#not proofread we die like dart

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Robin gets horrible period cramps during her employment at Scoops Ahoy, she's in pain, she's annoyed and she's stuck there with Steve Harrington of all people. She just sits in the break room, hoping her misery will soon be over, but of course Harrington can't stay at the counter for five minutes and decides to enrich her suffering with his presence.

She expects a stupid quip from him, something about her slacking off.

Instead, he looks at her with a jock equivalent of sympathy. "Cramps?" he asks and Robin's jaw drops to the floor. "I mean, none of my business, I know, but you look really miserable. Did you take a painkiller?"

Robin just shakes her head, clutching her stomach. "Left mine at home," she mutters. "And I really need to get some...supplies, but I can't even stand up. What a day."

Steve just nods and turns around and Robin thinks he'll leave her alone now, maybe mock her for too much information, but then she sees him through the window - he's temporarily closing the shop.

His majestically hairy head peeks through the window as he asks: "Tampons or pads?"

"...pads?"

Steve nods and disappears from her sight.

Robin is pretty sure she hallucinated the whole thing, but ten minutes later Steve is back, pads, painkillers and a...

"A burrito?" she asks and she has to laugh, she really does, because what the fuck is happening?

Steve just shrugs and grabs a handful of napkins. "No heating pads in a summer shopping mall, so I had to improvise. These things take ages to cool down so if you wrap it, it should stay hot for a while and help."

A few minutes later, Robin is back, having used her "supplies" and Steve urges her to sit down, handing her the carefully wrapped burrito. "I'll cover the counter, but if you need anything, let me know."

Robin wants to tell him many things, such as How did you know all of this?, Weren't you supposed to be an asshole?, How did you come up with the burrito idea? and much, much more. But she's really tired and the painkiller is taking its time, so she settles for the shortest one.

"Thanks, Steve."

(look, we all know Steve had many girlfriends and with his caring nature and observation skills, he'd be a cramps relieving pro)

[sundayiminlove]

sleep, pretty darling [ dallas winston x f!reader ]

synopsis : you're overworking yourself with studying in preparation for exams, and dally isn't havin' it. contains : academic overachiever reader, whipped dallas winston, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, notes : first writing post on here, kinda (very) nervous!! think i'm gonna make a point to write for each greaser in effort to shoehorn my way into outsiders tumblr?? yeah??? okay, GREAT. 99% chance i post something different for dal tho. just a messy, silly little drabble. ironically wrote after not sleeping for 32 hours. i'm sorry if he's a lil ooc y'all, this is my first dal fic in give or take a year!!! he'll get there, i promise! mwah mwah hope u enjoy warnings : not proofread, we die like dally

i.

PALE BLUE EYES slant sideways, casting a brief look at you.

Your nose is scrunched in concentration over the comically large textbook laid open in your lap. You're hunched over, tracing under each printed word with your finger, thumbing down when you stop to take a note.

Dallas is preemptively annoyed. He's been leaning expectantly against the doorframe circa ten seconds ago, and you're yet to notice him. He takes one last dramatic drag from his cigarette before begrudgingly discarding it on the outsole of his shoe. The creases on on your nose tighten as you catch a whiff of the wafting smoke. Though a vehement anti-smoker yourself, you've spent enough time around the gang to guarantee your lungs at least a permanent char. Despite this, you always just have to make a big song and dance of your distaste for them, and Dally does nothing to curb the quirk of his lips into a slight grin.

You have him, hook line and sinker.

"(Y/N)," he speaks at last. His tone is firm yet without underlying aggression; one exclusively for your ears.

You perk up.

Dallas' fingers splay against his lips as if holding a phantom cigarette. "What're you doin' over here so late, huh? Was out lookin' for you."

He watches as your gaze darts to the window. Nightfall has long since kissed the apex of Tulsa, yet you hadn't a clue. You'd been there for hours, crunching equations and fruitlessly jotting down formulas. The encroaching weight of finals week had rendered both your circadian rhythm and measure of passing time nugatory.

"Borrowin' one of Darry's old textbooks," you explain, the corners of your mouth tugging into a frown. "Not exactly a monastery but it beats that old Soc-infested library, long as Two stays gone, that is."

He crosses the Curtis' living room in four smooth strides, plopping down next to you on the couch. The flimsy cushion sinks beneath him, forcing you closer to him, and for once, Dally's grateful for the pathetic old thing's lack of structural integrity.

He lifts the textbook, ignoring your whimper of protest and sets it on the coffee table. He spins the silver band on his knuckle, averting his gaze downwards. "You know, sweetheart," he pauses, choosing his words. Dally wears his worry uniquely, sparingly. "I'm not particularly likin' all of these.. these books, and.." he trails off, thumb tracing your newly-formed eyebag as if he could swipe it clean. "When's the last time you got any sleep?"

Things are different. You're his girl now. And not just his pretty skirt for the night and until 7am after; no, this is serious. You're his girlfriend. His lover. It's foreign. It's enthralling.

No one had told poor Dallas that falling for you would unwind a deep vortex in his brain that noticed the trivial things, like how suspiciously little you blinked or how the vibrant pink in your cheeks had drained.

You lean into his touch with an exasperated sigh. "Dally, c'mon, don't you start this. I know it's nothin' to you, but it's finals week!" you huff. "I'll catch up on the sleep, swear it! I just, I got so much left to do here, and,"

Your defense falls on deaf ears. This has been it for weeks now; and the you-sized hole burning in his chest is only getting deeper. Dally's arms encircle your waist as he taps gently on the small of your back. "Don't give me that," he sighs. "God, baby, you're worryin' me, alright? Don't like seeing my girl so..." he fans his hand outwards.

As you tense and start to fly into another excuse, he shakes his head, mind already made. He's sparing no more of your attention. "You're comin' back to Buck's with me, alright?" His timbre leaves no room for argument, but you squirm regardless. His grip on you tightens. "And I'm making sure you get some goddamn rest."

You pout, looking over at your textbook as if it would personify and save you. "But," you start, only to be hastily shushed.

"But nothin', doll. C'mon, up ya go,"

With that, he scoops you up, one arm hooking around your legs. Your series of half-hearted protests are nullified as he secures you into Buck's old truck, movements careful yet hasty. You inevitably surrender, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean back into the torn leather.

BUCK MERRIL'S HOUSE is as quiet as Buck Merril's house is capable of being. You've never been to Buck Merril's house, so you don't find it very quiet at all.

Running his hands over the blanket, Dallas spreads it out on the floor, smoothening out the crinkles and corners. They reform almost immediately and he sighs heavily, airing it out on the pummeled mattress in defeat. If he would have know he'd be conducting a full-scale kidnapping for the sake of your rest, he might have better prepared. Might have.

So, here's the thing, right?"

There have been girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been quite a few girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been zero girls in Dallas Winston's bed that he didn't bring into it with meaningless sex on the horizons.

You're no snob and he knows this, but now, it's the principle. Dallas Winston may sleep on a mattress deficient of ample springs and no top sheet, but Dallas Winston's girl should never. In spite his hazy, rose-colored, Y/N-centric world created under this roof, he knows he has to step it up.

As soon as he hears the faucet cut off, he's off his feet. He flings himself onto the mattress, hitching one leg up as he awaits the slow creek of the door.

And there you stand.

Dallas wonders what karmic debt is being paid off for him to deserve to see you like this. His lips part as he drinks in the sight of you like a man dying of thirst. You, in his lightly wrinkled grey tee that scarcely conceals your bare thighs. Your face glistens with renew, a few stray droplets racing down your forehead and cheeks. Even trammeled by exhaustion, you knock the wind right out of him.

You wear the moonlight beautifully. It traces each feature so delicately as you sit beside him on the bed. "I'm—," you start, but pause to let a little yawn. He practically melts beside you.

"I'm sorry I gave you such a tough time, darlin'," you continue, situating under the blanket. "You were right, I'm proper beat."

He smirks, propping his head up to look down on you. "As always," he notes, tucking a fly-away hair behind your ears. You roll your eyes and give him a playful jab, to which he winces in mock affliction. "Some nerve," he hums, thumb tracing your cheek.

You look at him, lips parting gently. This isn't Dallas Winston; that infamous, no-good hoodlum from the wrong side of the tracks. This is your Dally, someone you alone have the absolute pleasure of knowing.

"That's it," he whispers as you surrender to his side, nuzzling his neck. Your eyes are heavy, faltering by the second, yet your grip on him is unyielding. He's never felt a thing like this before, and he's quickly becoming putty in your careful arms. He's content to lay awake all night, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as slumber claims you.

His gangly fingers trace idly on your back, and he knows. He will never be the same.

[velvetlilacsdaisies]

Shit at Feelings iii

Bodhi Durran x fem!reader

Synopsis: Bonding with dragons? No issue. Killing venin? Unfortunate, but doable. Confronting your feelings towards your childhood best friend? No thanks.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: SPOILERS!! Swearing, drinking, trauma, probably not proofread well lmaooo, lmk if I missed anything

A/n: Part 3 weeeeeee! I hope you all enjoy! Couldn’t pass up on some more platonic banter between the crew. I have stuff cooking for part 4 👹👹

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You felt helpless, a pang of terror struck through you as three wyvern ganged up on Cleasaí and you. Though she was one of the most menacing and cunning of the Greens, every maneuver she tried to pull it seemed the wyvern knew. You were easily becoming burnt out of your power, astral projecting, never projecting the lengths you have until today to trick your opponents. Now you were about to be cornered.

“I have to try one more time,” you heaved heavily down the bond to Cleasaí. “Just to change our position.”

“You can’t,” she growled, quickly banking right past a sharp cliff side, her tail catching the earth and flinging it back at green fire wyverns. “You will drain yourself and die. I will not lose my human already.” The move proved to be useless for the wyverns just merely flinching at the rocks.

Violet was taking on two wyvern herself with the help of Xaden, and you lost sight of Bodhi, Imogen, and Soleil. You were on your own for this one.

“If I don’t try, not only am I dead, but you will be too.” You argued. “I need eyes on the rider.” Your skin was so hot, and a migraine was already wreaking havoc in your skull. But you would not let Cleasaí die, the creature that mercifully bonded with you and saw potential when you felt like no other did.

“Are you sure about this?” You could tell she was feeling the defeat you were plagued with. You straightened your shoulders, adjusting your goggles.

“No, but there’s no other way.” You held on tight to the ridge of her back as she darted up into the cloud coverage.

“Project the clouds, until we get sight on the one with a rider.” She ordered. You steadied your breathing, mentally grounding yourself in the art studio of your childhood home, letting her power take over within you. Before you can let out the last bit of energy, you’re jerked down.

“Cleasaí!” You screamed out loud. Her back claw is in the mouth of a wyvern and you can see her blood dripping. Another wyvern slammed into her side, throwing her into a cliff side. You jolted from your sitting position, trying to hang on for dear life, but ultimately sliding off into the sharp cliff side as well. The sting of gravel loitering in your hip and side as the festering migraine throbbed in your ears, and your vision gets spotty.

“Y/n!” A voice shouted, and you couldn’t tell if it was Xaden or Bodhi. Everything had started going in and out and black stars were hazing your vision.

Lightning strikes in the near distance, and the wyvern that slammed your dragon into the cliff goes down, but the one that has your dragon’s claw in a firm grip in its mouth still stands. You just wanted the wyvern off of Cleasaí as you hung on the prominent ridge on her back, keeping a leg hiked onto her the best you could.

You caught a glance of her kicking her claw out the wyvern’s grasp as her tail whips at it, repeatedly striking the head of the beast to no avail. The reverberating pain settles in your body making you release a blood curdling scream, Cleasaí roared with you as you mentally open the remaining bits of power you can access. The sound projected through the cliffs of Resson, no doubt alerting all your friends in radius.

The last thing you see is the wyvern’s jaw being forced open off Cleasaí’s claw by a phantom wind and wave of green taking the wyvern down before passing out.

The last thing you see is the wyvern’s jaw being forced open off Cleasaí’s claw by a phantom wind and wave of green taking the wyvern down before passing out.

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The scene on the paper was murky, much different than the precise nearly perfect sketch of Bodhi you had drawn the other day. The parchment smeared with charcoal and graphite with little ebbings of scenery with ink to depict the lightning and rocky mountain sides in Resson. The feeling of the rock shards embedded in your body is what woke you up this morning. You had been having the same nightmare every night. Of the same scene at Resson with different endings: one night it had been you that died, the venin scaling on to Cleasaí and not only draining the entirety of you, but her as well. The next night it was Bodhi who had died, he was in your position and all you could do was watch, paralyzed in place on your dragon.

You had ignored the knock of Imogen this morning to go on your daily run, listening to her curse and rattling your door trying to pick the lock. Quinn had taught you a lesser magic to keep your door locked yesterday after lunch, and it proved fruitful thus far. Imogen had tried for three minutes before accepting you weren’t up, and walking away, leaving you to go back to restlessly sketching in your book until you made your way down to the mess hall.

You were one of the first in the hall this morning, still working on your drawing while idly eating your breakfast. Preferring the solace of being alone and your haunting thoughts at the table that your wing would be filling up fast in the next forty minutes or so. With most of the cadets partying the last three days, no one was eager to get to breakfast right away. Leaving some extra quiet time in the mornings.

“Interesting drawing,” someone said from behind you. You jumped, abruptly shutting the book. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” You turned to see Violet tugging on her lip, brows furrowed.

You sighed, mustering a smile and thanking the gods it had only been her nonetheless. It would’ve been hard to explain why there was a wyvern on the page you were working on to anyone else. “Hey Violet,” you greeted, stifling a yawn as she walked around to sit across from you.

You noticed small dark circles formed under her eyes. You wondered if she had difficulty sleeping like you? You knew she had been struggling more than everyone else since returning from Resson. Feeling guilty you haven’t checked in on her much since your return, you watched her as she peeled an orange uninterestedly.

“How are you?” The question caught her off guard, when you spoke up, cutting the awkward tension like a knife. Faltering her movement in peeling.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” She had a strained smile on her lips. Her voice goes up an octave into an almost overly sweet tone.

“You don’t have to lie, I hope you know.” You looked at her earnestly, choosing your next words carefully. “Liam was a great man, always was. And I can’t imagine with everything else you know now, it can’t be easy.”

“I don't know how to go on like everything’s normal.” She quickly said, looking around to see if anyone’s paying attention before turning back to you. “Everyone’s partying expecting school to go on, and with what I know now—“

You grabbed on to her slightly trembling hand, surprising not only her but yourself. “You don’t have to continue that sentence. I’m sorry I brought it up.” You paused momentarily. “We had to do the same after the executions, our foster families threw us into training and academics. Aristocratic parties and bullshit, it felt all so cruel and surreal when we all knew what had been happening.” Then it was her hand that topped yours to stop your rambling.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a watery gaze in her eyes.

You pulled your hand away, “it’s been six years, it’s been easier to become desensitized about it.” You went back to playing with the porridge in your bowl and her to peeling her orange meticulously.

“That picture,” The silver haired girl started. “Was that of Resson?”

You nodded, “drawing helps me sort whatever’s going on up there.” You pointed to the side of your temple.

“I've never seen you with it before.” Nothing gets past a Sorrengail does it?

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot going on up there that I can’t sort out with a morning run, contrary to Imogen.” You grumbled the last part. That’s the excuse that she had given you when she dragged you out of bed yesterday after picking your lock again. When in reality she just egged you on for more information about what happened with Bodhi.

“Is that why I didn’t see you running with her earlier?” A hint of amusement sparkled in her blue grey eyes. You wondered when she saw you because you hadn’t seen any trace of her the prior mornings.

You shook your head, “She just wants an excuse to gossip.”

“About you and Bodhi?” A smirk grew wickedly on her lips. You tried to keep a poker face, but she had let a real smile break on her face. “Sorry, Xaden and I saw you two sneaking out the courtyard a couple nights ago. He filled me in on your complex… relationship?” She tested the last word out to see how you would react.

You flushed bright red, no longer letting your face stay neutral. This girl observed everything. Huffing out a breath of air, you weren’t surprised Xaden knew. But you were surprised he kept it to himself around you. Him and Garrick often loved to tease the shit for anything they could, just to get you upset. Seeing as Garrick was who you grew up with for a better half of your life those two were the closest things you’ve had to brothers.

“If it makes you feel better, it seems complex relationships run in the family.” She reassured meekly.

Your refrained from displaying your shock, you had figured Violet and Xaden’s relationship went much deeper than a bonded pair of dragons and his duty to General Sorrengail, but to actually hear it. This was the most exciting thing you heard about his love life since he broke his betrothal with Catriona. You liked Violet a lot more, but you wouldn’t admit that out loud quite yet.

You decided to entertain the conversation more, if she had caught you red handed there was no point in going around the topic. “I think the only one making it difficult is me.” You admitted frowning, wishing that it could be that easy of an explanation as she said.

It wasn’t even a relationship, only a friendship, and it just seemed Bodhi was a masochist at this point. You wielding all the power and torture making it harder than it needed to be.

“Liking complex women runs in the family then?” She offered. Gods could she be any more down to the earth? Soon enough your icy resolve will be melted around her and you would have to kick Riorson’s ass if he hurt her. And then that’s ultimately another person on your list to care about.

“I don’t even think I could classify it as him liking me either—”

“Like I said: complex.” She popped an orange slice into her mouth.

“I-I can’t argue with that.” You sighed.

“Xaden said you liked arguing if you had talked to me.” She said in a matter of fact tone. This was a stark contrast to a year ago when Sorrengail first made an appearance into everyone’s lives.

Before you could even say anything, Ridoc’s laugh bellowed into the mess hall. Turning you saw him trail in with Sawyer, Rhiannon, and Nadine. The purple haired girl is now notably wearing a sling. Did you even want to know?

“So much for peace and quiet.” You muttered under your breath, earning a laugh from the girl across from you.

“Since when have you two started taking meals together?” Rihannon teased, but you didn’t miss the look of apprehension she gave the both of you.

Violet went back to picking at the orange peel on her plate, avoiding her friend's eyes.

“That’s what surviving a Gryphon attack does? Bring two unlikely people together right?” Lightly kicking her under the table when she was still staring at her scraps.

She immediately started nodding looking at the group. “Yeah, exactly?” She gave you a look. You wanted to facepalm yourself, she did not do well at being discreet.

You brushed her off and smiled, “besides we’re all second years now, and I haven’t been the most warm? Charismatic?”

Ridoc snorted, “you do a hell of a job at being charismatic when you’re drinking.” You didn’t miss how he took a seat next to Violet though the empty spot next to you was closer. He had been creating as much distance as he could since the other night with you, which was a shame. You liked riling him up.

Rihannon rolled her eyes, taking the empty place next to you. “You’re not wrong, this is the most you have spoken to us ever.”

“I like that there’s another person to add to the conversation.” Nadine added diving into her porridge.

“You just like the idea there’s four ladies versus just me and Ridoc.” You could barely make out what Sawyer said through a mouthful of egg.

“Solidarity versus your two’s dumb ideas.” Rihannon laughed.

“Are you still on about us wanting to sneak out to Chantara tonight?” Ridoc said exasperated. Chantara? They were talking about the town the first night when you were drinking with them. It was banned for the rider’s quadrant to go there, but cadets still did it anyway. You weren’t sure if it was a good idea, especially if you or Violet sneaked away. You two were already on close watch with Varrish around, and you could already hear Xaden yelling at you if you encouraged his little girlfriend to do something that could put more of a target on her back.

“Second year hasn’t even started and you already want to break out! How can I be okay with that as squad leader?” Rihannon hissed.

“Could you be any louder about it?” Imogen interrupted, walking up to the group, and setting her tray down on the table. You gave her a bewildered look. She was in on this?

Bodhi, who had also walked up with your best friend, gave Ridoc an annoyed expression as he sat diagonally across from you. “You never know who’s listening to us.” You then looked at him with the same expression, him too? After just barely making it through graduation?

He merely just raised an eyebrow in your direction, that stupid lazy smirk lingering on his full lips whenever you were around him now. Like he always knew something you didn’t.

“Would you two be in?” Ridoc asked, whispering.

Violet line of vision flitting from each one of her friends back to you.

“Please, please agree.” Sawyer begged. “That will give these two no choice but to agree.” He gestured to the girls next to you.

“Y/n’s not going to agree.” Bodhi chuckled. “She doesn’t like breaking rules.” His tone was smug, causing heat to rush to your face.

You whipped your head towards him, sending him a pointed glare. “Who says?”

The table got quiet, anticipating what was about to happen. “You, you never liked to sneak out your Mistresses house with the rest of us to the fields at night when we were younger.” The curly dark haired man reminisced on your younger days in Aretia.

“Or skip lessons with me.” Imogen added quietly. “Or leave the balls or those important dinners early.” Her head slightly tilted thinking of all the other times you’d refused to join your friends because you were too nervous.

“You know how strict my foster parents were.” You argued.

Bodhi let out a hearty sarcastic, “Ha!”

Your pink haired friend gave a side eye, “you lived with Garrick, who snuck out allll the time.”

“Well, that’s Garrick. I was held to a different standard.” You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest. You weren’t wrong. If it weren’t for the promise of being enrolled into the rider’s quadrant, you would have been held to the standard of an Aretian aristocratic lady once you were 18. Only then you had the capability to do what you wanted with your friends in between war strategy and training.

“How bad can it be going for a couple hours, no one will notice right?” Violet interrupted, looking at you. Did no one see the harm in this idea? Think this through? It is obvious leadership is already suspicious of what happened in Resson.

The man diagonal from you had a ‘told you so’ expression. That only made you more irritated, what was he trying to prove? More importantly, what were you trying to prove as you opened your mouth?

“Fine I’ll go,” you announced. “The minute though—and I mean it—the minute something goes wrong I am returning with or without any of you.” Cheers rang through the table. Ridoc and Sawyer rubbing it in Rihannon and Nadine’s faces that they had to come now. Bodhi scowled now. You had actually agreed, and that pang of irritation turned to satisfaction and you offered a smirk to the look of disdain.

“That’s that, we’ll meet in the west alcove after curfew.” Imogen stated hesitatingly, looking in your direction also warily. This is what they wanted so now why were they both so apprehensive you agreed?

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“I didn’t actually think you would agree?” Imogen fixed your shirt—well her shirt. If that’s what you could call it?

You wore a black corset tank top, and a cropped hooded sweater connected that only covered your arms. The sleeves covering a majority of your rebellion relics, only the parts that scattered either side of collarbones displayed. The corset tank top covering the top of your dragon relic, Cleasaí’s clubtail peeking out from the bottom. Paired with your training leather pants and boots.

“I don’t know why I agreed either now.” You fidgeted with the ties of the corset. “What if we get in trouble?”

“We won’t,” she turned you to face the mirror in the corner of her room. “This has been happening for years now and no one has batted an eye.”

“But Varrish is around now.”

“Varrish can kiss my ass, this is tradition for the second and third years. A rite of passage you can say.” The pink haired girl retorted. “It’s going to be fun, Y/n. I promise.”

You only casted a sideways glance her way, and with a roll of her eyes she stood behind you grabbing your shoulders.

“Look how good you look too, I forgot what you look like out of uniform.” She grinned cheekily, prompting you to roll your eyes now.

She had lined your top eyelids with kohl that winged out on the edges, along with adding some to your lashes, and applied some lip oil to your lips. You had to admit you did look good, and sometimes missed getting dressed up like you had done all the time in Aretia.

“How’d you manage to get all of this stuff in here anyway?” You changed the subject, looking to your left at her overflowing armoire of regular clothes. Most of it consisted of black, white, and grey, but a few tones of greens and blues popped out as well.

“Supply runs, do you think I’d be in my normal training clothes going to the pubs?” Fair enough, Imogen always had a penchant to be the center of attention. Never shying away from looks, and a chance to fuel her ego; the complete opposite of you.

A knock on the door sounded before Quinn popped her head into the room, and you could see the colorful top she chose to wear from the armoire. “You two ready? The girl’s are waiting at the stairwell.”

“Be there in a minute,” your best friend said. Quinn only nodded, closing the door behind her as she left you two alone.

“She doesn’t question where you get all this stuff?” You asked.

“Why ask when it benefits her?” She shrugged. Fair point too.

“What are you going to do with it all when you graduate?”

She grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the door. “You ask too many questions, Y/l/n.”

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The tavern was in full swing at max capacity filled with Basigiath students and civilians. The majority of the students were Healers and infantry mainly, a few scribes littered amongst the crowd along with some other riders that had snuck out as well were scattered in the crowd. A live band played on a small stage in the back of the establishment. people dancing in the spaces that weren’t occupied by standing patrons to the sound of mandolins, drums, lyres, and guitars. The warm summer breeze wafting through the doors and windows not doing much to evade the heat in the room.

You had been to taverns and music halls back in Aretia, but this was insane.

“Over here!” Ridoc called excitedly to your group. Him, Bodhi, and Sawyer had left earlier to save a seat for the group. They sat at a circular booth nestled in the corner of the tavern giving enough room for the group.

“This is crazy!” Rihannon shouted over the loud music and talking as Ridoc got up to give her a huge hug in greeting.

“It’s great right?!” Sawyer grinned broadly sitting at the furthest part of the booth.

“Absolutely insane!” Nadine agreed, as Ridoc wrapped his arms around her and Violet.

“Wow, does Basigiath provide those clothes?” Ridoc asked, looking at the group of you girls. Imogen had let the other girls borrow something for the night as well, begrudgingly deciding to not let them feel left out.

“No, you idiot. There are more things to do than just drink in Chantara like shop.” Imogen flicked him as he tried to greet her with a hug. “How much have you given these fools to drink, Boh?” She looked over at the man who casually leaned against the booth, nursing a glass of amber liquid.

“‘Thank you Bodhi for reserving a booth.’ Oh you’re welcome Immy.” Bodhi replied sarcastically not looking at her.

No, his eyes were on you. Making you subconscious of what you looked like under the dim tavern lights and how his brown eyes drank you in. It felt like he took an eternity within seconds scanning every part of you before he met your gaze. His usually warm brown irises were darkened, and a look you couldn’t distinguish lay behind them. He then broke eye contact only when Ridoc came up to you, unsure to give you a hug. He finally looked at the pink haired woman as you just held up your hand for a high five from Ridoc who beamed at the idea.

“Besides, I'm not their babysitter.” Bodhi added.

“But now we have to catch up!” Quinn shouted teasingly. “I got the first round of shots!” She took Imogen’s and Rihannon’s hands, dragging them to the bar.

“Come sit,” Sawyer urged the rest of you to sit. Nadine and Ridoc slid in to the right of Sawyer, and Violet took the other side. You slide in next to her, and Bodhi takes a seat by you. Great.

“You might have overdressed, don’t you think?” Bodhi’s breath caressed your ear as he whispered. Even sitting, he was so much taller, having to crane his neck down to speak to you. The smell of his usual cedar, patchouli and musk filled your nose along with the scent of smoky churam filled your nose. He started to trace the skin along the sleeve of your sweater, despite the heat, you could feel goosebumps rise on your arms. Your stomach flipped in waves of butterflies at the small gesture.

You kept your eyes on the empty part of the booth across from you. “Says the one wearing their flight jacket.”

“Sorry I don’t have an armoire of clothes at my disposal like Imogen.” He still kept tracing your wrist softly. The sensation was driving you crazy.

“Maybe you should start smuggling clothes in, instead of churam?” Sarcasm dripped from your tongue.

“Maybe,” he chuckled. “But churam is way more fun. And you know what would make it funner?”

“What is that?” You hummed, finally meeting his gaze. His stare had you frozen in place from how intently he looked at you, and your throat ran dry.

“If you joined me.” He murmured.

Your skin was warm from where his fingers were, and your cheeks were hot. Hoping the blush wasn’t noticeable, clearing your throat as you inhaled deeply through your nose remembering how to breathe. You hated what he did to you, and this had been the very reason you always tried to avoid him.

You pulled your hand away into your lap. “Funner’s not a word, Durran.”

He cracked a meek smile, pulling away from you. “Right.”

The girls returned with a tray of shots and drinks in their hands for everyone.

“Don’t say I haven’t ever done anything for you.” Imogen declared, passing the drinks around.

You straightened your back, trying to brush off the ignition of warmth that was still within you. Imogen had a smug look on her face when she handed you your drink and shot. You just subtly scratched your cheek with your middle finger at her.

“Welcome to your first night in Chantara newbs!” Quinn proclaimed, raising her shot glass. Everyone followed suit, providing excited celebratory ‘cheers’ and shouts as the clinks of the glasses rang out.

The clear liquid burned your throat when you knocked it back making you wince, the warmth spreading through your body instantly. Grimaces mirrored your expression from around the table, Ridoc downright making a disgusted face and noise causing a laugh to escape Violet’s lip and the remark of ‘pansy’ under Bodhi’s breath, but he too had a cringe on his lips as well.

The man you knew merely only a few years ago would have never made a face taking a measly shot.

“Lost your touch, I see.” You leaned over, your eyes full of amusement watching him take a big chug of the amber liquid finishing the glass.

He wiped the edge of his mouth with his thumb, his brows furrowed. “Me lose my touch? Y/l/n I think you have me mistaken.”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” You challenged him as you brought your own drink to your glossed lips. You could have sworn you caught him glance down as you took a sip, but his eyes were back on your own. You willed the shudder that wanted to escape you away, and the flip of your stomach at bay.

“Find me at the end of the night after you have had a few, then we’ll see who’s lost their touch. I finally get to see the real Y/n Y/l/n in action now that you don’t have to run back to foster mommy and daddy at midnight.” He taunted quietly, before standing up. “Immy you owe me a rematch of billiards from the last time.”

“So eager to get your ass beat?” She cracked her knuckles jokingly. “Anyone else want to join?” She looked towards mainly the guys.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Sawyer and Ridoc stood to join the two.

“I hope you two have some coins to spare, it adds to the friendly competition!” Quinn added cheerily.

“Well you ladies know where to find us.” Imogen called over her shoulder, and Ridoc tipped his head as if he had an imaginary hat on his head following the smaller group that retreated to the billiards tables on the other side of the tavern.

Fuck Bodhi and his nonchalantness, was all you could think as you glared at his back walking away from the table.

༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻

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[nofingjustaninchident]

⛧° Cooking classes with Uncle Leo

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

content: leo valdez x fem!reader blurb

warnings: probably cursing, bad spanish, not proofread. ig that's it?? lmk!!

a/n: i didn't really like this, but i'm posting it anyways lol. dedicated to covey and @/pinkdiorluvr cuz i know they both love leo hehehe

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

You never learnt how to cook. A disturbed childhood with a shitty mortal dad was not the best place to get cooking lessons. Or to learn anything, on that matter.  

The point is, cooking skills aren’t something you possess, and that annoys you beyond limits. That took you to asking your best friend, Leo Valdez, for cooking classes. Which he immediately accepted. I mean, who wouldn’t want to teach your crush how to cook? 

"So, when can I go to your house?” You asked, which made him snap back to reality from just admiring your features.  

“Uh... my house?” He asked, as he completely forgot what you guys were previously chatting about. He was too busy with noticing how the freckles coated your cheeks, and how your black hair framed your face in the prettiest way possible. Oh, he was down bad.  

“Are you even listening to me right now, Leo?” You asked, waving your hand in front of his face. 

“Uh, yeah, ‘course I am. You were talking about the... cooking classes, right?” He asked, a sheepish smile making his way to his lips. You just rolled your eyes. 

“Yes, I am. When can I come to your house, hm?” You asked again. 

“Tomorrow at seven sounds good to you?” He asked. 

“Yeah, that’d be great.” You answer, smiling softly as well.  

“You’re gonna learn how to make the perfect pasta alla carbonara, my dear apprentice. It's one of my specialties.” He said, passing an arm across your shoulders and pulling you to him.  

Before you could even pull away so you could leave, he planted a kiss with a loud ‘mwah’ to it and darted off, laughing. You were left confused, blushing and smiling as a toddler who just got a pack of candy.  

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧ 

Leo stood in his kitchen, a grin plastered on his face as he waited for his best friend’s arrival. He was looking forward to it, since he knew that it was a chance of absolutely zero percent that this whole class didn’t end in absolute chaos.  

He leaned against the counter, tapping his fingers impatiently, trying to figure when you’d finally come, what clothes you’d be wearing, what shoes you’d wear and in which way your hair would be. Would it be down? Would you put it in a ponytail? A bun? A braid? 

Oh gods, he was such a sucker for that damned daughter of Poseidon.  

Eventually, he heard the rhythmic knock on the door, telling him that you were finally there, much to his happiness.  

“Come on, Valdez, it’s freezing out here!” You complained, just when he finally opened the door and you barged inside, escaping the snow from the outside world. You were in a black coat, wine-red leggings, gloves and a cute scarf so your nose didn’t get too cold. “Finally! Thought you’d leave me out there to die.” 

“I’d never do that, princesa. I mean, at least not today, I need an assistant.” He said jokingly, poking your shoulder and teasing you as you took your coat off.  

“I’m gonna punch you, I swear to all the gods that I know.” She threatened. He just smiled and walked towards the kitchen, with you following right behind him. “So, what’re you gonna teach me today?”  

“We’re gonna make the best pasta ever – carbonara!” He said happily as he pointed at the counter, which was filled with ingredients for the dish – bacon, eggs, flour and cheese were neatly organized in the counter, ready to be turned into a meal. 

“If this goes wrong, I'm ordering a happy meal.” You complained, putting the things you brought to make your favorite dessert, a classic that you learnt with a Brazilian friend of yours – Brigadeiro. It's actually the only thing that you can cook without burning down the whole house.  

“First, we gotta make the pasta.” The latino said, and you grimaced. 

“Why do we have to make it? Isn't it easier to just, you know, buy the pasta and cook it?”  

He shrugged. “Yeah, it’s easier. But making it is so much fun!” He said, with a smile on his face, and started pouring flour on the counter, making a small tower and soon making a hole in it. Then he stopped and looked at you. 

“What? Is there something on my hair?” You asked, brushing off your hair, which made Leo laugh. 

“No, no. I need you to grab six eggs and crack them here.” He said, gesturing towards the bowl.  

“Oh.” You mumbled and picked up the bowl, cracking the eggs in it and being extra careful with the shell. When you finished, you looked at him with puppy eyes. “What now?”  

“Put them here.” He said, gesturing to the hole in the flour. You nodded and poured the eggs there. “Now, you washed your hands, right?” You nodded again. “Great. Now, you have to mix the eggs and the flour until we have a smooth dough; the pasta!” 

You just nodded and put your hands to work. It was cute, since you didn’t seem to know what you were doing, and it was just so cute the way you were unsure on whether you were doing the right thing or not.  

“You’re doing great, y/n/n.” He assured. If you looked up, you’d see a proud smile on his face. 

After a few minutes of squeezing and mixing the dough, it was finally ready. You looked up at Leo’s face, a proud smile on your face and shining eyes. Maybe cooking wasn’t really that bad, after all. Not if you had a good teacher and friend around. 

He was starstruck. He couldn’t even move. You were just so pretty, flour all over your arms and hands, a little spot on your cheek white from when you rubbed the back of your hand on your face. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you in that moment.  

But he knew he couldn’t. He shouldn’t do it. Couldn't risk his friendship with you.  

And yet you were so tempting, so pretty like that. In his kitchen, with his apron – which was slightly too big for your tiny frame – and with him.  

“So, what do we do now?” You asked, interrupting the trance he was in. He shook his head and blushed, embarrassed to be caught like that.  

“Uh... the- the eggs. We need to make the eggs.” He said, blushing after getting caught staring at you. “You can whisk the yolks while I cook the bacon. Is that alright with you?”  

“Mhm. You just need to teach me how to separate the yolks.” You said, with a smile.  

You two continued the cooking, with Leo cooking the bacons till they were golden brown and crispy while you whisked the egg yolks and the cheese together. It was a fun night, where you ate the food you made – which was delicious, by the way – and had fun with your best friend. 

The only out of the ordinary thing was that the whole time you were there, the only thing you wanted was to jump on Leo’s lap and kiss the hell out of him.  

And his train of thought was not that far away from yours. 

Don't get me wrong, he loved to spend platonic time with you, of course. But he really, really wanted to kiss you.  

‘Oh, for my father’s sake, what I wouldn’t give to kiss her.’  

“...what?” You asked, your face clearly redder with his – more than sudden – confession.  

You never thought he’d want to kiss you, much less give yourself the hope that maybe someday that’d happen. No, it was selfish, and you knew – or at least thought – that he’d never ever like his best friend.  

But here he was, saying how much he’d give in exchange for a kiss.  

“Oh, shit- I said that out loud, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, Y/n, you can really pretend this never happened, I just-” AAAAAND he was rambling. Again. So, the easiest way out of that situation was, obviously, shut him up with a kiss.  

He immediately melted. His hands stopped flying around his face and went to graze your neck and waist, unsure, but ready to search.  

It was one of the best kisses you’ve ever had, and it was definitely the most awaited one. His lips were cracked and raspy, and he tasted sweet like the juice you had.  

When you finally pulled away, both of your cheeks were red and there was a smile playing on both of your lips.  

“I kinda love you.” You admited.  

“Good, ‘cause i love you too, princesa.” 

[08melancholie]

Light Banter. — Micah/Reader

tags: Grief/Mourning, Loss, Death, Mistakes, Soft Micah Bell, Crying, Men Crying, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt, Emotional Hurt, Murder, Brutal Murder, no comfort, Minimal fluff, Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Not Proofread, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like micah bell, and reader lol

summary: The things Micah would do to go back in time and listen to Dutch, the things he'd said about you. Just for once, to rewrite this passage in his life. But that's an ending he may never face; so he must learn to cope with his mistake—both of your mistakes, and must do so all alone.

a/n: so ummmm ive been thinking abt my own fic for the entire two days ive been writing it LIKE i was in class imagining one of the scenes. micah bell angst LETS GOOOOO !!!!

words: 3,648 | AO3 LINK

Dutch is many things; controlling, manipulative, power-hungry—but somehow never wrong. And Micah had to learn that the hard way.

How he said the two of you were a match made in hell—he was right there. When he said you were both the biggest pains in his arse, always causing trouble wherever you went; when he had to put you both on camp-arrest, an attempt at lecturing you to not go into random bars and start fights; when he'd refuse to send you on jobs together, because he knew the outcome every time.

And you both should have listened, for once.

Another day brings you more trouble to stir. Micah and yourself have been out all day—early morning to late afternoon. Few folks were robbed; few non-compliant killed. It was a bit ruthless and brutal—but you were outlaws, so who cares?

Well, Dutch cared. Too much, in your opinion.

Always had his nose in your business, finding ways to scold you and Micah for any minuscule mission that ended in bloodshed or law. But that was your nature! And per his own word, you can't fight your nature—and so you won't.

Now, was that worth being sat in his tent, talked down to for hours? Well, yes. You either zoned out every time, or were struggling to hold in your chuckles and chortles with Micah; always worsening your situation.

Like today.

"You two are just.. unbelievable!" Dutch is scolding you like two children whom were just caught stealing candy from the corner store. He made you sit down on his cot before he started tearing into you both for another bar fight two towns over—initiated by Micah this time. "I sometimes just want to keep you both in camp, doing chores—because this isn't the way to go about." He adds, and it falls on deaf ears as you space out wherever while Micah just.. sits there, staring at him as if he's processing the words coming out of his mouth, when he in fact isn't. Dutch sees this and is simply fed up. "You know what? We're not gonna continue like this."

His next words get your attention instantly.

"I'm separating you two." Your eyes dart up to meet Dutch's dark ones, glistening with distaste. "No more sharing a tent; no more doing jobs together; hell, if you make me go that far, I'll prohibit you two speaking to each other." He barks, and you feel your heart drop to your feet.

"The fuck?" Dutch shoots you a glare at the vulgar reply and raised tone. "You can't do that, Dutch." You protest, standing up off the cot. Micah's head shoots up to look at Dutch, just as surprised and protesting.

He stands firmly above the two of you, looking and talking down on both. "I can do as I please," He stands back to his desk, where he previously was. "already had Charles start to move your—" He gestures to you. "—things out into a different tent at the other side of camp."

Your jaw goes slack and you feel like you have to pick it off the floor. "That.. Dutch! You can't be serious, that's just plain cruel!" You protest, clearly against the entire idea. But, everyone knows who has the last word; it's the reason Micah hasn't talked all night, and the reason he's been watching you, bewildered at how you're protesting to Dutch's word so confidently.

"I am not changing my mind; get out of my tent, both of you." He says firmly, and you have to be dragged out by Micah as to not pounce on Dutch right then and there.

Micah grabs you and—reluctantly, because he'd love to see you ravage the bastard like a wolf—leads you out of the tent, sighing after you exit and shut the flaps behind yourselves. "As much as I'd love to see it, I can't have 'ya killin' Dutch."

It felt much more real when you've left the tent.

Your eyes snap over to where you shared tent would be; split into two, like they were before you 'moved in' together. "This is bullshit.. he can't just segregate us!" You turn to Micah, who looks just as upset.

"I hear 'ya," He places his hands on his hips, looking at the tent as well. "but.. we both know there's nothing we can do." The truth in his words is painful, and you almost don't want to believe it. "Let me help get yer stuff in." He offers, and you nod with a small frown.

Micah helped you get your stuff across camp, the choice of being moved surprising most onlookers who caught a glimpse of what was going on. You just felt worse; even they didn't understand the choice Dutch made. You were reluctant on sorting the last item in its original place, slowly placing your last book into a drawer. "I.. I won't be used to this—I can't do this, Micah." You turn to face him, looking up with a quivering frown.

Micah feels for you. He doesn't even know if he'll be able to process this. He got used to having you in the tent; reading on your shared bedroll before he'd lay himself down, and you'd start reading aloud to him; early mornings where you'd slip out before him—if he managed to get some shuteye, ever—and greet him with coffee; pouncing on him whenever there was a job the two of you could do together. He'll miss it all. "C'mere, I know.." His arms extend to you, and you waste no time in pressing yourself up to him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

You felt safe there—and you know it sounds foolish; safe in the arms of a bloodthirsty, ruthless killer? Well, that was the honest truth. Before you were this close and started sharing bodily contact every day, his hugs—because rare—always felt much more meaningful and real. Your face buries itself in his chest, hands hugging him from under his arms and resting on his back, where his hands find your sides and squeeze reassuringly. You can't tell if he's trying to reassure you or himself right now. "Why would Dutch do this to us?" You huff into his coat.

He looks down at the top of your head. "Beats me, darlin'. I can't put my finger on it, either." He shifts one hand to your back and traces your spine slowly. "But it's damn unfair, that's one thing."

You nod against him in agreement, then pull away slightly, to be able to look up at him. "I think that we should part right—there's an O'Driscoll camp out west, close enough to be a problem." You smirk up at him, and he returns it.

"Oh, yeah? Is there, now?" He releases his hold on you, letting you take a step back. "Well, what're we waiting on? Don't want Dutchy stoppin' us here, do we?" He brings your smile back to your face, and you instantly make a b-line for your horses, mounting up and not caring about the approaching Hosea, trying to stop you.

The ride to this camp was pretty quick, seeing as the both of you were overly excited about it. You were going to end this right, have fun and then probably sneak off to do jobs and have one of the girls cover for you, like they have before when you got 'grounded' by Dutch a few months back. "And there it is," You point out the small outpost-looking area ahead, hitching your horse close-by, but not too close either. "In all her O'Driscoll glory."

"She looks promisin'," Micah jumps off of his horse, following your lead as you take coverage behind a nearby boulder. "tell me how we're doing this, partner." He looks over to you, ready for your command.

Now, whereas you always usually had a plan on how to do things, you just wanted to stress-relieve this time. And so, you did exactly that. "The plan is, you shoot everyone but me and yourself." You give a brief chuckle before drawing your guns. "I just need to relieve some of these emotions, and killin' off O'Driscoll scum will do it perfectly for me." You add.

Micah's smile turns into that devilish grin you love; taking his DAs out swiftly. "Oh, you've got it, girl." He laughs wickedly—oh, how you love that sound. You nod and cock your weapons, rising from your spot.

The entire area smells of blood and gunpowder, a scent you've gotten much more used to since meeting Micah and going on blood-thirsty missions with him. Bodies are scattered all around; faces with bullet holes in them, slit necks and penetrated chests. You and Micah were stood in one of the cabins there, searching through the many drawers, cabinets and closets inside the room. "Damn, these bastards were poor as dirt." You lean on the table behind Micah, on the opposite side as you watch him search through a closet, his back turned to you.

"I found a few pocket watches, but that's about it." You add.

"Hm, well 'least we got something, wouldn't dream of getting back to Dutch with noth—"

His sentence is interrupted by a horrifying squelching sound. Your breath hitches, nearly just enough to silence you. "Mic.. ah—" Your words are knocked out of your mouth by the sharp pain in your waist, and the hand on your mouth.

Micah turns around immediately, met by the traumatising sight of a knife in your side, a barely alive O'Driscoll's hands on you as he runs the knife deeper, slowly and excruciatingly painfully. "What the—" He draws his revolvers, pointing them at the man who tuts at him like at a bad dog.

"Don't do that, Micah." You let out a breathless gasp when the man twists the knife inside you, your hands shakily trying to push him off. You're gasping into the hand on your mouth, backing up into him as your eyes water. You never had a bad pain tolerance; it was more the look on Micah's face at the predicament you both got yourselves into now that had you wanting to cry. "You killed my brothers, 'ya rat."

Micah's unsure in what he's supposed to do. He grips his guns tightly, staring wide-eyed at the sight before him as he scrambles for any way to stop your pain, watching you squirm for release. "Let her go, she ain't done nothing."

The man just laughs and gives another twist of his hand and knife in your side that has you gritting your teeth together. "She slit one of 'em's throats. Wild little thing, is she?" His breath is hitting your neck as he speaks, clasping his hand down harder on your mouth. His knife handle is almost soaked, red staining your light blue shirt and trickling down to your jeans. Just as he stops twisting it, he pulls it out. You squeak out in pain, shutting your eyes closed.

Micah practically growls, watching the man pull the knife out and press the soaking red blade to your throat. "Please—don't." He's desperate, barely able to look at you fighting to stay standing, gripping onto the mans' forearm for dear life. Dear life, indeed.

"Wow," The O'Driscoll laughs, pressing the blade in harder. "beg me some more, Micah Bell. Never thought you was that kinda person." Micah is fighting between anger and worry; wanting to rip the man's head off while watching you squirm, losing more and more blood by the second.

His blood runs cold when a dead silence fills the room and you still up—the knife painting your neck red.

"No!—" He shoots the man dead on the spot, a headshot right into the forehead. He drops his guns and kneels to you, making you sit up and lean on the wall. "Damn it! No, no—don't do this to me, girl.." He unbuttons his undershirt and rips a piece up out of it, trying to hold it up to your neck in an attempt at saving some blood loss. "Come on, you can't do this to me—this is not how we said we was parting, sweetheart," He holds your hand up to your neck, your eyes rolling back as you cough and clench your side. "Please, please don't."

As an outlaw, this was actually how you always envisioned your demise. But, you never thought it'd be this brutal—or that Micah would be forced to watch. "Micah—" You attempt to speak, and it sounds terrifying; your voice isn't you, it doesn't sound like you.

"Don't talk, baby. I'mma.. I'll get'chu home.." You can't really tell if he's trying to convince himself or you that there's a possibility of redemption here, the horrifying look in his eyes as your blood paints the floor and himself, the hand holding yours over your neck getting soaked and trickling down his whole arm. He's getting just as bloody as you, and yet he still thinks there's a way to save this. "It's not too deep.. I can still get 'ya home.." He's huffing and out of breath, as if he just ran a marathon.

You use the hand on your hip to shakily touch his shoulder, removing it from the first knife wound. "No—.." You mumble breathlessly, shaking your head at him. "Stay.. while I go." You manage out, blood leaking down your front from between yours and Micah's fingers.

"No, please—please let me help 'ya. Don't do this to me." He's pleading with you, reaching his free hand to hold onto your side. "Please." He's never experienced loss like this; for a man that killed and saw death since he was a young boy, he sure wasn't prepared.

"Hug me."

"Y/N, don't."

"Hug. Me."

"I love you, darlin'. Why won't you let me help you?"

"Please, Micah. Hug me, hold me in my last moments."

His hands release your wounds. One goes to the back of your head, leaning you into his chest as the other runs through your hair. "I never wanted this, baby. I'm so fucking sorry." He's whispering into your ear while running his bloody hands through your hair, pressing you into himself. This is how you always wanted to die; in the hands of your favourite person, getting to hold them and breathe in their scent, making sure they're the last memory you have despite the way you'd die.

You start to feel woozy; dizzy. You feel your breaths leaving your lungs, your life leaving your body. This, was something no amount of preparation could calm you. "I'm.. scared." You manage out, holding onto his shoulders with a surprising amount of strength.

"Don't be, baby. You'll feel better." He hums, his voice cracking. "And I'll see you there, too. I'll be there, at some point." He whispers, pulling you away briefly to press a kiss to your forehead, wiping some blood off of your neck before leaning you back into him. "I'mma bury you at the nicest spot you'd have ever seen. I'll visit you every day, babygirl. I know you love tulips; how 'bout I plant some there? You'll love that, won't you?" He rambles into your hair.

A haunting silence. Your breaths slow down and hands stop gripping his shirt, and you go limp on top of him. That's what truly breaks him as his eyes water, maybe for the first time in multiple decades. "Oh, baby. I'll make sure you have the prettiest little spot.. with the prettiest little flowers." His tears stream down to your face as he pulls you away to look at you; his beautiful, strong girl.

"Me an' Charles'll bury you, give you the best spot in the entire damn country. I'm so goddamn sorry."

After a moment of silence, he got up and grabbed his guns, holstering them before gently picking you up. He got you up on his horse, calling your own to follow him as he left the massacred O'Driscoll camp behind—not before setting a fire to the cabin in which the man who killed you laid. Just in case.

He held you against him the entire ride back to camp which felt much longer without your little quips and stories, uncaring of how stained his clothes were from your blood. He occasionally leaned down to kiss the top of your head, fastening you against him.

Getting into camp was probably the most terrifying part. He hitched up and held you against him as he stood at the entrance of the campsite, feeling shellshocked. He looked down at your unmoving body, his eyes narrowing to your much more peaceful face.

"Oh, Micah."

His head perks up to the sight of Hosea, standing up from the campfire and slowly walking over, his eyes wide and one hand covering his mouth. "Micah.. Micah, how.?" Hosea was at a loss for words; hell, he assumed you invincible from how many close calls he had to watch you suffer through, so seeing you unmoving in Micah's arms was a terrifying sight. "No—you don't have to say anything. I'll.. get Charles—Charles!" He turns and yells for the other man, as Micah looks back down to you, waiting on Charles.

He soon shows up and instantly frowns, looking down at your body. He looks up to Micah after a moment of silence.

"You know where you want to bury her?"

It was a nice little hill, always painted in flowers during the spring. There was a lake nearby—you always loved sneaking off and skinny-dipping with him, uncaring of Dutch's lecture the next day when you'd be too tired to work. You liked smelling things, too; from flowers to Pearson's meals to Micah himself. You constantly got up into his chest and took in his scent when he hugged you—or when you involuntarily tacked him into an embrace. He'll miss your little surprise attacks on him. He hopes that the flowers will be enough to smell for you.

"Do you want a moment before we lower her in?"

Charles' voice gets Micah out of his zone, and he looks at the man. "Thank you.." He grumbles and Charles nods, walking off a few feet to give Micah his well-deserved privacy.

Micah takes a seat down next to your lifeless body, now cleaned up and dressed in your favourite outfit. You looked mostly like yourself—if you ignore the paleness of your skin and neck wound openly displayed, unable to be hid behind your shirt collar. He takes you in for one final hug, breathing in your scent, like you would with him. It pained him that you smelled like gunpowder and blood in your last moments, but at least the perfume Karen offered to put on you made a small difference. He embraces you for a long time, enough for Charles to come back and interrupt, asking Micah if it'd be okay now. And Micah knew you needed peace; so he agreed.

His eyes could barely stay opened as Charles shuffled dirt over your body, losing the sight of you slowly. He bit his lip, watching the last of your face get lost in the surrounding dirt. His eyes watered briefly, but he couldn't let himself cry in front of Charles, so he shoved it down.

Charles tapped the back of the shovel over the dirt pouch, flattening it out before taking a step back. "There," He turns to Micah briefly. "I'll leave 'ya to.. process it. Seems you still need to." He hums before walking away, leaving Micah holding back tears before your grave.

Despite never being a religious man, he hoped that an ending was real and that you'd gotten your peace, even in your brutal suffering.

People in camp mourned you and visited your grave for a few weeks before most stopped and moved on. But Micah couldn't.

He was there every day—early morning to late evening, if not downright sleeping at your burial. He had issues with insomnia before, and you always made it easier to fall into the slumber he always hoped for. Sleeping next to your grave hasn't helped too much, but he feels better; not wanting you to rest alone, by your wish you vocalised when Dutch wanted to split your tent apart. Your grave was cared for immensely, and there was barely any space around it from the overwhelming amount of flowers Micah had either bought or planted himself. He had one of the girls teach him how, and made sure to include dozens of tulips. He knew what you liked.

"You've been gone three and a half months, baby. I still bring 'ya tulips.. but I'm not sure if you're getting tired of them." He spoke to your gravestone a lot; he missed your voice immensely, now regretting the few times he'd space out while you yapped his ear off about some random topic. "I planted a few roses, I know you like 'em too."

"Hope you can see and hear me, darlin'. Did you know I got your name into my other barrel, huh?" He takes his right revolver out, tracing his fingers over the initials he carved into the guns' barrel. "Yeah... it's real nice, huh?" He holstered the weapon again, looking down at you under the dirt patch for a moment before looking up at the sky. Somehow, it always looked the prettiest when he'd visit you.

"That's you, ain't it, sweetheart?"

The sky was a mix of neon oranges and pinks, slowly fading into light, morning blues as the sun made its way up the horizon. The clouds were nowhere to be found, letting the sun pass into another day. Another day he spent with you.

"Hi to you too, my sweet girl."

Kudos on AO3 very appreciated! Finally finished this fic dear God. I want this man so bad its unreal chat.

[frissy]

Earth42! Miles Morales x fem!spider/1610!Reader

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

ATSV SPOILERS

• possessive Miles

• mentions of death

• Some OOC 42 Miles

• You and Earth 1610 Miles are not in a romantic relationship

• Jealous Earth 42 Miles

• Not proofread!!

• Google translate is used in Part 1-3, forgive me for mistakes, and let me know of said mistakes

Your eyes slowly opened. And you were in someone’s bed. The room was cold, and very dull.

On the wall you noticed there was board of photos. family photos, but most of the photos, were photos of you. You, with someone who looked just like Miles.

Through the crack of the door, you could see Miles. Your Miles unconscious, tied to a punching bag.

But then you heard heavy footsteps. And someone came into the room, wearing a sort of suit. It looked like the prowler’s.

”You’re awake.” The voice was distorted.

You looked at the figure, he was shrouded in darkness. He came closer. “Please. Let us go.. we have to save someone.”

The figure shook his head. And his mask came off, with a hissing sound. That’s when you saw his face.

“[name]...” He said, he sounded so gentle. Like your name was a melody to him.

You had fear in your eyes, mixed with confusion. He seemed to take notice of this, because next, he introduced himself.

“I’m Miles Morales. But you can call me the prowler, niña bonita.” he walked into the light, his face becoming more visible. “What? There’s no way. You would never be the prowler!” You looked at him, shocked and confused.

Hues of red and purple shined onto his face. Highlighting his hazel eyes. He looked different from your Miles. He even sounded different.

His hair was braided, and his physique was completely different from the Miles you knew. His face was sharper, and his voice was deeper and he kept a narrow gaze. “You’re Miles, wouldn’t.” He pointed to your Miles through the crack of the door. “But I would. And I did.”

Your eyes then darted through the crack of the door to your Miles. You were about to shout out to him so he could wake up.

but you were stopped by the other Miles. He put a hand under your chin, making you face him. “It’s no use to help him. [name]..” he started to caress your cheek.

“Please. Let us go. We just want to go home. We have to save… my Miles’s dad. I’m sorry if I was special to you... but please. Let me and Miles go.” You said, pleadingly.

His face contorted into anger, and jealousy. “He.. he as his Dad too?” He took his hand off your face. And his blood began to boil. He clenched his fists, making his knuckles turn white.

“We have to save him! He’s gonna die and we have to stop it! Please.. please let us go.”You looked deep into his eyes, trying to get through to him.

He furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“Why should I.. why should I let you go when I finally have you back?” He put a hand to your cheek again, caressing it. “How come he gets to have so much?” There was jealousy laced in his voice. “…His Dad, a safe city.. and you. How come he gets it all? When I get nothing. And all that has happened… could’ve been avoided.”

“I’m really sorry. I’m sure you, and the me in this universe had a tight bond. I’m sure we were close friends as I am with my Miles.”

He scoffed. “Friends? [name]. You were my girlfriend.”

Your eyes widened. And a very faint blush crept onto your face.

“I loved you more than anything. I loved you more than life itself. You meant everything to me. I watched you die, and I watched my dad die with you. I watched you to die live on the news.. a building fell on top of you, my dad tried to save you but it was too late.” His voice was shaky now.

“I—“ he wouldn’t let you finish.

“You were the only girl I’ve ever loved… And you were taken from me.” He leaned in closer.

“You can’t even begin to understand how I felt, seeing you appear out of nowhere, with a boy who looks just like me.”

He got even closer.

“A lookalike from an entirely universe who has you? A living you? And you want me to just, let you go? Just like that? When I finally have you back?.” he trailed off, taking his hand off your face, backing away.

He smiled at you. “You look just as beautiful as you did the day I lost you querida. I never thought I would see your face again.”

He looked at your unconscious Miles through the crack of the open door, his face became a deadpan as he looked back over at you.

“I’m not going to lose you again. And nobody is going to take you away from me. Especially that copy of me.”

He brought his attention back over at your unconscious Miles, hatred and resentment in his heart. For what felt like hours, he looked back at you once more.

“And you can’t do anything to stop me.” He turned his back to you, walking out the door, locking it from the outside, you tried getting up, but you fell to the floor.

He had tied your wrists and ankles while you were unconscious. And you haven’t even noticed when you woke up.

You were stuck here, and he’s not going to let you go. .

.

.

.

.

.

TO BE CONTINUED

[princesssmars]

cant live without a poly ship so pjhazel with reader...light (?) nsfw. making out and allusions to more. fem cheerleader reader. are there any pj fics i mean this is rachel sennot we're talkin about. not gonna proofread we die like jeff should have. reuploading bc tumblr hates me and wont make my posts show up on the tags.

maybe reader is a cheerleader who both of the girls have a crush on, made difficult by them being...friends. aka pj has had a crush on hazel for years and has tried to stomp it down into the dust while hazel tries to forget about her feelings. which definitely always works.

you probably didnt notice them before the fight club, but once you join its hard not to. you like hazel because she's genuinely so nice to everyone and cute in that "you kinda scare me but i weirdly really like it", and you like pj because while her attraction is so obvious by the way she refuses to hit you, constantly adjusting your posture, and how you've caught her staring at your ass about twenty damn times already. but shes cute in a "you're obviously a loser but your desperation kinda turns me on way."

maybe pj catches on to how close you're getting to hazel, then being the hotheaded ass she is (affectionately) confronts hazel about it, telling her if she was a real friend she'd do her a solid and back the hell off ??? obviously hazel isnt falling for it, saying they should leave it up to you to decide who you're interested in.

lucky for them you invite them for a study date at your house that night ! when they ring your doorbell pj is nitpicking hazels button-up, getting surprised when hazel bites back and critiques her plaid zip up jacket because really? plaid?

they both quickly shut up when you open the door, smiling casually like you arent standing in front of them in a lacy bra and shorts, turning around inviting them up to your room as you expect them to follow you. they do, of course. (hazel makes sure to clowe and lock your front door beacuse shes. polite. yeah.)

the fake studying you do is dreadfully boring. hazel tries to pay attention to the work, while pj is flirting with you and getting more flustered the harder you flirt back. eventually you get sick of the bullshit, grabbing her by that fugly plaid jacket and bringing her lips down to yours.

you have to pull back only three seconds in when to your shock the brunette lets out the loudest groan you've ever heard and brings her hands up to squish your breasts, looking slightly embarrassed as giggle at her and brush some of her frizzy hair back away from her face.

a mix between a shaky inhale and a snort reminds you of the other person in the room, turning to see hazel with such a strong grip on her pencil you're slightly scared shes going to stab herself with it.

you ask her "dont laugh at her, you think you could do better?" and before you know it she's crawling towards you from the bottom of your bed and kissing you with the passion of a long lost lover.

you have to admit you're slightly surprised at how proficient she is at kissing, knowing just the right way to tilt your head and graze your lips with her tongue. it makes you so light headed you fall onto your back on the covers, hazel never giving you a chance to pull away as she follows you down and cages you in.

you make out with her for another minute or two before gently pushing her off to catch a breath, your chest rising up and down at a mile a minute. once your head clears more, you look above you to see hazel looking almost nervous. her eyes dart from you to the space to your left, and you tilt her head to see pj doing the same.

"you guys can kiss too, yknow. i wont mind. it'd be pretty hot actually."

you meant it as half of a joke but your breath catches in your throat when pj grips the sides of hazels head and kisses her. well, more like starts licking at the area around her mouth, but with a little guidance its not long before the two are in a heated makeout above you, the sight and the sounds they're making turning you on in ways you didnt think was possible.

you press a hand into both of their chests, the girls pulling apart and looking at you like they're both waiting for your command.

yeah, you were gonna have fun with this.

was looking at hazel tiktoks and a comment complained about the lack of stuff about her on wattpad, then someone said to head over here and sometimes i forget that. u r real people. reading what i write. so. whats up.

[squiddy-god]

A Lonely Night

(osial x reader pt1)

Re-upload from terminated account squid-god-supreme, this is another older one that I wrote when I first started playing engine, which was shortly after the game's release so here is an osial x reader

CW : osial, almost drowning, he's written more in a yandere-ish way, gn! Reader (I think it's been awhile) not proofread we die like men.

You often gazed at the sea, looking out at the crashing waves against liyue rocks, years of water making grooves in the stone. Even on days where no sailor set out from the harbor and the winds whipped with raging waters, when the sea's deep waters swirled and cried out in rage, you could be found on the sandy shores soaked in rain. 

Foolish and crazy they called you; You who sought peace in the abode of fallen gods, who traveled to the silence of Guyun stone forest, the slanted mountains not imposing and ominous as they should have been, but rather welcoming as your boat sailed between them. It was often that you spent time in the stone forest, the sounds of gentle waves the only company you needed while you scaled mountains and explored the shells of adepti long fallen. You only chuckled as you packed your bags once again, wicker basket empty and satchel packed with what you’d need for the day, your mothers face held worry as she once again watched you pack. One would think she wouldn't worry with how many trips you'd made to the mountains of the stone forest but still she worried every time. 

“Don't worry, i'll be back soon! The skies are clear and ill be careful mother” she shook her head, there was really no stopping you, already in the boat and setting out. “Alright dear, but please hurry home!” she called as you rowed away.

The towering mountains blocked the beating sun as you whent to your usual fishing spot. Around bends and under the stone arches. You always found it odd how birds don't nest in the crevices of warm stone, avoiding this place like the plague.but it was peaceful when eagles didn't caw and squawk at fish, scaring them away from your hook and real. You cast your line, the breeze rustling your clothes and carrying the smell of salt along the air. Once you felt a tug on your line you pulled back, silver scaled fish jumping from the watter and into your small boat.

This went on for some time, casting and pulling your line till your once empty basket was full of fish. The sun has risen to noon as it casts daunting shadows over the shifting sea. “Guess it's time to head back to shore for a bit” you mutter to yourself, deciding to spend a while longer at Guyun’s shores. Rowing back didn't take long, tugging your boat just far enough ontoshore to stay put while you rested. You hoped out of the boat and winced as your bare feet touched the hot sand, but none the less you made your way over to a small tree that grew from a crack in the mountain. You let out a small sigh as you leaned back in the shade, eyes darting across the sand as crabs scurried across it. 

The sound of waves lulled you to sleep, eyes sliping shut for a quick nap. That was a mistake, by the time you had awoken the sun had long set, night to pitch black and inky to safely return home. “I hope she doesn't worry too much,” you said, quickly running under the large stone overpass to stay the night. Despite your many trips this was the first time you had spent the night here, your mother always worried about you to let you stay. Lighting a match you kindled a small fire to keep warm and then once again drifted off to sleep. 

Your eyes closed and your mind drifted off, time passing you by before you felt a sharp pain. Your lungs burned with every breath and you felt the air change. The tensen thick as malice filled your being. Roars and screeches sounded in the air as you realized they were your own, you felt another sharp pain as your body lurched into the ocean, dragged down and pinned to the bottom by a heavy stone spear.  When you writhed and fought you felt another and another- 

You woke up coughing, your lungs on fire and you looked around with frantic eyes. They were blown wide as you tried to calm down, body sore from seemingly nothing. A strange noise grasped your attention, like a muffled voice with angered words drowned out by the sea. You stood up and trudge forward, following the sound of the noise out to the shore. A strange man sat in the sand, long hair sprawled against the sand. In the tired state you were in you didn't notice how moonlike seemed to filter threw his hair as if it were water. 

“Are you...alright?” you asked, a safe distance away when you saw him turn around; maybe it was a trick of the moon but you swore his eyes were glowing blue. He didn't say a word, and you walked closer, air changing as if storms were on their way. 

He was puzzled, too puzzled to speak. Such a foolish mortal to approach a god- but did you even know?  Had it really been so long that liuye has forgotten the raging tides and rapids that once plagued them? Ridiculous was the notion yet here you sat besides him, your unspoken presence not unwelcome after years of solitude. 

“It's nice out here, you can even see the stars in the water” he couldn't help but chuckle at your attempt at small talk, for a second almost forgetting his ancient grudge. “Yes, the ocean holds many wonders, the stars are no different” his voice was slightly coarse as he spoke. “Haha that reminds me of old legends,” you sigh “they say that deep beneath the rapid water, where no light shines, a glowing castle lays full of shells and pearls, but that's become no more than a legend” laughing you scratched your neck as if embarrassed by the childish tales. Of course he has heard of this before, how could he not when it was his legend? Yet something compelled him, “what else do they say of it?” he inquired. “Well- they say it's guarded by a monster!” you said raising your hands to look more threatening “a huge sea monster as old as rex lapis who makes the watters rage! The abode of osial” you laugh as you finish your dramatic tale. 

“And what if it's real?” you looked at him with wide eyes and looked back to the ocean. “I'd go there of course! Bygone gods slumber, the oceans no longer rage with the force of gods, if that was a real place then i'd find it one day” you said, a wistful look in your (e/c) eyes. 

As time passed and you talked with the odd man your eyes slipped shut, head lightly hitting the sand as you once again drifted off to sleep. Missing the sound of your voice he looked over and chuckled at your sleeping form, hooking an arm under your legs and back before standing. He laid you down in your boat before pushing it and letting the tide take it into the water. He walked besides your boat, guiding it along as you slept soundly to the rhythm of the waves. Pulling the boat onto the shore of liyue he grimaced. He'd long forgotten this place and the blood that was shed here.

The first being to keep him company in well over two thousand years, a shame he had to let you go so easily. “Although” he thought, looking over to you. “Perhaps I don't”

[yanderes-galore]

Would it be okay to ask for a scenario of Hiccup with a Darling that's from modern times? Like due to mysterious ways Darling ended up in Berk and freaks out because of the Sargon's and all?

Sure! That would actually be terrifying now that I think about it as a lot of the dragons are really dangerous- I tried to pace this longer as I was inspired by another writer but I'm not sure how long it'll get but I hope you like my attempt :) This was long but I feel I executed it poorly, you be the judge of that.

You have a dragon and I wish I expanded more on that but I had no ideas :( This is a tame yandere focusing on heavy manipulation more than full on violence.

Not proofread, you get this raw.

Viking Life

Yandere! Hiccup with Modern! Darling Scenario

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Darling is scared and a bit oblivious, Dubious relationship/companionship, Protective behavior, Implied stockholm syndrome.

You felt your skin bruise when you landed, the sleepiness in your eyes shaking out quickly upon landing. This was not your world, it was one of fiction. One of fantasy, with vikings and dragons.

One moment you were sleeping in your bed for a quick nap. The next you were falling onto the cold ground, eyes darting around your surroundings. This... looked a lot like a series you liked.

You look down at your body, your clothes that you were wearing before were still on but dirty. You try to keep focused and look around your surroundings. Only to freeze when predatory eyes locked on you.

A dragon, straight from the series you enjoy, growls down at you. Adrenaline surges through your body as you quickly scurry backwards. The dragon backs you to a stone rock with a growl.

Great, you just got here by some sort of means unknown to you and you were going to die. Your life was going to end and you would have no idea why. You can't fight a literal dragon.

You make yourself look as small as possible, preparing to roll out of the way of a blow if you could. Before you could you felt the heat of a blast hit the dragon. Said dragon screeches before backing off.

You quickly turn to see another dragon and a rider. On closer look... your mouth shoots open. That's... you know them!

Hiccup and Toothless.

The Night Fury and his rider manage to drive the dragon off with some precise plasma bolts. The heat washes over you and you feel the urge to sweat. You hold your breath when the dragon flies off, but Toothless gaze swaps to you.

"I've never seen you before..." The rider, Hiccup, asks you. His gaze sweeps over your clothes in curiosity. It was nothing compared to his leather armor. "What kind of place wears something like that?"

You can only look at him with the expression of a fearful animal. You can barely breathe with the Night Fury staring you down. This... was reality.

"You don't look like you know how to tame a dragon, either... it's not safe here." Hiccup tells you, getting off of Toothless. "Can I get your name?"

You give the viking your name and he says it back to you. You can tell the name feels foreign to him when he says it but he makes not comment. He looks you over again before introducing himself. The name is familiar to you, of course, as in your world this is all fiction.

"Let's talk more somewhere safer. Last thing we need is a wild dragon attacking you again." He asks for your hand and you hesitantly take it.

Safe to say the first dragon ride on Toothless isn't easy on you.

----

When you were brought to Dragon's Edge you were quickly met with the feeling that your new life wouldn't be easy. When Hiccup mentioned to his friends that he brought someone new there was immediate backlash. Your "warm welcome" was more akin to an interrogation, really.

You couldn't blame them. They were all just as scared as you. But that didn't stop you from cowering behind Hiccup whenever their tones got aggressive.

Hiccup became a big help to you. He helped you give information to their questions without feeling overwhelmed. Answering questions was still difficult even without their aggression, however.

You told them all what you could. You told them your name, your world, and how you woke up. You answered when asked but it appears it didn't get much of anywhere.

You were still an enigma.

The questions they asked often involved your clothes, your knowledge on dragons, and/or your heritage. You answered what you could and tried to tiptoe around the idea of their world being fake where you came from.

You knew everyone's names but you acted as if you didn't to not freak them out. One by one, Hiccup introduced you to his friends. It felt bittersweet, on one hand you liked that you could meet your favorite characters... although...

You wonder if you'll ever go home.

It soon becomes clear that you will need somewhere to go. Since you are not aware of your surroundings you have nowhere to go. When Hiccup brings up allowing you to say in Dragon's Edge there is some hesitancy.

Tension is heavy in the air at the idea of allowing someone they have no idea about staying. Although, you thank Hiccup for helping y0ur case as he manages to convince his fellow vikings enough to allow it. He'd keep an eye on you and make sure you don't try anything.

He doubts your dangerous but anything to make them happy.

This begins your life in this world. A small hut is built for you and you're left to get to know your companions. The idea of adapting to this world is stressful, even with help.

Hiccup becomes your guide on the Edge. He helps you speak to others, he helps you with Astrid pick out clothing more akin to this area, and you are taught about training dragons.

Without Hiccup you doubt you could adapt to your situation. You're happy to have someone like him help you, along with his friends even if you are still uneasy about them. They all make your new life easier.

You still wish you could go home, however....

----

Since you began living at Dragon's Edge you've gotten along with your neighbors. You've spoken to many of the dragon riders and helped tend to their dragons. There's even talk of getting your own dragon. You always decline the offer, fearing that means your stay is permanent.

Part of you felt indebted to Hiccup. He saved you... ever since you've been friends. Even when you feel closed off, Hiccup comes in to help you adapt.

You've learned a lot from him, your friend. He's taught you about countless dragons to prevent how you met from happening a again. He taught you how to fish, he taught you basic combat even if it usually resulted in you falling over.

You and Hiccup seemed to have good chemistry. It wasn't necessarily in the romantic sense, but you two got along well. You felt you could rely on him... and Hiccup always seems so eager to help.

He was never aggressive with you. He always asked you gently about anything, like if you recall anything from before your time here. He's always eager to listen about you.

Hiccup encourages you to take a dragon of your own yet you always tell him no. You still have faith you'll get home someday. You never planned to stay too long.

From what you can tell this doesn't affect Hiccup much. Although it's possible you just don't see the cloudy look in his eyes. All you want is to go home... even if it is nice here.

"It's been months since you came here, it would be safer if you had a dragon." Hiccup had pulled you aside in private one day, flying you to a private part of the island. He was always concerned about your safety due to the Dragon Hunters. It was one of the reasons he rarely left your side too long and always asked to help.

"I've said this time and time again, Hiccup. If I got a dragon, I'll get attached. This isn't my home." You sigh, looking off at the water longingly. This world was beautiful yet home was home.

"I know..." He sighs deeply, looking over at you. "What if you never go home, though? What if I'm not around to protect you until then?"

You give Hiccup a saddened look. Hiccup's stressed expressions softens when he sees this but he looks away. You understand... he's being a good guy, that's all!

"Look... I'm just saying getting you home could be years from now. We have no idea how you got here... we know even less about bringing you back!"

Tears collect in your eyes and you nod. He had a point, even if you hated to agree. You had already gotten to be good friends with every body. A dragon would only prove useful.

At the same time... it feels like it would only chain you to this world.

Hiccup picks up on your silence and shaking body. You pause when he pulls you next to him and holds your face. He scans over your tears and wipes them away with care.

"I understand you want to go home..." He acts like it hurts to say it. "Surely you must understand it's dangerous around here, right? I'll train a dragon for you... just for your protection. Please think of the benefits until we learn how to bring you home?"

You don't have much of a choice. You're left speechless at Hiccup's sudden action to pull you closer and your thoughts jumble together. You look at his eyes and huff.

"... If you say it's what's best for me, I trust your judgment, Hiccup. You are my closest friend, after all."

Hiccup smiles and pulls away. Something feels off but you can't figure out what. You just... weren't expecting such an action from him-

"Great. Let's pick one for you soon... thanks for considering."

His smile is contagious....

"Sure... no problem...."

----

Dragon training isn't easy. Despite this... after little over a year of knowing Hiccup you managed to become close with a Silver Phantom. The dragon was large, fast, yet shy with humans.

They were troubling to train, yet you managed because Hiccup urged you to.

Hiccup urged you to do a lot since you met him.... You felt he was going it because he knew how this world worked. Although now that you had a dragon protecting you... he should back off, right?

Apparently that was not the case. Hiccup still visited you just as often. You adored your Silver Phantom, you adored your now growing hut, and you adored your new friends.... Thoughts of home still lingered in the back of your mind but they slowly faded away as time passed.

You couldn't blame yourself...

You were probably never making it back.

Why would you want to go back now? You had Hiccup, your best friend... and you had your dragon! They were all you really needed now.

Your modern clothes were long since discarded. You had gotten used to viking attire now anyways. Anything that reminded you of your past life was tossed aside.

... was there any point in going home?

It's not like Hiccup brought up any development on it. All he did was stick around you and help you out. You... even began to grow attached the longer you stayed here.

Hiccup had told asked you to not bring up your old home anymore. As he kept saying, who knows when you'll get back? For now... isn't here your home?

Think about it... you've accomplished so much here. You became a dragon rider, you gained so many friends, aren't you thriving here? Plus, leaving would hurt by now wouldn't it?

It's exactly as you feared.

You were in this deep. All thanks to Hiccup's words and comforting advice. You'd think he was doing it all on purpose.

He wouldn't though... right? Hiccup is your best friend. He just wants what's best for you. He... makes you feel comfortable.

He's quickly becoming the one thing that makes you happy in this world...

... maybe you don't want to leave anymore.

----

Hiccup couldn't hide the grin on his face. It took time, but with some well placed manipulation he managed to make you stay. Truthfully, Hiccup didn't know if he could bring you back home.

Yet... why go back? Clearly this was your home now. It was already approaching your second year here and you appear to be thriving.

Hiccup had a huge part in it. He made you a confident viking despite your differences. Your Silver Phantom, Jetstream, had also been a big part in making you stay. Now you didn't want to leave.

Part of Hiccup knows he should feel bad for what he did. He took advantage of you and manipulated your mind into relying on him. Now you clung around him all the time.

You two could possibly even start dating if he pushed a bit farther.

That was an opportunity for another time. All Hiccup really cared about was keeping you here with him at Dragon's Edge. When he first met you... he felt there was something about you.

Maybe it was the mystery that brought him in? He wasn't sure... all he knew was you felt nice to be around. Even when you hid behind him... he felt a strong attachment to you.

Now it's been years. It feels like he's known you for longer. Your past may be foggy to him, but now you're an entirely different person! A person he's had a hand in making.

It felt... nice for you to slowly care for him more than your old home. Again, how wrong of him to say, he can't help it.... He's surprised you never questioned him.

Hiccup will admit he's been obsessive about you since he met you. To the point he follows you sometimes and... watches you when you're unaware. Jetstream catches him at times which causes him to leave, however.

Hiccup prefers to keep you blissfully unaware of his obsession. He's already gotten you to the point you like Dragon's Edge as your home. Far as he knows, from now on, the Edge could be your home forever...

Then you could stay with Hiccup, forever.

Hiccup is... happy that your home is long gone from your mind now. It just means you've accepted the truth, as dark as it sounds.

You're meant to be here, don't you see?

You're meant to be here with him, forever as his.

[kawaiiakamaru]

THE NOTEBOOK

noritoshi kamo x megumi's sister!reader

fem!reader, established relationship, fluff, sibling comfort, does mention motherhood/children?, etc. trigger warning: mention of death

word count: 1.6k ; not proofread

i do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted anywhere else! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated:)

the moon shone through the large bedroom window as noritoshi toyed with his blood-dipped arrows. its luminescence was much less prominent in tokyo than back in kyoto, but just for a few days, he didn't mind—especially if it meant he got to see you again. with missions and the 360+ kilometers between the two of you, it was safe to say you didn't see each other nearly as often as you both deemed necessary.

having been sat criss-crossed on the ground and hunched over for about an hour, his back began to cramp. groaning, he rose and rubbed his eyes before picking up his phone from his bed. scrolling through the kyoto groupchat, he rolled his eyes at the series of messages.

miwa: i'm nervous for tomorrow. i just don't want to be the reason we lose the event. i mean, they are the students of gojo satoru. 🤷‍♀️

kokichi: please do not let this worry keep you up tonight. mechamaru will protect you, miwa.

mai: 🤨

kokichi: by that i mean we are a team, so mechamaru will protect everyone. 👍🏻

mai: ANYWAYS, that white-haired oaf? no, girl. we'll be fine. 🤚🏼⚔️

todo: do not worry. the bigger they are, the bigger they are! 🥔

momo: todo, what does that even mean?

his eyebrows furrowed as he saw another notification pop up.

y/n: hii, love. do you want to spend the night? 🥰

much to his dismay, the brunette's heart began racing as he typed his reply: i will begin to gather my belongings, please be patient.

two hallways down, you smiled and chuckled softly. always so formal, you thought.

lighting a candle and fluffing your pillows before lying down on the bed, you attempted to patiently await your lover’s arrival. a few moments later, you heard a soft knock.

shooting up from the bed, you darted across your room before swinging the door open excitedly.

your wide smile immediately turned sheepish as you stepped to the side and allowed the individual into your bedroom.

sliding out of his slippers and making his way to the edge of your bed, he was the first to break the silence, "are you doing okay?"

the room went silent once again as your mind raced. sucking in a breath, you decided on an honest answer, "i'm not sure."

megumi nodded his head and began looking everywhere but you. honestly, part of him was hoping you'd just say yes, and you both could go on with your nights knowing neither of you were truly okay. however, the other part of him was relieved that you was feeling the same way.

"you know I'm not the best with words," he began, "but i think that whatever you're feeling—whatever we're feeling—is justified. gojo-sensei didn't really give us an opportunity to react." a mild grimace played on his lips as he thought back to the events earlier that afternoon.

you nodded slowly. "it's not every day that you see your newly-acquainted teammate rip his heart out in front of you and return in a box weeks later." you fidgeted with the chain around your neck.

"sorry, i'm rambling. i just." you paused, "can i say something awful?"

your brother hummed softly, waiting for you to continue.

"i'm grateful he's back, but part of me wishes he wasn't-- i'm just so worried. what happens when word gets out that he's still alive? or alive again? god only knows if sukuna is part of the reason why he's here, which could mean that yuji has even less control over his body."

megumi remained silent, taking in your words carefully.

"we watched him die, ‘gumi! i just can't handle losing him again, and i know you can't either." your voice became muffled as megumi rose and wrapped his arms around his sister.

you remained there for a few seconds before a knock interrupted your embrace and megumi gave you a questioning look.

walking over and grabbing the door knob, you pleaded, "just be civil, that's all i'm asking for." you took megumi's silence as promised adherence to your request.

swinging the door open for a second time that night, you sucked in a breath. you didn't know if it was his casual attire, his freed hair, or simply your eagerness to see your lover, but one thing was for certain: noritoshi kamo was breathtakingly beautiful.

stepping into the room, he opened his mouth to say something before locking eyes with the eldest of the two.

"fushiguro." he stated cooly. megumi could hardly take him seriously with the glittery hello kitty keychain clipped onto his duffel bag--presumably a gift you had given him in private.

placing a kiss on your forehead and grabbing the door behind him, the ravenette responded, "good night, y/n. kamo." holding eye contact for just a few more uncomfortable seconds, you rolled your eyes and forced the door shut.

"sorry about that." you began, "i wasn't expecting him to come over."

noritoshi, visibly more relaxed now that it was just the two of you, hummed. "please do not apologize, y/n. you know that you could never do any wrong in my eyes."

a tinge of pink painted your cheeks before you cupped the archer's soft face in your hands. thumbs stroking his pale cheeks, he nodded, giving you permission to lean in.

your lips connected and noritoshi, purely by instinct, grabbed your waist gently and pulled you in close, whispering softly, "you are everything to me."

looping your arms around his neck, you kissed him with more passion and lust than before. lips moving in sync, you carefully walked the two of you backwards until you felt the back of your knees hit the mattress.

noritoshi, without breaking contact, cupped the back of your head and pushed you back gently, gingerly placing your head on a pillow.

he hovered over you, legs straddled around your figure as you kissed each other hungrily; tongues dancing together with so much passion, desire, and love, it could have been mistaken as your last. deep down the both of you knew that a jujutsu sorcerer’s life was shorter than most, which further prompted you to cherish each other’s presence.

in desperate need of air, noritoshi broke the kiss and used the mattress to push himself off of you—admiring your swollen lips and staticky hair before laying his head on the pillow next to yours.

as the combination of your panting ceased, you picked up a few loose strands of his hair. wondering aloud you asked, "do you think in a world without curses or clans, we still would have found each other?"

noritoshi was silent as he pondered this idea. eventually, he settled on the words, “no, i do not think so.”

before you could protest and voice your disagreement, he continued. "i don't know what we would be doing if we didn't live in this world together, but i can imagine that a world without curses to exorcise and the pain felt from comrades dying at the hands of them and other sorcerers, without the loneliness and anxieties that come from leading a clan, life would be much closer to perfection. and i think the lack of perfection in this universe is part of what drew us together. raw human suffering is romantic because it connects us, in some grotesque way.”

your vision blurred as you attempted to blink back tears, whispering, “i never took you for a poet, kamo.”

the kamo heir snorted and lifted his thumb to your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

god, you loved when he was like this: when he spoke his mind freely without fear of damaging his clan’s reputation. when he was vulnerable about his feelings. when he snorted, for christ’s sake.

“you’re right, you know.” you whispered. “the fact that we found each other amidst the chaos of this life is beautiful.”

noritoshi gave you a small smile. “almost as beautiful as you.”

you rolled your eyes and bumped your shoulders teasingly. “do you say that to all of your girlfriends?”

noritoshi sighed, but played along anyway. “only to the ones i can envision as a mother to my heirs.”

your heart fluttered. “i will be anything you want me to be.”

noritoshi thought for a moment. checking an imaginary watch on his wrist, he tsked before shrugging. “for now, being yourself will suffice. ask me again in 10 years.”

you grinned before reaching an arm over to your nightstand to grab a book, checking the time simultaneously.

“it’s nearly 12, ‘toshi. i’m still not that tired yet, so could you read to me?”

noritoshi huffed in fake annoyance. “is my voice really that boring?”

seeing his adorable pout, you assured him that that was simply not the case; instead, because his voice was soothing and gentle.

opening the book to the page saved by the bookmark, noritoshi’s eyes danced over the words to remind himself where you both left off.

“Poets often describe love as an emotion that we can't control, one that overwhelms logic and common sense,” he began, stroking your scalp in a way that was sure to coax you to sleep in minutes, “That's what it was like for me. I didn't plan on falling in love with you, and I doubt if you planned on falling in love with me. But once we met, it was clear that neither of us could control what was happening to us. We fell in love, despite our differences, and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created. For me, love like that has happened only once, and that's why every minute we spent together has been seared in my memory. I'll never forget a single moment of it."

author’s note: ahh! first fic done! i know it’s not the greatest, but i haven’t written anything in the realm of creative writing before—just academic essays! i am open to feedback on how i can improve so i can do right by you all. thank you so much for taking the time to read this through! likes, comments, and reblogs are all very appreciated.

dividers: @cafekitsune

[thisismeracing]

Die from a broken heart | MS47 (patreon preview)

coming to Tumblr on Wednesday, the 13th!

▸Pairing: Mick Schumacher x fem!reader ▸Warnings: mentions of food and secret relationship; angst with a happy ending.

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PREVIEW:

“He’s just a friend!” Yn finally snaps, voice getting louder and thicker in frustration. 

Mick, who’s at the other side of the room, arms crossed, and face twisted in a frown, scoffs at her words just like he’s been doing the past few minutes they have been fighting.

“Yeah, but at this point, so am I to everyone who knows us,” his remark makes her heart clench. 

She loved him, she was sure of that even though they had been together for less than a couple of months. They had known each other for over a year. They were friends before becoming lovers. So his harsh words and his lack of demonstrating hurt hit her differently. 

Fighting with someone who won’t match your screams can be slightly worse than fighting with someone who will. Mick had his voice even the whole time, lips pursed, eyes hard. His cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and his stance wide, but other than that, he did not cave, did not scream, or point a finger at her. 

“And what do you want me to do Mick? You wanted me to make out with you in front of everyone so they could record and we could wake up being the news headlines tomorrow morning? You more than anyone know how the media can be pushy, how they can break beautiful things.” 

“Guess sometimes you don’t need them to break it, those beautiful things will break themselves,” he retorted, walking past her and to the door. 

“Where are you going?” Yn asked, tears gathering in her eyes. 

“I don’t know, it doesn’t matter to you.” 

And just like that, he gave his back to her.

Her sweet, loving, patient boyfriend turned around and stormed off the room as if he was done. As if their relationship was done for.

*****************

“Did you get into the sim earlier than scheduled?” Toto asked when Mick entered the garage, big bags under his eyes and no sign of his trademark sweet smile. 

The Schumacher shook his head, “Nah, just couldn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Did something happen?” 

“Love happened,” he mumbles, walking to one of the rooms to drop his things there, not before grumbling on the way about how hard relationships were.

Susie who was beside Toto shared a knowing look. The arched brows and darting eyes silently get to the same conclusion. 

“Do you really think…?” Toto finally voices and his wife shrugs, biting her lips.

“Maybe. They’re good friends…maybe they’ve been more and we failed to see it.” 

Toto sighs, moving the headphones that are on the desk.

“Please, don’t smash it,” she jokes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“She’s our baby.”

“She’s twenty-three, Liebe.” 

“Ja, but still…” 

“If you asked me to choose someone in the Paddock, it would be Mick. You’ve been working with him for a while now, we both know he’s a good guy.”

“That’s the problem!” He points and Susie arches her brows in confusion, “I’m supposed to hate my baby’s boyfriend, or give him a hard time, but I actually like that blond Ken doll, ugh.” 

Susie burst into laughter, and Toto can’t help but let the smallest grin grace his features.

“She’s everything,” 

“He’s not just Ken, and you know it, Torger.”

“Well, to me he’s just Ken. She’s my everything, and he’s just Ken.”

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, honeybees! I hope you guys liked this lil preview! This piece will come out free here tomorrow night! Make sure to let me know your thoughts and suggestions. <3 I wanted to add a huge shout-out to C (my Coffee emoji anon here) for proofreading this (Ily, C!).

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©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

There's a wonderful discussion in our Moots Discord between @henderdads and @legitcookie and it got me thinking.

I love all of the posts and fics where Eddie has a silver tongue and showers Steve with compliments and pet names, but I firmly believe Eddie's brain packs a suitcase and leaves for a cruise whenever Steve calls him "darling", "love" or anything affectionate. And his vocabulary gets limited to things he sees.

He tries to hide that because it's, frankly, pathetic.

Sometimes it works out. When Steve kisses him in the kitchen and says "good morning, love", Eddie freezes, searches the counter and responds, "morning...muffin." Weird, but adorable.

But then they're on a walk together in the woods and Steve asks "are you tired, darling?" and there isn't anything cute around them and Eddie's brain capacity disappears. He needs to respond. He needs to show Steve he loves him too.

"Oh, it's...it's fine, uh..."

He needs to add something.

There's a rock. Nope, too weird.

Tree? Why would Steve be a tree?

Leaf. Leaf is the best so far.

"All good...my...pinecone?" he says slowly and Steve loses it.

They have an honest talk afterwards. Eddie apologizes and Steve, through fits of laughter, reassures him that he loved being called a pinecone. And they decide to start a new tradition together, "find the best pet name". More precisely, find the best pet name in anything that happens to be around.

"My darling passive-aggressive church sign."

"My beloved shedding squirrel."

"My sweet discounted pineapple."

"My unforgetable half-eaten donut carelessly tossed into the closest bush."

Robin finds it hilarious. Nancy discreetly snickers into her hand. Jonathan and Argyle think it's so cool and start doing the same thing.

And the kids? The kids start a petition to bring back the "love" and "darling" they used to despise oh so much.

[foxglovepng]

Race Headcannons 🥀🌼

Requested: Nu uh I just felt like it

CW: Race, Rook Slander, Ortho spoiler Idia's part.

Characters: NRC students

These are my Race Headcannons for the NRC men. Some of these I just went by feeling a lot of these I did research about the movie setting although with the fishes + beast men I went by geography.

Some of these I'm unsure of (Heavy on Sebek) If anything is incorrect or you want to share your thoughts go ahead I'm always open to corrections and hearing others. (PROOFREAD FOR ONCE)

(Updated Epel on 5.12.24)

🌼

Heartslabyul

Riddle (British)

I don't really have an explanation for this one other than the Red Queen in Tim Burton's version she was British and had a big goofy forehead (I have not seen the animated one help)

Trey (German)

Would you believe me if I told you I whipped out a map closed my eyes and threw a dart and it landed on Germany??

For this one I went with somewhere in Europe and I picked Germany because it just made sense to me I was gonna say Polish, but his Green hair was telling me German.

Cater (Scottish)

It's his ginger hair tbh.

Ace (Japanese)

A lot of people headcannon him as Filipino, but me personally I wanted to be quirky and different /j

This one doesn't really have any evidence I just went by feeling. I also headcannon it that he would love Jojo and Junji Ito.

Deuce (Mexican)

As a fellow Mexican I KNOW ONE OF US WHEN I SEE ONE OF US. He is Mexican and I WILL DIE ON THAT HILL.

Savanaclaw

Leona (Kenya)

I actually googled it and Lion King takes place in Kenya which is a country in the eastern part of Africa. For obvious reasons since he is based off Scar it made sense to make him Kenyan.

Ruggie (Multiracial)

I may get a lot of heat for this one, but this man got blonde ass hair and blue eyes, HOWEVER for the geography of spotted Hyena's I feel he is light skinned. He's got some Kenya in him but he also got some white genes. Geography wise I believe he is also part Arab since there are Arab countries in Africa. So therefore I believe he is white, black, and Arab.

Jack (Bircial)

Another one I may get a lot of heat for.

From what I remember Jack is from the same country as Vil? So, I believe Jack is part black, but also part European. It also isn't explicitly stated what movie he is from we just know he is a wolf.

Pop off Jacob Black (not sorry)

Octavinelle

Azul (Cuban) + The Twins (Filipino)

I googled Coral Sea locations and I came to these conclusions.

There are different Coral reefs going from Australia, Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, Fiji, and Maldives. With the Twins I thought how funny would it be to make them Australian, but Filipino just kind of felt right like a gut feeling. The Carribean sea also has coral reefs so I made Azul Cuban. I was going to make him Venezuelan however I ended up going with Cuban, but I feel like both fit him in a way.

Scarabia

Jamil + Kalim (Arab)

I don't really think this one needs an explanation Aladdin quite literally takes place Agrabah which was based off of Baghdad, Iraq (source: Google)

HOWEVER

There is an article that says the Architecture is based on the Taj Mahal which is Indian.

There is also a mention of Allah in the animated version BUT because I don't fully understand religion in general (And also Disney back then was kind of racist) I don't want to use religion as a justification to where specifically they are from. So I will simply just say they are Arab.

Pomefiore

Vil (German)

Snow white was based in Germany. (I have nothing more to say :Skull:)

Rook (French)

Self explanatory

Epel (Sami)

The Sami People are people who are indigenous to Sapmi which is in Northern Europe. (Todays Russia, Sweden, Finland, and Norway).

From doing a bit of research the Sami people seem to be dying out and their language too. (If you want to feel free to Google the Sami people there's a lot to learn about them and it's really interesting. There was basically a bunch of policies put in place to kill them and mistreat them it's really sad)

So in short Epel is Sami Indigenous (If I'm correct he's the first Indigenous character we got so far which is nice representation) (I also hope my research was correct please correct me if not)

Ignihyde

Idia (Greek)

Based on where Hercules takes place and because Hades is quite literally Greek Mythology he is Greek.

Ortho is just a robot, but when he didn't drop dead he was Greek.

Diasmonia

Malleus (German/French)

I am not really getting a clear answer as to where Sleeping Beauty takes place so I made him a French German. He slayed tbh

Lilia (Romanian)

Dracula's castle is in Romania that is the only explanation you are getting

Silver (French/German)

I am being told he is based off Sleeping Beauty so I am making him the same race as Waka Sama.

Sebek (Biracial)

When I first was thinking of a race for him I was thinking Slavic kind of fits him (atleast to me) or possibly Asian. However I had a really hard time guessing so I made him SlavicAsian. Maybe possibly Slovakia and Vietnam?

If you enjoyed Likes and Reblogs are very much welcome. If you want to request something go ahead just read my rules first. <3

[lipglossanon]

When You’re With Me I’m Smiling

 ⁂—————✵————— ⁂

Ark Thompson x fem!reader (one shot)

Warnings: cute fluff!, kissing, flirting, cheesy banter 🤭 Ark’s just a soft boy who I wanted to write ✍️

not proofread 👌 kinda came out of nowhere and wrote this in like an hour 🫣

Title from Lady by Styx 💜

 ⁂—————✵————— ⁂

He’s quiet. Something you’ve come to appreciate the more you work with other agents. His friend Leon tends to be a smart ass on the best of days, so when Ark is the only one teaming up with you on projects (no sandy haired menace in sight), you can breathe a sigh of relief.

He works hard and keeps his head down, but also jumps into it when he needs to get his hands dirty. You tend to stick to the admin side of things, being the researcher and liaison for the missions you both take on for the agency. All in all (when you’re not able to work with Rebecca) Ark is your next choice on the roster. 

It’s how you both end up working late nights, ordering Chinese takeout and comparing which 90’s boy band had the worst hair. This particular Friday evening is the great debate between 98° and LFO on who is least remembered. 

“If it wasn’t for Nick Lachey marrying Jessica Simpson, no one would remember them,” Ark points out, spearing a piece of broccoli onto his fork and pointing it at you. 

“Exactly,” you roll your eyes, reaching for the soy sauce, “they’re more recognized because of the association. No one in hell remembers LFO.”

Ark cracks a smile at you, tossing a fortune cookie at you, “Alright, I guess I can see your point. I only know the one song by them anyways.”

You gesture with your arm while closing your empty container, “Thank you. I deserve this win after you won against Justin’s ramen hair.”

“Two words: frosted tips,” he laughs as you flip him off and grab your fortune cookie. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you scrunch your nose, “why was that even a thing in the first place?”

He shrugs easily, leaning back into his chair, “Same reason tribal tattoos around the bicep were in style.”

You both make eye contact before cracking up loudly. 

“God, I’m so happy some styles die out with time,” you giggle, standing up to toss your stuff into the trash. 

Ark follows suit, walking with you out of the conference room to the nearby break room, recycling what needs to be and throwing away the rest. 

“You doing anything this weekend?” He asks, stalling by the door until you’re finished as well. 

You fall into step with him as you head over to your desks out in the bullpen.

“Binge some brain rotting television and clean my messy house,” you grin, shouldering him before stopping at your desk to grab your jacket and purse, “what about you?”

He hums and shuffles awkwardly as you slip your jacket on, “I was, uh, going to see if you wanted to meet up tomorrow sometime?”

You frown, “To work on the case?”

You watch as a blush colors the tips of his ears before sweeping down to his cheekbones. His brown eyes dart away and then back to you. 

He clears his throat nervously, “Not exactly. I was wondering if you’d want to go out on a date?”

“Oh,” you draw up short, eyes taking in his flushed face and nervous uptic of his lips. 

Nodding, you give him a shy smile, “Y-yeah that sounds nice. You have my number, right?”

His smile broadens until you can see a flash of teeth, “Yep, I’ve got it. I’ll call you tomorrow to hammer out the details?”

You laugh, “Maybe work on the sweet talk, huh?”

He flushes harder and rubs the back of his neck, “S-sorry, kinda nervous.”

Chest fluttering with butterflies, you link your arm with his and walk over to his desk. 

“We can work on it.”

Stopping to grab some files from his work area, Ark walks with you out into the company parking garage. 

“See you tomorrow,” you press a quick kiss to his cheek, “drive safe.”

Smiling bashfully, he rubs the skin you pressed your lips against, “You too.”

By the next afternoon, Ark calls and invites you to try out a new Italian place that Leon swears is the best. Much to your surprise, it’s actually authentic and delicious. You both spend the next couple of hours chatting over pasta and bread, work being completely off the table as a topic. After learning that Ark has never been to the local malt shop (who knew they even still existed!), you convinced him to make that your next stop. 

Now, milkshakes in hand, you walk along the pavement to the nearby park, the late evening sun casting long shadows. Coaxing Ark to sit on a bench, you sit thigh to thigh, sharing bites of your cold treats until you’re both giggling and sharing sticky sweet kisses. Sitting your empty cups to the side, Ark takes your face in his calloused hands and presses the softest of kisses to your cold lips. 

“I’m glad you agreed to go out with me,” he murmurs in the small space between your mouths, “I’ve been crushing on you for months.”

Your eyes light up, giddy excitement bubbling in your chest, “Really? I never picked up on it.”

Ark grins, thumb coming up to tug your bottom lip down, “Kept it close to the chest, didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You melt into him a little, nipping his thumb before leaning in to kiss him more firmly than before. Losing track of time, the sound of cicadas alerts you to the late time when Ark finally pulls away from you, lips looking bee stung and swollen (you’re sure you don’t look much better).

“Let’s get you home,” his voice comes out rough, sending chill bumps skating across your skin. 

Holding hands from the park to his car, he only lets go to help hold open the door for you to get in before climbing into the driver's seat and taking your hand up once more. He randomly kisses your knuckles as he drives, shooting you soft little smiles that make your heart beat fast. Making it back to your apartment, Ark walks you all the way up to your door. 

“I had a really wonderful time,” you bite your bottom lip, feeling a little zing at the soreness you feel from your earlier make out.

“I did, too,” he rumbles, eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to your eyes, “can I kiss you goodnight?”

“Please,” you breathe out, hands reaching around to tease the soft brown hair at the nape of his neck when he leans down into your space.

With a soft groan, he kisses you deeply, tongue licking past your swollen lips to rub against yours. You eagerly suck on the slick muscle as your nails scrape against the base of his skull. A deep hum echoes from his chest making you press the dough of your thighs together. He pulls away, resting his forehead against your temple as you both catch your breaths. 

“I’ll call you when I get home?” The last word lilts upward as in a question and you smile, stepping back to your door. 

“I’d like that,” you murmur happily. 

He grins, boyish and charming, “Alrighty. Have a goodnight.”

He dips back in for a quick kiss to your cheek and leaves back to the elevators. You quickly unlock your door and slip inside. Once you’ve shut and locked it back, you slump against the hardwood with a sigh. Feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl, you laugh out loud and press a hand to your lips. 

Seems like Ark might take the top spot as your favorite partner to work with from here on out. 

[cheeriecherrymain]

The Bottom Of The Inkwell [Chapter 2]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Chapter Rating: T Chapter Warnings: a couple of swears Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: Your friendship with V develops, despite the great differences in your lives, and as the years progress, your feelings morph into something deeper.

You stare at the page in front of you for what feels like minutes. Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, you have no idea how to reply to the question. Who are you and why is your writing showing up in my notebook? That’s a damn good question, you think.

But you don’t want to leave this supposed person waiting for too long - they’re probably already impatient enough as it is.

I don’t know why, you scribble honestly. I didn’t even know things like this could happen.

The next set of words do not appear for a little while, leaving you to anxiously watch the paper.

Was it magic, maybe? The paper? Or the pen? The pen made more sense, in your opinion - the shop you’d pinched it from had been filled to the brim with strange objects, glowing ominously in the dim light, exuding all kinds of unusual vibes. And the way the silver box had called to you, as if possessing a voice that whispered right in your ear.

Take me home, it had said.

And you did. Against your better judgment, you’d stolen something, and something valuable no less.

It has to be magic.

I think it’s the pen.

Your eyes dart up from where you’re glaring a hole in your desk, to gloss over the new words appearing.

I’ve been using it for months, and nothing strange has happened. It must have activated because you have its twin.

How do you know it’s part of a set? 

It’s an educated guess.

I don’t believe that, but whatever. The box my pen came in did have space for a second, though I couldn’t find it anywhere in the shop. Where did you find yours? What does it look like?

You watch with great interest as you learn that the other tool had been found in a gutter of all places - caked in mud and various other questionable debris, your new friend had almost overlooked it. If not for the pale shine of the nib, it would have been ignored completely, and possibly lost forever.

Maybe they both need an owner in order to make them work. The words wouldn’t know where to go otherwise! And then it would just…be a normal pen. Or it would explode. I’ve heard that magic can be kind of explodey.

I haven’t seen enough magic to verify that claim. But hey, do you think we could test a few things out? I want to know more about what’s going on with these things, but I need your cooperation.

You purposefully hold your hand away from the paper for a couple moments, nearly vibrating in your seat with excitement at the prospect of having something to do while you’re trapped in your room.

That sounds like a good idea! But maybe we can start tomorrow morning, when we’re more awake?

—

Over the next couple days, you and your new friend run numerous experiments in an attempt to figure out how the pens work.

On your end, you try out each of the different nibs - they all created a different type of lettering, ranging from quick and simple, to flowing and intricate. And they all appear in the other notebook.

You both try different pieces of paper, varying in size and texture, but the result is much the same: no matter what surface you write on, the words appear in the first books you’d used. You even try scribbling on your desk at one point, but nothing happens…aside from a swatch of ink now being forever ingrained in the dark wood.

One thing that you do learn about the pens, is that they seem to be able to send messages regardless of whether or not you’re using actual ink.

Discovering it had been a total accident on your part, though. You’d been bored while waiting for a reply, and you’d been spinning the little wand around on your fingertips. All it took was a small fumble, the sharp tip pointed downwards as it fell, piercing through the skin of your opposite hand.

There hadn’t been a lot of blood from the small wound, but it had been enough to well up in the nib. You’d scribbled it across the paper instead of cleaning it off with a rag, earning both surprise and concern from your penpal. As soon as you explained what had happened, he’d all but demanded you try out different shades of ink - after you cleaned yourself up.

By the third day of working together, you run out of tests to complete. The two of you have mapped most of the parameters of the pens by that point, with your few remaining questions being ones you couldn’t answer at that point in time - was there a limit to the distance between the pens? What if one of you lost it? What if one broke?

We can figure it out in time, you tell him, doodling a cheerful face beside your words. But since we’re going to be penpals, we should know what to call each other.

What makes you think that this is going to be a regular thing?

You frown.

But we’ve been getting along so well. I like talking to you, and I think you like talking to me, too!

Yeah, but you could get in trouble. What if someone found my notebook, and it had your name penned in it?

I don’t follow.

I know your birthday, I know what city you live in, and I know how old you are. If someone steals my paper, they could figure all of that out. So if your name was also here, you’d be a target.

That sounds…incredibly paranoid, don’t you think? Why would anyone go to that length?

That’s just how things are, where I live.

You sigh deeply, saddened that you won’t even get a name for your new friend. However, when he continues writing to you, telling you that you can call him V if ever the need arises, your heart soars. He pretends to be aloof, you think, with a knowing little smirk, But he really does want to continue being friends.

—

The truth in your theory becomes clear over the next couple of weeks. You and V talk every day, asking questions about each other and trying to learn as much as you can. You play little games on the paper with one another, though he has a tendency to win - you have no idea how he’s cheating, but you know he is. Somehow.

Even when your mother finally relents to you your freedom, V still keeps you company. You think you’ve grown closer to a boy you’ve never met, than you have to anyone your parents have ever introduced to you. He doesn’t possess the same snobbish demeanor that so many of your neighbors and peers do, though you’ve noticed he can be a touch prideful.

Still, you think he’s earned it, considering how adept he is at what he does.

V is an inventor of sorts, you’ve learned. The first thing he ever made that worked as intended was a mechanical boat, complete with a motor and small fuel tank. In the years since then, though, he’s expanded to more complicated projects - ideas that could really improve the lives of a lot of people!

If he could ever get them to work like he wanted them to, he’d told you, somewhat bitterly.

When you’d inquired as to why his designs weren’t functioning, he went on a tangent; explained to you that a lot of what he does is based on trial and error - he didn’t have access to many reliable books where he was, so learning about the way things worked was through word of mouth or…failure.

Unfortunately for him, failure was expensive, and money wasn’t something his family had much of. I’m lucky enough to have a place to live, and both my parents, he’d scrawled, though you could almost hear the hopeless tone of his voice.

You wish you could help him. Where he was in the world, you wish you could do more for him besides just sympathize. He’s brilliant, and creative, and he wants to change things for the better.

You had all the books you could ever want - whatever you asked for, your parents would get it. If you had a way to get those books to him-

You pause for a moment, an idea beginning to form in your mind.

V, what if I gave you the books you need in order to keep making things?

What?

I have access to as many books as I could possibly want! I can’t send you the physical copies, but…maybe I could read them for you. We have a way of talking to each other, so maybe…maybe you write down any questions you have, and I could find the answers!

You. Would really do that? For me?

Of course! We’re friends! Plus, my parents would be fucking thrilled if I took an interest in something other than writing. It’s a win-win situation.

Are you sure you’re okay with that, though? Because I don’t want you to get bored in a couple weeks and then give up. If you do this, I’ll need you to do it.

I promise! I know we’ve only known each other for a little while, but I really feel like we could be good friends. I like you a lot - you’re kind to me, and you’re smart, and you make me laugh. I want to do this for you.

I- okay. Should I…start asking questions? Right now?

With a smile, you tell him that he can write whenever he pleases, but that you won’t start replying until the morning. The clock on your wall claims it’s nearly past midnight, and the light from the lamp on your desk is really starting to hurt your eyes, which already sting from lack of sleep.

V is quick to bid you goodnight, but right before you close your notebook, you can see one of his numerous questions beginning to appear in the pages.

Your heart flutters.

—

As you had hoped, V becomes a very dear friend as the months go by. You work hard to get him as much information as he needs, scouring through book after book to answer specific and difficult inquiries, until you also become adept enough in the subject as to offer your own suggestions.

He likes to keep his projects to himself mostly, but he’s always happy to share when your ideas worked, or when something you told him was successful. It fills you with a strange sense of pride, to know that you’re helping someone so amazing - you know he’s going to do big things with his life, and make great changes to the world. You just know it.

And yes, as the years go on, you perhaps realize that your feelings towards him aren’t entirely platonic…but you don’t utter a word of them to anyone, least of all to him. What would you say, anyways? ‘Hey V, I know we’ve never met before, but you’ve permanently altered the course of my life just by being my friend. I love you?’

No way in hell.

Sure, you were openly grateful to him for giving you the opportunity to become interested in mechanics and technology, and sure you deeply admired him as a person…and sure, he had been your biggest encouragement when you’d first started to create your own little mechanisms, even though they were utterly useless…but…

You can’t.

You can’t risk your friendship like that.

At first you’re saddened by the fact that you’ll never be able to have him in the way you want. You’re sad you’ll never be able to touch him, or kiss him, or hear his voice or the beat of his heart, or learn his little habits.

But as you grow older, it doesn’t bother you as much. You’re happy to have his company, in whatever way he’s willing to give; he’s still insightful, and he still asks questions when he’s not able to find the answer on his own. He still encourages you, and helps you work through your more complicated projects.

He even supports you when you tell him that you want to submit your application to Piltover’s Academy. 

Your parents were furious about that one - you’d interrupted their plans to marry you off as soon as you turned nineteen. 

They had agreed that they wouldn’t interfere with your potential acceptance to the prestigious school, but had made you swear that -should you be rejected- you would start entertaining potential suitors. With your mother’s failing health, you know that they were hoping to see you married within the year, even at the detriment to your potentially bright future.

Which is why you’re so nervous.

Sitting at your desk, chewing your nails, and staring at the large embossed envelope in front of you. It’s unopened thankfully, so you know that no one has been tampering with it, but its very presence nevertheless fills you with dread.

What if I didn’t get in, V?

You won’t know until you open it.

But the academy is for smart people. Like you! You have such a natural affinity for making things, and you’ve got such drive and passion…

And you…don’t?

I don’t know. What if I’m just…some rich girl who thinks she’s better than she actually is? What if I’m not what I think I am?

Listen, I can’t speak for the academy, but I can speak as someone who holds an amount of disdain for bigheaded, superficial pilties. You’re as good as you think you are. You’re smart, you’re resourceful, and you want to change things for the better. If the school doesn’t see that, then it’s their loss.

You take a deep, quivering breath, and straighten your posture.

I’m taking your word on it, V.

Sick of waiting and digging yourself into a deeper hole of anxiety, you grab the envelope and shred it open, nearly tearing the contents in the process.

You don’t read the entirety of the letter on the first pass, looking only for key words that can hastily tell you whether or not your future would go the way you wanted it to.

And then you see it.

“We are pleased to welcome you as a member of the student body in the new year,” you whisper, a relieved smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as the words begin to blur. You sob a couple times, allowing the tension to seep out of your body, and then wipe at your eyes with a sniffle.

I got in! V, think of all the things I get to pass along to you! I’ve heard that the academy library is unparalleled by any other.

But your friend is quiet.

V?

Worry once again begins to form a pit in your stomach.

Hey, is everything okay?

Apologies, there was a delivery.

Your shoulders sag with relief.

I…would also like to apologize for something else.

What? V, what happened?

It’s nothing bad, I promise! I just wasn’t sure about telling you…I suppose I didn’t necessarily lie about it, but I did withhold information. Willingly.

V, You’re stalling. Just spit it out!

I applied to the academy.

Pardon.

I got my acceptance letter a few days ago. I didn’t want to tell you about it, because you get so anxious about these kinds of things - I knew you’d get flustered and start doubting yourself. And you know what happens when you get into one of those moods.

You wince.

Yeah, I’d rather not have a repeat of The Summer Exams From Hell. I value my sleep too much.

I’m sorry for keeping this from you, though. I…don’t like not telling you things, if I’m being honest.

Hey, I understand why you did it. There’s no sense in one of us freaking out when neither of us could be freaking out. You’re okay, I promise.

You pause.

You do know what this means though, don’t you?

…no?

We! Can! Be! Roommates! V, this is gonna be incredible! We’ll finally get to meet in person, and I can hug you, and we can talk, and it’ll be amazing!

Your friend is idle for a startling amount of time. You can see a couple of ink dots appear on the page where he might start his next sentence, though his words never come. He’s hesitating -something he never does- and it makes your anxiety start creeping up your throat.

I said I don’t like being dishonest with you, and. I need to tell you. You’re one of the people I care about most in the world. Your friendship is invaluable, and you’ve done so much for me, I can’t even begin to repay you. I don’t know how I ever will. I…

Your heart flutters hard in your chest, as you hang off of every word.

Was he about to…?

I don’t know if I’m ready to meet face to face.

Your stomach sinks as your hopes are dashed.

It’s just…a lot will be happening all at once, and there will already be so much change going on - I just don’t want things to be uncomfortable between us. You’re my best friend, but the shock of actually seeing each other might…I don’t know.

Make things weird?

Precisely.

Your chest aches at his admission, in such a way that makes you want to curl up underneath your blankets and cry until you fall asleep, but you suppose you understand. You’d been long distance friends for so long, and you came from different walks of life - it would be a big deal to suddenly meet.

It hurts, but you’re not going to let it break your friendship apart.

Whatever you’re most comfortable with is alright.

I’m sorry.

There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s a really big step, and you’re already going to have a lot to get used to. It’s okay to not be ready. Just…promise me one thing?

Anything.

Promise we’ll meet someday at least? Even if it’s not now, or even soon, I want to be able to hug you at least once in my life. Okay?

That sounds…doable.

Promise me, V.

I promise.

[ignoredbellyaches]

AND WHEN I ARRIVE AT MY DESTINATION... I AM GONNA KILL BILL.

Ford can't remember his name.

WARNING: Heavy focus on suicide ideation, actively considering it, and the writing of a last note. Other than that, it's just general angst. Not proofread, we die like men.

Ford stumbles over some stupid root in some stupid, cryptic forest- He hates this dimension, he HATES it. How did he even get here?! He knew dimension hopping was finicky when taking shortcuts through witches, and he shouldn't have even entertained the thought... But it was pretty cheap.

He checks his energy blaster, popping open the fuel only to see it was running on maybe two more blasts. He peers over the rock he's hidden behind, his eyes darting wildly around for any sign of the monster that was (currently?) chasing him. To say it was huge was an understatement. It was at least four times his size, it... Two blasts weren't going to hold him over, not for that monster and not long enough for him to find more of the fuel or an alternative source of it. Ford chewed on his lip, trying to think.

A growl is heard.

Ford tenses against the rock, closing his eyes as he tries to listen for any other movement... It sounds like the beast is going in a different direction from him, but too close for comfort. He was safe for now. Ford takes off his goggles, rubbing away the collected grime and sweat on his face. He couldn't keep doing this, not forever. He couldn't even keep track of time anymore- was time even a thing out here? What was he even trying to accomplish— getting back home where nothing but horrific memories waited for him? No one was waiting for him, not except that damned Cipher. He was such an idiot.

Ford looks back down at his nearly empty gun, sighing. "Trust no one!...but your gun," Ford thought with a grimace on his face. How would he get out of this situation? Did he even want to? Obviously not, or else he would be discretely scavenging around to find some way out. He just wanted to rest without feeling the weight of the galaxy on him. He could always...

Well, he didn't usually entertain the thought. Not wanting to give into what Cipher surely wanted, succumbing to the madness and offing himself, but... It was tempting, Ford had to admit. He knew it was against all of his morals, that it would be such an anticlimactic end to his story, but... Who would even be around to remember his story? Who even remembered him? With how much time has passed, maybe in earth years, everyone he knew had already died. Moved on, blissfully unaware of his situation or they just didn't care. Not like he ever took the time to-

It was the logical thing to do. Work smarter, not harder. Ford pulled out the small journal he kept in his coat pocket, hating the damn thing but he always had the urge to record things. He wondered if anyone out here could even read it? Whatever. He grabbed the quill he still had on him from Earth, the only thing beside his glasses that he still had, and pulled out an alien ink that stained a deep purple instead of a black.

"To whomever it may concern,"

No one would be concerned. This journal would probably be eaten by some crazed feral.

"My name is"

Ford exhaled, closing his eyes. Did he really want his name attached to his corpse? Unwashed, unkempt, ugly bastard in the middle of some kind of forest. What even was his name...? He was... Was...

Ford choked out a sob, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth, subsequently dropping his quill.

Oh God, what was his name?

Against his wishes, Ford strains out another breath, trying to recollect himself.

He was... His name was-

Damn it! Why couldn't he remember!? He knew this, surely he knew this... Just remember other things, what's your mother's name, your father's, your brothers?

Caryn, Filbrick, Stanley, Shermie... What was he forgetting!? Some kind of S name, he knew. He presses his thumbs against his temples, his thoughts clouded by the memories of others. His father wouldn't be impressed with a quitter. Shermie must've been well past college. Mom would probably be gossiping to her friends right now, talking about how she hasn't seen her golden boy in ages- Stanley would've...

What was Stanley doing?

Last Ford had seen him, Stanley was calling out to him before pushing Ford into his own personal hell. Surely, he just went off without a care, figuring it was one less Pines to worry about...

Pines! Stan.. Stanford, Stanford Pines.

Ford moves his trembling hand down to his quill, focusing through his silent tears back to the journal. He steadies himself, and even though it took him uncomfortably long, he mustered the strength.

"My name is Stanford Pines."

His jaw clenched at his own name. He could feel his veins filled with hatred. Not only towards himself but towards... Bill. That fucker took everything from him. He was to blame, not Ford. A snap breaks him out of his trance.

His quill bent at the top. Ford sighs, taking a deep breath. His eyes open back down to the journal, his hand still before writing furiously.

"And I am going to kill the entity known as Bill Cipher." He slams the journal close, putting back in his coat. He can die later, but he'd be damned if Bill wasn't going first.

...

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