#If you are blind or low vision and have notes on the way i speak about you and your community!! i am open to critique!

[frankiensteinsmonster]

I made a poll for blind and low sighted people and some abled folks wanted to talk about how some people who use alt texts aren't/might not be disabled and still benefit. And it's fine that they do but I. Did not ask them and will not be catering to them. My blog is not the space to talk about how abled people might/also benefit from anything regarding disabled people. My priority is always the disabled people who need the function. Those are the people who matter most here! (But now I'm just a little curious.)

They have to deal with shit like screen readers. Y'all don't. I want Them to have a better time navigating my blog.

This post is about, by, and for disabled people, do not derail, and if you are abled please just vote and/or reblog. Don't make this about yourself or other able bodied people. You do not know better than the people who are affected by this.

[reve-writes]

— a rush, a glance ; dan heng.

╰‧₊˚✩ॱ˖ honkai: star rail — dan heng — 3k words. ╰‧₊˚✩ॱ˖ summary — you might have fallen at the first kiss — well, technically, CPR — and you couldn't grapple with the fact. but perhaps the struggle went both ways. ╰‧₊˚✩ॱ˖ content — awkward pining for each other, like a lot of being awkward, trailblazer reader, lots of blushing, allusions to dan heng's past, reader is such a simp, kissing.

When you came to, you felt a foreign weight on your lips — soft, warm, and candy-like in that it was sweet. Your eyes fluttered open and you were gazing into a pair of blue-green irises, harbouring a ceaseless depth you could see yourself getting lost in. In a rush, your senses fully came back to you and you inhaled sharply, felt his nose graze yours, felt the heaviness of his palm on the side of your face, tilting it towards him.

When you tried to speak, your lips brushed against his. His body tensed, and like you, his limbs were those of a statue, stubbornly still, cast in place.

So, this was what a kiss felt like.

A higher-pitched voice shocked you back into sobriety. Drunk on the feel of him against yours, everywhere he had not touched felt colder, and the points of contact were molten. "You're awake! Dan Heng, your CPR actually worked!"

The second figure pulled him off of you, air rushed into your lungs immediately and you let out a sigh. Dan Heng cleared his throat, throwing his gaze to the side. The apples of his cheeks burned red.

He was beautiful, almost otherworldly so.

He sighed often.

You picked up on it early on. Dan Heng sighed a lot when March uttered something outlandish, before tasting Himeko's coffee, or as you barged into the Archives to browse through his notes. He didn't have to be in a certain mood to sigh and you began to be able to differentiate between exasperation and contentment and neutrality. Sometimes, he sighed affectionately, out of amusement.

And sometimes, you were the root of it, and it had you feeling like a feather, like you could be a pair of wings soaring through the star-littered cosmos.

"You would think—" A sneeze. "—that with a Stellaron in me, I should at least be immune from a cold."

He sighed, shaking his head. Was it empathy? No. His lips were pulled into a tight line, an attempt to conceal — Amusement. You pouted even as your insides felt warmer, lips tingling with the memory of pressing against his.

"Let's go back to the Express for now," he said, supplied with a worried glance. "We'll find something for your ailments."

Jarilo-VI was a snow-blanketed planet, showered by constant snowfall. The perpetual cold was biting and cruel on the Trailblazers, particularly you. From the moment you landed, you hadn't been able to breathe through your nose.

"We shouldn't," you protested. "I'll be okay once we get to the city. With the stellaron crisis, I should be the least of our concerns."

Unconvinced, Dan Heng lingered even as you had already trudged onwards, snow crunching underneath your boots. You abruptly came to a halt, tilting your head back and he assumed you were anticipating another sneeze, but you continued to follow through, falling backwards. He dashed to catch you before you fell to the ground, calling your name in a low, worried tone.

"I'm alright," you said, even though you were fully leaning against him for support. His hand was warm and solid as it held your shoulder, pressing you to him to keep you from lurching as you were unsteady on your feet.

"Can you hear me?" His voice sounded far away, as if you had a film over your ears. You could barely open your eyes, the white brightness of everything was a blinding stab to your vision.

You hummed in confirmation, but the next sentence he spoke fell as incoherent mumbling in your ears. Dan Heng's face scrunched as he took your temperatures, his cold hand stung by the heat of your forehead. "You're burning up."

"You're just really cold."

Then there was nothing. You didn't remember much — if anything, you had no recollection of what happened after. When you came to, there was a familiar weight on your hand and a familiar scratch of your sheets against your skin. Your eyes, though bleary, could gather that you were back in your room on the Express. You moved to pull your hand to rub your eyes; all it did was stir Dan Heng's sleeping form, sitting at the side of your bed. His grip tightened, long-fingered hands locking around yours.

"Dan Heng?" Your voice scratched against your throat, coming out in a hoarse croak. "What happened?"

Dan Heng buried his face into the crook of his elbow, letting out a soft hum. Not fully awake yet, he stayed clutching your hand, which was getting sweatier by the second. It was too casual; you didn't touch each other this way. Every time you did, it felt as if your stomach was flipped inside out, bleeding acid into your veins.

Your free hand reached to touch his head, nudge him awake, but the moment you made contact, you couldn't resist brushing your fingers through the black strands. So soft, too soft. To your delight and horror, he leaned into the touch, like a nuzzling cat. With a content sigh, he slipped into a shallow slumber once more.

You sat up, leaning closer to let your gaze rampant on his features: the long lashes fanning his cheeks, the hook of his nose and his lips. His lips.

"We're back!" March's voice echoed from the other side of the door. You jolted backwards, falling over the other side of your bed to the ground with a loud thud. Dan Heng sat up, startled. Your door slid open as you were scrambling to get off your butt. "___. Dan Heng. How has it been without me?"

"___?" Dan Heng's voice had deepened into a sleepy rasp. "What — Have you recovered? You are on the floor because...?"

March chuckled, muttering something about your silliness as she circled around your bed to help you up. Your cheeks flushed, going lightheaded from standing up too fast and being throttled by acute embarrassment.

"I was startled and fell down," you protested. "Thanks to you, March."

"How is that my fault?" March pouted.

"I need to check your temperatures," said Dan Heng. He paused, clearing his throat, hand hovering hesitantly. "May I?"

You leaned your body forward, over your single bed, and he reached over to press the back of his hand on your forehead, on your neck, before dropping back to his side. His phantom touch remained, causing you to crease your brow. "Hm, I think the fever has gone down."

"That's good news," said March. "We were all worried sick. Dan Heng hasn't been sleeping much. He won't even leave until Mr. Yang dragged him out."

You turned to look at Dan Heng. He stared back, like he was caught doing something he shouldn't, and briskly looked away.

Clearing his throat, he said, "March, is everyone back? I need to talk to Mr. Yang about the... mission."

March waved her hand. "I'll go! I'm glad you're all better now, ___. The Express was too quiet without you."

"That's not—" Dan Heng started, but March was already retreating, the door slid shut behind her. "—necessary."

You wrung your fingers together. "I'm sorry for causing a lot of trouble. Thank you for taking care of me."

Dan Heng hummed as he stretched his neck, tilting his head towards his left shoulder, and then right. "I would not have let you freeze down there. March is correct in that it has been a bit quiet since you fell ill."

"She's livelier than the both of us combined. She doesn't need me to cook up a ruckus," you joked.

"You're not wrong." A fond smile appeared on his lips.

Out of curiosity, you asked, "Did you carry me all the way back?"

"To the best of my abilities, yes," he replied. "I'm just glad you are well. It was quite a scare. You've been in-and-out of consciousness for two days. Himeko, Mr. Yang and March had gone ahead to investigate the stellaron disturbance."

"I'm sorry," you apologised again. "Why do I always fall unconscious when you're around?"

"There's no need to apologise," he reassured. "And as for your question, I have been wondering as well."

His sighed, lips quirking into an amused smile. You were a feather, you were soaring.

"Do you have an entry about me?" You wondered, face hovering over his shoulder as he navigated the Data Bank, tapping and swiping at the screen with his long fingers.

"It is a work-in-progress," he replied. He was skimming through the data he had gathered about the Xianzhou Alliance, but you were hardly paying attention. You tilted your face to the side slightly, taking in his profile, noticing the smudged red under his eye, the intricate swirls of his earring. Oblivious, he asked, "What else would you like to see?"

"What's your favourite entry?"

"Well—" A mistake. He turned his head to the side, ending up face-to-face with you. Breath ghosting over your face, he stiffened, hand gripping the edge of the desk. You were stunned frozen in place, not unlike the ice statues littering the snow plains of the Jarilo-VI.

His eyes were blue and green and clear, the unbroken surface of a lake.

"You're really pretty," you blurted out. Your eyes widened as you straightened up, placing your palm over your mouth. Dan Heng pursed his lips, pink dusting his cheeks. "Shit—sorry. I don't know why I said that. Sorry."

"No, it's — it's alright," he said, quelling your sputtering. "That was flattering."

"Oh."

"I do find you... to be 'pretty' as well."

"Oh." What does that mean? You laughed, the sound off-kilter, borderline disorienting. The stuffy atmosphere in the Archives must be getting to your heads. "I think I need some air, don't you?"

He frowned. "We can leave the door open, if you wish."

"It's okay!" You were already stepping backwards, stumbling over the steps. You pointed at the door with your thumb without turning around. "I'll just—I'll check on everyone at the parlor."

Desperate to leave, the small square of his room was closing in on you. Your chest constricted, squeezed by a slither of not-so-unpleasant emotions. You felt full. You felt empty. You felt like lurching out of the window to gaze directly at the stars, or running to your room and scurry under your bed.

You found yourself face-to-face with the door and tried sliding it open, failing to do so.

"Is it locked?" He asked, chair scratching the flooring as he stood. Before you could reply, his long legs carried him towards you in an instant. You felt him behind you — around you. The brush of his arm was electric through your clothes as he pressed the dial of the door to unlock it.

You could have done that yourself.

The door slid open smoothly, but you stayed rooted in place for a beat or so. Until he called your name and your entire form seized up, like a startled squirrel ready to bolt. Everything was warm, your face, your neck, the tips of your ears.

As you dashed out of the Archives, you thought you might be coming down with another fever.

The night before your planned arrival at Xianzhou Luofu, you were unable to sleep. Trailblazing expeditions had a way of lighting your nerves, turning you into a bundle of nervous energy and anticipation. Sleep evaded you, or perhaps you were driving it away with all the tossing and turning.

To your surprise, your phone lit up — an unmissable flash in the dark interior of your room. You stretched your hand, reaching out to your nightstand. Your heartbeat thumped wildly at the name which appeared, hand sweaty as you tapped your screen.

Dan Heng

Are you awake?

Should you ignore it? You had been avoiding being alone with the Xianzhou native as of late. Not to his fault. You were the weirdo, this much you were aware. Gnawing at your lips, you typed out:

yes

Would it be an inconvenient time to talk?

not at all

should i find you at the archives?

No. Give me a moment.

A moment passed, there was a knock at your door. You called out for him to come in. Your door slid open with a loud rumble — perhaps not so loud during the day, but the early dawn hours had a tendency to distort one's senses.

"Hello," you greeted. He was briefly illuminated by the light flooding in from the hallway before your door slid back to a close. His hair — usually a perfect fall of jet black strands, had pieces sticking up. His bangs were swept up as well, revealing his forehead. He had shed his robes and tunic for a sleep shirt and trousers. It was the first time you'd seen him so unkempt, as if he was peeling back a layer of himself, showing you a part not meant for just anyone.

"Hello," he said, not knowing what to do with himself as he stood by your bed.

Obviously you were not going to invite him to bed. You didn't have that kind of friendship where you could lie side-by-side on a bed too small for two and be fine. At best, your palms would sweat and shake just from your shoulder being pressed against his. At worst, your heart might palpitate and burst.

"We can sit down," you suggested, pointing at the window seat, a few steps from your bed. It wasn't like March's, crowded with stuffed toys and yards of blankets. You hadn't had the time to find things to fill it, only a cushion with a couple of pillows in one corner.

He hummed and followed you as you sat down, crossing your legs, facing out towards the glass. He joined you, leaning against the backrest, legs stretching across the floor as he looked into the darkness of your room.

You could hear him swallow.

"You wanted to talk?" It was so quiet that you spoke in hushed tones — as if the whole universe was asleep, and you were the only ones awake. A thrill sizzled in your blood. The air was crackling with something like potential.

"Since you're departing in the morning," he said, sighing — Distress. "The Xianzhou... I'm afraid you will discover things about me that would alter the way you, and everyone, view me."

You could feel his gaze on you even when you were so intent to avoid it, opting to trace patterns connecting the stars outside.

"Alter how?" You asked.

"Who knows? At worst, you might find me abhorrent."

"Whoa, that is a strong word." Naturally, you were curious. What had he done? Theft? Mutiny? Murder?

"Appalling? Horrid? The adjective hardly matters." He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. His voice was unapologetically bare, a vulnerable thing. "I find myself dreading that prospect."

Finally, you turned to look at him, studying the far away look he had. It tugged at your heartstrings. You reached for his hand, which was pressing against the cushion, propping himself up. "I could never hate you."

His head swiveled, there was bewilderment in his eyes, either from your admission or the sudden contact. You couldn't tell.

"There is little truth in that."

Despite his skepticism, he sat up straighter, turned his palm over to hold your hand in his and squeezed.

"You underestimate just how much I like you, Dan Heng." His eyebrows hiked upwards. Abruptly, cautiously, you added, "Just how much everyone likes you and appreciates you for what you do here."

He sighed — Unreadable, this time. "I guess we will know when the time comes. I suppose I should leave you be now."

He withdrew his hand and with it, his vulnerability, as he stood up, brushing himself off. You scrambled, turning around to face him fully, hands desperately clutching around his arm before he could leave. During the day, you weren't sure you could be so daring. But it was past midnight, the world caught between dreams and truths. Your breathing picked up as you spoke, trying to seize the chance before the moment passed. Word after word tumbled out of your lips in quick succession.

"I mean what I said. I think whatever it is you did, I will somehow justify it in my head. I like you too much, in a way that's foolish enough for me to do everything I can to keep liking you. If that makes sense. Even if the entire world makes an enemy out of you, I'll always have an excuse for you."

He looked at you — really looked. His scrutiny was so intense that you averted your gaze to the floor. It didn't last long before he placed his fingers under your chin, coaxing you to look up gently.

"And that is the truth?"

You nod. "Nothing but the truth."

"You like me," he repeated, breath fanning your face. The closeness with which you were staring at each other was thrilling, like the disorienting lurch of the Express during a warp. "In what way?"

"Whichever way you would accept."

His hand was shaking as much as yours. "Then what would you accept from me?"

It felt like a cresting wave, like the ringing silence between an explosion and the sound, the empty seconds between lightning and thunder. You held the key to let it crash and strike, indulge yourself in it.

And so you did.

"A kiss, for starters."

The floodgates opened, waves crashing, a pleasant relief in your heart as he leaned down and gave you what you asked for. His lips — warm, soft and candy-like in that it was sweet — moved over yours. You were full and heady, the simultaneous familiarity and unfamiliarity gave you a rush. He did not let up, pressing forward, hiking a knee on the cushion, between your thighs. His hand slid up your waist, brushed the side of your ribcage, settling at your jaw. The other braced himself on the windowsill as he hovered over you. Your hands tugged at the hair on the nape of his neck. You felt him sigh into your mouth — Content.

You wanted him, all of him, and you knew that you needed to only ask, and he would give it.

dan heng maybe makes me a little breathless. maybe a little bit. just maybe a tiny teensy bit. i tried to keep him in character as much as i can but i kinda suck at that so im sorry. thank you for reading ♡ im trying to build my ruan mei nowadays bc i impulsively pulled for her

[anistarrose]

Hello, TOH fandom, I am here once again to talk about accessibility!

[Image description: a screenshot of Lilith Clawthorne excitedly holding up a sign, which has been edited to read: "Image Descriptions for The Owl House (and why they matter)" in all caps. End description.]

Image descriptions, like the one I just used above, are exactly what it says on the tin: descriptions of the content of an image included to make the image maximally accessible.

Blind and low-vision people who use screen readers, people who rely on increased font size in-app or in-browser to read text, and neurodivergent people who have trouble interpreting elements of an image (for example, expression) all benefit from image descriptions.

And all images on the internet should be accessible regardless of topic, of course, but I've recently been trying to spread awareness in the context of The Owl House specifically because it's a show with multiple disabled and/or neurodivergent characters! In fact, Principal Bump is canonically low-vision with a service animal to help him in that regard — and I'd argue that making content about disabled characters accessible is extra, extra important!

[Image description: a screenshot of Principal Bump with his palisman Frewin removed from his head, revealing the scars over Bump's eyes. Frewin is in staff form, smiling, and Eda looks on from the side. End description.]

I know it's within this fandom's ability to make our posts about the finale as accessible as possible — and I know that because I've already seen a decent increase in described posts over the course of Season 3! I've seen more artist-described posts especially, which means a lot to me, and even more to a lot of other people, too <3

So, on that note, how to write an image description? It may seem intimidating, especially if describing someone else's post or fanart, but honestly, there's no definitive "rubric" to follow, just a list of general guidelines:

Indicate where the description starts and ends, with "end description" or "end ID".

Place the description immediately under the image, not under a read-more (this allows people who rely on IDs to experience the post the same way anyone else would, whereas read-mores are inconvenient, especially if OP changes their URL)

Minimize caps lock, italics, bold, and strikethrough, which can be hard to read and/or troublesome for screen readers. Generally, it's just best to transcribe in lowercase without particular effects, then indicate in the transcription if something is emphasized.

Likewise, don't put descriptions in Tumblr's special small text. It's difficult to read and inaccessible to many.

Don't make jokes or add commentary in IDs. If an image is meant to be humorous, obviously it's fine to phrase things in a way that tries to capture that, but it's not the place to add your own jokes, nor is it the place to declare subjective qualities like "this art is beautiful".

Descriptions can vary in length, but if one is getting long (if you're describing a comic, for example), then be sure to break it up with paragraph breaks.

Specifically, while I've heard that too many breaks (ie, every sentence) are annoying for some screen readers, long walls of text are conversely difficult for people with visual processing problems to parse. So, it's good to strike a balance.

With regards to length and amount of detail, it varies by personal preference! Most images don't need a whole small essay, but there's also value in describing certain small and symbolic details, subjective as it is.

Speaking of which, if you're the original artist, then you are automatically the expert on what you wanted the image to convey — the nuances of expression and body language, which details are important and which details are not — and for that reason, I love seeing artist-described works!

Below the cut: more on describing Owl House images specifically, on IDs versus alt text, and other possible questions!

When I transcribe TOH related posts, there's a few other guidelines I use, though these rules aren't as immediately important as the ones above. I generally start by indicating the type of image we're dealing with (a screenshot? fanart? a photo of a cosplay?), then mention what characters are depicted.

Unless I'm describing something long, like a comic, and relying on summarization, I usually mention which character designs we're dealing with (is Lilith in her dramatic black dress from Season 1? or is she in her low-battery shirt?). If it's fanart and the artist has come up with original outfits to put the characters in, I'll summarize those too.

(This is the other reason I love seeing artist-described works: because I, personally, am just kinda bad at describing fashion lol.)

Now, I'd like to go over some other questions that I've either encountered before, or anticipate:

What about alt text? Doesn't that accomplish the same purpose as image descriptions?

In a lot of senses, yes, so alt text is certainly much, much better than no description! However, remember that not every person relying on descriptions is necessarily someone who uses a screen reader every day, or uses a screen reader period. Some people do in fact read the descriptions themselves.

[Image description, identical to alt text: a screenshot of Luz Noceda from Season 2, smiling and blushing. End description.]

As you can see above, alt text takes an extra click (or tap) to access. In general, it's also prone to displaying walls of text, and — as far as I know — sometimes just doesn't show up if the Tumblr app isn't updated enough. (Not to mention that, in my opinion, making image descriptions visible to people who don't use them is an important part of spreading accessibility awareness in the first place!)

On the other hand, I've heard some people who benefit from descriptions say they actually prefer alt text, so I'm not going to come out and take a hard "absolutely no alt text ever under any circumstances" stance by any means. But, long story short, this is the reason that in my own posts, I almost always defer to in-post descriptions — the only exception might be if I'm writing a meta post, and functionally describing the images in the text anyway.

I've seen that sometimes you use [ ] brackets and sometimes you don't. Is there a reason?

Basically personal preference. I use brackets in posts like this when I have a lot of non-description writing, and want to make it extra clear where the description ends and the non-description begins. If I'm just captioning some fanart in a reblog and not adding any commentary, on the other hand, I leave off brackets because they're pretty redundant.

I'm nervous about describing images, but I still want to help make the fandom more accessible. Is there anything I can do?

Well, my first piece of advice would be to start small! Hell, start with just making sure you include a description whenever you post an image with just text, like a screenshot of a reply or someone's prev tags. You can build up little-by-little from there!

(My personal accessibility journey went from describing only tweet screenshots whose text I could just copy, to describing simple memes like cat pics, to deciding it was important to at least describe fanart of disabled characters like Eda, to finally describing almost every post I reblog. Trying to make that jump without any of the intermediate steps would've been overwhelming, but at this point, it all feels natural to me.)

But secondly, I would encourage showing some love to artists who describe their pieces! Queue up some described fanart, especially artist-described stuff, and help normalize it!

Get into the habit of checking the notes for descriptions (go to reblogs and filter by comments only) before you share! If someone describes your art, copy it into the original post, so the version of the thread reblogged directly from you will be accessible too! (And if you want to make some little tweaks, no one will be offended.)

You can also look into making your blog theme accessible, such as making sure the font size is large enough (and ideally sans serif, for readability). And if you feel more confident with describing audio, then writing transcripts of audio is always incredible as well, to help out those who are deaf, hard of hearing, or have auditory processing disorders!

I've heard that AI is able to describe images for screen readers pretty well these days. Are descriptions still important/going to remain important as the technology advances?

Well, let me say first that I'm very glad this technology exists, for sure! But I'm of the opinion that human described (and especially artist described) captions are, at least generally speaking, still going to be the gold standard for the foreseeable future — AI doesn't have the context we do for our art and our fandoms; it's much less likely than a fan of the show to pick up on what's an important or symbolic detail.

Are there actually people who need image descriptions in cartoon fandoms? I mean, the source material has such a visual component!

First off, blind and low vision people do in fact watch things like TV, movies, and plays — ever notice the "audio description" option to add narration to a given show in a streaming service? That's there to provide basically the real-time equivalent of image descriptions.

And, second, I'll leave you with this — don't you think a lot more disabled people would participate in fandom if fandom were more accessible and accommodating to disabled people in the first place?

[drewharrisonwriter]

One Day at a Time - Ch. 11: Rescue

Pairings: Dave York x Female Reader

Series Summary: A man washed ashore, with no memory, and no name, finds a home and a life in the middle of nowhere.

Author's Notes: This story has been sitting in my drafts for over a year, waiting for the perfect moment to see the light of day. It wasn't until recently that I found the inspiration to finally finish the last two chapters, thanks to the incredible Keri @absurdthirst. Her story, "Washed Up," struck a chord with me—it had such a similar plot and concept to what I had in mind, and it reignited my passion to bring this piece to life. Keri's writing has been a constant source of solace and inspiration, and I'm endlessly grateful for her creativity and the way she crafts stories that speak to the soul. If you haven’t checked out her work, you absolutely should!

Warnings: Please be aware that this story contains elements of violence, explicit sexual content, and pregnancy. Additionally, there are medical inaccuracies throughout—because I don’t work in the medical field, so please take it all with a grain of salt. Enjoy the ride, and thank you for reading! 😊

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

The house they approached looked as desolate as Resnik had described. It was isolated, the kind of place that would be easy to overlook. They parked a short distance away, the rain still pouring down, and cautiously approached the building.

“No movement,” Resnik observed, scanning the area. “But we should check it out.”

They circled around to the back, finding the door slightly ajar. Dave exchanged a look with Resnik, unease gnawing at him. “This feels wrong,” Dave muttered.

Resnik nodded, his hand resting on his weapon. “Stay sharp.”

Dave pushed the door open, stepping into the dark, waterlogged kitchen. The floor was slick with rainwater, puddles forming under the leaking roof. As Dave moved forward, something hard struck the side of his head. He stumbled, pain shooting through his skull as he fell to the wet floor.

“Dave!” Resnik’s voice was sharp as he engaged the assailant, quickly overpowering him.

Dave blinked, his vision swimming as he tried to regain his bearings. Resnik hauled him to his feet, and that’s when Dave saw who the attacker was.

“Tom?” Dave’s voice was filled with disbelief.

Tom’s face was twisted with rage. “You think you can just walk away from everything you’ve done? You and him?” He spat, his eyes wild.

Dave shook his head, still reeling. “What the hell are you talking about, Tom?”

“You don’t deserve this life,” Tom hissed. “You don’t deserve any of it. You belong under the earth for what you’ve done.”

“Tom, listen to yourself,” Dave said, his voice steady despite the pounding in his head. “We’ve all done things we regret, but this isn’t the way. Let us help you.”

“There’s no helping any of us!” Tom shouted, lunging at Dave again. But this time, Dave was ready. He sidestepped the attack, wrestling Tom to the ground.

Resnik moved in, his voice low and commanding. “Stand down, Tom. Don’t make this worse.”

Tom’s eyes flashed with a crazed determination. “McCall told me everything—what you did, what you are. You think you can just escape judgment? This is God’s will, Dave. You and Resnik deserve to die for your sins.”

“Tom, you’re stopping us from saving her,” Dave said, his voice sharp with urgency. “You’re going to have her blood on your hands too.”

Dave’s heart pounded as he fought to keep control. “We can talk about this, Tom. Just stop!”

But Tom’s rage was blinding, and in the chaos, Dave had no choice. With a final, decisive move, he overpowered Tom, his breath ragged as he realized what he had done. A loud crack echoed through the room. 

Tom lay still, the fight gone from him. Dave’s hands were shaking, the reality of the situation sinking in. He literally just twisted the man’s neck and killed him, and it brought a familiar feeling that’s no longer welcome. 

“We need to find her,” Resnik reminded him, his voice cutting through the fog in Dave’s mind.

Dave nodded, still in shock but focused. They searched the house, but it was empty, the water from the storm seeping in from all sides. Panic set in as Dave realized there was no sign of you.

“She’s not here,” Dave said, his voice thick with dread. “Where the hell is she?”

Resnik was scanning the area when he suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing. “Dave, look.”

Dave followed his gaze to the window, where he saw it—trapdoors leading down into the ground near the barn. How had he missed that before?

Without a word, they rushed outside, the rain pelting down on them as they pried the trapdoors open. But they wouldn’t budge.

“Come on, come on,” Dave muttered, his hands slipping on the wet wood.

Then he heard it—a faint, desperate voice calling for help. His heart raced as he recognized your voice.

“Hold on!” Dave shouted, his voice breaking with urgency. “We’re coming!”

With Resnik’s help, they finally forced the trapdoors open, revealing an old well beneath them. The water had risen dangerously high, and there you were, struggling to keep your head above it.

“Dave!” you gasped, your voice weak but filled with relief. “Please, help!”

Dave’s blood ran cold at the sight of you, the water nearly up to your chest, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts. He looked around frantically, trying to find a way to get you out.

“There’s no ladder!” Dave shouted to Resnik, who was already running back to the house.

“Hang on!” Resnik called back. “I’ll find something!”

You were gasping for air, the water rising quickly. “Please, hurry!” you pleaded, your voice trembling with fear.

Dave’s heart pounded as he reached down, trying to grab hold of you. “I’m here! Just hold on a little longer!”

Resnik returned with a ladder.

The rain was relentless, the water creeping higher. Dave and Resnik carefully lowered the ladder into the well, but it still didn’t reach far enough for you to grab hold. Panic surged through Dave as he realized they were running out of time.

“This isn’t going to work!” Dave shouted, his voice strained with desperation.

Resnik scanned the area quickly, his mind racing. “We need to secure the ladder somehow—give it more length.”

Dave looked around, his mind working at a frantic pace. “What about the rope from the barn? If we can tie it to the top of the ladder, maybe we can lower it down far enough.”

Resnik nodded. “That could work. Stay here with her, I’ll get it.”

Dave watched as Resnik sprinted back to the barn, the rain beating down on him. He turned his attention back to you, his heart aching at the sight of your struggle.

“Hang on darling,” Dave called down, his voice breaking with emotion. “We’re going to get you out of there.”

You were trembling, the water now up to your shoulders, making it even more difficult to keep your head above the rising waters. “Please hurry,” you gasped in fear, your strength waning.

“Just a little longer,” Dave pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here. I’m not going to leave you, never again.”

You nodded weakly, trying to hold on, but your exhaustion was evident. The strain of the water and the weight of your pregnancy were too much to bear.

Resnik returned quickly, a length of rope in hand. Together, he and Dave tied the rope to the top of the ladder, securing it tightly. They carefully lowered it back down into the well, this time with just enough length to reach you.

“Grab it!” Dave shouted, his hands gripping the rope as he tried to steady the ladder. “You can do it!”

With trembling hands, you reached for the ladder, your grip slipping on the wet rungs. Dave and Resnik held the ladder steady, encouraging you every step of the way.

“Take it slow,” Resnik advised, his voice calm but urgent. “One step at a time. We’ve got you.”

You started to climb, but the effort was immense. Your legs shook with the strain, and your breath came in ragged gasps.

“You’re almost there. Just a little more.” Dave said, his voice filled with determination. 

You fought to keep going, every muscle in your body protesting. The water continued to rise, pushing against you as you tried to climb higher.

Resnik adjusted his grip on the rope, helping to pull the ladder up incrementally as you climbed. “Keep moving,” he encouraged, his tone steady. “You’re almost out.”

Finally, you reached the top of the ladder, your hands grasping for solid ground. Dave reached down, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up with a final, desperate effort. You collapsed against him, your body trembling with exhaustion and relief.

Dave held you tightly, his heart pounding with the intensity of the moment. “You’re safe,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re safe now.”

But as you clung to him, you suddenly tensed, your hand flying to your belly. “Dave… something’s wrong,” you gasped, your voice filled with fear. “I’ve…I’ve been having contractions…” you admitted.

Panic surged through Dave. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes wide with concern. “A contraction? Are you sure?”

You nodded, wincing in pain. “Dave…It’s too early… it’s not time yet…” You started to cry in fear and panic.

Dave’s heart dropped as he looked down and saw blood starting to stain your clothes. “You’re bleeding,” he whispered, his voice filled with dread.

Your grip on him tightened, and your eyes filled with tears. “Dave… please… save our baby,” you begged, your voice trembling as the pain intensified.

“I’m getting you to the hospital right now. Just hold on.” Dave promised, his voice breaking as he lifted you into his arms. 

You nodded weakly, but your strength was fading fast. “Please… save her…” you whispered before losing consciousness.

Dave’s heart lurched, but he didn’t waste another second. “We need to go—now!” he barked to Resnik, his voice filled with urgency.

Resnik didn’t need to be told twice. hesitate. Dave carried you to the car, every movement careful yet swift, he laid you in the backseat, as Resnik hopped behind the wheels and Dave climbed in beside you, cradling your head in his lap as Resnik sped toward the nearest hospital.

The storm raged on, the rain pounding against the windshield, but Dave’s focus was entirely on you. He watched helplessly as you lay there, pale and unconscious, your breath shallow and uneven. His hand rested gently on your swollen abdomen, a silent promise that he would do whatever it took to protect you and the life growing inside you.

Resnik drove with precision, pushing the car to its limits as he navigated the storm-soaked roads. Dave’s mind raced, fear gripping him with an intensity he hadn’t felt in a long time.

When they finally skidded to a stop in front of the hospital, Resnik was out of the driver’s seat in an instant, flagging down the medical staff. Dave scooped you up in his arms, carrying you through the doors as doctors and nurses rushed to your side, firing questions at Dave. “What’s her medical history? Has she had any complications during the pregnancy?”

“How far along is she exactly? Has she had any issues with blood pressure or other conditions?”

“When did the contractions start? Was there any trauma that might have caused the bleeding?”

Dave’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind spinning as he tried to grasp the barrage of questions. But the truth was, he didn’t have the answers. He had no idea about the specifics of your pregnancy or your medical history. He didn’t even know you’re pregnant until a few hours ago… The fear gnawed at him, each question feeling like a blow to his already frayed nerves.

“I… I don’t know,” Dave stammered, his voice shaking, running a hand through his hair in desperation. He looked around at the expectant faces of the medical staff, the weight of their questions pressing down on him. “I don’t know… She just… She’s pregnant, she was bleeding, she said she was having contractions…”

The questions kept coming, their voices overlapping, each one more urgent than the last. Dave felt like he was drowning, the pressure mounting as he realized just how little he knew.

“What kind of prenatal care has she received? Has she had any ultrasounds recently? What’s her blood type?”

Dave’s vision blurred, his hands clenching into fists as the panic built inside him. The room felt like it was closing in, the air thick with tension.

“I don’t know!” Dave burst out, his voice cracking with desperation. “I don’t know any of that! Just… please, do whatever it takes to save her! Save her and the baby!”

His outburst hung in the air for second, a raw, desperate plea that seemed to echo in the silent hallway. The medical staff exchanged quick, understanding glances before one of the doctors stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Dave’s shoulder.

“We’ll do everything we can,” the doctor said, his voice calm but firm. “Right now, the best thing you can do is trust us and let us take care of her. We’ll keep you updated.”

Dave nodded, his breathing close to erratic as he tried to steady himself. The doctor’s words offered some comfort, but the uncertainty gnawed at him, the fear that he might lose both you and the baby consuming him.

The doctor turned to the team, issuing instructions as they moved with purpose back through the doors. Dave watched them go, feeling a crushing sense of helplessness. All he could do now was wait—and hope that they could save you both.

He slumped into a chair, the weight of the night’s events crashing down on him. His hands shook as he rubbed his face, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

Resnik quietly sat beside him, offering silent support. The storm continued to rage outside, but inside the hospital, Dave was left with nothing but his fears and the hope that, somehow, you and the baby would make it through this ordeal.

Next Chapter 👉🏻

[army-of-bee-assassins]

hi I just have a question about image descriptions, is it better when I put it in the alt text or under the image? does small text make a difference? I shouldn't put the description under readmore, right? sorry for so many questions I want to do it right

hi there! thanks for these questions. i'm always happy for people to ask this sort of stuff! i appreciate that you want to learn more and do it right. :)

so just right off the bat, i'll say small text should be avoided. some people who need the image description may be low vision but not using a screen reader, which means the small text would be inaccessible. they may have ways of enlarging the text on their phone, but it can't enlarge the small text enough to read. and yes, a read more should usually be avoided as well. the only exception i would say is if you're describing something extremely long, such as pages of a comic. in that case, the best practice is to include a short description outside of a read more, like a quick summary of what the images are, that then also indicates that the full description is under the cut. but again, that should really only be for something super super long.

when it comes to alt text versus ids in the body of the post, they both have their uses and are preferred/more accessible to different people! alt text is designed for people who use screen readers, and it has been standard practice across the web for a long time. most people just weren't aware of it until recent years when sites like tumblr and twitter made it more visible to those not using a screen reader. when an image does not have alt text (which is the vast majority of images on this site), a screen reader coming across that image just says "image". so the screen reader user needs alt text to be able to have access to the content of the image. an image description following the image will also get the job done, but i have seen multiple screen reader users say that they're in the habit of skipping a post as soon as they come across an image without alt text, just because the majority don't end up having an id anyway and they just get tired of scrolling through inaccessible content.

some people do prefer an image description outside of alt text, since alt text still has some accessibility issues for those who don't use a screen reader, particularly in terms of color contrast and formatting. it can be hard for some people to read, which is why they prefer the image description to be in the body of the post instead. something to note for image descriptions in the body of the post - it's important to place the id right after the image and before any commentary.

basically - both alt text and an id in the body of the post are good things! different people have different preferences for one or the other. according to a resource i've seen shared around here a lot (i believe from perkins school for the blind), generally speaking alt text is for a short description, while an image description is meant to include more detail. so this can be good practice. you can also always mention in the alt text that the description will be expanded in the image description. something that i and a number of other people do is actually just use the same description in both alt text and the body of the post. in that case, for the image description i start it with "image description copied from alt text", so that someone using a screen reader could skip it easily.

sorry for rambling so long, and thanks again for your questions! if you have any others just let me know!

[charrfie]

I have a few!! 7 and 9 for elle, 20 and 23 for zee, 25 and 34 for azuramenth, please! I know that's quite a few, so you don't have to answer them all lol I'm just so curious

"You don't have to answer all of them" OKAY WELL I DID SO TOO BAD!!!!!!!!!!! Sticking these under a read more bc its very long. Since it is SO easy for me to get carried away when talking about my ocs

7) Elle's favorite animal? Why?

This is a tough one, it's not really something I've dived into yet! I think the strongest answer I have for this at the moment is bears. She admires their strength and ferocity while also finding their appearance very endearing; it's a nice contrast. I'll think about this some more!

9) Elle's favorite and least favorite foods? Is she a picky eater/does she have dietary restrictions?

I havent picked out a favorite/least favorite food for elle yet but I can at least tell you about her eating habits! She's not so much a picky eater, at least not ideally. She loves to try new foods and likes a lot of stuff! However, she ultimately has to shoot a lot of stuff down though due to her stomach being very sensitive. She feels sick very easily (whether thats due to a food being rich/heavy, not having the right texture, or just being too much food in general), so as a result she's very peckish.

20) Can zee drive?

Short answer, yes, zee can drive. She's a very skilled pilot of any vehicle. But while this is something she can do, it's not like she has a car of her own. As far as I know cars don't exist in the raposa world unless the creator or hero personally draws them into the world, so they're not really regulated/common? She would much rather traverse on foot anyway, even if they were common.

23) How would you describe zee's voice? Can she sing?

Zee's voice is fairly gruff. It falls at a fairly low octave and she often has some degree of vocal fry going on, whether talking or singing. She's loud!!! And as for speech patterns, she exaggerates her words a lot to make her point, both in tone and volume. She enjoys humming more than singing, but she does sing every now and again, usually while she's out at sea or doing something boring.

25) How good/bad is azuramenth's hearing and eyesight?

Extremely interesting question!!! Warning you ahead of time, this question is going to have a long-winded answer since it delves into some general species info that I've worked on before, namely that of angels and demons since Azuramenth/Azurael has had experience being both. For context, angels and demons aren't so much an elusive, ever-changing thing in the world of a businessmans cult, but they're actual defined species that share similar traits. Granted, a species mortals don't know anything about (or at least most of them!), but a species regardless.

Angels do not have the ability to hear. They communicate strictly through the transferring of information, which can be a bit tricky to define in a concise manner. Think of it this way: when an angel wants to communicate with another angel, said angel they are "talking" to will suddenly come to know the information as if it is simply fact. If conversing with a mortal, while the mortal speaks aloud, the angel will read their thoughts pertaining to the words they're speaking and will understand it in that manner. They converse vocally regardless, even if it falls on "deaf" ears. An angel's vision tends to be blurry due to their exposure to bright lights in their environments. To further this, the light they emit themselves shines onto the backs of their eyeballs, causing a mild case of blindness. They are completely blind in the dark as their eyes can't adjust.

As for the other side of this question, demons have an incredibly sharp sense of both vision and hearing. Their senses are much more grounded to reality than an angel's senses would be. They converse as mortals would. It should be noted that while their vision is extremely strong (much stronger than the average mortal), they have difficulty seeing in environments with a lot of light. This is largely due to how intensely keen their sight is, and light tends to be too sharp on eyes that sensitive. It's also worth nothing that not all demons have eyes and/or ears, but their other senses are heightened.

34) How would azuramenth describe herself?

If you were to ask her, Azuramenth would likely only define herself as a very blunt "strong" or "powerful." Maybe even "angry." It's difficult to get much else out of her. For this hypothetical though, if she didn't have as many walls raised, "hurting" would be another one. "Sorry."

[sillyrabbit81]

Yours Again

Summary: You and Henry had a brief relationship onset, but you called it off when filming finished. At the film's premiere, Henry is determined to win you back for good.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Female Reader

Word Count: approx. 2.8k

Warnings: RPF, p in v sex, implied praise kink, reader smokes a cigarette.

Authors note:

It's been a while since I've actually written a Henry piece (I think ten months!) but I got a flash of inspiration late this afternoon and wanted to see how it went. I'm sorry if its a mess. Its 2am here and I wanted to finish it in one go because lately every time I start a fic and go to sleep, I just can't pick up where I left off.

Thanks to @amberangel112 for being the worlds best title fairy and for beta reading. Thanks also to @henryobsessed for beta reading.

Edited by me (ok thats a lie, I barely read over it) there will be errors.

Dividers made by me.

Masterlist

You swallow hard as you watch Henry meander along the carpet, his arm held above his head waving to some fans behind the row of interviewers. He looks amazing in his deep navy blue woollen three piece suit and burgundy tie. He gives the fans his full 1000 watt smile, then turns his attention back to the interviewer.

He came alone.

You weren’t sure if he would, there had been rumours he was seeing someone. Well, maybe he is, but if it isn’t serious enough for him to go public, then maybe you still have a chance. You shake your head, there is no way you would work despite what he says, there is no point even thinking that way. What you two had was nothing more than an onset fling. You were lucky to even talk to him, you were the screenwriter for God’s sake, most of the time even the director ignored you. You don’t even know how you managed to get invited to the premiere.

Your heart leaps into your throat as he notices you and his lips raise into a grin as his eyes light up in recognition. You turn away, embarrassed that you had been caught staring. He’s going to think you’re a creep.

You hurry along the carpet to the waiting photographers, and although you know your time in front of them will be limited, a courtesy at best, you are keen to get it over with. You pose like you had practised, (a friend of yours is married to a well-known director and she gave you pointers,) when the photographers suddenly showed a lot more interest, lights flashing brightly and blinding you for a moment.

When the dark spots leave your eyes and your vision clears, you see what all the fuss is about as Henry snakes his arm around your waist and his lips caress your cheek. His kiss is chaste, as intimate as one would expect between colleagues, but his fingers dig into your side and his eyes burn with a feverish blue flame that speaks to a deeper desire. You breathe deeply, and your mouth waters as his familiar scent fills your nose like vapours. He always smells divine. Even after a full day of shooting high intensity action sequences, when he would follow you to your room at the end of filming, he would always offer to shower and you would always tell him it could wait.

He faces the photographers and his voice is low as he speaks just loud enough to be heard above the demanding calls of his name, “You look stunning, sweetheart.”

You try to reply, but the words get stuck in your throat. He digs his fingers into your waist again and murmurs, “Breathe. You’re alright.”

“I should go,” you say, pulling away from his grasp.

“I’ll come find you,” he says both as a parting farewell and a promise.

Inside the theatre is as noisy as outside, but far less intimidating. One of the PA’s guides you through the lobby, pointing out the bar and the concession stand where boxes of popcorn lined the counter. You take a drink, some sort of white wine and find your way to the back entrance fumbling in your tiny clutch for a cigarette and lighter.

You slump against the wall in relief once the comforting chafe of the smoke burns your throat and fills your lungs. Sweeter still is the nicotine as it seeps into your blood and mollifies your agitated disposition. As soon as you finish the cigarette, you light another, knowing the film would be a long one, you need as much help to get through it, unsure of whether it would be seemly to have a mid-movie smoke break.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Henry’s temperate baritone interrupts your thoughts and your anxiety piques again. “Another failed quitting attempt, I see?” he adds with a smile.

Shrugging, you return his smile with a nervous one of your own. “I lasted two weeks this time,” you say with stubborn pride.

“Good girl,” he says teasingly and his tongue sweeps swiftly over his lips. You try not to gawk at his actions, but his rumbled words of praise take you back to those nights together all those months ago and you’re stuck in a trance. He takes the cigarette from your fingers, drops it into the ashtray filled with sand and butts sticking out like porcupine quills and leans into you.

“Henry, don’t,” you say.

“Why not?” he asks, his playful mood dissolving instantly as his brows come together and he tilts his head questioning. “We were so good together.”

“Don’t ruin what we had by trying to make it into something more,” you say gently, “our lives just… we aren’t meant for anything long term.”

Henry grimaces, his sharp jaw tightens as he clenches his teeth and the muscles dance beneath his perfectly manicured stubbled cheek. “You’re wrong,” he says finally, “what we have could last a lifetime.”

“What we had,” you say firmly, though your guts are churning, “was a good time. Nothing more.”

“Then why are there tears in your eyes, sweetheart?” he asks, placing his hand on your cheek, “And why does it hurt every time I go home and you’re not there?”

“Because you’re a sap,” you say, unable to stop one side of your mouth lifting into a grin, “a hopeless romantic who can’t see how world’s apart our lives are.”

“Ah, so that's why it feels like the ground is shaking whenever our worlds collide.”

You press your lips together and you succeed in holding in your laughter for all of two seconds before you snort and cover your mouth. “Dear God, Henry, that was awful.”

“Made you laugh, though,” he grins. “Come on, let's get a drink before the presentation starts.”

Hours and several drinks later, you’re pressed up against Henry’s door, your lips locked against his as he fumbles with his door. The key finally finds home and he wraps his arm around you, drawing you close as he turns the handle.

Kal is at the door instantly, his insistent rubbing against your legs makes you both pause for a pat. “Shh, good boy,” Henry croons as he gets on his haunches.

Kal's tail slaps against your legs as you catch your breath and sink your hand into his plush, thickening winter coat. He keeps turning his head towards you and Henry lets him go. Kal turns and you smile as you bend your knees mirroring Henry’s position and scratch behind his ears.

“Aww, puppy,” you laugh, “you remember me.”

Kal raises his head quickly and it puts you off balance and you come down hard on your ass, “Oof, fuck!” you swear and Henry laughs as he offers you his hand.

“You ok?” he asks between chuckles.

You nod and your cheeks heat with embarrassment and the lingering warmth of alcohol. You are only a little tipsy, intoxicated with a gentle and waning buzz.

Henry lifts your chin with a curled finger and his eyes seek yours. “Are you ok with this?” he drops his hand and moves it back and forth between you, “I want you so badly, but not just for tonight.”

You were hoping this wouldn’t come up until after, or preferably not at all and you could sneak out during the night, leaving him with a regretful kiss while he dreamed.

“Henry…”

“This isn’t just a fling,” he says fiercely, “This is real, I know the difference, even if you’re too blind or stubborn to see it.”

“I know,” you whisper softly, “But that doesn’t mean it will work.”

“How do you know? How do you know when you never gave us a chance?”

You take a long shuddering inhale and open your mouth to tell him no, but you just can’t force the words out. He’s right, you never did give him a chance, you never gave the relationship a real shot. You assume it couldn’t work, but you don’t really know for sure.

“All I’m asking you to do is to give us a chance,” Henry whispers, placing his hand on the back of your neck.

You raise your hand to his cheek, his sharp whiskers prick into your palm. You remember the days after your first nights together, how sore and rough your skin became from his rough and chafing kiss. In those first few early days it had been nothing but fun, a cheeky romp with a man whose company you enjoyed, but by the night of the wrap party it was obvious that Henry wanted more. He started changing his work schedule saying no to smaller projects and interviews to carve out space for you. Seeing his work load, even one reduced as it was, scared you.

“Stay the night?” he asks, solemnly, unable to wait for you to reply, “Be there in the morning when I wake up, don’t run out on us again.”

Your motivation for breaking things off at the time seemed logical, you had figured that breaking it off before it got too serious would save you both a world of pain. But it hadn’t, you missed him. You missed him in that sickly sweet love sick way that made everything remind you of him. Every song on the radio, every smell, every joke you heard that you want to share, all bring him back into your thoughts.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whisper, “I tried so hard to forget you, but you’re in me so deeply, you’re in everything I see.”

“So stay,” he leans his forehead on yours, and your heart pumps so hard it feels like it’s about to leap from your chest.

“I don’t think I have it in me to leave again,” you confess.

Henry exhales a long sigh and breathes, “Come to bed with me?”

He kisses your cheeks, first one then the other, his lips brushing your heated skin with a feathery, tender touch. An ache grows between your legs as you stand on your toes and kiss his neck and murmur into his ear, “Make me yours again.”

Groaning, he dips his head into your neck and lift your chin, and his lips move over your throat. “You were always mine,” his voice is ragged and rasping, “You just wouldn’t admit it.”

He walks you to his room as you kiss under his raised jaw, his short stubble stung your lips and tongue. You pull his shirt from his pants, desperate to feel his skin under your fingers while he unbuttoned his vest and tore at his tie. You step out of your shoes as Henry guides you backwards and stops you before you reach his bed.

You break apart, both fumbling with your own clothes, both eying the other hungrily until you’re both down to your underwear.

“Don’t stop,” you say, biting your lip as you drag your panties down your thighs.

Henry grins and pulls down his trunks. Your eyes widen, and your hand moves towards him as if drawn by a magnetic pull, but you stop yourself, instead letting your fingers sink into the coarse dark hair that covers his chest.

“You’re a tease, baby,” Henry grumbles, but his tone is playful and without rebuke.

You smirk as you kiss his shoulder and he grabs hold of your hips with an approving hum. His thumbs rub against your hip bone as your lips move across the planes of his chest. Your fingers skim over his smooth, taut stomach, and though his fingers dig into your delicate skin and his breathing becomes shallow and rapid, he seems content to let you take the lead. You close your eyes, savouring his smell, texture and taste, reacquainting yourself with his body. It's slightly different since you last saw him, like he’s put on a bit of weight, and you like his newfound softness.

With a short grunt, Henry’s patience gives out and he draws your bodies together, sliding his hands around your back, pulling you closer making you gasp as you feel his warm skin against yours. He rolls his hips against you while your hands feel their way to his neck and tugging gently on his neck, you kiss him, slowly, teasingly, sucking softly on his silky lips. His hips move against you and you feel his cock harden with each steady, deliberate, grinding pass.

He groans into your mouth, and takes hold of your hand, “Baby, get on the bed, I need you.”

As soon as your head hits the pillows Henry’s body covers yours and you wrap your legs around him. He holds himself above you, his powerful arms are outstretched next to your head. He’s so beautiful above you like this; his muscles taut and flexed, his face so open and sincere.

“I feel like I’ve waited so long to have you beneath me again,” he says as he lays a hand against your neck and his thumb runs along your jaw. He lowers his body to rest on yours and with a low groan he moves his hips and his cock slides effortlessly over your pussy. “Fuck, you’re so ready.”

You moan, moving your hips, relishing the feel of him as his silky hardness slides over your clit. You close your eyes, remembering how he felt the first time you had been together skin against skin. Your eyes fly open and your heart stops before it thunders in your chest and you feel cold.

“Do we need a condom,” you ask, as your stomach twists in fear.

Henry’s brows come together, and he tilts his head in confusion. “We stopped using them ages ago.”

“But have you…” you swallow down the bile rising in your throat and you try again, “Have you been with anyone?”

“No,” he murmurs, lowering his body until your chests meet, “Baby, I don’t want anyone but you.”

Relief warms your blood as his mouth lowers onto yours. His kiss is rougher, harder, and desperate and you kiss him back with the same hunger. Flares of heat build between your legs as you move against each other like masochists, teasing each other until he can no longer stand it and his hand grips your thigh and opens your leg wider.

Henry moves his hips until his cock is pressing against your core. He lifts his head and his eyes find yours, waiting for a sign that you’re ready. You nod and he watches your expression with parted lips as he enters you, stretching you, filling you completely.

“Oh my God,” you moan, arching your back as sweet bliss takes over your senses.

Henry raises to his knees, holding your thighs in his hands as he watches his cock pump into you, “Fuck, your cunt looks so good stretched around me.” He lowers himself over you again, slipping his arms around you, squeezing you tight against him. “You feel so good.”

You raise your lips to his and his mouth covers yours as he rocks slowly over you. Your fingers slip into his hair, over his shoulders and down his arms and back again. Although you had months apart, your bodies seem to sync quickly, settling into a familiar rhythm. Usually, Henry would change positions after a time, but he doesn't, seemingly content to stay close, watching your every reaction. He kisses you sometimes, sometimes he closes his eyes, appearing to be lost in the sensations. But mostly he looks at you with a small smile on his lips.

He reaches between your bodies and presses his thumb against your clit while his hand lays flat against your belly, pressing down firmly. He remembers your body so well and it doesn’t take long for your thighs to quiver and your body winds tighter and tighter. He builds you steadily, eyes wandering over your body until you shout out his name.

“That’s it,” he says groaning your name, “Cum for me, baby, I know you can do it.”

You close your eyes as you shatter and with a shout as your body surges, undulating beneath him as euphoric heat burns through your veins. You gasp for breath as your hazy mind clears.

“God, I’ve missed watching you cum,” Henry mutters in your ear as his gentle thrusts become harder and an urgency overtakes his movements. “You have no idea what it does to me. You’re gonna make me cum.”

Weak from your release, you can barely hold on as he calls your name and he throws his head back with gritted teeth. He groans as he holds himself deep within you while his cock throbs deep in your core, spilling thick ribbons of cum inside you with every lurid pulse.

Henry’s head falls into the crook of your neck, his sweat slickened forehead burrows into you as his lips move over your skin. You stroke his hair and caress his back, neither of you seeming to want this moment to end.

Eventually Henry lifts his head, his eyes appear to be full of a nervous anticipation, as if he feared… something. You look back at him confused, then it hits you and you let a smile play over your lips as you give him your reassurance.

“I’m not going anywhere Henry.”

[star2fishmeg]

Hellooooo~i was wondering if you are doing any request if you are I really loved your high&low x reader story so much I was kinda hoping you would do something with rocky I simp for that fucker so much lol have a good one ☺️

Treasure

Pairing: Rocky x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, kinda short, mention of a bruise

Summary: a domestic morning with Rocky before the chaos begins

Authors note: thank you so much! I'm personally a heavy Murayama gal but I hope I did Rocky some justice here! Thank you for requesting! I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK AGES I WAS SO BUSY I REALLY APPRECIATE THE PATIENCE😭

Request: above

Rocky was a quiet guy, only speaking when he deemed necessary, voice deep and never raised. It was surprising how he looked so youthful despite spending his days scowling and listening to S.W.O.R.D matters, which by the way, were slightly boring now and then. He had his bad days however, where he just lacked the energy to get up from the sofas of Club Heaven, and the lights deeming too blistering for his head to handle. These were the days he broke any remaining highway laws to get home to his beloved.

It was no secret that he did love women, not in an objectified manner, but as a whole, for their strength and what they stood for. He didn't believe that they should endure any more horror than they already had to, which is why he kept y/n away from the White Rascals completely. However this idea of being on the ball always backfired as he always found himself never wanting to leave the comfort of the bed.

July daybreak seeped through his blinds, warming the skin of his lover. Rocky had insisted she slept near the window, so that when the summer came around she could wake up pleasantly. Either way, she always would. Tired eyes fluttered open, his soft features clearing up into her vision. Seeing his muscles in such a relaxed state was a blessing: duvet ruffled down to his stomach, arm slung over her waist while his bleached locks fell over his eyes. He never looked so angelic, only in the mornings. That's possibly why, despite feeling groggy, she loved mornings. Think about it, what was more serene than waking up to somebody you have undying love for? There isn't anything else, and if there is, it's wrong. Slowly reaching her hand to his face, her fingers lightly brushed against his cheekbone. It was such a shame it had a healing bruise, the purple ruining his angelic glow. Continuing to caress his features, she cupped his cheek, gently so he wouldn't wake. She couldn't help but smile and how perfectly it moulded into his bone structure, no-one else could ever have hands soft enough to calm all his nerves, because he in fact, buried a lot of nerves within him. He was a leader, he had to remain strong, but her touch would relax every muscle in his body and he'd melt like putty in her hands.

Rocky stirred, rolling onto his back at the tickling sensation on his skin. Giggling, y/n shifted to prop herself up on her elbow, gazing lovingly at the man below her. Her fingertips grazed over his chest, drawing no particular patterns as his chest rose and sank under the rays of the sun. Such an endearing sight is one that could be taken as an art piece, conveying such a peaceful emotion that brings true tranquility to the eye. It was these little moments in life she treasured the most; Rocky, at his utmost peace of mind. Y/n layed her palm flat against his built chest, leaning down to place a feathery kiss on his cheek before trailing these down his neck and body, pulling her lips away just as she reached his naval.

"Morning, baby." His gruff voice spoke up. Y/n turned her head towards him, looking again him through her eyelashes before sliding her hand tenderly back to his cheek.

"Good morning, handsome. Sleep well?" She smiled, pressing her soft lips to his for a slow and lazy kiss, those types where they moves so in-sync it's intoxicating.

He smiled, pushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, "Always with you." He mumbled, pulling her back into a languid kiss, tasting the previous night's toothpaste on her tongue. Not that he minded, any kiss was gold to him. His coarse hands placed themselves on her hips, pulling her body on top of his and caressing the exposed skin as gently as he could. Y/n dipped her face into the crook of his neck, pecking butterfly kisses anywhere she could reach. Rocky, despite how scarred and chapped his palms were, always tried his best to leave delicate touches on her, airy enough to light little fires over her skin to return the sensations he always recieved. His hands slid up and down her back before securing themselves firmly on her arse.

"M'sorry, I have to get up for work." His voice vibrated through his chest, huskier than usual, in her ears.

"Do you have to go? Can't we stay like this a little longer?" Y/n arms tightly around his shoulders, pressing their chests and bodies together dangerously.

"Darling, you know I'd love to stay." His lips drew into a warm smile. Inhaling her natural flowery scent, he pecked her shoulder slowly, wasting no moment where his plump lips met the warmth of her skin. Rocky truly loved mornings, waking up to his most treasured love. If he weren't a leader of a feared gang, he'd want the best for his love: a comfortable home, secure careers, perhaps even a family of their own (if she wanted that). But in their current timeline, the White Rascals were the closest to a family he could acquire. As long as he had y/n, he had all the treasure in the world that he could ask for. If anyone were to breathe around her, well, then they'd have to deal with Rocky.

[Masterlist]

[Request]

[bluerevs-a]

             somehow,  they  have  gotten  this  far  into  a  conversation  without  elena  bringing  up  that  he  was  on  a  date  just  an  hour  before.  marcus  was  nearly  positive  that  it  would  be  the  first  thing  that  flew  between  her  gritted  teeth.  the  whole  drive  here,  he  had  prepared  for  another  confrontation,  utterly  convinced  and  ready  for  the  bell  to  initiate  their  first  round  as  soon  as  he  put  his  car  into  park.  he  stood  in  front  of  her  pleasantly  surprised,  but  confused,  until  he  remembered  every  time  she  knocked  on  his  door  and  the  smell  of  another  man  clung  to  her  clothes.  the  very  last  thing  he  ever  wanted  to  do  in  those  moments  was  ask  questions.

               a  voice  from  the  distance  breaks  their  attention  from  the  present  conversation,  both  of  their  heads  snapping  toward  the  sound.  immediately  can  recognize  that  it’s  her  mother,  even  if  his  vision  is  skewed  by  the  poor  cast  of  light  from  their  front  porch.  marcus  fidgets  where  he  stands  as  elena  excitedly  talks  about  him  as  if  he  wasn’t  standing  in  front  of  her,  feeling  her  mother’s  inspective  gaze  all  over  him.  as  unwarranted  as  it  may  be,  he  can’t  help  but  feel  ungentlemanly.  they  weren’t  together,  he  was  just  a  friend  who  had  nothing  to  prove  —  but  still,  a  gnawing  instinct  told  him  that  he  at  least  owed  elena’s  mother  a  proper  handshake.  finds  it  to  convince  himself  that  this  compulsion  has  nothing  to  do  with  his  own  subconscious  desire  for  her  mother’s  approval,  but  instead  just  the  way  he  was  raised.  he  tries  desperately  to  distract  himself  from  how  awkward  this  feels,  mind  floating  to  a  new  curiosity:  did  elena  ever  speak  about  him  to  her  mom  before?  her  friends?  or  did  he  just  live  in  this  clandestine  space  in  her  life,  easily  jettisoned  to  the  periphery  of  her  mind  when  he  wasn’t  vying  for  her  attention?  that  train  of  thought  feels  worse  than  staying  present  in  this  conversation,  so  he  feels  himself  re-enter  just  as  the  woman  waves  at  him.  he’s  quick  to  return  a  wave  of  his  own,  offering  a  smile  that  hopefully  translates  as  a  sort  of  apology  for  the  commotion.  when  she  disappears  inside,  marcus  ignores  the  moving  blinds  and  elena’s  willingness  to  skate  over  the  interaction.  “she  seems  nice,”  he  pressed,  albeit  genuine.  “and  you  got  to  use  that  word  you  love  so  much  for  me: friend.”  demeanor  is  patronizing  as  he  stuffs  his  hands  inside  his  pockets,  remembering  all  too  well  his  last  reaction  from  her  proposal  of  friendship. 

               “yes,  i’ve  seen  pretty  in  pink.  that’s  my  karaoke  song.”  soon  enough  he’s  joining  along  in  the  lyrics,  any  attempt  of  singing  is  interrupted  by  his  own  low  laughter.  thoroughly  amused  at  the  contrast  of  her  so  passively,  yet  perfectly,  nailing  notes  in  relation  to  his  tone-deaf  endeavor  of  trying  to  hold  a  tune.  “that  song  and  ‘beast  of  burden’  by  the  stones  are  my  karaoke  anthems  —  but  i  usually  need  an  audience  and  a  whole  lot  of  courage  for  that  one.”  the  nickname  flows  from  her  mouth  as  if  she’d  given  it  thought,  but  he’s  grimacing  to  showcase  his  disapproval.  “that  name  can’t  stay  —  no  way.”  her  flattery  has  him  glancing  away,  eyes  flickering  to  her  car  in  the  driveway,  the  tree  in  her  front  yard,  anything  but  her  face.  he  refuses  to  let  any  of  them  permeate,  knowing  that  as  convincing  as  her  words  were,  this  was  a  hypothetical.  her  viewpoint  seems  genuine,  but  it  throws  him  for  a  loop.  he  felt  as  if  he  barely  knew  her  at  all.  maybe  he  could  spout  off  random  facts  about  her,  but  marcus  knew  nothing  about  the  real  her,  elena  at  her  core.  he  doesn’t  argue,  though.  “i’m  always  looking  to  learn  more,”  says  passively,  finally  meeting  her  eyes  again.  granted,  he  could  probably  know  everything  about  her  and  it  probably  still  wouldn’t  be  enough  from  his  perspective.  when  it  came  to  elena,  he  was  never  full. 

               more  compliments  and  flattery  from  her  and  marcus  is  fidgeting  again.  this  wasn’t  what  he  expected  by  a  long  shot.  he  was  ready  for  a  full-fledged  fight,  a  knock-down  drag-out  that  the  whole  neighborhood  could  place  bets  on.  truthfully,  he  came  here  tonight  to  finally  end  it  all.  he  wanted  to  go  no  contact,  delete  her  from  everything.  try  to  finally  purge  himself  of  his  every  memory of  her.  he  wanted  to  tell  her  that  he  couldn’t  handle  being  on  the  sidelines  of  her  life,  and  if  elena  really  wanted  the  truth,  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  in  the  same  boat  in  that  regard.  both  of  them  were  always  reaching  for  something,  grappling  for  the  other's  attention,  constantly  eaten  up  with  jealousy.  the  photos  that  brought  him  here  were  evidence  enough  of  that,  even  if  elena  couldn’t  admit  it  herself.  they  were  a  clear  countermove;  some  sort  of  a  reminder  that  she  was  still  here,  holding  a  power  over  him  that  no  one  else  ever  could.  there  was  no  coincidence  of  the  subsequent  bombardment  of  photos  once  he  posted  a  picture  of  mila,  either.  “you’re  sorry  for  the  name  calling,  or  flipping  me  the  bird?  just  so  i  know  which  to  forgive  you  for.”  lilts  his  head  quizzically,  brows  elevated  slight.  he  so  desperately  wanted  to  point  out  the  dissimilarity  in  their  respective  reactions  to  seeing  the  other  in  someone’s  arms.  marcus  inarguably  had  experienced  the  worst  between  the  two  of  them  -  when  elena’s  boyfriend  pulled  her  in,  he  was  all  over  her.  tongue  down  her  throat,  hands  on  her  as  if  she  were  an  item  rather  than  a  human  being.  all  he  could  do  was  walk  away,  even  if  it  felt  like  the  entire  building  had  fallen  on  top  of  him.  he  was  silent,  suppressed  it  all,  crawled  into  a  dark  depression  that  engulfed  him  for  months.  but  when  elena  saw  a  simple  hug  between  him  and  mila,  she  drew  the  attention  of  everyone  in  that  room,  flipping  him  an  obscenity  and  shouting  across  the  hall.  it  corroborated  that  he  wasn’t  alone  in  the  difficulty  in  all  of  this.  a  clean  break  was  the  only  thing  they  hadn’t  tried,  and  if  actually  being  together  wasn’t  an  option,  a  real  parting  of  ways  may  be  all  they  have. 

               a  shrug  rolls  off  of  his  shoulders  at  her  bewilderment,  “i’m  more  surprised  that  all  it’s  taken  to  impress  you  was  just  having  a  simple  knowledge  of  80’s  movies.”  still,  he’s  hyper  focused  on  the  fact  that  she  was  obviously  going  out.  the  longer  he  gets  to  look  at  her,  the  more  it  bothers  him.  she  looked  beautiful,  and  selfishly,  he  wanted  this  view  for  himself.  “it  sounds  like  what  i  would’ve  wanted  doesn’t  matter,”  he  counters,  eyes  narrowed.  “am  i  right?”  won’t  say  what  he’s  really  thinking:  that  he  couldn’t  have  cared  less  what  she  was  wearing  when  she  showed  up,  that  he  was  just  elated  that  she  was  there.  “i  guess  i  should  get  going,”  he  finally  says,  knowing  he  didn’t  resolve  anything  at  all.  if  anything,  things  felt  even  more  askew  between  them  after  such  a  positive  interaction.  “you  look  like  you  have  somewhere  much  more  important  to  be,”  attempts  to  sound  innocuous,  but  he’s  clearly  leading. 

"you know that one too." voice came out equally as excited, eyes still glowing like happy pools of honey. cheeks remained hurting from more of the huge smiling she was doing, added joy reaching her eyes as he even picked out another scene she loved and elena softly laughed. "in my opinion, it still works." she confirmed in amusement, about to add something else until–

"elena!" the voice made her startled, causing body to jump as her mother's voice trailed outside. she turned and saw her hanging out the front door. "why are you yelling?" elisa scolded. "and who is that?" the dark haired woman also small in size squinted across her yard, it didn't look like the usual boy she hated standing there. did it not remind her of the strange boy she saw going through her house in the morning time forever ago, that she definitely hadn't forgotten about? how many boyfriends does her daughter have? "i'm sorry. no one– i mean. my friend." elena momentarily fretted, cheeks flushing red, "he just understood my sixteen candles reference. isn't THAT so cool? he knows say anything, too." now elena expressed her excitement to her addled mother, gossiping about him right in front of him. "your what? reference? oh... okay. sure, that's nice. keep doing that, keep referencing. just be quieter about it, don't wake your sister up or the rest of the neighbors." she reminded, making a gentle shh sound, her index finger pressed to her lips. "okay, i will. i'm sorry. goodnight, i love you mommy." since she forgot to tell her. "te amo, elena. be safe." elisa lastly said in concern, gave her 'friend' a curious look but a polite wave then went back inside. closed the door but definitely going to watch them secretly out her living room window.

the loquacious brunette turned back to marcus like that never even happened, picking back up where she left off, "and pretty in pink? have you seen that one? i love everything about it and there's that iconic song at the end... if you leave by the orchestral maneuvers in the dark. you know. it goes like, 'if you leave, don't leave now. –you always said we'd meet again, i touch you once, i touch you twice. i won't let go at any price'." she quietly sings. "you know what, i just want to go to an 80s prom so all of these songs could be playing. and i never went to prom so that would be fitting and fun." one shoulder shrugged, then a cute smile stretched across her ruby lips, "of course it's your name, marcusaurus." mixing his name into a dinosaur name that makes her softly laugh. "i would and over any other generic hollywood guy all these girls lose their minds about. you're the most handsome and funniest. sweetest." she reached up and tapped under his chin. sweet, charming, funny, handsome. "but that's not the main reason why i do. i choose you because you know me." meaning she doesn't let people have that side of her that makes her feel completely achingly vulnerable without trust, understanding and love. and he does, he's all of those things. her walls are built high when it comes to that. it's why she'd rather have rory continuing to cheat on her than ever let him have that part of her. once elena stood straight again, melting into his words and the blush on his face, and he proves again why he's her choice. a sugary smile adorning her features and a loving look in her eye takes over, heart beating stupidly faster as she wished she could learn more of what he thought when he first saw her. least she could admire him blushing a few seconds longer.

"of course you look cute right now," brunette confirms with a shy grin once they're both standing straight again and finger tips still tingle from his touch, gaze trailing over his outfit, "i like your jeans," she points out, "and your shoes. i have those same converses upstairs, i should've worn them. we could've matched." elena smiles amusingly at the thought, but totally would because she actually loved the idea matching with her favorite person. "i appreciate that you were wanting to but i'm kinda glad you didn't now." because then she wouldn't had a reason to be mad at him, if she hadn't been mad then she wouldn't sent those pictures and then he wouldn't be here now. "but i forgive you. and i'm sorry, too." she could also sleep better tonight knowing she's apologized for calling him names. "am not. not my fault you don't believe i have a crazy evil twin with a weird name. so whatever she did, i don't know what you mean. but i'm sure she'll appreciate being compared to sports illustrated." smiling innocently, she could never let him know how much she loves that.

brows shot up, crazy surprise entered her voice because he plucked her thoughts straight from her mind, "HOW did you know i was going to say that? .. i was going to say you came as if you saw the bat signal." she laughed, bewildered how he read her mind– how he always is reading her mind. all the time, except for when he needs to ironically enough. something registers within her after a beat, the way marcus says that and him gesturing to her keys. wondering where she's going. if she has learned anything about him, it's the way her intuition doesn't even have to kick in to easily sense there's jealousy. which is yet another thing she didn't expect, she thought he was too caught up in his new friend to ever rouse with jealousy again. response was contemplated before another second went by as she stared up at him and then answered, "that's because i don't wear my heels for anyone but me." she sassed with an amused smile. meaning, she wouldn't dare wear something to try and impress a man– if that's what he was implying. should she pretend though? it would be enticing to see how he responds if she did play along with it. then brain flipped over to another page, curiosity oozing out of her with a teasing tone, "did you want me to?"

[bratkook]

not yet. jjk

not yet, almost, right now pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, some angst, pg-13 word count. 4.1k warnings. mentions of infidelity, some feelings come to light, unrequited pining, spur of the moment kissing, light grinding on the dance floor, jungkook pops a boner and wants to cry</3 summary. jungkook feels the pang of guilt in his gut when you spot your recent ex out with his new girl, and what better way to make the jerk hurt than to have him believe you were now dating him, the neighbor he had been insecure about your whole relationship note. this is based off a request sent a while back for numbers #43 and #67 from this prompt list! (i think this might turn into a small drabble series...mayhaps)

Jungkook can spot your discomfort easily, the occasional colorful light bouncing off your face showing him the flash of anger in your eyes. The only reason he’s not currently running for the hills, knowing very well how mean you can get when angry, is because your glare isn’t being sent at him. Not yet at least. 

Because of this, he allows himself to enjoy the cute way your nose scrunches up, lips twisting in displeasure as you stare at the crowd of people, eyes locked onto an unlucky bystander. Honestly, he wishes he could hear your thoughts, wanting to know exactly what has your panties in a bunch, ruining your mood instead of letting you enjoy the expensive fruity drink he had just bought you as payment for allowing him to drag you out of the house. Jungkook isn’t a mind reader though, so he decides on his next best option. 

“Who’s got you looking all sour?” he sighs, resting his elbow on the counter of the bar as he inches closer to you, head at your level in an attempt to match your line of sight. 

“Him,” you seethe, brows pinching together, showing those light wrinkles in between them, a product of how expressive you were and definitely something Jungkook always teases you about. 

Jungkook can only hum in question, eyes squinting in the low light as he attempts to find the him you’re talking about. With a slight turn of your head, you’re inches from Jungkook’s cheek, the obvious look of confusion etched onto his soft features letting you know he was absolutely lost. With a soft huff your fingers are gripping his cheeks and moving his face in the right direction, free hand pointing as discreetly as you could to the man in question. 

You know he spots him, you can feel his jaw tense underneath your grip. What you don’t feel is the sudden guilt that fills him up, sloshing in his stomach and mixing with the liquor he just drank until he feels a little queasy. Jungkook instantly regrets coaxing you out of your little dungeon with the promise of cheering you up. If he had known the spawn of satan–dubbed your ex boyfriend and also the reason why you were in a downward spiral–would be here, he would have just let you rot in your bed like you originally wanted. 

“Do you wanna go?” he mutters out, cheeks still squished by your slowly tightening grip, and he begins to accept the fact that you might just break his jaw right now. It’s fine, he thinks, he deserves it. 

“No,” you grunt stubbornly, fingers finally releasing him as you turn back around and choose to face the endless amount of bottles behind the bar. He may be the reason you were currently on a never ending cycle of watching sad, heartbreaking chick-flicks from the early 2000’s, dumping you with the lame excuse that you two were on different paths and he just wasn’t ready for commitment. It’s something you accepted, albeit jaw tense and eye twitching as you did so, but you figured you would eventually find your way back to each other. 

Your mind was warped, believing you were meant to be, that this was just a mere bump in the road that you would laugh at together in the future. 

That is, until he blocked you on all social media, and you had to hear from your best friend that he had moved on days later and was now with some blonde-haired, fresh faced, supermodel-esque woman that you could not get yourself to hate. Instead you took to endlessly scrolling through her instagram while you stuffed your face with milk chocolate and questioned why you had ever convinced yourself that you had a future with him. 

“Good, he’s a dick and you shouldn’t let him ruin your night.” Jungkook grumbles, slinging his arm around you as you hold your forgotten drink by your lips. He had seen your relationship with Hajoon play out from the very beginning, knowing slightly more intimate details than he would like considering you were next door neighbors and happened to share a wall between your bedrooms. 

The friendship you had with Jungkook blossomed right after you moved in four years ago, friendly neighborly talks morphing into actual conversations, and eventually inviting each other into your apartments where you would attempt to beat him at any game you had in your Nintendo switch. It was a great dynamic, providing the two of you with a sense of relief after your busy days at work. 

Unfortunately, the second you got with Hajoon was the end of any of those playful matches, your ex’s jealousy making you distance yourself in an attempt to keep your relationship at bay. 

Jungkook can’t say he didn’t see it coming, having heard the way you’d cry anytime you had an argument and your ex would leave, slamming the door behind him so hard Jungkook’s walls would rattle. It had become such a common occurence it was a shock he hadn’t marched out of his house, met Hajoon in the hall, and gave him a clean right hook in your honor. 

He was secretly hoping you’d break up with the jerk for your own good–and maybe for his own personal reasons too. Your ex was right in being wary of Jungkook, knowing the way a boy's mind worked, sensing Jungkook’s feelings for you in a way you were too blind to see. Jungkook wasn’t a dick though, he could tell you wanted your relationship to work so he kept his distance. 

When weeks went by without the sight of him he began to think you finally did it, a call for celebration that made him want to go over to your place to challenge you for a friendly match of Mario Kart like you used to. 

Until he ran into you in the hall and took note of what a mess you were, his smile falling from his face when he saw how defeated you looked. 

Your shameful confirmation that you had been royally dumped made his heart twist for you, his selfless tendencies urging him to help you feel better in any way he could. You were thankful for it, grateful that he was keeping you company while you moped around, providing you with just the right amount of distraction to allow you to breathe and slowly heal. 

Honestly, today would have been just another day if it wasn’t what was supposed to be your two year anniversary. The second Jungkook heard the telltale sounds of The Notebook starting up in your bedroom—something he hadn’t heard through the drywall separating your rooms in weeks—is when he knew something was up. 

Jump to: now. 

With Jungkook looking sheepish and wishing he had chosen another bar, and you gripping the cup so hard it was a shock it hadn’t shattered in your grasp. 

“He’s with her,” you whisper out harshly, head downcast, swirling the liquid around in your glass as you force yourself not to look back at them. The vision of them coddled up in the corner, her arms wrapped around his while she laughed at whatever he whispered in her ear had stung enough the first time, you weren’t jealous but the pain still lingered inside of you.. 

“Just try to ignore him. Don’t let it bother you,” he attempts to reassure you, the bass of the music muffling the way you try to deny the fact that you’re clearly upset, his attention now elsewhere. 

Jungkook takes a chance and looks back once more, eyes narrowed as he searches for Hajoon in the crowd. He spots him with more ease the second time, seeing the way he lazily drinks from his glass while the blonde rests her head on his shoulder, lips moving as she tells him something that makes him smile. 

“Oh shit,” Jungkook chokes, eyes widening slightly in shock when Hajoon meets his gaze. He’s been caught, too late for him to avert his eyes and pretend he wasn’t blatantly staring. He can only give him a tight-lipped smile that he hopes doesn’t come across as an invitation to come say hello. 

“What?” you question, turning to stare at Jungkook and seeing the look on his face, doe eyes swirling with a mix of emotions. 

“He saw me,” he speaks through clenched teeth, lips barely moving as he does so, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. 

“What?” you repeat harshly, setting the drink back down as your palms grow clammy, finger tugging at your shirt’s neckline when the air becomes thick and stuffy. 

“Oh fuck, he’s coming.” Jungkook throws back the remainder of his drink, grimacing at the burn lingering in the back of his throat before placing the cup down. “Just follow along,” he whispers into your ear, standing tall as Hajoon approaches the two of you. 

He’s ballsy, Jungkook will give him that, more so when he completely ignores Jungkook in favor of calling out your name. 

“Y/N, oh my god is that you?”

Jungkook can’t stop the way he glares at the bastard, not even the small jab to his side that you deliver with your elbow is enough to wipe the look off his face. Still, you pause to breathe, shutting your eyes briefly before plastering a look of surprise on your features as you turn around to face him. 

“Hajoon, what are you doing here?” Your voice has risen a few octaves, pitch surpassing the normal customer service voice and entering unhinged and borderline crazed territory. Hajoon doesn’t notice though, and neither does the girl strapped to his side, the two of them smiling at you and not giving Jungkook a glance. 

“Oh, we’re just celebrating our four month anniversary.” The girl finally speaks up, giving Hajoon a kiss to the cheek and completely missing the way your face instantly falls. Her innocent statement has you coming to the sudden realization that this son of a bitch had been cheating on you for the last two months of your relationship. 

Jungkoon spots it easily though, can sense the way your body tenses up beside him, no doubt will the rage flare up in the form of hot tears spilling over and onto your cheeks soon. One look at Hajoon’s pleased face is enough to not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the way he affects you. 

“Young love,” Jungkook sighs, long arm pulling you into his side obnoxiously, seeing the way Hajoon eyes the two of you carefully. “I can relate. We’ve been together for...what is it again babe, five months?”

Hajoon doesn’t even attempt to be discreet, eyes bulging out and fist curling at his side. He had hated Jungkook the second he met him, intimidated by his physique and the way he made you laugh with ease, threatened by him in every sense. It was the reason he told you to cut ties with him, his fragile ego not trusting your neighbor, fully convinced all Jungkook would have to do was beckon you over for you to leave him. 

Any man would feel threatened by him, just looking at him now with his long hair framing his face, the challenging glimmer in his eyes as he gauges the other’s reaction. Hajoon follows Jungkook’s arm, seeing how it snakes around your body and settles with his palms curling around your waist, fingers gently squeezing your skin. 

Jungkook chuckles when Hajoon meets his gaze once more, free hand adjusting the yellow tinted sunglasses perched on his head—something that should make him look like an A class douchebag, because who the hell brings shades to a fucking club. But like all things, Jungkook makes it work. 

All of this tied in with that small, white lie, makes Hajoon’s head spin in a jealous whirlwind. It was fine and dandy if he cheated on you but how dare you give him the same treatment, with your neighbor of all people. 

“Five months?” He bites first, eyes bouncing back and forth between the two of you. 

The insecurity is written all over his face, it almost makes him shrink in size and for some reason it fills you with confidence. You stand taller now, sliding your own arm around Jungkook’s side as you nuzzle into him. 

“Almost six.” Those two words are the nails into his coffin of insecurity, probably increasing his trust issues for years to come, but considering it was no longer your problem, you don’t care. 

“Wow, almost half a year. That’s so cute, isn’t it?” His girlfriend coos, perfectly manicured hand placed over her chest, totally missing the way Hajoon looks like a kicked puppy. 

Now that he doesn’t have the one up, he’s no longer interested in sticking around, the gross green monster perched on his shoulder laughing at his misfortune. 

“Adorable,” he grunts out. “We should get back to our table. It was nice seeing you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before walking away, his girlfriend giving you a small wave before following behind him. The growing distance between you makes your muscles relax, sagging in relief as you release Jungkook’s side and hunch over the sticky bar. 

“I think I'm gonna puke,” you groan out, eyes going crossed when you feel Jungkook rest two fingers against your lips, sending him a questionable stare. 

“Please don’t, that drink was expensive. You’re only allowed to hurl as the grand finale of the night, and we’re just getting started.”

Jungkook smiles when you shut your eyes and groan, your mood was already down in the dumps, and despite the small rush you got from putting Hajoon in his place, you were still craving the comfort of your bed. “Can we go?”

The bartender proceeds to place a glass of water in front of you, assuming your slumped state was due to intoxication and not the gross remnants of running into an ex-boyfriend. You grab the glass regardless, taking a big gulp of the cool liquid and sighing when it helps calm you down. 

“If you really want to go we can, but at least try to loosen up.” His smile is genuine, cheeks pushed out as he looks down at you with kind eyes. “We’ll stay on the opposite side, and if you’d still rather watch the Notebook for the millionth time, we can do that.”

With a half-hearted groan you nod, allowing Jungkook to order another round of drinks for you to enjoy before eventually dragging you out onto the dance floor. He knows how to keep the atmosphere up, goofy smile on his lips as he bobs his head along to the loud beat, hands clasped with yours and wiggling in time to the music. 

“You love this song,” he manages to say through the noise, pulling you closer as he settles into a spot on the decently packed floor. You couldn’t even deny it, he heard just how often you played it through the paper thin walls. That playlist full of hit 2000’s songs was your guilty pleasure, and it was the main reason he had decided to bring you to this club on their themed night. 

Jungkook was attentive, he knew so much about you and played it off casually, always listening to things you say you enjoy, storing them into a folder labeled under your name and shoved into a very important part of his brain. 

You knew he was trying his best to get you to enjoy yourself, so you give in, beginning to sing along to the lyrics of an old song that brought back a flood of memories that made you smile back at him. Jungkook feels the first burst of success bloom inside him, joining in with your singing, raising up your clasped hands as you begin dancing. 

The smile doesn’t leave his face as he stares down at you, the few drinks you’ve had loosening you up and allowing you to push the earlier thoughts away. He feels mesmerized, eyes locked onto you, the flash of colors painting your skin, illuminating you in alternating shades of purple and blue. His heart does that annoying thing where it skips and stutters in his chest, mouth drying up as you drop your head back and sway your hips, slowly loosening the grip in your hands and turning around until your back is dangerously close to his chest.

Jungkook’s hands hover in the air for a moment, panic over taking his brain as he tries to remain calm. He could do this—he has done this before—the two of you would go clubbing before you got with your ex, and dancing definitely played a big part of it. So why was his brain short circuiting?

Sure your ass was brushing up against his crotch with each sway of your hips, but you were dancing, so his mind and his dick could fuck right off. He shakes his head to clear any dirty thoughts as his hands loosely grip your hips, testing the water, and when you smile and look back at him he feels less wary and sways his hips in time with yours. 

You can feel his chest brush against your back, breath fanning along your skin from his close proximity, only getting closer when you lift an arm back and hold his shoulder to pull him tighter against you. The heat sticks to your skin, thin shirt dampening with sweat from the warmth of the bodies around you, everyone in their own state of drunkenness as the bass flowed through their chests. 

Going out like this had been something you missed, used to frequenting the bars and clubs by your apartment with your friends and Jungkook, something that came to a halt because your ex claimed he hated that kind of scene. Something that was clearly a lie considering he was here now, enjoying himself as him and his new girlfriend danced along. 

You didn’t realize when he made his way onto the dance floor, enough distance separating you, but now that you had spotted him you feel like he’s way too close for comfort. In a similar position to you and Jungkook, Hajoon is free to look around while his girlfriend dances on him, eyes locked onto you with a smirk that makes your skin crawl. 

Jungkook is too lost in the music to notice where your attention has gone, earlier effects of the alcohol settling into his bloodstream, warming him up in that familiar way he welcomes. When the song changes, flowing into the next bass heavy anthem, you turn around in his grasp, giving him a brief glance before your hands are gripping his cheeks and bringing him down into a messy kiss. 

This is definitely something he’s never done with you before.

A muffled sound of confusion is swallowed by you as he quickly falls into the motion, large palms gripping your hips, slowly sliding up your back before lightly tangling into your hair to deepen the kiss. Jungkook can taste the liquor on your tongue, mixing with his own as your tongue slips between his lips. He has no idea what came over you but his racing heart and buried crush don’t let him question it, soft lips smacking with yours, not heard between the thrumming music. 

Your fingers feel the warmth of his cheeks, how he blushes into the kiss but you attribute it to the alcohol pumping through him. Harsh breaths fan across your face as he groans, lightly pulling back for a gasp of air but you don’t allow it. “No, don’t pull away. Not yet.”

And who is he to argue with that, blindly letting you bring your lips back together in a messy kiss. Your small pleas for him to continue has all the blood rushing to his cock, the ache felt in his jeans when it starts to harden, pressing into the denim uncomfortably and only getting worse when you gently bite down onto his lip before inching back. 

“Is he still looking?” you question, breath jagged as you peer up at Jungkook’s dazed expression. 

“What?” he dumbly replies, lips swollen and shiny, eyes still focused on your own as he makes an attempt to reconnect your lips. But then your question dawns on him, like a bucket of ice cold water, it sobers him up instantly. Is he still looking?

This was all for show. 

“He’s on the far right.” You motion your head in the direction and observe his face when his eyes move over to check if Hajoon was in fact still there. He does spot him heading out in a hurry though, girlfriend trailing behind him as he exits the club entirely

“No, just saw him leave.” Jungkook clears his throat, fingers slipping out of your hair and settling down over your back just like before. He hopes his solemn expression isn’t amplified by the lights flashing across his face, trying his best to act unaffected, as if he didn’t just pop a boner on the dance floor over a revenge make-out session. 

Luckily you don’t spot his fallen expression, a wide smile spreading across your face in victory, happy that you had successfully put him in his place. 

“I’m so sorry for kissing you.” You gasp in realization, unknowingly pouring salt in the wound when you act as if kissing him was something you would never do if it wasn’t in an attempt to piss off your ex. 

“No, it’s okay,” he waves off and smiles, eyes glancing over to the bar once more. Jungkook needed a drink, maybe five—actually he wouldn’t mind going home and watching The Notebook now, that would surely give him a reason to cry with no questions asked. 

He starts to walk back to the bar with you by his side, the sad look you had earlier entirely gone, replaced with a giddy smile and a pep in your step, so he can’t say he's too upset. 

“God, you should’ve seen how mad he looked when he saw us dancing together,” you giggle, standing inches from him as he orders another drink. Before he can respond, you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him in for a hug. 

A hug, really?

Still, Jungkook sighs and wraps his own arms around your waist, a defeated smile on his face that he hides as he lets his chin rest over your head. The dip in his head makes the yellow tinted frames fall over his eyes and when he pulls back you snort at the visual, finger gently poking the bridge of them. 

“You look good in those.”

His drink gets placed in front of him then, giving him a good excuse to avoid stumbling over his words from your compliment, choosing to take a gulp of the hard liquor, wincing when it burns his throat. “Thank you,” he rasps out, grimacing at the taste and it just makes you giggle. 

“I should be thanking you. You need to be my fake boyfriend more often.”

Even more salt poured into his wound, topped with a dash of lemon juice in the form of your playful smile and nudge to his ribs, it stings. His heart ache in his chest, more so when he realizes his stupid boner was still going strong. Thankfully the dark lights prevent you from seeing it, the last thing he needed was further embarrassment. 

The yellow frames are placed back over his head as he takes another sip, nodding along to your statement with what he hopes comes across as a genuine smile on his lips once he sets his cup down. “Anytime you want Y/N.”

“I know this night didn’t end with the grand finale of me puking, but do you wanna go home and watch movies? No sappy romance ones, I'm not in the mood for crying anymore.”

He finishes his drink with ease, quickly closing his tab as he agrees. “Yeah, just let me go to the bathroom real quick.” 

You might not be in the mood for crying but he definitely was; he also needed to handle the situation in his jeans, and what better night to stoop this low than tonight. His own version of a grand finale coming in the form of jerking off in the dirty bar bathroom while maybe shedding a tear or two. 

“Okay! I’ll call an uber,” you announce cheerfully, allowing him to walk away as you settle onto one of the sticky bar stools. 

Jungkook’s chest feels heavy as he walks to the bathroom, slipping into the small room and locking the door behind him. His forehead rests against the dirty door, eyes falling shut with a groan. He wishes he had the guts to confess to his crush, needing to push the fear of ruining the friendship away from his mind, wanting to gather possible clues that could indicate that you might feel the same. 

One day, but not yet. 

[justauthoring]

Amongst Them All, I See You

Prompt: Hey! I saw that you’re taking requests, and wanted to toss one out there for you. Hope you don’t mind. by the way, i absolutely LOVE your writing!! it’s always so heartwarming and nicely worded. Anyways, I had this idea for a Tsukishima Kei x reader where maybe basically Him and the reader have a enemies-to-lovers relationship. and maybe it has something to do with yamaguchi? i was thinking it could be some kind of angst 👉👈 but if you don’t write angst that’s perfectly fine!! it doesnt have to be. feel free to twist this any way you want :) Requested by: anonymous (thank you darling!).

A/N: salty beanpole has finally made his arrival ;) Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x F!Reader

From the moment he met you, Tsukishima didn’t like you.

Now, he couldn’t exactly explain why. There wasn’t necessarily a real reason for it, just a feeling, an instinct if you will, and Tsukishima felt it best to listen to his gut. It’d never failed him before.

“Tsukki! I brought Y/N!”

By now, this is a common occurrence. Yamaguchi was all but determined to make the two of you friends, though Tsukishima couldn’t even begin to understand why, and it didn’t matter who ended up getting dragged along, the two of you found yourself constantly forced to spend time together.

Today, apparently, is no different. And the apprehensive, hesitant expression on your face is the same as always as Yamaguchi holds tightly to your wrist, you two steps behind him as you’ve probably spent the last few minutes trying to desperately convince your friend that it was alright, you didn’t mind eating lunch alone, you didn’t need company, etc. that Yamaguchi basically never listens to.

After all, you are a lot easier to convince then Tsukishima is.

You can never really say no to Yamaguchi’s soft eyes and hopeful smile, it seems.

Yamaguchi forces you to sit, before taking the spot next to you with a pleasant smile, reaching into his bag as if he hadn’t all but forced you against your will there.

And Tsukishima stares for a moment, one, two, before placing the lid back on his bento box. “I’ll be taking my leave then,” he says simply, voice dull, face blank as he moves to stand.

As Yamaguchi rushes to stop him, a hand over his own, practically pleading and spouting something like we’ve never not eaten lunch together -- something Tsukishima could really care less about, he misses the second of hurt that flashes in your eyes. It’s brief, passing with a blink, and then your face is settling into a scowl, cutting Yamaguchi’s begging off;

“Am I really all that awful to be with?”

“No--”

“Yes--”

Yamaguchi glares at him, to which Tsukishima rolls his eyes, finally sitting back down in his seat with a sigh.

And so, lunch continues on as it usually does. Tsukishima sits there silently, maybe putting a word in or two if Yamaguchi looks at him expectantly, while the two of you talk adamantly amongst one another. You’re loud, painfully so, like you always are, and Tsukishima is all but torturously reminded of Hinata, and he can already feel a headache coming.

He doesn’t listen to the conversation, not really at least. He does take note, mainly because he can’t help to, like he always does, that while you always seem to be loud at lunch, or after practice, it’s only ever when you’re with Yamaguchi. In class, you’re quiet. Almost eerily so. And you’re usually alone. 

Scratch that, before Yamaguchi and him, you were always alone.

Tsukishima pretends like he hadn’t noticed, like when Yamaguchi comes bounding up to him one day, excited to introduce you, he didn’t already know who you were. Because, it seemed like lots didn’t. Your presence is often lost amongst the crowd, and for the longest time, Tsukishima felt like he was the only one who did see you.

Head turned down, arms wrapped around yourself, you so purposely tried to avoid attention but Tsukishima always noticed you.

He doesn’t tell people things very often, and even Yamaguchi doesn’t know the things he swears he’ll never tell anyone. So, for the longest time, you’re like this secret he keeps. He notices you, you don’t notice him, and he sees things that no one else does.

He sees the frustration on your face when you open your locker only to find that your books and homework have been ripped. He sees the way you rush from class to class, desperate to be in the halls for as little time as possible. He sees the way that one girl from class, Tsukishima doesn’t care to learn her name, slams you up against your locker one day after school, and hears the low threats thrown your way, ones he can’t make sense of.

And he sees the way you always wear your blazer, even when it’s blazing hot outside. You choose the longer skirt option, and are always wearing knee high socks. Your skin is constantly covered, hiding something.

But then Yamaguchi introduces you to him one day, like he didn’t already know who are you, and you’re all shy smiles and quiet whispers to him but you’re bright eyed and giggly when you turn to Yamaguchi. You speak to him like he’s a friend you’ve had for years, rather then a few weeks, and Tsukishima jealousy bubbles up to hate towards you for some sick, twisted reason he can’t properly explain.

And it’s just been like that for the past two months.

“We don’t have practice after school,” Yamaguchi offers, eyeing Tsukishima before turning to you. “Would you like to hang after school?”

Tsukishima notices, out of the corner of his eye, the way your body straightens at his words, eyes widening slightly in panic. Panic that’s only there for a moment, something that Yamaguchi completely misses.

“Uh, sure. I just have to, um, uh, drop something off quickly after class. I can meet you outside, by the gym?”

Yamaguchi shrugs, “sure.”

And Tsukishima wonders how Yamaguchi didn’t notice how plainly obvious a lie that was.

“Anyways, um,” you move to gather your stuff, quickly, movements stiff. “I have to talk to the teacher before class, so I’ll just meet you guys there, okay?” And you’re standing before Yamaguchi can really say otherwise, waving at him, before your eyes fall on his, as if debating, before turning, rushing off.

Yamaguchi turns back to his food, completely obvious.

“I’ll be late after school too.”

“Oh?” Yamaguchi mumbles, obviously confused. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Tsukishima nods, “just got to grab something.”

-

“Ah, here you go, Y/N-chan! I’ll need them done by tomorrow!”

Your jaw all but falls to the floor.

“T-Tomorrow?” You whisper, hesitant, voice shaky. “But... this is like three days worth of homework, Suzuki-san, I couldn’t possibly--”

“But you will,” she cuts in sharply, your own eyes falling on her with a blink of surprise, wincing slightly at the deep frown on her lips. “Because you know what will happen if you don’t.”

Fingers tightening around the stack of papers, you sigh, trying to stop the shaking of your limbs as you numbly nod. “Of course, Suzuki-san,” you whisper, “I’ll have them done by tomorrow morning.”

Her hand raises in your peripheral and you flinch, expecting the worst, lips parting to apologize for whatever you did wrong -- but her hand simply falls on top of your head in a mock pat. “Perfect.” And then she’s turning without another word, not even a thanks, and as you watch her walk off, you feel your vision blur.

Your grip on the paper tightens, turning painful as you curse softly to yourself, turning around so your backs against the hall and you hastily rip open your locker to hide yourself the best you can. Luckily, everyone’s most gone off now, so there’s no prying eyes watching you cry to yourself.

Not like anyone ever notices anyway...

“You shouldn’t let her talk to you like that.”

Jumping at the voice, the eerily familiar one, you spin, wiping at your eyes desperately as you peer up at Tsukishima, shocked. “Tsukishima!” You gasp, shaking your head. “You scared me,” you try to laugh off, pressing a hand against your chest and pretend like you hadn’t just been sobbing to yourself seconds prior. “Did Yamaguchi send you to find me? I’m surprised you agreed, but i’m almost--!”

His hand slams against the locker next to yours, causing you to jump once more, blinking up at him as he glares down at you.

“Cut the bullshit.”

Laughing nervously, you shake your head; “I-I don’t know--”

“I saw everything Y/N,” he cuts in, “don’t lie to me.”

And sudden anger flares in you, frustration from before, and frustrated at him, at people constantly interrupting you, walking all over you like you were nothing but dirt. “What do you care,” you hiss, voice low as you turn, ignoring him as you grab the paper, slamming your locker shut. “You hate me.”

And there’s a pause, Tsukishima blinking in surprise that you don’t notice, before the papers ripped from your hands. You spin back around, ready to yell at him, before you notice him moving towards the trash and all but dumping the pile in.

“W-Wait!” 

You try to stop him, to no avail, and your eyes widen as you lean over the rim of the garbage can, eyeing the papers that have spread amongst the trash, rotted food and spilled drinks, soiling the paper.

Eyes wide, disbelief flooding your entire system, you turn to Tsukishima. “Why would you do that?” You whisper, shaking your head. “You don’t understand, she’ll--!”

“She’ll what?” He asks bluntly, gaze never wavering.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head; “it doesn’t matter. Just-Just help me get the paper, most of it might still be okay--”

Tsukishima grabs you by the wrist, halting you from grabbing the papers.

You spin, blinded by your anger, and shove at him in the chest. But Tsukishima barely budges, just staring down at you as you glare at him, the tears now falling once more as you feel your emotions that you’ve been hiding and building up inside of you, finally come pouring out.

“What do you even know!” You yell, voice booming. “Why do you even care? Don’t you hate me? You only tell me how annoying I am every day, constantly, and now she’ll... Suzuki-san...--”

“Y/N,” grabbing both your wrists, Tsukishima pulls gently, pulling your eyes on him. You find yourself surprised at what you see when you meet his gaze, baffled by the softened look in his gaze -- and... is that? Guilt? “Just look at me.”

You fall silent, puzzled.

“You don’t have to worry about her,” he says simply, “she won’t hurt you anymore.”

Anymore?

How does he...?

Lips parting, you try to find the words, bewildered, at a loss of words.

“Y/N--”

Pushing at his chest, you stumble away from him, shaking your head. Eyes blurred, watering, you glare up at him, while he simply stares back down at you, that same stupid guilty look on his face.

“Tsukki? Y/N...?”

Blinking, you both glance back, Yamaguchi having come to a stop before the two of you, clearly confused.

That seems to snap you out of your stupor. Wiping at your eyes, you turn, “I have to go home,” you whisper, voice quiet. “Sorry Tadashi, but I won’t be able to hang tonight.”

And then you’re taking off into a sprint, desperate to get as far away as possible.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi whispers after a moment, turning to look at his friend imploringly. “What happened--?”

Scoffing, Tsukishima just shakes his head. “Nothing.”

-

“Take your hands off of her.”

Blinking, you shift, enough to glance at the shadow that has fallen over both you and Suzuki, bewildered at the sight of Tsukishima.

But he simply ignores you, keeping his gaze trained on Suzuki who seems just as confused as you, though more angry. It doesn’t phase him however, and he simply stands there, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching his school bag tightly, as the glare on his glasses stares her down.

“Now.”

Suzuki lets go of you, and you crumble to the ground in a heap, turning to Tsukishima with a scoff. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” She laughs, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes. “Besides, this is the girls washroom, you’re not--”

He catches the hand that she waves lazily at him, and it doesn’t take a genius to know his grip is tight. She gasps in response, her face falling in pain as he glowers down at her. “I’d say bullying is worse,” he mumbles, and somehow the drawl, the uninterest in his tone of voice is even more terrifying then him being actually angry. “And I’d wonder how your teacher would feel if she knew all your perfect grades were because of Y/N?”

Suzuki’s eyes widen, clearly scared, before scoffing. “And what proof do you--”

“It’s mine and Y/N’s word against your own, Suzuki.”

She turns to you then, and so does Tsukishima, and your lips part, unsure.

“Like Y/N will say--”

“I’m done with warning you,” she whimpers slightly, and your eyes fall to the grip he stills hold of her, a hand going to your lips. “Either leave and never bother Y/N again, or you will regret it.”

He lets go of her, and there’s a pause in which Suzuki sends one last look at you, before rushing out of the bathroom without another word.

“Here.” Tsukishima’s grabbing ahold of you before you even notice, gently pulling you to your feet, and helping set you against one of the sinks before he turns, locking the bathroom door.

“Thank you,” you whisper when he turns back to you, hugging yourself.

“I told you,” he shrugs, “she won’t hurt you anymore.”

Looking down at your feet, you bite your lip. “How’d you know?”

He blinks, turning to you; “yesterday--”

“No,” you shake your head, turning to him sharply, “before that. How’d you know? No... No one ever notices. No one ever sees. Not even Tadashi.”

And Tsukishima tenses at the mention of him, the way you regard him on a first name basis when you said it right there and then -- he’d never noticed. No one did. But him.

“I noticed,” he whispers, “and I should’ve done something about it earlier.”

“It wasn’t your problem,” you shrug, before letting out a short laugh, “besides, you hate me, right? So it makes sense--”

He’s before you in seconds, shocking you to silence as he stands close, desperately close, but avoids your gaze, head tucked in, shaking his head. “I don’t...” And the words seem hard, forcing them forward, and Tsukishima suddenly seems less scary then and just... awkward.

Like he doesn’t know how to express what he’s feeling.

“I don’t... hate you.”

And you pause, letting the word sink in, before letting out a giggle, one that has Tsukishima glancing up at you in bafflement.

“Well, I’m glad,” you smile at him, the first time you’ve ever smile at him so... genuinely. “Because I don’t hate you either.”

[omiscurls]

Heyhey! I couldn’t find your rules, so idk if this is allowed or not, and if it isn’t feel free to ignore this, but may I request Childe with a reader who has depression? Thank you

tough

a/n: hi!! sorry for that, the rules are added by now, i chose not to describe depression itself, because it looks different on everyone, and you may not relate to what applies to me, but i'm hoping you'll find this enjoyable instead!!

plot: character helping the reader out of a breakdown, or a bad headspace

contains: tartaglia, kaeya

warnings: bad copying mechanisms, low mental place, nothing too serious mentioned

tartaglia

now, he's a man of action less than words, even though he's good with those, too

and to add to that, he's also a very perceptive person - if some negative vibe lingers on you for too long, he'll notice right away

however, relying on his experience, he opts to give you space to figure it out on your own, first, he wouldn't like to be making a huge deal of something that was just a worse couple of days

it's when you don't show up at your usual dinner spot, that he gets a little tingle in his brain, telling him to not dismiss it this time.

and so, he makes his way over to your place.

"ya there?" you hear on the other side of the door, followed by urgent knocking, sort of breaking you out of a trance, but you can't find it in you to go and answer it. he'll go away, you think, even better. your apartment is messy, you're messy, too, and it's not the right time to be receiving visitors. so you stay quiet.

"you do know i know you're in there, right?" he speaks up again "the blinds would be down if you weren't"

come in, you want to shout, and although no voice leaves your throat, soon the door opens anyway.

"hey, what's up, you weren't on the- oh." he stops in his tracks in the middle of the corridor, and you're already mentally prepared to a snarky remark about your sorroundings, but the only thing he says is a lighthearted "why're you sitting on the floor?"

the first thing he thinks about is to level with you, so he plops himself down right beside you, and you bet it looks funny - you in yesterday's clothes, in a big, probably smelly, mess, and then a harbinger in full military outfit right beside you.

"i-" you try to say, but your throat seems too dry and worn out, so you opt for a whisper "look at his place"

he indeed does, hinting the small note of desperation in your voice.

"what about it?"

"it's a mess!" you sigh, covering your face with your hands, out of both embarrassment, and fatigue. you take a big breath before continuing "so i wanted to clean it up, i even brought all the... all the things, but it's so much stuff to do, and i'm tired, and- and i don't know!" you choose to stop as not to snap right then and there. "i can't even do my shitty chores right like an adult" you mumble, massaging your temples.

"and is sitting on the floor helping?" he simply asks, and for a second, you're almost mad at him for not being more... cooey and fuss over you a bit more. he sounds cold.

"what are you-"

"really, is it helping?" he repeats "because from how i see it, every little thing would seem bigger if you looked at it from this angle. come on" he nudges you before standing up, and offering a hand to lift you up. you, however, shake your head.

"i really can't deal with it today, childe, i'm sorry"

"just stand up" he pleas, and the second you take his hand, he helps you up in less than a second. when you're on his level again, he sneaks both his arms on the sides of your waist, and sort of sways around a little, before speaking again. "what if, what if we do it little by little? look, we'll start over there" he puts his hand on top of yours, and lifts your arm to point to the full sink along with his. "and that'd be it for today! and then tomorrow... actually, let's not make plans. we'll just pick something tomorrow, and do it then. does the sink sound like a lot to do?" he asks.

"do you want me to be honest, or do you want me to say no" you mutter, earning the heartiest and brightest laughter you've heard in days from him.

"always honest. but come on, i'll help." he rolls you out of his embrace, causing you to feel a sudden wave of cold, it was comfortable back there, you think.

however, as he works through the dishes with you, the pile does seem to lessen, and doesn't rule over your kitchen anymore. every time he hands you a plate to dry, he smiles as wide as he can, and it doesn't seem to bother him at all when you don't smile back.

"remember" he starts again, after a while of comfortable silence. he looks ridiculous, doing the kitchen duties in an outfit designed mostly to look presentable and slay enemies in it, but the look on his face is dead set. "the first lesson you've gotta learn before going off to battle something, is that the best defense is always, always to fight back. and if you don't think you can manage that, well, that's why nobody ever battles alone. it's common sense to have someone watching your back. and as for you, not only are you a great warrior yourself, but you've also got the best second-in-command willing to help you out. don't forget that."

kaeya

as for him, he's also perceptive and empathic, but the difference between him and tartaglia is that he does believe people have the right to figure some things out on their own, he's a firm believer in the magic of secrets

that's probably because he himself doesn't like to share too much about his deeply personal feelings

so he'd obviously see some wave of difficult emotions coming your way, but would he immediately start worrying? probably not

the guy doesn't have healthy copying mechanisms himself, don't think he expects those of others

every other night the two of you meet up at the tavern, kaeya always ordering wine, you asking the bartender for whatever was in store today, but it's never anything alcoholic.

and just like nearly always, you're seated at angel's share, him noticing you're not particularly in the mood for talking, and choosing to entertain you with as many stories of the day that went by as he can remember.

the waiter interrupts him, asking if your minds are already made up regarding the drink. now, kaeya always has you picking first, but since he sees you're still analyzing the card (as if you expected to find anything new), he goes first with a drink he knows charles makes really strong.

to his surprise, when it comes to you, you just mumble "i'll have the same he had"

before the waiter has a chance of writing that down, kaeya tells him that actually, you're gonna need a minute or two more, and to erase the order you've both put in.

as he walks away, the calvary captain's eyes pierce through yours.

"that's a pretty nasty drink you wanted there" he starts, feeling he can't let you handle your mess this time, preparing to dig a little deeper into what's on your mind.

you shrug your shoulders.

"hey" he speaks up a little firmer, hand moving to cover yours, and even though they twitch as to retreat from his grip, you let it be. "tell me what's up."

"nothing's <up>" you accentuate. "can't i even have a drink now?"

"obviously you can" he nods "as long as i know you're trying it just for the taste, and not for the strong kick it's gonna offer, cause that's a dangerous path that only leads to nasty places." concern shines through his gaze, and an encouraging smile is wandering somewhere in his expression, however his lips are still pressed into a tight line, the same he forms when he's either fighting or arguing.

you stay silent for a good long while, before sighing.

"maybe i want the kick. good, or bad, maybe i want to feel... something."

the sentence sounds all too familiar, as he shakes his head and takes your hand, leading you towards the exit.

"what're you-"

"you're obviously not in the right state to be in a bar, of all places" he states almost coldly "so i'm getting you somewhere safer."

the two of you leave the bar, and walk out into the cold of mondstadt's street, covered in the darkness of the night. you walk past him, not leveling up to him, just tagging along to whatever he's going.

it comes as a surprise, that you're neither headed for your apartment, nor his, nor the knights' headquarters. he's guiding you in an unknown direction, until you reach a dead end.

he clims up a small building, offering you a hand and shaking off your confused expressions and questions. "you'll see" he says. the two of you walk from roof to roof, and countless times you tell him it's ridiculous, but then, he jumps onto the city's wall, helping you out with two hands this time, sitting you down right next to him on the stone surface of the wall. it's a little wet from the night's humidity, and cold, and probably dirty too, but the moon shines right at you, and from this perspective, you see thousands of lights in houses, taverns and shops, from the bottom up to the cathedral.

going up from that, a calm and peaceful lake paints the landscape blue on the left, and even from up here, you see a sea of lampgrasses shining through the leaves of wolvendom forest. if you squint, lights are still on in dawn winery, and the path to liyue and all the other lands swirls around near diluc's house. there's so much you can see, even if the night limits your vision.

"i like to come here when i need to gain some perspective over what is happening in my life right now" kaeya speaks really softly and quietly, bordering on a whisper. "it's a beautiful view, even someone as insensitive to art as i am can see that, but other than that... it's huge. and even though it is, it's also alive. every single one of those beings whose lights are dying out as they slowly go to sleep one by one, they're alive. they're not a scenery, they're their own, individual worlds. and they all coexist with each other in such a clever manner, don't you think? they have their differences, they might even hate each other, or wish the worst upon the other's name, but from up here? they fit together like puzzles of one, big picture."

"that's a nice way to put it, for sure" you whisper, looking down onto your knees. his finger pushes your chin slightly to make you face him, and he smiles at you gently, thumb brushing against the skin of your cheek.

"you know, we each have our own worlds, built from scratch from such fragile materials. we have our worlds rise, shine, and crumble before our sights. we look over the ruins of them and think, this is the end of the world. there's nothing more, it's all dust now. but from up here, you see how many other worlds there are - everyone has their own. not everything that is happening in your world is true. you see it from first person's perspective, and therefore the view might be disturbed by many different aspects. you might not see the picture, you just see the broken puzzle fragment that can't fit with the rest, and you're ready to throw away the entire picture, without finishing it. but being here, it reminds me... the world doesn't end on the ruins you see. you can always ask someone to help you build them up again, and of course, you can expect it to fall into pieces once more, but this time, you'll keep in mind, there're-" he stopped, pointing to the city's lights. "so many people to help you raise it up to the clouds."

"your metaphor is really complex" you chuckle, but his face stays still.

"it's not the end of the world if your puzzle piece is broken. and the ruins are not unfixable if you feel too tired to build them up all by yourself. if anything, that's a start." his hand travels up to keep the hair from getting on your face, since the wind blows pretty hard on this height. "what do you say we start your puzzle once more, toghether?"

-

your friendly reminder that you can request things [here]

[bloodycassian]

FIRE AND ICE PART ONE - Reader / Cassian / Azriel 

Reader is in an intense relationship with Cassian. Will Azriel be the one to soothe her away from him?

This is a part of an ongoing series I will tag under # fire and ice on my page 

The flying had been difficult over the middle, and required several stops to rest your wings. The now cursed mountain was putting off some terrible winds. Cassian - ever watchful - always called for the breaks, making sure to check in every few minutes over the roaring wind. When the hail came, he practically smothered you trying to protect your wings with his shield. 

"I'm fine!" You shouted over the pelting, angling low and picking up speed. Hail was the worst condition to fly in. Snow was alright, Illyrian wings were built for it. But hail would weigh you down in a heartbeat. In Illyria Hail was known as the rain of death by many.

The small clearing you landed in was bordered by enormous boulders that led to a deep cave. You rushed inside, Cassian in tow. The pines swayed in the terse winds, hissing loudly outside. "We'll be here a while." You sighed, stretching your wings out behind you. They strained, sore and stiff from the last days of travel. You knew it would be worse by tomorrow without a warm bath to soothe them.

You thought about the mission - the reason you were here in the first place. The recon that Azriel was too busy to do. You wondered if it was really him wanting to be alone for a while with some peace and quiet in the house without having to hear you and Cassian arguing. 

Your stomach rumbled, and Cassian got to work making the fire quickly.

+

"Have some." He set his bowl of porridge next to you, still steaming. You shook your head, sipping from your own serving. He didn't touch it again. Frustration budded in your stomach. He was babying you. You tried to stifle the shame, but it was unbearable to have him being so upfront about the protecting. His habits came from when you first met him. The flashbacks were unwelcome. They threw you back into being the animal you'd once been.

He knew the glare your face rested to. He recalled it with ease from the first time he'd met you. That angry bitter being that holed up in a cave just like the one you sat in now.

A skinny unclipped female held her sword steadily at her side. He stared with the same curiosity his brothers shared. She struck at Azriel's shadows, making them recoil. Rhys hummed in approval. "This may be good for both of us." He said in that swaggering way he used with all his potential allies. 

Curiosity among panic gripped your features. And Cassian knew you were hooked on the idea of not having to scrap for food - or live in a cave anymore.

+

A roaring erupted from outside the cave. Cassian shot up, leaving your body exposed to the cold night air. His siphons summoned a vicious looking sword at his side. They were the only light source besides the coals of the small dying fire at your feet. They did not crackle. They only dimly glowed, and you knew they would be out by morning. 

He listened, his ears straining to hear any sort of danger outside. "We shouldn't be here." He said, voice gruff. He relaxed slightly when the trickle of rain outside slowed. You watched his back slowly ease of tension. You wondered if you had both imagined the sound. 

The night passed without another sound besides the coming and going of rain. 

The next morning, you didnt bother stoking the fire. Cassian was already awake and geared up. Ready to leave. He stilled when he exited the cave. The empty area outside was covered in blood. Your stomach turned at the smell of it. Dark chunks coated the trunks of trees. "What did this?" You asked, noting how Cassian clutched the sword at his side. 

"I dont know. You stay here, let me fly over first." His wings unfurled, and he made to take off. He tossed a siphon to you. He paused at the sound of it thumping against the forest floor. 

"I can fly over too. Let's just go together." You flexed your wings, sighing at the first stretch of the day. There was a pop from behind you. Cassian's head whipped to the dark figure creeping up, far too swiftly to be anything natural.  

He struck, gone from your vision in a second. His siphons were blinding. You pulled your sword out and readied for whatever threat he had attacked. He rolled with the impact against a dark tendon that spired from the forest directly at him. The other figure was coming stright at you. Far too quickly for you to bring your sword out against. You managed a kick at the snake's head, to no avail. 

Then, it was pulling at you. Your legs went from under you. It drug you back to the dark forest, through the bloodied ground. The snake's maw gouged at your calves, and hissed at you as you kicked and struggled away. You scrambled for your dagger, driving it deep into the beasts' scaled side. It released. You kicked away, hands shaking. Adrenaline made things move slowly. then, Cassian was above you. His sword cut the squealing head of the dark serpent from its body. The other half of it lay in the clearing, its head sputtering and trying to regrow its body.

You didnt have time to recover. He hauled you from the forest floor, and took off. His shield broke through the boughs of trees, snapping entire branches and leaving an exit behind. The snake far below writhed and grew.

His shoulder to your middle squeezed the air from your lungs. You wheezed and tried to fight him off. The forest below you widened and grew smaller. The small red stain on the forest floor became incomprehensible against the green and tan of the scenery. He flew high, and fast. "You were almost a part of that bloody mess." He growled, not letting you go even though your wings stretched, aching to fly yourself. 

"But I wasnt, let go." You bit out.

He didnt. He just held you tighter. Your adrenaline spiked further. "Let. Go." You growled, smacking his back between his wings. He shouted in pain and finally released you. "Do not go back there." His voice was sharp, commanding. As if he was speaking to an Illyrian solider. You stared him down. He knew that look. That long warning glare that you gave. He changed his tone. "We need to leave, call the mission a bust."

"One mis-step is going to make you abandon the entire mission?" You scoffed, banking far away from him. He was on your heels in an instant. "Azriel needs us." You eyed the cold black shadow that the snake was against the warm tones of the ground. Its dark blood left a stain behind. You wanted to end it. Cut it piece to piece was the only way it would truly die. With Cassian only beheading it, it would surely grow twice as large now. And terrorize others. 

"You're right. He needs us alive." He called back, not letting you out of his wingspan.

Again, he stayed silent. "You're really going home because of this?"

"You are too. Let's go." He swooped lower than you, and grabbed your hand. You could tell it was supposed to be sweet - a gesture. But the anger flipped a switch inside you. You snapped your hand away from his and pulled high up into the air, far away from him. Still, he followed. 

Rage ignited, fueling your belly with heat and venom that you spat at him. "You don't order me Cassian. I'm not An Illyrian rank." You desperately wanted to continue the mission. For Az, for Rhys, for your own pride. For Cassian to stop seeing you as a weak Illyrian who never got to stretch their wings. 

"No, but I'd hope that you would leave with me. For me. I won't go without you." His voice was tender, and it made your heart weak. It made tears sting your eyes at how vulnerable he thought you were. The dismissal burned low in your gut. Replacing that fire that he had started. He held a hand out to you, the siphon atop it glowing brightly with power. 

"Dont make me make you." His voice was soft, but laced with that threatening aura you'd only ever heard when he was talking battle plans with his brothers. Your blood boiled.

You didn't take it as you flew away, far ahead of him. You let the fury burn in your wings, enjoying the relief flying so fast brought to your coiled muscles. You arrived back home within half the time it had taken you to get to Autumn. You sighed at the relief of the cool familiar winds and smells of Velaris. 

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 29

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L Warnings: Language, angst, insecurities, blood, darkish thoughts (self-hatred), fighting, violence Author's Note: heavy chap. if you’re having a bad day, take a moment, be kind to yourself and put off reading this until you feel better 💜

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Playlist 】

Chapter 29: That Pet You Just Couldn't Keep

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Remus woke up to a bright, white light. He squinted, head lolling to the side of his lumpy pillow. The chair near his bedside was empty, saved from a pitcher of water along with a few potions Madam Pomfrey must’ve left for him, were placed on the stand beside his bed.

Something wasn’t right. Peter or one of the other Marauders were always there waiting for him after his transformations.

Too hot for a blanket in June, he ripped off his covers and noticed the bumpy, large material hiding beneath his nightgown. He licked his lips, letting air whistle down his dry throat while a sharp, burning sensation flooded his abdomen. Remus winched, groaning out while stretching to drink the potions and water. Although, as he brought the glass vials to his lips, he noticed that his arm was littered with scratches and bruises. Curious, he lifted the slit of the gown to see a large wrapping across his lower stomach and bruises in the shape of lopsided circles and rectangles travelling across his body.

Remus felt his face scrunch. Ever since the Marauders had become animaguses, he hardly sustained any injuries aside from the occasional limp or flimsy scratch. There was usually an absence of pain nowadays, not an overload of it.

What caught his attention was the scent of human blood. His senses were always heightened the week leading up to the full moon and the week following, so it was particularly strong. It caused his head to spin like planets performing a celestial dance.

Preoccupied with the scent, Remus didn’t notice someone slipping into the room.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” A fuzzy Peter came into view. He went to sit on the edge of his bed sporting a nervous look.

“Was wondering where you were.” Remus relaxed at his appearance.

“Yeah… Erm — been busy.”

Soon enough, another sharp pain stabbed at his abdomen again. “Fuck — what happened last night?”

Wormtail sucked in sharply as he wiggled in his seat uncomfortably. “I… something terrible happened. Bollocks, Moons — I’m sorry...”

Remus felt his spine prickle with needles. “What?”

“We should wait until Dumbledore or James comes back.”

“Dumbledore?!”

Ghostly pale, Peter was on the verge of fainting. Remus took another deep inhale. This time, he smelt blood, but it was coming off of Peter and a few other foreign scents lingered on him. Was that… Y/N? And… Snape? Remus scanned Peter, noticing the droplet of red on his shoes.

“Pete,” his voice dropped to an icy whisper, “Whose blood is that?”

He remained quiet.

Remus moved to prop himself up on the bed. “What happened?”

As Peter spoke, every word made Remus recline into himself and he was left unsure of how to feel. The overload of information put him into a state of complete shock. His vision faded in and out, suddenly feeling very cold and dizzy compared to the hot weather.

He distantly heard Peter trying to gain his attention but stared blankly at the metal bed frame.

“Say something,” his friend tried, sounding desperate. He didn’t even know how long he’d been quiet for.

Remus worked through the betrayal in nine steps. It helped make sense of his emotions. To categorize them — making it easier to file away.

1. Shock & denial

“No,” he said, barely moving a muscle in his face. “That's impossible! Padfoot would never…”

Peter watched him pitifully. Remus�� eyes blinked rapidly, heart pounding. “I’m sorry.”

2. Process what happened (or try to)

“He… told… Snape?” He asked despite Peter repeating the story multiple times.

“Sirius was mad at Sniv — Snape, and he was provoked by —”

“I didn’t hurt him, did I? I didn’t hurt anyone?”

“He’s fine.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what happened to me? Why was I bleeding?”

He refused to look him in the eyes and Remus felt terror ebb it's way through his skin. “Answer me!”

“As I said, L/N and Snape got into a row… she heard Sirius tell him and she went to save him…”

“Don’t you dare lie to me.”

Wormtail took a deep breath. “You… nicked her a bit and James’ antler broke off in you because… he was trying to get you off of her…”

Remus was rooted in place. What Peter just said was unreal. His stomach twisted painfully. He blinked. “Y/N’s hurt? I hurt her?”

“Yes — no! That was Snape —” “Is she here? Did I bite her?”

“You didn’t and yeah but —” “Move out of my way.” He pushed himself up wobbly.

“You lot a lot of blood, sit —”

“Get out of my way!” He threatened. Remus pushed Peter to the side, clambered to his feet. Remus gripped the bed tightly and felt a few seams rip open and blood began to faintly seep through his white bandages.

He staggered around, ripping back the curtains until he saw Y/N. Limping up to her bed, Remus almost burst into tears when he saw her. She looked so tiny, curled up and engulfed in blankets and pillows. Her ankle was propped up, head bandage and skin dull.

It felt like Peter had poured a bucket of freezing cold water on him.

He hurt her. Almost got her and Snape killed or infected. Could have hurt Prongs and Wormtail…

He was a fucking monster.

He should be put down.

From how loud he was, running around the wing, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open. She attempted to stretch, groaning out in pain. But then, her eyes flickered up to him and she froze. Her hand shot up protectively to her chest and face as instinctively went for her wand but stopped. Genuine fear flashed through her, making Remus instantly want to cry. It felt like an eternity passed as she gripped her sheets and opened her mouth.

She was going to scream — to take him away — call him a monster — to cry or yell for Madam Pomfrey or —

But Y/N’s body relaxed. A tried smile twisted and gaze dissipated with fear, replaced with nothing but understanding and softness; she even went as far to touch his hand but Remus wrenched it back.

“Ta-da!” She croaked. “I lived.”

Remus didn’t smile, only staring horrified.

“Yeah, that was a hit or miss...” Peter interjected. He stood behind him, ensuring that if he fell, he’d be there to catch Remus. He continued to stare like she grew another set of eyes.

“What?” Her grin deflated. “Am I that irresistible?”

That pulled a breathy laugh from Remus as he shook his head. Why wasn’t she disgusted with him?

“Thank Merlin, you’re both awake.” All their heads turned to James’s floating head before he pulled off the invisibility cloak.

James moved to pull Remus into a large hug, whispering an ‘I’m sorry’ into his ear. He held him for a while before breaking off, going to embrace Y/N who wheezed.

“Ouch.”

“My bad, my bad!” He pulled back and slipped into bed with her. Peter forced Remus to sit on the edge of her bed while he stood.

A million thoughts ran through his head. He wanted to get away, to run — not even be in the same room as her. Remus wanted to think, to make any sense of what happened.

What the fuck happened? He couldn’t even process it.

She remembered everything, right? Surely she wouldn’t be this calm had she.

“Oh, wait — Lupin, are you alright? I swear a deer came at you last night.”

James chuckled out loud, breaking Remus out of his thoughts as he looked at him and Peter. “I guess there’s no point for secrets anymore.”

Y/N looked at them questioningly, her eyes squinting from the bright light before Peter went to close the blinds shut. James got off the bed, smiling widely at Remus and Peter got onto the bed instead.

“Ugh — Pete? James? What —”

A loud gasp ripped from her mouth as she jerked away from James who turned into a very large stag and Peter into a fat brown rat.

Remus could almost cry at how comical her face looked.

James was so large that he had to take a few steps back to prevent his antlers from poking one of their eyes out and Remus noticed that one was gone.

He felt sick again. A hand drifted to his stomach.

“Holy shit! Oh my god!” Y/N went to graze a finger on Peter’s fur before turning to James with shaky hands to touch one of his antlers and patting him on the head. She was speechless as her mouth open several times before forcing out, “You're really Bambi!”

James turned back, taking his glasses off to clean. “I wanted to be a lion — for Gryffindor, y’know.”

“You can’t choose, I wouldn’t be a rat.” Peter grimaced.

“They’re highly intelligent. Nothing to worry about.” James reassured and ruffled his hair.

“When did you guys learn to do this?”

“We’ve been at it for three years now. We finally were able to do it in August before school started.”

She shook her head, staring in awe.

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Dumbledore came to speak to everyone later that day.

Remus had been dreading it once he came into the wing and began speaking to Y/N, a buzzing sound filling his ear. All Remus was left to do was twiddle his thumbs, waiting and completely disoriented.

When he finally approached him, Dumbledore lost his usual twinkle in his eyes. He made sure to close the long vertical blinds and again, the room filled with a low buzzing sound.

“How are you doing?” He asked. Remus, had he been in the right mindset, would have prevented the scoff escaping him. Dumbledore didn’t react but continued. “Miss L/N is recovering well and Mr. Snape didn’t receive any injuries. Just a fright.”

Remus nodded, that was good, but he remained quiet.

“Snape’s been persuaded to act accordingly for the best interest of his fellow pupils and L/N gave her word.”

Remus choked back a laugh. Snape was going to, no matter what, let his secret slip somehow.

“You’re also exempt from the Transfiguration exams, both you and Miss L/N. You’ve both sustained a degree of varying head injuries and you’ll be graded on a cumulative from McGonagall.”

Dumbledore was forcing Remus to the edge as he bit down on his inner cheek. It was useless to listen to him. “Are you expelling me?”

“No. You should not bear any blame.”

“Dumbledore, no offence, but are you mental?” Remus sputtered adding, “I endangered four students last night.”

“Yes but —” “The next time we won’t be so lucky. I’m a monster, sir. I should be.”

The headmaster sighed. “Remus, give yourself a bit of credit. Think highly of yourself.”

Remus gave a dry laugh, almost baffled at how Dumbledore was acting. Did he just gloss over the fact he could have gotten students infected? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself had he. “How can I?”

“Well Y/N seemed to think very highly of you. She made you a very compelling case along with your friends, Potter, Pettigrew and Black.”

“Black’s not my friend,” Remus countered. He didn’t care about how rude he was being.

“Remus —”

“Is he expelled?”

“No.” The answer had Remus wheeling, anger spiking. “He’s not.”

“Why not? If it isn’t my fault, that I’m not to blame then why isn’t he? He told them how to find me.”

“I understand that this is a very difficult situation and rest assured, Sirius will be punished. I can promise you. But expulsion isn’t the answer.”

Remus refused to look at Dumbledore and he must've realized he was getting nowhere with him. He stood but before leaving, he gave a pitiful look.

“I have done terrible deeds, indulged in foolish pranks that I have lived to regret, but each has been a valuable learning experience. It’s a pity that it came to this. Learn in your heart to forgive, Remus. The world is already filled with too much hate.”

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June 16th, 1976

3. Sadness & pain

Remus had been avoiding the Marauder’s dorm. He’d gone as far as begging Madam Pomfrey (who’d taken pity because she knew what happened) to let him stay another two nights before getting kicked out. Remus always healed physically faster and his wounds were already healed by the third day. Pathetically, he’d been sleeping in dingy passageways or the prefects’ bathroom before relocating after being harassed by the ghosts.

Remus had a plan, avoid them; skip classes, get longer prefect duties, never staying in one spot for too long. He wouldn’t know what would happen if Snape saw him. Although, whatever Dumbledore told him, it kept Snape quite so far. But tonight, he got tired of Moaning Myrtle sobbing.

Before curfew, Remus made it a habit of visiting Y/N, who was still stuck in the wing; both out of guilt and because she was his friend, but he couldn't stay for long — seeing her like that made him wallow in guilt.

Similar to him, Lily had visited, along with the other girls, every day. Today, Lily stayed a little longer, bleeding into the time Remus usually dropped by. He watched as Lily whisper into her ear, causing Y/N to laugh and Lily blush madly as she sat snug by her side. Not wanting to ruin their moment, Remus went to leave before they had the chance to see him.

Remus had another pressing matter anyway.

He entered one of the nearest bathrooms to give himself some sort of pep talk and stared at the mirror.

You can do this. A voice echoed in his head.

Typically, memories from the full moon came back to Remus a few days or even weeks later, his brain usually too foggy a couple of hours after and even then, he would never fully remember everything. He vaguely remembered seeing a flash of Snape’s face and Prongs but Y/N’s screams were one of the clearer memories from that night.

“REMUS! PLEASE REMUS! STOP!”

Remus looked to stare at himself in the mirror. He observed the scar on the bridge of his nose, feeling bile rush up his throat at the sight.

He was a freak, littered with scars covering himself.

He was disgusting.

Ugly.

Pathetic.

Dangerous.

A monster!

4. Anger

Sirius Black had always been loyal, so what changed that night?

He needed to leave. It was no good staying here anymore.

Remus was shaking with rage, twinged with hurt. He paced outside of the common room door and had a few options running through him. Either start a huge fight with Sirius or just… ignore it.

Avoidance.

Maybe he could ignore Sirius forever? Impossible, surely. Sirius would get bored, anxious within a couple of weeks — that was too generous — a few days sounded right.

With his mind made up, Remus crept up to his room. He could hear the faint shouts of James and pondered about just sleeping in the common room or prefects’ bathroom. Even if he did have to listen to Moaning Myrtle.

Maybe because his senses were still coming down from its peak or James was just brash, but Remus didn’t even have to press his ear on the door.

“— done ENOUGH! — hear me? You better — why are YOU crying? You bloody — understand? Understand?! You will not talk — him — best friends my —”

The only person he's told he was coming back was Wormtail and it sounded like he told Prongs.

Remus didn’t care to listen anymore as he pushed open the door. Pete was sitting on his bed, eyes wide at Remus’ presence surrounded by unwrapped wrappers. He always tended to eat while stressed.

Sirius was looking down at the floor as James stood in front of him, scolding him like a child. But, his head shot up once he walked through the door. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see his eyes bloodshot, puffy and circles dark. He didn’t dare look at him.

Remus didn’t acknowledge them, instead moving robotically to the bathroom, changing into his holey yet comfortable clothes before scurrying off to bed, swinging his curtains shut before casting a silencing spell around.

He’d plan to adhere to his avoidance strategy. It worked so far.

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June 18th, 1976 | 1:29 am

“Psst… Moony.”

Remus turned over to face him. “What do you want Peter?”

“Just wanted to check up. You okay?”

“What do you think? Please, leave me alone.” And then closed his bed drapes.

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June 19th, 1976 | 11:37 pm

Peter had crept up to his bed again as Remus laid there awake, thoughts swarming him.

“I’m not in the mood. I’m tired.” He moved to turn over and forced his eyes closed.

Peter had been nothing but amazing. Always thinking about him and his needs but what Remus wanted most was to be alone and Peter's pity and worried features did nothing but make Remus feel like shit.

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June 21st, 1976

In life, there are few things that are certain. Getting older, death, taxes… No matter how hard we try, no matter how good our morals are or our intentions, we all will eventually make mistakes. It’s either as small as burning your food or writing the wrong answer down on a test, but you’re also going to fuck up pretty bad and hurt people. Say something — do something you don’t mean and it’ll end up with both sides hurt. If you want forgiveness, there’s multiple solutions to gain that back, but the two words — obvious, there, waving in front of your face — can be the hardest words to say.

“I’m sorry.” Black muttered for the hundredth time that night. His voice was pushing Remus to the edge as he kept his face straight. Dead. Not once taking Sirius’ shitty apology baits. He continued to stare down at his book, reading silently in his dorm. His teeth hurt from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

Remus was right, of course, he was fucking right. Black had grown anxious as he ignored him.

“I’m sorry.”

Remus never really considered himself violent. Sure, he’s gotten into rows that ended with a punch or hex here or there, but Remus didn’t have violent thoughts. If anything, he prided himself on not being a bonehead like Black and Prongs. But, it took every ounce not to beat the shit out of Black right there and then.

Bastard. Scumbag. You mother fucking betrayer.

Remus never liked not being in control. Not having it scared him too much, feeling more animal than man. He did everything to avoid being violent, the wolf was already violent enough and had too much control and Remus refused to let it dictate human him. There was already too much violence, he never wanted to contribute more.

He did everything not to be a monster. But it's like the wolf roared from deep within, scratching and begging to let him pounce.

Remus wasn’t violent — anyone who met him would vouch for that. Fuck, if he saw a spider, he would open a nearby window and release it. But now, he wanted to slam Sirius against a wall and wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze.

You piece of shit. Wanker. Twat. I want you to feel as much pain as I do.

“Moony, please let me explain —”

All the words suddenly blurred before Remus slammed his book shut, causing to become still and quiet.

Sirius trying to explain — excuse his actions — pushed him over the edge. Remus sent a venomous glare at Sirius, waiting for him to talk. His quietness made everyone uneasy.

Selfish bastard.

Any sympathy Remus held for him this past year, along with any logic, evaporated to the point where he felt a rabid thump spread through him. There was a desperation to relieve himself of it — lash out, scream, cry —

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” the rest of the Marauders watched the scene, knowing not to get involved. “It was a mistake and —“

“A mistake?”

Sirius perked up at this. That was the only word he’d spoken to him since the incident. “Honest. I did it because —” “Shut the fuck up.” Remus stood, tall and loomed over Sirius. He could almost smell the fear off him.

He had never been so mad before.

“I — I… I,” stutters Remus. But instead of it being out of shyness or nerves, it was out of pure wrath that he wasn’t able to articulate his emotions properly. He took a deep breath in, attempting to regain control over his emotions but failed as he burned with deep, seething hatred. “I am the monster that mothers tell their children to keep them in at night.”

“Moony —”

“Don’t call me that!” His voice boomed so loud that everyone in the room had to take a step back and shrink down. Remus was always so reserved, only ever lashing out in annoyance close to the full moon but nothing more.

“Living up to your name, aren’t you?” There’s a sarcastic, bitter humour lilt to his voice.

Someone so in control of his emotions, someone with an unbreakable exterior, the only glimpses they’d ever seen of Remus losing control was him snapping at someone close to the full moon but would later apologize within mere seconds. But to see him like that… it was an intrusion, something the Marauders hadn’t ever seen or wanted to before.

“Please, just calm down so we can talk.”

Remus paces around the room. “You — y’know I’ve never understood why everyone lets you get around treating others like shit. First, it was Marlene, James, me, Peter, Lily and Y/N — we all let you get away with it. Outburst after outburst, we all sat back because you were going through shit. But I can’t? I’m not allowed to get angry?!”

Sirius wouldn’t look at him.

“Look at me.” Remus kept his voice low throughout the ordeal, only ever raising if Black interjected. “You coward, look at me!”

5. A lot of anger

He couldn’t meet his eyes so he settled to stare at the scar across his nose. It only angered him more as Remus picked Sirius up and pushed him against the wall as he fisted his shirt.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry is nothing but a word to you. I gave you my most trusted secrets. I confided in you. I was there for you when you needed it. I loved and cared for you like my own brother but I was nothing more than a pet that you discarded when you got bored. You’re only guilty because of the repercussions you’re facing. Your guilt isn’t nearly enough. Bastard. I trusted you. You’re a Marauder. My best friend. I would’ve done anything for you. You fucking ruined it.

“You did this! You did!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He laughs, mocking and loud, void of any emotion. “No, you aren’t. You’re never fucking sorry!”

Stupid fucking selfish arsehole.

“For years you’ve told me that you accepted me — cared for me — loved me like your own brother! That what I am — a-a monster — that it didn’t matter!”

“It didn’t mean anything, I promise! It was a shitty, fucked up prank —”

“A prank?! You used me as a weapon! A toy because how could anyone ever love a werewolf?” Remus’ voice was so low. “You’ve never respected me. If you had any, you wouldn’t have — you - wouldn’t....”

Everything came crashing on Remus at once.

6. The realization settles in

And after nine days, Remus Lupin had finally realized what Sirius Black had done. Before, everything he felt had been true but he hadn’t fully realized the gravity of what happened, as silly as it sounds.

Sirius turned his worst fear into a living nightmare.

In the background, one of James’ Quidditch posters, encased in glass exploded, shattering into millions of pieces from the amount of pure magic radiating off Remus. He didn’t even flinch at the sound.

James finally interjected, placing a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Lay off him… He isn’t worth it.”

Remus eased off Black instantly. “You had no right… no right…” He pointed. Remus turned his face down as he felt tears build up.

“I trusted you,” he whispers. “Every bit.”

Remus stormed out of the dorm, going to sleep in the common room.

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June 22nd, 1976

7. Depression

When Remus finally let himself cry, he didn’t make a move to leave his bed. Even skipping meal times, leaving James or Pete to bring him food.

Everything felt suffocating, a gnawing feeling that made every part of him ache. Remus couldn’t handle anymore pain or emotions from ‘the prank’ as he felt himself slip into a temporary void.

He hugged his pillow tighter and closed his eyes once more.

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June 23rd, 1976 | 11: 37 pm

Remus had gone straight to bed again, effectively shutting up the rest of the dorm. James was ignoring Black, leaving Remus surprised that he hadn’t made a move to defend his actions. Nonetheless, he was appreciative still. Peter had been trying to appease everyone, not taking sides but still must’ve thought Sirius was in the wrong because he hadn’t talked to him much.

He didn’t ask James to choose between him or Black. Remus was never one for ultimatums but even then, it seemed like James picked him. He was beyond furious, seemingly more than Remus at this point who pathetically wallowed in his depression. He wouldn’t spare Black a second glance, wouldn’t talk to him, shut him down if he tried to speak to him. Hell, he’d even gone as far as to make it very clear to the entirety of Hogwarts that they were no longer friends, making sure to not sit with him, ever. Always choosing to sit by Remus.

They chose his side and a part of Remus felt elated to know they had his back.

This left Black alone, looking at them through tearful gazes. Remus had been ignoring all of them and they seemed to be understanding, avoiding crossing the wordless boundary Remus set in stone.

But, both James and Peter had been checking up on him nightly, always there and he could tell they were getting impatient.

When the lights went out, he heard James crept out of bed. Usually, Remus would find some sort of comfort in knowing who was approaching him, but now, it only left him feeling uneasy.

And then he felt the bed dip and James muttered out a spell.

“Hey, Moony.”

Remus didn’t face him. “Prongs?”

“Hey,” there was a loud sigh, “Do you need anything?”

What was he supposed to say? A hug? To talk? He’d much rather use his avoidance strategy, although he realized it left him alone with too many thoughts and nobody to confide in.

“M’good.” He felt James place a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll always be there for you. That’s what Marau - that’s what friends are for, no?”

Remus didn’t answer and felt James move to leave. But before he had the chance to slip out, Remus peeked his head from the drapes, announcing just loud enough for Sirius to hear.

“Thanks for saving all of us, James. You’re a true friend.”

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June 24th, 1976

People had their poisons.

Alcohol can make you forget. It blocks out everything and makes the rest of the world fade away until you can’t remember. People gambled to feel a rush, only to realize they dug themself into irreversible debt. Shopping, food, the high from risky behaviour…

But how we manage our poisons is up to the person.

People love to deny that they have addictions. They deny they’re hooked, they deny that they can’t put it down, they deny that they’re scared or want to stop. People only see what they want to see, believe what they want to believe.

And then the truth becomes muddled with lies that it’s hard to recognize the poisons sitting right in front of us. And all we want is more.

For Remus, his poison, his bright red self-destruction button, was smoking.

Granted, he never was a big smoker, typically only smoking when stressed or bored. But he still did it, filling his lungs with poison. But maybe he was wired like that. Besides, what werewolf lives past thirty? Might as well die revelling in the poison that brought him ease…

Remus conjured a ball of bright fire from his hand; fishing out a pack of cigarettes, slipped it past his lips and lit it. He inhaled, feeling the familiar, comforting feeling before dragging it from his lips, blowing out the thick cloud of smoke that left him wanting more.

He’d been sticking to his avoidance tactic strictly now. The Marauders were hovering over him, worry evident on their faces. A few times, Lily and James both invited him to sit. They never fought anymore, or at least in front of him, and it probably was his doing — a group effort into getting him to talk.

So even Lily knew something was wrong… Snape probably told her…

The door clicked open and Remus didn’t have to turn around to know how it was.

“Leave me alone. I’m not ready to talk.”

“Wasn’t gonna make you.”

He spun around, that wasn’t James or Peter. His face softened.

“Well… I’m not,” Y/N said simply, “But the others are about to.”

Remus groaned at that but Y/N smiled and turned around, ushering him over with a little wave. In one hand, she raised the Marauder’s map. “C’mon, I know a place and that they won’t be able to find.”

Remus was intrigued. He stepped out the butt of the cigarette, flicked it into the trash and followed her. Surely he’d already been there but being with Y/N seemed ten folds better than being around the other Marauders.

He followed wordlessly, passageways flying through his head but she never stopped by them. Instead, she climbed onto a ledge, slipping into an area under a large curtain. He followed, eyes lighting up in awe. He’s definitely never been there before.

“Get comfortable,” she said, flinging him a pillow and lighting a few candles.

They sat opposed to each other in complete silence. Y/N flicked back and forth, watching James and Peter scrabble around the castle looking for him. A few times, they passed by, each time leaving Y/N amused.

Remus tapped his leg anxiously. The question remained: Why wasn’t she disgusted with him? Why was she helping him? Why wasn’t she afraid?

Now alone together, those questions dangled on his tongue.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

She looked up at him, finally putting down the map. “Because you’re Remus.” She said, like it was the most obvious answer. “You’re not scary.”

8. Hold onto doubt

The answer irritated him. Another memory unfolded then and he blurted it out. “Why didn’t you cast any spells at me?”

Her brows rose, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m dangerous.” His voice was bleak and cold. “Why can't you grasp that?”

She stays quiet for a long time, her head turning to look out the large window. Y/N watched the owls and labyrinth of ancient trees of the forbidden forest and Remus was painfully aware of time slipping by.

“Do you remember that night on the astronomy tower on Halloween? I said that there’s bound to be someone looking at the moon at the same time?”

It takes Remus a moment to remember, but he does. “Yeah. You said that it’s like you’re not alone.”

Y/N turns around to face him. “Exactly. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He looked away, deliberating. “It’s one thing for me to be alone but then drag you and others down with me.”

“Remus, I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t scared. I was terrified. I thought that was it.” He gulped. “But I could never be scared of you. The real you - the you right now. I don’t care about what you are. You are more than just a werewolf. I feel safe with you.”

The dark shadows surrounded them as she reiterated herself. “You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He soaks in her words for a while. This time, peering out the window as he breathes in deeply.

Okay. He decided.

“Do you want to know how I got —” he pointed at a scar on his upper forearm. “— this?”

She nodded her head.

“When James turned into his animagus form to show me for the first time, his antlers pierced my skin. I had to lie to Pomfrey and say I fell while playing Quidditch.”

Any invisible barrier between them crashed instantly as she smiled brightly and laughed. So infectious, Remus couldn't help but flash a real grin.

He never realized how beautiful her smile was.

“Oh, and if you ever tell anyone about this place, I’ll skin you.”

“I would never.”

Remus scouted over to her, pressing his back against the cool stone as they sat together in a comfortable stillness. But then she shifted, opening her arms wide. He lent in without hesitation and her arms flung around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He felt salty tears stinging in the corners of his eyes and let himself soak in her warm.

He really needed that.

Over her shoulder, he returned to watch the stars.

9. Acceptance

Remus learned from a young age that it was better to keep people at an arm's length. Get too close, they’ll dig, find out his condition, fear him and run.

He hates to say it, but he’s not surprised that his secret slipped out. He got too comfortable, got too close... It’s just that the Sirius component was surprising.

But maybe it wasn’t surprising. Ever since the beginning of the year, especially since winter break, Sirius had been reckless more and more lately, and he probably should have seen it coming. He was wild as a result of being freed from the confines of his rigid upbringing.

Sirius Black was unpredictable.

Sirius Black was dangerous when it came to secrets.

Sirius Black was one of his best friends.

Sometimes betrayal is so profound that there’s no way to fix what was lost. The damage is done, irreplaceable, unfixable.

If Remus was sure of anything by the end of that week was that,

a) James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were still his best friends,

b) He almost killed Severus Snape and Y/N L/N,

c) Y/N knew his secret and despite everything, continued to talk to him, support him, be there for him — she accepted him,

d) His walls went up a higher, became stronger and insecurities ran deeper,

e) Lastly, Remus Lupin would never, ever forgive Sirius Black for what he did. Never.

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【 Next Chapter 】

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

“Hiii how are you!!!!! Can you please make one with Annie and Hange (They/them) (Separately please if u’d like!) because of something the reader did (Totally for u to decide!) and it becomes a whole deal and the reader ends up apologizing with cute tears in their eyes AND it SOMEHOW became a hot make-out session😏 so a lil bit of smut (HEHEHEHE) for the rest u can do anything u like! Oh and please fem!reader, tysm🥺🥺 enjoy ur day sweetheart!”

@claxrazy

Gotcha! I’m gonna have to cut the smut part a little short because there are two people (so it’d make it too long if I did finish the smut parts), but you can totally request a continuation of this post in a separate request if you’d like!

Anyway, I’ll be starting them both off the same because it’s the same scenario, but I’ll label them when I get to each individual person.

Stupid Decisions

(Annie Leonhart x Reader) (Zoe Hange x Reader)

AU: Canon

Category: Fluff, hurt/comfort (maybe?), some smut

Warnings: None

Summary: You make a risky decision while on a mission, and it ends up worrying your partner to no end. Still, when you two reunite, things go... a little different than expected.

Words: 3.0K

You knew you were in for it once your squadron returned to base.

Your squad, or, more so, you specifically, had disobeyed direct orders from commander Erwin. He had ordered for all troops to retreat, but you had been insistent to him that there was still a squad held up by titans that needed to be saved. He showed no remorse, and his unwavering decision to retreat stayed on. So, in the only thing you could think to do at the time, you pivoted your horse and charged straight at the titans and to the rescue of the stranded soldiers, your squad following after you short thereafter, despite their angry yelling.

The group of soldiers thanked you immensely for your help, but everyone else was displeased. You knew the reaction from your superiors wasn’t going to be especially pleasant, but that was nothing compared to what you had to do next.

Annie Leonhart:

You approached the door hesitantly, taking a deep breath and readying yourself for what waited you on the other side of the door; your girlfriend.

After collecting yourself, you balled up your fist and quietly knocked on the wooden door.

“Who is it?” A muffled voice asked from the other side of the door apprehensively.

You cleared your throat nervously before you began speaking. “Uh, it’s Y/n.” There was a short but heavy silence before you heard shuffling on the other side of the door.

It creaked open wordlessly, and your girlfriend, Annie, stood there staring up at you with a less than pleased expression. Still, she turned her body and opened the door just a little wider in order to allow you inside, and you stepped in quietly, and took a seat on her bed. She closed the door, but instead of joining you on the bed, she leaned against the door, arms folded firmly across her chest.

Somehow, you already knew what was on her mind before she even said anything. “Annie I-”

“What on Earth were you thinking.” She spat out, not even looking at you. Your jaw snapped shut immediately, silenced by Annie’s words. Just as you had thought - she was upset with you.

A tense, almost uncomfortable silence passed over the room, with Annie quieting once again, and you at a loss for words. You almost wondered how long it would be until someone spoke, because you were sure you could’ve heard a pin drop in the silence.

Finally she continued. “You were given direct orders to retreat, weren’t you?” She brought herself up off the wall and faced you directly, and you shrunk helplessly under her glare. “But you just had to go back for those idiots, didn’t you?”

She wouldn’t even lie to herself for a moment. It was just like you to go back and save people - somehow, that was just in your nature. But she couldn’t mask her disappointment. Truthfully, she was proud of your bravery and skills. But, more than anything, she was worried for you, and for your safety. She couldn’t imagine her world without you. She needed to make sure she never lost you.

“Don’t you understand it, Y/n?” She bit her fingernails - a bad habit she had been meaning to kick - with a troubled look on her face, and it almost seemed like she was talking to herself more so than you. Almost.

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt! Don’t you realize how stupid that was?!” She raised her volume more and more, her tone getting considerably angrier. “What could have possibly gone through your head to convince you that that was a good idea?! Did you- did you even bother thinking at all?! About how quickly you could’ve led yourself and your squad to their deaths?! How easily you could’ve added ten more lives to the list of casualties?!”

She stepped forward suddenly, gripping your shoulders firmly. She didn’t want to sound so harsh, but she really needed to get the idea through your head.

“Did you even bother thinking at all?!” She shook your shoulders lightly, trying to pry a reaction out of you as you hung you head low, not showing your face at all. “Well?!”

She waited impatiently for a response, but she heard none. She was about to continue on about your lack of regard for yourself, and your blind hopefulness in battle, but her words died in her throat when a drop of something fell from your face, landing silently on your thigh. Her expression softened as a twinge of sympathy made it’s way to her chest. 

She dropped down to one knee to confirm for herself, and her eyes widened as she was deemed correct.

You were crying.

You choked back quiet sobs as tears fell silently from your face, making your vision far too blurry to make out Annie’s sorrowful expression.

Well shit. 

She knew she needed to be firm in her stance if she wanted you to listen, but making you cry was never a part of the plan.

She ditched the uncaring persona immediately, an overwhelming urge to comfort you overtaking her. She wrapped an arm around your back to pull your crying face into her chest, quietly shushing you.

“Y/n? Y/n, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to make you upset... Please stop crying...” She pulled your head closer into her, rubbing soothing circles into your back as you sobbed quietly.

You weren’t oblivious to anything she was saying. You knew it was dangerous, unsafe, and most of all, a stupid decision. It had been eating you up, the thought of what would’ve happened if it had gone wrong. As much as you wanted to keep your composure in front of your girlfriend, the stress and the yelling just broke the barrier of tears from your eyes as you sniffled into her chest.

After a moment, she shifted the two of you to lie on your sides, and she reached her hand down to pull a blanket over top of the two of you, warmth enveloping you comfortingly.

“Y/n... I didn’t mean to upset you. I just... I was just worried about you. If something ever happened to you...” She paused, and you could practically feel her breathing hitch from your spot on her chest.

She didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to. You understand what she meant.

She continued to cuddle into you, cradling your head into her chest and shushing you soothingly. One hand ran delicately through your loose locks of hair while the other slipped under your shirt to rub circles on your bare back. After a while of silent comfort, your cries died down to quiet sniffling.

Finally, you turned your face to peer up at her from her chest, gazing into her eyes sorrowfully. Despite the harsh, icy coloring of her irises, you looked into them and saw nothing but gentle admiration, mixed with a twinge of sympathy.

“Annie...” You said faintly, the first words that either of you had spoke for at least the past twenty minutes. “Sorry... I... I understand now that what I did was risky and stupid, I just wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I’m sorry...” You muttered out an apology, and the vulnerability and intimacy of it made a pink blush rise to your cheeks.

“No no,” Annie interjected quickly, wasting no time to respond to your apology. “You don’t need to apologize, Y/n. I was being way too harsh to you. I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m sorry.”

You smiled up at her, glad that she was no longer angry at you. You always hated fighting with the blonde, and you knew she hated it too.

A beat of silence passed whilst you two stared into each others’ eyes longingly, before Annie made a move on the tense silence, grabbing your chin and moving your face closer to hers. Her eyes fluttered shut as your lips neared, and you did the same, before closing the gap in an affectionate, apologetic kiss.

Her lips were as soft as they always were, and just the presence of her lips against your own calmed you down, a warm aura soon filling the room. You wished the moment could last forever, simply basking in the moment while you had the time. You were so caught up in the kiss that you failed to realize the hand under your shirt was slowly slinking up your back and...

*SNAP*

Annie had brought the back of your bra up and off your skin, before letting go and letting the fabric snap against your back harshly. You squeaked at the contact, pulling away from the kiss instinctively, as a small stinging sensation spreading from the spot on your upper back.

She only smiled at your cute reaction, before pulling your lips back to hers more hungrily this time. She bit your bottom lip as if asking for entrance of her tongue in your mouth, and you gave in right away. She grazed the wet muscle against your teeth teasingly, before diving in further to explore your mouth.

After a moment of unexpected, but heated passion, you pulled away from her to catch your breath, pants falling from your lips as a thin trail of saliva still connected you to her.

“Annie?” You question breathlessly. “What’s... what’s this about?”

She only chuckled, and looked to the side, hiding the pink blush on her cheeks. “Ah, Y/n, you’re just too cute. I couldn’t help myself.”

She gazed down at your flustered face, and took note of the bewilderment on your features. “We can stop if you-”

“No!” You responded, perhaps sounding too eager. You covered the lower portion of your face with your arm in embarrassment before continuing. “We can... we can keep going.”

“Are you sure?” She questioned once again. “I’m only gonna do this if you want me to Y/n-”

“I want to, don’t worry.” You sighed, already feeling the warm, wet arousal pool in between your legs.

Annie smiled at the opportunity before shifting positions a bit, landing you on your back, pinned under her. She brought her mouth to your neck, trailing ghosting kisses along the skin as you whimpered quietly. Slowly, she worked her way down your abdomen, slinking under the blanket as she groped your breasts hungrily and brought her mouth to the area where your lower stomach and groin region met. She pulled down your trousers, along with whatever underwear you were wearing, down to your ankles, before planting a kiss directly on your swollen clit, eliciting a moan from you, which only seemed to encourage her more.

You had no idea how things had escalated into this, but damn, you were not apologizing.

Zoe Hange:

You hesitated in front of the section commander’s door, your closed fist hovering over the wood vacantly stagnantly. You had to knock, of course, you needed to talk with your partner, but you knew how scary they were when they were angry. They would never hurt you, you knew that, but that didn’t stop them from being intimidating.

A loud crash from the other side of the door startled you out of your thoughts as you let out a subtle gasp. Yeah, they’re pissed... You sighed internally, being loudly reminded of their habit of throwing furniture when angry.

Still, you swallowed your fear and braced yourself, taking a deep breath before knocking on the door quietly.

The ruckus on the other side abruptly stopped, almost like the chaos itself got curious by the noise.

The door opened wordlessly, and Hange stood tall on the other side of the doorframe, staring down at you, their usual bright face stained with frustration and annoyance. Your eyes shifted over their shoulder and gazed on in amusement at the upturned table in the corner of the room.

After a moment of silence, you expected at the very least for Hange to step aside and let you inside, but they didn’t budge.

“Hange?” You spoke up curiously.

They provided no verbal response, instead grabbing you by the shoulders and pulling you into the room, before shutting the door and slamming you against it harshly.

“Y/n!” Hange spat, their face hovering inches away from yours. Most of the times, such close proximity would be a welcome development, but at this moment, it was terrifying. They had not the optimistic grin they usually did, but instead an angry scowl. “What were you thinking?! Disobeying Erwin’s orders like that, I can’t believe you Y/N!!” They shook your shoulders, rattling you against the doorframe.

“Do you not have respect for him as a commander?! Don’t you realize there’s a reason he had ordered to you to retreat, dammit!” They released their grip on your shoulders, turning around to throw their hands in the air dramatically, before balling them up and punching a nearby bookshelf, breaking the wood and causing a multitude of books to fall to the floor.

They continued pacing around angrily, eyes fixed on the ground, seemingly lost in thought. They continued to walk in circles, their energy alone filling the room with a tense air. It stayed this way until they heard a quiet sound from the direction of the door.

Was that... Hange thought, turning around to face you, a sniffle?

Their eyes widened as they were proved correct, the tears in your eyes being a very distressing sight to them.

“Y/n!” Hange half-shouted, running over to you to survey what was going on. “What is it?!”

You sniffled again and wiped your eyes with your sleeve, struggling to find words for what you were thinking. You knew Hange didn’t mean to be, but they were incredibly scary when angry. Watching them march around and throw or punch things couldn’t help but make you frightened.

“I... I...” You sniffled. You expected more pushing from Hange, but you were caught off guard by arms wrapping around your neck and your face being pressed into the cloth of Hange’s shirt as she held you delicately.

Suddenly calmed down from their little tantrum, they held your head into your chest and soothingly shushed your cries.

“I’m sorry, did I scare you darling?” They whispered, concern lacing their voice. “I... I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry, Y/n.” They continued stroking your hair, and you latched your arms onto them, tugging at the back of their shirt.

“S-Sorry Hange...” You whimpered. “I didn’t mean to worry you... or disobey orders... I just... I couldn’t let them...” You couldn’t find it in you to continue, but Hange knew what you where going to say nonetheless.

“Don’t apologize.” Hange responded almost immediately. “You have nothing to apologize for.” They lulled, rubbing your back tenderly in a way that made you sigh into their chest as you felt the stress and tension dissolve off of your body. “I understand why you did it. I... I let my emotions get ahold of me. I shouldn’t be so aggressive around you like that.” They said, swallowing their pride in order to issue a proper apology.

You sniffled into their chest, your crying dying down as they continued to comfort you in a way that only a lover could do.

You stayed like that for a while, until you felt a small tug on the back of your head as Hange gently pulled your head out of their chest. They slouched over slightly, coming so close that your faces were inches apart, staring shamelessly at your lips.

“Can I?” They asked permission politely, and got their answer immediately as you closed the gap, colliding your lips with theirs.

The shock on Hange’s face lasted a microsecond at most, easing into the sudden kiss aimlessly, glad to enjoy this moment with you.

The kiss was only sensual for a moment, before Hange suddenly pushed their tongue past your lips easily, causing you to whine into their mouth.

You felt their hands slink lower down your back, and before long, they were seated comfortably on your ass. They lifted you up off the ground quickly, and you wrapped your legs around Hange’s waist securely so you didn’t fall. You felt Hange walking somewhere, but you were too caught up in making out to notice.

You finally felt them stop and set you down somewhere, and, to your dismay, they disconnected your lips from theirs, a trail of saliva still connecting your lips. You took a moment to both catch your breath and survey your surroundings.

Quickly, you realized that you had been set down right on Hange’s work desk, many scattered papers and documents lay flat right under where you sat.

Without warning, their lips returned to yours harshly, and your mouth immediately opened in submissiveness, allowing Hange more access to the inside of your mouth. You felt one of their large hands trail over the fabric of your shirt before dipping into the waistband of your pants and into your panties.

They slowly ran their finger up and down your clit, causing you to whine and whimper into their mouth as you continued to make out. Your arms flew around Hange’s neck to pull them closer to you, and your hips bucked into their hand to get more pressure on your clit.

Hange obliged to your silent pleas, dipping a finger into your folds, the wetness allowing it to slide in all the way up to the knuckle effortlessly. A strangled gasp left your lips as you disconnected from them abruptly, shutting your eyes in pleasure.

“You’re so wet for me, hm?” They cooed, sliding their finger out once again. You had no chance to give any sort of response, though, before they thrust their finger into you again, harsher this time. The sudden action and the spark of pleasure it sent up your spine caused a lewd moan to spill from your throat. You immediately blushed at the noise, though, covering your mouth in shame.

Your eyes finally met Hange’s, and they had a very primal, sadistic look on their face, a coy grin plastered across their face.

“You’re so cute, Y/n.” They smiled, pulling their finger out, leaving you feeling empty.

They walked over to a drawer on their nightside table, and you raised an eyebrow in confusion, before you remembered what they kept in the drawer.

They looked through, before picking up two strap-ons. One long and thick, and the other smaller with textured bumps on it.

“So,” they smiled, “Do we want the blue one or the green one today?

Sorry, this is kinda bad lol

Also, this took like too weeks lolllll whoops

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 1 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Last year

You had been ferreting snacks out of the Hero Awards when he found you.

In retrospect, the whole idea of attending the Hero Awards had been a bad one from the get go. You’d just been so thrilled by the image of it in your head--getting to see all your favorite pros gathered in one place, dressed to the nines, celebrating their rankings, their wins, their saves, their successes. You’d pictured yourself flitting between heroes, collecting autographs and taking selfies, sitting down at a table with big names like Uravity and Froppy, making fast friends over the complimentary champagne.

But then you’d seen what really went into preparing for and attending an event like this, and the shine had quickly rubbed off.

When your boss at the Commission had extended you the invite, she’d told you that you would be representing the organization, and had advised you to contract a makeup artist and find someone willing to dress you. Her tone had strongly implied that this was more of an order than a suggestion. So you’d done it, but nobody had told you exactly how many hours went into getting your makeup tested, getting fitted and refitted for a dress, and fielding questions on cut, colors, fabrics, and fit.

By the time the Awards rolled around, you’d lost upwards of forty excruciating hours of your life to preparations, and had developed some kind of anxiety-induced Pavlovian response to the modiste’s name on your phone screen, where you immediately wanted to leap into the nearest storage closet and hide. And none of this was even counting the five full hours you spent on the day of the awards getting primped and polished within an inch of your life, then stuffed into some ridiculous scrap of fabric that threatened to fall off of you if you so much as breathed wrong.

By the time the stylists and makeup artist had finished with you, you were starved, cranky, and nursing a small migraine from how enthusiastic the hairdresser had been with you. You’d thought, though, that you would finally be able to enjoy yourself now that the worst was over. All there was left was to attend the ceremony, and get to see all your favorite heroes.

And for an hour or two, the Hero Awards had been just as cool as expected. You lingered on the fringes of the red carpet, gawking as pros like Chargebolt and Pinky swanned their way down the walkway, looking even cooler in real life than they looked on TV. Everyone had clearly gone all out, and they looked unbelievably good, either inhumanly beautiful or inhumanly intimidating. You had been utterly transfixed, as evidenced by the inordinate amount of time you spent accidentally staring at Todoroki Shouto as he gave an interview to the side of the walkway, looking absolutely unreal as he leaned over to speak to the reporter.

When you’d finally managed to snap out of your trance, you’d remembered to cut a beeline for the snack table, and had set about stuffing as many snacks into your dress as you could manage. And that’s where the trouble really started.

The invite to the Awards had come with the option for a very fancy multi-course dinner that you could have chosen. Instead, you’d taken one look at the price and laughed yourself sick, before resolving to sneak a bunch of the free snacks into your dress to keep you occupied during the ceremony. The problem was, the scrap of fabric the modiste had insisted was a dress was so obnoxiously flimsy and could only hold so many snacks.

If your dress had been able to hold a reasonable number of snacks, you wouldn’t have needed to sneak back out to the snack table during the presentation, and he would have never had a chance to catch you on your own. But the dress was lacking snack utility, and so you had gone back out for more.

You kept low in the aisle as you crept out of the darkened theater, keeping a hand over your chest so you didn’t spill out of the thin fabric of your dress, and emerged into the reception hall, where you were almost blinded by the harsh light. You stood for a minute, blinking the spots out of your vision, and touched a hand to your eyes, careful not to smear any of your eyeliner.

And that’s when he struck.

Almost as soon as you raised your hand, a rough hand seized your wrist, wrenching your arm down. A heavy arm went around you quickly, trapping both your arms to your sides, and you barely had time to let out a squeak before a calloused hand clapped over your mouth. Your feet left the floor, and then you were being dragged through a side door into the stairwell.

You twisted wildly, kicking out, trying to catch the wall or the railing to push off of and throw your assailant off balance, but he was strong, and clearly well-versed in combat, as he kept you well away from anything you could use to your advantage. He hauled you out into the stairwell, but instead of heading down the stairs, he moved towards the corner. To your surprise, he tossed you unceremoniously against the wall, letting you go.

You caught yourself on the rough stone and whirled around, only to reel back in shock when you caught sight of your assailant.

Bakugou Katsuki, perhaps better known as pro hero Ground Zero, leaned over you, trapping you against the wall with an arm on either side of you. He, like all the other heroes you’d caught sight of today, looked almost unreal in person, but in stark contrast to all the others, his handsome face was twisted up in unmistakeable fury, blood-red eyes bright with violence and white teeth bared in a silent snarl. Even under the thick fabric of his suit, you could see the hard lines of his body were taught with aggression, and it was all you could do to not shrink back against the cold stone of the wall.

“So,” he snarled, leaning in to put his face close to yours, “you’re the fucking statistics nerd.”

You gaped at him, mouth falling open. Your professional title was data scientist, but statistics nerd was a close enough descriptor that you could tell he knew who you were. Your brows went up, wondering why in the world Ground Zero knew you.

“E-excuse me?” you managed. Your brain rapidly kicked into high gear, running through possible reasons why he would know you, what he could possibly want with you.

Bakugou snarled. “What the fuck is your problem with me?”

You stared at him. Problem with him? Other than the fact that he’d just seized you with no warning and dragged you into a stairwell, you had no problem with him. You’d never even met him--what the hell was he talking about?

“Uh, do you maybe have me confused with someone else?” you asked, trying to shift out from under his arm. Maybe there was another data scientist milling around in the crowds that he’d meant to get his hands on instead.

Bakugou’s red eyes narrowed, and he put a hand to your abdomen to press you firmly back to the wall. “Oh no. You’re not getting out of this, you little brat. Fucking fix it.”

You eyed him warily, checking him for signs of a head injury, wandering over his shock of blonde hair and noting the size of his pupils. Maybe Bakugou had been out on assignment just before the Awards, and hadn’t stopped to get his injuries checked out before coming here. A blow to the head would explain why he was behaving so strangely, and asking for weird stuff.

“Fix what?” you asked, frowning when you couldn’t spot the signs of a concussion on him. His gaze seemed all too focused, all too intent. It was nerve-wracking, actually. You’d heard of his reputation for intensity before, but it was one thing to hear it and another entirely to have all that intensity trained on you.

Bakugou bared his teeth and leaned closer. “Your fucking nerd-ass model. Fix it.”

You froze.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh, this was about the model. You knew his bone to pick with the model.

The entire reason you’d received an invite to the Hero Awards in the first place was because of your work on the model that calculated the hero rankings. The model had existed for years before you had come along, but this year it was different.

You’d been hired a couple months ago by the Public Safety Hero Commission after you’d contacted them with an idea on how to finally calculate the value of field assists. You’d had a rough prototype of a neural network that you’d trained on video of multi-hero operations, tracking the movements of all the heroes on screen, and had developed an algorithm capable of assigning point values to moves that contributed to but did not directly result in a win or a rescue.

The Commission couldn’t get their hands on your work fast enough, and after only a few months refining your neural net, it was hooked into the rankings model, and it had informed not only the choices for Rescue of the Year and Most Valuable Hero this year, but had entirely changed the hero rankings overall.

And Bakugou’s ranking had been very much affected.

Bakugou Katsuki was a hero very unlike the world had ever seen. Anyone could see from his stats alone that he was incredibly driven, supremely powerful, and almost unmatched by any other hero out there. A few years out from UA, he’d already entered the top ten and had been mere breaths away from the top three -- that is, until your model results had been released.

The thing about Bakugou was that he had a higher percentage of fight wins than any hero in recorded history. He came out on top of almost any situation he entered into, and had one of the highest villain capture stats and the highest villain kill stat as compared to any other hero at this point in their career. The problem was, the new model also now took into account assists, as well as applied slightly heavier weights to rescues, and as good as Bakugou was at winning fights, he was almost equally as terrible at helping others.

So when your model had been worked into the Hero Commission’s official ranking calculations, Bakugou had backslid to sit unhappily at rank number eight.

And apparently, he thought this meant you had a personal grudge.

“Okay, I understand you’re upset, but the results are the results,” you said, watching him carefully. “It’s got nothing to do with you personally.”

His expression darkened thunderously, and the hand on your abdomen grew notably hotter, a scent like gunpowder and burnt sugar rising in the stairwell. “Like hell it doesn’t. Fucking fix it.”

Your brow furrowed. How did regular people think models worked? “There’s no ‘fixing it’, Bakugou. That’s just how math works. If you have a problem with how assists and rescues are weighted then you can take it up with the Commission. I just trained the model with their recommendations, and the results are what they are.”

Bakugou apparently registered none of what you were saying. Rough fingers slid to your jaw, tipping your face up to him. “What is it that you wanted, you damn brat? Did you want to see me humiliated? Or maybe you wanted my attention?” His fingers dug into your jaw. “Well now you have it, you fucking harpy, so show me what you wanted with it.”

You gaped at him, unable to help the way your mouth hung open like a fish. Did he think you were blackmailing him? With a fucking statistical model? It was a matter of public record that Bakugou was smart--he was purportedly one of the brightest minds that had ever graced the profession of hero, with strategic skill and combat sense that was utterly unparalleled--so then why the hell was he being so dumb about this? Was he really so self-absorbed that he thought this whole thing was about him?

Your temper flared, rising like the slow heat that was building under his hands. “I know this might be news to you,” you said slowly, “but not everything is about you. The model I trained takes in video as its input, and calculates rankings based on recommended weighting criteria that the Hero Commission gave me themselves. There is no place for me to input my own biases or change the results, so if the output is something that you’re ashamed of, then maybe you should do better.”

Bakugou’s eyes brightened, narrowing on you with an intensity that made you want to curl into the wall. “Say that again, you little fuck.”

You held your ground, ignoring the dangerous way the scent of hot smoke sharpened, leaning forward to bare your own teeth. “Maybe you should do better, you self-centered asshole.”

You were close enough that you could see his pupils dilate with the challenge, like a predator catching sight of its prey. An unsettling grin made its way across his mouth. “I am going to make you wish you’d never even seen a calculator, you smug fucking nerd,” he said, leaning into you.

The scent of gunpowder burned in the back of your throat, and the hands on you flared alarmingly hot, before the door to the hall burst open, and a whirlwind of red and yellow tore into the stairwell.

“Heya Blasty,” a voice chirped, echoing on the stairs, “Found ya.”

The shock of golden yellow resolved itself into the lean figure of Kaminari Denki, aka pro hero Chargebolt. He quickly made his way to Bakugou’s side, seizing an elbow.

“I’m busy, fuckstick. Fuck off,” Bakugou growled.

A large hand reached over Bakugou’s other shoulder to pull him off you, a head of gelled red spikes materializing behind his back, and you blinked up at Kirishima Eijirou, also known as Red Riot.

“Sorry about him,” Kirishima smiled down at you warmly, in direct contrast to the way his fingers dug into Bakugou’s shoulder. His teeth looked incredibly sharp in person, but this fact somehow failed to detract from the warmth of his friendly expression. You blinked, stunned that you were being addressed by Red Riot.

“He’s been a little worked up since the results were released, but he’s harmless,” Kirishima explained, grunting a little as he jerked Bakugou away from you. Bakugou snarled and turned to his friend, a small volley of sparks lighting off of his palm.

“I said fuck off,” he growled.

You let out a choked laugh at the idea of Bakugou Katsuki being called harmless. Just this week he’d perfected a technique where he melted clean through concrete, and you’d seen the replay of him liquifying the side of a skyscraper on the news this morning as you’d been getting your makeup done.

“Harmless, right. Definitely felt that way,” you uttered as Kirishima struggled to get a grip on Bakugou.

“I’ll fucking show you harmless,” Bakugou spat, turning back to you, sparks crackling louder in his palm. Kirishima seized his chance quickly, getting a bulky arm around Bakugou’s chest and lifting him straight off the ground. Bakugou snarled and gripped Kirishima’s forearm, letting off an explosion that would have blown anyone else’s arm clean off, but Kirishima just laughed, ignoring that the sleeve of his suit had caught fire, and hauled Bakugou back through the door.

A litany of swears filtered back through the door before it swung shut again.

Kaminari turned to face you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that. We didn’t realize he was gonna come after you like that, though I don’t think he would have actually done anything. He’s pretty much all talk.”

You waved a hand, still stunned that Chargebolt was speaking to you.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you said. “I just...didn’t expect that kind of a reaction.”

Kaminari chuckled. “He’s usually a little more chill these days--I think he’s just pissed he’s losing to Midoriya now.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I gotta say, though, he was even more worked up than I expected when we got here. What did you say to him?”

You grimaced, thinking back on the tense conversation. “That if he was ashamed of his ranking, he should do better.”

Kaminari choked. “Oh fuck, he must have been pissed,” he managed, before dissolving into peals of laughter. “Do better. No wonder he looked like he was gonna give himself a hernia. Mina’s gonna wet herself when I tell her.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “He thinks I altered the results to get his attention.”

Kaminari’s chuckles tapered off as he set a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Oh, he’s just saying that. He knows he’s shit at assists. He’s just salty he’s actually gotta do something about it if he wants to be number one.”

You thought back to the feeling of that hard body pressing you up against the wall, the disdain that had twisted his handsome face, the burning heat that had built up under his palms. A shiver went down your spine. It had seemed like he was a little more than salty, but if that’s how his friend wanted to put it, then fine.

“Well, thanks for the save anyway,” you said, giving Kaminari a little smile. “I’d definitely give you and Kirishima Rescue of the Year if I was pre-determining my results.”

Kaminari laughed, turning back to the door that Kirishima had dragged Bakugou through. As if on cue, a small boom sent the door swinging open a little. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to make sure I don’t have to rescue the rescuer.”

He gave you a casual wave, then crossed to the door quickly. He hesitated at the threshold, then peeked back over his shoulder at you.

“By the way,” he said. “You might want to take a look at your dress. I, um, think Bakugou may have gotten a little carried away.”

He disappeared before you could ask what he meant, but a quick glance down clarified soon enough. Right on your abdomen, where Bakugou had pinned you against the wall, lay a scorched cut out, exactly in the shape of one large hand.

Your mouth dropped open in horror.

That fucking dick.