#brackets do. the begin end thing is just a personal hang up but still

[pallases]

putting verilog in the blender

[ethernetmeep]

another long rant of standing in the rain & introspection towards myself

drank a cherry kool-aid juice box as i stood in the rain, wondering if i was still a child and if i was emotionally mature. although you inevitably are a child either way if you’re under 18, i wondered if i truly ever was one. i know i was, but i wonder for how long.

i remember being called very mature in my adolescence; i didn’t like it. the only reason i had grown to being that way was because my maternal figure wasn’t very mature herself. she looks back on these things with intense guilt & she hates remembering what she was like; i just look back on it neutrally. i still remember not fully growing empathy and choosing to hang with a neighbors teenage child during a power outage, leaving my mother in a dark house below. we have a duplex except we live on the bottom floor; separated by one apartment at the top and one on bottom. continuing, she was mad at my child self having left her, and i distinctly remember her screaming at me and telling me she should just give me to the neighbors upstairs if i liked them so much. i had begged & pleaded with her that i didn’t want that, i simply wanted to stay with her and that i was sorry, so sorry, and i distinctly member that being one of the first instances of me being truly afraid of my mother. i’ve still felt this fear, back in august especially. i think because of this base memory its made me apologize intensely for everything, and its ironic how my apologizing was built from fear of my mother yet said apologizing i had done only would make her more upset when it was repeated. doomed cycles, i guess.

as for the questions i posed at the beginning, i don’t feel like a child. i am one in every sense of the word, but i feel as if my childhood was one very skewed from how a typical one should be. maybe around the 1-9 age bracket i was genuinely a child, but even teetering on 9 i feel as if i wasn’t all that sound. i always used the internet as my way to escape, and i think to some extent i still do this subconsciously. i would use it to escape my life, imagine i was someone else. i would do this frequently. i still remember playing a certain minecraft adjacent game and always switching between the girl avatars and the boy ones— one day i’d make my name something like jamie, the next day a bryson or maybe a mike. i wouldn’t do this because i inherently wanted to lie to people, i just wanted to feel what it was like to be a girl one day & a boy in another. escapism in its purest form.

now, im much sounder with who i am as a person. although still subpar, still much sounder. i had an awful middle area when i knew i hated being a girl, and was simply unable to change this. i changed my handles to something like wowie online, and ended up using the name (wowie, i mean) for about a year or two. when asked my name by people online, i would always just use my handle; my birthname didn’t feel like my name. forgot when i started going by cyber; wish i remembered. sometimes if asked what other name id go by, one much more quote normal, i would go for the name toby. short, sound, and a name kimya dawson used in one of her songs; “and i never knew a toby i didn’t like.”

anyway, my answers to my two questions seemed to be ??? & yes. ??? to the child question, yes to emotionally mature. of course i’m still growing, not perfection, but i believe for my age i seem to be more mature than certain adults.. thats what my therapist says, anyway. i don’t need to be perfection, although i wish i could be thats simply improbable; instead i can just hope to be the best i can be. and although in a logistics standpoint i am still a child, having such a skewed childhood makes this not feel like the case. i feel like i grew far too fast for my liking; all i can do to combat this is do things my child self was unable to. this was especially prominent when i bought my friend and i some calico critters on friday…. it healed something from my childhood i didn’t know it could. it also made me happy to buy something for someone; reminds me im human because im doing a simple nice thing just to do it, not because i actually have some need to be nice.

i forgot to mention this earlier, but i also don’t tend to stand in the rain. did this because i was starting to feel overstimulated— or maybe understimulated? usually over— as i kept being on my phone all day & doing nothing of any sort, simply rotting in bed. obviously unhealthy. i wanted to change this, and i knew it was raining because i heard it faintly from inside. threw on slip on shoes & a rather nice jacket, taking last cherry kool-aid juice box from the fridge and drinking it outside. rain was somewhat pouring, although i’m not good at saying definitively what rain is and what rain isn’t except for a rather obvious statement like rain isn’t lava. the sound of the heavy rain was very peaceful to me, and feeling some of it land on my hair or face or hands reminded me i was human too in a way.. it was incredibly helpful, along with very sweet in its own way. i had only walked around my yard as i drank the kool-aid & to the mailbox, didn’t bring music with me & just sort of walked around a bit; unsure how long i was out for, just knew it was peaceful. it reminded me of a similar time i was out in the rain in september, although still felt odd as it wasn’t something i usually do. i was curious if there too was someone else out there in a similar position as i was standing out in the rain. very likely.

before i went outside, i remembered a visual i occasionally remember because my brain doesn’t change; walking past a corridor & seeing a sight i didn’t expect, although instead of being affected by this negatively i was instead.. happy.

it was special, so i left. then again, it wasn’t special; it was simple & mundane and thats what made it special to me.

extra photo from earlier to throw in too if someone has read this far. thank you

[womensblood]

Slasher(s) With A Stoner!S/O

(GN!Reader)

[] (brackets) means you can chooses whatever clothing items you’d like.

Some of these relationships are kinda unhealthy so be warned.

One more thing, reader does have depression/anxiety, brief description of panic/anxiety attack is described in Brahms’s part.

Brahms Heelshire

In the beginning of your relationship, like, before you knew he was a grown man living in his parents walls, he didn’t understand it.

Because when Brahms would get a nap time, or when you would put him to bed, immediately it’s fucking time for a smoke break, cause fuck taking care of a probably demonically possessed doll. That’s what you believed at the time.

You never smoked in the house, it made you feel too uncomfortable. You always felt like you were being watched, and you thought it was the spirit of the doll, and hey, you didn’t want to piss off an angry ghost child because… come on. That never ends well ever in any horror movie.

You would smoke outside or in the garden. But even then, Brahms could still watch you. And he didn’t know that you were smoking weed, obviously because he’s been hiding in then walls and doesn’t know what anything is bruh.

When you’d come in, he’d notice a difference.

You’d either eat and then go to bed, eat and write/read stories online or just flat out go to bed.

But, you personally liked to stay up and slowly drift to sleep while enjoying something you love.

He was confused by your behavior, he didn’t get why you acted so different. His dumb ass thought that cigarettes could get you drunk.

But after he revealed himself, one of the first things he asked was why you were smoking cigarettes, that it was ‘impolite’ and ‘rude’, that it was gross, me you were both annoyed and amused.

You tell him the truth. You tell him that they aren’t cigarettes, and that it’s weed, and it helps with your anxiety/depression. And that it also feels good. And it’s fun.

He didn’t understand, but he didn’t stop you, even though he would be very vocal about his opinion on smoking.

He wouldn’t smoke with you. And to be honest, you were kinda glad, because oh my god he would be the worst person in the world to smoke with. Like, honest to gods I would rather die than smoke with him and hang out while he’s high.

But he gets used to it. Plus, he likes it when you’re high sometimes, cause you laugh at literally almost everything he says and does and he feels so fucking funny. He’s like, “yeah, I’m basically Jesus now I’m the funnies guy on earth.”

He likes seeing you smile a lot too. And you’re limos start constantly smiling when you’re high, you’re always in a good mood.

He loves to cuddle with you while you’re high, cause you get extra affectionate while you’re high.

Ash Williams

Fucking dies and goes to heaven.

Your relationship started over a one-night stand. And when you got to his house and you saw his bong, you reached into your pocket an pulled out your weed and he felt like a princess who just saw her prince.

He. Literally fell in love.

You 2 smoke together all the time. All. The. Time.

At first, you guys became friends with benefits, and would smoke weed and play video games.

But soon enough, you guys actually started to develop feelings for one another.

Ash didn’t want to have feelings for you, but he stayed anyway. Plus, he loves smoking with you.

You 2 have so much chemistry when you’re high, your conversations are never dull and you always genuinely enjoy his company.

Your minds are both so equally stupid when you’re high that it’s insane. It’s dangerous. You need to be stopped for real.

You two can be sober around each other, and you are, but your favorite thing to do together is smoke.

In fact, that’s how you confessed your feelings for one another. You were the one to initiate it romantically, and he was sort of thankful for that.

He was hesitant at first, and you reassured him that if he wasn’t ready, you’d understand.

You guys made out after that and after a good a hour and a half, you guys were officially together. You spent the night in his house cuddled up next to him as his partner for the first time in your life.

Billy Lenz

He doesn’t really know much bout weed, until he meets you. And he doesn’t really care.

But, he does like that when you get high, you’re usually hornier, and that means weed is pretty cool in his book.

High sex™︎

But he also sees that when you’re upset or something like that, and you smoke, something changes in you.

And because of that, he does want to try smoking just because he sees the effect it has on you.

Don’t let that psychopath do anything bro

He will literally end. The earth.

His horniness level is through the roof. And weed can enhance horniness levels, imagine how fucking catastrophic it would be. You alone would cause the demise of earth.

But, Billy also has PTSD. You didn’t really know at first. You knew he would have freak outs, but you just chalked it up to him getting angry out of nowhere. But sometimes, he’s just have panic attacks, reliving something traumatic, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

He’d steal your weed without telling you and try to smoke it by himself.

You get home like, 30 minutes later to hearing Billy’s muffled screams in the attic and the sound of something to the ground and you just sigh.

You storm up to the attic just in time to watch Billy throw the sororities old coffee table into the wall, crushing it.

“Billy, what the fff-”

“… is that my weed?”

He doesn’t know how to pack a bowl. It was just a nug stuffed in the hole of your pipe, it wasn’t even grinded or picked apart at all and you laughed on accident and that made him angrier lolz

You showed him how to grind weed with your hands, and you picked it apart, explaining the best way to do so, and for once, he was quiet. He didn’t interrupt or try to annoy you, he just watched.

You even taught him the best way to smoke, but he got all bitchy and insisted he knew what to do and that he’d figure it out.

He ended up just copying you though.

You actually kind of like getting high with him, because it actually calms him down. But he’s also more horny than ever. Like, it’s… a problem.

And for some reason, he has even more stamina when he’s high, so s3x is even longer than usual.

But hey man, you’re not complaining.

[frombeyondtheblackhole]

Hermit DSMP Swap AU: Part 9.1

[TW: Blood, violence, severe injury, bone related gore and zombie/undead related body horror. Please take care of yourself and stay safe. Warnings bracket the worst of the potentially triggering content and a summary is provided if you feel the need to skip that part. Some violence and minor injuries are outside the brackets. If there is a specific TW that you would like me to include in the future feel free to let me know and I will do my best to add it.]

Quackity, Purpled and Charlie, spent over an hour searching through the woods and the land around Las Nevadas, well mostly just Quackity and Purpled while Charlie hovered around asking annoying questions. Neither The Zombie nor Foolish were anywhere to be found. 

Quackity told Purpled and Charlie to Head back to Las Nevadas and look there while he did one more check around the perimeter for any clues as to what happened. Quackity took his time. Now that he was by himself he was able to think more clearly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned.    

Quackity wasn’t exactly sure what he had witnessed. He’d never seen something exactly like it, one minute Foolish was standing in front of him and the next he was gone and this zombie lady was in his place. He might argue with the other Las Navadas recruits, and they might not have the best opinion of him, but one thing was certain, if anyone messed with them, especially on Las Navadas property, They were messing with him and he wasn’t about to let anyone push him around, not anymore, never again. 

Quackity looked up as he rounded a sand dune, the walls of Tubbo’s “cookie” outpost looming up on the edge of Las Nevadas land. Quackity Scowled. One problem after another. The whole conflict about the walls hadn’t really been resolved, Tubbo was being stubborn, unreasonable. But that wasn’t a priority at the moment, he would deal with that latter, right now, he had bigger problems. 

Quackity followed along the wall and stopped short on the road in front of the Las Nevadas toll tunnel. Ranboo and Tubbo stood on the road coming from the other direction.

They stared at each other, neither side moving. Then Quackity broke into a smile “Hey there, Fancy running into you two here. You seem to hang around here a lot, have either of you seen Foolish or a strange looking Zombie by chance?”

Ranboo fidgeted and looked away but he was always fidgeting and he was never one for eye contact so that wasn’t exactly a tell. 

Tubbo on the other hand, Quackity had been in the same cabinet with him during Schlatt’s presidency, and in the cabinet during Tubbo’s presidency, he knew what the kid looked like when he lied. 

“A Zombie you say? What makes you think we would have anything to do with that?” Tubbo shrugged. 

Quackity didn’t drop the smile. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I am talking about.”

“Honest big man, there are no Zombies here, that's why we built the walls.” Tubbo insisted.

Ok so the kid was getting better at lying. Quackity frowned but the smile returned a moment later. “That's all good. Just be careful, she did something to Foolish, he’s gone missing, I’m worried that if she is allowed to roam free and do whatever she wants then she might do what she did to Foolish to someone else. You understand. I would hate to hear that one of you two went missing.”   

Tubbo and Ranboo looked at each other.  They definitely knew something they weren’t telling him. 

“Thanks for the warning big man, we’ll let you know if we see anything,” Tubbo smiled tightly before grabbing Ranboo’s arm and pulled him aside to whisper in his ear.

Called it. Quackity smiled, his sharp gold tooth glinting in the sunlight. He turned on his heel and headed back down the tunnel towards Las Nevadas. 

---

Cleo looked down at the dark water lapping against the stone pier where she sat, her legs dangling over the edge. The air smelled of salt, cold stung her lungs. She wasn’t shivering despite the fact that a crop top and shorts was chronically under dressed for the weather. She didn’t really notice. 

Her heel bounced against the wall of the peer as she stared out to sea. Snowchester was secluded, nice and peaceful, but it also felt vacant. There were houses but no one lived in them. Not that that was anything all too strange, Hermits built empty houses all the time, but these felt different. The empty houses the Hermits built were intended just for show, or to conceal functional builds. These houses once housed people, and now were abandoned.  

Cleo looked up at the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow and the clunk of boots against the wood at the beginning of the peer. Tubbo and Ranboo stood looking back at her. Tubbo had his hands in the front pockets of his coat and Ranboo stared at her over Tubboo’s shoulder. He never seemed to blink, it was a bit unnerving. 

Cleo pursed her lips “Um, thanks for letting me stay here kids, but-”

“You can’t stay here anymore,” Tubbo blurted out. 

Cleo blinked.

Ranboo flinched “Sorry about all this, it’s just…”

“Don’t worry about it kid,” Cleo said, getting to her feet, “I was going to leave anyway,” She shrugged.   

“Oh really,” Ranboo sighed.

Tubbo frowned “Why? What changed?” 

Cleo chuckled hollowly, “I could ask you the same thing.” 

Tubbo pursed his lips but didn’t push the issue.

Cleo walked past the two of them and started up the path.

“Wait,” Ranboo called

Cleo stopped.  

“Where are you going to stay now?” Ranboo asked. Tubbo just glared at her.

Cleo shrugged and smiled a bit to cheerily “I’m sure I’ll find a nice cave somewhere, after all I am a Hermit,” 

“Um,” Ranboo looked off to the side, tapping his fingers together. “If you need it there’s a hotel in the Greater Dream SMP. It’s big and red, hard to miss.”  

Cleo chuckled, “I’ll be alright, don’t worry ‘bout it.” 

Tubbo was still glaring at her. She turned to leave again.

“Just know that if you try and mess with us we can and will defend ourselves,” Tubbo said.

Cleo didn’t turn around “Oh, I know,” She smirked as she walked away. This Tubbo kid had guts, she could respect that. 

---    

Quackity taped his fingers against his arm impatiently as he waited in the ditch on the Greater DSMP side of the speed tunnel to Snowchester. After talking to Tubbo and Ranboo he had watched from a distance and followed them here. 

The splash of oars cutting through the water reached Quackity’s ears as a boat made its way towards his hiding spot. Quackity took a steadying breath, stealing himself as he listened carefully. The boat scraped against the shore and there was a crunch of sand as someone got out of the boat. Only one person. 

Quackity stood up and moved into view. The Zombie jumped, summoning her sword as she spun around to face him, teeth bared.

Quackity held up his empty hands and took several steps back. “Woe, woe woe. Hold on. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You think?” She scoffed. She didn’t attack but she still had her guard up. 

“Just tell me what you did to my friend and maybe we can resolve this peacefully,” He smiled tightly. 

“I didn’t do anything! And even if I did, why would I tell you? You already tried to kill me once?” She said. Then her expression changed, as if just remembering something. She lowered her sword and straightened. “What do you know about perma-death?” She asked calmly.

Quackity sucked in his breath and took a step back. Was this a threat or a legitimate question? He looked at the determination in her eyes… It was both. 

He fought the urge to summon his axe. 

“Do you really think you can kill a Zombie? I’m already dead. The rules don’t apply to me!” She strode forward and pointed her sword at him. Quackity staggered back looking up at her standing over him on the edge of the pit framed by the crystal clear sky behind her.   

Was she bluffing? 

Fuck. 

She spun on her heel and ran the other direction, across the field. 

The trance was broken. 

[TW: Blood, violence, body horror. Skip to the next bolded text to avoid the worst of it] 

“Shit, Get back here!” Quackity scrambled up the bank, summoning his crossbow and letting loose the bolt. It struck her in the leg, but she didn’t even seem to slow down. Had she even felt it? An ender pearl replaced the crossbow and a moment later he felt a sudden rush as he flew through the air, switching to his axe mid-flight. He crashed into her back, embedding his axe between her shoulder blades.

Quackity pulled his axe out of her back and staggered backwards. She wasn’t dead. She hadn’t despawned yet. Maybe she had been telling the truth about being unable to die. Oh wait, she was moving.

She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees coughing up dark sickened blood. She staggered to her feet and turned around to face him again, fire and determination in her eyes.

How was she still standing? That last hit had to have broken several ribs. Quackity glanced at the exposed ribs poking out from under her crop top, edged with decayed flesh. Those had been that way before. Maybe broken bones didn’t matter?  

[TW End: Summery: Quackity chases after Cleo, she tanks a bunch of damage but is able to keep fighting despite severe injuries]

Why were his knees shaking? She hadn’t even scratched him this time, and she wasn’t as good at combat as Dream or Techno. Yet she refused to die? 

He clenched his teeth and scowled, “I’ll give you one more chance. Tell me what you did with Foolish?” He demanded. Now he was bluffing. 

“I. Don’t. Know!” She yelled as she lunged at him, summoning her sword mid swing as she brought it down on him. 

He didn’t have time to block. Instead he moved back and swung the axe up. The blunt side of the head struck her in the chin as he felt her sword cut into his shoulder and graze his chest.

She staggered back and switched her sword out for a gapple. 

Oh no you don’t. Quackity raised his axe about to lung when he felt someone jump on him from behind. Arms wrapping around his neck in a choke hold. The axe returned to his inventory as he grabbed at the arms around his neck. They were invisible, his attacker was invisible.  

“Cleo, Run!” the invisible man shouted. 

She froze, the gapple halfway to her mouth “Etho?” 

“I said run!”

She turned on her heel and started running, only pausing for a moment to eat the gapple and keep going. 

Quackity clawed at the arm around his neck. This Etho guy was invisible. That ment he wasn’t wearing armor. Quackity summoned a sword in reverse grip and stabbed behind him. He heard Etho hiss as the sword grazed him. His grip loosened and Quackity was able to wrestle free. Summoning another pearl he threw it, getting away and landing near some trees. He staggered against one of the trees, coughing and rubbing his neck. He gritted his teeth, his face twisting into and ugly snarl. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She got away. And she had an accomplice.  

They made him look like an idiot. He quickly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He had promised never to let himself feel helpless again. Never to let other people control him. Yet he had let himself get pushed around by some random Zombie and one guy with an invis pot. Fuck this. He needed to do something about this. He couldn’t let this stand.

[aknosde]

Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur

The first installment of my Reyna Swap AU, Alea Iacta Est // Percy Jackson & Reyna Avilla Ramírez Arellano // Hurt - Comfort // roughly two or three days post-Tartarus // tw vomiting & tw implied/referenced past child sexual assault // light swearing // 3.4k

(hey, @specific-dreamer, i started writing it :))

ao3

—————

Reyna exits her bed smoothly, flicking on the lamp as she goes. At night, when her cabin feels too dark and too small, the light is one of her only wards against her stiff spine and the shake of her shoulders. She ghosts her hands through her closet, searching for something thick and substantial, like the light and the reassuring click of the lock as she opens her door.

The floor of the quarter deck is cold under her bare feet, but the polished wood is soothing in its smoothness. She tugs on her sweatshirt against the cool temperature that accompanies flying far above the warm Mediterranean. Someone must have screwed with the thermostat last night–tonight–otherwise it would be compensating for the chill in the air.

It doesn’t affect the rest of the ship. The wood doesn’t contract or expand under the temperature, the boat doesn’t creak. It’s immune to the cold air and warm water in that way. She can’t quite decide if the silence that accompanies it is comforting or not as she descends to the main deck.

All of the lights are on down here, the rooms devoid of people. She knows that the lights of the lower deck will be off, because Leo sleeps down in the engine room, but the main deck is no man's land at this time of night. Someone has swept the floors, and with the lights on and undisturbed by organic shadow, this level seems more like a model of a ship than somewhere where people live. When the feeling turns from interesting to uncanny she finishes her route to the galley.

Though the galley is less of a galley, straight and narrow, than an actual kitchen you would find in a home. It’s large, even though Leo claims it’s unnecessary given his plate technology, and rather comfortable. A counter winds around the room, a large refrigerator with people’s personal food labeled, an oven and stove, and lastly, the sink: her destination.

She’s almost to the kitchen island before she sees Percy, sitting on the counter, looking for all the world as if he is a fixture of the kitchen itself. She doesn’t freeze when she sees him–she’s better than that–but she does let herself take stock of him, one leg hanging off the counter and his other knee propped under his chin, holding his head up.

His eyes look irritated, bags underneath that more closely resemble bruises, and a few pieces of hair are falling into his eyes, but he doesn’t do more than glance her way as she crosses to the sink next to him, so she leaves him be. Percy’s always been… observant. She could tell by the way he looked at her as she dropped from the Argo’s rope ladder. But since Tartarus he’s gotten quieter. Before, it used to just be a thing about him, not speaking unless he had something to say. Now it’s more obvious, like something or someone is keeping him.

She fills her glass of water and leans against the island, staring at the fridge.

She and Jason had had their own kitchen, as praetors. It was in the Principa, tucked out of the way, cold blue-greys and aggressively modern appliances. It reminded her of her childhood kitchen in that way. Cleanly impersonal–it more closely resembled an office break room. She and Jason barely used it, but still, they tucked their s’more supplies into a corner cupboard, and occasionally they would find each other there, making tea during late nights and early mornings.

The Argo kitchen is nicer, filled with warm colors and the smell of cinnamon. Percy cooks in here, she knows, though she has never seen him at it. When she had woken up that first morning after the disaster in New Rome there had been conchas on the counter. Leo, for all his initial grumbling, took to cooking in here while Percy and Annabeth were gone. His own little way of grieving, she thinks, taking a sip of water.

Percy lurches as if the ship has, uncharacteristically uncoordinated in his urgency. She straightens immediately as he twists off the counter and onto his feet. His forearms come down hard on the ledge of the counter, bracketing himself, and then he retches into the sink.

Strings of hair hang in his face as he does, she can now see that they are separated by sweat, and before she knows what she’s doing she’s across the aisle and holding his hair back and gives him the privacy of looking away, tucking away loose strands of hair. It’s deceptively soft, even with charred and patchy places here and there, and curlier than Leo’s. Memories of Hylla rage strong as she twists it around her finger, leaving no chance of it falling in the way again, the grey streak resembling a swirl.

Reyna can practically feel Hylla’s hands in her hair, her body sprawled against the wall of their cabin, head in a bucket. Hylla’s body, pressed against one side of her back, not overbearing, just a reminder that she was there now. On good nights they would end up in their bed before Reyna fell asleep, talking until Reyna’s brain could come back home. Hylla would twist Reyna’s hair into braids more beautiful and pure than Reyna could ever imagine being, and Reyna would complain about the smell of the bucket until Hylla got up to throw the contents overboard.

“Better your lunch than yourself,” Hylla sometimes joked upon her return, in that way people do when they are living through horrible things, doing horrible things, having horrible things thrust upon them. The memory burns now that Reyna isn’t there. She can’t find the humor in the joke now, only the threat of the first mate holding Reyna by the hair and threatening to make her walk the plank if she didn’t stop crying.

She couldn’t stop, but he didn’t seem to understand that, he just held her wrists until Hylla was there, in his cabin, talking with her voice smooth in a way it had never been before the Queen Anne’s Revenge. She talked until Reyna was allowed to leave, until the door shut with her still inside.

That was the night Blackbeard and his crew decided Reyna wasn’t worth it, a night she would forever be thankful for. Reyna couldn’t recover as fast as Hylla, she couldn’t put up with as much, she was wrecked after each encounter, and that night she would be thankful for it, and the day after, and the next, until she and Hylla were running the ship and she never had to think about it again.

Percy pants against the sink, signaling that he is done, and she takes a step back, suddenly uncomfortable and anxious for something to do.

She decides on giving him her glass of water–gods know he needs it more than she does–and watches him down the whole thing greedily. An air of clarity seems to blow through him, clearing his eyes and fixing his posture. Maybe that is the magic of a child of Poseidon. Water: an instant cure to all ailments.

“Thank you,” he says with a gasp as he finishes drinking. He wipes some vomit off a corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning before he rinses it off in the sink. Reyna nods serenely in response, no judgement.

It’s a wrestle with herself, to decide if she wants to ask what has him puking his guts out. The fine line she always walks is taunting her, telling her not to alienate people, telling her that knowledge is power. The voice sounds suspiciously like Michelle, which only makes her prickle further. It’s a moot point, regardless. She can remember sitting with Thalia, legs swinging over the edge of a bridge, “I loved him to pieces, Reyna, but that asshole wouldn’t tell me he was hurt unless I pinned him down and threatened to zap his eyebrows off.” She’s going to ask.

“Are you okay?” They are hollow words, because none of them are, and she knows his answer.

“I’m fine,” And then a second later he is over the sink again, all of the water coming right back up.

She takes a place behind him, Hylla’s place, holding his hair back and drawing on his back with her other hand. She can feel his muscles clench each time more of his stomach empties, takes in his breathy swears, traces the letters on the back of his New Rome hoodie. She thinks it might have been hers at one point. It swallows him.  

He pulls back, eventually, putting space between them. She lets him have it, but sticks to her spot, crossing her arms.

“Want to try that again?”

He breathes raggedly, head hung. “I can’t–” he lifts a hand to gesture to himself vaguely, but rests it swiftly, looking like he regrets the action. “I haven’t been able to keep food down. Since we got back. It’s too rich. Too much. I was stupid, forgetting how that worked,” he explains, reading the pull of her brow. “Forgot how it felt, too,” he adds, quietly.

She flicks the sink on, letting his remnants wash down the drain, and looks at him thoughtfully. He’s too tired to notice, or maybe to care. His knuckles white out on the edge of the counter, pulsing no doubt in tandem with his stomach. One of his legs begins to quake and she nudges it with her knee. He shifts.

“Is there a reason you’re camped out in here and not the bathroom?”

His breathing, slow and steady, a trained pattern, is interrupted by a faint chuckle. “Thought I wouldn’t run into no one. It’s not working out, clearly.”

He sits back on the counter gently, already clutching his stomach again. “I’ll get over it soon. Just a couple more days. I just–need to make sure I don’t tear my stomach lining.” His words come spaced out and slow, working between his breaths.

“Annabeth?” she asks, unable to mask concern, or maybe uninterested in doing so.

“Got over it,” he answers swiftly. It almost sounds like he is going to say more, but he doesn’t, and she lets it drop in favor of watching him. When he gulps she’s already by his side.

This time bile is the only thing that comes up. He hacks, searching for more, but all that's left is acid. She’s supporting almost his entire weight with one arm. A twitch of worry makes her muscles tense, alien to any type of worry she experienced while he and Annabeth were in the pits of hell. This is immediate, intimate, not abstract. Like seeing Jason’s face dripping gold.

Percy’s whole body shudders, head so deep in the sink she thinks he might be able to touch the sick and the porcelain with his nose if he were to go any further, but the spell seems to have stopped. His arms shake against the counter, and before he can follow through with getting his own vomit plastered across his face she uses her hold on his hair to gently tilt his head towards her.

His eyes are almost completely unfocused, squinting against the kitchen lighting behind her. His water lines have released their tears, finally surmounting the amount of control he had been maintaining. He looks utterly wrecked, and not in the deranged and semi-wild way he had been fresh out of the Doors of Death.

She switches her arm from propping him up to wrapping it around him, keeping him from falling back against the sink and grunting between his weight and his condition. His limbs are loose with relief, now. Almost limp. She orients him until he’s pressed against her hip, utterly malleable under her hands. An odd sense of warmth seems to travel up her arms and into her heart as he slots against her. From what she’s seen, from what she knows, Percy is not one to be controlled. He rebels against it, particularly resistant to anyone who is not a peer, or better yet, a friend. Yet here he is, letting her move his body for him.

It’s something she could never imagine herself doing; willingly handing herself over like this. But with the warmth is a new desire, a spark of hope that one day she will grow with people until she can let them take care of her like this.

“Let’s get you to the med bay,” she says.

“No.” It comes quiet and breathy, and then again with urgency, “No. Annabeth likes to take inventory there when she can’t sleep. Not the med bay.”

Avoiding the med bay on account of Annabeth is a stupid decision, but she reminds herself that Percy cares more about other people than he does himself. He doesn’t want Annabeth to be worried, Reyna thinks, to keep his problems to himself, and though that is not always the best plan, it’s not the worst. Reyna recognizes the necessity of keeping your shit to yourself. Percy might be one of the only people she knows that understands that and deserves it, so she just sighs.

“Okay.” She hooks her other arm under his, making sure he’s steady, and lowers him to the floor. “We’ll just set up camp here.”

He presses the back of his head against the cabinets, hands groping the cool stone floor, and then lets himself tip fully onto it. No complaints. Apparently he likes the change in location. She grabs a dish towel, folding it up and sliding it under his head, and a bowl, if he needs to give up his internal organs while she’s gone and can’t quite make it to the sink. With a shove of his shoulder he turns on his side, loosely grabbing his stomach and making her feel safe in the fact that he can’t choke on his own vomit.

She feels funny when she stands again, brushing her hands against her pant legs. She’s never taken care of someone like this before, never had to. She and Jason were there for each other during their fair share of unfortunate situations, but she never had to watch him like this; curled up on the ground, shaking, weak. She wonders if he was ever caught like this, in the bathroom across the hall. If he had ever wanted to ask her for help.

Annabeth isn’t in the med bay when Reyna goes to scrounge up some anti-nausea medication, and she isn’t coming down the stairs when Reyna makes her way back to the kitchen. Percy’s in the same spot, though. She supposes that counts for something as she sits next to his head, reading the directions on the back of the box.

It’s generic, a syrupy red that reminds her of fake blood in old horror movies. Percy coughs as it goes down, making a face and muttering something about cherry flavoring and scented markers.

When she’s sure he’s not going to up chuck the medicine, which would be a type of irony she is not ready for, she goes searching for something he can eat. The stores on the Argo II are significantly better than that of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and greatly aided by the presence of a fridge, but she ends up with a packet of pedialyte powder she remembers seeing Percy use during their first week on the Argo. It’s orange, which she can respect as it’s the best artificial flavor.

Percy groans while she’s stirring it, and before she knows it she’s sitting by his side, letting him press his face into her leg. Her body seems to know what to do, even if she doesn’t, and she’s grateful for it.

“Would you rather rehydrate or take more medication?”

He groans again, nose brushing her thigh, and says, “Both.”

“Disregard the instructions?”

He hums against her leg, whispering her resolve into the ground, because she doesn’t argue. It doesn’t hurt that she couldn’t decide either, or that she has always been good at knowing when to break the rules.

“Whatever repercussions there are to this, it’s your fault,” she says instead, already measuring another dose.

He downs it like a shot and with a grimace, even though he is still laying on the floor. It manages to wring a snort out of her, as does the way he remarks that the straw she put in the pedialyte looks like a worm: “Which I’ll allow only because you chose blue; the best color.”

He fumbles in and out of consciousness, mind half addled, and she thinks she’s found a cheat code to becoming his friend. With his sharp eyes half closed and his height stolen by his horizontal position on the floor, too tired to keep his body wired and slurping through a straw because the energy to sit up seems like a far flung concept, he’s easy to see and even easier to like.

“You made the good shit,” he half slurs as he takes another sip.

“Yeah?”

“Grew up on this stuff,” he says by way of explanation. “It was free at my first school, low income and what not. Wanted to make sure we had enough calories to suffer through the school day. Picked it up at food banks, too.”

She hums, pretending he hasn’t just revealed something that she doubts he’s told anyone else. “Kept it around for the taste?”

“Malnourished after Lupa, just a bit,” he says arching his neck in discomfort before taking another sip. “I made sure to pick some up while we were still in the states. ‘Beth knows I like it though. I think she already bought some.”

“Yeah.” Reyna can vaguely remember something along those lines, sitting with Annabeth and going over supply lists for the ship. She’d been rambling and scatterbrained, which Reyna now knew was her default state.

He switches subjects after that, nothing sticking for long. It’s an interesting contrast to the Percy that she’s met. She wonders if he was like ths as a kid, or maybe it was longer than that. Maybe it was until they were swapped, maybe it was until Tartarus and she just never got the chance to see.

“You’re talkative when half your guts are down the drain,” she tells him, after listening to him ramble about the Knicks for a couple minutes.

“Blame my state.”

“I am, dumbass.”

“So rude,” he says in Spanish, sounding like her neighbors in Puerto Rico, getting together under the shade during the heat of the day, complaining about their daughters. “What’re you doing here anyway,” he asks, “Why aren’t you nice and cozy in your bed.”

“Obviously sitting on the floor with you is superior.”

He coughs out a laugh, there. Weak, but she can feel his amusement from the crinkle of his eyes before he sobers. “Really, why?”

“Nightmare.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Want to talk about Tartarus?” she snaps, because no, she does not want to talk about her historical issues with boats, or how she’s thinking of Jason, out there escorting a forty foot statue in an attempt to stop yet another war.

“Sorry,” Percy whispers, pulling his head back a bit.

“No, I’m sorry.” She’s supposed to be better than this. She’s supposed to be a leader, which does not include letting her frustrations out on others, no matter the time of day–or night. “That was unprofessional of me.”

He snorts. “We’re lying on the kitchen floor and I’m wearing Black panther pajama pants. Trust me, you don’t have to be professional here… And I’m sorry–for asking.”

“It’s alright,” she ends up saying, mostly thinking that he’s right. She’s about to tell him so when she notices that his eyes have slipped closed. “Let's get you to bed.”

“I’m not gonna sleep,” he grumbles.

“Well if I get you some more magic potion can you lie to me?”

He smiles at that, one side of his mouth going up farther than the other, like in almost every photo she saw of him during her months at Camp Half-Blood. “If you, Reyna Ramírez Allreano, get me more orange pedialyte, I will absolutely fall asleep as soon as I’m in my bed.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

[tripleaxeldiaz]

i threw a wish in the well

read on ao3

“I’ll be right back.”

Buck watches as Eddie jogs down the stairs and wills himself to stay seated, to keep reading his book and not run after him to try and eavesdrop. Because Eddie stepping away to talk on the phone is completely normal — even when it’s Chris, he likes his privacy, and Buck respects the hell out of that — but what’s not normal is Eddie returning from said phone call with a self satisfied smile and no details on who he just talked to. Just a shrug and some form of “no one important”.

But it clearly is important, based on the smile, and the fact that someone Buck doesn’t know is making Eddie smile like that is starting to drive him crazy. It was bad enough with Ana, but once that finally fizzled out and Buck had worked through his own feelings, he thought he’d have time — to gauge if Eddie was still interested in dating, if he was interested in dating men, and if he was interested in dating Buck specifically. It was a delicate thing to navigate, and Buck was sure he could take things slow, make sure he read every situation perfectly until he was certain things would work out in his favor.

Clearly, he’d missed his window.

He turns to Hen and Chim, who are locked in a Scrabble battle that’s lasted the better part of two hours. “Do you guys know who Eddie’s been talking to?”

Chim shrugs, eyes never leaving the board. “If you don’t know, we sure don’t.”

“Are you worried?” Hen asks.

He closes his book and tosses it on the counter. “I’m not worried, I’m—” 

None of the endings to that sentence make him look good, because there’s no way to spin I’m mad that someone else is making him that happy or I’m pissed I didn’t get to him first to make him sound like less of a jerk.

Hen, of course, sees right through it. “Looks like you’re a little green-eyed about it, Buck.”

He knows she’s right, and he hates that she’s right, so he takes the first out he can find. “Looks like you’re about to lose pretty badly, Hen.”

She flips back around in her chair just in time to see Chim play JACKEL on a triple word score, cursing under her breath. Buck goes back to his book and tries to ignore the expanding ice in his stomach and the fact that it’s been well over 10 minutes since Eddie left.

Not that he’s been counting.

When he finally does come back, sliding onto the barstool next to Buck, the look is back too — happy but almost smug, like the call (the flirting?) was a competition, and he had decidedly won.

“Who was that?” Buck asks, not looking up from his book because he does not care, Eddie can flirt with whoever he wants and it doesn’t matter to him at all, really.

Eddie shrugs, “Nobody.”

Buck smiles tightly and nods and tries not to fume too obviously. One look from Hen tells him he’s doing a terrible job.

~~~~~~~~~~

He finally cracks at movie night. 

Eddie winces apologetically as he pauses the movie and takes his ringing phone to his room. Buck waits until he hears the door click shut before rounding on Chris sitting next to him.

“Do you know who your dad’s been talking to on the phone so often?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, but he always goes into his room to talk.”

“You’ve never tried to listen in?”

He looks offended for a second before deflating. “I can’t hear anything through the door.”

Buck huffs out a laugh, reaching out to ruffle Chris’ hair. “It’s okay, bud, you tried.”

The interrogation ends when Eddie comes back, and Buck elects to drop it for now, focusing instead on the movie and the warm press of Eddie’s arm against his own.

But then Chris goes to bed, and they’re standing in the kitchen talking about nothing, and Eddie’s phone rings again, and Buck does not want him to answer it.

“You’re awfully popular these days. Did you make a new friend I don’t know about?” It’s a little harsher than he means it to be, but his grip on “casual” gets looser and looser every time Eddie gets a call.

To his credit, if he notices, Eddie doesn’t say anything, just smiles and shakes his head. “You’re gonna laugh when I tell you,” he says.

Buck’s not sure he’ll ever find the idea of Eddie dating someone who’s not him funny, but he can try. If it makes Eddie happy, he’ll try anything.

“Adriana was at a bar with some friends for her birthday, and some guy kept trying to hit on her and wouldn’t leave her alone. So when he asked for her number, she gave him mine, and when he called I may have...very strongly suggested that he evaluate his life choices when it comes to picking up women.”

“You yelled at him.”

“I was a little short—”

“You yelled at him.”

“He deserved it!” A flush settles high on Eddie’s cheekbones, like he’s pissed all over again at a guy he’s never met. Buck tries and fails to not find it adorable. “Anyway,” Eddie drains the last of his beer, “She’s done it a few other times and given my number to her friends to use too, so that’s what it is. Just trying to be a good brother.”

“You are a good brother,” Buck says, automatically refuting any idea that Eddie is less than the best person he knows. Once he processes the rest of the story, he does laugh, a loud thing pushed out of his body by relief. “Wow, I really thought—” he stops himself, clears his throat. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Adriana’s happy she doesn’t have to field calls from a bunch of weirdos.”

Eddie’s staring at him from across the kitchen, head cocked and eyebrows scrunched. He looks confused for a minute before quickly straightening up, eyes darkening and a look on his face that’s less the sly smirk Buck’s seen lately and more...hungry. Wanting. He sets his beer on the counter as Eddie makes his way over, stopping right in front of Buck and placing his hands next to his hips, bracketing him in. Their chests are just barely touching, and Buck wouldn’t have to lean far to finally know what Eddie tastes like.

“Evan Buckley,” Eddie says — rumbles, really, Buck swears he feels the vibrations in every part of his body, “were you jealous?” 

And while his first instinct is to deny everything, he realizes that his window — though never really closed — has been thrown wide open. The breeze is cool and inviting, the sun is shining, and Eddie is waiting for him, looking anxious and hopeful.

Screw taking his time. He’s got all his answers.

Eddie meets him halfway, and the kiss feels like a thunderstorm — electric, all-encompassing, but still comfortable, washing away the grit and grime to pave the way for new beginnings. They stay like that for a while, Buck reveling in the feeling of Eddie’s lips soft against his and his hair silky between his fingers, and they only pull away when both their smiles get too big. 

“That’s a yes, by the way,” Buck says, still trying to get his breath back.

Eddie snorts. “I figured.” Buck just laughs, and Eddie squeezes his waist and pulls him in again, lips moving from his mouth down his neck, driving any thoughts or snarky comments straight out of Buck’s head. 

He’s about to suggest they move somewhere more comfortable when he hears a soft buzzing from across the room. He groans as Eddie peels away, walking over to his phone and seeing the screen lit up with an unknown number. Eddie hesitates before swiping to answer.

“I’m making out with my boyfriend,” he says, deadpan, looking directly at Buck. “And whoever gave you this number isn’t interested. Don’t call again.” He hangs up, going from confident to apprehensive in a matter of seconds.

Now it’s Buck’s turn for a smug smile. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Eddie saunters back over, smiling himself, but landing somewhere around soft and fond instead of smug, and it makes Buck’s heart flip. “I hope so,” he says, hands grabbing Buck’s waist again.

He kisses Buck again, softly this time, and it’s already so familiar, so addicting, and Buck wants to sink into it and never come out.

“I think we can make that work,” he whispers against Eddie’s lips. He grabs him by the belt buckle and pulls him toward the bedroom, and Eddie spends the next several hours making him forget why he was ever jealous in the first place.

[arpiii]

The BAU High School Teacher AU

Let’s start with teaching positions:

“Mr. Hotch” - English, History

“Mr. Rossi” - Film, Psychology

“Emily” - French, Arabic, Gym coach

“Morgan” - Woodwork, Weight room & Gym Coach

“Dr. Reid” - Math, Science, Music theory

"JJ” - Spanish, Art

“Garcia” - Drama, Computer Science/Tech classes

“Principal Strauss” - no one likes her

“Gideon” - School counselor

“Officer Elle” - School security

Now about the staff:

Mr. Hotch is the strict teacher. No late work, he doesn’t curve grades, and can tell if you bullshit your tardy. But he’s still supportive towards the students that need it and helps any way he can. He barely smiles and is never absent from class. The only jokes he cracks are really cheesy dad jokes that make the class cringe and groan and snicker because he says them so seriously. If a student is having trouble in the class but it’s because of their parents, Hotch makes sure to meet with them and lecture the parents and defend his student as much as he can. But all his students know, one day each year, he plans a prank on Mr. Rossi, his rival. This is what the class looks forward to every year. A couple times he brings his son Jack to class and the class loves him. They’re also surprised to see Hotch smiling all day and going soft when he talks to Jack. When he has something important to teach he lets Jack hang out with Garcia.

Mr. Rossi is the strict, yet chill teacher. He disciplines his kids and gives them extra credit when they deserve it. He likes to joke with the class and brag about him being a best selling author, the class roll their eyes but enjoy it. He’s also extremely sarcastic and has dry and slightly dark humor. He throws a pizza party at the end of each quarter/term and every time he goes over to Hotch’s class to offer some. Hotch always declines but Rossi leaves it on the desk anyway. The only time Hotch breaks his no emotion streak is when Rossi visits and teases him. The class is told at the beginning of the year that it’s a feud but they all know they secretly have a thing for each other and are too stubborn to admit it.

Emily is the laid back Gym teacher. She and Morgan are constantly one-upping each other and they brag to each other who’s picked up the most girls at bars to entertain the class. She’s the only teacher that know’s how to piss off Morgan and her class loves that. She also teaches French and Arabic. JJ, the Spanish teacher, visits her class and her students notice every time that JJ is the only teacher Emily is sweet with, but JJ doesn’t seem to notice. 

Morgan is the cocky gym teacher and weight-room coach, and also teaches woodwork. He’s super chill but strict when he needs to be, and is constantly motivating kids. If a kid is in trouble or scared, Morgan makes sure to resolve the problem or defend the kid with his whole chest. He likes to compete against Emily’s class in sport games during class. But most of his free time he visits Dr. Reid. His main purpose is to embarrass Reid with innuendoes and flirting, which he’s always successful at. Reid’s class enjoys the shit out of it. Emily is annoyed at both of them and is the only teacher that calls Morgan Reid’s “boyfriend” just to mess with both of them. When Morgan can’t visit Reid’s class he sends Emily as a messenger who rolls her eyes every time.

Dr. Reid is that really smart teacher. He teaches up to the advanced math and science classes and also music theory. Reid tells the class to let him know if he’s talking too fast or rambling so he can slow down. He cares about all his students and although the students are annoyed with all the work they get, they enjoy having Reid as their teacher. They love the fact that he loves Dr. Who and give him Dr. Who and nerd themed gifts on his birthday. When the class is doing individual work Reid puts on classical music. The students also teach him about pop culture things like Tik Tok dances and iconic vines. Reid isn’t very social but they see his personality come out when Morgan visits. His face goes red every time Morgan drops an innuendo and threatens Morgan to leave the class. Some ways he’s done that is by throwing a white board eraser at him, threatening to splash a beaker of acid on him, and holding his guitar as a weapon. They know he’s not serious though because Reid fails to hide his smile. Garcia visits the class a lot and she’s like the mom of the class, she sometimes brings treats and likes to chat with the students. Every time she visits, she ad Reid are quietly gossiping in the corner, and although the class can’t hear them, they can tell it’s about Morgan (especially the one time they caught Reid blush during a conversation).

JJ is the Spanish and Art teacher. She is extremely sweet and checks in with her class constantly if they’re doing ok or if they need help. No one is scared to ask questions because she always answers them without making the student feel bad. Her students notice Emily visits a lot, and they can tell they have a thing for each other. Whenever they ask JJ about it, she neither confirms nor denies it so a huge conspiracy starts. She also teaches art and Garcia likes to visit a lot. The two gossip about all the other teachers, JJ fills Garcia in about Emily and Garcia fills JJ about Reid and Morgan. Sometimes, when Reid is out, JJ substitutes his music class. She likes to fool with Morgan when that happens.

Garcia is the mom of the school. Everyone loves her. She teaches drama and comp sci so she is loved by the gays and the nerds. She’s always enthusiastic and supportive and treats her kids. She’s very colorful and gives her kids candy or stickers if they get a question right or do something really cool in their assignment. When she visits Reid, if Morgan shows up she guards the door and keeps him out of the class. Morgan tries to charm her but she charms him back and doesn’t break. Once in a while she fails to keep him out and the class goes nuts watching the show. She’s also called a lot by Hotch because he needs help with technology constantly. Rossi needs help too once in a while but he just relies on his students or eventually figures it out. 

Principal Strauss is only seen in the halls once in a while. She monitors classes twice a year and all the students AND the teachers behave their best that day. Even Hotch seems relieved when she leaves the class. She makes announcements at the most inconvenient times. She is also the only one who enforces the dress code on students. Once in a while she asks what Morgan’s doing in Reid’s class and Morgan tries to cover it up and the class backs him up. Rossi’s class finds it hilarious when she’s talking to the class and he’s mocking her from behind, rolling his eyes and making faces. The students clearly know the teachers don’t like Strauss as they constantly complain about her. She calls Garcia’s games and prizes “distractions” and thinks JJ gets off track too much because she checks in with her class to much. The students that hate her the most though are Reid’s students, because she’s the hardest on him for no reason. They can tell by his behavior and can tell he’s drained every time she leaves the class. They tell Morgan and Morgan decides to start a yoga club for students and teachers to destress once a week. He personally invites Reid and that’s the only time the students see Morgan doesn’t mess with Reid. Garcia also offers free hugs to any student who needs one during the school day. 

Gideon is everyones favorite staff member. Everyone loves him. His door to the counselor’s office is always open and he always knows what to say to students that have trouble. He’s just very relaxing to talk to. Everyone respects him and even all of the teachers get along with him. He checks in with classes once in a while just to see how everyone’s doing, and sometimes sits in lessons to learn with the students. Sometimes he participates in group assignments. He’s also the only one who stands up to Strauss. He never get’s mad, he’s always calm and manages to talk sense into her. Because of this, she’s never mad at him. When she is, he doesn’t take it personally. He doesn’t go to the yoga classes, but makes sure student’s know about them. He starts the chess club and during the whole year it’s a competition between Gideon’s team and Reid’s team. The students keep track of the bracket thats displayed in the cafeteria and take sides, creating a large yet fun divide in the school. The students ask all the teacher’s who’s side they’re on each year and create flyers to root for each team. It’s also partially a fund raiser for the school to have extracurricular activities. The teachers give extra credit to any of their students who’s rooting for the same team they are if that team wins. Gideon also attends all of the sports games and musical performances.

Officer Elle is school security and most of the students are nice to her. She makes sure to break shit up if a fight breaks out and firmly advises kids to not drink or do drugs. She has PSA assemblies twice a year about security and health. She’s chill and likes to chat with students. She’s basically a badass and makes sure to put kids in their place who deserve it. She also teases Morgan because they have a history in working in security together.

Assemblies:

There are four assemblies every semester. Three out the eight for the entire year, Strauss forces Reid to present. She’s totally unaware that he has the worst anxiety out of all of them (and if he told her she probably couldn’t have cared less and given bullshit excuses). The students eventually catch on that Reid din’t ask to present based off his shaking hands and wavering voice. They also see the looks the other teachers are giving Strauss, who is unaware. Reid bears through it though and Morgan comforts him afterwards as Strauss is giving the closing statement. The student’s support Reid as he’s talking and try to make him feel better. Morgan makes jokes at him to distract him and the class plays along with it. Two of the other assemblies are given by Elle, two others are given by Strauss, and one is given by Gideon. However there’s one unofficial assembly held every year by the students (teachers are invited except for Strauss). At the end of the year the students compile a video of pictures or videos of funny or iconic moments of things that happened to the students or teachers throughout the school year. This usually includes crackhead moments during free time in classes, a kid secretly recording Hotch as he’s trying to tell a dad joke, Morgan flirting with Reid in front of the whole class, Reid’s students dancing in a Tik Tok with Reid (followed by someone recording them creating the Tik Tok), the hype for the end of year chess tournament, the massive pranks pulled by the teachers and students on April Fools Day, everyone’s costumes during Halloween, and so much more. One student brings a popcorn machine. Garcia brings candy.

Specific events:

Morgan crashes Reid’s class multiple times a week. The students look forward to it, because all Morgan does is flirt. He’d spit out innuendos that are somehow related to what he’s teaching. It’s the worst in music class. 

“You’re doing well with that fingering” “I’M PLAYING THE GUITAR”

“Hey Dr. Reid, how’s the blowing going?” Reid’s face burns red

“You really stroke the G well-” “GET OUT”

“For a drummer you don’t bang very well” *dodges drumstick*

One time Reid threw a white board eraser at him only to receive “damn you trying to rub me out?” which causes the class to roar.

The class goes crazy every time and someone is bound to be recording every time Morgan steps into the classroom. Morgan would also call Reid “pretty boy” on occasion and ruffle his hair, which Reid would fix right after. (Everyone knows he secretly loves it).

One day Reid gets his hair cut short with curls on top, but Morgan doesn’t find out till the next day. He also wore his glasses that day (which he does wear occasionally). The class started to silently freak as they filed in before the bell rang. When Morgan entered mid class his greeting of “Hey pretty boy” was cut short when he saw him. Morgan stood frozen for a good 30 seconds before Reid approached him (WAY too close) and says lowly “What we’re you saying?” Theres no response from Morgan, the class is trying to stay silent while going ape shit, everyones phones are out, it looks like their noses are about to touch when finally Reid steps away and asks the class “So, who can tell me the answer to number 6?” and just leaves Morgan there. The class tries to recover and when five minutes pass Reid looks back at Morgan (who hasn’t moved) and asks, “Hey Morgan, don’t you have a class to teach?” Finally Morgan snaps out of it and stutters “Uh.. yeah- I gotta... go,,” and leaves the classroom.

~ 

Spirit week is a riot.

It starts with Tropical day. Everyone dressed in a hawaiian shirt and wore a fake lei, even Hotch. Garcia gives out lei’s to everyone that doesn’t have one and Rossi gives extra credit to whoever dresses up that week.

Next is 50′s/Grease themed. Morgan went all out with his outfit, leather jacket and sunglasses included. Reid did not own a leather jacket, but he did grease his hair back and wore a white t-shirt which entertained his students. Hotch, along with his outfit, brought a comb and constantly combed through his hair throughout class. Garcia and JJ wore poodle skirts and JJ wore her hair in a high ponytail. Emily wore black leather pants, a polkadot shirt, and a red bandana in her hair with bright red lipstick.  Rossi just wore his helmet from the Vietnam war, and when someone called him out, his excuse was the war started in the 50′s so it counts.

Next was Lazy Wednesday, and the students (and Morgan) didn’t know how much Reid in a hoodie could affect them. It got to the point where one of the students had to call out to Morgan “You’re drooling” which followed by laughter from the class. Emily wore her snuggie and JJ and Garcia wore matching Pokemon onesies. Half of the students were distracted because Hotch was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants.

Thursday was Disney themed. Morgan was, of course, Prince Charming. Every time he entered a classroom he overacted dramatically. Garcia decided to match by being his Cinderella and had her hand kissed by Morgan every time they passed each other. Rossi’s students had a field day with his costume. He dressed up as the toy seller from Toy Story 2. He got Woody and Jessie toys from Hotch’s son, Jack, and he was constantly eating cheese puffs. Hotch melted everyones hearts by dressing as Kristoff and bringing in Jack who was dressed as Sven. Every girl and gay almost had a heart attack from Reid, who was dressed as Milo from Atlantis. But the winners in the students book were Emily, who dressed up as Flynn Rider, and JJ, who dressed up as Rapunzel. They hung out in the halls in between classes, Emily winking at everyone who walked by.

~

With the good days come the bad. One year, Reid started getting these horrible migraines. He wouldn’t tell anyone, however, and kept teaching. Even Morgan asked a couple times if he was okay. This lasted almost two weeks, and then Reid had to lead an assembly that Friday. The migraines on top of his rising panic attack while he spoke to the students made him feel worse. He started to stutter and feel lightheaded, but Strauss said nothing. Morgan managed to hold on to him and finally told Garcia to take him into the hall. Thankfully Hotch stepped in and continued the assembly like he was presenting the whole time. After it was over, Morgan chewed out Strauss to the point where Emily had to hold him back. The students were confused as to what happened and theories started to spread as school let out. Morgan went straight to Reid who was sitting in a dark empty classroom with Garcia. Reid finally told him about his migraines and Morgan insisted taking him to the ER. The speculations grew when students saw Morgan leading Reid to his car with their arms around each other for support as they walked, Morgan comforting him on the way to the car.

~

One day, Reid had a doctors appointment for the latter half of the day, so he asked JJ to sub his music theory class. Only, Morgan didn’t know. There was a small hall that led into the big music room, so when Morgan entered, he couldn’t see JJ from where he was. He thought he was sneaking up on Reid, putting his finger to his mouth at the students who saw him sneaking. Finally he walked out to greet who he thought was Reid with “Is that something in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” He froze when he saw JJ staring back with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. He saw the class was recording him and shook his head while saying “I will get you back for this.” As he walked out defeated, JJ called after him, “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you about his doctor’s appointment.” which earned a middle finger from Morgan which JJ couldn’t see from where she was standing. This definitely ended up in the end of year slideshow and it was the first time Reid saw the video. He counted that as a victory.

[saffron-nova21]

X. Meeting the Team Pt. 2

The Next Chapter Masterlist

< Previous Chapter • You Are Here • Next Chapter >

Warnings: Strong language, a depiction of a panic attack and the reader's panic, mentions of Oikawa having a knee injury and panic attacks, reader yells at Kuroo.

A/N: By the way, please don't hate me for giving Kuroo a Camaro, I know literally nothing about cars, I'll call myself out so you don't have to.

Stepping out of Kuroo's sleek black 2013 Camaro, your eyes look at the large gym, the sound of volleyballs hitting hardwood floors bringing back memories for you. Glancing out of the corner of your eyes, towards your taller friend, you remembered the last time you'd walked into an unfamiliar gym. You'd met people who you'd made life-long friends with and he'd helped you get out of an awful situation.

Kuroo, Kenma, Lev, and... Well, really, the majority of the Nekoma High and Fukurōdani Academy volleyball clubs... They'd helped you realize when you needed to put your foot down and start looking out for yourself, rather than worrying about stepping on people's toes. While yes, you had lost two of the most important people in your life, by doing so, you also met quite a few people who truly were looking out for you and your happiness.

Did you hate Atsumu and Suna for the way they treated you? No. They both did a lot of damage, through their words and actions. But, at the end of the day, you'd all been so much younger and you weren't going to waste the rest of your life, hating people who weren't even in the picture, anymore. Or so, you thought.

You didn't ever intend or want to see them again, after the emotional turmoil they'd put you through. Little did Kuroo know just how badly you would respond to seeing them again.

"Are you going to stand there and keep reminiscing over when you met me, or are you going to walk inside and make some new friends?" The teasing smirk on Kuroo's lips only reminded you of the fact that even though he was pretty much a mother to you and Kenma, he was a teasing asshole. He knew how to press all of the right buttons and it would never fail to piss you off.

Walking forward, Kuroo walks forward and grasps the handle of the door, opening it for you. You don't hesitate to begin walking into the gym, flipping Kuroo off on your way. "You talk to me like a preschooler, y'know. And you wonder why Kenma calls you mom behind your back."

Stepping into the gym, you were in awe of your surroundings. Sure, this was an Olympic-level gym, but it looked far too pretty and clean to be a place for as grueling a training regimen as you could assume these athletes were put through.

What you were most pleased to find was that it didn't reek of sweat and floor mats. Instead, it had an almost fresh smell to it. It was partitioned up into three different rooms, as far as you could tell. The largest room was the one you were standing in currently, a weight room; different machinery is scattered neatly around the room and you notice that several ceiling-to-floor mirrors are lining the walls for the boys to observe their form while they work. Across from the door you'd just entered through was a wall of glass, which you could only hope was reinforced, and on the other side was a true volleyball gym, where you could see a few people working on their spikes, even if you couldn't quite make out who they were yet. The last room was closed off and much smaller than the other two, so you assumed it to be where the showers and changing room were located.

"Your highness!" You hear a familiar voice, turning to see Iwaizumi approaching you with a snarky grin, a small white towel hanging from around his neck. He wore a sleeveless grey shirt, only bringing more attention to his defined biceps. Sweats drip down his temple and you find yourself a bit embarrassed when you notice his lip still shows signs of the damage you'd done, the day prior. "So kind of you to finally join us."

Despite the lack of a real smile on his face, one of your own tugged at your lips, knowing that he was only teasing you. "You know, Iwa, you could always just admit that you missed me." Sending a wink his way, you notice that a few of the men are stopping what they're doing to look towards you, their attention captured by how loud Iwaizumi had previously been.

"Baby owl!" You can only brace yourself as you hear the former captain shout to you, knowing he was one for hugs. You didn't quite expect to be scooped up off of your feet. Laughter escapes you as Bokuto spins you around, practically bouncing up and down in joy that you were here. "You missed my spikes, earlier! They were so good, they were so good! They even would have made Akaashi proud!"

As Bokuto places you back down on the ground, some of the other boys are starting to approach, a few looking concerned by the way you gripped Bokuto's shoulder to steady yourself. And though you weren't paying attention to who it was, the three who'd been in the area of the gym and net had entered the weight area and gone for their towels and water bottles.

After you manage to shake yourself out of your dizzied state, you look at Bokuto with a smile. "Yeah, Bo? Well, you'll have to show me some more, later, yeah?"

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you spot Iwaizumi staring at you, brows pinching together in slight concern for your wellbeing. He places a bottle of water in your hands, before looking a the excited, silver-haired volleyball player, "Let's be careful, Bokuto. It's only their first day."

"They're looking a little dizzy, Bokuto. You might want to refrain from doing that in the future." The deep voice catches you off-guard, eyes flicking towards the very, very tall, scary man, now standing beside Bokuto.

He wasn't just tall, but he had quite a lot of muscle to his frame, giving him the build of a fucking giant. With wide eyes, you look him over. Despite his size, upon closer examination, he seemed a lot gentler than you might've previously mistaken him for. Kind eyes like that didn't belong to someone who would snap you in two... Right? Your eyes move away from his face, trailing down his body. From strong-looking biceps to defined thighs, the man seemed like a machine, more than anything. He couldn't actually be real, right?

"The fuck are you guys feeding him? Holy shit, hi there, B-F-G." You nod towards him, "Is your hair green or brown, because I'm looking at it and I'm gonna be honest, it's confusing me about as much as that Karasuno kid's did. Holy shit, I think I'm haunted by those memories." A mock shudder runs down your spine.

While Bokuto and Kuroo are used to your trailing off-topic, Ushijima looks confused, the poor thing. "What is a... B-F-G?"

"Big friendly giant. It's what they used to call this tall-ass first year who went to volleyball club with us, as well. You should feel special, Ushiwaka."

"Oh my fuck, Yaku, is that you? You got taller! That's criminal. You were my short king!" A pout graces your lips, while you step forward to give your old friend a large hug.

While Yaku hasn't found himself looking an insane amount taller, he did gain a bit of height since his time in high school. He stood in front of you, a hand resting on the back of his neck and his shoulders drawn back. He'd always had this feel-good, confident aura about him and it was something you'd always deeply respected about him. It was good to see that hadn't gone away.

After a brief hug, Yaku opens his mouth to speak, only for Kuroo to beat him to it. "I thought that was Kenma?"

Sighing, you roll your eyes. "I had to put Kenma in a different bracket, or else he would very easily surpass all of you in everything. I mean come on now, this is Kenma we're talking about," you muse with a self-satisfied smirk, making Kuroo raise an eyebrow.

Though, unbeknownst to you were the thoughts going through Kuroo's head. If only you knew why Kenma did all of the things that he did for you.

"I'm so excited to be working with you guys," a grin makes its way onto your lips as you clasp your hands together in front of you in excitement.

The smile that spread over your lips was contagious, even making Ushijima crack a small smile of his own. Out of anyone Kuroo had known, even with your aggression and the talking you'd do when you got excited, you were one of those people who people couldn't help but find themselves drawn to. And none of the men in the gym were able to quite explain why they found you as endearing as they did. Maybe it was the fact that you most certainly had no filter, whatsoever.

Bokuto places his hands on your shoulders, looking at the others on his team, "They're such a good player, guys! They could have gone pro if they wanted to! They have the best jump-float I've ever seen!" His loud bragging unknowingly catches the attention of the three final members of this group, who'd been caught up in conversation and getting a drink of water.

Yaku juts his chin out a bit and if you hadn't known him as well, you'd have thought the look he gave you was downright scrutinizing. But, being the person you were, and him being the person he was, you knew that he only took Bokuto's words as a challenge. "Oh yeah? Then that should be good practice for our receivers and I."

"If you needed service aces to practice on, you could have just asked, Mori! I wouldn't have minded helping you out, outside of my work hours." You smile as you look towards the libero, "I've been needing to get out of the apartment, for a while. Even Kenma can only handle so much of my dumbass."

Ushijima's curiosity gets the best of him and he cocks his head to the side, wondering what profession you'd chosen, rather than a career in volleyball. And so, yet again, Yaku is beaten to the chase, Ushijima speaking before the smaller man can get his mouth open. "What do you work as?"

"Youtuber some days, but twitch streamer, more often than not." Shrugging your shoulders, you continue to smile, "My roommate got me into it, actually, and from there, it became a profession for the both of us. Though he's got a dozen other jobs as well, it's pretty amazing."

A hand comes to ruffle your hair and after quickly identifying it as Kuroo's you lean into the display of affection. "We're talking about you, not Kenma."

"Speaking of," Bokuto speaks, even though it has nothing to do with the topic at hand, and his hands come up to guide your shoulders in the direction of the gym, "You need to set for me!"

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows, looking impressed, "You can set, as well?"

Nodding excitedly, you dive into an explanation, stopping before Bokuto can steal you away, "Yeah, I play a lot of different positions, actually. My ex-boyfriend was a middle blocker, my childhood friends were a setter and a spiker, and my older brother was an outside hitter - plus, he was amazing at defense, so he helped me a lot with perfecting my service aces when I played in high school. So you can say I was always a well-rounded player."

"Not to mention that you and that ex-boyfriend of yours were almost unbeatable, together. Almost." A warily familiar voice came from behind you, making you look back and grin from ear to ear.

The germaphobe had hardly changed, since high school. He was as tall as ever with a good build to him - only befitting for a volleyball player. As well kept as ever, he stood in front of you, reminding you of the number of times you'd ended up facing him across a net, years before. Though, unlike back then, now you were able to look towards one another for a friendship rather than a healthy rivalry.

"Why if it isn't Sakusa Kiyoomi. It's been forever!" With a questioning glance thrown your way by none other than Bokuto, you explain. "When I was at Inarizaki, we played against Itachiyama all of the time. Kiyoomi and I traded numbers after we bonded over our hatred of large crowds."

Sakusa lets a small uncharacteristic smile slip onto his lips as he glances towards Bokuto, "We haven't really kept in contact, but they'll be a welcome challenge, on the court, again."

"Is that a certain germaphobe of ours... Smiling? Omi! I didn't know you could do that! I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks!"

That voice. Why was he here? Your body goes stiff underneath Bokuto's touch, making the large male draw back to check on you, eyebrows pulled together in concern, until he spots what, or rather who you're staring at.

Because there the two are, standing in all of their glory. Suna Rintarō and Miya Atsumu. They didn't look all that different from the last time you'd seen them. Even though, it'd been what? Nine years?

By the way you go rigid, Suna's eyes drop to the floor, almost guiltily. It had been nine years and you still hated them. Though, he supposed they both deserved it. When you'd told them that you were leaving Inarizaki, they made your life even worse than what it had been. They gave you absolutely every reason to leave, rather than try to convince you to stay.

Before anyone can say anything, you catapult yourself into the air in an attempt to flee the building, much resembling a cat. You just, bolted in the first route you saw working and that was apparently through the air. Kuroo had to jerk you into his chest before you could face-plant to get you to calm down for a second. Sakusa narrowed his eyes as he looked between Suna and Atsumu - had they really been so awful to you?

"I quit. I'm not gonna do it." Your words sounded childish, you knew that but you didn't care, shaking your head as you pull yourself away from Kuroo, having half a mind to leave and not talk to any of the men here ever again. Well, more two of them, than anything else. Though, as you pull away, it dawns on you: was this why he had been so dead-set on you coming to 'help the team out?' With this question in mind, you turn around to face Kuroo. "Did you know they were going to be here?" When he doesn't respond, you feel your breath catch in your throat. The air you were breathing felt heavy inside your chest. He couldn't do that to you - he wouldn't. You flex your hands a bit - everything wasn't actually crumbling. Just remember what Kenma said... Breath...

You can't find the words or guts to continue until he reaches for you, anger quickly rising. What made him think he had any right to comfort you when he'd put you in this situation? "Do you not remember any of what happened in high school? Do you not remember how he," pointing a dramatic finger at Suna, "manipulated me? How bad he hurt me, more than once?"

"Do you not remember what he let happen?" After pointing towards the faux-blonde briefly, you drop your hand back to your side, "Oh no, I forget, you weren't there to see the damage they did, right? Because you went off to University and forgot all about Kenma and me, until we got out of high school, as well, right? Right?" You were hardly able to speak, trying to catch your breath in between words. Your voice was growing faint and strained, due to your lack of oxygen in your lungs.

You knew that everyone's stare was on you, only worsening your panicking. Your hands come to your shirt, wringing the ends of it as you try to ground yourself. But you couldn't stop. You just kept talking, needing Kuroo to understand why you were angry, why you were upset. He needed to understand what you were feeling and what he had done.

"You left me, with strangers, in a big city, after promising me it would all be okay. I wasn't welcomed back with my grandmother and brother, after the falling out. But did you even bother to check up, once, after you left? Did you even care, after promising me it was going to be okay? Come on, give me an answer, huh?" You weren't quite sure what brought up all of these old feelings. Maybe it was having to see the two that caused you all of that distress. "Fuck you, Tetsurō."

Kuroo couldn't deny the fact that he was surprised by the way you lashed out at him. He was wondering where all of this anger had been, years ago. Why hadn't you or Kenma ever said anything to him about this? He was fumbling, no words would escape him, no matter his efforts to get something out.

An uneasy silence hangs in the air for a few long moments, everyone looking between you and the former Nekoma captain. Truthfully, you'd never really dealt with everything that had happened, emotionally. You just kind of shoved it down and distracted yourself with being at a new school and video games.

"Bokuto, take Miya, Ushijima, and Suna and go and practice on the court, for a while." A firm voice saves Kuroo from having to respond, making everyone look towards the athletic trainer. "Yaku, I think you should escort Kuroo out. I'll take Y/N home, today." Iwaizumi walks over to you, looking at Sakusa, "Go get me a cool, damp towel, okay?"

You aren't quite sure if Kuroo leaves willingly, or if Yaku has to force him out, but you don't really care, at the moment. Iwaizumi places an arm around your shoulders and brings you over to a bench to sit on, uncapping a water bottle for you. He crouches down in front of you and hands it to you. "Hey, look at me. It's going to be okay, can you focus on breathing for me, right now?"

You weren't crying, were you? Why was it so hot in here? Why couldn't you just calm down? Everyone was looking at you, weren't they? Had you acted irrationally? They were going to hate you for being so dramatic, weren't they? So much for a good first impression with the boys...

"Did you hear me?" Iwaizumi's voice cuts through your thoughts, making your eyes shift to his. Without a word, you move your eyes back down to the water bottle in his hands, "Breath, Y/N."

Easier said than done. "Al -," you swallow shakily and nod, "Alright."

You move your eyes away from him - bad idea Y/N. When you spot the men glancing over at you while they distractedly get to work, you don't quite register that they wanted to check on you, because they were worried about you, mistaking it, instead, for judgment. You opt for closing your eyes, tapping your fingers together rhythmically to help you calm yourself down.

Looking you over, Iwaizumi is reminded of all the late practices that he would find Oikawa collapsing from exhaustion or due to his knee injuries. Though, Oikawa only got this bad when he held the weight of not making it to nationals on his shoulders. Was this a panic attack that you were having, like Oikawa use to have? Or was it something else? He noticed you reach out to him, after a moment of his thinking, and he offers you a hand, silently nodding when you flash him a grateful, weak, but grateful, smile.

Slowly, your breathing mellowed out and the tears pricking your eyes slipped down your cheeks, your head hanging as you attempt to withdraw your hand from Iwaizumi. Though, your eyes move back up when he gently grips your hand, holding it in his, still. It isn't long after that when you feel nimble fingers grip your chin, tilting it up so that Sakusa can gently pat your cheeks and face with the cool cloth. You knew he didn't like touching people much and you were tempted to tell them that they didn't have to do this for you. But their touch was so gentle and their presence so calming that you couldn't bring yourself to open your mouth.

Instead of saying anything, you relax against Iwaizumi and Sakusa's touch. Normally it was Kenma who'd be doing this for you, just as you'd do it for him, but Kenma wasn't here, right now. And you were left to depend on yourself and these very kind, very gentle men.

It doesn't take Yaku long to make his way over, sitting on the bench behind you and gently rubbing circles against your back. "You okay there?" He asks you after a few moments of silence.

Letting out a breath, you open your eyes and nod. You pull your hand away from Iwaizumi and pull your head from Sakusa, turning from them, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

Though, you aren't expecting Sakusa to grasp your chin once again and tilt your head in their direction again, "You aren't and we all know it, so cut the act."

Yaku sends a glare towards the taller man, "Sakusa!"

"What?" He snaps back. "I'm right, aren't I? They're not okay and they have every right to express it."

Iwaizumi sighs and looks at you, ignoring the other two, "Drink some water, okay? Look, after today, you don't have to return, I think we'll all understand if you don't want to... But, and you can ignore what I'm about to say if you want, I think that you need closure. Even if that comes from just having to tolerate occupying the same building as them."

Glancing over his shoulders, you find Suna and Atsumu both glancing in your direction. They looked so guilty... Why did you care? You frown and give him a shrug, "Whatever..."

Looking at you, Yaku nods slowly, "We'll try and keep you away from them, alright?"

After a nod of confirmation from Sakusa, you sigh and take a sip of the water bottle Iwaizumi had offered you. "Okay. Fine, yeah, I'll... I'll keep helping out." You confirm. "But, I'm going to bring Kenma for the next few days, just to make sure... This doesn't happen again." Gesturing to where the three sat, doting over you, you lower your eyes again.

"Whatever is going to make you feel most comfortable," Iwaizumi tells you, bringing a hand to affectionately ruffling your hair, watching the way you immediately lean into the affection.

"Let's get to work, what do you say, Y/N?" Sakusa hums, tone surprisingly gentle with you.

You finally stand up, capping your water bottle. "Yeah... Yeah. What can I do for you boys?"

Kenma and you both have a history of having panic attacks and you both are very good at calming one another down, due to your years of experience.

The boys might have just met you, but they all quickly developed this sense of 'I need to protect them' after what happened in front of them.

Atsumu let someone blackmail you, while you were both in high school and Suna continuously used you for his own amusement after he lost his memories and before he got them back. And they both said hurtful things when you announced you'd be leaving.

I am so sorry for how late this was, honestly. I just couldn't get it written how I wanted it. And even still, I don't really like the end result. But no matter, here it is, now, I hope you guys enjoy it. I hope you guys are having a great day, as well! Remember, sweetheart, I'm proud of you. You deserve to eat, get a good amount of sleep, and drink some water, I am so proud of you. Have a great day, alright! I'll have another chapter out tomorrow 🤍 I love you guys.

General Taglist:

@kookie-doughs @halesandy @ermahgerd-larry-and-ziam @its-the-aerieljeane @onlyonew @kac-chowsballs @saltylettuce @thathoneybee3 @daninaninani @akkeyomi @vintagexparker

The Next Chapter Taglist:

@anime-meme-sanctuary @nachotrash @haijkk @maadaaaa @prettyinblack231 @sakusasimpbot @kellesvt @bebetiny @ash-levi @calumsfringe @z3ld4 @erinoikawa @bandaged-despair @chaseyui @atria-avior @just-that-bi-girl @one-simp-more @hxked @universalmay @himboos

[bratconnor]

Connor being a little shit teasing Markus with scandalous photos of himself while Markus is at work/at a meeting. Each one gets progressively more risky till Connor full on bouncing on his biggest dildo. Cause of course he's a size queen. 😂😏😏😏

Oh my god this prompt is so good, I’m sorry I couldn’t get more explicit... I might make a part 2 sometime 💕

-

The first time Connor sends him a nude, Markus is sitting in the tail end of a meeting with human government officials in the early hours of the evening that's dragged on the slightest bit longer than expected. The humans still tend to talk him in circles when they don't want to pass new android laws, and he's had to tell himself for the billionth time that progress will be slow, but it's recently hit a stagnation that's had him tense, frustrated, and emotionally tired. 

He's also supposed to already be on his way back home. He's been gone all day, and he misses Jericho and his friends, but mostly he misses Connor who is most likely waiting for him to return right now as they’d had plans to spend the night together.

Almost as if Connor could hear his internal despairing, Markus receives a message.

RK800 313248317-51 “Connor”: <image attachment>

No words.

It's not at all the first time Connor has sent him a picture, especially not since they started dating. Connor has sent him an array of innocent things, like the flowers he'd begun planting in Hank's garden, or Sumo at the park, or even pictures of himself sometimes, when Markus asks for them. Markus has them all saved in a special Connor file. They're cute and sweet and, yes, always completely innocent, and Markus had never really considered that would change any time soon. Connor is generally a shy and reserved person outside of the bedroom, a boundary which Markus respects to perhaps an overcautious degree...

So Markus doesn't really think about it when he absently pulls the image up on his interface, expecting much the same, and hoping it will boost his mood so he can last for the rest of this meeting. 

Filling Markus’ HUD is a still image of Connor in Markus' room at Jericho, the bedside lamp turned on and bathing the room-- and Connor-- in a soft light. It lends a glow to Connor's lovely skin and dark hair. Oh, and Connor is also completely naked from the waist down to the mid-calves, only wearing a white button-up and a pair of socks. He's on his knees facing the foot of Markus' bed, looking over his shoulder coyly as he leans on his elbows and gazes straight into his own reflection from beneath thick, lowered lashes. His ass is perfectly round and oh god there are freckles on his ass cheeks, some dangerously close to his...

The sensation of a jolt that goes through Markus as he comes back to himself is intense, and he closes Connor's message with a level of haste like everyone else in the room can also see it. He belatedly swallows the flood of artificial saliva now sitting in his tightly closed mouth, and now feels like he can somewhat understand Connor’s intense urge to lick things, because there’s nothing Markus wants to do more right now than eat Connor’s fucking ass out and make sure to lick every freckle.

A quick referral to his motor logs lets him know he didn't outwardly react in any humanly noticeable way, thank rA9. He's genuinely surprised that he somehow hasn't whined out loud from the sudden frustration. Just what the hell had prompted that?

Markus physically feels like he’s buzzing as he finishes up the meeting (finally), shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries on auto-pilot before being escorted by Jericho bodyguards to his car, where he spends the ride back mostly staring at the picture and trying to figure out what the hell prompted it. They can’t reach the gates of Jericho fast enough, and Markus does everything in his power to act normal as he then debriefs with North and Josh.

“You seem a bit spacey Markus,” Josh comments as they’re wrapping up. “Did something happen?”

“Uh,” Markus says very casually as he gets to his feet, “No, nothing. Uh, by the way, have you guys seen Connor?”

North raises a brow, smirking, rolling her eyes, then laughing. “I saw him a couple hours ago. He told me he was going to hang out in your room.”

Markus can feel thirium rising to his face so he gets out of there as quickly as possible. He feels a rising surge of something as he makes his way up to his own room that he can’t quite identify, and when he opens the door and sees Connor sitting on his bed like he owns it, legs crossed and hands folded together in his lap as he gazes out of the window, Markus seems to act on instincts as he swiftly approaches him and presses his palm to Connor’s chest, pushing him flat onto his back and climbing up over him until he’s hovering above him face-to-face, hands braced on either side of Connor’s head. 

Connor had barely had time to look up when Markus had come in, and he lays there now unresisting as he gazes up into Markus’ eyes with a look of innocence so complete and pure that it’s laughable.

“What. The hell.” says Markus, quite poignantly, actually.

Connor blinks up at him, fluttering his stupid dark eyelashes and making doe eyes. “Hello, Markus,” he responds. “I don’t get a kiss?”

“Connor. What the hell was that.”

Connor does more of his innocent blinking and pouting. “Hm?”

“You KNOW what I mean. That picture you just sent.”

Connor shrugs, but he breaks their eye contact. “Well, you were gone all day, and... I figured you missed me as much as I missed you. And you like it when I send you pictures of myself, so,” he shrugs, but now he seems a little shy and unsure, one of his hands snaking up his chest to press fingertips to his lower lip and his cheeks beginning to turn cornflower blue. It’s ridiculously pretty, but Markus needs to put a stop to that uncertainty right now.

“Connor. You are so painfully sexy, you know that?”

Connor’s eyes snap back to Markus’ and he smiles, turning darker blue, and Markus leans down to kiss him hard. That surge of something rises sharply in him again, and the kiss ends up lasting much longer than he’d intended. When he pulls away, he’s laying fully on Connor, chest to chest, sliding his forearms under Connor’s shoulders to bracket him entirely. He gives Connor a fond smile.

“You almost got me in big trouble you know. I was still finishing things with literal officials when that text came through.”

“I didn’t tell you to open it in the middle of a meeting,” Connor retaliates, but he’s blushing again and beginning to cover his face with his hands. Markus intercepts them and holds them in his own, pressing them back down into the mattress. Connor bites his lower lip but allows it.

“You looked beautiful in that low light.” They kiss again, this time lazy and languid, tongues twirling in a way that gets Connor to start panting. When Markus pulls away again, he’s frowning thoughtfully. “Did you take that photo… today?”

“...Yes,” Connor admits, voice a little deeper now and eyes slightly glazed. “Only a few hours ago. I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

Markus groans. “rA9, you’re a tease. Don’t ever change, my love.”

Connor smirks at that, all coy with lowered lashes just like in that fucking picture, seeming rather pleased with himself and also rather open to continue kissing, and so they settle in to their night together.

Markus really shouldn’t have encouraged him, because it’s like the floodgates slowly but surely open themselves in the form of Connor sending him lewds and nudes at increasingly inopportune times, including meetings, interviews, and social gatherings, and it’s completely Markus’ fault whenever he decides to open them then and there (which he usually does). Markus accumulates a ridiculous amount of photos of Connor’s perfect ass and pretty dick and O-face that he hopes to rA9 don’t accidentally leak through an interface connection, a ridiculous new anxiety he develops solely from this situation. He definitely wouldn’t have it any other way.

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

Possibly a big ask to get just out of the blue but: what are your Supernatural season opinions? Which one is your favorite? Least favorite? Did you watch long enough to have showrunner opinions? If yes, which showrunner is your favorite and which is your least favorite? If no, which season that you haven't seen most tempts you to get back in the Supernatural trenches? Answer exactly as many of these questions as you want to. Carry on.

You know, I am not sure how long this Ask has been sitting here, because my Tumblr notifications are borked -- I hope not long? If long, I apologize, I wasn't ignoring it on purpose!

Okay, so I have more than the average number of Supernatural opinions, probably, but I'll try to keep this to a dull roar! Inside Me There Are Two Wolves: one of them believes that only the original five seasons of Supernatural are worth defending in any way, the other really, really loves seasons 11 and 12. The Kripke Era had a lot of problems, particularly in its treatment of women as bodies without agency and its treatment of Black men as literal predators, but also for all its flaws, it had a kind of coherence and narrative drive that comes from being the product of a dude who obviously cared about it and had something to say. Taken on its own, seasons 1-5 are a brutal and compelling story about the traumas of being men in a universe that's been absolutely destroyed by its Fathers: on almost every level, it's about these abandoned and brutalized boys discovering that their entire reality is the product of an abandoning and brutalizing God, populated by authority figures who are universally demanding and arrogant, but also completely fucking useless. It's quite literally about Sam and Dean trying to hang onto their souls and their own agency when everyone around them wants them forced into shapes formed by conflicts that fell into place at the beginning of time. It's hard to remember, but back then even the Lucifer plotline was about that! It was about the damage fathers inflict on sons! Things were about things, in the Kripke era!

Then we get to the Gamble era, and. Woof. I actually -- don't hate 6 and 7? Like everything Sera Gamble touches, those two seasons are kinetic and memorable and funny and weird and hit some really, really great emotional beats. There are Some Problems, but Gamble was saddled with a pretty dire job, trying to find a way forward after everything about the series really had effectively wrapped up in Swan Song, and I think she did an okay job. People got mad at her for killing Castiel, but you know, damn, I give her this: that was a storyline. Like, this character who was fresh out of the cult he was raised in becoming disillusioned by how messy normal life is and deciding that maybe people need better authoritarianism instead -- the way he's driven to take too many risks by the fact that he's abandoned and desperate -- Crowley as a legitimately scary villain while still being charming af -- and the tragic resolution of Castiel being torn apart by both his hubris and his heroism. It's actually really good. I understand why people didn't want what Gamble was serving up -- and I'm able to like it because it was undone later, you know? -- but she really did commit to a full season of character arc and saw it all the way through to an earned ending, and I gotta respect that.

I genuinely hate seasons 8 and 9. I think everyone is a dick, particularly but not exclusively Dean, to the point where I just find it a bummer to watch. I mean, you get Benny, and I love Benny. You get, I dunno, bits and bobs of decent episodes, but overall they are very fucked up seasons in my opinion. So Carver era is on thin fucking ice with me, but I do think you start to get a rebound in season 10 with the Mark of Cain stuff, although I wish they'd managed to keep Cain around longer. All the really good Claire stuff starts happening, which is nice because Claire, but also because for once the show is really letting itself go back and deal with the mess these protagonists leave behind them constantly. Castiel and Claire have maybe the most interesting non-Winchester relationship on the show. Oh, and Rowena shows up around here too, right? Love her. So the back half of Carver, 10 and 11, are starting to really gain traction for me. The world is building outward, secondary characters are starting to be genuine characters in their own right, the politics of Heaven and Hell get a little richer and more interesting. The show is really starting to feel like it takes place in a universe, which is great because we love the Frigging Winchesters, but they shouldn't be the only thing going, right? We have 15 seasons to get through! Season 11 is basically bracketed by what are probably my two favorite Supernatural episodes: Baby and Don't Call Me Shurley. (I think I'm the world's only living Metatron fan; I fucking love that little dude.)

Dabb takes over in 12, and I really, really, genuinely love season 12. I fucking love Mary. There are so many episodes I adore -- Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox is a special favorite of mine, and I remain pissed off that the Banes twins never made it to recurring status, bluntly that feels wildly racist to me -- probably the best three-episode streak in the show is Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets to Regarding Dean to Stuck In the Middle (With You), three just almost perfect episodes. So I was poised to really love the Dabb era. I wanted to! My body was ready!

And I do really love the first chunk of season 13, the Widow Winchester arc. Obviously I'm a romantic, love that for me, but it's just also really good? The acting, the writing, the psychological complexity of Dean wanting Jack to be Bad so he has an outlet for his anger and Sam wanting Jack to be Good so he can retroactively parent himself and raise a Lucifer-tainted child who isn't crippled by self-loathing. Billie's great, and it looks like she's going to start being one of the major powers of the universe. Unfortunately -- with the occasional exception of this or that solid episode -- that's kind of the end of Pretty Good Supernatural. Season 13 kind of unravels; season 14 always feels like it's looking for itself (which is a bummer, because I wanted very much to care about Michael); season 15 is, idk. Idk about any of it, it's all pretty pointless. I feel bad complaining on some level, because the show's been on for like fourteen years at this point! It's kinda justified in feeling a little worn out. But the reality is that the later seasons systematically undo all the expansion that had excited me earlier -- the Wayward Sisters crew pretty much vanishes when the spinoff isn't picked up, Naomi and the angels stop doing anything, Crowley's gone, Mary's gone for much of it. We're just kind of futzing around with monsters who don't seem to matter (very much including Lucifer, who hasn't mattered in ages) and a lot of Jack, who. I try not to shit all over, because I know he's a popular character, but I find him just ungodly boring. Everything in the last two and a half season just feels like it's headed nowhere in particular, and also it bored me. The Empty deal is just sadness porn; it doesn't have any resonance or meaning in terms of Castiel's character, it's just him agreeing to die for his kid, which is okay, it means he's a loving dad, which he is, but there's no conflict there, ergo no real drama. It's just mean; it happens because it'll make us sad, and no other reason. Rowena is the only strong secondary character left, and her ending also doesn't feel particularly relevant to her, it's just a generic Sacrifice to Save the World. Everything just feels like they're autogenerating plotlines, rather than letting the actual needs and drives of the characters shape the narrative. So while I have this weird split personality with Carver where I either hate what he's doing or I love it, most of the Dabb era is just. There. It doesn't make me feel anything except kind of tired and embarrassed. Which is a bummer, because I have an inexplicable fondness for Dabb, probably just because of how much I love s12. I wanted to love his seasons! I did love his first season! I feel like maybe something happened when the CW rejected Wayward Sisters? I know that was kind of his darling, and it feels like maybe losing that kind of sucked the joy out of him, and he's kind of checked-out by the end. That's genuinely just my guess, however.

That's Professor Milo's Intro to Supernatural Studies, don't forget to fill out your course survey on the way out!

[tataswish]

❝   familiarity  /  one.

━   ♡ ・  paring:  kim taehyung x reader. ━   ♡ ・  genre:  soulmate!au, non idol!au, fluff (with a little angst!). ━   ♡ ・  word count:  2.7k.   ━   ♡ ・  summary:  you didn’t believe in soulmates. once. that all changed when you met yours; all thanks to one little drawing.

author’s note:  hi! i haven’t written in a while so excuse the small mistakes, but i hope you enjoy! if you’ve played bts world before, some of the stuff in this chapter might seem a little... familiar (no pun intented). i also plan to have the reader be connected to every member somehow in this fic, so they will come soon! hope you all enjoy, feedback is always appreciated. <3

“Shit,” you murmured under your breath, glancing at the rows of baked dough that were left in the oven for a little too long. Rather than its usual glossy, golden brown finish—it was dull, and… sad.

It’s been almost a year since you’ve been miraculously hired as the pastry chef’s assistant at Hotel Mudrin. You say miraculously, because even without any sort of culinary knowledge outside of cooking shows, you still managed to land the job. The chef was somehow impressed by the basic strawberry pancake dish you presented during your interview, and instantly saw growth potential in you.

That was also when you met your best friend, Seokjin. He was a newly hired intern at the time, and with the two of you being the only staff members in the hotel within the same age bracket, it didn’t take that much time for a bond to form. Seokjin was always getting into trouble by his boss Mr. Im, because to him, this intern could never do anything right. But with you there, you were able to lend a helping hand when tasks got a little too overwhelming—and things got a little easier from there. You and Seokjin began to spend time together on and off the clock since.

You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the mixture of raging hormones from being together, but the two of you decided to give dating a shot not too long after. It lasted for a solid two months—and while it had to come to an end, you both concluded that you were happier as friends.

And it was true. You and Seokjin have been inseparable since.

“____,” you heard the head chef call out your name, which instantly reeled you back to reality. Glancing down at the burnt dough on the tray, you felt a surge of warmth rush through your cheeks, knowing that you were about to be scolded at any second. “Are you okay? Ever since you came back from your lunch break, something’s been off.”

“No chef, nothing’s wrong,” you lied, walking over to the nearby garbage can to throw the current batch of dough away. A reassuring smile soon formed across your lips. “Just tired.”

If it wasn’t for you spiraling during your lunch break after Seokjin had left, maybe you would be in a better head space. But of course, spending the last ten minutes of break thinking about what went wrong in all of your relationships didn’t exactly help anyone at all.

The head chef could see through your lies too. And rather than questioning it, he only continued piping cream on the freshly cooled pastries on his side of the counter. “Maybe you need some fresh air,” he added with a shrug of his shoulders, eyes concentrated on his work. It was evident he was still invested in the conversation with you, though. “There should be a shipment of mangoes coming in in about twenty minutes, do you mind bringing those boxes in here? Take all the time you need. I’ll work on making another batch of dough.”

“I can make the dough, chef!” you tried to protest, mostly as a way to convince your boss that you weren’t feeling too off (when in reality, you were). “It’s okay, the mangoes can wait.”

As you were about to reach for the measuring cups in a nearby counter top, you were met with a look from the chef that clearly said: Go get some fresh air. Now.

So, rather than questioning it, you did.

After washing your hands and hanging your apron by the door, you made your way outside of the kitchen and into the main hallways of the hotel. It was emptier than usual—mostly because it was a weekday afternoon, and the guests who were staying at the hotel were out. It was also the midst of October, and the influx of guests don’t usually start to come in until around Christmas-time. Which was fine, because you weren’t met with the stress of having to make hundreds of fruit tarts in a span of an hour. Instead, you were able to step out and take a small stroll, which was always nice.

Upon exiting the area where the stairs were (staff weren’t allowed to use the elevators, per Mr. Im’s orders), you finally arrived at the ground floor. You always felt so out of place in the main lobby, with or without your work uniform. With the spacious area matched with gray marble flooring and sleek interior design, it was never a place you imagined yourself staying in. Only the richest of the rich could afford even one night in this place, and you? Couldn’t even afford a proper meal for dinner on some days. Hotel Mudrin was known to be a hub for millionaires, celebrities, or rich families alike—not for struggling university graduates like yourself.

But sometimes, it was nice to dream.

Quietly humming to a tune of a song you heard in the radio earlier this morning, you casually strolled through the floor, making your way towards the back door where the shipments would be. The subtle smell of lemon from the newly mopped floors was an odd favorite of yours. From time to time you’d flash a friendly smile towards the guests or staff members you’d pass by. But before you could exit through the back and meet with the shipment truck, you decided to take a small pit stop to the front desk and say hi to your best friend.

“Dude,” you began the minute you saw Seokjin behind the front desk. His eyes were on the computer screen in front of him, typing and clicking away, but you knew him well enough to know that he was probably playing a game of Minesweeper like he always does. Crossed arms resting on the desk, you then rest your chin on them as your eyes look up to your friend on the other side of the counter. “Remember when I wanted to cry because I realized I’ll probably be single and alone forever? Well my boss—”

As you continued to ramble on, Seokjin’s eyes finally met with yours. They weren’t eyes that meant he was ready to listen to you vent, no… they were wide. Like he was in a state of shock.

He quickly began to shake his head, which caused you to raise an eyebrow in slight confusion. Did he want you to stop talking? Shut up? Right as you were about to say something though, his lips began to mouth the words ‘I’m busy’ over and over again.

That was when you knew, you fucked up.

The truth was, Seokjin was still busy tending to a guest, and you interrupted him actually working. Turning around, you briefly spotted the guest he’s been helping, and god—it was obvious by the look of your face that you had just embarrassed yourself into the next century.

“Sorry sir!” you apologized quickly, heat beginning to rush through your cheeks while you bowed for the hundredth time in the span of thirty seconds. Rather than making proper eye contact like any normal person would, your view was glued to the floor. “I honestly didn’t see you, and I know I should’ve, but—”

“It’s okay! Don’t worry about it,” he soon interrupted by providing reassurance. Once you heard a string of laughter from his end, you knew that he was understanding enough of the situation. “I get it.”

While you still couldn’t find the strength to really look him in the eye, you only returned with a sheepish laugh. It wasn’t every day you found yourself acting like a complete fool in front of a hotel guest (that was more of Seokjin’s speed in all honesty), so you didn’t exactly know how to fix the situation. Instead, you ended up sitting there in silence until Seokjin rescued the conversation.

“Alright!” he chimed in with the clasp of his hands, which was obviously your cue to slowly walk away. “You’re all checked in until the 31st, Mr. Kim. Let me grab your bags and take you to your suite.”

As you were about to leave, of course, you couldn’t go without embarrassing yourself one last time. Just as you were about to make a beeline towards the break room—also known as the place you were going to scream in—you managed to bump into this guest in full force.  

Looking up, you finally had the chance to take a good glimpse of the person in front of you. He was tall, muscular, with ash blond hair that was parted in the center. His almond eyes were practically gleaming behind his silver frames, and it paired well with the two dimples perfectly placed on each cheek.

In other words, he was gorgeous. And completely out of your league. Which is probably another reason why you were feeling flustered beyond belief at this very moment.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly. It felt like a movie—with both of his hands gently placed on each of your arms to provide support, gentle eyes locked on yours. You could’ve sworn you felt your heart stop, whether if it’s from being embarrassed or… swooned, even.

Swallowing thickly, you managed to let out a small “yeah,” before fixing your stance. He eventually let go, and the two of you were able to laugh it off for a little. “But are you okay, sir?”

“Didn’t even hurt,” he reassured, flashing that smile that accentuated his dimples really well. An open then was reached out as an offer. “You can call me Namjoon. Do you work here?”

But before you could even keep the conversation going, of course, Seokjin had to butt in. Literally. “Let me help you with that, Mr. Kim,” he urged with a friendly, yet painful smile as he walked in between you and Namjoon. He then reached down to pick up the leather suitcase that was sitting right beside the guest’s leg. Eventually, Namjoon had to retract his hand.

You took it as your cue to leave, so you excused yourself from the two without saying goodbye.

Thankfully there wasn’t anyone in the break room to look at you quietly take a moment to freak out over what just happened. If Namjoon wasn’t so good-looking and one hundred percent your type on paper, maybe you would’ve shrugged the interaction off by now. But you kept thinking over and over about how you were going to run into him again in one way or another—especially since he plans on staying at the hotel for over three weeks. All he had to do is walk into the hotel’s dining area to have dinner, and you’d be there. Not even as you off the job, but you in that stupid apron and chef’s hat.

Head dug into your arms as you leaned on the table, you tried to think of something—anything to get your mind off of what just happened. Letting out a deep exhale, you decided to take your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your e-mails. The first thing that caught your attention was an opened one, the one you received from that psychic about your soulmate.

Your soulmate is a man who is hard-working and bright, he will constantly continue to prove that he can be trusted and counted on by your friends and family…

Your eyes continued to read through the reading the photo was attached to, which was oddly comforting. To know that there was someone out there who could potentially be everything you’re looking for.

He is understanding, forgiving and respectful, even when you sometimes make mistakes…

Deciding to skim through the rest of the reading, you opened up that picture once again. You couldn’t help but notice something you didn’t the first time you saw it, and that was the small details on his facial features. He has three beauty marks: one sitting on the bottom of his eye, on his cheek, and one placed perfectly on the tip of his nose. You could’ve sworn those weren’t there before.

“And I thought I was the one who’s always the embarrassment at work,” you heard the familiar voice barge inside the break room, which obviously belonged to Seokjin. He walked over to where you were sitting and rested his chin on the top of your head, arms dangling from each side of your shoulders. “Jesus Christ bubs, you were a mess out there.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you murmured grumpily, placing your phone back in your pocket. “Do you think he’s going to tell Mr. Im? I can’t be blacklisted from this place, I need my job.”

Seokjin only laughed. “Stop being so dramatic. He seems too nice to do that.” Shaking his head, he sighed. “Plus, I’m eighty-five percent sure he was hitting on you.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” you retorted while rolling your eyes. “As if he found my dirty uniform and the flour in my hair sexy.”

“You’re right, there’s nothing sexy about you,” he playfully joked back, which made you elbow him in the stomach. And all he did was laugh after. “What are you doing out here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be helping Chef Seong making those pies for tonight’s desserts?”

You sighed, nodding your head in response. “I’m supposed to be bringing a shipment of mangoes in from the back. Are you on your break? Do you want to come help me?”

With your best friend agreeing to accompany you to your trip to get the mangoes, the two of you head out of the break room and towards the back entrance of the hotel. As you opened the door to go outside, you noticed that the truck was already parked in front, with a few boxes of mangoes neatly stacked on top of one another. So, you decided to get to work and grabbed the first two boxes you see.

“Are these all of it?” you heard Seokjin ask (possibly the driver of the truck). You couldn’t really see, because the boxes were obstructing your view.

“There’s two more left,” the other person, who sounded like a man, replied. “Let me get those out.”

You made about two rounds in and out of the hotel before all of the boxes outside were brought in. Seokjin had to do the absolutely most as usual bringing way more boxes in than he could carry, and while he tried to play it cool as much as possible, you could tell he was struggling. His trembling arms were a clear tell that he could drop everything at given moment.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” you asked him, trying to suppress the laughter bubbling inside you.

“Does it look like I need your help?” Seokjin scoffed, which only made it harder to keep your laughter in. He couldn’t even look at you as he tried walking inside, because he was far too concentrated in keeping all of the mangoes inside these boxes. “Go away, you’re distracting me and my strength.”

As he continued to carry the boxes inside, you watched a couple of mangoes fall out and roll on the ground in front of you. He didn’t even seem to notice, because he kept walking. You only shook your head before bending down to quickly pick them up before they get too dirty.

Assuming that you’ve picked everything off the ground, you stood up and tried to catch up to Seokjin, who was already by the door. But rather than joining him, you were stopped. “Excuse me, miss!” you heard the foreign voice enter your ears. “You forgot these!”

You turned around to grab the mangoes out of the driver’s hands. “Thank you,” you replied with a soft smile. “Sorry about my friend, he’s—”

When you looked up to meet his gaze, it was as if what you were about to say next was thrown at the window. The person standing in front of you looked familiar. Even with the brim of his large straw hat hovering over his eyes, you could clearly see the prominent beauty marks on his features that resembled the ones of your soulmate in that one drawing.

It was him. It had to be.

[obxrush]

You Don’t Belong Here Pt. 2

A/N: After a ton of requests and reblogs later, here is part 2 of You Don’t Belong Here. Enjoy!

Recap: Looking out to the road, he frowns as he sees you get into an uber. He stares until the car drives away, and quietly, he mutters, “I’m sorry.” - Part 1

Later in the day, you find yourself still thinking about what JJ said. You have your knees hugged to your chest, your forehead flush against your knees. Sighing, you raise your head and look out the window to see that the sun has just set.

Just then, you hear a knock on your door, and you roll your eyes. After getting yelled at by your parents for ditching the brunch, you had locked yourself in your room for the remainder of the day. Most likely, whoever is knocking is probably one of your parents, attempting to think of a half ass apology. You stand up and go to the door after smoothing out your dress you have yet to take off.

Your eyes widen when you open the door because Kiara is the last person you would have expected. “What’re you doing here?” you ask quietly, taking in her appearance. She looks exhausted, and you wonder why.

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” Kiara replies timidly.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound like it.”

“And, you look tired.”

“Can I come in?” she asks after sighing. You look at her with a semi-glare but allow her in. She sits down on the armchair next to the balcony door. “I, uh, fought with JJ before coming here.”

“Oh?”

“So did the rest of the Pogues. We couldn’t really stand for what he said, and we had left him to cool off, but he tried to pretend everything was okay, which kinda ticked us off.” She rubs her forehead in frustration. “I’m sorry for bringing you there. If I had known he would bully you like that-“

“I’m not wholly surprised, to be honest. I didn’t exactly expect someone on the opposite end of the tax bracket to like me and what I represent. Money matters, especially with the enormous wage-gap in the Outer Banks.”

Kiara folds her hands against her lap and nods. “Yeah, I had to get that through my head when I tried hanging out with them in the beginning. JJ hated me the least then, actually. But, with his dad…”

“What about him?” you ask, curious about your bully’s backstory. A leverage against him doesn’t hurt. It isn’t the best thing to have, but after what you went through today, you also want to hurt him.

“I really shouldn’t say. It’s not my place to.” Goddammit. “The only thing you can know is that he basically has no money. He sees JJ as an expense.”

“I see…”

Kiara looks up at you and gets up. “I honestly think you should still try to hang out with us.”

“Really, Kie? Are you actually kidding me?” You shake your head, turning away from her to absently play with the various perfume bottles on your dresser.

“I’m not joking. If the Kooks are killing you as much as I remember them doing, then you need to get out of there.” She puts a hand on your shoulder. “Please, try one more time. John B and Pope are willing to try, and we’ll handle JJ this time.”

You look at the mirror to see Kiara’s pleading face. As much as you want to say no, this is the perfect opportunity to fight back with JJ. You’re no saint; he hurts you, you hurt him. “Fine. But, I swear, Kie. If he says anything about my parents, I’ll-“

“Don’t worry,” she reassures you. “I won’t let him say stupid shit again. Promise.”

XXX

You follow Kiara along the dock of her house and spot the HMS Pogue. Kiara waves at the boys, but only John B and Pope wave back. JJ’s back is to the dock, and you can see that his arms are folded across his chest. You tap Kiara on the shoulder lightly. “He looks pissed off,” you whisper, but she waves it away. Shaking your head, you walk to the boat. John B helps you onto the boat first, Kiara following closely behind. You sit down at the front of the boat with Kiara to your left and JJ to your right.

Pope gives you a smile and asks, “What’s up, Y/N? Glad you’re back.”

You smile back and reply, “I’m ok, thanks. Kiara convinced me to join you guys.” You spare a glance to JJ, who still hasn’t moved, but you’re glad that he hasn’t said anything yet. “Pass me a beer, Kie.” She smiles and opens up the cooler.

The ride was relatively quiet, save for Pope and John B talking about random things. Occasionally, Kiara asked you about school and what you liked to do. But, all the while, JJ stayed silent. It worries you because you expect an explosion any minute now, almost as if you’re staring at a ticking time bomb.

“JJ, you good?” Pope finally asks. You steer your eyes from the marshland to the boy in question. He finally unfolds his arms and visibly glares at Pope. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Instead, he shakes his head and looks at you. There’s no obvious malice in his eyes.

But, you still have an itch that needs to be satisfied. “What’re you looking at?” you ask angrily. His nostrils flare, but his mouth is still shut in a straight line. “I asked you a question.” The rest of the group look at you while JJ furrows his brows.

“I’m trying to keep my temper in check,” JJ mutters, looking at you pointedly.

“Your silence is deafening,” you deadpanned.

“Well, I’m sorry if-“

“Finally!” you cheer sarcastically. “He apologizes.” You chuckle darkly. “Do you have any idea how your words affected me?”

Before he can reply, Kiara jumps to his defense. “Hey, I told you we’d keep him in check-“

“That’s not enough!” you scream. “If I had said something about his family, you’d make me apologize immediately because I’m a privileged Kook who has no right to look down on others, right?!”

“Then, say something.”

You stare at JJ. “Are you serious?”

JJ shrugs. “Yeah. If I hurt you so much, do the same to me. We’ll call it even.” It is tempting, you thought. He’s giving you the opportunity to hurt him, but…

“No. I won’t stoop to your level of bitterness. I don’t have that much spite in me.”  

XXX

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Here’s my masterlist!

Taglist: @downbytheouterbanks​ @jj-maybank-stan​ @everydayimfangirling​ @butterfliesinthenightsky​ @agirlthatisbi​ @treestarrrrrrrr​ @babyblue52​ @obssesedweirdo​  @lasnaro​ @jj-maybanks-wife​ @prejudic3​ 

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[nikkywrites]

hand in marriage prompt

Prompt: “Explain how you eldest child of the kingdom’s rulers, disguised yourself as a suitor and fought for your own hand in marriage in a competition, and won” by @writing-prompt-s

Minor spelling/grammar edits.

*****

Your father’s hands shake behind the podium when he announces the competition. It is an age old custom, one that has fallen out of practice but one that is being revived in an attempt to win back the people’s favor.

They are on the verge of a revolution, a coup. Granting people a chance at the throne is the only way to settle them, keep peace.

Disaster will strike if any of them take the throne.

You’re sitting pretty at his side, smiling demurely at the crowds before you like your mother taught you. Heat swells in your palms as you listen to the barely-even tone of your father’s voice.

The crowd cheers jovially, each hoping that they will be the one to take the throne. His speech ends and you all retreat back to the castle, your youngest brother tugging at your skirts with wide-eyes, wondering why your father’s shoulders collapsed down as soon as he was out of sight of the public.

“It’s all right, John,” you soothe him, a burning determination taking root in your chest. “I’ll fix this.”

You pry his fingers off and pass him to his caregiver, and he goes off to change out of the stifling clothes. You jog up your father with skirt bunched in your fists.

“Father,” you speak conversationally, ever wary of prying ears and slowing to match his pace. “Would it be all right if I entered a person of my choosing into the competition?”

His eyes spark like lightning when he looks at you, frowns. “That defeats the purpose,” he says, although you recognize careful royal-bound wording when you hear it. “You cannot choose your groom. It is too risky.”

“I won’t be choosing anyone,” you reply, nodding. “Stack the odds against them, if you must, but the others will be invigorated knowing that they are not the one in my favor.”

He mulls over your words, eyes running over the expansive halls. “I do not choose who makes it in,” his eyes settle forwards and he avoids looking at you. “But the Gamemaker will be having a luncheon with us the day after next.”

Being royal has taught you many things — the order of silverware, how to smile in the face of political ruin, how to word insults like compliments and how to decode the unspoken.

You stumble a step and fan your face. “I’ve been feeling a little warm, lately.” Your stride falters and fails to match his, dragging you behind as you tug at the tight wrap of your corset. “Must I be present at the luncheon?”

“I’ll make the servants aware that you’ll be retired to your rooms.”

He continues on to whatever he’s going — most likely to plan out the competition stages, speak with the Gamemaker to begin choosing eligible men. You turn and walk to your rooms, gait long and even.

There’s a hidden drawer in your closet. Hidden behind the puffiest of your dresses, there is a shelf of plainer clothes, borish pants and loose-fitting shirts. Peasant clothes. Boy clothes. A stack of caps that hide the length of your hair and the pristine golden sheen of it.

They’re not the clothes you go to change into, instead sliding into your riding clothes and tying your hair away from your face in an updo the public would gasp at the messiness of.

For appearances, you’re supposed to be regulated to your room, playing sick. You sneak into the stables and to a young guard you’ve sort of befriended who works there. He has his own horse, a gangly mare named Sandy that doesn’t compare to the royal-bred horses, but she’s sweet and she’s fast and that’s enough for her to stay.

She’s the horse you practice hard riding on. You’re taught proper side saddle riding from your tutor, but the guard has taught you how to gallop across a field while making yourself a small target. He teaches you how men ride horses.

Men like the ones who will compete for your hand in a week’s time.

After riding, you practice archery. You’re strained, and your fingers shake, but if you can hit a bullseye like this, it’ll be easier when you have a steady hand.

During luncheon, you sneak out of your room and switch a name from the jar. It’s a boy’s name, completely ambiguous and too common to pinpoint to a specific house on a week’s notice. It is one that’s carefully picked, and when they are announced at the end of the week, you don’t smile any more or less for that name than you do the others.

Thankfully, you’re not obligated to be present, and, even if you were, you have a loyal maid who is similar in feature, enough to fool anyone at a distance. You keep up your charade of sickness, while you slip on your boyish clothes, dusted brown from when you had a maid rub it in the dirt. Only those who lived in the palace had pristine white on their clothes. The leather covers it up quite well, though.

There are three legs to the completion. Riding, and mounted archery in the first, to emulate a hunt, although the targets stand still. The second leg is battle tactics, a game to test one’s strategic thinking, how they would manage armies in the face of war. The third is a fight among those who remain.

The competition is hard.

It’s supposed to be, of course, they’re competing for your hand and your father’s crown. That doesn’t make it any easier, but you have an advantage they don’t. You’ve been training, and that guard is a good teacher, or maybe you’re just a fast learner.

But you outrace and outshoot them in the first leg, grinning cockily and fighting the urge to blow a kiss to the losers.

Of the twenty men who joined, you among them, sixteen pass the first test. The war game is where many fail, underestimating a threat or losing too many troops. That one is easy for you, effortless. The number of men left is halved.

In the final part, most of them want your head. You realize that you should have held back some, in previous matches, to not make yourself such a large target, but it is too late now. It’s a bracket system where only the winners proceed and the peasants pay a week���s wage to watch (and bet on) who will become their next King.

You all fight in turns until only one is left. The sword you are given is steel, heavy and too long, unbalanced in your hand. Your first opponent — you will beat him, at the very least — seems happy to see how you struggle.

You’re the third pair to square off, and though he is bigger, you are faster. Your blades clash and you twist so your blade swings around to rest against his neck. It is over quickly.

You eye the other matches, your opponents and how you can defeat them. The one you had faced in your first match appears to not have been one of the more skilled ones. Pity.

As you step back into the ring for your second match, you become aware of the throb in your wrist. Using the wrong blade and swinging it a little too swiftly, making so you had to abruptly pull back so you didn’t chop off your opponent’s head had taken it’s toll.

You ignore the subtle pain and clench your jaw, doubling as a means to focus and a way to harden out the shape of it. You will not lose, no matter which stops you have to pull.

Even if you must rely on your family secret to save you.

It would be a dirty move to pull, knowing that they have no such talent and that if they did, they would have strategically dropped out in one of the earlier matches. It would be impossible for them to hide their non-humanness from their wife for the rest of their lives.

No. The only ones left were those who wished to take the throne of the King and you, who wanted that seat to remain empty until you decide otherwise.

You will not bow to tradition.

Invigorated, you meet your next opponent in the middle of the ring, spotting how his veins run thick in his hands, weathered from fighting. You narrow your eyes and lift your chin — needless, as you’re not much shorter than any of them there, and you were actually taller than some, something that’s a bane to a girl.

The start is called and you move swiftly. You take careful care to watch your energy levels, making sure to conserve some for your fight, the final one. The man before you, red-faced and ruddy, is merely another obstacle for you to overcome.

His cockiness becomes his weakness, him taking too-big swings that you easily dodge, sneaking in to press your blade to his throat, pressing so drops of blood swell over the edge and drip. Injuries were only frowned upon if major, this was nothing, a scratch that would quickly heal. A measure to remove doubt as you’d left your last opponent spotless.

When Kings were brought to war, when they got so desperate, there was no choice but to spill blood.

The last fight is where things go wrong.

This man is tall, corded with muscle and comfortable with the blade in his hand. His breath comes easily and he appears not to be at all winded, but he must for he won against two others.

Your flaw in this fight is underestimating him and not ducking far enough. He swipes the cap from your head and your hair is visible.

That is the moment that the winner is decided.

Rage leaps up in your throat, pushed by the fear that you’ll be disqualified, and fire rages from your hands and travels the length of your sword to meet your opposer’s arm.

He screams as he loses, dropping the heated blade in his hand, patting at the melting flesh of his arm. You stare at referee stoically, hair hanging in your face, giving him your best glare as he stutters out his results.

“The winner of the princess’ hand...” he shakes, still looking at you and hoping his words won’t cost him his head, watching crowd silent at the new turn, breaths held, “is the princess.”

There is no cheering, no booing, just echoing silence.

You match into the throne room after, loosely circled by guards and the referee. You don’t bother to change into a dress, barely bother to comb your hair out of your face.

Your father needs to hear what you’ve done.

By tradition, you wait outside the door. The referee stutters something about unprecedention, a surprise, what they should do. You can feel your father’s worry through the door.

He recognizes you when you step into the room, still boyish with your clenched jaw and narrow eyes, daring anyone to say anything about your current state of dress.

His face breaks out in relief.

Your family secret is still safe. Your bloodline not to be sullied by mortal blood. Later, your partner will be of your choosing and of your species. You won that right squarely and you will fight again if anyone challenges it.

You are coronated a moon’s phase later. You wear your hair long, some loose and some intricately braided, following tradition in every way but one. When the time comes for the crown to be upon your head, you don’t wear the crown of Queen.

The pastor coronates you with your father’s crown.

You are both Queen and King, until you decide to bequest one of the titles to another.

Until than, your kingdom is yours and no one else’s.

*****

I remember having a hard time keeping this a prompt. Still kind have the urge to do something bigger on this premise, specifically with the inhuman ruling family twist, but I don’t know if it’ll happen.

This is a good run down of how it would be, though. Still good as a prompt.

[brandyllyn]

In our own image (12)

Chapter 12

(Poe Dameron x OFC)

Other chapters...

My Masterlist

Word count: 1700. Read it on AO3.

Rating: Explicit (NC17)

Warnings: PiV sex. mentions of canon trauma.

The storm had passed when Poe woke in the middle of the night. There was no sound of thunder, no howling wind. Just the gentle patter of the rain against the tarp that made the roof of the workshop.

It was also pitch black.

Poe took a deep, steadying intake of air. In his arms, Kina snuggled closer, her hot breath fanning across his chest. He focused on her. On the sound of her breathing. The warmth of her body.

It helped, but not enough.

He could feel his heart beginning to beat faster, his body trembling. He knew he wasn’t there. Logically. In his higher brain he knew he was safe on Ajan Kloss. But in the depth of his soul…

Poe was back on the Finalizer. Strapped into the chair. Unable to close his eyes but the drugs they had pumped into his body making him unable to see. Nothing but pitch black and pain. So much pain.

And then there was sight. But with it came Kylo Ren. In his mind. Sifting through his memories. Like a parasite sucking at the very heart of him. He’d have given anything for the darkness then. For the pain. Anything to stop this man from digging his claws into Poe’s brain.

Poe heard a fff noise next to him, felt Kina’s arms wrap around him. He must have moved, must have woken her up.

"Sorry," he murmured, nuzzling into her hair. "I don’t know what happened to the lights." He jerked when he felt her touch his face, grabbing her hand in a tight grip before pressing his lips to her knuckles. "Sorry. I just… I don’t like the dark."

Kina whistled softly. Suddenly, Poe saw soft blue light reflected around him. He turned, looking up, and saw a starscape above them. Hanging in the air between them and the roof.

"What-?" He started but Kina cut him off with a soft trill.

"BB-8 can make light," she said, "you never have to be in the dark Poe."

The hologram overhead moved slightly, spinning on its axis slowly and Poe felt his anxiety begin to drain out of him. He hadn’t thought… it hadn’t occurred to him to ask BB-8 to help. Not with this.

Another whistle, "Are you okay?"

Stroking a hand down her back he considered the question, eyes on the blue images above them. "Oddly yes, I think I am."

He felt more than saw her smile, the movement of her lips against his neck. She shifted in his arms, leaning up on one elbow and looking down at him. Kina whistled to BB-8 and Poe raised an eyebrow when the droid did not translate, only responded with, "It does not bother me Friend Kina, but I can turn away if you would like."

Another whistle from Kina.

"What did you-?" Poe started but he was cut off by her lips, her body sliding over his until she was straddling his hips and had his face cupped in her hands. His hands fell instantly to her thighs. Her bare thighs.

"May I touch you?" She asked and Poe nodded, suddenly unable to speak.

Kina sat up and Poe mourned the loss of her for just a moment before he felt her fingers tugging at his shirt, her eyebrow up in a question. He didn’t answer, just reached down and pulled his shirt off, tossing it Maker only knew where across the room. Her hands fell to his skin as he laid back down, stroking lightly against the ridges of his ribs, across the scattered scars, and down to his navel. Tickling against the line of hair that began there before gliding back up. She spread her fingers wide over his chest and smiled.

He smiled back. He knew he must look goofy, but watching the holographic stars drift around her head… she took his breath away. Her hands moved up, over his shoulders and she dug her fingers in slightly to the tight muscles. Poe groaned, eyes closing at the sensation. She rubbed him in slow circles, working the kinks out and then moving down his shoulders. Clenching her hands around his muscles and working them until he felt the tension release.

Then she moved down one arm, lifting his hand and settling it on her breast as her fingers worked against him. Poe opened his eyes immediately, squeezing the soft flesh. Her lips parted, her fingers drifting along his forearm. Her thumbs dug into his palm, pulling on each of his fingers before she reached for the other hand.

He lifted it immediately, cupping her breast and gently caressing her nipple. He heard her sigh, felt how her hands dug more firmly into him and he tested the feedback loop. Pinching her nipple softly through her shirt and feeling her nails dig into his skin. Poe sat up quickly, wrapping one hand around her waist.

He looked up at her, perched above him, her fingers now lightly tracing his neck. He nuzzled his nose between her breasts, breathing her scent in. It took a moment for him to realize the fabric was shifting, but when he pulled back she lifted her shirt off - tossing it to land wherever his had gone.

He had wondered about the rosettes. He would be the first to admit that. Had thought about if they would go straight over her breasts or something different. He’d seen enough to suggest an answer - but now he had one for sure.

The band of spots went straight down her breasts, surrounding her nipples, before continuing to her stomach.

It might not be the time to keep his promise to kiss every one, but he could see about a dozen he had great interest in kissing right this moment. And if her hands threading into his hair were any indication, she was not opposed. He traced his tongue across one breast, then the other. She dropped an open mouth kiss to his forehead and he groaned as he pulled one of her nipples into his mouth.

He let her lean him back down. As long as she let him keep kissing her she could do whatever she wanted. And she did, pressing her arms beside her head and holding her breasts to his face. Now he could use one hand to caress her, to plump her and hold her steady while he curled his tongue around her. The hand on her back slipped under the band of her panties, cupping her ass and pulling her down tight against him.

She could feel how hard he was. There was no way she couldn’t notice. Certainly not when he rocked his hips up into the cradle of her thighs and heard the low hiss she made. She pulled back from him, sitting up and pressing her hands to his chest and Poe felt an apology spring to his lips. But she didn’t look upset. Or frightened. Or annoyed. Or any of the hundred of things she might have been.

No, she was smiling at him, her hands trailing down his chest to his belt and he lifted his hips to help her. Pushing his pants and underwear down together and dropping them off the edge of the table.

She was straddling his thighs now, staring down at him. He felt himself growing harder under her gaze, and when she wrapped her fingers around him he cursed, back arching and hand slamming down to wrap around her wrist. She looked at him with a question in her eyes and he had to laugh, reaching his other hand up to wrap around her neck and pull her down for a kiss.

"If you do that we’re going to be done before we begin," he whispered against her lips and felt the puff of a laugh escape her. But then her hips were moving, her thighs stroking against him and he had to close his eyes.

They went wide when he felt her settle over him. Now she was fully nude - pressed to him and he arched his back, seeking out more. More of her heat. More of her wetness. More of her.

She obliged with a grin, reaching between them and setting him at her entrance and he bit his lip as he slid inside of her. "Oh fuck Kina," it came out as a plaintive groan and then she began to move and he lost his powers of speech.

He let her set the pace, rocking his hips to meet hers. After a minute she leaned over him, bracketing his head with her arms and kissing him. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, matching the pace of his hips with his tongue. Grinding upwards for a moment and he felt her jerk in his arms.

He sat up suddenly, one arm to her back, the other holding himself up again. From here he could pull her nipple into his mouth, suck on her as he began to move up into her. Her hands threaded into his hair, her head tossed back as she gasped. He tilted her body back, holding her up with the arm around her and freeing his other up to slip between them. To nestle a finger to the bundle of nerves between her thighs and drive her higher and higher until her mouth opened in a wordless scream and her body clenched down around him so tightly he couldn’t help but follow.

The stars were still swirling above their heads when Poe regained his cognitive function. His mouth was pressed to her breast, one hand still wedged between them. She was resting her cheek in his hair and he gently re-situated her. Rolling them both to the side until they were laying nose to nose.

"Go to sleep," the low beeps came from BB-8 but he felt the quiet whistle of her breath against his lips. "There’s no darkness here. We won’t let there be."

BB-8 added an affirmative beep to the end of that and Poe teetered on the edge of embarrassment. It was one thing to fear the dark, yet another to have to listen to a person you cared for and a droid talk about it. But her hands were soothing down his back, pulling him closer so his head rested on her chest and he decided that if he was going to have negative feelings they could very well wait until tomorrow.

=

Chpt 13

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Hello lovely humans!

I’ve recently hit the 500 follower milestone and want to celebrate with another challenge! This time, dark fics are welcome! 

I have a lot of prompts here and what doesn’t get used will probably be put aside for a future challenge. I like to make sure there is a wide array of prompts to be chosen from and tend to go overboard. Whoops. 

The Rules: 

1. Use the hashtag #JBBNN500 

2. Dark fics are welcome - Just be sure to utilize trigger warnings and indicate that it is a dark fic. 

3. Even if you aren’t writing a dark fic, use trigger warnings if the content warrants it. If you write something that has heavier themes, like those that delve into mental health topics, be sure to label it appropriately. 

4. Selecting Prompts: Just let me know which one you want to do! 2 people per prompt! Tell me which subheading and the number of the prompt so I can mark it down! If it’s a lyric prompt, please give me the song and the number! 

5. You don’t have to be following to participate! 

6. Deadline: January 11, 2021

Yes, I’m giving about 3 months for this. January 11 also happens to be my birthday, so I figured that would be a good date to choose. 

The subheadings are: dialogue prompts, sentence prompts, quotes from popular media, and song lyrics!

Find the prompts under the cut! 

Dialogue Prompts

“Life is made up of maybes and regrets. I don’t want this to be one of them.”

“You can’t do this. It’s my choice to make, and mine alone. If you don’t agree with it, the door is there. Feel free to use it.”

“I used to be afraid of the dark, you know. Until I learned that the real monsters thrive in the light.” 

“So, what you’re saying is if I gave you a nickel, you’d do it.”

“No, I don’t know how the cheese got there, and honestly, I don’t think I want to know.” 

“You’re sounding more like a cult leader every time you open your mouth. Don’t think I’ll be accepting any Flavor Aid from you anytime soon.” 

“How did you...you know what, I’m going to forget I saw a thing, and go read a book. Or bathe in Holy Water. Or both. Both is good.” 

“If you say one more word I swear--” “One more word” “I hate you” 

“You can’t come in here singing my favorite song and expect forgiveness, that’s not how this works!”

“No. You mean nothing to me. You never did. You never will.” 

“But if it did, it would work and you can’t convince me otherwise.” 

“You are simultaneously the smartest and least intelligent person I have ever meant. Truly, an amazing accomplishment.” @bonkywobble​

“Next thing you’re going to say is that ghosts are real...please tell me that’s a joke” 

“All I’m saying is, I could do that blindfolded.” 

“But why was there pizza on the ceiling?” 

“If you write me a four thousand word essay on why you think that’s a good idea, then sure.” 

“I didn’t think you were serious. Do you know how illegal this is?!” 

Sentence Prompts

Feel free to change the pronouns used to suit your needs, even if they aren’t bracketed! You can also change the tense if you need to! 

The January rain fell, feeling like razors against [your/her/their] skin as [you/she/they] stared out over the horizon.

This was it, the moment where life as [you/she/they] knew it ended.

 [His/her/their] gaze fell on [her/you], like a lion circling its prey. 

You never thought that it would come to this, come to being the one to end it all. 

You took a moment to calculate [his/her/their] next move, figuring out the perfect counter. 

Hanging by your ankles from a tree was most definitely not how you planned on spending your Saturday. 

Glancing around the room at the decor, one thing was obvious: it was [his/her/their] doing. 

Hurt was the only thing you felt, the only thing you could cling to in this abyss.

Lies, it had all been lies and they were crumbling around you. 

The screech of tires on the pavement sent a shiver down your spine.

He/She used to love this time of year, the beauty of it all. 

It was like climbing Everest: ambitious, dangerous, and maybe a little insane. 

Forgiveness was not something you were willing to offer so freely, not this time. 

Chaos may as well have been the code name of this mission. @nekoannie-chan​

Silence was your new best friend, one that never seemed to leave you alone.

That smile, that smile was something you could get used to waking up to every day. 

Your face twisted in disgust as you realized what you had fallen into.

You were beginning to wish you had taken [him/her/them] up on that trip to Madrid. 

Quotes from Popular Media:

With these prompts specifically, you can use the full thing, paraphrase, etc, since some of them are quite long, or just write something based off an idea it sparks. 

“There are so many stories where some brave hero decides to give their life to save the day, and because of their sacrifice, the good guys win, the survivors all cheer, and everybody lives happily ever after. But the hero... never gets to see that ending. They'll never know if their sacrifice actually made a difference. They'll never know if the day was really saved. In the end, they just have to have faith. Ain't that a bitch.” -Epsilon, Season 13, Red vs Blue 

“We're so arrogant, aren't we? So afraid of age, we do everything we can to prevent it. We don't realize what a privilege it is to grow old with someone. Someone who doesn't drive you to commit murder or doesn't humiliate you beyond repair.” - Daniel, P.S I Love You 

“After centuries of men looking at my tits instead of my eyes and pinching my ass instead of shaking my hand, I now have the divine right to stare at a man's backside with vulgar, cheap appreciation if I want to!” - Denise, P.S. I Love You

“Life isn't just death. Don't ignore the living.” - Vada Sultenfuss, My Girl

“Life's full of barbaric customs. But I hope they all end with a kiss like that.” - Vada Sultenfuss, My Girl 

"You're a little scary sometimes, you know that? Brilliant ... but scary." - Ron Weasley, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone 

"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends." - Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone 

"I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I’m not there." - Harry Potter, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets 

“Sweetie, this is one of those times when I know what's right and everybody else is confused.” - Angela Montenegro, Bones, Season 3 

“Oh, God. I'm in the middle of something, aren't I? Oh, look! Dead guy!” - Cam Saroyan, Bones, Season 5

“Don’t make it sound trivial when you know it isn’t. You keep talking about how we just need a little more time, but you’re not the one having to struggle.” -Nora, RWBY, Volume 7

“It's called survival. But I forgot, you two at best are functional morons.” - Crowley, Supernatural, Season 5, Episode 10

“I once had to judge a tighty-whitey contest for Lambda Kappa Pi. Trust me, I can handle anything.” - Elle Woods, Legally Blonde 

“How were we supposed to know? It's not like we run background checks on all her boyfriends.” - Kathryn Kennish, Switched at Birth

“Don’t try to get on my good side. I no longer have a good one” - Ouiser, Steel Magnolias 

“I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.” - Shelby, Steel Magnolias 

“You have the handwriting of a serial killer” - Clairee, Steel Magnolias 

“I didn’t know if you would hire someone who might be married to someone who may or may not be a criminal” - Annelle, Steel Magnolias 

Lyric Prompts

What Do You Think Of - Lauren Alaina ft. Lukas Graham

What do you think of when you think of me?

When you look back on us what do you see? Is it the good times, is it the bad times, is it somewhere in between? 

I can’t even drive down 8th Avenue because the whole damn town reminds me of you

Hurts to Know - 1551

But you stayed when I made another promise to keep

And you waited and waited for the life you saw in your dreams 

You walk in and begin to try to heal me again, but each night is a fight that’s getting harder to win.

Sick - 1551

Everyone I meet feels like another target

I’m feeling sick, I’m feeling twisted, I wasn’t home before this feeling existed 

I never knew that wrong could feel so right

seven - Taylor Swift

Sweet tea in the summer, cross your heart won’t tell no other, and though I can’t recall your face, I still got love for you

Passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long

I think your house is haunted, your dad is always mad and that must be why 

We’ll hide in the closet, and just like a folk song, our love will be passed on 

the last great american dynasty - Taylor Swift

How did a middle class divorcee do it? 

The wedding was charming, if a little gauche 

And they said “There goes the last great American dynasty. Who knows if she never showed up what could have been.” 

epiphany - Taylor Swift 

With you I serve, with you I fall down 

Something med school did not cover

And some things you just can’t speak about 

Chapters - Brett Young

Chapter one, I was raised on the Dodgers 

There’s no perfect life, you can’t hold back time

Everybody expecting perfection 

Things change in the blink of an eyelid, guess my body knew way more than I did

The Daughters - Little Big Town

Girl, know your place, be willing and able 

Girl, watch your mouth and watch your weight

Pose like a trophy on a shelf, and dream for everyone but not yourself

I wash the dishes, feed the kids, and clean up all this mess, do my best, forgive myself, and look good in this dress

It Won’t Always Be Like This - Carly Pearce 

I remember how I couldn’t wait to get out of my hometown, now I’m looking for every excuse to go back on the weekend

I remember hearing the door slam, twenty-two, didn't have a clue who I was, who I could trust, and who were my real friends

The heart won’t ache forever, no matter how hard it gets, it won’t always be like this

Next Girl - Carly Pearce 

You overlook a lot when he looks like that

He’ll charm your mama with that smile, hide the red flags for a while 

He’ll make you think it’s love, but I promise you it’s not 

Bar Back - Lauren Alaina 

You can have that coffee shop we went on our first date

I’ll give you back that sweatshirt, that one you know I love

I’m taking back that little hole in the wall, the red door sign saying “come on in y’all”

If I Was a Beer - Lauren Alaina

Honey you’re in luck, ‘cause I’m a fine, fine, wine. I’m a slow sweet pour, I can be a little bitter, but I ain’t a hard hitter, like a 30 from the grocery store

Waiting for Superman - Daughtry

She says “he’s still coming, just a little bit late” 

She’s talking to angels, counting the stars, making a wish on a passing car

If life was a movie, then it wouldn’t end like this 

Before You Go - Lewis Capaldi

When you hurt under the surface, like troubled water running could, well time can heal but this won’t

Before you go, was there something I could have said to make your heart beat better?

Our every moment, I start to replay, but all I can think about is seeing that look on your face  @arrowsandmixtapes​ 

Hard to Forget - Sam Hunt

It's kinda funny how I can't seem to get away from you, it's almost like you don't want me to

You’ve got a cold heart and the cold hard truth

Told me to leave all your things out on the porch on the swing

Oh you’re breaking my heart, baby you’re playing hard to forget 

This is It - Scotty McCreery

You can open your eyes

Can’t you see forever 

On top of the world here together

If there ever was a time for a perfect kiss, this is it 

Wish You’d Miss Me - Chase Wright

I was good for you, you were bad for me 

I was solid ground, you were broken wings 

I gave you love you gave me pain

You gave me hell, I gave you grace 

I knew all along that you were gonna leave 

What a Man Gotta Do - Jonas Brothers

I’m not trying to be your part time lover, sign me up for that full time @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad​

This Feeling - Chainsmokers ft. Kelsea Ballerini 

I lay out all my reasons you say that I need help

They tell me think with my head, not that thing in my chest

They got their hands at my neck this time 

I tell you all my secrets and you tell all your friends 

Hold onto your opinions and stand by what you say 

What Are You Gonna Tell Her - Mickey Guyton 

She thinks life is fair 

But what are you gonna tell her when she’s wrong?

What are you gonna tell her when she figures out that all this time you built her up just so the world could let her down? 

Do you tell her not to fight? 

Can you look her in the face and promise her that things will change? 

[katsukikitten]

Hi, could you do a scenario or headcanons of a reader who feels like a burden towards everyone? And they can’t really speak up about it so the become more withdrawn x bakugo? Fluff pls

Useless

A/N anon hopefully this is what you wanted and needed. I know it's hard but be kind to yourself my lovely bbs

If you had one word to describe yourself what would it be?

A few come to mind as you reread the question on the board.

Troublesome.

Burdensome

Useless.

You flick your mechanical pencil as you debate writing them. If you write them down won't that be a red flag to someone?

This is an assignment after all. Aizawa Sensei is sure to read it and either, one, give you an F in red ink, or two, give you an F in red ink AND a lecture.

Neither will help your mood.

The bell rings but you don't notice, too absorbed in the question truly trying to find a positive word that might have a sliver of truth to it. Several minutes pass and still you do not notice the rest of the class shoving papers into backpacks shuffling out. Now long gone already half way to the dorm.

Nor do you notice the looming body in front of your desk with a deadly gaze.

"Oi." You jump out of your skin from the sudden harsh tone. The hot head narrows his gaze.

"Its been almost twenty minutes moron. They're gonna eat all the fucking food at the dorm if you don't get your ass in gear." He snarls, red eyes staring down his nose.

"Ah sorry B..Bakugou-senpai." Your hands shake as you gather your stuff, damning yourself for not noticing the cues.

You had told All Might and Aizawa that you didnt belong in the hero course, let alone UA.

Anyone would have jumped in front of that semi truck to save the little girl and her cat.

Anyone would have turned their body just right to take the brunt of the force to keep the girl and cat safe.

It's not like you even did that well, sure they were left with out a scratch but you still wrecked that truck. You weren't *fast* enough to move out of the way, so the front of the truck wrapped around your sturdy frame as if it were an old jacket.

You were lucky the driver wasn't quirkless, that he could harden his skin much like Kirishima.

Bakugou sucks his teeth as he begins to leave you behind.

"W...wait please." You say but trip over the chair in front of you that juts out of the normal neat line.

"Pay attention." He growls and you shrink away, walking slowly behind him.

You add oblivious to the ever growing list.

You watch Bakugou with steady eyes. You had seen him at the sports festival, confident, cocky and passionate to a fault. He had a deft, sharp gaze, strategic and an extremely powerful quirk that he almost mastered. His only downfall would be his temper but it was hard to enrage him enough to act without thinking in a battle.

You admired all of class 1A. You knew their weaknesses, what they liked and who they liked but it was Bakugou your eyes gravitated to the most.

Though you did not consciously realize it yourself.

You reach the dorms as a cold gust of wind whips through you, biting down harshly on your bones. You made it easy what with your jacket lying on your bed, your grit your teeth but they still chatter.

Bakugou sucks his teeth and you shrink further.

"Where's your jacket?" He asks harshly although he is sure it's in your dorm room since it wasn't on the couch like it normally was. Since winter started it had become a daily ritual for him to grab your coat and yell.

"It uh..." You swallow knowing you cannot lie to him, "Its on my bed I think."

"Moron." He mutters baring his teeth, he opens the door to the dorm for you, "Good thing we are home then."

"Y..yea. Thank you Bakugou-senpai." You rush inside, hand resting on the handle to the stairwell. Anything to get from under his gaze.

"Y/N!" Kirishima pops out of the kitchen with a smile, "Dinner is in five okay?"

"Thank you, Kirishima-san but I am not feeling well." You feel needles prickle your back and swear you hear a soft popping sound.

"Oh okay. Is there anything I can do?" He asks softly, "Like some hot tea?"

"Um no thank you Kirishima-san." You pull open the door but he speaks a final time.

"Please call me Ejirou! Tomorrow is yours and Katsuki's turn to make breakfast. Let me know if you aren't feeling well enough to do it."

Fuck how could you forget. Was there even breakfast food in the house? You'd have to check later. Right now you wanted to be alone.

"I should be fine." You say ripping open the door just before Bakugou shakes his head in displeasure.

You flop on your bed as you think and think hard about your life and how you ended up here.

Saving one kid and her cat didn't make you a hero.

In fact every adjective you could think of today for that assignment proved that you weren't.

You were timid, selfish, sometimes ungrateful, irritable, childish, and reclusive.

Does that describe a hero?

No, no it does not.

You do not bother to change out of your school uniform as sleep begins to weigh heavy on your body, you are apathetic for your future self as you know your bra and your thigh highs will be leaving angirly marks on your sturdy frame.

Still you sleep, longing for it after not being able to catch a wink last night.

A knock comes at your door and you jump to your feet, fists ready before another impatient knock comes your way.

"Oi, Y/N. Open up." His voice is like razor blades across your skin as you've been caught for the thousandth time.

"Just...just a minute senpai." You stammer noting the tsk from the other side of the door. You attempt to straighten your hair as best you can, knowing full well he will fuss at you for sleeping in your uniform as it will wrinkle the skirt to seem shorter. You open the door to a surprise as disapproving eyes rove over your body.

"What did I tell you about napping in your uniform?" He bites, "Its always my week for laundry when you do and ironing the skirts are a bitch."

He pushes past you with tray in hand, a small bowl of soup and steaming tea slosh gently as he places it onto your desk. His eyes linger over your open journal you've left out and fear curdles in your stomach. Your face flushes as you swipe at the notebooks like a cat, knocking them from your desks, praying he did not read yesterday's depressing entry. You give an awkward smile as red eyes watch the tumbling pages.

"I..I don't want soup to get on them. Um thank you." You bow slightly.

"Kirishima made me bring it to you." He puts his hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants as he makes he way to exit, "Be sure to eat it while it's hot baka."

"Yes!" Is your only response as your door slams shut and you groan. Unzipping your skirt and tossing it to the floor before practically ripping the buttons off of your blouse to add it to the pile. You look over the warm soup and wonder how Kirishima knew Zenzai was your favorite.

Your eyes flutter from the taste, you consume it in haste, even drinking the broth striaght from the bowl. You send him a text thanking him for the delicious meal and all you get back is a question mark. You ignore it thinking maybe that was intended for someone else.

Somehow in the middle of doing your homework at your desk and daydreaming in the late hours of the night you had fallen asleep.

The sun filters in gently telling you that it is still early morning and Saturday at that. You let your eyes flutter closed before jolting upright, notebook pages cling to your cheek as you hit your phone to check the time.

No response but a black screen comes from your phone. You dont understand it the charger is clearly plugged into the port, you brought the cord over here for this very reason! You rip the paper from your cheek and follow the white cord just to groan angirly.

Phone did a lot of good to be charged when you SHOVED THE PRONGS INTO THE DRYWALL INSTEAD OF THE FUCKING OUTLET TWO CENTIMETERS AWAY.

Bullish makes it's way onto your mental list adding along side it foolish as your scramble for clothes hoping that it's still early enough to beat Bakugou to the kitchen.

You were supposed to get the ingredients for breakfast but you never even checked last night.

"FUCK!" You scream whisper as all that is clean in a bralette, crop top hoodie and leggings.

Items you would not normally wear when the boys were home thanks to the oogling eyes of Mineta.

You rush down the stairs two at a time as you stumble into the kitchen. Ripping a cabinet door off of its hinges in your haste causing you to stand perfectly still as you collected yourself. There was no bullshitting yourself out of this one by putting it back gently and letting the next person think it was broken.

Not with the screws with brackets attached hanging from the door. You place it behind the trash can and root through more cabinets only for your heart rate to increase.

"The fucking fridge!" You remind yourself as you fling open the door only for dinner meats to be available.

"Fuck." You hiss but there was still time, you had beaten Bakugou, that was enough time to go to the convenience store and pretend you were planning to go the morning of the whole time.

You rush to the door, slipping on your converse, you reach out to the hooks by the door for your hand to come up empty. Your hook is vacant, no jacket in sight when normally your jacket was there in the morning like magic. You damn yourself for having left it upstairs. There was no time to go back upstairs, every second was precious. You fling open the door only to be met with a red cheeked Bakugou, the wind whipping into the house with the threatening smell of snow.

Nothing more threatening than the look Bakugou was serving you.

"I know God damn well you were not stupid enough to think you could go out like that?" Pops ring out even beneath his gloves as he pushes past you with an armful of plastic bags.

Bags filled with ingredients for breakfast.

Your eyes burn with welling tears as the logo for the corner store etches itself into your retinas. Bakugou notices as he kicks off his shoes.

"Oi, you can cook. It will be fucking fine." He says passing the bags to you so he can shed his coat. You nod furiously biting your lip.

"See you wouldn't have lasted long with out a jacket." He tilts your face to his, it is harsh like his tone yet his eyes seem...soft as he speaks again, "The wind is bad enough it has you tearing up from just a few seconds of exposure."

"Ah..." You swipe at your reddening cheeks as he let's your chin drop, "Th..thank you Bakugou-sama."

"Yea yea just start cooking damn it. I'm starving." He hisses as he makes his way into the living room.

Shameful loops itself onto your long list.

You ready the griddle with bacon and mix the ingredients for homemade pancake mix quickly. You crank up the heat when you hear your other classmates stir in the living room.

"Bakugou please my favorite anime is on!" Denki whines loudly enough to be heard before a small explosion erupts. You peek into the living room to watch the exchange.

"I got here first dunce face fuck off and die." He growls, "Plus you only like that show for the big fake tits."

You giggle before a burning smell begins to tickle your nose, frantically you rush back into the kitchen. You've successfully burned half of the ration of bacon. You hide your mistake by sliding the slices of bacon into the trash. Maybe Bakugou wouldn't mind too much to cook the rest of the ingredients. You think you'll do better with the pancakes.

They sat like the internet said for them too. You even added some chocolate chips. You place a few on the hot griddle and flip them when the center begins to bubble. When a perfectly tan pancake winks back at you six times you bounce on the balls of your feet.

You could at least do something right. You place them on a plate and begin to do more adding different things here and there.

Bakugou walks in, a grimace on his face when he spies the cabinet door. Your cheeks burn but he spares you by not mentioning it.

He spies the half a pack of bacon uncooked and the rest discarded in the trash.

"Oi..." He watches your face sour and changed his mind on his comment, "Did you get the butter and syrup out?"

"No not yet." You flip another six perfect pancakes as he rummages through the fridge and the doorless cabinet.

"Pancakes look good." He says as he sets the stuff down, grabbing on and settling by the uncooked bacon, "Since they look so good I'll cook the bacon."

"Th..thank you Senpai."

"Don't fucking mention it." He says before taking a bite of the pancake. You watch and your stomach sours as a shudder goes through him with grimace painted lips.

"Oh no." You murmur and he keeps his eyes shut. He cannot bring himself to tell you it is awful. You grab onto a cake biting into it only to have a soapy after taste, your eyes water from both the unpleasant after taste immediately identifying your mistake as you think back to what went wrong. You put double the amount of flour called for into the batter and only the normal amount of everything else.

Stupid makes it's way right beneath useless on the list.

"It smells so good in here." Kirishima's eyes become delighted when he sees the stacked up cakes of various additions. Your eyes widen as you watch him in slow motion bringing the awful pancake to his lips. Irrationality forces your hand as you slap the pancake from his hand, surprising the three of you in the room. It hits the tile with a light slap before time speeds up again. You grab onto the plate and throw it all away pancakes and all.

"Suddenly I'm not feeling so well again, I think I may be sick and I don't want anyone else to catch it. Sorry for the inconvenience, Kirishima-senpai." You bow slightly before rushing to the stairwell fighting burning tears.

The door shuts with a loud pang and the slap of your footsteps fight with the thoughts in your head. You burst into your dorm room slamming the door and sliding down it.

Fat drops fall from your cheeks as you angrily wipe them away, sobbing harshly as you relive your failure over and over as if on repeat.

Watching Bakugou fight back a comment or possibly a gag as he tasted your food.

Melodramatic is scrawled into your brain.

Time ticks by and you avoid people at all costs, claiming to be ill. Even to go as far as avoiding training all through winter and well into spring.

You left class faster than anyone could stop you, running to the dorms to hole yourself up in your room. You did your share of the chores in the middle of the night or while the group was out and about. You were always invited depsite all of the ignored texts you had. Each person in your class trying their luck on asking you out of your room. All save one ash blonde.

Whenever an impatient knock came at your door you would become completely still, even going as far as holding your breath. As if you were prey who spotted a large predator that may not have noticed you just yet.

Eventually they would leave, setting some sort of item by the door. More often than not it was your favorite meal and a fresh set of clothes.

But today is a little different, today your door is blasted from its hinges with a sharp look staring you down. Deadly hands smoking, threatening to pop some more.

"Cut the bullshit Y/N. What's really going the fuck on?" You stare wide eyed at Bakugou in your crop top and leggings in your desk chair.

"I...I just haven't been feeling up to much." You stammer and he closes the distance. Clearly unsatisfied by your answer. He towers over you as you strain to stare up at him.

"I said cut the bullshit. I hate liars." He snarls and it cuts deep.

"Ahh I'm...I'm..." You struggle to come up with something but whatever you said wouldn't have mattered as the man before you blew up anyway. He leans close, gripping onto the arms of the chair causing you to press against the back of it.

But there was no escape from Bakugou Katsuki.

"You're what? Y/N? You're useless? Burdensome? Troublesome? Bullish? Foolish? Shameful? Pitiful? Melodramatic?" He yells and you shrink as if struck, "Shall I fucking go on?"

Your heart shatters with every beat as you stare up at the blonde through thick lashes. Did he think those things about you too?

"That is what you wrote isn't it in your class notebook? Before you crossed them all out?" He asks with a snarl. You gulp down the lie but it lodges in your throat. struggling to get past the quickly forming lump, choking you.

"I..."

"And then you settled for content? Are you content? Is someone who is content always hidden in their room like a damn hermit?" His eyes flicker to your open notebook and you follow, "Does someone who is content write about how sad they are in their journal every fucking day? Avoid theirs friends? Their family? Your mom called the dorm phone CRYING!"

He headbutts you then and your vision blurs.

"What..."

"Yea Y/N. In hysterics. I told her we just had some tough exams to study for. That you were fine and staying off your phone. I knew you were avoiding us but your mom? What the fuck?" You're stunned into silence and it kills him.

It's been killing him, he's hated to see the crestfallen look make a permanent residence on your face. Hated seeing you sneak away like a slinking cat who hates people.

Hated still that you would not come to one of your friends even if it wasn't him. It's why he left you so many care packages, why he demand to see if the other class mates got a reply from you.

Why he lingered in the classroom waiting to walk you.

He could accept you being distant from him and hell even your friends while you were working shit out but your own family? Especially your mother that he knows worries easily.

"There were other words you could have used to describe yourself. Strong. Resilient. Careful. Kind. Thoughtful. But you lingered on useless. Do you know how people get into the hero course?!"

When you don't answer he goes on.

"They are hand picked after the entrance exams. That's it. One look and they knew. Hardly anyone in the history of UA has been transferred to this class. And what happened to you?" His tone and body language are harsh but when you look into those crimson eyes you see something else.

That damn misguided passion. All his feelings masked beneath anger and aggression.

"I...I was transfered Bakugou-sama. From general studies." You finally speak.

"All might saw something he didn't initially see. You got a second look that most do not get. A hard enough second look for you to transfer into class 1A. So dont piss it away with your negative attitude."

"It's just that..." You don't go on. Cant go on. How can you expect your hot headed crush to ever like you back if you don't even like yourself.

He sighs and the anger leaves his body with the steam leaving his skin.

"I'm worried about you." He admits but cannot look you in the eye. Your cheeks burn and you twist your shirt in your shaking hands.

"Senpai..."

"No more senpai." He bites out tilting your face to his, beginning his tirade, "Its Katsuki from here on out. And you're gonna change how you speak to yourself. Instead of saying useless say I need more practice. More focus on this area of my quirk. And if you need help then ask for help God damn it. That's what the teachers are here for. What your classmates are here for. What I'm fucking here for. You got it?" His tone is stern and yet soft as he speaks.

"Yes, K..Katsuki." You whisper, thick eye lashes letting tears slip past. Heated thumbs swipe them away before he leans ever closer. Lips suddenly pressed to yours as you sit shocked in your desk chair. He breaks the kiss and drinks in your red cheeks with a smirk on his face. He lifts you, sits himself in your pink chair before setting you on his lap. All of the seriousness is back on his face before he speaks in a deadly husky tone.

"Now you're gonna be a good little friend and tell me everything."