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sansxfuckyou · 1 year

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It's fungal not floral

Summary: There's a lesser known counterpart of Hanahaki, a fungal disease, it festers in your lungs just like the sister disease Hanahaki does, but instead it comes up due to some form of hatred- the only way to save yourself is to let go.

But, George has a hard time doing that when it's someone he holds very close to heart.

Warnings: Crying, toxic friendships, graphic depiction of disease, body horror, check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: banger idea and spike in emotional viscosity is because of @sobredunia who splayed her heart out on the table for me while I was writing this and all of a sudden shit got real, I really hope this fic did the idea justice, also my writing style changed since I last wrote for them so I think it'll be a quaint 4K word punch to the gut, also snf cause I am a total slut for red/blue pairings, and not as important but this fic a second of two things, one being giving George plant motifs (done over here the first time) and the second time someone has eaten eggs in one of my fics, and it's George, again, what the fuck.

George heaved a heavy sigh as he ran the flat edge of a butter knife along his tongue where fungal spores threatened to gather, making the color more pastel than it already was. One hand kept his mouth held open, the other held onto the butter knife tightly. He knew exactly why this was happening to him- he hated someone, he just didn't know who. He had already eliminated those who he knew it couldn't be from his list of people who he was close to.

He had scratched out Wilbur, Sapnap, Dream, hell, even Quackity, but he's begun leaning towards Quackity being the one whose causing this mess of his respiratory system. He couldn't possibly hate any of them, could he? No, no he couldn't, they've stuck with him for this long what good would it do him to push them away (even if for his own health).

George wants to keep dwelling but he feels a constriction in his chest, he drops the scraping knife and wheezes out a couple coughs. Bright, neon, green spores come pouring from betwixt his lips and leave his mouth dry on the way out. His throat feels raw and dry, like someone took chalk dust and slathered a steak in it, he knows it's wet underneath the dry casing. Breathing feels different now with the consistent fungal casing on his trachea but he won't cut them off because they're his friends.

His hands grip porcelain tightly, he loves them all so much, why? Why does he have to release one of them? Cut ties with them, he might as well just isolate himself, ghost all of them see if that gets rid of it. Tears are welling up in his eyes, he couldn't bring himself to just drop all of them like that, it'd be cruel. He's choking on his own breath as he sobs, his tears hit the sink and slide down the curved ivory, glistening in the LED light. His body quakes, he doesn't want to let go, he doesn't care if one or two of them are bad for him, he doesn't want to let go.

They've done so much for him!

How could he just pick and choose until he stumbles across the one that's causing this?

He can't.

He'll just suffer instead.

He'll suffer and stay quiet about it because his friends care to much they'd make a big deal out of it.

---

George doesn't stream today, he was supposed to do another shock stream for some god awful reason except with some weird damage loop around so they'd have to protect each other.

Instead George can barely bring himself to get out of bed; his sheets all have spores layered on top of them, a green tone or that of mildew. He wakes up his jaw agape and he can feel the mycelium that's dug into his tongue and between his gums. His hands feel heavy with the mushrooms that had formed over his fingers and the sheets- he yanks them up and the growth shreds easily. He would yawn, but all he can bring himself to do is blink as he looks around his partially sunlit room. His mouth is dry and chalky, even more so than usual. His case has gotten worse over the last couple weeks, he's stopped leaving his apartment entirely, ordering groceries and wiring over the money.

He swings his legs over the edge of his bed, when his feet touch the hardwood ground it feels carpeted with the amount of spores and developing mycelia. He simply looks blearily around his room til his eyes land on his alarm clock, it's almost ten, his stream with Sapnap was supposed to start ten minutes ago. He grabs his phone as he stands up and stumbles to the kitchen, he cringes at the sight of concerned texts from Sapnap. He can't fess up to what's really wrong and he doesn't want to lie either, he leans against the counter as he hesitates to open them up.

George feels his hand shake as he places his phone face down the counter.

(it hurts him to ignore them just as much as it hurts them to be ignored)

The last space that isn't absolutely covered in spores because even if he's in his deathbed he has some decency. He doesn't even know what he wants to eat, he just knows that salt helps kill mushrooms. He grabs a bowl he's used three times in a row with nothing more than a rinse in between and grabs salt from the cupboard. He pours a sizable amount into the bowl, it tastes like shit no matter how he waters it down but it makes the casing in his throat die down. He opens his fridge, it's seemingly bare, a carton of eggs, a bottle of milk, lettuce, and little bits of leftovers that have no doubt gone bad. He doesn't want to fill his fridge with food he won't eat, it's hard to down much of anything that's a solid given his current state.

He pulls out the eggs and milk, he places them down beside the bowl and flicks on the burner, a pan already waiting as he prepares the eggs. With the amount of salt in the bowl it's sludgy even with two eggs and a bit of milk, he whisks it haphazardly- his mind is elsewhere and he doesn't know how to fix it. All he can think about is how this isn't helping, about how he isn't letting go, about how he isn't really fixing his disease. He knows logically just distancing himself isn't actually letting go and cutting ties, but at least they might take him back if he only distances himself until this over.

His phone buzzes loudly against the counter and he cringes a bit, he flips it over to find another concerned text from Sapnap. In a burst of foolishness he flicks it open and starts to type out a response faster than he can stop himself- but at least he catches his actions before he can send it. He deletes the entire message before he can read what he wrote and he really should respond but he doesn't. Instead he checks to see if anyone else messaged, he finds worried texts from Karl, Wilbur, Quackity, his parents, and a couple others.

But not Dream.

Dream hasn't texted him in forever despite how much George tried to reach out, tried to make arrangements; he'd move mountains to get an ounce of attention from him. The constriction in his chest grows tighter and he hacks up chunks of coral mushroom, they're bright pink and he swears red droplets are on them. He tastes iron in his mouth but he ignores it as he shuts off his phone again and focuses on the eggs. It's fine that Dreams ignoring him, it's fine that he won't respond, it's fine that he isn't getting what he needs- he won't tell that to Dream though. No one needs to know what's tearing him up inside to the point of spores taking residence in his lungs if he can't figure it out himself.

(he knows exactly what it is but he won't let himself realize)

George bitterly swallows down the heavily over seasoned meal, it burns what little of his taste buds still work at this point in time. He's been on this diet for a month now, just to kill the mushrooms, they take most of it anyways. He's sure his body is fine even though he's destroyed all his mirrors to never look at his sickly form again. He hears his phone buzz again, he doesn't look at it.

And again.

He ignores it.

And again.

He forces down the last of his breakfast and grabs his phone, he doesn't open it, he doesn't want to see what plea for a sign he's still alive he's getting from Sapnap. He left him on read that's good enough, that shows he's still breathing doesn't it? His phone keeps vibrating in his hand and he can't tell if it's from messages or his own hand shaking.

He ends up on the couch, it's coated in spores of a mildew hue and a neon tone, they match the black leather terribly. A puff of spores burst up when George drops down on the couch and he simply hates this sensation. He knows it won't go away until he let's go, but he doesn't want to, he'd sooner die than give up one of his friends no matter the cause. He leans his back along the arm rest, the ground around that side of the couch is thick with mycelia and forming mushrooms. Poor Sapnap, he must be so worried about George, poor everyone, all of them keep sending texts, asking him if he's okay- and he's just not responding. He's hurting them and in the process he's hurting himself as well to extents he can barely comprehend, someone has to get hurt and this time it'll be everyone.

Tears rise to his eyes and throat aches as bursts of spores go off in his lungs, he hack and coughs until he's practically choking on the cloud of damp spores. They float down the floor, spattered with the crimson of his blood and glowing with a new genus prospering inside of his chest. His form is slumped over the armrest of the couch, his rib cage resting on the tainted fabric with his arms hanging over the edge. His body is so sore, his mind is so tired, he just wants to sob and not have webbed mycelia crawl ever closer to his lips.

But he can't let go of whose causing this, he doesn't want to, he isn't ready.

(he knows this is killing him but why should he let himself live like this)

His phone keeps buzzing, but he's in too much a haze to even bother checking just to confirm it's Sapnap. He's sure it's just some pleading question as to what's going on and he's not answering the questions he's being asked. He grips his phone to toss it to the other end of the couch before trying to get into a comfy position where he'll be able to hack a lung out easily.

---

3 messages unread

Sapnap: please just tell me whats going on George was it something i did? is this on me, if it is i can try and make it right

im coming to England just to find out myself George

---

More time passes and somehow this is the third time this month George has ordered a box of salt, kosher, Himalayan, black, table- he's tried every kind and none of it helps him anymore. Now he uses it to scrub his dishes and wash his clothing and the sheets because if it won't kill the spores in his lungs then maybe it'll at least help him lie to himself about his state. Maybe if his clothing isn't covered in fungus he won't feel so dirty, maybe if he slept in clean sheets he'd feel better about himself.

He lays in bed, the sheets are clean and he relishes in the fact, he's achieved it with god awful amounts of salt in his washing machine (the poor thing must be in agony). He knows that he's absolutely terminal by now, he feels faint consistently and his everything aches no matter what he does to make it stop. He sees his reflection in the black of his phone screen and he wants to vomit with how zombified he looks.

Mycelium creeps outward from his lips like lichtenberg fractals and his skin, now disturbingly thin, bulges where thick roots of mycelia wrap around his veins and shoot down his spine. His eyes look hollow and when he opens his mouth it's all white, the thick casing of spores crack when he moves his tongue- he's shocked he can salivate at this point. When he looks at his hands he sees them in a glaze of mildew hues, neon green, and red from all the times he's raised his hands to cover his mouth when he coughs. His hair no longer retains it's dark hue, it's lightened up with the fungus sapping his nutrients and the spores latching onto individual strands, causing it to clump.

He looks like a monster.

He's glad no one has seen him in months, they'd all run screaming if they saw the hideous creature he's become.

He doesn't want to move anymore, he has no excuse to just stay in bed aside from the fact he's literally dying. No fungus tries to hold him down and his sheets are thin and light, he just sees no reason in getting up even though he's hungry. He should eat, he really should, he knows the food in his fridge is rotting and the door dasher must be getting concerned with the fact he only buys salt, bleach, and Tylenol these days (even if he was buying healthy the mushrooms on his apartment door are also a red flag).

His phone buzzes and he picks it up, a message from Sapnap, he's tempted to just ignore it but when he sees the preview he's just confused. Why the fuck would Sapnap need to know if he's changed his lock since last time he visited? He gives a quick two letter response before turning off his phone, silence washes over his dark room. The lights are off and the blinds are down but light still filters in between the cracks, despite that the luminescent mushrooms that have taken residence inside of him glow under the skin and on the hardwood floor.

And then he hears his apartment door open.

Panic briefly washes over him, but then he hears Sapnaps voice calling out a meek 'hello?' and he can rest easy again. How stupid, panicking over someone breaking into his apartment, it'd obviously be Sapnap just visiti-

Wait.

Why is Sapnap at Georges door?

Last time George checked they did not live anywhere remotely close by.

Just to investigate George limps out of bed, on the way to the door he grabs a Tylenol and downs it dry. He knows it won't start working for a couple minutes, but if Sapnap really is at the damn door and he isn't just hallucinating he'd rather have it kick in than not have it. He pushes open his bedroom door, vines of mycelia trail down the white paint that's peeling away as spores integrate themselves into wood. He walks- he stumbles, gripping onto the nearest wall for support as he makes his way to where his couch rests. He finds a concerned Sapnap looking very, very confused and almost sick with worry as he stares at the mycelium littered across Georges apartment.

"Sapnap what the fuck are you doing here?" George choked out, his mouth didn't want to properly form all the words and his voice felt higher than before with how little he used it, it was quiet. Sapnap still perked up at his voice and turned to face his sickly friend.

He rushed over to capture George in a rib crushing hug and despite the fact he was shorter he still managed to lift the Brit with a worrying ease, "fuck, you're okay, you're alive- I was so scared George," Sapnap only barely managed to choke out the words, the chill rooted deeply into George seeped into him but he didn't care. He was hesitant to release his grasp on his frail friend, "I thought you were dead."

George gives him a questioning look, "and you hopped on a plane to Britain just to make sure? Are you fucking insane?" His question comes off a little bit roughly but if anything he's touched by the sentiment, still worried about what would happen if he was dead and Sapnap was stranded here.

Sapnap gives a bit of a laugh, "they say love makes you do crazy things don't they? Or is that not a saying in Britain," Sapnaps hands rest on Georges wrists and what little untainted blood remains in the Brits body goes to his face. He looks pale as a ghost and the slightest blush on his face looks like blood on a wedding dress with how much it stands out.

The warmth Sapnap gives off is addicting and George slips his wrists from the grip before interlocking fingers instead, it anchors him into reality, this must be how ghosts feel, "everyone's heard that saying," he sounds so sure of himself, he steps a bit closer to Sapnap before leaning into him. He feels dead, he feels so dead now that he has someone healthy and alive to compare himself to, it's like he's wasting away, "I'm sorry."

Sapnap gives George a perplexed look as he leads them over to the couch, the leather is torn in some spots (it wasn't last week), "what for? I'm sure you had your reasons, maybe you thought it would help the Saprophytis in it's onset, I'm just glad I got here before it could kill you," he gives a hum of as he guides George to just rest. He ends up on top of Sapnap to some extent, ankles resting on the armrest, Sapnap places his chin on the top of Georges head as his partner nuzzles into him, "so, care to cough it up?"

"I think I'll try to avoid hacking up mycena and coral mushrooms if I have a word in it Snapnap," George said with a forced chuckle, a puff of spores filter past cracked lips at the singular laugh.

The spores aren't much more than a red mist these days, at least it wets his painfully dry lips. The red settles onto his terribly stained shirt and it blends with the preexisting blotches of spores and blood. He finds himself coughing, he brings up his hands to his mouth and his entire body shakes as he draws his knees to his chest- he slumps a bit lower on Sapnaps torso. When he pulls back his hands they're dripping with crimson and red chunks of coral mushrooms, he feels disgusted in himself. No one should have to see that, especially not the only one to haul so much ass to check if his friend was okay.

George stared at his hands in horror for a brief moment, Sapnap only looked intrigued and mildly worried, "fuck I'm sorry," he mumbled out as he wiped his hands on his pants, they were covered in bloody hand prints from the cuff to the waist- he heaved a sigh but couldn't help a smile when Sapnap wrapped an arm around his midsection.

"You can't help the symptoms," Sapnap stated with a shrug, he rested his hand atop Georges, "now, I'm begging you, cuss out whoever you hate so much that it's done this to you," George gives him a hesitant look, "please."

George glances to the side, "you won't get mad at me?"

"Of course not, I wouldn't get mad at you for evading death, George that's stupid," Sapnap said, he gently ran his thumb in circles across the top of Georges hand, he could feel the mycelia under skin and the almost scale like make up of the spores on Georges fingers- it was different, but it was still George.

"It's Dream, I just, he won't respond to my messages, he won't reach out, he hasn't talked to me in months but he streams, so I watch, see if there's a hint as to why he's been giving me the silent treatment, but there isn't," George explained, his breaths were short with how crowded his lungs were. He had to pause to hack up chunks of coral mushroom, stringy bits of mycena came out along with it. They looked like guts in his hands, coated in a sludgy blood, he tossed them to the floor, "he just wouldn't give me attention no matter how much I was begging for it."

Sapnap nodded a bit, he gave a hum of understanding, "and you hate him for that?"

George nodded fiercely, "I guess so, I can't think of anyone else who could be the cause this," he hacked and coughed again, the blood dripped from his forever stained crimson hands as chunks of fungus tore up the casing in his mouth and throat- he could feel them again despite the sting. He threw the mushrooms to the floor before wiping down his bloody hands, he noticed the drops of red on his friends hoodie, "sorry."

"Don't worry, shit happens," Sapnap said, his casualness shocked George, but it was the least he could do despite the fact he was fearing for his partners life given how much blood he's hacking up and how malnourished he feels, "is there anything else on your mind?"

George paused, "I don't think so, I just wish he'd pay more attention to me sometimes."

"What? Am I not enough? I spontaneously paid for a flight to fucking Britain just to check in on you and that's not enough," Sapnaps voice is playful even as he takes Georges bloody hands in his own.

George rolled his eyes a bit as he let his knees drop from his chest, he pushed himself a little bit higher up Sapnaps torso, "yeah, definitely not, you didn't even smuggle me some pop over the borders," he sounds playful as he speaks even though his voice is cracked and raw due to lack of usage over the last few month.

Sapnap brought a hand to Georges chin, tilting up his head a bit, "I love you dude, you know that right? You know I'd jump through some insane hoops just to make sure you're feeling good?" George nodded a bit, only to be taken aback at an unprompted and chaste kiss.

There's an awkward silence.

"Shit I shouldn't've done that, jumped the gun on my end," Sapnap said, grasping for excuses and apologies as a distinctive red rose to his face, "tasted kinda bloody anyways."

George simply stares at Sapnap, the words registering, "the first time you kiss me and all you can think of is how bloody it tasted? What a romantic," a lilt of laughter rests on his voice and he shies away from Sapnaps form just a bit.

"What else am I supposed to do!? Compliment you on your dry lips, say that your veins are looking absolutely magnificent? Throw me a bone George," Sapnap said dramatically, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as though offended at such a thought, he's caught off guard when George pushes him into the sofa slowly, "well someones taking things fast, you seem like the kind of guy who'd want a candle lit dinner before we get down to fucking, have I misjudged you George? My dear partner in crime how badly have I made assumptions about you?"

Georges face heats up, "I was gonna kiss you again, but now that you mention it, yeah, I do want a candlelit dinner before we kiss," he's smirking a little bit.

"What about premarital hand holding?" Sapnap asked, he looked smug as he spoke despite the fact he was pinned under another person, albeit a person whose weaker than a wet kitten.

George gasped in faux shock, "how scandalous! I'm shocked you could even say such a thing," his exclamation dissolves into laughter as he goes on with the bit, he leans down and kisses Sapnap again; this time he can actually relish in the reaction such a simple motion garners.

He splays himself atop Sapnap, back pressed to his torso, he can feel his partners heartbeat reverberate in his frail body. He let's himself slide into the crack between Sapnaps side the backrest of the couch, he rests a good portion of himself on top of Sapnap. He's, to put simply, smitten with his friend at the moment- he can't really blame himself for it either. Kissing the guy who decided to fly on over to Britain on a whim, just snuggling on the couch, a dream come true.

Georges phone buzzes, it's probably just Karl. He sits up a little bit before pulling it out of pocket only to find it's Dream, yikes. Maybe if he sent the message two hours earlier he would justify it with a response, but he just fessed up to hating the guy. He places his phone on the coffee table, a hit of coughing catches him off guard and keels over Sapnap to choke out whatever's in his trachea. He finds himself coughing for a solid fifteen seconds, he convulses like a cat choking on a hair ball until a chunk of fungus the size of a meatball dislodges itself. He feels gross, but he also feels like he can breath again with the saprophyte in his lungs disappearing bit by bit.

He leans back to look at Sapnap who is simply staring, "so am I still hot or did that just wave a massive red flag in your face?" He wipe the blood from his lips with the back of his hand and for a second Sapnap is stunned (the likeness to a vampire in those actions is blood chilling in the best way possible).

Sapnap stifles a laugh at the words, "George do I even need to justify that question with an answer?"

George gives a hum of amusement before resting against Sapnap again, he's smirking, "good point, I'll always be hot as fuck, even when I look and feel like shit," he can't help the way he arches into the warm touch resting on his spine.

"I think cute would be a better word to describe you, but go on," Sapnap said playfully, George gave an offended gasp, "who texted you?"

George shrugged, "someone that fucked up big time if he wants my attention now," he finds himself flustered when the hand on his back pulls him down and into a hug.

"That means you won't die right?" Sapnap asked quietly, practically whispered into his taller friends ear.

"Obviously, I couldn't just die on you after only two kisses anyways," George said, his tone was cocky.

His confidence simply melted away when Sapnap placed a kiss to his cheek with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face- he really was turning this entire day into a warm embrace.

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mar-the-magician · 2 years

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Redacted Asmr Fashion Headcanons!

Both Ash and Gavin view developing a personal style as a matter of self-care (I'm totally not projecting right now) but in very different ways. Ash is a thrift store GOD. He knows where to find all the best-stocked stores and he knows all the methods for making sure you do not miss out on a single styling piece that has potential. While Ash stocks up on basics that mix and match fantastically, Gavin is more of a statement pieces kind of fellow. His wardrobe is full of glitter, sequins, thigh-high socks, platform boots, and bright colors. Don’t get me wrong, he DOES have his basics… in the very back of the closet. Only to be used when absolutely necessary. XD His go-to "casual" outfit is a pair of neon pink leggings and a MASSIVE oversized t-shirt that slips off both shoulders and goes down to his knees. Not exactly fashion related, but whatever it my post I can do what I want— Gavin is and absolute chapstick and lipgloss ADDICT. He has a specific, almost-clear, peachy pink-tinged, all natural (yes he is THAT bitch) not-tested-on-animals lipgloss that he wears virtually every day. He puts chapstick on every night before bed and has an entire bin of all his different flavors, colors, etc of chapstick. He would 100% wear a choker with a bell on it and clip on cat ears solely for the purpose of flustering someone and/or creeping them out. Two piercings in each earlobe, generally just wears hoops or little rings if he’s feeling more boring.

Asher isn't quite as out there as Gavin, but he also thinks that if anybody is going to judge him for his fashion choices they can just fuck right off. He loves layering— vests, halters, overalls, biker jackets, belts, corset tops and micro mini skirts over pants when he's feeling more adventurous, leg warmers, body chains and fingerless gloves are his Thing. He takes inspiration from a LOOOT of different aesthetics and it really just depends on his mood— alt, cottagecore, goblincore, 80s, light academia, romantic academia, aaaaalllll that good stuff. His favorite casual outfits would consist of smol t-shirts that say something about him (band t-shirt, show merch, etc) paired with baggy jeans, maybe with some patches or rips. Asher. Adores. Jewelry. You KNOW this man owns fifty thousand rings!!! He’s always wearing at LEAST two rings. He often wears those little netting black chokers and owns like three different pop tab necklaces, at least one of which is homemade. Speaking of, he’ll often make his own stuff! He can’t sew, but he’ll hack the sleeves off of a jacket or crop some jeans into shorts no hesitation, and is always painting designs on plain t-shirts and making jewelry out of discarded trash or unwanted beads. He and Milo went to get their ears pierced together when they were both teens. They both like studs the most, but while Milo generally sticks to round black or small silver studs, occasionally mixing it up with some tiny gold or silver rings, Ash has a whole collection of funky studs. Hello Kitties, pokéballs, little fried eggs, lemons, little puppy footprints, moons in all phases, stars, all manner of fruit, tiny sushi’s, tiny pizza slices, metallic strawberries, fuckin mermaids, nothing is too wacky for this man. Baabe gets him a new pair every chance they get.

Milo likes fashion but feels like the community is too competitive and unwelcoming to really get into it. He’ll often tag along to Asher and Baabe's thrift store trips, but he generally just ends up getting… ANOTHER denim or leather jacket. Yeah, this man owns a LOT of denim and leather jackets. He also has a massive, ever-growing collection of enamel pins with which to abuse said jackets. He owns a trench coat solely because it makes him look more intimidating on jobs, according to him. Milo CAN sew, and will embroider little embellishments on the cuffs of his jeans and the collars of his shirts 🥰. He does it to calm himself sometimes, and what it ends up being often completely depends on his mood and what media he’s consumed recently. He has jeans with spiders on the hem, with little howling wolves, with times trees, with bats, with daisies, with paw prints, with stars, even ones with little hearts. It annoys the shit out of him when Asher asks him to modify his clothes "I'm not ya personal tailor, Ash!!" but he’ll do it anyway, with enough weedling. His favorite casual outfit is just an old college tee, a Melanie Martinez shirt, or a Shaw Security shirt paired with a comfy old worn-out pair of jeans that he embroidered LITERALLY all over with whatever he was thinking of at the time.

David really doesn’t care about "fashion" per se, but he likes to feel put together. He generally wears polo shirts and nice jeans on a casual day, a button up and nice slacks on a more formal day, and will add a tie or even a blazer on the most formal of events. The only time Angel approves of his fashion is when he wears flannels with the sleeves rolled up in the fall and winter. 😏

WOW THAT WAS LONG so if anybody wants a part two with the rest of the D.A.M.N boys, Vincent, Sam, Camilopardalis, and maybe William, please let me know!

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brianinjapan721 · 11 months

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Media Excursion - Danganronpa and Asakura Garo

For my media reflection assignment, I chose to use the anime Danganronpa and the Asakura Garo gallery in Adachi-ku. Danganronpa is an anime series based on a video game. The video game series and anime show are based on the following premise: a group of “super” high school students are all invited to attend a special high school intended for only the best of the best within their own specific roles (eg. Super High School Level Swimmer, Super High School Level Programmer, etc). Monokuma, a talking bear, essentially forces the students into killing each other. I chose this show for my media excursion because it provides a unique twist on kawaii. The show’s premise is clearly dark and twisted, but the animation uses bright neon-colored blood and an adorable (yet creepy) talking bear. This cross between kawaii and horror fascinated me from the moment I first watched the show (I have not played the video game as of yet). This version of anime and kawaii is not something I encountered in my other exposures to Japanese media.

When researching things I wanted to do when I visited Tokyo, I came across this rather obscure gallery known as Asakura Garo or Asakura Gallery. This gallery consists of bright pink decorations strewn about rather chaotically. The floor is awash with various random objects, most of which are spray-painted pink. There is a kawaii girl’s head typical of the art style in much of the Japanese illustrated media like anime and manga that I have seen. Even the entrance to the gallery is overwhelmingly pink and kawaii. However, upon a closer look at the gallery, you start to notice that not everything is as pink and kawaii as it seems at first. The eyes in all of the paintings done by the artist are a bit too wide, to the point that it sends a shiver down your spine. You begin to notice that many of the pieces have gory elements hidden within them, such as a kawaii character holding a rabbit with a slit throat and X’s over its eyes. The room’s pink innocence becomes tainted with images of brains and neon blood. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was unlike anything else that I could even find in Tokyo! The most magnificent part of the whole gallery was that it was all crammed into a random residential house in the Adachi neighborhood in Tokyo.

Upon talking with the artist (using the trusty Google Translate app), I learned that he constructed the entire gallery by himself and it took him about 10 years to do so.

I chose to study this for my independent media excursion assignment because it provided a perspective on kawaii that I have not encountered very often. It is strange and unsettling, yet provocatively intriguing. Before visiting this gallery, I thought that most kawaii media I saw from Japan was simple, commercial, and somewhat one-dimensional (i.e. Hello Kitty). This was a unique take on this kind of media.

Going to this gallery showed me that this kind of media is not as simple as I had previously believed. Even when artists don’t take this horror, gory route in their art, each artist that produces kawaii, pink, feminine art has their own way of doing so, effectively providing the world with their own lens. Even Hello Kitty has hidden uses and meanings. For example, something I learned from the Wink on Pink reading is that Hello Kitty and other Sanrio characters have been used in sexual settings, from sex toys to lingerie items (some of which I happened to see when I was walking through a vendor’s shop in Ameya Yokocho market. It showed me that Japanese media has a lot more depth than I had previously given it credit for. I was mistakingly essentializing a form of art and culture, but through this excursion I learned just how wrong I was. Not only that, but I was incredibly impressed by the artwork I was fortunate enough to stumble upon and the artists behind these “kawaii” artworks.

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rattyoakenbitch · 3 years

Text

youtubers: “don’t touch her” ₊˚ ⸝ corpse husband x reader

❝i don't wanna think about, think about you. drink up, drink up i'm so fucked up, all i want is you.❞

gif credit: n/a song: lykke li - sex money feelings die

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

pairings: corpse husband x reader

warnings: angst, cursing, drinking, smoking, violent language, and minor mentions of anxiety.

summary: i can’t make summaries rn hhh just read it (:

“Sean, there is no way in hell I’m going!”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. It’ll be fun!”

“That’s what you always say!”

“Ugh, you and Corpse are so stubborn. At least I was able to convince him to show up! You know what you need? To get out of the house more often and come hang with us.”

“Uh huh, yeah, y’all have fun, I got some stuff to finish.”

“Yeah? Like what? Your ten hour nap?”

“HEY! Excuse me -”

“7PM, [club address], you’re showing up.”

“Sean - !”

With that, Sean hung up. You let out an exasperated huff, crossing your arms and pouting like a toddler who was just denied a toy. You were invited, or more accurrately forced to celebrate whatever the hell Sean and his friends achieved. With lives like theirs, it seemed like there was always something to celebrate.

You, on the other hand.. Well, you were just little old you. You met Sean by mere chance. It’s a very long story, but you shared some things in common, like your love for video games. However, that was about the only thing you could relate to with Sean and his little friend circle. You were more passionate about writing, as well as reading short horror stories.

Now, that’s where you clicked with Corpse Husband.

He was an underrated YouTuber, whose main uploads were narration videos on creepypastas and horror stories. That’s until he blew up with his Among Us gameplays, collaborating with big names like PewDiePie, Jacksepticeye, and CrankGamePlays (EEF!!!).

You met over an Among Us stream with said YouTubers and immediately hit it off. You shared a dark sense of humor, love for horror, and music. You knew of Corpse before, but only then did you discover that he produced music, which you absolutely enjoyed (and blasted in your house for days on end).

When you found out you lived not even twenty minutes away from each other, you’d occasionally meet up, mostly at his house considering he only went out once in a blue moon. You’d sometimes even spend the night at his place, staying up late, gazing up at the stars, getting deep into conversation and opening up about things you never blurted out to people. But when you were with Corpse, everything just came naturally. You felt safe with him, and hopefully, he felt the same.

Night approached, the clock striking 5PM. You figured you’d get ready since Sean was dead set on you coming to the party. You showered, did a minimalist glossy makeup look, and chose an outfit, which consisted of a half neon green and black skirt that stopped mid thigh, and an oversized distressed band tee which you tucked into your belt. You slipped on a pair of ripped, striped thigh-highs with mismatched colors, (white stripes on one and neon blue on the other), and your platform boots that made you look like a Bratz Doll. You didn’t bother with your tangled hair. You teased it with a brush but didn’t put any effort into styling it, since it’d get messy anyways. To finish your look, you clipped on a choker and dangled a couple of layered chains around your neck.

Corpse would tease you, saying you had a “dog collar”, but you knew he secretly liked it.

All dolled up and ready to go, you hopped into your car and followed the GPS to the address Sean sent you. Drunk couples stumbled out of the club, dates headed inside, and old wasted guys were thrown out. Oh boy, you were not ready for this.

You were the anxious, anti social type. Not because it was edgy or cool, but you simply didn’t know how to handle social situations. However, it comforted you to know Corpse would be there by your side so you didn’t need to chat and flirt with strangers.

It’s not like you wanted to meet anybody new, anyways. Though nobody was aware of it, you had feelings for Corpse. Cliche, right? You knew you shouldn’t have, but you developed feelings for him. It made you feel strange and weird, considering you haven’t caught feelings in a while.

You came up with the bright idea of slowly drifting away from Corpse to maybe help de-escalate these feelings, but you were going to run into him at the club, so what the heck.

You headed inside, your eyes scanning the crowd and pushing through, searching for your friend group. You spent a couple minutes cluelessly looking around the club, but to no avail. Then, it was as if a light bulb clicked on over your head; you never thought to phone Sean.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.” You reached into your purse to get ahold of your phone when a pair of strong, manly hands and cold metal which you assumed to be rings wrapped around your shoulders, gripping you tightly.

“Boo!”

You felt your heart stop and ran out of the man’s grasp, spinning around to look at who it was.

“Oh, did I scare you?”

The man’s deep, monotone voice rumbled above the sound of the music and shouts. Then you recognized that unique and distinctive voice.

“Corpse!! What the hell?”

His nose and jaw was covered by a black mask, with a print that looked like Frank from Donnie Darko, which was also Corpse’s signature look, seen in his channel art.

Despite Corpse being a faceless YouTuber, only very few people have seen his face, including you and Glam&Gore who he featured in his narration videos. You thought he was very handsome, his baritone voice matching his appearance. You had to admit, you were a little disappointed he chose to wear a mask. You loved seeing his facial expressions, especially his precious smile that would light up the room when he’d let out little fits of laughter. But you got over it and respected the fact that he wanted to remain anonymous.

“You dickhead,” you scoffed, smacking Corpse lightly on the shoulder. Corpse towered over you, looking admittedly both intimidating and seductive. If you were a stranger, you’d probably be running off, but you weren’t scared of Corpse. He was a big softie and a teddy bear.

Corpse chuckled lowly, slinging his arm over your shoulder and leading you to Sean’s group. He was protective like that, even if you were just friends. Now you could see why Sean, at one point, speculated that you and Corpse had a thing going on.

“So, Sean forced you to tag along, too?”

“Pfft, yeah, that’s Sean for you.”

“Hey, there’s my favorite couple,” Sean joked, patting your shoulder. You rolled your eyes at his drunk antics.

“Shut up, don’t make me choke you like I hate you,” you mocked in return, eliciting a fit of laughter from the group.

“Remind me to never hang out with you losers again,” Corpse mumbled sarcastically under his breath.

The night went by in a flash. Sean, Thomas, Felix, and everyone else was blackout drunk. Luckily, Mark was there to assist them. Since Mark couldn’t drink, he would be the designated driver that night. Corpse hung out by himself, sometimes getting approached by women who he politely turned down.

You, on the other hand, were downing alcohol like your life depended on it. For you, it would take more than the average number of drinks for you to get wasted.

“Y/N, don’t you think you should slow down?” Corpse questioned cautiously, resting a hand on the small of your back.

“Does it really look like I’m thinking right now?” you drunkenly slurred, following with a giggle. You waved to the bartender, calling for another shot, which he slid over to you, but not without hesitating after noticing your state. You pushed Corpse off of you, probably more harshly than you intended, and took the shot.

“Okay, Y/N, fuck this, I’m taking you to my place. We can’t stay here and you certainly can’t drive back home when you’re drunk,” Corpse scowled, stepping closer to you. Again, you shoved him back.

“No.. No..” You sighed, holding your pounding head in your hand. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Y/N, you’re drunk -”

“I’m not letting you of all people take me.”

Corpse blinked. “What does that mean?” He knew you were drunk, of course, and you were probably just blurting nonsense.

All of a sudden, tears escaped your eyes, racing down your blushy cheeks.

“No.. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” You began to shake and tremble as tears started to uncontrollably spill down your face. Corpse didn’t waste another second to take you in his arms, hushing you. “Your hugs are so warm.. I hate it. I hate feeling this way. It’s all my fault.”

“What did you do, sweetheart? You can tell me.”

Your heart ached when you heard his pet name for you.

“I think I may like you more than you like me.. I-I didn’t mean to! Please don’t leave me. You’re all I have,” you sobbed into his white tee, clinging onto him. “I love you so fucking much, it hurts. I shouldn’t have!”

Corpse stopped for a moment, processing your words.

You.. felt the same?

Corpse had to tell you. You were drunk, but he needed you to know.

“Y/N, I -”

Suddenly, you had a moment of clarity. Realizing how close you were to Corpse, you backed away, wiping away the mascara tears under your eyes.

“I - I think I had too much to drink.. I just need a smoke..”

Without giving Corpse the chance to protest, you ran off into the crowd, struggling your way through.

Corpse began to get worried when you didn’t come back. He waited impatiently on the barstool where you left him, anxiously playing with his rings.

He was just about to get up and look for you, when he caught a glimpse of you stumbling out the exit with another man who guided you, gripping your arm tightly.

Corpse fumed, his face going red and heartbeat speeding up. He went after you, knowing damn well you didn’t know this man.

The man took you to his car, placing you atop the trunk, your legs dangling over the edge. He stepped in between your legs, caressing your face. Everything was a blur. If your mind was clear, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to trust this random guy, who was probably ten years older than you.

“You’re too pretty to be crying,” he whispered, leaning in closer to your face, until a yell stopped him from proceeding any further.

“Hey, asshole, she’s drunk! Don’t you fucking touch her!”

“C-Corpse?” You hiccuped, hopping off the trunk to get a look at the approaching figure. It was indeed Corpse. His eyebrows were pressed together angrily at the sight.

“You know this dude?” the man said loudly and smugly, just to get a reaction from Corpse. “Relax, my man, I’m just tryna take this pretty girl home.”

“Well this pretty girl happens to be mine, and I won’t let you take advantage of her,” Corpse growled.

You stood by the stranger, clinging to him as you watched Corpse’s face twist into an expression of heartbreak when you didn’t budge. He then noticed the bruises around your arms and wrist, supposedly from the man’s strong grip. He was unbelievably furious.

“Ha, doesn’t look like she’s your girl anymore.” The man’s lips twisted upwards into a devilish smirk, only pissing Corpse off some more. Oh boy, was he ready to snap. He reached into his pocket, when..

“Wait,” you managed to slur out, breaking up the argument. You reached out towards Corpse like a child. His facial expression immediately softened. He gave you a loving smile and immediately took you into his arms, holding you protectively.

“Now, I suggest you get in your car and never come back,” Corpse threatened.

“Oh, yeah? Or what? I’ll kill you and take your girl, you motherfucker!”

Without hesitation, Corpse took out his switchblade, looking the man in his eyes.

“Say that again?”

You watched as the stranger’s whole tough act fell apart. Without another word, he ran to the driver’s side of his car, fumbling with his keys.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Corpse mumbled, not taking his eyes off the man until he reached his own car. You held his hand the whole way, processing what had just happened. Corpse noticed your distant expression. You got into his car, shutting the door and slumping back into your seat. He tore off his mask, taking in deep breaths to calm himself. Then he looked back to you.

“Princess?”

You looked to Corpse, your eyes teary. “Hey, Corpse.” You didn’t seem to be as drunk, your mind a lot clearer after the incident. “D-Did you mean anything you said back there? About the..”

“About you being my girl?”

Corpse took your hand in his, squeezing it comfortingly. He leaned forward and cupped your face with his free hand. “Absolutely.”

With that, you leaned towards him, hesitantly pressing your lips to his. Your lips tasted of alcohol, but Corpse didn’t care. He was admittedly taken back, his breath hitching, but he released the tension from his body and kissed you back, pulling you over to the driver’s seat atop him. There wasn’t much space, forcing you to press closer to Corpse, deepening the kiss.

Still being a bit drunk, you were clumsy and kind of ‘out of it’.

“I’d hold onto something if I were you,” Corpse mumbled, breaking the kiss momentarily to guide your hands to grip his shoulders. But you were impatient and reconnected your lips with his, no doubt causing him to blush even more than he already was.

You couldn’t help yourself and giggled into the kiss, causing Corpse to chuckle along with you, departing from the kiss again and resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry, you’re just so fucking adorable when you giggle.”

You hummed in response, offering Corpse an innocent grin as you pecked all over his face.

“I’m so glad you’re mine.”

856 notes · View notes

lepusrufus · 3 years

Text

To bargain for immortality pt.2

Finally, she felt well enough to leave the infirmary room for good. Her internal organs were at peace for the most part and she could keep some food down without the risk of seeing it for a second time. Her sinuses still seemed to refuse to recover though. Occasional nosebleeds would have her head spinning and the scent of blood so often present within the castle was somehow too offensive to her senses. Nicole couldn't help but wonder how exactly she got it this screwed up, but then again the first few days of the infection were a painful blur that she'd rather not remember.

For now she was content to sit in front of the fireplace with the rest of her family. They decided to have a movie night to break her out of the mopey state she had been in and, for the most part, it was quite the success. She wasn't paying much attention to the projector screen, some sappy scene from a movie chosen by Daniela playing at the moment. Instead, she was simply enjoying the close proximity to Cassandra that she so dearly missed in the last few weeks. Nicole was in the brunette's lap, with hands loosely around her waist and leaning against her shoulder. She was vaguely aware of Laura complaining about the poor life choices of one of the characters only to be unceremoniously shushed by the youngest sister. It made her chuckle.

Bela was passing the popcorn to her mothers when a knock on the main entrance reached their ears faintly. Lady Dimitrescu narrowed her eyes in the general direction of the sound, and listened. Soon enough the rapid steps of Alexandria, their Steward, reached them.

"My Ladies, Mother Miranda's assistant is here."

The whole family got up hesitantly and tried to look as presentable as possible, given their "lazy day outfits". For some like Bela that was a baggy shirt and shorts, while for the Lady it was one of her trademark white dresses. They made their way to the main entrance of the castle, where the assistant, a woman in her late thirties and the air of an annoyed teacher, was waiting. It was Alcina the one to ask why she was there.

"Mother Miranda wants to see um… Nicole was it? Yes, to take a look at the regenerative abilities."

"Why not do it here like last time?"

"Mother Miranda's laboratory is far better equipped for whatever she may want to test. Unless you have something to say against her wishes." She finished that with a raised eyebrow that would've gained her a talon through the skull were she not there as per Miranda's wishes.

Who's talons exactly was debatable.

"I'll come too," Cassandra spoke up from just behind Nicole.

That only got her a dismissive wave. "No, I was told specifically to only bring her. Come now, we don't want to make Mother Miranda wait."

With that, the woman turned around and started walking towards a carriage that would take them away. Nicole looked briefly at her family. They all had either confusion or mild concern in their eyes. All but Alcina who looked as if she'd like to protest and snap at the woman but was holding her tongue.

She reassured Cassandra that she'd be fine and started jogging after the assistant.

---

Needless to say, that was Nicole's first time stepping foot inside the underground network of tunnels. Not that she complained. Few people went there willingly and probably fewer left the same way they came in.

The ancient looking hallways were in such stark contrast with the occasional medical equipment and the pristine looking labs with doors left slightly ajar that Nicole had to wonder if the woman had no taste for a consistent aesthetic. At least Lady Dimitrescu kept all wiring and modern devices carefully hidden or blended in with the castle's decor. Here, the harsh neon lights illuminated worn out stone so dark it was almost black. Not to mention the smell of… old that seemed to ooze off the very walls she was walking by.

She was led inside a spacious lab, the bluish lights above being too bothersome for someone who got used to the warm or natural light in the castle. The room was rather long, numerous hospital beds lined up against a wall, some separated by white curtains and some left visible. An almost imperceptible whiff of an all too familiar foul odor reached her nose, but it was mild enough to be easily ignored. Nicole had a suspicion that the unmoving person laying in one of the cots further away could be the source, but she sighed and hoped not to join them by the end of the day.

Mother Miranda was sat at a desk, microscope in front of her together with a small stack of documents and a laptop. She was typing in what could probably be notes on whatever she was looking at, when icy grey eyes finally shifted to Nicole.

"Get changed and lay down," she ordered, not even moving from her spot.

The assistant that had brought her here, pushed a hospital gown that had been pulled out from a cupboard in her arms. At least she was allowed the decency of changing into a bathroom as opposed to stripping then and there in the middle of the room. The gown was surprisingly comfortable, fabric folding around her body and being held closed by a loose ribbon that she tried at the side.

Once she was back in the lab, she was ushered to one of the beds where she laid down, nervously waiting for whatever Miranda had in mind.

It was quite odd to see her without her usual attire, especially without the gold talons that Nicole was now far more familiar with than she'd ever hoped. The white lab coat looked far too normal on her and, were it not for the unmistakable cold eyes and regal posture, the woman would’ve been unrecognizable.

She finally got up, a few documents in hand, and approached her. The papers were handed over to the assistant, along with a few other objects and finally, Nicole had her full attention.

Mother Miranda bent down, scalpel in hand, and grabbed one of Nicole's wrists. Just like she did back during the first examination, the blade was dragged across the length of her forearm. Despite fully expecting it, Nicole couldn't help flinching at the pain, but she kept her eyes fixated on her arm, at the blood slowly starting to flow from the wound.

Soon the same tingling as before took over the pain and before their eyes, the skin started to stitch itself back together.

"Time," Miranda asked while wiping the blood to allow for a closer inspection of the now good as new skin.

"Five seconds."

"Alcina's?"

"Three seconds."

Miranda hummed, seemingly pleased with the results. Or at least as pleased as the woman was physically capable of being.

"Hook her up to the cardiac monitor," she further instructed while moving to retrieve something from another cabinet.

The assistant, Emma, if the tag pinned to her lab coat was to be believed, stuck a series of electrodes to her chest and abdomen. Nicole bit her lip to stifle a yelp when one came uncomfortably close to the still sensitive skin of the scar.

In no time, the machine came to life, familiar beeping sounding through the otherwise silent room.

"I hope you're not afraid of needles," Miranda said while grabbing the same arm she had before, lips pulled into a faint smirk.

Nicole only shook her head as she saw the needle of a syringe attached to a transparent slim tube slide into her arm. How ironic would that be. The sting was close to imperceptible, taken over by the now familiar faint tingle. Unlike with the cut, it didn't fade away, most likely due to not being able to fully heal the small wound with the needle embedded in the skin and vein.

She looked away, in the direction of the other occupied bed in the room. It was far away enough that she couldn't make out any detail, only messy brown hair sprawled on a pillow. The face was turned towards the wall and body covered up to the neck. She grimaced and decided instead to focus on the beeping machine, mildly annoyed by Miranda's lack of properly separating her dead lab rats from the living ones. At least she hoped she'd stay living.

The numbers on the machine started out normal. With the slight uncomfortable feeling of blood being drained however, her heart rate started to slowly increase.

Alright. Normal enough. Especially when someone is clearly in a fucking blood draining mood.

Nicole decided not to look at exactly how much blood Miranda was drawing, keeping her eyes glued to the various color coded numbers. The heart rate kept increasing until Nicole could swear she could feel her heartbeat ringing in her ears. She gulped. Still relatively within the norm.

Two things were at odds however. First, the blood pressure remained constant, almost as if her body simply refused to acknowledge the fact that it was currently being drained. Secondly, the temperature rose from the normal 36 degrees to a staggering 41 in less time than it should have.

"What the fuck…" She couldn't keep her tongue at the weirdness of her situation, her brain thankfully choosing confusion and curiosity over the dread that it probably should've felt instead.

Mother Miranda didn't seem to care though as she turned to type something on the laptop that she brought over from the desk. She tapped her finger on the device for a few seconds and finally spoke up.

"The accelerated healing means the blood is being regenerated constantly, thus not decreasing in volume. Which explains the constant pressure." She narrowed her eyes at the monitor once again. "It doesn't, however, explain the heart rate and temperature. Any bright guesses?"

It took Nicole a second to realize the question was actually addressed to her. Miranda seemed in an oddly good mood. Not any less hell bent on causing her pain, mind you, but she also seemed genuinely curious. Being a biology nerd will do that to you, she couldn't help but think.

Nicole hummed and thought for a second. She tried to recall any information about the topic at hand that she had studied prior to running away.

"Heart rate could just be the normal body response that stayed even with the mutation. Like… like a reflex. It remains even though it's not needed." Then she tapped a finger on her chin trying to find a less random explanation. "Or maybe it's the body's way of making sure that even while healing all body parts remain at least decently functional. No idea about the temperature though," she shrugged.

Miranda once again typed something up and then, without warning, pulled the needle out of Nicole's arm. She flinched, barely holding in an angry protest as she turned towards the woman. Which was a mistake. She couldn't help the gag that raised in the back of her throat at the sight of the metal container full of blood.

No, no, blood did not bother her. That would've cut her career as a medical examiner short before she even stepped foot in med school. It was the knowledge that that was her blood that made her stomach churn. The container could easily fit three liters of liquid in it, and it was full to the brim. Not to mention the smell that assaulted her still messed up sinuses mixing oh so perfectly with mr. corpse over in the corner.

Miranda just chuckled at her sour expression. "Do you think your darling wife would like to have this?"

With a sneer, masked by Nicole turning once again towards the monitor, she couldn't help slipping an edge of snark in her reply. "No need, she likes it fresh."

The numbers were back to normal, all but for the temperature that was taking slightly longer to go down.

---

By this point her vocal cords were raw from screaming and each shuddering sob felt like clumps of spines in her throat. Nicole was curled in on herself, small frame trembling pathetically on top of the uncomfortable bed. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, the tingling sensation feeling like needles constantly pricking at her skin around and under the wired leather cuffs wrapped around her wrists. The frantic beeping of the machine was grating to her ears.

An electric shock test.

Of course.

Mother Miranda decided to test out how the increased heart rate worked. Results? Her body vehemently refused to allow her to pass out. Even when the shocks traveled through every part of her body, causing the nervous system to short circuit. Even when damage to internal organs and muscles ripped painful sobs from her throat, that turned into gags as soon as the tingling turned to nausea. Even when she could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage so fast that she was sure the small organ would burst any second. But it didn’t.

Every muscle in her body flared up in a sensation of painful pins and needles when Miranda pushed the button to release another shock. The cardiac monitor started screaming again and Nicole brought shaky hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the sound. Her whole body was on fire while all the damaged tissue repaired itself, making her stomach turn painfully. She felt like throwing up. Not that she had eaten anything today, but bile and thick blood still coated her esophagus. It was all swallowed back with a disgusting gulp.

The nausea was oh so kindly accompanied by searing pain from her still damaged sinuses, who’s condition only worsened exponentially with the electricity. The blood that seemed to coat all the way up to the inside of her mouth felt horrible mixed with the putrid smell of death.

She swallowed again, but that proved itself a bad decision as now that same smell permeated the very inside of her nose and mouth and throat and the feeling of blood sloshing on her tongue behind clenched teeth made her head spin.

She lurched forward, a small river of dark blood flowing from her mouth and nose, into her palms that she instinctively brought to her mouth. Wet coughs made it splatter into crimson splotches on the white sheets, herself and anything else within proximity. It took surprisingly long to realize that, after the initial wave that rose up her esophagus, the rest of the blood was from her sinuses. It was cruelly invading her nose and sliding back into her throat only to come out of her mouth. Fuck fuck fuck-

“What’s wrong?” Miranda’s tone lacked any trace of sympathy.

Nicole simply coughed out the remaining fluid from her mouth and unceremoniously grabbed a piece of cloth from Emma’s hands. She pressed it to her nose, only to feel it soaked against her skin far too soon.

“Damaged sinuses, as you said,” she croaked, her voice sounding so unlike her own.

That made Miranda frown. She kept that same expression while noting down the previous results. “It should be healed by now.”

“Well they aren't,” Nicole spat. The blood and the horrid smell were clouding her mind and, as many knew, pain and holding her tongue did not mix well in her. “And did we really have to do this in the same room as a dead fucking body?!”

Nicole’s angry outburst gave the woman pause. Annoyance mixed with a hint of confusion on her face. She looked at her assistant, an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“No. Just- just anestesia.” Emma answered promptly.

“What the fuck do you mean anesthesia? Anesthesia doesn’t make you smell like a goddamn decomposing corpse, do you have cotton stuck up your noses?!” Thankfully the bleeding was starting to subside, which meant there was nothing to stifle her steadily raising angry tone.

Miranda, now sporting a scowl, got up and grabbed Nicole’s chin between two fingers. It made her flinch back, but there was no escaping the iron grip.

“I can assure you that the man is not dead, simply under anesthesia and recovering from a bad infection.” She moved Nicole’s head from left to right, eyes scrutinizing as ever.

Afterwards, she turned back and wrote something down on a piece of paper and simply instructed Emma to wrap up and lead Nicole out. The sudden shift not only in demeanor, but also in her position from the bed to standing upright was mildly dizzying. She swapped the gown for her normal clothes as quickly as she physically could, not wanting to spend another unnecessary second in this underground grave.

While she was ushered out the door, Mother Miranda’s sickly sweet voice rang after her.

“I’ll see you in a couple days.”

Her stomach turned.

---

The trek home was short and silent, Nicole simply wanting to get home as soon as possible and get a damn hot shower and sleep.

She bid the young man that was accompanying her goodbye the moment the Castle’s entrance was within jogging distance, and hurried steps took her to the imposing doors. It was Alexandria to answer her knock, Nicole having left her own keys in her bedroom.

“Welcome back my la-” the polite smile was all but wiped off the woman’s face, replaced by wide eyes. “Are you injured?”

Nicole looked at her confused, then down at herself. A muttered curse escaped past her lips when she remembered the bloody mess on her skin. “I’m okay. Just-... just don’t tell anyone I’m here yet. I'll change first.”

Her plan went out the window when a set of hasty steps came booming toward them.

“Nico-”

Cassandra’s voice died in her throat when her golden eyes landed on Nicole’s small frame, dried dark blood on her face and arms and her clothes stained. An angry growl slipped from between bared teeth.

“What the fuck did she do to you?”

Nicole was quick to answer, too tired to deal with anything other than a few hours of sleep. “I’m okay. I’m just-...” she shook her head, then turned to the Steward. “Alexandria kindly ask a maid to draw me a bath.”

“At once.” And with that the woman turned and scurried away, most likely also not wanting to be in the vicinity of an angry Cassandra.

---

The hot water felt like pure bliss on her skin. It seemed to make every muscle relax and get rid of the awful tension. She leaned back, eyes closed and hands idly moving through the water.

It was just mildly difficult to fully relax with Cassandra muttering and pacing back and forth in the same room though.

"I'm-... I'm not letting you do this again."

Nicole simply sighed and started to scrub away at dried blood. The miniature red waterfall from earlier had gotten blood all over her arms and chest, some splatters even getting on her legs. Her face was also a mess, trails of blood going from her nose and mouth to the chin with smudges and splatters.

"What did she even do to you?"

Before she had a chance to reply, a knock came from the door and a maid entered with a few clean towels and a change of clothes from Nicole's own bedroom. The girl didn't linger, simply giving them both a courteous bow and exiting the room.

Looking for something to change the subject, Nicole focused on the pleasant honey smell. Honey with a slight citrus-y undertone, maybe lemon or orange.

"Did you get a new soap?"

Cassandra stopped pacing, brows furrowed. "No? It's the same one."

Confused, Nicole brought a hand that had just been scrubbed with that very soap right under her nose and took a deep inhale. It was indeed the same one. Chamomile and mint. She sighed in annoyance and leaned back against the cool porcelain while Cassandra came and bent down on one knee to be somewhat on eye level.

"Nose still not working properly or…?" She said while gingerly tilting Nicole's chin up with two fingers. She grimaced at one yet to be washed trail of dried blood that made its way to her wife's thin upper lip.

Nicole simply shook her head and grabbed Cassandra's hand. "Can you… go get ready. I'm beyond tired and just want to lay down with you."

Cassandra pursed her lips but nodded none the less. With a kiss on top of red hair, she turned and left the spacious bathroom, door shutting with a heavy thud.

Left alone, she scrubbed every inch of skin again and took a few extra minutes to enjoy the warmth of the water. It felt so incredibly odd to not feel any actual pain after the day's events. Any trace of what her body went through had been erased by her newfound ability, not leaving behind even the faintest mark of a scar, nor blackened skin caused by electric shocks.

She pushed herself out of the tub, grimacing at the slight pink tone the water had taken. Body and hair quickly dried with the towels, she put on the clothes, a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top, and finally stepped out of the bathroom too.

Cassandra was waiting for her in bed, velvety dark robes hanging loosely on her shoulders and eyes fixated on the window while her fingers were tapping furiously on the cover of a book forgotten in her lap. Book that was quickly placed on the nightstand when Nicole climbed in beside her and pushed her way into the brunette's arms. She was tired and absolutely not above demanding cuddles.

Her wife wasted no time in wrapping an arm around her and pulling the soft blanket up to cover them both. Nicole interlocked their fingers, absentmentally turning the ring on Cassandra's finger. The same ring she had, albeit in a smaller size. A golden band with intricate floral patterns engraved on it. It had no protruding gem, something they both opted for so that the rings wouldn't need to be taken off while working and wearing gloves. Instead, eight small ocre gems were lined among the minuscule curled leaves.

It took Cassandra about two minutes to take a deep inhale and open her mouth. New record.

"Are you… are you hurt?"

Nicole didn't look up at her, the concern dripping from her words alone were enough to squeeze her heart painfully.

"No. I'm all healed up, just tired." She could almost feel Cassandra's question of clarification, but not wanting to go over what had happened down in the laboratory so soon, she opted for something the brunette would hopefully be just as interested in. "We did get some odd results though."

At the lack of any interruption she went on. "Accelerated heart rate whenever I get hurt. Can't pass out." Which was both a blessing and a curse, depending on the point of view and situation. "Also for some reason my temperature gets really high."

"You get one hell of a fever?"

"Yeah."

Cassandra tapped a finger on Nicole's hand, mentally going over possibilities. "Aren't fevers used against infections? Maybe that has something to do with it."

A small hum passed her lips. Could that have something to do with it? It was possible that her healing abilities caused a fever in order to fight off any possible infection before it even became one. Maybe it was her body's way of lessening damage as much as possible since, as the day's events showed, the old replaced tissue had a tendency to get purged. She grimaced at the memory of slowly choking on blood and went for something at least slightly more pleasant.

"Oh and… I can't bleed out. Blood volume stays constant."

She looked up at Cassandra with what could only be described as a shit eating grin. Her wife blinked, realization seeming to dawn on her together with the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks. She coughed.

"Yeah well. I'll keep that in mind. For when you don't need to sleep."

"And deny me some fun now?" Nicole's pout was purely for dramatic effect and it gained her an eye roll.

Two slender fingers gripped her chin to keep it in place while narrowed golden eyes bored into her green ones. The pout slowly morphed into a smirk. Cassandra was not the kind of person who did not indulge in her own pleasures and that, although to a more careful extent, included drinking her lover's blood. A fact that Nicole was not only not complaining about, but also learned to use in order to push all the right buttons.

When Nicole turned her head in the uncharacteristically gentle grip to plant a small kiss on the soft palm, Cassandra finally gave in. Concern was momentarily put on hold in the name of the normalcy they both have been denied in the last few weeks. She bent down, their lips meeting into a kiss that soon turned needy with tongue slipping past sharp teeth and a hand scratching lightly at her nape. Soon Cassandra broke their kiss, but only to slowly trail her way across her jawline with kisses and small nips. She bit at the soft skin right under the jaw bone, eliciting a quiet groan right by her sensitive ear. Black painted lips took her down the neck and across collarbones, planting a kiss right in between them, at the base of Nicole's throat.

When she slowly made her way to an exposed shoulder, Nicole's hand at the back of her head guided her further up, right above where her pulse was. After an inquisitive hum against her skin, she spoke quietly.

"Since blood loss isn't exactly a problem… no need to avoid the neck really."

Cassandra hesitated for a moment, but ultimately decided to trust her wife. She placed a gentle kiss on the spot right above where blood was flowing in rhythm with her heartbeat. The same gentle kiss that was placed on the skin countless times before and that only Nicole had the privilege of experiencing.

Sharp fangs sunk into tender flesh, the warm blood invading Cassandra's mouth making her moan low in her throat. Being used to the feeling of the bite by now, Nicole simply closed her eyes with a sigh and let her body melt into Cassandra's arms. The familiar blissful ache was welcomed, even though, she noticed, it did not bring with it the lightheadedness she had grown accustomed to.

Although she wasn't aware of it, Cassandra was, in a way, a creature of habit. Every time she would drink her blood, her hand would come up to cup Nicole's cheek, thumb slowly tracing the jawline, right before she would pull her mouth away. Every time, without fail.

This time however, when that happened, Nicole kept her in place with the hand tangled in brunette hair, her voice coming out breathy when she spoke. "Go on."

Cassandra would never admit it, but her self control would always waver while feeding. Therefore, she didn't need much convincing, continuing to take mouthfuls of blood in between a satisfied groan. When she finally had her fill, she pulled back with a bashful look in her eyes. Concern quickly flashed on her face at the sight of the crimson mess on her wife's neck.

Nicole however, not wanting their moment to get ruined, took one of Cassandra's hands in her own and slowly placed a soft kiss on each knuckle. After that was done, and the downright ticklish sensation of skin patching itself subsided, she guided the fingers over the bloody skin.

"See? Healed," she whispered.

Cassandra gingerly traced her fingers over the spot, looking for no longer existing puncture marks. She smiled upon not finding them and turned to pull out a handkerchief from a small drawer of her nightstand. A ritual of sorts, one practiced more times than they cared to count over the years. Cassandra passed the white cloth over the skin, wiping away the crimson stains while her wife relaxed into the touch.

"Feeling good?" It was a remark meant to poke fun at how much Nicole seemed to enjoy herself, but the double meaning did not go unnoticed.

A smile tugged at Nicole's lips and she nodded.

In turn, Cassandra hummed. "You taste different." And, at her lover's furrowed brows and the slightest hint of alarm flashing in her eyes, she clarified. "Not bad. Just different. Slightly sweeter actually."

"Is that so," Nicole purred, the smile returning to her lips.

Cassandra discarded the cloth on the floor to be retrieved later and shifted both of them back down on the myriad of pillows.

"Yes. Now how about you get some sleep."

Nicole wasted no time in snaking an arm around her waist and nuzzling into her side. It would never cease to amaze her how Cassandra's presence could make her feel so at ease, as if nothing beyond the castle's walls existed. At that moment, she couldn't help but be grateful for her newfound ability, useful in far more ways than one.

She stretched slightly upwards, auburn hair like a small waterfall behind her.

"I love you," she whispered against cool ashy lips.

"I love you too," Cassandra replied, closing the almost nonexistent space between their mouths in a soft kiss.

It left behind a slight coppery taste on Nicole's lips, but she couldn't bring herself to care, instead readjusting her legs to tangle comfortably around her wife's thigh.

#unhinged maiden™ my beloved #cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #fanfic #lady dimitrescu #mother miranda #tw torture #to bargain for immortality

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

The Thorn pt.1

summary: “Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

or my 6 thousand word essay on why I want more Sugar daddy!Slade fics.

a/n: This is just straight up smut Never combine stress thirst plus an amazing enabler. Thanks to @littleredwing89 for basically co-writing. Also I need more case fics with undercover gentlemen’s clubs stuff. I will edit this for grammar later.

warnings: mentions of murder and sexual assault (for the case), mirror sex, collars, oral (male receiving), choking, kind of public sex?, size kink (this is to be expected at this point), strength kink, reader is kind of a dumbass, and praise kink.

villain’s masterlist or masterlist

Saying this wasn’t your scene would be like saying the sun is bright. Obvious but wholly inadequate in describing just how out of your depth you are. You cross your arms over your chest in a futile attempt to shield them from prying eyes. The soft fabric of your lingerie feeling too little in contrast to the men clad in expensive suits leering at you as they passed your skittish form.

You try to swallow down the nervousness. You try to tell yourself this is fine, that it’s just for the case. But the silk collar tied tightly around your neck and your own fraying nerves made it extremely difficult to ignore just how vulnerable you felt.

God, what made your awkward ass think you could pull this off?

You lift your head, eyeing the other men and women around you. You all wore matching silk ribbons tied into bows behind your neck, a circular, silver tag hanging off of it. You wrinkle your nose at how young some of them look. Some barely look old enough to be anywhere near a place like this.

Part of you feels thankful that you shut Nicky’s idea down to go with a leather lingerie set but the stark contrast of your lacy lingerie set made you stand out too much in the sea of leather. It made you stand out just enough to color both your cheeks and ears from the amount of attention you were getting. You close your eyes trying to ignore the heat permeating from your skin. You try to focus on the details of the case.

For the last 8 months, there’s been an increase in the number of young men and women going missing and turning up dead. The assumption had been that it was due to the increase in gang activity but something felt off about the deaths.

Nothing was consistent. The victim type, the area, and even the M.O. of sexual assault were varied. Only the mode of death was even close to being consistent but even that presented its own problems. The injuries were too clean, too efficient for the killer to have drawn any pleasure from it especially when contrasted with the victims’ other injuries. Normally people who make those injuries have a certain type and a certain way of doing things. And the clean efficiency of the disposal method had easily ruled out any of the local gangs.

When you brought all of this up to your boss, he waved you off saying something about looking into it. Somehow not getting fired after screaming at your boss (probably because you’re one of the few crime scene techs willing to stay in this shithole), you decide to conduct your own investigation. The more clues you uncovered (out of sheer spite) the more they seemed to point to an organized crime group, likely involved in trafficking.

Finally, after a month and a half of searching, you found a solid lead. Augustus Klineberg. Despite the name, he was new money. At least, here in Merit.

“I’m his type!”

“And so are a dozen bodies laying around in the lab, what’s your point?”

“Sita, got me a part-time job at the Thorn.”

It hadn’t been easy. The thorn was an exclusive gentlemen’s club that specialized in certain kinks. It had taken Sita a week to even get you an interview but after that they eagerly accepted you with worrying enthusiasm. Either way, this conversation was simply a formality.

Bernard stares at you and you watch as his entire being crumples into the dining room table. He turns to his husband pleadingly. “Nicky, Please, my love, talk some sense into her.”

You turn to Nicky who is innocently sipping from his coffee mug filled with whatever ungodly creation came to Bernard in the dead of night. He tilts his head back seemingly collecting the right words. “Y/n has a point.”

“No! Not you too!”

“Yes!”

“Bern, think about it. Klineberg would never suspect her and unlike most of Klineberg’s victims, Y/n is a ninja gremlin.”

Bernard gives him a withering look while you snort. Nicky shrugs and continues to drink his, what you assumed was, liquid crack.

“Y/n, are you sure about this? The Thorn- Well, it isn’t exactly like your other undercover jobs.” You give both of them a cocky smile, biting into your mini waffle. “It can’t be that hard. All I have to do is sit there and look pretty.” At that little remark, Nicky burst out into a fit of laughter loud enough to wake the neighbors.

You run your hand through your hair still, feeling flustered. You need air.

“Hey Nina, I’m gonna need like maybe 5 minutes.”

“Sure, just don’t blame me for whatever excuse I give the bossman,” Nina says, shrugging at you. She flips her red curls over her shoulder, winking at a patron and tilting her hips to show off her curves. Both you and the patron are slack-jawed and entranced. Maybe you should try that sometime? Some time being after you stop gawking at Nina’s ass and probably also after you take in some air.

You shuffle away awkwardly keeping your eyes to the ground. You shrink into yourself easily as you cut through the crowd. This case was going to be the death of you and Bernard’s eulogy would just be a very short but satisfying ‘I told you so’.

Mercifully, you find a quieter area. You would have preferred to go outside but standing alone in a dark alley in skimpy underwear might be a bad idea. You flatten yourself against a wall and close your eyes. Maybe you could tell them you aren’t feeling well which isn’t entirely untrue. You felt sick being this vulnerable. You should probably leave before you do something stupid.

A hand on your wrist drags you back to reality. It takes absolutely everything in you not to break his wrist. You open your eyes to see Klineberg hoovering in your personal space.

“Are you ok?” He asks, the concern in his voice sounding synthetic. You try to wriggle out of his hold not bothering to hide your discomfort. You note how his smile seems to get bigger as you struggled more. Clearly, he was enjoying your discomfort.

“Thanks for finding her for me. The manager said she’d be in this general area but it’s quite hard to see with just one eye.” Slade says casually, settling a large hand on the man’s shoulder. Your heart stops. Of all the people you had to run into-

Klineberg eyes him skeptically. You have to respect him for that. You’ve faced Slade several times before, only making it out due to luck or hours of planning. If you were Klineberg, you’d be pissing yourself. Despite the almost friendly expression Slade had on him, you can tell this wasn’t up for negotiation. And apparently, so can Klineberg seeing how he dropped your hand.

Slade waves a neatly dressed man over. The man eyes you appraisingly and your heart takes an express elevator to your throat. Were you that obviously out of place?

“We’ll be taking a room.”

“Of course, sir,” The man answers politely, finally, taking his eyes off of you and handing Slade a key.

Wait. We?

Slade starts walking without a word, the crowd parting for him easily. You briefly look back at Klineberg who is still looking at you like he’s going to tear you apart with his bare hands before following Slade.

You walk behind him wordlessly. Your mind is still reeling from the fact that Slade ‘Deathstroke: The Terminator’ Wilson just saved you from your target and your own terrible acting and is mortified by the fact that he has now seen you in skimpy lingerie. The steps you take are measured, making sure to stick close to him but not too close. You keep your eyes to the ground as you walk behind him, hoping it’s enough to hide the expressions cycling through your face.

You two enter a room. It was unexpectedly spacious even under the dim neon lights. You look around finding the room furnished with expensive decorations looking nothing like the seedy gentlemen’s clubs you’ve busted before save for the pole in the middle of the room. It looked more akin to an expensive hotel bar, again, save for the pole. The darkness of the room and the quiet flow of the music set quite the intimate atmosphere which just made you that more skittish.

Slade makes his way across the room, eyes searching the corners and spaces of the room. He nods seemingly satisfied with the setup and likely not spotting any recording devices. Your stiff shoulders loosen a bit, if nothing else you could at least speak plainly now.

Slade takes his suit jacket off, revealing broad shoulders and the outline of strong back muscles. Your throat dries. Something warm stirs in you and you’re gawking again. God, you really need a better reaction to attractive people.

Slade holds out a glass of whiskey to you, a playful smile on his handsome face. He doesn’t seem to mind you staring at him. You swear viciously not skimping on colorful words but walk over to take the alcohol regardless. It’s on his tab and you honestly needed some alcohol in your system if you’re going to talk to him.

“So, working for the cops not work out for you?”

“Nah, my last sugar daddy just kicked the bucket, so I’m looking for a new one,” you say, giving Slade a wry smile. You watch him cross one leg over another easing into a relaxed position through the wall. It was polished to a mirror shine. You guess that’s the kind of thing rich people liked.

“Hmmm, that can be arranged.” You choke on your drink. You scowl at him. He simply shrugs at you taking a sip of his whiskey.

You hear the door open, forcing you to pretend to be civil. A man around your age, dressed in a classic waiter’s outfit comes in with a tray of whiskey and two glasses. You don’t know how but you can tell the whiskey is worth more than your apartment. This doesn’t help your urge to punch Slade.

“Will you be requiring any special toys tonight, sir?” The straightforward tone of the question makes you stiffen more than anything. The man’s eyes flicker towards you but his focus remains squarely on Slade who eyes you openly before smiling and saying “No, thanks, Anthony. I think we’ll be just fine.”

"If you say so, sir. Please feel free to let us know if you need anything."

You wait for Anthony to leave before turning the full force of your scowl at Slade.“How the hell did you know his name?”

Slade regards you impassively over the rim of his glass. You refuse to break eye contact. He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, Kitten, you caught me. I do frequent this club quite a bit.”

“You kinky shit.”

He eyes you again, his eye clearly tracing your curves. “I’m not the one sitting here in their underwear with a collar on. Speaking of which-” Slade nods his head towards something in front of both of you.

You look at the pole, blinking dumbly as a smile spreads across his face. He tips his head to it. “I did pay for your time and the customer is always right.”

Your mouth twists into a snarl as the tips of your ears run red. “You are insufferable.”

“Don’t make me call the manager.” You sigh at the unspoken ‘it is definitely going to blow your cover and get you shot. At best.’ and begrudgingly you make your way to the pole.

You grip the pole in front of you, flexing your fingers against the cold metal. Anxiety thrums under your skin. Your eyes flick nervously to Slade who’s got the audacity to sit comfortably, sip whiskey, and smirk at you as if he was completely in his element.

“No need to be shy. Be a good girl and give us a good show,” he says, winking at you. Your hackles rise and your face pulls into a frown before rearranging itself into a sultry smile. You put one heel in front of you, hooking your leg around the pole and grinding your clothed sex into the metal in an undulating motion that has Slade clenching his hand around his glass. You try your hardest to grin and you suspect you’ve failed. Not that Slade’s noticed considering his eye is laser-focused on your ass.

With your one leg on the floor, you push yourself into a spin. Your body tips back as your hand runs down your face, chest, and abdomen drawing attention to the plains of exposed skin and delicate fabric accenting your shape. Pulling your body back up, you let your body slide down to the floor. Your legs split as soon as you made contact with the floor giving him a full view of your ass. He whistles appreciatively, tilting his head. You watch him through thick lashes, eyes bright and predatory under the neon lights. You roll onto your hand and knees. He smiles down at you watching the sweat drip down the valley of your breasts. You were a sight to behold.

Slade pats his knee. “Come here, kitten.” Hunger flashes in his blue eye. It sends a warm shock through your system. It’s odd being looked at like that but you can’t feel yourself getting too concerned over it. Not when it sends a pleasant hum through your mind.

You crawl towards him in time with the movement, slow and steady in its place. Stopping in front of him. A large hand grasps your chin, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

You sit on his lap, hand grasping his broad shoulder. Embarrassment floods back into your system now that you’re this close, now that you had the full force of that hungry gaze on you. You feel your skin heat and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip.

Seduction was other people’s gig, not yours.

Large hands settle on your waist, pressing circles into your skin. The buzzing feeling in your brain returns and you refocus on your task. His hands slide down the side of your body, fingers digging into your hips. His hands follow the circular motions your hips make on his crotch and guides you over the growing bulge. You hear his breath catch and hiss as you grind down on his crotch. You wrap your hands around the silk tie dangling from his neck and roughly pull him into a kiss.

His fingers dig into the meat of your ass drawing an embarrassingly loud yelp from you and giving him access to your mouth. You suck on his tongue and receive a pleased groan from him. Your tongues wrestle for control as he kneads your ass, making you mewl and moan into the kiss. You break the kiss needing air while Slade admires his work.

When Slade dips in for another kiss, you pull away pushing off of his broad chest a flirty smile dancing across your features. You turn from him, heels clicking against the floor as your show off the lushness of your figure. In the mirror, you see Slade settling back into his position and grinning at the corners of the room again. His arms relax on the back of the couch.

You close your eyes and let the music swallow you whole. You don’t dare hazard a glance at the mirror. You sashay your hips to the music, loosening your tense muscles. You open your eyes giving Slade your best seductive smile. You run your hands up your body, tangling into your hair.

You bite your lip as you slide them back down. Your fingers catch against the collar. Slade’s mouth twists.

You ease your arms out of your bra and let it drop to the floor. Your nipples pebble in the cold night air. The sight of them makes the corners of Slade’s mouth twitch. You push past the warmth stirring in your stomach in favor of trailing your hands down your body. Your fingers toy with the straps of your panties, watching as Slade licks his lips in anticipation. You slide the flimsy garment down your legs, bending over and giving him a good view of your wet pussy through the mirror.

Stepping out of them, you toss them at Slade, who just to be an asshole, catches and pockets them. He grins at you and shrugs unapologetically. You scowl at him putting as much venom into your features as much as possible.

You sway your lush hips in time with the music, letting the slow beat dictate the rhythm of your movements as you saunter towards him. You swallow, the silk collar still wound tightly around your neck. The intensity of his gaze makes you painfully aware of your nakedness but the embarrassment heating your skin shoots straight to your core, making you shudder.

Reaching him, you straddle his thighs, your plump ass grazing over his growing bulge. You moan, mouth-watering at the sensation. Your mind dwells on the feeling, your insides growing slick at the thought of him inside you.

Your fingers trail up your thighs and up over your stomach. You watch as his eye follows the slow tantalizing movement. His large hands grip onto the plush headrest of the couch, squeezing them as his face twists just a smidge with a mix of exertion and frustration.

You give him a playful smile as you slow the gyrating of your hips. A growl rumbles from his chest and you snap your hips back against his erection, the loose movement of your body hypnotic like ocean waves. Tipping your head back into his shoulder, exposing the column of your throat to him. Your hips continue to undulate against him, feeling the deep bass of the music ripple through your body along with the shockwaves of heat coming from your core as you grind it against his bulge. The coarse feeling of the fabric against your core making your knees grow weak.

A sinful moan tumbles out of your lips followed closely by breathy panting. You let your eyes slide shut soaking up the sensation of his suit against your skin. You reach behind you hooking your arms around Slade’s broad shoulders to steady yourself as your press closer to his large form. He presses his lips to your neck, the prickle of his beard against your skin making you shiver. “Yeah, just like that, kitten,” he murmurs against your skin, a large hand settling on your thigh.

You push further into him. You grind your hips, the movement deep and slow. Your hand tangles in his hair, gently guiding him to your lips. Your lips move against each other just as your bodies do, slow and sensual. You catch his lips between your teeth, nipping at it. He chuckles at your invitation, sliding his tongue inside your mouth and joining your lips once again. Below you, you feel another large hand hook onto your thigh. Both hands grip your thighs fiercely pulling them further apart, exposing your sopping pussy to the cold night air.

Slade breaks away from your kiss, his panting breaths hot fanning your face. You stare at each other with half-lidded eyes, lust bright in them even in the low light. He captures your lips again in a quick kiss before planting one on your shoulder. “Play with yourself,” he says, the command steady and rough against your ear.

The tone of his voice makes you shiver as you reluctantly release your hold on his shoulders. Keeping one hand tangled in his hair, you slowly slide your hand down your body, mewling into his skin when you reach into your neglected folds. You slip two fingers in immediately. You shudder and bite your lips trying to stop any obscene sounds from escaping.

A hand tilts your chin, coaxing you. “Good girl, look at yourself. Look just how wet you are just for me, kitten,” Slade says, nibbling at your ear. You yelp, your hips bucking into your hand, ass rolling against his member. You watch yourself in the mirror red-faced, open-mouthed, and sinful. Your dripping sex is in full view only obscured by your hand as your fingers dip in and out of your core. Slade’s eye never leaves the mirror even as he plants kisses against your skin. His large hand grasps your neck making sure you don’t look away from the mirror. You think of how easily he could break you and you feel like you’re on fire.

You're so close. You’re so so close. You can even see the desperation carving itself so plainly on your face. Anxiety and arousal mix into a potent cocktail in your gut. The nervousness from earlier rearing its ugly head. You whine in frustration, adding in a third finger but you can’t seem to reach over the edge. You hear him chuckle behind you and see him grin into your skin. At least, one of you was having fun.

He gives your shoulder another rough kiss, leaving a mark before speaking. “Having some trouble, kitten?” You wrinkle your nose at his tone but...in truth, you were. You bite your lip not knowing what to say. You’re so close but… the venue made you shy and that was an entirely different problem. Using the hand on your neck, Slade tilts your head towards him, the heat from his lips ghosting over yours. “All you have to do is ask for help, kitten,” he murmurs against your lips. The vibrations send another shockwave of desperation wreaking havoc throughout your already oversensitive body.

He tilts your head back to look at the mirror. You can feel your ears warm at the thought of begging but you’re a hair’s breadth away from your end. Biting your lips and furrowing your brow, you take a steadying breath but it still comes out breathy when you exhale due to the hand squeezing your thigh drifting closer to your core. He presses slow circles into your inner thigh with his thumb, his teeth nibbling at your shoulder leaving marks. A vicious curse leaves your lips blunted by a moan that follows it.

“Slade, please. Please. Sir, please.”

“Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

You tighten your grip on his hair and roll your hips against his. He growls in your ear but he doesn’t budge. “Use your words, kitten,” he commands, sounding far more patient than he actually is. You whimper, rocking against him. He holds you still, fingers digging into your flesh and body leaning into yours. “Words.”

You pant, hot breaths loud in your ears. Whether it was his or your own you were hearing, you didn’t know and didn’t care, not when your head was jumbled with the buzzing under your skin. You swallow. His eye following the movement of your throat and the silver glint of your tag winking at you in the mirror. “Slade- Sir, please- Please, I need you. I need you inside me.”

“That wasn’t too hard now was it?” He says capturing your lips in a rough kiss. You scream against his lips when you feel two large calloused fingers thrust into your core, stretching you replacing the ache in your core with a burning stretch. Slade releases you, steadying you so that your eyes are once again on the mirror. You both watch as his fingers pump in and out of you, the room filling up with your moans. “Keep your eyes on the mirror and watch as I make you cum.”

He presses his thumb against your clit. The syllables of his name coming out garbled and incoherent. You cum with a whimper. Your body shakes uncontrollably, your bones melting. Your lungs take in greedy gulps of oxygen feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of them. Slade lets your head lull back against his shoulder. You press little kisses against the powerful muscles of his neck. “Thank you, sir.”

Slade removes his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling empty. “Clean up the mess you made,” he orders, pressing wet fingers against your lips. You open your mouth letting them in. You slide your eyes shut and swirl your tongue around them. You bob your head taking them in deep. You moan, rocking your hips against his still hard cock, letting yourself imagine what it would be like to take him into your mouth. Your enthusiasm earns you a hiss from Slade. You smile as you continue to suck on his fingers and rock your body, the fire in the pit of your stomach reigniting. You flutter your eyes open. In the mirror, you see Slade, brow raised and mouth wrangled into a shape of wry amusement. “See, I knew you were a good girl,” he says voice strained. You grind your ass into him as you moan around his fingers. You gasp when a rough hand grasps your breast, nipple pinched between calloused fingers.

“Are you that hungry for my cock, kitten?” he asks, removing his fingers from your lips. Both your lips and his fingers glisten with your saliva. You nod not trusting your voice to be steady. He thankfully accepts it.

“Well, have at it,” he says, hands repositioning themselves on the back of the couch easing into a more relaxed position and looking as smug as humanly possible. He really is getting his money’s worth out of this. You shift your body making sure you brush up against his erect member as you did so. He looks almost pained when you finally face him. You drag your hands up and down his shirt, his muscles barely hidden by the soft silky material. You lick your lips, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. You slide yourself down his body, hands kneading and worshipping every stretch of muscle they come across. Fuck, they feel so good to your touch.

Getting to your knees, you rest your cheek against his knee. You let mischief shape your features. He quirks his brow at you, tilting his strong jaw urging you to move on. You massage his thighs as you pull yourself up. You undo his belt tossing it to the side. You pinch the zipper of his pants between your teeth and pull it down, grinning as you do it. Slade lifts his hips a bit to help you ease his pants and boxers down. Your mouth waters visibly when his cock springs free in all its glory. You gulp audibly as you figure the logistics of fitting all of it into your mouth.

“Take your time, Kitten. I’ve requested you for the whole night. We have time.” He drawls, smug. You roll your eyes at him finally deciding that head-on was the only way to tackle this. You lick a strip up his member paying special attention to the large vein running down the middle. You flick your eyes up to him, seeing his muscles tense. You grasp the base of his cock tight in your hand, kissing the tip and giving the slit a long, languid lick. The taste of precum wakes your taste buds. You hum, sucking lightly at the head, your hand twisting up and down his cock. His jaw tightens, the strain of keeping his hips still tightening the muscles of his thighs.

You spread your legs wide as you sink your head down taking him in and giving him a good view of your wet pussy. You take him in as far as you can, gagging when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. The corners of your eyes sting with tears. You still yourself, letting your throat relax around him. You pull yourself back up. Your plush lips massage his length as you go and your warm hand not trailing far behind. You keep your mouth on the head of his cock before sinking back down. His sheer girth is sure to make your jaw ache but you couldn’t make yourself care, not when you’re growing wetter the more you worship his cock. Slade for his part looked like he was gonna tear the couch apart every time you sank down to take is cock on, the fluttering walls of your throat driving him up the wall. The soft music of the room was now barely audible against the mingling sounds of your moans. Slade’s unrestrained voice was dripped with whiskey and sin.

His cock twitches in your throat and it’s the only warning you get before cum splashes against the back of your throat and fills your mouth. You choke but when your eyes meet his, the muscles of your throat work automatically to swallow his load. The movement followed closely by his eye. You pull back, light-headed. He grabs your chin, tilting it up to inspect your mouth. He hums satisfied. “Kitten, that mouth of yours is definitely worth more than the price of admission.” He says brushing a thumb against your bottom lip as you pant.

A familiar ache in your core returns when your eyes land on Slade’s still hardened cock.

“Of course, a little cockslut like you wouldn’t be satisfied ‘til you’ve been filled,” he chuckles pulling you into his lap so that you’re facing the mirror, your dripping pussy hovering over his saliva covered cock. The throbbing head teasing against your sensitive folds. He kisses your shoulder, his teeth pinching your skin leaving another red bruise. You whine as he guides your hips, moving them to ever so slightly brush your core against his cock.

“Sir, please. I need you. I- I need you to fuck me,” you beg, hands tangling in his hair and eyes watching his member in pained hunger. You sound so needy but you also needed him inside you filling you up.

Slade hums in your ear approvingly. He pinches your ear lobe between his teeth, making you keen. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” That was the only warning you got before his hands guide your hips down onto his engorged cock. Your walls flutter with every inch, stretching you with every inch. A hand cups your breast while he continues to guide you down onto his cock. Rough calloused fingers knead your breast as he whispers compliments into your skin in between kisses. The cacophony of sensations is almost too much for you.

“Such a good cockslut, look at how well that tight cunt of yours is taking me in.” You roll your hips, urging him to quicken his maddeningly slow pace. He simply chuckles at your attempt as both his hands steady your hips. You almost cry in relief when he finally bottoms out. You pant savoring the burning stretch tearing at your insides. Pleasure and pain mingling in your sense.

Slade rests his chin against your shoulder, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “Kitten, I want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock,” he says, in a low commanding tone making you shiver and leaving no room for arguments. You grip on to his arms, nails digging into the meat of his muscle, to steady yourself. You lean forward to get yourself into a better angle.

Ah ah ah

Breathy moans and the slap of skin against skin filled the air as you roll your hips against his. You watch yourself in the mirror, breasts bouncing, mouth hanging open, and tongue lolling out getting lost in the pleasure. The mixture of shadow and light highlighting and isolating the frantic need carving itself onto both of your faces. The coil in your stomach twists as your eyes meet his in the mirror. Icy blues trailing up and down your body possessively.

His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing it gently as he trails kisses up your spine. Your hips stutter, your walls squeezing around his cock. “You like that?” he whispers into your ear, putting just the tiniest bit more pressure around your neck. You feel your walls flutter around him and he moans in your ear. His other hand squeezes at your hip, nails digging into your soft flesh.

With a growl, he snaps his hips against yours almost violent in its intensity. You let out a loud yelp. Slade jackhammers into you like a madman, pummeling your pussy. His tongue dragging against your sweat-covered skin. “Cum with me, Kitten,” he grinds out, nipping at your ear. Your pussy clenches and unclenches around him trying to squeeze his cock, gripping him as if not wanting to let go of it. He bites a hickey into your neck and you feel the coil in your stomach burst. You feel a flood of warmth fill your aching core as Slade lets himself go.

He turns your body around to face him, careful not to separate you two. He pulls you into a deep kiss as both of you ride out your orgasms.

Your body slumps against Slade’s, head resting on his shoulder and chest pressing against his. Your breaths come out in puffs fanning against his neck. Slade presses a kiss to your forehead. You yawn and kiss his throat, his pulse hot against your lips.

“Satisfied?” he asks, pulling your wrist to his lips nipping and leaving marks on it. You wonder just how many marks he’s left on you and if he’s technically allowed to do that. It just seems bad for business.

“Yes, sir,” you answer, nuzzling into his shoulder. He chuckles, rubbing his large hands soothingly over your aching muscles. He holds you tenderly for a while, both of you basking in the afterglow.

Through thick lashes, you see Slade look at his watch. You whine when he starts to shift. Wrapping your arms around him, you press your body closer. You see his brow wrinkle and have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. Sucker.

Slade gives you another kiss as he reluctantly extricates himself from your warmth. You shiver at the motion. Your oversensitive walls flutter making him groan. You whimper at the feeling of emptiness as he gently places you on the soft cushions of the couch. He places another kiss on your forehead then your shoulder then your wrist as he drapes his jacket over you. “Sorry, kitten, I have some business I need to take care of,” he says tucking himself back into his pants. “But if you feel like a repeat performance, feel free to come back,” he continues, fixing his shirt as he grins down at you. Your stomach flips despite how tired you feel.

You watch him walk away then stop. “Oh and I’ll be keeping these,” he teases, holding up your panties and tucking them back into his pocket. You try to sit up intent on throwing the entire bottle of whiskey at him but your limbs fail you, still feeling like jelly.

The next time you open your eyes is when you feel someone patting your cheek lightly.

“March,” Anthony’s voice comes out in a haze. It takes a second for your mind to recognize the name as your alias. You take a deep breath trying to quell the panic from being woken up.

“What time is it?”

“A quarter past one.”

Good, you’ve only been asleep for an hour.

“Thanks.”

“You’re pretty lucky. Looks like Mr. Wilson was feeling generous,” Anthony laughs, thumb pointing to the stack of cash by the whiskey.

That asshole.

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Thanks for reading!

a/n: This will be a 3 part series because I am thirsty as hell.

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

#Slade Wilson #slade wilson x reader #slade wilson smut #slade wilson imagine #dc smut

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virgosunny · 2 years

Text

Hum!Au | Hun!Sunny drop x reader!

a sunny day that did not bode well at all, in addition to a few bright rays that were trying to decorate the face of the little baby [y/n], illuminating on her small, sunny bunnies running along pinkish cheeks. they were puffed out tightly, and her puffy lips curved, because today is the first day in a new kindergarten, which, probably, was very worried or even indignant at her parents, who, almost, dragged her there by force. aren't you an adult to visit places like this? you are quite an adult girl! - repeating under your breath, you leaned back in the chair again until the child's gaze touched the larger building, painted in bright and neon colors, while adults and children gathered around it, violently discussing or laughing at how impatient their children were.

- one of the circles of hell. - slips out of your mouth when your leg rests on the opposite backrest, reluctantly pushing it forward.

- - “[y/n] stop this before I leave you here! - The mother's voice sounds annoying, and her fingers tighten as they tighten on the steering wheel. your heart clenches again at her words, and your eyes shyly stroke the floor, mumbling something like: "yes, mom", she sighs and turns to you, smiling softly, as if nothing had happened. - and so .. dear, you will definitely like it there, only you will have to stay tonight without your mommy, okay? -

"Mega pizza complex by Freddie Fazbera .."

-----------------------

when your palm tightly squeezes your mother's hand, you exhale, seeing in front of you a large view of the playground, rainbow colors everywhere, bright posters with mascots and children's screams that turned into ringing laughter, making you embarrassed. there are too many children here, and you most likely will not find a common language with them, and it is unlikely that you will be peers with anyone, but until mother pushed you to a big, red slide, you would have remained in your thoughts - [y/n], have some fun there, okay? I love you. - warm words warm your soul, and you stepped forward, being even closer with a path to one end, while a quiet knock of heels on the cold marble floor is heard in your ears.

"fun? what kind of fun can we talk about if there are the same type of activities and children's games ?!" -

the last thing that worried you before the girl entered the dense pipe, quickly sliding down it with a squeaky, disgusting accompaniment, until [y/n] is among plastic balls, of different colors and she is attracted by a high voice calling her to the rest group of 10 people. it was a man, most likely a teacher .. his hair was warm shades, yellow like the sun, and the freckles covering his nose and cheeks gave him charm, especially a wide smile that attracted children, and his blue eyes closed his eyes in order to see the baby in front of him ...

- just look, one more friend! Are you sure you're having a pajama party? ha ha! -

- he had a thin physique, because his hands were almost on the skin, and his clothes consisted only of a beige sweater with a white collar and sleeves that went to the wrists. light brown pants held together by a tight, black belt. he smiles at you again and beckons you closer, patting the soft mattress. - Hey, what's your name, friend? we could have a good time, do you like puppet shows or glitter glue? we have everything your soul wants! -

- the girl smiles awkwardly, lifting the corners of her lips and slowly walks towards the group, holding herself tightly by the elbows, while her lips quietly whisper the name, - [y/n]

#fnaf freddy #sunnydrop #sunny #fnaf #fnaf fandom #fnaf security breach #security breach #SBFBAF

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ignify-caligo · 3 years

Note

☼ for Emhyr

Oh yeah, the emperor has arrived! Even if he’s a total piece of crap, I find his character interesting, especially the interactions between other folks. One of my fave “villains” of the franchise (right beside Vilgefortz, Eredin, etc.) So, let us dive in, shall we?

☼ - appearance headcanon

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

☼ - appearance headcanon

Compared to his Nilfgaardian or any other court, you may refer to his style as “simpler”. He prioritizes practicality rather than simple “showing off” when it comes to his clothing. What’s better for running than an article of clothing not limiting his movement while still giving the “emperor” vibes. If his reputation wasn’t dependent on his looks and appearance, he would have preferred to dress more “soldier” like, without any useless accessories or fashion trends. His priority is to feel good in his chosen outfit and the movement range, while the rest is pushed on by Meredith or Nilfgaardian top trend in general.

When it comes to his palette, there are several reasons why he prefers a “gloomy emperor of darkness”. Firstly, he absolutely hates bright colors on clothing, whenever he witnesses some neon-esque designs, the only thing he sees is the big ass sign “look I’m standing right here, please shot me”. Besides that, bright colors bring deep buried memories of his time in Cintra and Pavetta. He feels awful digging up the past and wants to avoid it at all costs. The second reason, quite a weird one, is that black attracts the most sunlight. During his years of being cursed, every night was spent in the wilderness alone and cold. By literally cooking himself in black, he prevents his body from experiencing cold again.

His favorite clothing articles are cloaks and ponchos. They both cover his entire body, which he’s sensitive about, and he can use them as makeshift blankets during long journeys in the coach. As I said, he lives for practical things, and sleep is something everyone needs, even grand emperors like him. If we are talking about practicality, he absolutely despises unnecessary jewelry, he can stand the medallion because it’s something that every emperor has worn before him. That’s it, he doesn’t stand wearing anything more than that, he feels restricted when there’s too much.

When it comes to more physical appearance, his body is littered with scars of a different kind. Dog bites, scratches from when he had to flee from a monster, sword, arrows, even leftovers from his quills, you name it – he probably has one of anything. That’s why his closet consists of long sleeves, long pants, and everything that can cover those “blemishes” as he refers to them.

Headcanon Meme Here

#emhyr var emreis #emperor emhyr #mererid #nilfgaard #the witcher #the witcher series #the witcher books #the witcher games #caligo's post #caligo's headcanons #caligo answers q.#thank you so much for the ask anon!! <3 #Emhyr’s is an douche but that’s why he’s so interesting 👌#hope you like these hc :)

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the196thbattalion · 4 years

Text

star wars human! high school! au

i’ve seen so many headcanons circling throughout the star wars tumblr about high school au’s, so i wanted to share my bit with all of you :D

anakin skywalker

five words: REBEL CHILD ON A MOTORCYCLE.

he doesn’t like riding the school bus because it makes him feel extremely claustrophobic, so he scrapped and scavenged up parts to make his own customized motorcycle, which he lovingly dubbed artoo.

the blue and silver detailing was the joint effort of ahsoka and obi-wan, because anakin doesn’t know how to paint.

if he can catch up to the bus, he’ll ride alongside it and flip off the students on it before revving on ahead of them. (the freshmen think it’s the funniest thing in the universe)

probably one of the most well-known juniors in the entirety of temple high school (mostly because of his shenanigans but partly because he’s dating padme fuckiNG AMIDALA, PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE DAMN SCHOOL)

he always wears this worn-down leather jacket his mom gave to him before she passed away, and refuses to take it off, even though it’s somehow “a violation of the dress code and should be outlawed.”

his hair alone has seduced eight different students (boys and girls)

sometimes during study hall, ahsoka or padme will get a hold of his hair and style it into little braids or make a super rad ponytail.

he really likes iced coffee with milk and sugar. he puts in the milk to make it nice and light (it’s aesthetically pleasing, obi-wan!), and then like eight tablespoons of sugar to make it actually taste good.

his favorite class is mechanics, taught by kit fisto.

anakin spent months on a mechanical arm project to replace his clunky plastic prosthetic, and he was so freaking happy when it was finished; he almost cried. (he did cry and ahsoka got it on video)

obi-wan kenobi

a mixture of the soft™, pretty™, hippie™, grunge™, vsco™ and nerd™ tropes.

he really likes peppermint tea with lots of honey but takes his coffee black.

he has had too much tea.

someone needs to stop him.

almost all of his classes are ap courses, and if cody hadn’t been watching when obi-wan was making his schedule, all of them would be.

him, cody and padme have ap english with mace windu, and cody knows how much his classes stress him out, so he lets obi-wan sleep during class and sends him the notes

the only ap class obi-wan doesn’t take is mechanics, and he shares that class with anakin.

anakin and obi-wan are super close with each other. kenobi was there when ahsoka was adopted, and anakin was there when kenobi got his cat. (they were like 5 okay)

“NAME IT C3PO OBI-WAN, OR I SWEAR TO FUCK-” “what kind of name is that, and why would i - anAKIN PUT HIM DOWN!?”.

mr. fisto constantly has to split them up for disrupting the class, but it’s almost like they can communicate telepathically, and the teachers have a running bet

mace windu literally bet $50 on these fucking nerds so you know it’s for realsies

in reality, they’ve just gotten super creative with passing notes.

kind of off topic, but he has these brown harry potter glasses that he uses (kinda for reading???? but mostly so he can do that anime pushing up glasses thing)

cody thinks it’s the funniest shit ever

whenever cody is feeling stressed, obi-wan just does the thing™ and BOOM! happiness.

people think he’s a goodie two shoes, and honestly, it’s really easy to think that. if the iconics are trying to do something stupid, he’s usually the voice of reason.

but parties?

…

you know what, just ask anakin for the video footage.

ahsoka tano

this hs!au ahsoka tano turned me bisexual confirmed ✔

okay before i go into her style, which is mainly what made me drool over my computer, can i just put skatergirl!ahsoka out there?

spray painting of the rebellion symbol all over the bottom of her board and on items in a couple of the places where she skates the most (like the back of an abandoned car yard)

her instagram is filled with these super cool vhs-tape recorded skate videos (u know)

lots crackhead 3am visits (starring anakin, rex, kenobi and barris) to a gas station to get slushies and grind the shit out of the curb connecting the store to the parking lot

trying to teach anakin how to skateboard but he just can’t figure it out? uh yes

“try to balance skyguy!” “HOW DO I MOVE? DO I SCOOT? SNIPS THIS ISN’T FUNNY AND I WANT TO GET OFF – GUYS, STOP LAUGHING!”

okay okay okay i’m done

for now

anyway, her style???? is so???? fucking????? cool!!!!!

her genetics gave her a 80% of having vitiligo, so it really wasn’t a surprise when patches of her skin got lighter, but it still freaked her out a little bit.

basically, went like this: “DAD, I’M TURNING WHITE!” “???? oh my gosh ‘soka, no.”

she has long braided dreadlocks she dyed a super bright orange with various colored beads woven into them with the help of anakin and padme. she usually styles them into little space buns atop her head.

her entire clothing wardrobe consists of fishnets, neon bomber jackets, at least 11 bisexual beanies™, handmade patchy jeans, white tank tops, and light-up platform shoes.

she doesn’t give two flying fucks about the dress code, and – IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MOST BUSY HALLWAY - punched principal sidious over whether or not she “could wear shorts that short” (anakin may or may not have cheered when she broke his nose).

the fetts (chuck have mercy)

*cracks le knuckles* i’ve put it off long enough

we have: fox (24), wolffe (19), cody (17), rex (17), echo (16), fives (16), boil (15), waxer (14), hardcase (13), jesse (12), longshot (8), kix (6), tup (3), gree (2) and boba (9mo)

wolffe is off at college - fox already graduated and moved out, that cheeky little fucking shit - but both still keep in good contact with the fam, and it’s a constant clamor between eleven of the siblings of who gets to talk to them first

fox majored in government/politics, bly is majoring in space/astronomy, and wolffe is majoring in police/law enforcement shit (i don’t know how college works, so sue me)

cody and rex are juniors, and despite their similar looks, the amount of schoolwork each of them completes drastically varies

cody is the honor roll student, valedictorian, whatever you want to call it

rex kinda just either does the work really well or 9/10 times gets distracted by anakin or ahsoka sending him some nice spicy memes

cody tried to tutor rex but it ended up almost landing tup in the hospital

“that’s really simple, actually. if you – vod? rex, are you okay? what are you oH NO TUP DON’T PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH-”

fetts on the varsity football team is like a right of passage in the family

right now, only the juniors of the fett family are on the team, but the coach has eyes on fives and echo for next years team

SPEAKING OF

echo, fives and boil are the infamous sophomore trio that pulled the milk bucket prank on the gym teacher, pong krell.

they had to help the janitor (99) clean up afterwards, but they genuinely enjoyed 99’s company, because he’s rad as shit and knows all the secret school passageways.

to be honest, not one person (except maybe sidious) was complaining

that motherfucker makes everyone run like eight laps during gym class

even mr. windu gives them a small smile in the hallways after that

boil says he was blackmailed into it

waxer is a freshman (the poor dude, i’m so sorry), and he always looks out for the nervous freshies

if someone is having a bad day, he’ll give them a lollipop (he carries around a whole bag), a place to sit during lunch, and a shoulder to cry on

all you need to do to find waxer is to locate this long ass line of children

the school counselor, plo koon, sometimes brings his niece numa into school during the day because he can’t find a babysitter, and waxer. fucking. loves. her. PERIOD.

w+n pull these tiny little pranks on teachers, and the staff pretends not to notice, but numa always giggles and gives them away.

boil has a soft spot for numa too, and sneaks her rice krispies.

bonus shit i want to add in but can’t figure out where to put it (or i’m just gonna add it on and shit)

plo koon adopted anakin after his mother died (him and anakin’s mother were good friends), and found ahsoka on the side of the street, shivering like a maniac.

he doesn’t know where ahsoka came from, but he loves her so gOD DAMN MUCH.

he’s the school counselor, and still keeps in touch with a lot of students even after the graduated (he thinks that majoring in law enforcement/police is a bit dangerous for wolffe but he still supports his unofficial but basically son 100%)

yoda is the super old but radically rad english teacher.

his entire point of existence in my mind fic is to troll the shit out of palpatine.

a recent conversation starring yoda and palps: “did you give the students the mountain of extra work i assigned them?” “for the students, that was?” i’m sorry. my bad, that is.” “this is the seventh time, yoda.”

okay but for real

mace windu violently roots for the school football team.

“BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM, CODY! YOU TOO...OTHER CODY!”

“THAT’S A HOLDING! THAT’S A HOLDING!”

“REF IF YOU DON’T COUNT THAT TOUCHDOWN THEN I SWEAR TO SAMUEL L. JACKSON I WILL COME DOWN THERE AND BEAT YOUR SORRY PINSTRIPED ASS!”

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asian-hero · 3 years

Text

Hey, Mr. Sunflower!

A/N: Hi I’m still reeling from bnha 290 spoilers but I did come here with a purpose so here’s the flower shop/tattoo shop idea I had

okay bye

Summary: Todoroki Shouto liked the comfort of his daily schedule. Nothing changed, and it was a fact that made him feel comfortable. However, when a new tattoo parlor opens up next to him, he finds his world turned upside down by the new neighbor and her big, dumb, grin.

Pairing: Florist!Todoroki/Tattoo Artist!Reader (fem reader)

Words: 9,128

Water the plants, create floral arrangements, interact with the customers, and close up for the day.

Shouto’s day could be boiled down to those four simple activities. Every day, he would wake up early in the morning to tend to his flowers, making sure to give each and every one of them the right amount of care. Then, he’d get ready to start the day, brush his teeth, get dressed, and, if he were lucky, have a quick breakfast before heading down the stairs and into his shop, where he’d open up and begin the workday. Most of his day would consist of dealing with old ladies coming in the morning to have a quick chat while browsing his selection, teenage girls coming in while not-so-secretly whispering about how “hot” he was, and late coming partners and first time dates who were desperately looking for something to impress their significant other. After the day was over, he’d simply clean up, lock up shop, and head back upstairs for the night, where he’d promptly pass out and then wake up the next morning, getting ready to repeat the entire process again. So, it was safe to say that Shouto developed a routine of sorts, one that was comfortable, one that made him feel in control.

Who knew that one heavily tattooed woman moving into the empty shop next door would wreck his whole routine?

It was a rather uneventful morning, nothing out of the ordinary as Shouto awoke in his bed. However, he couldn’t shake the slight feeling of impending doom that seemed to hang over his head. He didn’t let that disturb him, though, as he got out of bed, quickly getting ready so he could get a head start on the day. As he shut the door to his apartment, walking down the stairs to get ready for the day, he felt a content sigh slip from his lips.

Tuesday. Though an inconsequential day to most, it was one of Shouto’s favorites. Tuesday’s were the quietest days at the shop, with only a few regulars, like Midoriya who worked part time at the post office, and Bakugou, who owned the cafe not too far from his own shop, coming in to yell at him about some minor inconvenience that must of been his fault. While the day was uneventful, it really helped Shouto deal with the issues of running a business by yourself. When there were no customers to tend to, he could work on the dozens of bouquet orders he had, or he could rearrange the flowers in his shop to be at the most aesthetically pleasing angles, as to enhance the experience of his customers.

So, while Shouto was working on a bright bouquet of sunflowers, which, in all honesty, was too much yellow for him to look at, he didn’t expect someone to burst through the door with an equally atrocious bouquet in their arms, a confused expression on their face. When their eyes connected with his, their confusion blossomed into a wide smile, nearly blinding him as much as the sunflowers had.

Putting his arrangement aside, Shouto cleared his throat. “Welcome, is there anything I can help you with?”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but having a bunch of mismatched flowers being not-so-elegantly shoved in his face certainly wasn’t it.

“Hello! You must be Todoroki,” You spoke, your smile never leaving your face, “I’m (Y/L/N) (Y/N), your new neighbor!”

He continued to stare at you for a moment, his eyebrow raised as his face shifted from one of surprise to one void of amusement. When you noticed him eyeing the bouquet in your grip, you laughed, extending it towards the man once more, with one hand moving to rub the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Ah, I know that it’s a little weird to give a florist some flowers, especially since they’re from a grocery store and aren’t nearly as gorgeous as your own,” You started, eyes trailing off to look around at the shop, “But I wasn’t really sure what to get you, since I can’t really give out free tattoos,”

“Was there a reason to give me anything?” He asked bluntly, not making a move to take the flowers.

You pouted slightly, a sight that only served to confuse Shouto even more. “Well, I didn’t want to just come over empty-handed,”

He let out a small hum, acknowledging your words. After a few more moments of awkward silence, he gestured towards the door. “Well, was that all? Shouldn’t you be heading back to your shop?”

Though his words were a bit harsh, you didn’t let it deter you. Placing the bouquet onto the counter, you gave a small wave, your body moving on its own. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Sunflower! Feel free to do whatever with that bouquet, I won’t be offended if you toss it out! See you soon!”

As you left the store, you noticed a prominent blush on the man’s face, and you had to hold a hand over your mouth to keep in the giggles that threatened to fall from your lips. Though Shouto seemed to be a big, scary flower man, the pink tint that found its way to his cheeks made him look like an adorable toddler, and you promised yourself that you’d come back in soon. If not to see the man himself, then to at least see that blush one more time.

Once you were finally out of his sight, he let out an exasperated sigh. Of course, Shouto knew that someone had bought the shop next to him. Not only did the landlord inform him about the new tenant, but he also noticed the gigantic “sold” sign on the window while coming home one day. It was surprising just how fast the shop popped up, but to be fair, he wasn’t truly paying attention. He hadn’t expected that his new neighbor would drop in to say hello, especially with some grocery store bouquet. In fact, he expected that whoever bought the shop next to him would be just like his other neighbors: quiet and unassuming. However, with the interaction he just had with you, he figured that you would be trouble, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

The next time Shouto saw you was the very next day, when he was restocking the sunflowers, of all things.

It was around noon when he heard the soft chime of the front door, signaling a customer’s entrance. Putting on his “customer service” face, he looked over his shoulder, a tight smile on his face.

“Welcome, how can I—“ He paused, noticing your all black attire, a contrasting bright smile taking over your face, “Ah, it’s just you,”

You gave him a big wave, your entire body seemingly swaying side to side with the movement. Skipping over to where he was standing, you leaned forward a bit, trying to get a good look at his face. “Hey, Mr. Sunflower!”

“It’s Todoroki,” He blandly replied, not bothering to look at you as he continued to rearrange his flowers.

If his sharp words had any effect on you, you didn’t show it. Instead, your smile seemed to grow even larger as you peered over at the sunflowers in his hands, and Shouto hated it.

“Wow, these are beautiful,” You gushed, not missing the way his cheeks flushed at your compliment, “I mean, so are you, but I can certainly see why you’re so popular!”

He couldn’t understand why on earth you liked these flowers, they were atrocious in every single way possible. From the bright golden color and how large they were, all the way down to the symbolism. Though, he supposed that if you resembled any flower in his shop, you’d have to be the one Shouto detested the most.

Shoving the last of the sunflowers into the holder, he sighed, making his way towards the counter, “Don’t you have a shop to run?”

“Nope,” You said, obnoxiously popping the ‘p’ at the end, “I don’t have any appointments until three,”

When Shouto didn’t respond to you, you shifted your weight so that you were leaning against the counter, your elbows supporting your weight. Looking around the shop, you couldn’t stop the big smile that split your face as your eyes came across a familiar arrangement of neon colored flowers.

“I see you kept my house warming gift,” You teased, enjoying the way Shouto froze at your voice.

Glancing over his shoulder, he cursed inwardly at the sight of them. Eyes moving back towards the arrangement in front of him, he spoke, praying that you couldn’t hear the minuscule shake in his tone, “I’m waiting for someone to pick them up. It seems as though someone has the same horrible taste as you do,”

He wasn’t really sure if he was insulting himself when he said that.

“Ah, so my bouquet was useful?” You asked, that teasing glint never leaving your eyes.

He scoffed, but didn’t say anything more. For a while, the two of you just stood there in silence, with the occasional rustling of stems and petals being the only noise in the entire store. Your eyes would run along the entire store, but you had to admit, the man in front of you was your favorite sight. Even though he was cold and short with you, he hadn’t outright told you to leave this time, so that was progress. As your eyes trailed down from his face to his arms, you noticed just how broad he was, a fact that you missed yesterday, but was a pleasant sight for your eyes. It was clear as day that he worked out, and fairly often, if his figure had anything to say about it.

If you were going on what the stereotypes dictated, then the two of you should’ve swapped jobs long ago. He was an intimidating enough of a figure to fit into your shop, and your personality seemed to fit his shop more. However, you quite liked the fact that Shouto worked in a place like this, even though you hadn’t known him for long, you could see that he really cared about his shop, about the customers that came in. Though you’d never admit it, you remembered coming in around a year or so ago, significantly less tattooed up and more introverted than you were now. You remembered being smitten by the aloof and seemingly uncaring heterochromatic man, watching as he kindly helped out an elderly man pick out some flowers for his wife who was in the hospital. You remembered when he walked over to you, asking if you needed help, if there was a specific flower you wanted, and you stupidly said you wanted a bouquet of sunflowers, and soon enough, they became your favorite flower.

You wonder if he even remembered such an insignificant interaction.

While you were absorbed in your own little world, you didn’t notice Shouto finish the arrangement he was working on, pushing it to the side and giving you a weird stare. He knew you’d been staring at him, and, even if he didn’t like you, it still made him nervous. He didn’t like feeling nervous.

Deciding that he’d seen enough of you today, he gestured towards the door, “Well, I’m taking my lunch break now, please leave,”

You laughed, and that sound only made Shouto’s nerves sky rocket. “You don’t want to have lunch with me?”

“I could not think of anything else that I’d rather do less than that,”

You placed a hand to your heart, a small pout on your face that almost made Shouto take it back. However, at your poorly concealed giggles, he looked at you exasperatedly. Waving your hand, you gave him one last smile, “Alright, alright, I’ll get going. See you later, Mr. Sunflower,”

Your full blown laughter was the only thing that could be heard when Shouto had once again corrected you.

Taking in a deep breath, he briskly turned around, about to head back up to his apartment when he paused, the sight of your neon flowers catching his eye. Walking towards it, he found himself subconsciously stroking one of the petals, picturing the bright smile you gave him when you so confidently shoved them into his face. Biting the inside of his cheek, he carefully scooped up the vase in his arms before heading back up.

There was no reason to throw away perfectly good flowers, even if they were the ugliest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

After that interaction, Shouto found his normal daily schedule be disrupted by your presence. Every day, you’d somehow manage to find the time to walk into his shop, say hello, call him “Mr. Sunflower,” and then loiter around until he either asked you to leave, or the shop got too busy. On the busy days, he was grateful to be surrounded by customers so he wouldn’t have to talk to you one on one. Though he wasn’t entirely sure of the reason, you somehow always made his heart rate spike, and he didn’t like it. So, if the store was packed with customers, then he wouldn’t have to deal with you.

Today was one of those busy days, but rather than feeling relieved, Shouto only felt stress and anxiety.

Friday’s were usually the busiest days for Shouto, and his workload only grew larger at the prospect of prom nearing the corner. Not only did he have to work on the bouquet orders for his regular customers, but also on last minute corsage orders and walk-ins, all of which made Shouto’s stress levels spike to an already high average. So, when you walked in, in all of your smiley glory, he only felt his nerves shoot up.

The first thing that you thought of when you walked into the flower shop was how packed it was. Of course, you knew that he was a very popular florist, and his shop was usually busy, but this time it was almost unbearably packed. As you scanned the crowd, you made eye contact with the very stressed looking flower shop owner, and all ideas of teasing him and making his life harder left your brain, the only thing you wanted to do in that moment was to take away some of that stress.

Making your way through the crowd of people, you popped up by the register, clearing your throat to get his attention. Smiling sympathetically, you leaned in close, lowering your voice so only he could hear you, “Hey, Mr. Sunflower. Busy day?”

He didn’t even look up at you, too busy to stop what he was currently doing. “I’m busy at the moment, go find someone else to bother.”

When he didn’t even correct you, you knew just how stressed the man was. Before you could even offer your services, a rather shy looking girl came to the front, her hands shaking ever so slightly.

“Excuse me? I just had a quick question,”

You could hear the sharp intake of breath Shouto took, and before he could even look away from what he was doing, you smiled at the young lady, “What’s going on, honey?”

At the nickname the girl’s face flushed, and you had to hold back a giggle at the reaction. “Well, I know it’s too late to ask for a bouquet for tonight, but I got in a fight with my partner and I wanted to get her some flowers, I just don’t know what I should get,”

You hummed, tapping your lip as you cycled through your limited knowledge of flower meanings. As your eyes scanned the shop, you brightened up visibly once you found what you were looking for. Wrapping your arm around her shoulders, you ushered her through the crowd towards the tulips, giving Shouto a thumb’s up behind her back. Once you made it to the tulips, you picked out a few nice looking white tulips, carefully fluffing them out before handing it to her.

“I know they may seem unassuming, but white tulips are typically associated with apologies, so it may be good to start with these,” Patting her shoulder, you winked, “Of course, nothing’s better than a heartfelt apology, but I’m sure that these will help.”

The girl let out a noise of confirmation, whispering a quiet “thank you” before following you back to the register, where you hopped behind the counter to ring her up.

“How much are tulips?” You asked Shouto, leaning a bit to the side.

“A dollar a stem,” He mumbled, handing what had to have been his fifth bouquet of the hour to another customer, “Six for a dozen.”

Ringing up the girl, you quickly wrapped up the tulips in some white paper, carefully arranging them to appear fuller before bidding her a good bye, wishing her luck. You could tell that Shouto wanted to ask you something, but before he could even speak, another customer had called for your attention, and the two of you fell back into work mode.

After what had to have been at least two hours, the shop had finally died down, and you were finally able to let out a deep breath. Stretching your arms above your head and closing your eyes, you let out a low groan, happy to finally take a break.

Once you had finally reopened your eyes, you noticed Shouto staring at you with a blank expression. Tilting your head, you frowned. “What? Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Why did you help me?”

“Ah, ever the blunt one,” You spoke, your trademark smile appearing on your lips, “Well, if you must know, you looked pretty stressed, and what kind of neighbor would I be if I let you suffer all alone?”

“One who minds her business,” He speaks, but you can tell there’s no malicious intent behind it.

Letting out a loud laugh, you smacked his arm, stifling your giggles as he rubbed his arm, “Hey! I did pretty good, okay? You could at least say ‘thanks, (Y/N).’”

He rolled his eyes, and you were fairly certain that he was ready to kick you out. So, moving to leave, you gave him a peace sign. However, before you you closed the door, you heard him call out to you.

As your eyes landed on him, Shouto felt his breath catch. “Thank you, (Y/L/N),”

Feeling your face split into a huge smile, you waved one last goodbye.

“Anytime, Sunflower.”

The first time that Shouto ever saw the inside of your shop was a few weeks after you helped him out. Of course, it wasn’t by choice. Midoriya had practically begged him to come along because he wanted to get his ears pierced but he had no one to come with him. When Shouto asked why he needed someone to come along with him, the green haired man said he was nervous and needed someone to be there for him. By that point, Shouto had already been convinced, and the very next day, he shut down his store early in preparation of Midoriya’s impending piercing appointment.

“So,” Shouto started, putting his keys back into his pocket, “Where are we going?”

Midoriya gave him a confused look, almost as if he didn’t quite understand the question. Pointing towards your tattoo shop, he rose his eyebrow. “Here?”

At that, Shouto felt his mood turn sour. Now of course, was he grateful for your help on Friday? Absolutely. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if you didn’t step in and help him. However, despite his slight gratitude towards you, it didn’t overpower the overwhelming feeling of anxiety that consumed him every time you were around. Whenever you waltzed your way into his shop, he could feel his throat close up, his hands start to get sweaty, and whenever he did speak to you, it always came out as short, slightly shaky answers, and he hated it.

Even so, he promised Midoriya that he’d be there for him. So, Shouto held his pride as he walked through the door to your shop, his eyes immediately landing on your figure, hunched over from laughing so hard at something your blonde haired friend had said. Though he wasn’t sure why, he didn’t like the way the other man looked at you. Once again, you made Shouto feel something he wasn’t used to.

At the sound of the door opening, your head immediately turned towards the front, a wide smile already on your face, and once you noticed who exactly was in your shop, you thought your face may as well split open.

“Don’t think I have you scheduled for an appointment, Mr. Sunflower,” You drawled, enjoying the way his face glowed with embarrassment, “Or did you just miss me?”

“It’s Todoroki,” He lamely responded, before clearing his throat, “And I’m not here for you,”

Shrugging your shoulders, you let out an obnoxious sigh. “A girl can dream,”

Looking over to the confused green haired man next to him, you gasped, clapping your hands together. “Ah! You must be Midoriya, my two o’ clock appointment!”

Before he could even get a word of confirmation out, you hopped from behind the counter, grabbing Midoriya’s hand and pulling him towards your piercing section. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you smiled at him through the mirror. “So, tell me all about what you want,”

It took longer than you expected to calm the poor boy’s nerves in order to get a coherent thought from him, but once he finally told you what he wanted, you asked Denki, your only employee at the moment, to go and grab the needles while you put your gloves on. Once everything was in place, you had to physically hold yourself back from audibly cooing at the sight of Midoriya grabbing onto Shouto’s hand, squeezing it while you pierced his earlobe.

After a few more seconds you moved backwards, placing your hands on your hips in pride. “We’re all done! They look great!”

As he moved to get a closer look in the mirror, you nudged Shouto with your elbow, a small smirk playing at your lips. “So, are you here for something, too?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “I’m not letting you near me with any sort of needle,”

“Hey!” You whined, smacking his arm lightly, “It’s not like I’m going to puncture a hole in you by accident or something!”

Before he could even get in another sarcastic comment, another voice beat him to the punch:

“Yeah? Tell that to the multiple scars on my arms!”

Both of you whipped your heads around, greeted by the sight of Denki sitting on top of the counter, his arms holding up his weight as he leaned back. Letting out another loud gasp, you took off one of your gloves, chucking it at him.

“Kaminari Denki I am your boss and I will be treated with respect!”

The man in question gave you a mock salute before moving to ring up Midoriya. Playfully shaking your head, you let out a few giggles at how ridiculous your friend was. When you looked back up, you noticed Shouto was still standing next to you, looking at you with another weird expression that you couldn’t quite place. It seemed to be some odd mixture of his natural blank stare, a hint of annoyance, and, if you were to guess, jealousy? Deciding that it’d be in your best interest to tease him, you took a step closer, a curious glint in your eye.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?”

He continued to stare you down, though it didn’t have nearly the same amount of annoyance as it usually did. When you noticed that he didn’t seem to be in the mood to banter with you, you reached for his arm, gripping it lightly. You didn’t even say anything about how he tensed beneath your touch, not wanting to annoy him.

“You doing okay, Mr. Sunflower?” You asked, tilting your head, “You’re not responding to my child-esque flirting with unbridled sarcasm and annoyance,”

Shouto turned his head to the side, focusing on anything but you, “Maybe I’m just tired of your constant talking,”

Pointing an accusatory finger at the man, you spoke, “Ah! You didn’t even try to correct me when I called you ‘Mr. Sunflower!’ Something’s clearly wrong,”

Once again, Shouto didn’t respond, but you noticed the flush that was slowly starting to creep from his neck. Deciding to take pity on the poor man, you took his hand in yours, trying not to think too much into it when he didn’t pull away, “Sorry, didn’t mean to be pushy, just wondering where my grumpy flower man is,”

He wasn’t sure why, but seeing your face fall ever so slightly stirred some emotion inside of him, and it wasn’t the usual spike of annoyance or flutter in his chest. No, it almost felt like, guilt? Before his brain could even think about his actions, he squeezed your hand lightly, finally looking you in the eye.

“Izuku wanted to grab lunch before I go back to the shop,” He started, suddenly feeling a wave of nervousness wash over him, “Are you busy?”

You blinked once. Then twice. Then three times just to be sure. Staring at the man in front of you, you wondered if he was somehow an imposter, and the real Todoroki Shouto was locked away somewhere. As your mind continued to reel from what just happened, Shouto began to grow even more anxious, pulling his hand away from yours and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t worry about it, I was just trying to be ‘neighborly,’ or whatever you call it—“

“Hey you can’t take it back!” You interrupted, frowning as you stared at the hand that left yours, “This is the first time that you’ve been somewhat nice to me, there’s no way in hell I’m saying no! Denki can take over for a while,”

You called over your shoulder for the last part of that sentence, sticking your tongue out when the blonde haired idiot gave you a sly wink. Turning back towards your flower man, you linked your arm with his, tugging him towards the entrance, where Midoriya was giving him a teasing look. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Lunch with you turned out to be one of Shouto’s favorite moments.

After the first lunch together, the two of you found yourselves growing closer. Every day, you’d come into the shop around noon, laugh as he told you for the umpteenth time that no, his name was not “Mr. Sunflower,” and then you’d ask him to have lunch with you, an invitation that Shouto always accepted, though he’d make a fuss about it. Afterwards, you’d walk him back to his shop, hands intertwined as you swung them back and forth, and every time, he would let you.

It was such as strange concept to him, blatantly showing affection, as if no one else were watching. He wasn’t even sure why he let you hold his hand, why he didn’t complain when you linked arms with him. He also didn’t know why his heart would speed up every time you did that, or why he’d feel nervous whenever you gave him one of your trademark grins.

Though, perhaps the most troubling of them all, he didn’t mind that you made him nervous.

He found that out one day while you were hanging out in his shop, seated upon the counter while you watched him close up shop for the day. It was like any other day, with you loitering around as you please while he tried to get some last minute work done. However, it somehow felt, different. With all of the time that you two spent together, hanging out like this, in complete silence, it almost felt domestic.

As he continued to restock the more popular flowers, you admired how careful he was when handling the plants. It was amazing to you how, someone seemingly so “cold” and “uncaring” could be so kind and nurturing when it came to his shop. Whenever you’d pop in on busy days, you’d always be reminded of the fact that the aloof exterior was simply a mask, and you’d find yourself getting embarrassingly soft when he’d interact with the customers with such a kind smile. Though of course, you loved to tease him, in fact, it was probably one of your favorite hobbies, you also felt your feelings for the man grow overtime. As the months passed, and the two of you grew close, you often found yourself daydreaming about simple domestic things, like hugging him tightly, or pressing a kiss to his cheek. There were also times that you’d have, less than wholesome thoughts, and every time those thoughts were front and center, you’d become a flushed mess, doing your best to hold in your embarrassment.

Eventually, Shouto had turned around to start on the other side. Once he noticed your gaze, he furrowed his brow, stopping in his tracks.

“What are you looking at?”

Not wanting to be caught in your embarrassing train of thought, you said the first thing that came to mind, “What’s your favorite flower?”

“My favorite flower?”

You nodded, figuring that you may as well continue on this track rather than your not-so-savory one, “Yeah, I mean, you already know mine, but I’m curious to see what a florist’s favorite flower is?”

He let out a hum, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Amaryllis’ are nice,” Gesturing towards the section of amaryllis, he continued, “They’re my mom’s favorite.”

You nodded your head, a teasing glint in your eye, “Who knew Mr. Sunflower was such a softie,”

“You know that’s not my name,”

You laughed, “I know, I know, it’s Todoroki—“

“It’s Shouto.”

Feeling your eyes widen, you watched as he continued on with his tasks, not even phased at the fact that he just gave you permission to call him his first name. Shaking yourself from your momentary shock, you spoke once more, hating the way your voice wobbled slightly.

“Oh? So you’re finally accepting my presence now?”

He simply shrugged his shoulders, but you could’ve sworn that you saw a grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve already squeezed your way into my life, so what’s the point of last names?”

With your heart beating out of your chest, and your face growing hot, you had to bite back a face splitting smile that threatened to take over. Hopping off of the counter, you made your way over to Shouto, finally deciding to act on your emotions. Quietly, you wrapped your arms around his torso, your face pressed against his back. At first, you felt him stiffen at the contact, and you almost pulled away, if it weren’t for the hand that snaked its way down to cover yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

With a soft voice, one that was uncharacteristically quiet for you, you spoke:

“Well, good luck getting rid of me now,”

He scoffed, continuing to rearrange the roses in the holder. Mumbling something so quiet that you couldn’t really make it out.

“As if I ever wanted to,”

His feelings for you only grew after that moment. Every time that you’d walk into his shop, a bright smile on your face and that stupid nickname coming from your lips, his day would immediately brighten. Though at first you may have been an inconvenience to him, someone who wrecked his schedule without a second thought, now you were the one interaction that kept Shouto going. He always appreciated how sweet you were, how you forced him to take lunch breaks, even if he didn’t want to. Even when you came a few minutes after closing, when Shouto had locked the front door, seeing you repeatedly knock on the glass until he opened it for you did something to his heart.

So, on one night, when the store had been closed for just a moment, he wasn’t surprised to see you tapping on the glass door, a paper bag hanging off your arm.

“Couldn’t you have dropped off your groceries before you came in?” He asked, letting you walk in.

You didn’t respond immediately, opting to first put the bag down first before pointing an accusatory finger at the man. “You.”

He blinked, pointing to himself. “Me?”

You nodded, an angry little pout on your face, one that made him have to hold back his laughter, “When’s the last time you ate?”

“The last time I ate?”

Huffing, you took a step closer poking his chest with your index finger. “Quit repeating me! You didn’t come with me for lunch because you wanted to get some work done, and a little blonde haired porcupine told me that you haven’t moved from the counter all day,”

Shouto coughed, masking his laugh, “Katsuki’s going to hate that name,”

“You think I care about what he thinks?” You spoke, a small smile threatening to form, “Now c’mon, you can finish cleaning up later, we’re going upstairs and I’m going to make sure that you eat,”

Without even waiting for him, you turned on your heel, grabbing your bag and heading up the stairs. Shouto waited just a moment longer, watching as you disappeared from view. Though you two had eaten together many times before, this time, it felt different. Perhaps it was the fact that you were about to see his home, or the fact that it was dinner. Whatever it was, he was more nervous about eating now than he had been before.

Slowly, he followed you up to the stairs to his apartment, unlocking the door for you and shutting it closed. As you made your way to the kitchen, going on about something that happened at work, he couldn’t shake the feeling of how stupidly domestic all of this felt. It seemed almost normal, how lively the place felt when you were in it. He rather enjoyed the way you waltzed right into his home, as if it were the millionth time you’d walk through those doors. For the first time in a while, the place felt like home.

Looking over your shoulder, you found Shouto staring at you with a fond look in his eyes, so tender that it made your heart do flips and the butterflies in your stomach start to flutter. Cocking an eyebrow, you placed a hand on your hip.

“Aren’t you coming?”

Your voice had pulled him away from his thoughts, and a light pink flush grew on his cheeks. Heading towards the kitchen, he sighed, “Don’t count on me to be any help, though. I’m not the best in the kitchen,”

Setting down your bag, you hummed, pulling out the ingredients to make pasta. “How bad can you be? You’re still alive well into your twenties,”

“I live on instant soba.”

Slowly, you turned your head to look at the man, an unamused glint in your eye. When you saw no signs of him joking, you spoke up, “Okay, let me rephrase my previous statement: I have no idea how you’re still alive,”

He shrugged his shoulders, helping you pull out the rest of your groceries. “Spite,”

With that, you spent a majority of the time teaching him how to at least make a simple pasta recipe. While it wasn’t the healthiest thing up your sleeve, it was at least better than eating instant soba for a month straight. Once your dinner was finished, the two of you went to sit on the couch, where he promptly apologized for his lack of furniture.

“I don’t usually have people come over, so there was no need to have a dining table, or any other unnecessary furniture,” He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Figures. You seem like a homebody,”

The look he gave you nearly made you choke on your noodles.

The two of you continued to chat long into the night, and way after the two of you had finished your meals. You talked about anything and everything, from silly, light hearted topics like the newly turned adult who came into your shop the other day, looking to get an obnoxious tattoo, or when Shouto overheard some old lady talking about how she’d like to “jump his bones,” to the more deep topics, like his relationship with father, how he wanted him to take over his business, or how Denki was your only friend growing up, since you were often looked over, and that’s why he was your only employee at the moment.

“You know,” You spoke when the conversation seemed to die down, “When I first came in to introduce myself, it wasn’t my first time in your shop,”

“Really?”

You nodded, an embarrassed giggle coming from your lips. “Yeah, I came in about a year ago, just browsing around,” Slyly, you eyed him up, “You could say that I came for the flowers but stayed for the florist,”

He snorted, leaning back against the couch. “Stop,”

“What? Don’t pretend that you don’t enjoy my flirting,”

“I’m not pretending,”

Shoving his shoulder, you let out a loud laugh, enjoying the way his eyes crinkled at the side.

By the time that either of you checked the time, it was nearing midnight.

“Oh God,” You exclaimed, standing up from the couch and brushing off your thighs, “Sorry to keep you up so long, I should probably get going,”

Before you could even shuffle over to the door, a hand on your wrist stopped you. Looking back at Shouto, you gave him a questioning look.

“You should stay here,” He started, before hastily adding, “It’s late, and I don’t want you to walk by yourself. You could take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch,”

You bit your lip, clearly thinking about your options. He smiled, squeezing your wrist gently, just enough for your attention to fall back on him. “I don’t mind, it’d make me feel better to know that you were safe,”

Not wanting to ruin the moment, you mindlessly nodded your head. As his hand let go of your wrist, you stepped closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you could even think twice about it. As you pulled away, you turned straight towards the bedroom, letting out a short “good night, sunflower” as you walked away.

Raising a hand to touch his cheek, he watched wordlessly as you disappeared. Feeling an embarrassingly large smile come onto his face, he covered his face with his hands. Peeking through his fingers, he let out a noise of content.

“Good night, (Y/N),”

After you spent the night, things only seemed to grow more flirtatious between the two of you. Your comments, while at first could be equated to a kindergartener’s version of flirting, had now become full blown pick up lines that would leave Shouto flustered. Even though he’d tell you how much he hated it, he secretly thrived off of the comments you made. Though, his favorite comments of yours were when you genuinely complimented him. Whether it be about how pretty you thought his bouquet looked, or how pretty he looked, you could always find a way to make him feel like a teenage boy.

Whenever you’d smile at him, or laugh at something he said, he would always feel his heart rate spike, and his face would start to mirror yours. He remembered the first time you saw him actually laugh, the way your face softened. Such a look of tenderness had both excited him and terrified him at the same time. If he were to be completely honest, every aspect of you terrified him. He was scared that one day, you’d realize how he’s not worth the trouble, how you could find someone much better than him. Both of these being ridiculous thoughts to him, seeing as how he hadn’t even confessed to you. At the same time, though, a selfish part of him wanted to hold onto you for as long as he could, and he refused to simply let you go.

However, sometimes things don’t go your way, and you end up pushing those who you care about the most, away.

Thursday. What should’ve been a rather uneventful day turned out to be Shouto’s living nightmare. First off, he’d received a phone call from his father, with the usual disappointed tone and questioning of when he was going to sell the shop and come to work for him, how this wasn’t how he raised him to be, all of the usual nonsense his father would spew. But, for some reason, those biting words seemed to have an effect on him today, and it had already sent Shouto down a negative path.

His time in the shop wasn’t much better either. At first, the day had been calm, with only a few customers coming in. However, just as soon as noon came around, when he’d usually close shop for a few hours to get lunch with you, a whole wave of annoying, demanding customers had come in. At first it was a group of obnoxious teenagers who thought it’d be fun to mess around in his store, which, in turn, had to have been the least annoying group he had. The next group was an entire bridal party who all had contrasting opinions on what flowers should be used, what colors, and even how they should be arranged, all of which gave Shouto a massive headache. By the time that the bridal party had left, it was already the busiest time of day for him, and he didn’t get to even stop for a breath until it was closing time.

As he was sweeping up, doing his best to contain all of the day’s pent up frustration, you walked in. You were a little saddened at the lack of reaction from the florist, but didn’t let it deter you as you walked over to where he was sweeping, moving to pull the man into a hug.

“Hey, Mr. Sunflower, you’ve been busy today,” You teased, eyebrows furrowing just slightly when he didn’t return your affectionate gesture, “I didn’t even get to see your gorgeous face the entire day,”

He didn’t respond to your flirting, only pulling himself away from your grasp and continuing to clean up. A small frown tugged at the corners of your lips, and you couldn’t help but worry about him. Walking alongside him, you refrained from touching him, but you leaned forward slightly, wanting to catch a glimpse of his face.

“Mr. Sunflower, are you doing alright?” You asked, and when you noticed that he tensed at your voice, you reached a hand out to him, “Shouto, what’s wrong—“

“You know, you can be really annoying,”

You froze in place, surprised by the sudden hostility. It had been quite a while since you’d last heard him speak to you like that. “Excuse me?”

He whipped his body around to face you, everything about his posture practically screaming with fury. “Normally when someone ignores a person, the other one gives up and leaves, but you don’t seem to get that. No, because even when I make it very obvious that I don’t want to talk to you, you seem to have the mindset of a stubborn child who won’t take no for an answer. I’ve told you multiple times that my name isn’t ‘Mr. Sunflower’ and I feel that you should’ve gotten the hint that I don’t like your company,”

Shouto wasn’t really sure what was coming out of his mouth, but at your shocked expression, he could tell that it wasn’t kind. Still, even though you were hurt by what he said, you stood your ground, crossing your arms.

“Shouto, why are you so upset? What happened?”

He let out a loud sigh, rolling his eyes. “Have you ever stopped to think that you’re what’s making my mood sour? I’ve been doing fairly well until you showed up,”

It was a lie, but for some reason, in his anger clouded mind, he wanted his words to hurt.

You didn’t seem upset, though, only unamused by his actions. “So you’re saying that all of this is because I just walked in here and said ‘hello?’”

“Well, I was doing fine without you,”

Your eyes darkened, and for the first time, Shouto saw your face shift from the usual happy-go-lucky persona into something more serious, more guarded. Before Shouto could even think to say anything else to make it worse, you took a step away from him, not wanting to deal with this any longer.

“Fine,” You spoke, no emotion in your voice, “If I bother you so much, then you don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’m not just going to stand here and be your verbal punching bag just because you had a bad day.”

With that, you turned on your heel, promptly exiting his shop and heading back to your apartment. As you left, a part of Shouto felt bad, really bad. He knew what he said was wrong, and he knew that he shouldn’t have taken it out on you. However, still reeling from his outburst, he didn’t bother trying to chase you down, nor did he listen to his conscience telling him to apologize. No, instead he continued to clean up, only stopping when the floor was entirely spotless and his arms and back ached from all of the movement.

Locking the front door, he stomped up the stairs, not bothering to change out of his clothes as he flopped onto his bed, willing himself to fall asleep and be done with the day. As he faded out of consciousness, the last thought on his mind was your shocked face when he hurled insult after insult at you, and he could feel his heart sink to his stomach.

The next morning, when he woke up in a significantly better mood, he hurriedly got ready for the day, messily pulling his clothes on while brushing his teeth. Once he felt that he looked somewhat presentable, he ran down the stairs to the shop, not even turning the “open” sign as he shoved his way through the door. Jogging over to your shop, he steeled his nerves as he opened the door, only to find himself face to face with Denki, whom, upon seeing Shouto’s familiar red and white head of hair, gave him an amused look.

“Anything I can help you with?” The blonde asked, his arms crossed against his chest.

“Where’s (Y/N)?”

Denki smiled once more, though upon closer inspection, there was no warmth behind it. “Why would I tell you that? After you so nicely told her to fuck off?”

Shouto winced at that. He knew that he’d been unnecessarily cruel, but he wanted to at least try and make things right. So, rather than coldly telling off your only employee, he bit his tongue.

“I know I messed up. I shouldn’t have been so rude,” He paused as the other man scoffed, muttering something under his breath, “But I’m not used to dealing with these feelings, and I want to apologize. It’s the least she deserves,”

Denki eyed him up for a while, a silent war brewing in his head. He knew that you told him to not be too rude to Shouto, that you understood that there was something bothering him, but that didn’t make his outburst any less inappropriate. He knew that you were too nice for your own good sometimes, and even though he wanted so desperately to yell at the man in front of him, he also knew from the look on Shouto’s face that he seemed genuinely remorseful. So, he sighed, pretending to inspect something on his nail.

“She’s not here,” He started, and, deciding to play with the man a little, he continued, “Try tomorrow,”

So, Shouto did just that. For a week straight, Shouto would come back to your shop, in hopes of talking to you, apologizing for what he said. But, every single day, he’d find out that you weren’t there, and Denki would tell him that he should try the next day. After the fourth day, he wondered if you were avoiding him, though he understood if you were. Though he wondered if he should just take the hint and leave you alone, since it seemed as though it were the case.

Nevertheless, Shouto still came in everyday, in hopes that he’d catch a glimpse of you, and, two weeks after your initial fight, he finally saw you.

It was towards the end of the day, when Shouto was just about to close when you noticed you pushing your front doors open, hoping to get some air circulation. Without thinking, Shouto quickly went to reach for whatever flowers were left for the day, not wanting to go empty-handed. Grabbing a few stems of sunflowers and a couple red tulips, he quickly made what had to have been one of the most bright, atrocious looking flower arrangements in his entire career, and ran out his door, only taking a pause before entering. Once he managed to gain enough courage, he walked through to your shop, immediately greeted with your laughing figure, and Denki’s eyes landing on him, and the scene almost felt nostalgic. At first, the other man’s eyes widened just a bit, shock apparent on his face. However, his face quickly morphed into one of amusement, slapping your back as he whispered something to you before heading towards the door, getting ready to leave.

“Hey, Denki! Am I just supposed to close up all by myself—“ You cut yourself off once you saw Shouto standing at the front, a nervous look on his face.

Moving out from the counter, you stood in front of the man in question. “Todoroki? What are you doing here?”

Trying to mask his surprise at the use of his last name, he instead thrusted the flowers in front of him, signaling for you to take them. “I’ve been wanting to apologize for a couple weeks, but every time I came in, you weren’t here,”

Cautiously, you took the flowers, stroking one of the petals. Looking back up at him, your brows furrowed, confusion written all over your face. “I’ve been back at home, didn’t Denki tell you?”

He stared at you for a moment, no emotions crossing his face as he planned a way to get back at the man. As soon as you sighed, he was pulled away from his thoughts, instead focusing on your expressions, trying to figure out what you were feeling.

“So,” You started, trying to brighten the mood, “I wasn’t good enough for the fresh flowers?”

That only seemed to make it worse, as Shouto’s face fell, his hands wringing together. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here, but when I saw you outside I just wanted to talk to you as soon as I could, but I didn’t want to leave empty-handed, and I know you like—“

“Todoroki,” You interrupted, reaching a hand out to rest on his arm, before hesitating and pulling away, “I was just teasing. I didn’t mean to make you nervous,”

“Please don’t call me ‘Todoroki,’”

“Ah, sorry, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to call you by your first name—“

“Call me ‘Mr. Sunflower,’ your ‘grumpy flower man,’ or any other ridiculous name you come up with,” He spoke, his own hands reaching out for your free one, “I’m sorry that I was so rude when you came in that day. I was having a bad day, and everything was just piling up, so I just took it out on you. It wasn’t fair, I know, and I should’ve just told you then that I wasn’t feeling okay.

I’ve just never really had anyone care about me like you, so when you kept pushing, asking me what was wrong, I didn’t like how it made me feel, so I wanted to push you away before anything could happen,”

Frowning, you squeezed his hand. Tugging him towards your counter, you gently set the flowers to the side before hopping up into a seated position, making yourself eye level with him. Softly squeezing his cheeks in-between your hands, you pulled his face closer to yours.

“How do I make you feel? Uncomfortable?”

When he shook his head, you hummed, about to pull away before his hands moved to grip yours, holding them against his face. “Annoyed?”

“Not typically,”

“Scared? Upset? I can’t read your mind—“

“Excited,” He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “Nervous, happy, I don’t know how to explain it. You make me feel both like I’m the most fortunate and unfortunate man in the world, and I don’t know what to do about it,”

You felt your breath catch, your heart rate begin to rise. Letting your hands fall from his face to rest on his shoulders, you gave him a kind smile, one, you hoped, showed him that you felt the exact same way.

“Well, should I be the first to confess, then?” You playfully sighed, sheepishly smiling when you noticed his face fall ever so slightly, “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve grown out of the kindergarten phase just yet.”

Pressing a kiss to his left cheek, just below his scar, you let yourself enjoy the way he tensed beneath you. Once you pulled away, you grinned. “I like you,”

“Really?” He asked lamely, and he reveled in your giggle that came next.

Nodding your head, you pulled him in closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Yeah, for some reason I’m really into emotionally stunted men. It’s truly my most toxic trait,”

At the deadpan look he gave you, you let out a cackle, slapping the back of his neck gently. “I’m kidding. My type is the secretly soft florist who works in the building next door. Know him?”

Scoffing, he playfully rolled his eyes, his arms wrapping around your waist. He enjoyed your little yelp as he pulled you in even closer, his hands rest dangerously close to your ass.

“Yeah? Well, let me tell you a secret,”

Pressing a kiss to your lips, he allowed himself to be overtaken by the very emotions he thought were troublesome. Pulling away, he realized that he quite liked the breathless look you gave him.

“I think he likes you too,”

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