of her hand. How prince-like… she thought faintly. “I don’t think I could stand for having competition.” The smirk he shot her wasn’t prince-like at all, rather channeling all the devilish and playful energy of a rogue. Like a princess ensnared by his handsome charms, she could only stare owlishly at him with painfully pink cheeks. His hand dropped hers, letting it land on his shoulder, before cupping her face again and threading his fingertips into the black strands that had fallen from her bun. “Yaoyao-”

“Momo,” she interrupted quickly. She then flushed, realizing how rude it had been to do so. “C-call me Momo. Please.” He snorted slightly and his smirk widened.

“Momo,” he corrected poignantly. “Thanks for saving me today.” She was about to assert once more that it really wasn’t anything like that night, but he took the opportunity to interrupt her. He leaned forward to envelop her mouth in a searing kiss. She inhaled sharply through her nose as her breath was all but stolen from her. Whatever response she had on her tongue descended into fog, as her mind hazed until all she could focus on was the movement of his lips against hers. He lit a fire over her body as his hands roamed her curves, finally settling with a consistent blaze at the small of her back. Very distantly the thought bloomed that this was her first kiss and that she had to tell Mina about it. From how good it felt, it was obviously a hell of a first kiss. She felt like she could get lost in the kiss, in him, forever.

They broke apart with startled jumps when they heard Katsuki and Eijirou screaming her name in the near distance. She began to flutter about nervously, fixing her sports bra and jogging pants despite the fact they were form-fitted and not rumpled at all, while he reclined back against the tree with a self-satisfied look.

“Was that your first kiss?”

“What? Yes- I mean, ugh- is that relevant right now?” she huffed with a dour glare that only made his grin widen. He let out a few chuckles as she pouted at him, totally embarrassed by his unbothered attitude, then gestured with a tilt of his head at the track. She whirled on her heel to find the two boys striding up with Recovery Girl’s robots holding a stretcher between them. Laughing nervously, she cheerfully called out to them and tried to seem inconspicuous as she ran up.

“Hey, guys! Thank you so much. I don’t think I could’ve gotten him back to the entrance by myself.”

“It’s no problem, Yaomomo!” Eijirou smiled kindly. Katsuki began to gripe, and without breaking eye contact with the girl, Eijirou elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Ow, what the hell?! Ugh, fine, whatever! It’s not a big deal!” he yelled angrily and stalked over to the boy leaning up against the tree. “Come on, loser, the sooner your ass is on this stretcher, the sooner I can get back to weight training!” Momo frowned worriedly as Katsuki helped the injured boy back to his feet, but despite his harsh words, he was gentle in helping him limp the short distance to the stretcher.

“Are you coming back with us, Yaomomo?” Eijirou asked as the robots began to trundle off with their charge in tow. Katsuki stomped along ahead, yelling at his friend to hurry up.

“Oh! No, I would like to finish my run, I think…” she murmured, her gaze trailing off to the stretcher. She pushed past him to run after it a few paces, cupping her hands to her mouth. “Hey! Awa- I mean, Yosetsu!” He glanced up, a big grin splitting his face at her calling him by his given name. “Come running with me sometime!”

“Sure thing!” he called back and gave her a thumbs-up before flopping back down against the stretcher. Eijirou walked past her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and grinning, which made her flush pink as answer his unasked question. Momo waited until they had disappeared around the corner, then grabbed her phone to reset her timer to two-minutes and fifty seconds, the approximate time she had stumbled across Yosetsu on the track.

Hmm… Maybe I’ll go off the beaten path and aim for eight minutes! She resolved with a smile and put the phone back before taking off in a fast jog.

After all, the morning she had spent off the beaten path had already been quite interesting. She might as well keep the streak going! No doubt, there were rich rewards waiting at the end…

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @mhafandomman

[cultureisdarkbeer]

Falling is Complete!

Covering Seasons 4-7

 In Milagro, we hear that "Agent Scully is already in love". So the question becomes, When did she fall in love? When was that "one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere". When did that moment occur for Dana Scully? This is that story.

Read it here

*New*

Chapter35

The weekend’s journey had Scully twisting and turning like a Chubby Checker song. It sent her not only back through her life, but down each wrong choice road, like parallel dimensions heard through the chimes of fate. Dreams as soon as a year ago now were irrelevant and obscure. The path she chose led her here on this couch. Turning away all her past lives, opening herself up to the unimaginable, beyond science, beyond religion, to hear the call of a voice, the one she chose to follow, that chose to follow her right back.    

She felt her body become weightless as he lifted her from the couch, with gentle strong arms, he pulled her close to his body, it’s warmth, igniting a glow within her. Her eyes fluttered open as he lowered her onto the bed. “Where are you going?” Scully asked sleepily.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” he said, tucking the blanket back around her.

“You can stay,” then quickly added, “it’s your bed.”

“It’s okay Scully, get your rest,” he stated firmly, squeezing her hand. She held onto it, refusing to let it go as he started to walk away. 

“Hold me?” she asked meekly.

Her vulnerability made him pause. “Yeah. yeah, I can do that.”

He walked around the bed and got in under the covers. She butted her back up against him as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. 

“You heard, they’re doing a full financial audit of the FBI,” Scully said. “They’ll be looking  to make cuts.”

“If the powers that be have their way, the x-files will be on the chopping block,” Mulder concluded, rocking her gently, nuzzling her hair.

“Then what?” Scully persisted.

“We continue to search for the truth,” he replied.

Scully breathed out a chuckle, then took comfort in his embrace. Too much had been left unspoken. “Why does being closer feel like it’s taking us further apart?”

Mulder drew her in, closing the small gaps between them. “Maybe because we’re trying to hide in glass houses.”

She nodded and felt him squeeze her tighter. It was a comfort. 

He whispered into the shell of her ear, “We’ve had a lot to make peace with Scully.”

Scully spoke in cautious tones. “What if you meet someone, what if you decide later that you want to have kids?”

She felt his body stiffen around her at the question. “You could do the same. There are other ways,” he answered tenderly. “If you want children, what’s stopping you?”

 “The consequences of my choices?”

Mulder sighed. “I’d like to think we’ve made peace with those..” 

“And the X-files?” Scully persisted, rotating in his arms so she could look into his eyes.

“You’re asking me to make a choice?”

“No, I..” she stumbled.

“Scully,” he replied softly, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “I choose you.” 

Her walls melted inside his gaze. “Every choice I’ve ever made, has led me to this moment. You and I. Right here.”

“That leaves another choice to make.”

Scully passed him a wry grin. “I’ve made my choice.” 

Scully closed her eyes knowing the next time they opened they would be staring into the only man she could ever imagine herself with. His lips pressed and slid against hers, warm and wet, with the grace of a trained dancer and the power of his 9 mm pistol. The removal of their clothing was clunky in their haste, forcing her to clutch his shoulder as a counterbalance. Gripping her tight, he steadied her feet. Scully’s cheeks heated when she was able to meet his eyes again. Not because of embarrassment, she would never feel that way in front of Mulder, but because of how real the moment was, the strength at its core -with honesty and purity- they would rebuild. 

His eyes held that same gentle fire and connection they felt the first time they ever laughed in the rain. The soft warm glow of copper’s flame burning hazel through his irises. It’s embers igniting her heart and she knew it was time she spoke the truth aloud.

He was hers, and just as importantly, she was his. The words were on the tip of her tongue, dying to be spoken into existence. She wanted it roared into the night, well perhaps whispered in his ear, or murmured on his skin.

She chose to speak directly into his eyes.  “I’m in love with you, Fox Mulder.” Her words filled with the passionate intensity of countless gamma rays bursting through the universe. And it was all for one man. Inside her arms she felt the current of her words coarse through his body. “Scully,” he released in breathy affection, the words were with the same vulnerability as when he came to her when his father was shot. “I’m yours.” 

The countless hours she had stared at his lips, the way they pursed at her challenges, or curled in disgust at her autopsies, the lower jutting out slightly when he rocked his mandible forward with passion. She knew every line of those lips and every curve the way she knew the shape of her own bathtub and stain in her coffee cup. She sucked the lower one into her mouth just to feel the desire exhaled from his lungs. His tongue reached for hers and she met it with fervor, intertwining with the strength of the divine threads of space and time. 

Mulder covered her body as he rolled on top. She felt safe, much the way she did as he protected her years ago from the bullets in Milford Haven. Feet and wrist bound in the gymnasium showers he had braced to give his life for her at the end of a shotgun. 

He smiled at her like he was reading her thoughts and she kissed him softly, his hand tangling in hers with the same motion as when he hugged her in an empty hospital hallway, giving her promise and support that she would carry on even with her cancer sentence. Mulder had resurrected her with a chip, the one buried at the base of her neck. She wasn’t a slave to it, instead one of the many symbols of his devotion. Those thoughts caused her hand to skim the scar of her consecration inside his shoulder. 

Kissing and mingling with the others’ breath, her legs naturally wrapped around his torso. Skin to skin, mouth to mouth, but they were also connected in an entirely different way. They didn’t need to invade each other’s mind, they melded, their bodies flowing together, skin hot and sensitive to every touch. The passion, the need she felt, went beyond eternity. Their entire life together felt like foreplay- every time they shared a laugh, every time he cradled her in his warm embrace, or interlocked their fingers, or just stood in each other’s presence. 

Grateful he didn’t prolong the sweet torture, he aligned himself and carefully pushed inside, heavy and thick, connecting on a level they had only known with the other. For long minutes, they kissed and reveled in their feelings, in the waves of sensations hitting them as he moved inside her.  It was a soft and reverent kind of sharing. The type of intimacy that at one time would have made her push away to preserve her independence.. Make her skin crawl. But it didn’t with him. Possibly because his response would have been to wait until she was ready. Instead, she relished the contact, something had changed inside of her, somewhat like Mulder’s prediction as they stared at a cocoon in a tree. 

Not a weakness, but a strength, she felt safe when they were like this, like nothing could ever harm them. His darkness blanketing her with comfort. Their love born from shadows.

Scully’s insides hugged him tight and they released a groan of acknowledgement. He was intrinsically home. Their pace was slow, considerate. Mulder paused and kissed her gently, his right index stroking her forehead in reverence, reminiscent of when he spoke his condolences about her father or their first case after her abduction.

Their movements were fluid and quick, languid and vividly profound. Any pieces of walls left inside her, he had shattered, saving her, the same way he battered the window to save her from a psychotic man.

She chose the path with him not from fate or destiny, not out of desperation or visions, but out of friendship, out of respect, out of devotion. Love, unadulterated and complete.  

His head fell to her neck and she felt every inch of him seeping pleasure into her core and out into the galaxy. He filled her as they burst together, points of light streaming, fusing and branding them, reaching out into the heavens, creating a miracle, a mosaic of the love she no longer gave with reservation, the emergence of existence.

Read Here

Artwork By: @ms31x129

Special thanks to the following people:

@today-in-fic @wholeperson @season4mulder @peacenik0 @piper-scully @babygirlmulder1018 @patienceaintmystrongsuit @brownppr @lappina @amyg2430 @whyle23 @borogirl @kyouryokusenshi @rasta77 @schnabbaknabba @skullsmuldon @milkaforyou-blog @manila @aiko222love-blog @destinystarlit @queen-lesley @faithfirst2016 @lildd68 @writerofarticulate @itsrainingsleepingbags @edierone @annafx81 @ofmulder @kblackm @starbuck1013 @nigel5603 @baronessblixen

[winterbranded]

   [ ✮ ]    HEADCANON   //  THE JOURNEY FROM REBEL      COMMANDER   TO   IMPERIAL ASSET / SW VERSE :

[ ✮ ]  ——   i am so ready to delve into this st.ar war.s  based verse into detail.  i’m going to be going deep ,  i’m talking like starting from his early life and onwards, so this might be a little long in the end WHOOPS.  but enjoy !!    james barnes  ( mostly known as ‘bucky’ throughout the vicinity of rebel friends and family ) is  strong, courageous, and charming.  his father served time with the rebellion before he was unfortunately discharged after an accident had occurred at one of the bases, leaving him unfit for duty.  his childhood was average, being raised a short while on a rebel base before they moved to coruscant, living on the upper levels.  he took some odd jobs, mainly within shipments and some engineering but whispers of the rebellion always managed to make it to him.  he never spoke about his father’s involvement with the rebellion out in public, not even to friends.  one of the strict rules he abided by his mother and father.    the barnes family lived a peaceful life upon coruscant throughout a majority of buck.y’s childhood and teens until buc.ky decided to join rebellion forces at the age of  twenty-two, wanting to make his father proud but also fight for the right thing when the galaxy felt clouded in darkness.  he climbs the ladder rather quickly and ends up as a very successful commander after a few years.  he mainly leads ground missions and acts as a leader on the battlefield.  he has successfully lead multiple group assignments with minimal casualties.      but one mission didn’t go as planned.  one that would change his life forever.  his entire team had been captured on an out planet mission.  a majority being killed or taken prisoner.  buc.ky suffered a fatal wound to his left arm that day and was taken as a prisoner.  the rest of his team that were also taken do not survive interrogation.  he is the last survivor.   barnes was almost sent to be terminated until someone suggested an opportunity that laid here.  upon empire records, he was marked as terminated.   but they very much kept him   alive.

     the empire puts him in the hands of their scientists and medical teams.  marking his as an asset experiment to enhance future battalions of storm troopers.  the months are hazy and painful.  he attempts to state his ensign number and name just to remember but the more he tries, the more shocks are given.  his left arm is replaced with droid parts.  scraps that are melded and put together.  they don’t bother to put on a layer of artificial skin.  the empire brand is put upon his left shoulder before they chip him  ( much like the clone troopers within the clone wars )  acting as a reset button in case he were to attempt to defect.  marking him and trapping him.      he is drenched in sweat.  strands of hair sticking to his forehead as he just tries to  breathe.  trying to focus upon anything was too much.  body aching in waves from the multitude of operations and serums.  being strapped to the operating table with metal cuffs, the surface then starts to tilt from horizontal to vertical.  now being face to face with a tall figure clad in black.  his face is concealed with a mask, breaths wheezing through the apparatus that seemed to make everyone in the room grow pale.         the scientists progress is questioned with a rumbling voice.  and they attempt to answer with data and numbers.  but they wanted  physical  results.  not just recorded information.  a series of low ranking troopers are gathered first for an unknown reason.  one of the training rooms is cleared out and marked as restricted.  barnes can feel supervisors and the black cladded figure watch from afar within a higher level above.  they allow the troopers to advance all at once, a voice over the intercom within his ear stating to execute all targets in the room.  and all of them die all at once by barnes’ hand.   it was an immediate and violent reaction.  easily disarming and using anything the troopers had on hand to his advantage.  and they did not die peacefully either.  everything had moved so quickly, he didn’t even realize what he had done until the bodies of the troopers are dragged away.         sessions upon sessions are recorded of barnes’ physical stature and how easily he overpowers even some of their top trained troopers.  his official title is then marked within imperial records as :  THE ASSET.   and he is only called and treated as such.  he is required to wear a mask with a uniform geared for destruction.  his weaponry includes:   two small blasters,  an A280 rifle blaster for long distance,  two short vibro blades, a grenade launcher when requested, smoke bombs, trackers,  and back up ammo if needed.  he wears armor similar to troopers but only upon his shoulders and torso.  he has armor upon his knees and shins.  and the empire brand logo is prominent against dark metal.  and of course,  he has a mask and removable red tinted goggles.  the mask distorts his voice and he has an intercom within his ears for communication purposes.          barnes is put in charge of a battalion of troopers.  for some assignments, but mainly, he goes alone.  he acts as a dangerous leader within the battlefield but also as a personal bounty hunter and tracker for the empire.  no one escapes from him alive.  word travels quick of a mysterious figure the empire seems to have acquired.  but it is never confirmed that the man in question actually exists.  some say they saw glimpses of him in battle.  others say they saw him kill someone right before their eyes and lived to tell the tale.  but some just believe it’s propaganda to scare people.          during his long time with the empire,  he is placed in and out of carbonite.  a dangerous method, but one they used to keep him in tact and in their control.  but as the fall of the empire begins,  he is placed within carbonite for a final time.  being shipped off upon a shuttle ship on a charter course to another ship.  later,  that large battleship ship unfortunately gets shot down.  it descends and crashes upon a nearby planet, becoming empire wreckage within the long ending war.  while the pilots, troopers, and imperial officers had died on board,  barnes still lays within the carbonite.  untouched by time as he’s lost within empire wreckage.  waiting  to be found.         ** note:  this next part is completely  optional  as it goes into  sequel trilogy territory.  ( honestly ?? any part of the story as a whole can be changed and discussed in future plots ).           it is quiet for a long, long, time.  the thick slab of carbonite gathering dust and sand.  however,  a ray of sun then is shone upon the frozen features of the long forgotten asset,  another evil gets a hold of him.             as the carbonite is heated, he collapses to the ground, gasping for air.  familiar but oh, so, different troopers drag barnes to his feet.  vision blurred, and his body shaking uncontrollably from hibernation sickness.  a familiar figure clad in black approaches him.  the presence of the other similar to the previous tall dark figure, but is distinctly different.  how long had it been.  barnes is observed and questioned, but he provides no answers.  however, old empire archives give the fir.st or.der their answers.   a lost imperial asset that could be proven useful.  the fir.st or.der keep tabs on him until the destruction of starkiller base happens.            believing him to be lost in the end,  he goes under the radar.  keeping hidden as he moves through the galaxy like a shadow.  the imperial logo more than scratched off from upon his left shoulder.  starting to have a clear space of mind.  wondering which memories were real and which he wished were real.  his place in time still hazy.  he wanders until he picks up some whispers about the resistance.  he follows the whispers and rumors until he finds a resistance soldier.  something distant yet comforting is within the name resistance alone.  reminding him of another time that is long gone.           he is brought to a resistance base but upon realizing who exactly he was, caution is taken.  being examined by medical,  he undergoes surgery immediately to try and remove the old imperial chip and needed upgrades are given to his left arm.  they hope that  the fir.st ord.er  didn’t have time or brains to tamper with it.  once the chip is removed, recovery begins.  his mind more clear as he picks up the pieces of himself and eventually goes back to fighting on the right side of battle.  

[fearfilledvirgil]

Voluntary Apnea

summary:  ap·ne·a | noun |  temporary cessation of breathing, especially during sleep

warnings: bullying, rumor spreading, mention of remus, drowning, ambiguous ending

word count:  1858

pairing: N/A

taglist: @rileyfirstname  @silversmith-91 @sander-fander-sides @lovecrazyjennybear 

masterlist

{fair warning that the ending is ambiguous and may read like major character death}

There were rumors that Virgil engrossed himself in collections of poetry because they reminded him of his absentee, poetry-loving dad. Rumors are always founded in some sliver of truth, so it wasn’t a surprise that Virgil wanting to make his ever-traveling dad proud of him was twisted into insults. His middle school classmates constantly whispered behind his back about the books he collected, thinking the pale boy couldn't hear them. But Virgil did. Even as his eyes carefully inspected his newest marvel, they whispered. Even as his steady-yet-twitching pale hands gently traced the words on the page, they whispered. Virgil didn’t care about what they thought. They could snicker all they wanted while they sunbathed on the long dock, jumping into the water periodically to cool off. Virgil was content dangling his roughed-up converse over the lake, violet backpack firmly buckled onto his back, and book in his hand. He enjoyed finding himself in these pages, a part of his personality hidden in the words. It was his own personal type of calming: reading the same poem for the hundredth time while softly humming to himself’ black jacket swaddling him with unrelenting heat even in the summer; backpack full of books and sheet music, buckled to his back so it wouldn’t be stolen again; music in his ears and cares gone.

There was an unexpected tug the young boy’s back, making him yelp and nearly jump out of his skin. The new poetry book that he’d been carefully reading fell into the water with a soft, almost nonexistent splash. Virgil looked down at the water dejectedly where his book sunk into the depths, a stiflingly hot emotion growing in the pit of his stomach. The silent mourning of the lost words was cut short by another tug on his backpack and the resulting jolt that made his headphones fall from his ears.

“Quit it.” Virgil warned in his usual growl, scooting back off the edge of the dock aided by the pulling on his bag. Whoever had grabbed him released his bag’s handle, allowing Virgil to stand up on his feet. Moments after hands were reaching for his bag straps, and he was spun around.

An older boy with dark brown hair and darker eyes by the name of Remus came into Virgil’s field of vision. Before any more protests could be voiced, the purple-haired boy was lifted off of the ground by the straps around his shoulders. The fabric cut uncomfortably under his arms; the buckled straps around his torso dug painfully under his ribs and neck. Miniscule pockets of air pushed their way out of Virgil’s throat of their own accord in the moments of struggle that followed. Virgil’s hands clawed against the tight fingers that held him up. Another whine crossed with a shaky breath sounded underneath Virgil’s closing throat. He sealed his lips together, instead beginning to hyperventilate through flared nostrils. As the helpless boy struggled, the tips of his shoes scrapped along the dock. Silence from the small group around Remus reigned.

The scrapes of Virgil’s tennis shoes on the dock gradually faded out of existence. Only then did Remus open his blood-red lips to laugh. “Did you know that when you drown, you don’t actually breathe in until the very last moment before you blackout?” A shiver went down Virgil’s spine. Remus’s voice dripped with lead, with a poison that insinuated the worst of the future to come. The small crowd that Remus gathered snickered, but did nothing to stop Virgil from being pulled closer. Remus dropped his tone down several octaves, then whispered dread into Virgil’s soul. “It’s called voluntary apnea. Cool, right? Your body fights so hard for survival that it won’t let the water in until you’re absolutely desperate.” Virgil’s Adam’s apple bobbed uselessly in his throat, his unblinking eyes beginning to water and shake as his heart rate trembled. 

Suddenly, Virgil was falling. 

The first thing that he registered was that the hands gripping his backpack straps were pushing him away, releasing the tight hold in favor of propelling Virgil backward. Maybe that was all that Remus intended to do. Bring him in close, say something cryptic to get Virgil’s anxiety spiked, then push him away to make him stumble on the dock. Remus and the others would break into suffocating laughter, and that would be it. But that was the opposite of what happened. As he stumbled backward, Virgil’s shoe caught on a stray splinter in the dock at the same moment that his other slipped on a stray splash of water.

Suddenly, Virgil was falling.

The second thing that he registered was cold. It seeped into his bones and chilled his entire soul, clinging to every portion of his being. A heaviness was quickly sinking onto his pale skin, spurred onward by the heavy collection of books in the blackish-purple backpack that matched his hair. Instead of the comforting presence of his headphones perched atop his head or around his neck, nothingness encased him. The weight was entirely absent, instead replaced by an overwhelming and insufferable pressure kissing cold to every portion of his body. Amidst the cold, the frozen, the fear leaping and pounding in his chest, murky blue eyes opened and gazed upward.

Suddenly, Virgil was falling.

The third thing that he registered was that he was in the water, quickly sinking to the bottom of the lake. The sunlight overhead brushed through the surface of the thick blue sheen and cascaded downwards along with the boy immersed in the blue-ish black depts. It glistened and pulsed with the crashing tide of the splash that was unwillingly created, disturbing careful peace just below its surface. The rays taunted the chill that deeply flooded inside Virgil’s bones, brushing his cold skin with an unfair reminder of warmth. It was fleeting, gone in a single moment, as the shocked and unmoving boy sank further. The light was not comforting. It was not guiding. Instead, it served as a cautionary tale quickly ending with skinking into the shadows of the water. 

Suddenly, Virgil was falling.

The last thing that he registered was that he wasn’t breathing. The time for admiring the fleeting sunlight was dead; now the struggle began. 

Virgil thrashed his body to the side, the weight of his backpack keeping his body sinking downwards. Any and all movements that Virgil willed himself to create were a million times slower than his swirling fate, than his music-loving heart. It rocked against the inside of his chest with such ferocity that he could hear it vibrate through the water, or at least imagine to. His thoughts were simultaneously reliving the most important pieces of his life—his parents and his friends and the fights he’s gotten into and his music and his stories—while also focused completely on how he couldn’t breathe and he was drowning so he was going to die without any air and there wasn’t any air because he was sinking further but no one would care that he’s going to die because they let him sink to the bottom with his books in his bag and if they wanted to find him they wouldn’t be able to because there wasn’t any light now so he couldn’t see anything so they wouldn’t be able to see anything so his body would be at the bottom of the lake forever and the darkness was already smothering, suffocating, covering and overcoming him completely. Virgil shut his unseeing eyes feverishly. He squeezed them tightly as his hands began to fumble with the buckles on his backpack straps. 

When his lungs started to squeeze for breath, Virgil gritted his teeth and pursed his lips tighter than his tightly closed eyes. If he wasn’t sinking in water, he thought tears would be leaking out from his eyelids. His chest contorted as forgotten air moved to attempt to get more use out of it instead of slowly suffocating on the lack of air inside his lungs. Virgil’s shoulders tensed and hunched, his stiffening fingers fumbling to release himself from the worst weight.

The fact that Virgil didn’t know how to swim was a worry for after the backpack was off.

Simultaneously, Virgil managed to unlatch the waist buckle and the chest buckle at the same time. It released his shaking and unsteady hands from their one duty in the sluggish freezing water that made his blood pressure rise. With his vision still sealed off as tight as ever, chest and throat continuing to contort in Virgil’s need for air, his arms moved on their own accord. They violently shook and squirmed along with his body to get the backpack straps off of his shoulders. At that moment, Virgil wasn’t thinking about anything anymore. He wasn’t thinking about losing forever the personal treasures in his bag that he could no longer see. He wasn’t thinking about how far he had sunk under the surface. He wasn’t thinking about the pressure of the water weighing down on every inch of his skin, pressing into him and yearning to infiltrate his mouth. No, he wasn't thinking about anything anymore. The only thing that was in Virgil’s mind was his need for air, for breath, and the stuttering fear-induced adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Virgil’s heart was beating uncontrollably. It was stuttering and hammering, stopping and starting too quickly. His stomach was inside his throat, turning and tumbling with such ferocity that the pale child paled more. He wanted to move, to thrash as quickly as his terrified heart plundered. But the water around him pressed too tightly and caused inescapable, paralyzing turmoil shutter through his entire being. Such a lack of air and a ramped heart began to deteriorate his consciousness. The edges of his mind flashed into grey, melding the ends of his consciousness from the dark black around him to a pure mindless white. 

He was dying, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Virgil’s arms thrashed violently, his legs kicking fruitlessly below him. When had he begun to move? Had he always been moving? No, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how hard he fought: he wasn’t moving upward, even without the weight of his backpack aiding in his sinking. The lack of breath was clawing inside his throat, pushing at his chest, and grabbing at his lungs. The pounding inside his pulse had slowed to move slower than limbs could move in the water. His eyes fluttered open, somehow able to witness the small air bubbles leaving his nose. Something so patient and pure and lovely turned dire as it killed the lifeforce still residing in Virgil’s lungs.

The young boy was beginning to float in and out of consciousness, the white overtaking the darkness around him. The heaviness in Virgil’s head overtook the thrashing movement of his limbs. The white was warm, purer than the neverending darkness that captured first the boy’s body, then his air. Before he realized it, he wasn’t moving. Scarred arms ceased to thrash; mismatched feet missing a shoe refused to kick. Zero movements.

Virgil breathed in to let the white encase him.