#i'm not tagging all of these people. i'm not sorry

[cherrygirlfriend]

THE ART OF SABOTAGE ♡

♡ pairing: nerd bsf!rafe x girl next door!reader

♡ summary: your best friend has been in love with you for as long as he could remember, and he'll do anything to make sure you're not taken away from him; including ruin your relationship.

♡ warnings / tags: manipulation. jealousy. sabotage. suggestive. MDNI!

♡ author's note: combining two of my favorite things to write... bsf!rafe and nerd!rafe... hehe. should i make this a permanent AU?

RAFE MASTERLIST ♡

rafe knows that he should be ashamed of the kind of thoughts he has about you, the kind of thoughts he's had about you for as long as you've known each other, and he is, he really is. you were the only one who had always been nice to him; he'd never quite fit in with the others when he was a kid, meanwhile it seemed that everyone adored you, but you had a rule; if the kids who wanted to play with you didn't include him, you refused to be friends with them.

that's one thing that never changed between you two. no matter how old you got, if the people you hung around with didn't accept rafe, you had no interest in being their friend.

but something did change. the way he felt about you.

sure he'd always thought you were pretty, but the older the two you got... for some reason, it got deeper. your hair, your eyes, your lips, your body, the softness of your skin, the way your perfume smelled of a mixture of honey and flowers... you were the only thing he could think about, to the point that rafe felt guilty whenever he got hard, because he knew he couldn't get himself to come if he tried to fist his cock to something other than you.

when you got your first boyfriend. the first time you told rafe about 'jason', rafe felt... betrayed. he was supposed to be your favorite. he was supposed to be your boy.

it all came to a head the first time you cancelled plans with rafe to hang out with jason, around six months of dating him.

"hiii, rafe." you'd started the call with, like nothing was wrong, "hi. is everything alright? i was about to head there. i'll pick up snacks on the way." "about that, rafe..." he could already make out an apologetic tone in your voice, "i actually promised to my mom that i'd watch my sister." "well, that's fine. it's been a long time since i saw her, we can watch a child-friendly movie instead of horror. maybe coraline, i feel like that still fits the theme."

"i'm sorry, but my mom said i shouldn't have anyone over because of the stomach flu that's been going around." "but we always have a horror movie night on fridays..." "i'm sorry, i feel terrible. but we'll do it next week, okay?" "okay... bye..." "bye, rafe! you're the best."

later on, it was two in the morning, rafe was only slightly bummed over being ditched now, and requiem for the phantom was reflected on his glasses when rafe got an instagram notification on his phone.

JASONTHEMAN01 posted a story.

rafe didn't want to seem interested in the comings and goings of someone so intellectually inferior to him as jason and the group of idiots that were your other friends, but he still wanted to know what they were up to, just so he could look out for you. so maybe he had created a burner instagram, just to keep an eye on them.

but when rafe saw what jason had posted, it felt like someone had carved rafe's heart right out of his chest.

it was a picture taken of you and jason, the boy's arms around your waist while your arms were around his neck, the two of you locked in a heated kiss while something that looked llike a houseparty was going on behind you two.

that wouldn't work. jason was clearly isolating you from your only real friend. he probably manipulated and guilted you into ditching your plans with rafe for the party. yes, that was it. jason had to go. he was no good for you, didn't deserve you. he was taking you away from rafe.

luckily, rafe had made his burner account look like any average girl, using the pictures of some wannabe-influencer with less than twenty thousand followers to make sure it was more authentic.

rafe didn't even need to do anything complicated to get jason's instagram password; he decided to try different common password combinations; password123, password2001, jason123, jason2001, even your name and birthday (his own password) until rafe finally struck gold with the password 'lucky2001', the name of the golden retriever jason owned that you'd told rafe about.

remotely, he logged jason out of his own account, before getting to work. rafe created a lengthy text exchange between jason and 'jenna', his burner account. the messages start off as innocent, becoming flirty (initiated by jason) until it turns into 'jenna' sending jason nudes rafe had gotten from twitter and reddit, jason encouraging it.

the final blow? rafe wrote a long message as jason confessing his love for jenna. it wasn't difficult for rafe to change the dates of the messages. now he had a loaded gun, just waiting for the right time for him to set it off.

the day came sooner than he could've hoped for.

when rafe had asked you to go to the movies, you'd let him know in that you'd be going over to jason's, promising to go to the movies with rafe tomorrow.

you'd been at jason's house for thirty minutes, the two of you cuddling on his bed until jason needed to go to the bathroom, pausing clueless. your phone pinged with a notification, and you thought it was a message from your best friend at first, but it said that you'd gotten an instagram DM from someone named 'jennaabaker'.

'hi girly, i know you don't know me, but i think we've been having a thing with the same guy :/ i had no idea that jason had a gf, if i had i would've blocked him immediately. i'm so sorry, i never meant for this to happen.'

it felt like your heart shattered in your chest when you saw the screenshots; multiple conversations between jason and this jenna girl, flirting, all sent while he played the doting boyfriend to your oblivious face.

you clenched your jaw when you heard the toilet flush, putting your phone away.

"hey, baby." jason grinned as he returned to the room, pressing a quick kiss on your lips, "you wanna continue the movie?"

"let me see your phone."

"huh?"

"i wanna see your instagram. show it to me."

"alright, alright. geez, woman." jason cleared his throat, unlocking his phone and going on instagram. after logging on, he handed it over to you like he had nothing to hide.

there it was, clear as day. jason's conversation with jenna. and as you scrolled up, you could see it went back months. you scoffed and shook your head, "you fucking asshole. who's jenna, huh?" "what? jason furrowed his brows, "i don't know." "oh, yeah? then what's this?"

you handed your phone back to your boyfriend, jason starting to go through the messages with increasing confusion, "babe, i swear, i have no idea what this is, i've never even talked to this chick."

"i should've believed my friend when he said you were nothing but a fuckboy." you shook your head. "babe, i swear, i don't know who this is!" "do you think i'm an idiot?!"

rafe was laying in his bed reading the eighth volume of jujutsu kaisen when the constant ringing of the doorbell started echoing across tannyhill. the boy furrowed his brows, it was almost ten in the evening. abandoning the manga on his bed, rafe got up and left his room.

"who is it?" wheezie peeked her head out of her room, "do you think someone's breaking in?" "if someone's breaking in, they wouldn't ring the doorbell." rafe rolled his eyes, the younger girl still unconvinced as she closed the door.

rafe was halfway down the stairs when whoever was behind the door started banging on the door. the boy rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath, but when he pulled the door open, you were standing there, mascara running down your cheeks, sobs leaving your lips.

"wh-"

before rafe could even get a word out, you'd thrown your arms around rafe. he was surprised at first, but he closed you into his embrace as you squeezed him.

"jason... sniff... cheated on me..."

"oh, fuck." rafe sighed, glad that you couldn't see the smile on his lips, his large hand going to stroke your head. "he's an asshole."

that night, rafe listened as you'd cried in his arms, telling him all about jason and jenna, about how you two had fought for hours with jason trying to tell you how he didn't know the girl.

after a while, though, you finally fell asleep in rafe's bed with your head in rafe's lap, wearing one of rafe's hoodies, nuzzling into the fabric as the boy stroked your hair. it had broken his heart to see you cry, to see you that sad over some dickhead who didn't deserve you, but not even a single part of his body regretted what he had done. jason didn't deserve you, and it was just a matter of time before he'd hurt you. the sooner, the better. him being your favorite, him being your boy, was just an added bonus.

"i'll do whatever it takes to protect you." rafe whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

TAGLIST: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @purpleplumpudding @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @silkylovey @izumis-salty-penis @flow33didontsmoke @cameronsbabydoll @love-ella333 @haylorbestie @k4yr14 @harringtonsbowgirl @lacelottie @st8rkey @lunaleah @cicicavill7 @lillied31 @doremimosasol @lerclec @deeninadream @finnickodairslut @constantsadness @drewsephrry @rafemeow cont. in com.

join the taglist! ♡

[danysdaughter]

Drown Me Gently

pairing | new!avenger!bucky x siren!reader

word count | 6.6k words

summary | a half-siren joins the new avengers, hiding centuries of shame beneath skin that was never yours to begin with. but when bucky barnes sees past the danger to the devastating loneliness underneath, the monster you fear you are finally begins to unravel.

tags | THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, (kind of ig) unprotected sex, comfort sex, emotional intimacy, hurt/comfort, emotional angst, identity crisis, soft!bucky, dark past, trust issues, body horror (light), self-hatred, non-accurate siren mythology, mutual pining, reader backstory, deep emotional healing, sensual tension, dark past, post-trauma connection

a/n | chat, I've literally had this fic in my drafts for almost a month. I lowkey don't know if I like this or not, anyway tell me what you think about it, because I'm second guessing. also based on this request

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

You barely had a chance to take a seat before the interrogation began.

“Do you have gills?” Yelena asked, leaning forward like she was inspecting a specimen. “Or do they only show up when you're wet?”

You blinked. “Um—”

“Wait, hold on.” Ava cut in, arms crossed. “Do you eat people? Like, in a sexy way? Or like… teeth and blood?”

“Neither?”

Bob’s eyes lit up. “But hypothetically, if you were shipwrecked, would you rather lure sailors to their deaths or just vibe on a rock singing Adele?”

“I don’t—”

“Also,” Alexei boomed, squinting at you. “How do you have babies with tail? Is it like seahorses? Or salmon?”

“Why would it be like salmon?” Ava muttered.

“Maybe she lays eggs,” Bob said thoughtfully. “Do you lay eggs?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. This had to be a test. Some kind of extremely unorthodox hazing ritual.

“I’m sorry,” you finally managed. “Are these actual questions or did you all just watch The Little Mermaid before I got here?”

Walker, inexplicably sipping a protein shake at 8am, nodded solemnly. “So... do you explode if you drink salt water?”

You stared. “I'm from the ocean.”

“And what about chlorinated water,” he asked, completely serious.

Yelena snorted.

Before the next round of nonsense could begin, a voice cut through the chaos.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

You turned. Bucky stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His eyes settled on you for a beat too long.

“Give her a second to breathe before you start asking about mating rituals.”

“Thank you,” you breathed.

He moved past the others, walking toward you with measured steps. You hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders were until he got close enough that the rest of the room seemed to dim around him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, but couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Do you ask all the new recruits about their reproductive methods, or just me?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Only the ones who are rumored to eat people.”

────────────────────────

A Few Days Later

You sat on the edge of the couch like a guest who wasn’t sure if they were invited or accidentally wandered in. Your posture was perfect, hands folded neatly in your lap, gaze fixed somewhere safe—like the TV that no one had turned on.

Yelena flopped down beside you with the grace of a feral cat. “You don’t talk much,” she observed bluntly. “Which is fine. Some of us overshare to make up for our emotional repression.”

“That’s just you,” Ava said from the kitchen, balancing a tray of chips and something that might’ve been experimental dip.

“Correct.”

Alexei hovered behind you, inexplicably trying to angle a photo of his dog toward your face. “This is Misha. He was trained to kill before he was housebroken. You would get along.”

“I’m… sure he’s lovely,” you replied politely, offering a tight smile.

Bob sat cross-legged on the floor like a camp counselor. “Okay, but seriously. Do you want anything to eat? We’ve got empanadas. And tofu stuff. And I think someone tried to make brownies.”

You shook your head. “Thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“No fish?” Walker smirked. “Or is it just... men on the menu?”

The room went dead quiet for half a second. Ava groaned.

“Really?” Yelena muttered.

“I’m a vegetarian,” you said quietly.

Walker blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yes.”

“That’s even more terrifying,” Bob said thoughtfully. “You choose not to eat meat. Yet you still eat men. For sport, right?”

“I do not eat men.”

“Sure,” Ava said with a shrug. “But if you did, it’d be poetic justice. Like, ‘Oops, your ship tried to colonize my homeland, now you're lunch.’”

You gave a tight-lipped smile again, but the joke didn’t quite sit right. They didn’t notice the way your gaze dropped or how your fingers fidgeted slightly at the hem of your sleeve.

Except Bucky.

He leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes on you in that quiet, unreadable way of his. Watching. Not judging. Just… observing. Carefully.

“You always like this?” Ava asked, circling to sit nearby. “Polite. Mysterious. Quiet. Like a goth librarian who also knows how to drown people with her mind?”

You hesitated. “I try not to make people uncomfortable.”

“You don’t,” Yelena said, popping a chip into her mouth. “We’re uncomfortable by default. It’s a trauma response.”

“You’re basically the least weird person in this room,” Bob added. “Which is suspicious in itself.”

That earned a small laugh from you—surprising even yourself. Heads turned, and you flushed faintly under the sudden attention.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said.

It wasn’t much. But it was something. A sliver of trust cracked open just enough for light to slip through.

And across the room, Bucky eyes softened.

It had started with snacks and sarcasm. Someone had turned on a movie. Bob was quoting every line with annoying precision. Ava kept tossing popcorn into Walker’s protein shake. For a while, you had almost forgotten to be cautious.

Almost.

“Okay but seriously,” Yelena said, elbowing you gently, “you’ve got to let us see it sometime. The thing. With your voice.”

You hesitated. “It’s not something I do for fun.”

“But it’s, like... mind control, right?” Walker asked, overly casual. “Like Jedi mind tricks, but with falsetto?”

You glanced around. Ava watching with narrowed eyes, trying to read you. Bob leaned forward, too curious. Yelena still too close. Even Alexei had stopped mid-story. And Bucky—still across the room, still silent.

“It’s not mind control,” you said slowly. “It’s... influence.”

The air shifted.

“My voice can influence people. Not just emotion. Thought. Action.”

The joking stopped.

“And I can sense... intention. Urgency. Fear. Hunger. The things people hide.”

Then softly you added. “It’s not always... voluntary.”

There was something fragile in your voice then. Not a confession, but a warning.

Your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers curling in your lap. You could already feel it. The subtle recoil in their posture. Not loud, but enough. Enough for your pulse to tick faster, warning you.

“Damn,” John muttered. “So you just walk into a room and feel everyone’s business?”

“I try not to,” you replied, softly.

That landed harder than you meant it to.

The silence that followed was heavier than any you'd felt all day. Thick with the kind of unease you’d learned to recognize long before you joined this team. Not fear. Not rejection. Just... awareness. The realization that your power wasn’t theoretical anymore. It was here. With them. Listening.

You felt the wall go up in them before they even realized they were building it.

So you did what you always did. What you were best at.

You retreated.

Your shoulders folded in. Your body went still. Not dramatically. Not enough to cause a scene. Just... quieter. Smaller. Like someone sinking slowly beneath the surface of the sea.

No one said anything.

But from across the room, Bucky watched you carefully—jaw set, brow furrowed—not at you, but at the room. At the shift. At how fast they’d gone from teasing to tiptoeing.

And you?

You didn’t need to read anyone’s mind to feel how far away you suddenly were.

────────────────────────

Later That Night

The wind was soft out here. Almost warm, brushing past your bare arms with the gentleness of something that wasn’t trying to take anything from you. You sat curled on a narrow bench, knees pulled to your chest, chin resting lightly on them.

You hadn’t meant to be found. That was kind of the point.

So when the door behind you slid open, your heart sank just a little. Until you heard his footsteps. Quiet. Measured. Familiar now.

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. Just moved beside you slowly and sat down, leaving a respectful distance between you.

“I figured you might be out here,” he said, voice low. Like he didn’t want to scare you off.

You didn’t look at him. “Why?”

“You didn’t say anything.”

The corners of your mouth turned up, barely. “Didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“You’re not. Just... noticed.”

For a while, you both sat in silence, the kind that wasn’t awkward. Just... open. A space you didn’t have to fill.

“I didn’t mean to make them uncomfortable,” you said finally. Voice soft. Still watching the stars.

“You didn’t,” he said automatically.

You turned your head, just a little. “You felt it.”

He paused. “I felt them realizing they don’t understand you yet. That’s different.”

You shook your head slowly. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

His eyes flicked to you. You didn’t see the way they narrowed.

“I know what I am,” you continued. “People don’t have to say it. I can feel it. The moment it shifts. That little breath of fear when they realize I can reach inside their heads without asking. It’s not wrong. I am what they think I am.”

You looked at him then, just briefly. Enough for him to see the resignation. The calm acceptance that only comes from long practice.

“A monster,” you said quietly.

His jaw clenched, barely. You saw it, even if he tried to hide it.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.” He turned toward you fully now. “You think you’re the only person on this team who’s scared of what they’ve done? What they’re capable of?”

You didn’t answer.

“You think any of us have clean hands?” His voice stayed even, but there was a tightness to it now. Not anger. Something closer to frustration. Or pained. “Ava’s killed for hire. Yelena was trained to be a weapon since she could walk. Walker…” He paused. “You saw the headlines.”

He let the silence hang for a beat.

“I spent seventy years hurting people with no choice. With no soul. If anyone here knows what it means to be used, to be feared—it’s me.”

You blinked. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because you're human.”

He stared at you. Then, quietly, “And you're not?”

You didn’t respond.

The wind picked up. You turned your head back toward the night.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, softly, “You scare them a little. Yeah. But not because you’re a monster.”

You glanced at him.

“They just don’t know you yet. And people fear what they don’t understand. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try.”

You looked down at your hands, where your fingers were laced tight together. Like you were holding something in.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I know,” he said.

And you believed him.

Not because his words were kind, but because they were quiet. Steady. Because they didn’t ask anything of you.

Because he didn’t look away.

And for the first time since you joined this mess of a team, you didn’t feel like a weapon waiting to be triggered.

You just felt... seen.

────────────────────────

Abandoned Shipping Yard

It was supposed to be a clean extraction. In and out. Minimal resistance. Ava had scoped the perimeter, Yelena laid out the breach pattern, Walker was already ten paces ahead being Walker, and Bucky had given you a nod just before the comms went live.

You were ready. Or you thought you were.

The cold air clung to your skin as you moved through the corridor of rusted containers. You kept to the shadows, as always, listening more than speaking, watching more than acting. A quiet presence, there when needed—never more.

The first wave of hostiles came fast—mercs, jittery and underpaid. Nothing the team couldn’t handle. You barely had to use your voice.

But something changed.

Second floor. A new group. More organized. You didn’t see them until they’d already flanked Alexei. You reacted before you thought—instinct firing faster than strategy.

They raised weapons.

And you hummed.

Not loud. Not full. Just enough to stop them.

A sound low in your throat, rich with warning and pressure and pull. It rolled over the air like a tide, a siren note pitched directly into their nerves.

They froze.

Then they turned.

Not toward Alexei.

Toward each other.

Guns half-raised. Hands twitching.

Confusion swelled, slow and dangerous. One man dropped his rifle. Another started crying. A third turned to face you like he couldn’t remember why he was holding a weapon at all.

Then Walker’s voice shouted through comms: “What the hell was that?!”

A sharp click—a trigger cocked.

Bucky got there first.

He shoved the last merc down before he could swing his weapon back around, snapping a zip tie around his wrists with clinical precision.

“Clear!” Yelena called from above.

“Room’s secure,” Ava confirmed, quieter, voice tinged with something more cautious.

You stood in the center of the room, throat tight, breath short. The air still trembled faintly with the residue of your voice.

Everyone was looking at you.

No one said anything.

Until Walker.

“Was that you?” he asked, not angry—just stunned. Like he’d seen lightning strike too close. “What even—what was that?”

“I didn’t mean to—” you started, but your voice wavered.

“That wasn’t just noise. That was... influence, right? You turned them on each other?”

“No.” You swallowed. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened. They were going to shoot Alexei, I—”

“But it wasn’t controlled,” Walker said sharply. Not cruel, just assessing. Calculating risk. “What if they’d turned on us?”

That stung. More than it should have.

“I wouldn’t,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“She said it was involuntary,” Bucky cut in, stepping forward. His voice didn’t rise, but it carried weight. “She stopped them. That’s what matters.”

“She also almost made a guy kill himself,” Walker muttered.

“She saved Alexei,” Bucky said firmly, turning toward the others. “We’ve all lost control before. Don’t pretend we haven’t.”

You stood silent, heart pounding, the aftermath of your own power still vibrating under your skin. The others started moving again—resetting, clearing the area, checking gear. But they gave you space now.

Too much space.

You barely heard the rest of the debrief. Your voice was gone, locked behind clenched teeth. Guilt wrapped around your chest like a vice.

You walked ahead in silence.

No one stopped you.

────────────────────────

You hadn’t even taken off your boots. You sat on the floor, back against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around your knees like they might keep you from slipping any further into yourself.

The door creaked open softly.

You didn’t look up.

But you knew the sound of his steps.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Bucky said gently.

You didn’t respond.

He came closer but didn’t sit. Just leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed loosely. Watching. Waiting.

“I lost control,” you said after a long moment. “They’re right to be wary.”

“They’re wrong,” he said simply.

“You didn’t see their faces.”

“I saw yours.”

You glanced up, surprised.

“You looked like you were trying to tear yourself in half,” he said. “Because you cared more about hurting them than saving yourself.”

You looked away again.

“They don’t understand what it feels like,” you said quietly. “To have something inside you that people fear. That you can’t always lock down. That might one day hurt someone—even if you don’t want it to.”

His expression shifted. Pain, recognition, something deeper.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

The softness in his face, the tension in his shoulders—he knew. He knew.

And still, he was here.

Not afraid. Not flinching. Just... here.

You exhaled shakily.

“I think I made a mistake joining this team.”

“No,” he said. “You didn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve been watching you,” he admitted. “And not because I’m waiting for you to snap. I watch because I see you trying. Every damn day. Even when they don’t notice.”

Your throat tightened.

“You don’t scare me,” he added. “None of this does. You do more to hold yourself back than most of us ever have to.”

Silence.

Then, softly: “You belong here. Even if it takes them time to see it.”

────────────────────────

The Next Night

Bucky wasn’t looking for you.

That’s what he told himself.

He told himself he was going for a walk. That his muscles ached. That the silence in his room was too sharp around the edges tonight.

But when he passed the door to the training pool and saw it slightly ajar, lights off, humid air curling into the hallway like a whisper—he knew.

Of course it was you.

He stepped inside quietly, the heavy door hissing shut behind him. The sound echoed across the still water.

“Hey,” he called out softly, scanning the dark. “You left the lights off.”

He moved toward the control panel instinctively, fingers brushing the switch.

“Don’t,” came your voice.

Not a shout. Not even stern. Just quiet. Low.

Carried like a ripple across the water, echoing from somewhere deep in the pool.

He froze.

“…You okay?” he asked, softer now.

A pause.

Then, “Yes.”

But there was something in the way you said it—like you were holding your breath inside the word.

The pool was a long, Olympic cut of black glass. He could barely make out your shape beneath the surface—a flicker of motion in the far end, a slow shift of shadow.

“You’re in the water.”

“Yes.”

The silence stretched again, heavy but not uncomfortable. He stepped forward, letting the heat of the pool air wrap around him.

“I thought maybe you’d gone,” he admitted. “After yesterday.”

There was a sound, something like a soft splash. A flick of fin, maybe. Movement, not retreat.

“No,” you said. “I just needed to be… this. For a while.”

He squinted toward you, his eyes adjusting to the dark. It took a moment, but then he saw it—just barely. The curve of your back breaking the surface. The subtle gleam of something slick and scaled beneath the low ambient light.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t stare. Just stayed still.

You exhaled slowly, the sound barely above the waterline. “I’m not hiding.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I just don't want to be seen like this. Not… yet.”

He nodded, even though you probably couldn’t see it. “Alright. Then I won’t look.”

And to his credit, he didn’t.

He turned away slightly, gave you space, let you move without watching. But he still stayed. Because you hadn’t told him to go.

Because, maybe, you wanted someone to stay.

“I’m not human the way you are,” you said after a while. “Not just physically. Sometimes I feel like I’m wearing skin that doesn’t belong to me.”

He breathed in slow. “I know that feeling.”

“Do you?” you asked, not unkindly. Just tired.

Bucky shifted his weight. “I’ve worn a lot of masks. But yeah. There are days where I look in the mirror and don’t see someone who belongs anywhere.”

The water rippled quietly.

“Then you understand why I needed to be in the dark tonight.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“You ever wish you could just… stay like that?” he asked gently. “Who you are in here. Not the version you have to show everyone else?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then, “Sometimes I think the version they see is the monster. And this—the water, the dark, the scales—that this is the real me.”

“And is she the monster?”

“No.”

Then you added, softer, “She’s worse.“

The words sank like stones.

You waited for him to back away. To excuse himself. To do what most people did when they saw behind the illusion.

But he didn’t.

“You’re not a monster,” he said, steady as stone. “Not in any form.”

You let out a breath—half bitter, half broken. “You should be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.”

“You should be.” A sharp breath. “Especially you. After what you’ve been through. After what it’s like to have your mind twisted, your will taken—I could do that to you. Without even trying.”

Silence.

You expected him to leave. You preferred him to leave.

Then a soft rustle.

You heard it before you saw it—fabric sliding off. The quiet thud of boots meeting concrete. A belt unhooking. Then another sound: the shift of weight, the hiss of disturbed water.

Your head turned sharply in the dark. “What are you doing?”

Bucky’s voice came low and calm. “Showing you I’m not afraid.”

His bare feet met the water first, then his legs. He stepped slowly into the pool, each movement careful, deliberate—like he was approaching a wounded animal. Like he knew you might vanish if he moved too fast.

You froze.

The lights stayed off.

The water rippled gently around him, catching faint echoes of motion from where you were submerged.

“You can’t even see me,” you said.

“I don’t need to.”

Your voice trembled. “You don’t know what I look like like this.”

“I know what I feel,” he said. “I know it’s you.”

He moved further in, the water reaching his ribs, his breath slow, steady.

You stared across the dark, at the shape of him—a silhouette against nothing. Vulnerable. Unarmed. Open.

You whispered, “Why?”

He paused, standing still in the middle of the water.

“Because you’ve spent your whole life trying not to scare people,” he said. “Trying to keep yourself small, quiet, contained. And no one’s ever just... let you be.”

You blinked.

Something deep inside you shifted.

“I’ve been used too,” he said softly. “Controlled. Hurt. Turned into something I didn’t recognize. And I’m still here. Still fighting to believe I’m not what they made me.”

The ripples between you both softened. Fewer waves. Less space.

You whispered, “You’re not.”

“Neither are you.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

Not in the way you did above water—but in the way that didn’t hurt.

“You shouldn’t trust me this much,” you said, a final warning. One last barrier.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But I do”

The water between you held its breath.

You didn’t move at first—didn’t trust the trembling in your limbs or the sharp edge of your pulse. But Bucky stood still, waist-deep, facing the other side of the pool, like he wasn’t waiting for danger—just for you.

So you moved.

Slowly. Silently. The water embraced your form the way it always had—your real shape, the one you kept hidden beneath flesh and clothes and fear. You glided like breath, like tide, like instinct. Your tail made no sound. Your scales caught no light. You were the shadow beneath the surface, and he didn’t flinch.

Not even when you came close.

Close enough to touch.

You hovered at his back, watching the curve of his spine rise and fall with every breath. Water clung to his skin, catching faint glints of motion—your motion—as you lifted a hand above the surface.

And touched him.

His shoulders tensed at first, just barely, but he didn’t pull away.

Your fingers were cool against his skin—webbed, slick, foreign. The pads of them brushed along the ridge of his shoulder blade, then down the line of his arm.

Still, he didn’t turn.

So you did it again.

This time, both hands—light and deliberate—placed just above his hips, fingertips resting at the base of his spine, gently urging.

He let out a slow breath.

And turned.

The water shifted as he faced you.

He still couldn’t see all of you—darkness and depth obscured your form—but he could feel you there. Close. Solid. Real.

His hands came to your waist, cautious, reverent. His thumbs brushed faint ridges along your sides—faint scales you hadn’t hidden, soft flesh beneath them. He could feel the texture of you, alien and familiar all at once.

You let him look.

Not completely. Not yet.

But enough.

You tilted your head up, and he bent just slightly toward you. His face a breath away, eyes searching yours in the dark.

“I see you,” he whispered.

And he did.

Not a siren. Not a monster. Not an aberration.

Just you.

The water lapped quietly around you, the two of you suspended in the dark.

Bucky was so close now. Close enough for the heat of his body to ghost across your skin despite the coolness of the water. Close enough that the contrast between you—his warmth, your chill—felt like static between touching wires.

He looked at you then, fully. His eyes locked on yours, no hesitation. Just slow awe.

You saw the flicker of realization behind his gaze.

Your eyes—icy and deep, nearly luminescent in the dark—weren’t human anymore. The pupils too sharp, the color too unnatural. You didn’t try to hide it.

And still, he whispered, breath brushing your mouth,

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Your lips parted, not to speak, but just to feel that warmth.

Then he leaned in—deliberate, drawn, inevitable—and kissed you.

The first touch was slow, hesitant only in reverence, like he was afraid of breaking something sacred. His lips were warm—so warm—pressing softly against yours, testing.

You didn’t hesitate.

You kissed him back, and the pull was instant. A current dragging you both under.

His hands rose, one settling against the back of your neck, the other at your waist, anchoring you to him. You opened your mouth against his—slowly—and his tongue slipped inside with a soft groan that vibrated low in his throat. You tasted him: salt, metal, heat, something earthy and real.

He tasted you: cool and mineral, like sea-salt and secrets, ancient and raw.

His tongue tangled with yours in deliberate strokes, slow and deep. It wasn’t frantic. It was exploration, mouth against mouth, breath mingling, like he was learning you piece by piece.

Then he felt them.

The faint edge of your fangs—barely exposed as your body stirred with instinct and desire.

He didn’t pull away.

He kissed you harder.

And you let him.

Your webbed fingers curled into his hair, claws grazing his scalp just enough to make him shiver. His hand slipped lower, across the slick curve of your back, dragging you flush against him in the water. Your tail brushed his legs—he felt the ripple of it, powerful and sinuous—and instead of flinching, he leaned into it.

He deepened the kiss with a quiet groan, tilting your head just enough to taste more of you, to chase the sharp edge of your teeth and the soft gasp you gave him when he sucked on your bottom lip.

He wanted more. You wanted.

But the kiss said it all: this wasn’t hunger.

It was surrender.

And when he pulled back—only slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, breath fogging between mouths—his voice dropped again, rough and reverent.

“You’re not a monster.”

You trembled in his arms, not from cold.

And for the first time, you let someone hold you without fear of what they’d find in the dark.

The kisses evolved—mouths moving in rhythm, breathless and hungry, like they’d been holding back for far too long. The water around you rippled with every shift of your bodies, your bare skin slick against his, every nerve alive.

Bucky’s hands slid lower, smoothing over the firm plane of your back where slick, textured scales had shimmered moments ago. But now—he felt it.

They were fading.

His lips broke from yours just enough to murmur, breath hitched, “You’re changing…”

Your forehead pressed to his as your hands threaded through his wet hair. “I can’t stop it,” you whispered. “When I feel—”

He kissed you again, cutting the words off with a gentleness that said you don’t have to explain.

The transformation was slow, intimate.

You felt it first in your hands—your fingers unwebbing, reshaping. Human again. Your claws softened, becoming skin. You ran them down his chest, gasping softly at the warmth, the roughness of him against the new smoothness of you.

Bucky’s hands wrapped around your waist as you shifted again, the powerful muscles of your tail twitching, tensing—then separating.

Legs.

Human.

Bare.

You wrapped them around his hips instinctively, pulling him closer, water lapping between your bodies, heat blooming between where his skin met yours.

His breath caught, hard, sharp.

You were soft and solid and real in his arms, human now but still you—something wild and full of want beneath the surface. He kissed down your jaw, tasting salt and skin and a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.

His voice, low and rough, ghosted along your throat: “You don’t have to be afraid.”

You shivered in his hold, lips brushing his ear as you whispered back, “I’m not.”

And for once, you weren’t.

Not of what he’d think. Not of what you were. Not even of what you wanted.

Just the sound of your shared breath, the gentle churn of the water, the beat of two hearts finally in rhythm.

Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist as he held you against him, his hands roaming—slow, reverent, learning every curve and shape as if memorizing what it meant to have you.

Not to claim.

But to be allowed.

The warmth of him bled into you, his mouth trailing over the column of your throat, lips parting around your skin as he kissed lower—slowly, like he wanted to taste every shiver.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his mouth returned to yours—hungrier this time. Tongues sliding together with unspoken urgency. He groaned into you, low and rough, when you rolled your hips into him beneath the water.

The sound you made—half gasp, half moan—hit him like a shot to the spine.

His hands cupped the back of your thighs, holding you up, keeping you close, guiding your body so you fit around him perfectly. The heat between you sharpened, pressed tight through soaked fabric and wet skin, every movement stoking something deeper.

There was nothing frantic.

Only build.

Only the slow, sacred pull of yes.

The kiss deepened until there was no air between you. His chest pressed to yours, heat meeting the coolness of your skin, fingers curling along your ribs, tracing the path where scales had once been.

You tilted your head back as he kissed his way down—jaw, neck, collarbone—tongue flicking against the hollow of your throat. Each touch lit up something low in your belly, and when you whispered his name, he froze just long enough to look at you.

Eyes dark, lips parted, hands still reverent.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice hoarse, wet strands of hair clinging to his brow.

You nodded, breathless. “Yes.”

Bucky’s mouth returned to yours with hunger barely tempered now, his kiss pulling sounds from your throat you didn’t know you could make—not songs, not power. Just want.

He guided you back through the water, hands steady at your waist, until your spine met the edge of the pool wall. The tile was cool against your back; he was warm and solid against your front.

His fingers brushed along the curve of your ribs, then up—slowly—tracing the faint shimmer where scales had retreated. He explored each new inch of you with careful reverence, like he was learning you with his hands, like every discovery mattered.

Your breath hitched as he slid one palm beneath the water, low across your hip, then between your thighs—fingers ghosting over the softest part of you with a touch so achingly gentle you shivered.

He swallowed the moan that left your mouth as his other hand found your jaw, tilting your face up so he could kiss you again—deeper now, tongue claiming, teeth grazing your lip.

You gasped, fingers curling around the back of his neck as your legs tightened around his hips, urging him closer.

He groaned, low and wrecked, as he pressed his body into yours fully—his arousal hard against you, his mouth dragging kisses down your throat as you arched into him.

“God, you feel like…” he murmured, unfinished, overwhelmed, pressing his forehead against yours.

Your hand found his chest, feeling the steady, pounding rhythm beneath the scars. “I feel like what?”

He looked at you like you were unreal. “Like something I’ve never deserved. But I’m not letting go.”

He reached down again, guiding himself into you with aching care.

When he pressed into you—slow, stretching, deep—your mouth parted in a soundless gasp, nails sinking into his back as your body opened for him.

The sensation was molten. Your body slick and ready, still half-wrapped in water, and every movement felt amplified—rippled and weightless, like being made and unmade in slow motion.

He held still inside you for a beat—his breath stalling, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek.

You nodded, voice caught in your throat. “Don’t stop.”

So he moved.

Rhythmic. Deep. Rolling his hips into you with intense precision, like he wanted every thrust to be a memory etched into your bones.

You clung to him as you rocked together, lips never far, gasps exchanged like prayer. The water splashed gently around you with every movement, hiding and revealing, sheltering and exposing.

And when you came apart in his arms—body shaking, breath hitching, fingers tangled in his hair—he followed seconds after, groaning into your skin as he buried himself in you one last time.

Afterward, he didn’t let go.

He just held you, still wrapped in warmth and water, as if grounding himself in the shape of you—your real form, your chosen form.

And you stayed there, arms around him, mind quiet for the first time in days.

────────────────────────

You lay together outside the pool, still dripping, the tiled floor beneath you warmed by residual heat from the water and each other.

Bucky’s body was solid and relaxed beneath yours, your head resting on his chest, your arm draped across his ribs. His breathing was slow now, steady, one hand lazily tracing your back—his fingers brushing the faint outlines of where your scales had shimmered.

He didn’t speak for a while. Just let his fingers explore you softly, as if mapping something sacred.

Then, voice low, “So… the other you. The form in the water. Is that the real you?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your breath pushed gently against his skin, your eyes half-lidded with calm.

Then softly, “Both are the real me.”

He didn’t move, but you felt the weight of his silence.

You lifted your head slightly, just enough to brush your lips against his—light, unhurried, a kiss not driven by need but by quiet affection.

A moment passed before you added, “I’m half-human. Half-siren.”

His eyes opened, and he tilted his head to meet your gaze, brows furrowed—curious, but not skeptical.

You sighed, a faint smile ghosting your lips. “Tale as old as time. Sailor meets siren. Siren gets curious. Doesn’t immediately murder him.”

That made him huff a quiet breath against your temple.

“Sometimes… they mate. Rarely. Just to understand. Or because something stirs in them they don’t expect. The sailors rarely survive the interaction. Then they return to the sea.”

His fingers paused at your spine.

You shifted your weight slightly, eyes locked on his, and said quieter still:

“This time, the siren left with a baby.”

His breath caught, just barely.

You looked down.

“And that baby got left behind on land. Half-breed. Too human for the ocean, too strange for the shore.”

He said nothing.

But his hand moved again—this time higher, threading through your hair, cupping the back of your head gently as if trying to hold that pain, that truth, without crowding it.

You exhaled slowly, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

“A monster on land. An abomination in the sea.”

The words hung between you like steam, curling and vanishing before they hit the air.

Bucky didn’t try to correct you. Didn’t rush to wrap those words in comfort. He just moved—his hand smoothing up your back, across your hair, anchoring you to his chest. Holding you like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

His hand never left you.

Now, it moved with a new purpose—his touch slower, more intentional, tracing the skin between your shoulder blades.

You stiffened slightly.

He’d found them.

The scars.

Faint, old, but still jagged—slashing diagonally across your back in places that seemed more symbolic than accidental. He ran a thumb along the longest one, slow and careful.

“They match,” he murmured.

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“Your claws,” he said. “From before. In the pool. The shape of them.” He traced another line. “These look like what they’d leave.”

You were quiet for a long moment.

Then you whispered, “They did.”

“You mean—?”

“The sirens,” you said softly.

He froze. “Jesus.”

You pushed your face gently against his shoulder, hiding from the look you couldn’t bear to see on his face—pity, horror, heartbreak, you didn’t know which would be worse.

“I didn’t belong here,” you murmured. “On land. Never really fit. So I thought—maybe the ocean would feel like home. Maybe they would understand.”

His hand stilled on your back.

You swallowed. “They didn’t.”

You pulled in a shaking breath, voice tight but steady. “They said I was soft. Weak. That I smelled too human. Felt too much. That I’d taint their species if I stayed.”

A beat.

“They tried to tear the human out of me.”

Bucky closed his eyes. His jaw tensed beneath your hand where it rested on his chest.

You whispered, almost bitterly now, “All the myths are true. They are monsters. They don’t love. They don’t feel. They don’t keep anything they can’t control.”

Silence.

Bucky’s fingers paused again, still tracing the old scars like they were something sacred. “You survived them,” he said quietly. “That says more about you than them.”

Your breath hitched, then came slow and shallow.

“I didn’t just survive them,” you murmured. “I tried to be like them.”

He stilled.

“I thought if I let go of everything human in me, they’d let me stay. If I stopped feeling… stopped flinching when they hunted. When they—”

You stopped, your throat tightening.

Bucky’s eyes were open now, watching you with more than concern. With something like dread.

“I tried,” you said, barely above a whisper. “To become what they were. To be unfeeling. A real monster.”

Your fingers curled slightly against his chest. “I even did it. Their way. Took ships off course with my voice. Lured them close. And I fed.”

His hand faltered.

“I ate humans,” you said, the words fractured, sharp. “So they’d accept me.”

Silence.

The worst kind.

Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t breathe, but you felt his body tense underneath you—hurt, not at you, but for you.

You turned your face further into his shoulder, shame crawling up your spine like ice.

“But it never worked,” you whispered. “I was still too soft. I felt everything. Even when I tried to bury it.”

His arms wrapped tighter around you—gently, but with purpose.

“I couldn’t keep it down,” you continued. “The guilt. The screaming. The way they laughed at me for choking on blood.”

Your voice cracked. “Meat makes me sick now. Just the smell of it.”

He breathed then, long and broken.

You could feel his heartbeat under your cheek. Steady. Solid. And somehow still here.

The silence between you became thick. Not with judgment, but with something worse—your own shame.

You whispered, barely audible, “I became something I hate. I wanted so badly to stop being an outcast, I turned myself into a real monster. And they still didn’t want me.”

You closed your eyes. “They didn’t need to kill me. I did that myself.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, his hand sliding up from your back to cup the back of your head again. He didn’t say it’s okay. He didn’t say you’re forgiven. He didn’t try to rewrite your past.

He just held you.

Because there are wounds too deep for words.

Because you had already condemned yourself, and he knew the last thing you needed was someone else trying to absolve what you hadn’t even survived emotionally.

Still, his voice reached you, low and rough and real,

“I hope someday you'll understand that you were never the monster in that story.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t believe it. But you didn’t pull away, either.

And for now—that meant something.

our girlie:

Bucky Barnes Taglist:

@Ruexj283 @muchwita @fayeatheart @Leathynn @thealloveru2 @person-005 @princeescalus @lilac13 @solana-jpeg @jeongiegram @winchestert101 @s-sh-ne @n3ptoonz @avgdestitute @xamapolax @Finnickodairslut @honeyhera29 @macbaetwo @rafespeach @bythecloset @ashpeace888 @buckmybarnes @c-grace56 @ozwriterchick @slutforsr @novaslov @xamapolax @theoraekenslover @user911224 @Tafuller @luminousvenomvagrant @sgtjbbhasmyheart @yvespecially @snake-in-a-flower-crown @mencantaleer @shellsbae00 @theewiselionessss @Madlyinlovewithmattmurdockk @avivarougestan @xoxoloverb @superlegend216 @lori19 @sired4urmama @writing-for-marvel @thriving-n-jiving @ogoc-19 @fckmebarnes @excusememrbarnes @its-in-the-woods @barnesonly

those who couldn't be tagged are in bold :(

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

This Hog

Prompt #13 - 8 Seconds | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: E | CW: Premature Ejaculation | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Eddie Talks a Big Game, Steve is Endeared, Virgin Eddie, First Time, Friends to Lovers

Eddie circles, and Steve turns his head to follow. It's dizzying, but Steve's used to it by now. The constant yapping. Nattering on about fucking girls, guys, anything that moves. 

"I just gotta get outta this town first. Nobody here wants to fuck me now."

Steve laughs. "Don't laugh! It's mighty depressing. My dick might fall off from disuse, Harrington. People are missing out, which means I'm missing out. An accused satanic murderer can only tug on it himself so many times."

Steve bends over, laughing his ass off. Waving his hand to try to get Eddie to stop.

"Like, who doesn't want this hog?" Eddie doubles down, cupping his crotch.

Steve can't breathe. He can't.

"Maybe I need one of these legendary rides," Steve banters, catching his breath, wiping at his eyes. He can't remember the last time he laughed so hard he cried.

"I'd rock your world, Harrington," Eddie declares, cocky swagger that Steve finds awfully endearing. 

"I'm sure you would, buddy," Steve answers, acting like he's not thinking about it.

He's definitely thinking about it.

It sounds like a dare, and Steve played organized sports. He's done all manner of dumb things just to win bragging rights.

Fucking Eddie? He's definitely curious. He's never been with a man before, but he's fingered himself open a lot, and knows how fucking good that can be. Eddie's dick? That's gotta be better.

"If you think you're man enough, big boy," Eddie crows, and Steve reaches for his belt, enjoying how Eddie's eyes go wide as he stills for the first time all day.

"Really?" Eddie squeaks, and Steve just shrugs. "You're serious?" Eddie probes, pulling his hair over his mouth, like he's suddenly gotten shy.

Why the hell not? Either he'll get fucked, or he'll call Eddie's bluff, winning. He's competitive. Sue him.

Eddie's shirt hits him square in the chest, and Steve grins.

Hell yeah, okay.

He spoke too soon. Legs are suddenly tangled in jeans, as Eddie trips and bounces face-first into Steve's bed. Steve giggles, rolling him onto his back like a high-centered turtle. He'll help. Might be safer that way, and he tugs off both of Eddie's shoes, then his jeans. The right order.

Eddie's laying there in his plaid boxers, and his chest is blotchy and red as his blush creeps up his neck, and Steve thinks someone's gonna get their world rocked, he's just not convinced it's him. 

"Rings!" Steve hollers, as a knuckle with a scorpion head or walrus tusk, or whatever the fuck it is, tries to breach him.

"Sorry!" Eddie says, voice going high and nervous, as he tries to remove the offending item. It should slide right off, he's lubed up enough. But he's struggling. Just like he has been since the moment his pants came off, bravado gone.

Steve can't wait for Eddie's trainwreck to find the rails again, and grabs Eddie's wrist, sliding the first two rings off with a firm twisting motion. Three and four slip off easier. He drops them to the carpet and Eddie squawks like a disgruntled bird.

"Do you want to check on your rings or fuck me?" Steve asks, a little bitchy. If Steve were Robin, Eddie'd be racking up tallies in the you suck column. Steve's more forgiving.

"The last one," Eddie says.

"That's what I thought."

Eddie's hands are slightly shaking as he lines up, and Steve tries to relax enough for both of them. He thinks if Eddie meets any resistance he'll melt into a puddle.

He nudges at Steve's loosened hole, and Steve rubs his thigh, "That's really good."

Eddie nods, and manages to pop the head of his cock past that ring of muscle, then slides all the way in. A little fast, but it feels so goddamn good. Steve's full, and he can't wait to be taken apart like this. He's never been on this side, but he's always been curious.

He watches as Eddie trembles, just a little as he pulls back, thrusts once, twice, then tenses, coming.

Steve tries to school his face, but goddamn, was that it?

Eight seconds. 

He lasted approximately eight seconds.

Steve is irreparably endeared when Eddie laughs, "Oversold that, huh?"

Just a little.

Steve leans up, pushing his hands into Eddie's hair, "You'll get better next time. You'll last ten, maybe fifteen seconds. Easy."

Eddie laughs, and he's fucking gorgeous for a gremlin. 

"Kiss me while we wait," Steve says, and Eddie leans down and only clacks their teeth together once.

His cock slips out, but he replaces it with his fingers. Pushing into Steve's wet hole, and maybe Eddie's stamina needs some work, but everybody starts there. Mindy McMillian probably thought the same thing about him when he lost his virginity. 

And Eddie's fingers? They're good, too. Steve tilts his hips, and Eddie brushes against his prostate and Steve lets out a pleased huff.

"That's it, right there."

And Eddie keeps fingering him until Steve comes between them, definitely having no fucking complaints.

They're lounging in the rumpled sheets, when Eddie turns to look at him.

"Wanna know a secret?" Eddie asks, cigarette hanging from his lip, like every cliché Steve's ever seen. 

Endearing.

Steve nods.

"I was a virgin," Eddie says, and Steve grins.

"You don't say," Steve answers, and rolls into Eddie as Eddie hits his shoulder, laughing. 

"You weren't supposed to know that! You should be shocked!" Eddie says, swinging a leg over Steve's stomach, tilting his head back as he puffs on the cigarette he definitely shouldn't be smoking in the house, but Steve doesn't give a fuck. His mom would have to be home to smell it, and fat fucking chance of that.

He reaches up and snags the cigarette from him, taking a long drag himself. What Robin doesn't know won't hurt her.

He hands it back, "Couldn't even tell."

"You're a fucking liar," Eddie says, and Steve grins, cupping Eddie's ass.

He'll get better. Steve will make sure of it.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[general-spooky]

i'm sorry but where the hell are the stats that Ao3 or Tumblr are predominantly used by "teenagers and children"? bc last i checked, Ao3 was FOUNDED by adults, FUNDED by adults, was made FOR adults, and to HOST adult content! and yes, it's like a video store, bc video stores also had the adult sections in the back that children were banned from entering and would be kicked out if they tried. not to mention if they tried to purchase an 18+ movie, book, or videogame they would be ID-checked by the cashier and then promptly refused.

now, if a teenager walks up to the counter with 50 Shades, who's fault is it? it's the KID'S and the PARENT'S fault, bc 1) the kid should know better, and 2) the parents should be monitoring their children and teaching them not to do that shit. and let's be real, we're not talking about 8 year olds, we're talking about 15 year olds who are getting their learners permit. if they can be responsible to control a several-thousand-pound vehicle, they can be responsible for what they choose to read and view on the internet.

which goes into: why the HELL should OP be embarrassed?? they accurately tagged and warned what their fic was, and if a kid clicked on it........ the kid ALSO had to click through THIS.

If they are under 18 they should automatically hit "go back", but no, they hit "proceed" and consented to view content that upsets them, and apparently decided to make a big stink anyway! THAT is why OP is mad! bc why should they be embarrassed??? i don't care what series it's for. Disney Animation Studios gets to have a vault full of Ariel's tiddies and donald railing daisy duck whoooooo caaaaaarreessss. all you're doing is pushing purity culture and slut shaming people while pretending it's about "protecting the children".

and if you really care about "protecting the children" then teach them to use the fucking "back" button at the top left of their screen. it's free and is much more effective than trying to get people to stop posting porn to the gay porn fanfiction website. :)

“You put porn in child safe spaces.” Then why do the “child safe spaces” have ratings and tags, Karen?

[cherierot]

no flash photography

“You make things louder too, you know?”

in which ✵ they were never on different sides—just different pages. seven false starts. one cracked-open heart. a love written in subtext and small, steady truths.

pairing ✵ oscar piastri × gn!reader

genre ✵ emotional realism, character study, poetic angst, miscommunication done right™, quiet Intimacy almost-love until it isn’t, slow-burn romance, no dramatic twists just two people learning how to mean what they say

warnings ✵ longing. tension. one bottle of water. zero chill. and two people allergic to timing, mild mentions of emotional burnout and loneliness, also reader overthinks a LOT, it's kinda frustrating, ooc oscar (?)

a/n ✵ to all the lovely people who supported message in a bottle—I swear I'll update it by next week. I had exams and hadn't time to write...I'm so sorry😭 by that time please enjoy this short thing I wrote while I was half asleep

(when the soul rejects its own fate)

1. in the paddock, beneath orange skies.

You’re laughing at something Lando said, the kind of laugh that makes you lean your whole body into it.

It’s too early in the morning for this kind of chaos, but he’s wearing two different shoes on purpose just to “test the team’s observation skills,” and you’re weak to that kind of stupid.

You barely notice Oscar walk in.

You only glance up mid-laugh and instinctively say, “Hey.”

It’s not warm or cold. Just a casual, passing Hey — tossed into the air like a coin. Oscar doesn’t smile. He doesn’t wave.

He just nods — a tiny, barely-there tilt of his chin — and keeps walking. Doesn’t break stride. Doesn’t pause to greet Lando. Doesn’t even glance at you again.

You blink, your smile thinning just a little. You’re not sensitive, not really, but you’ve known Oscar long enough — long enough to know that he greets the engineers by name. He holds doors for people. He shares gum with Lando and trades barbs with Zak and somehow still has the energy to shake hands with PR interns.

You’ve seen him be warm. So when he passes you by without so much as a flicker of recognition, all you can think is: He doesn’t like me.

You don’t say it out loud. But Lando gives you a look like he heard the thought anyway.

“Don’t take it personally,” he says, patting a hand on your back.

You don’t answer. He adds, “He���s just like that sometimes.”

You hum. “Right. Like a sentient iceberg.”

“Exactly,” Lando says. Then, “Wait—” But your focus has already drifted.

Oscar’s disappeared around the corner of the garage, cool as anything, like your existence doesn’t register.

You don’t know it yet, but Oscar had walked in rehearsing a strategy debrief in his head. He hadn’t noticed the exact joke. Hadn’t caught the context.

Hadn’t registered the “Hey” as something meant for him — he’d assumed it was meant for someone behind him.

Still, he nodded. Just in case. Oscar Piastri always acknowledges what matters. And somehow, in that single, sharp second — you decide you’re not one of those things.

2. airport, at some ungodly hour

You spot him sitting two rows down from the charging station, sipping black coffee and reading something dense enough to qualify as medieval torture. His hair is still wet. There's a bag under his seat with a tag that says Priority, which feels metaphorical in ways you're not emotionally ready to explore.

You weren’t expecting him.

You were expecting, like... muffins. Delayed flights. Maybe a free toothbrush. But there he is, Oscar Piastri, unbothered and devastatingly upright at an ungodly hour, making you regret every life choice that led you to wearing Crocs in public.

You almost walk past. You do.

Almost.

“Didn’t know you read philosophy,” you say, dropping into the seat next to him like the universe put it there on purpose.

He looks up. Not startled. Not annoyed. Just... looking.

“It’s not philosophy. It’s a race engineering manual.”

You blink. “Wow. Even hotter.”

He doesn’t laugh. Not even a twitch. He just tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to figure out if that was sarcasm or a genuine compliment. You don't clarify. Mostly because you don't know either.

You shift in your seat. Pull your hoodie tighter. “Early flight?”

He glances at the screen. “Delayed.”

You nod, then immediately feel stupid for nodding at a fact he just gave you. You're one misplaced eyelash away from saying something like “Time is crazy, huh?”

He closes his book—not with frustration, just deliberate—and sets it on his knee.

“You always talk this much before 7 a.m.?”

You blink. Once. Twice.

“Jesus,” you say, light but not quite funny, “if you hate small talk just say that.”

He frowns. It’s subtle, like watching a shadow cross marble.

“I was just asking.”

But it’s too late. The words have already settled. Not hostile, not sharp, just... dry. Clinical. Like you’re an occurrence, not a presence. Like he’s not quite sure what to do with you, so he flattens you out with tone instead.

You smile, thin and automatic. “Well, lucky for you I’m boarding soon. You’ll be back to peace and silence in no time.”

You don’t wait for a reply.

You get up with a dramatic huff you pretend is playful.

Your croc squeaks. The final indignity.

He doesn’t stop you.

He doesn’t say anything.

You feel the bruise form just under your ribs anyway, dumb and soft.

As you leave, his eyebrows furrow in confusion, what was that?

3. a dinner reservation they technically didn’t make room for.

You're only here because Lando begged.

Actually, begged is the wrong word — he texted, “just come ffs,” followed by seventeen emojis and a voice note of him making dolphin sounds.

So here you are.

Half wedged between a potted plant and a guy from strategy named Nico or Niko or Neco. You’re not sure. You’ve given up trying to remember which men in polos you’ve met more than once.

You didn’t expect Oscar to come.

Which is dumb. It’s a team dinner, technically. But he seems like the kind of person who evaporates after hours — like a very polite ghost with social boundaries.

He's at the far end of the table. You only notice him because you laugh too loud at one point and catch him glancing sideways, not in a "you're annoying" way. More in a "you're noise and I haven't decided what to do with that yet" way.

Later, between courses, someone brings up childhood injuries. You tell the story about the time you tried to do a backflip off a moving swing and cracked your wrist.

You’re dramatic with it. You always are — wide eyes, hand gestures, sound effects.

There’s laughter. You soak it in.

Then Oscar says, level, cutting clean through the noise:

“Makes sense now.”

The table falls quiet for a second.

You blink. “What?”

He’s sipping his drink. Doesn’t even look at you when he says,

“The way you are. It tracks.”

Your chest does this slow little drop, like a plane hitting air turbulence.

You laugh, sharp. “Sorry — are you diagnosing me using my origin story?”

Oscar shrugs. “No diagnosis. Just observation.”

You smile. Wide. Bright. Blinding. The kind of smile that makes people think you’re fine.

“Cool. Love being observed like a cautionary documentary.”

Someone else at the table changes the subject. You don’t join in.

Lando's concerned eyes shoot between you and Oscar, as he reaches for his phone and texts a

u good?

You keep your eyes on your plate, ignoring the buzzing phone and tear a piece of bread apart slowly, as if it personally insulted you.

Later, when you get up to leave, Oscar moves his chair slightly to let you pass.

You say nothing.

He doesn’t look up.

4. hotel lobby. too late for thinking straight.

You’re sitting on the armrest of a couch that costs more than your monthly rent, scrolling aimlessly through your phone while waiting for Lando to come down from his room. There’s soft jazz playing through invisible speakers, a fake plant that looks disturbingly lifelike, and one too many people with suitcases shaped like trauma.

Oscar walks into the lobby, carrying a bottle of water and wearing that expression he always has, like he just read something mildly disappointing about human civilization.

You don’t say anything.

Not because you’re mad. You’re not. You’re... calibrating.

After all, last time he called you a walking brain injury in front of twelve people. Not directly, maybe, but spiritually.

So yeah, you stay quiet.

But then he walks over.

To you.

Not the concierge desk. Not the glass doors. Not anywhere neutral.

You.

“You looked tired earlier,” he says, voice low. Almost gentle.

You blink up at him, halfway through typing 'pls bring me snacks or I’m eating hotel shampoo' into Lando’s texts.

“Excuse me?”

Oscar looks... calm. Open, even. “I meant—you okay?”

Your heart does a little misstep.

You look at him. Really look. His face is unreadable but his body language isn’t stiff. His water bottle is slightly crinkled in one hand. His hair’s still damp from a shower. His shirt looked like it was tucked in haphazardly.

For a second, a full, stupid, dangerous second, you think he might actually be being nice.

Then your brain, traitor that it is, rewinds:

You looked tired earlier.

You looked tired.

You looked... bad?

You plaster a smile on. “Wow. Flirting already?”

Oscar tilts his head, brow creasing faintly. “That wasn’t—”

“I mean, I usually get offered drinks before the insults start, but sure. Let’s go full honesty hour.”

He pauses. You think maybe he’ll clarify. Maybe he’ll correct you.

But instead, he just says, quiet:

“Right. Forget it.”

And he walks away.

Cool.

Cool cool cool cool.

You sit back down on the couch, teeth clenched in a smile like it’s holding up your whole face.

Lando texts you:

coming down now btw, don’t be weird

You don’t reply.

5. the wrong hallway, the right moment.

You take the wrong turn trying to find the bathroom and end up in a corridor that smells like floor polish and expensive stress. The lights overhead buzz softly, like even they don’t want to be here.

You’re mid-turnaround when you hear footsteps behind you. Precise. Familiar.

Oscar.

You recognize him before he says anything. You could probably recognize him from the way he breathes at this point, steady, measured, like he’s training for a sport no one else understands.

You half-laugh, half-sigh. “Okay, is this the part where you push me into a supply closet and finally tell me what crime I committed against you?”

He stops next to you. Doesn’t look surprised. Doesn’t look anything, really, just Oscar, all centered gravity and very faint cologne.

“You missed a turn,” he says instead. “Bathrooms are the other way.”

You blink. “You were following me?”

“Not on purpose,” he says, and that’s probably true, which somehow makes it worse.

There’s a pause.

You’re about to say something stupid like classic, or guess I’m just magnetic, when he lifts a hand, slow, deliberate, and reaches out toward your face.

You flinch. Just slightly. Instinct.

But he only taps your cheek, once, with his thumb.

“There was glitter.”

Your mouth forgets how to move.

He wipes his hand on his jeans. Calm. Normal. Like touching you was just a neutral, Tuesday-level event.

You stare at him. “What?”

Oscar tilts his head. “Your cheek. Sparkly.”

You blink again, like your brain is buffering. “Right. I was at a merch table earlier. Probably rubbed my face like a raccoon. Happens.”

Another silence.

This one longer. He’s still standing close. Not in a way that says intimate, exactly, but in a way that says he hasn’t left yet.

You try again. “You know, you’re very confusing.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

You gesture vaguely. “You... monitor my glitter levels but also make me feel like I’m annoying you with my breathing.”

A flicker of something crosses his face. Not guilt. Not amusement. Something else.

He shifts just slightly closer.

“You’re not annoying.”

You blink. It’s too much — the voice, the proximity, the stupid fucking hallway.

You laugh. Light, deflecting. “That’s not what your face usually says.”

“Then maybe you don’t know how to read it.”

And that’s the moment you forget how to stand still.

Because that wasn’t dry. That wasn’t flat. That wasn’t neutral.

That was almost—

The sound of someone entering the hallway behind you breaks it.

Oscar steps back. Like it never happened.

You do too. Like it didn’t mean anything.

But your cheek still buzzes like it’s remembering the ghost of his thumb.

And you’ll go the rest of the night trying to convince yourself it meant nothing.

Even though for a second it meant everything

6. a balcony. too late. too quiet.

The afterparty’s still raging downstairs, all flashing lights and sweaty joy and some DJ yelling something you can’t make out over the bass. But you’re up here, on a balcony with one drink, aching feet, and your phone dead in your pocket like it gave up on your choices.

Oscar steps out not long after.

You glance sideways, expecting him to leave when he sees you. He doesn’t. He closes the door behind him and leans on the railing a few feet away.

The silence is thick, but not hostile. Just... real.

You break it first. Of course you do.

“I don’t get you.”

Oscar looks over, eyes unreadable. “That’s vague.”

You shrug. “You’re vague.”

He exhales — not annoyed, not amused. Just tired. “What do you mean?”

You lean your head back against the wall. “I mean... I never know if you’re being polite or trying to escape.”

“Why would I be trying to escape?”

“I don’t know, Oscar,” you say, too lightly, like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe I talk too much. Maybe I laugh too loud. Maybe you just don’t like people who make everything a joke.”

His silence stretches. He doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t say anything.

That’s the worst part.

Until he says—softly, like it hurts to admit—

“I notice you too much.”

You freeze.

Your heart short-circuits and restarts sideways.

“What?”

He’s still looking out over the railing. “You make noise in quiet places. That’s hard to ignore.”

That’s hard to ignore.

Your brain fumbles. You laugh, shaky. “Right. Like tinnitus.”

He furrows his eyebrows, and blinks, finally turning to look at you. “That’s not what I meant.”

You push off the wall before you can think better of it. “No, it’s fine. I get it. I’ve been called worse.”

“I didn’t—”

You’re already stepping back. “It’s cool, Oscar. Seriously. I’m very ignorable once you get used to it.”

He doesn’t stop you. And that—that—is what hurts more than anything he’s ever said.

You disappear back inside, into the noise and the bodies and the mess of it all, trying not to let the echo of “I notice you too much” feel like a wound.

7. a service hallway, after everything.

You bump into him on the way out.

Literally.

You’re rounding a corner at speed, trying to chase Lando’s voice through the post-race chaos, and then—thud—shoulder, hip, the soft slap of your phone hitting the floor. You curse. He steps back.

Oscar.

Of course.

He bends, picks up your phone, hands it back without a word.

You take it, trying to pretend your pulse isn’t in your ears. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t walk away. He just looks at you.

You almost say what, but something in his expression pins you in place.

It’s not blank.

Not bored.

Not neutral.

It’s...tight.

Controlled.

A fuse wound just short of its burn.

“You think I hate you.”

He says it like he’s been chewing on it for weeks.

You blink. “I—what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he says, still too quiet. “I say anything to you and you flinch like I’ve thrown something.”

You bristle. “Well, forgive me for not decoding the emotional Morse code of your entire personality.”

He laughs, short and sharp. “Jesus.”

You fold your arms. “What? You’re impossible to read, Oscar. You say one thing and mean another. You look at me like I’m noise, and then you say something half-kind and act like I’m the one getting it wrong.”

“Because you are,” he snaps.

That is what cuts.

Because he means it.

You freeze.

He takes a breath, steps forward. Not threatening. Just present.

“I tried being quiet. I tried being careful. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

You scoff, hurt creeping up your throat. “Overwhelm me? You act like I’m fragile.”

“No,” he cuts in, firm. “You act like I don’t feel anything.”

Silence.

You swallow. You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it.

“I notice everything,” he says, and it’s low and furious and honest. “The way you stand closer to everyone else. The way you make jokes so no one asks what you're actually thinking. The way you look at me like you’re already halfway out the door.”

You stare. You’re not breathing.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he says finally. Softer. “I was trying to make it mean something, and you—”

He breaks off. Shakes his head once, like he’s mad at himself.

You say nothing. You’re still standing in the middle of the hallway, holding your phone like it’s proof you’re allowed to be here.

Oscar exhales. “Forget it.”

“Oscar.” You call out.

But he’s already walking away.

This time, he doesn’t look back.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

(when the soul understands what it yearns)

1. a hotel cinema room.

Lando dragged you both to movie night with the confidence of a man who thinks he invented bonding.

Fifteen minutes in, he wandered off to find something “better than this knock-off popcorn,” and now it’s just you and Oscar, slouched on a velvet couch meant for three, lit only by the flickering light of explosions and overpaid actors.

You’ve barely looked at him.

But you can feel it.

That… watching.

Like he’s checking to see if you still laugh at the same parts. If you’re still the same person when no one’s looking.

You are.

Somewhere between the third helicopter crash and a deeply unnecessary close-up, you let out a laugh — real, full, stupid. You already know it’s ugly. You don’t care. It feels good.

You hear it when he shifts. The breath he holds. The second too long before he blinks.

You don’t even look at him when you say,

“You’re staring.”

A beat.

“I know,” he says.

You turn your head, just enough to see him watching you without apology. No smirk. No defense.

Just there.

“You going to say something or just burn holes in my face?”

“You’re different when you’re not trying,” he says.

You blink.

Then:

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Oscar’s mouth twitches. “It’s the opposite.”

You don’t say thank you. You don’t blush. You don’t deflect.

You just let the silence stretch, easy now, warm, and go back to the movie.

Still aware of him.

Still letting him look.

And when Lando crashes in with two bags of gummy worms and a juice box, you don’t flinch. You just laugh again.

But now, Oscar doesn’t look away.

2. a hotel hallway. too many drinks. not enough distance.

You’re barefoot in the hallway outside your room, hotel keycard somewhere in the purse you left at dinner. Or maybe the bar. Or maybe hell.

Oscar appears from the elevator like a ghost you might have dreamed into being.

Plain hoodie. Shirt crinkled. Hair falling over his eyes.

The world feels slightly warped. Too late. Too quiet. Too something.

You lean against the wall and offer him a lazy salute, you think it must be the liquid courage. “Well, well, if it isn’t Formula One’s most emotionally constipated heartthrob.”

He blinks. “You okay?”

You grin. “Define okay.”

He doesn’t. Just walks past you, swipes his own keycard, then pauses at his door.

You think he’ll go in. He doesn’t.

Instead, he turns around.

“You’re locked out?”

You nod. “Temporarily. I’m trusting the universe to deliver me back to my belongings.”

Oscar considers this. Then steps back, holds his door open.

“You can wait in here.”

You blink. “I’m not going to rob you.”

“I know.”

“…Or touch your toothbrush.”

“Less certain about that.”

You snort and step inside.

His room smells like laundry and lemon soap. You sit on the edge of his bed like it’s a stage you weren’t supposed to enter. He tosses you a bottle of water from the minibar and sits at the other end.

No TV. No small talk. Just… the hum.

Your head tilts toward him. You’re not drunk anymore, not really. Just warm. Open.

“You ever gonna tell me what you want from me?”

Oscar doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t smile.

Just says, voice low,

“Would you believe me if I said I haven’t figured it out?”

You breathe in.

“No.”

He looks at you, and for the first time, he’s not a mirror or a wall. He’s just there. Barefaced and bold and so stupidly calm about all of it.

“Good,” he says finally. “Then you’re paying attention.”

You grin. Tired. Fond. “God, you’re so annoying.”

His smile is small but real. “You stayed.”

You nod. “I always do.”

And then it’s quiet again.

But not tense. Not cold.

Just… waiting.

And neither of you dares to break it yet.

Because whatever this is, it feels like home.

3. behind the paddock. a different kind of silence.

The day feels too long. The kind where the sun presses against your neck like it's trying to flatten you. Where the air tastes like sweat and tarmac and adrenaline that didn’t go anywhere.

You lean against the barrier, fingers curled over metal, body still, mind spiraling.

You hear him before you see him.

Not footsteps — just the way the noise dies a little around him.

Oscar.

You don’t turn around, but your grip tightens.

“You do this a lot,” he says, voice even. “Vanishing.”

You roll your eyes, not unkindly. “I’m not vanishing. I’m avoiding being a bitch on camera.”

He exhales a laugh — short, real. “Smart.”

You don’t move. Neither does he.

The heat between you isn't temperature. It’s all the things that haven’t been said, and all the ones that have been almost said too many times.

“Rough day?” he asks.

You shrug. “Just noisy. Even when it's quiet.”

Another beat of stillness.

“I get that.”

You finally glance at him, over your shoulder. He’s standing a few steps back, arms crossed like he’s holding himself steady. His eyes are on you, but softer than usual — like he’s dropped something invisible and fragile between you and isn’t sure what happens next.

“You make things louder too, you know,” he says.

You blink. “That supposed to be a read?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not a bad thing.”

You tilt your head. “You say that like you mean it.”

“I do.”

And just like that, everything sharp in you softens a little.

He steps closer. Not in a dramatic way. Just... like gravity finally decided to do its job.

You let your hand fall from the barrier.

His hand brushes yours. Not accident. Not strategy. Just... barely. Just enough.

And you don’t pull away.

You don’t need to ask what this is.

For the first time, you both already know.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

2025 @cherierot all rights reserved

[naivety]

breadtube is fucking burnt to a crisp

[cherrygirlfriend]

─ BETTER OFF WITHOUT HIM 𐂂

𐂂 pairing: rafe x fragile fawn!reader

𐂂 summary: rafe goes to your house after not having seen you for a while, only to meet your grandmother who tells him that he shouldn't try and see you again.

𐂂 warnings / tags: angst. fluff.

𐂂 author's note: it's been a while since i wrote for fragile fawn! sorry guys, i haven’t really had inspiration or requests for her lately.

FRAGILE FAWN MASTERLIST RAFE MASTERLIST

first, a few days went by without rafe seeing you. he didn't think much of it; he knew you spent most of your time by your lonesome. a week went by? nah, he wasn't really that worried. maybe he'd take a few drives near your house every now and then.

but when two weeks had gone by without rafe catching even a glimpse of you when he drove to your house nearly every day and sat in his station wagon for almost half an hour each time, he got worried.

so, halfway through the third week, he took careful steps towards the patio of the large house. the floorboards of the wooden stairs leading to the wrap-away porch creaked under his weight ominously; rafe peeked in through one of the windows, but behind the white lace curtains, there seemed to be no movement.

taking in a deep breath, rafe cleared his throat and held up his fist, a sharp knock echoing around him.

at first, rafe couldn't hear anything on the other side of the dark-green door, but suddenly, he could make out the sound of footsteps along with something that sounded like a... cane. the boy furrowed his brows, taking a small step back.

the door creaked open slowly, revealing a woman who looked something like you, only with her age visible in her features, face marred with wrinkles, along with a long scar that ran from her hairline down to her cheek.

"the boy." the graying woman grumbled, pulling the door open even further, turning around and starting to walk away from the door, using her cane as support "took you long enough. thought you were glued to your fancy car."

"sorry." rafe mumbled, taking a tentative step into the house; he turned slightly so he could push the door closed, only for the door to slam shut before he could even lift up his hand, startling him. "i know you're looking for my granddaughter. sorry to tell you, but i don't know where she is."

rafe followed the woman, and stopped in the doorway of a large, dark kitchen as the old woman poured tea into a single cup, "do you know when she's coming back? or how i can get in contact with—"

"she goes away sometimes." the woman shrugged, "she comes back when she comes back." your grandmother turned around, looking at rafe with narrowed, calculating eyes, "you should forget about her."

"what?"

"i could say that you look like a nice young man, but you don't and i'm not one to lie." she took a sip from the porcelain cup, "she doesn't need someone like you to spend time with because you take pity on her."

"i don't pity her! i think she's… i dunno. interesting."

"interesting." the woman chuckled softly, "next you'll be telling me she's special and unique. those are all adjectives used to describe her when they were patient enough to not yet use the words insane and freak. you've probably thought those things about her yourself."

rafe's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, crossing his arms in front of him defensively, knowing that the woman was right. your grandmother's lips quirked up knowingly, as if she could read the boy's mind. "you don't know her, not really. do her a favor, boy. let her exist in peace."

later that night as rafe laid in bed, moonlight shining through the blinds, the back of his sweaty hand on his forehead, the old woman's words echoed in his mind. she was right; he'd thought all those things about you. rafe had heard things about you, you had told him things about yourself… he knew you were different from most people, that you'd had a complicated life, but he didn't really know you.

maybe you really were better off with him leaving you alone.

it had been nearly two months since rafe had last seen you.

sometimes he drove past the intersection leading to the forest where you lived with your grandmother; every time he did, rafe considered swerving the car onto the gravel road leading to the house, a part of him hoping he'd see you standing on your porch, sweeping it clean, but no matter how much he wanted to come and see you, each time he just kept driving.

rafe was driving towards topper's, music blaring on the stereo, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. his phone pinged with a notification, rafe letting go of the wheel with one of his hands to pick up his phone. he glanced down at a message from top telling him to buy beer, making him roll his eyes and toss his phone onto the passenger seat.

but when rafe's head lifted and he looked back up to the road, he nearly swerved off the road when he saw a figure standing right in the middle of the road. "shit!" he shouted, twisting the steering wheel to the right, slamming the break.

tires screeched against the asphalt as the car spun onto the side of the road, rafe lurching forward, having forgone his seatbelt, the back of his head thumping into the headrest, a small groan leaving his lips.

he got out of the car to assess the damage, only to get to breathe out a sigh of relief when he saw that there wasn't a scratch on his car.

"rafe."

he swore he could recognize that voice anywhere.

rafe slowly turned around to find you standing there. your doe-eyes were bright and wide, and you were wearing a long, collared floral-patterned white dress, your bare feet just as dirty as they were.

"were you— were you just standing in the middle of the road?" "yes." you chuckled softly, as if it rafe hadn't almost just run you over, "why the hell would you do that?" "i saw your car and i wanted to get your attention."

"there are probably better ways to do that." "i haven't seen you, rafe. you haven't been coming around. how come?" there was a kind of pleading look in your eyes as you looked up at him. "i've been lonely. i don't have other human friends."

"yeah, last time i went to see you, you weren't there." rafe could picture you sitting at the front steps of your house, with no one to talk to but birds and plants. he sighed, running a hand over his head, "listen, i don't think we should see each other again."

your face fell, and it was like someone had turned off the light that had been in your eyes. not someone, it was like he had turned it off. "is it because you think i'm a freak?" you asked in a shaky voice, looking down at the ground.

"no, fuck… it's 'cause i'm not a good person. i'm not a good influence. i'm a bad guy." rafe's words made you look back up at him. to his surprise and absolute bafflement… you let out a laugh. "what… what's that for?"

"nobody's a bad person, nobody's a good person. everyone's just somewhere in the middle. and even if there were, i wouldn't want to be around anyone who's just good. that sounds boring." you smiled softly, holding your hand out for him, "are you gonna come with me? i'm going to the flower field."

rafe looked between your hand and your smiling face with narrowed eyes, before biting the inside of his cheek and taking your hand. "i, uh… i really missed you." rafe mumbled, as if saying each word was being strangled out of him.

you let out a soft chuckle, squeezing rafe's hand as you rest your head on his shoulder.

"i missed you too."

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[cherryberrycheol]

Gym Crush | Choi Seungcheol | fluff

Pairing: choi seungcheol x reader

Summary: sungcheol suddenly seems awfully invested in your workout routine, and you're not complaining.

Word count: 615

Genre/warnings: fluff(??), jokes if you squint, gym!au, trainer!seungcheol x newbie!reader(gn?), playful banter, soft seungcheol vibes (but make him a little cocky), reader has enough sarcasm to match his energy, cuteness aggression because have you seen his arms, his thighs, his body?????, no warnings just vibes; if I missed anything let me know!

A/N: just a tribute to the man that Seungcheol is. RIP to all couprangs every hour of every day😔 yet i hope you enjoy! (⸝⸝º ^ º⸝⸝)

PS: I find it laughable that I keep putting out fluff despite my initial intention to write mostly smut, I swear it’s not on purpose🥲

The text below isn't proofread, proceed at your own discretion; if you see any mistakes I'm sorry, English isn't my first language.

Masterlist.

The first time you notice him, he’s spotting some guy on the bench press, arms flexed under the weight, voice a low, steady, push, c’mon, two more, that curls warm in your ears even from across the room. You’re mid-squat when you catch sight of him. Black tank top clinging to sweat-damp skin, hair a messy dark tangle, jaw set in concentration. Seungcheol, his name tag reads when he walks past you later, personal trainer in bold letters underneath. Of course he is.

You don’t mean to stare. But the gym is full of mirrors, and he’s hard to miss, the way his shoulders shift when he lifts, the sweat-darkened hair at his temples, the sharp cut of his jaw when he grits his teeth. He moves like someone who’s spent years carving himself into something solid, something dependable.

You’re mid-squat when he materializes beside the rack, arms crossed, biceps straining the sleeves of his shirt like overfilled water balloons, head tilted. “Your form’s off,” he says, matter-of-fact, like he’s been watching longer than he should admit.

You pause, knees bent mid-rep, weight heavy on your shoulders. “Is this your way of telling me I’m doing it wrong?”

His mouth twitches, just a flicker. “My way of telling you you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He steps closer, and suddenly his hands are hovering near your hips, close enough that you catch the scent of his deodorant, something clean and faintly citrus, undercut by the salt of sweat. “Knees out. Back straight.” His fingers graze your waist, adjusting your stance with a touch so light it shouldn’t send a spark skittering down your spine. But it does.

You finish the set, breathless for reasons that have nothing to do with exertion.

He lingers. “You’re new here?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Nah.” He grins, swiping a hand through his hair, which sticks up in damp, unruly tufts. "I just notice the people who actually work hard."

You laugh, rolling your shoulders, feeling the ache settle into your muscles. “So, what, you’re just gonna stand there and critique me now?”

“If you want.” He shrugs, but his eyes are dark with something playful, something that makes your pulse jump with a skipped heartbeat. “Or I could spot you.”

You should say no. You don’t.

He’s relentless. Every time you think about quitting—legs trembling like overcooked noodles, arms shaking—his voice cuts through the fog of exhaustion. "Five more." "You got this." "C’mon, just one." And when you finally collapse onto the mat, a boneless heap of sweat, he’s grinning down at you like you’ve been his personal project for years and he finally got to see you succeed.

“Not bad,” he says, offering a hand to pull you up. His palm is rough, warm, his grip firm enough to make you feel weightless for a second.

"Not bad?" You scoff, still gulping air like you’ve just surfaced from deep water. "I think I’m dying."

"You’ll live." He laughs, but his thumb brushes your wrist before he lets go, a fleeting touch that lingers like a brand.

You expect that to be it. But then your phone buzzes later that night.

Unknown Number: hey it’s cheol. from the gym.

You: …how did you get my number?

Cheol: you put it in the membership form.

Cheol: also your form on lunges is terrible. meet me tomorrow. i’ll fix it.

You stare at the screen, your stomach doing something that feels suspiciously like a kettlebell swing. Then, before you can overthink it, you text back:

You: Is this your idea of flirting?

The reply comes fast.

Cheol: is it working?

You don’t answer. But you show up the next day anyway.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this!

Masterlist.

[beanarie]

last lines

tagged by @ambernotember @hereghostslive @rcmclachlan @geddyqueer @sugarpenchant and i'm sorry if i missed anyone tumblr keeps eating this post when i try to double check

tagging @setmeatopthepyre @gayjaytodd @trombonechurchill @bidisasterevankinard @apollabarnes

um here's a little future detuned radio

~

You're not responsible for other people's emotions, Xio said, after Buck recounted his first attempt to transfer, back when the Hans were all on the wrong side of the continent. But it helps to recognize what they're feeling, whether it's directly related to you or not.

"You didn't fail me," Buck says. "Or- Or Bobby. You and me, we're good." He swallows. He's allowed to ask this. It's not too much. "We are, right?"

"Yes. Of course," Chim says. He looks down at his hand and shoves the forgotten kernels of popcorn into his mouth. He chews, thoroughly, and frowns, his eyes sad. "Buck-"

"That's the thing, I can't be Buck from the 118 right now," Buck says. "I need to try being Evan from the 103 or whoever."

"A fresh start," Maddie says, faux-casually leaning across Chim to take some popcorn.

Chim slumps back against the couch cushions. "Well, I can't argue against that, can I?" He still looks miserable.

Buck doesn't need Holland, Xio, or any of the others to tell him that people like it when life goes back to normal. Chim probably thought, more a hope than an assumption, that Buck would return and they'd be able to forget sometimes that things ever got as bad as they did. But that's just not possible.

"You don't need me in both your houses," Buck points out. "Like you keep telling Jee, don't be greedy."

Chim barks out a laugh. The 118 is his now. He doesn't honor Bobby by keeping everything the same as he left it, but by being the best mentor he can be to the people he has.

[godslush]

Not really a question but maybe a question if in my ramblings I can think of something. Your art of Spine and Sam? From Look Outside? Honestly changed me on her character. I thought she was just a creepy monster and killed her. But, man, all the sweet art you’ve made, or the creepy things you’ve explored with them… it’s just!!! So good!!?!!??! It has changed my brain chemistry I love Spine now and I LOOOOVE your art of her immensely. You’re the GOAT for all that fantastic fanart and just. I’m sorry I’m rambling but yeah. I love you

*evilly tapping steepled fingers together * yeeeessssss more meat for the pilessss....

I mean... *cough*

Ok, all joking aside, THANK YOU so much! 😭

Honestly, it's funny how far this has come. When I originally posted screens of the full encounter after it was added, I was on the side of "ok that's not cool you can't just do/say that" and figured (at the time) it was justified to be filled with lead.

The fact that I eventually just saw the... interesting narrative that came with the idea (plus my own experiences) led me to start writing this weird loneliness narrative with Sam as the lonely one. It wasn't until Blue and Orange that I started to think about the ramifications of Spine being trapped where she is, and how she might very well also be lonely... She just had the misfortune of being physically and mentally mutilated beforehand so her ability to communicate it has been warped outside of human reason and emotion.

I find that fascinating.

That was before 1.5. Shortly before the beta dropped.

Then 1.5 beta happened and eventually released and SHATTERED what information we're given about Spine as a character, and really let that narrative blossom, and I love that more and more people are slowly realizing that... yeah, she's a creep, but she's a creep who's really really interesting to try and understand, and even pity (and maybe find kinda hot, if you're into that sort of thing; I see y'all in my tags, lmao I'm totally not one of you in a weird ace way).

Even Frankie understands what he's done, hahahaha.

I wouldn't say Spine is a 'popular' character, but the people who do realize they like her tend to REALLY like her. Once she gets her claws in your heart, she's hard to pry out. She's just so polarizing, which is really fun, and Frankie has said he really likes that about her (I can't get the stream moment he made a really funny remark about the different kinds of Spine opinions, because that segment of stream unfortunately got DMCA muted).

[chardama]

Adding on to this, because it's fun.

Tim doesn't start showing VISIBLE traits until he's maybe 13 or 14 ish. The first one? Night vision. It comes slowly. It starts when Tim's eyes turn a frosty blue instead of their regular colors. At night his eyes kind of reflect light (similar to predators, ya know.)

Tim does not recognize the build up. However other people do. The first to realise it is Jason during a sleep over. In this AU the waynes and the Drakes are pretty close (even though tim has tried his hardest to keep Bruce away from finding Jack's identity).

So, during a sleepover, Jason and tim are sneaking into the kitchen one night for a midnight snack. Jason opens the fridge, turns to tim, and nearly has a heart attack when he sees Tim's eyes. They're kinda glowing and tim is staring directly at him. It makes Jason's fight or flight. He slams the fridge shut and nearly crushes the yogurt sticks he manages to swipe.

"Jason!" Tim hisses, "we're supposed to be quiet."

Jason blinks. Tim's eyes aren't glowing anymore. He's definitely telling Bruce about this so the man can add it to the list Jason knows is in the batcomputer. "Uh huh, sure tim tam. Is anything new happening?"

Tim, completely oblivious, "no why?"

Also, someone mentioned in the tags about body snatching. I think it a interesting add on. Bruce taking notes of Jack's drastic behavior change and the fact that he has new abilities. Something HAD to have happened between the dig and the hospital. Jack Drake wasn't known to be this wacky guy before the incident. Yet here he is, loud and proud. Taking care and showing off his son. Making generous contributions to Gotham's museums and schools. Even being way more social and taking less trips (though that was recommended by medical professionals to take it easy.)

So the Drakes has started to mingle with the waynes. Danny taking notes for Bruce in how to be a socialite. He takes tim over there to hang out with Jason and Dick while Danny asks for pointers on how to raise tim.

"So when they start growing into their abilities, who do you go to for training?" Danny asks as Dick shows Tim and Jason just how far he can contort his body with an acrobatic show. Danny has only seen the dead move like that.

Bruce, blinking, "Excuse me?"

"Timmy's about to go through it.. I think puberty. I'm not sure who to go to. He's been very clingy, too, and I think it's because of the divorce a while ago. At least that's what I read could be a factor.." Jack frowns. "Tim has been staying up late at night, being grouchy. He had a recent growth spurt as well. Tim's eyes were developing, and that meant it wouldn't be long before the fangs came in. "

Bruce, taking this all in nonchalantly and comparing notes mentally. "I S e e."

Tim is beyond overworked because he's trying to keep his dad's identity a secret. "You are the reason im like this."

I think by the time Damian arrives, Tim's liminal side is in full swing. He needs ectoplasm, not a lot, but it keeps him at peak health. He doesn't make much noise. He doesn’t have footsteps because he's unconsciously floating sometimes. Like just walking on air. Sometimes, he forgets to blink. And sometimes he can stand really still. He has night vision, too. The only thing he can't really do is the hard-core stuff. Like turning invisible, phasing through walls and energy blasts.

Sorry for all the errors BTW this was done on my phone.

Jackson Drake? Yeah, he ain't human. Bruce is sure the man is a meta. Maybe a poor alien in disguise because Bruce knows he's a disaster sometimes but Jack takes the cake. 

The Drakes were their neighbors. Archeologists. Famous for bringing rare artifacts home and are the largest donors to the Gotham Museum. 

Then the accident happened.  

Jackson Drake had a serious fall while getting their latest artifact. A certain ring and crown that belong to an ancient king. He was rushed to the on-site medics and had to be air lifted to the nearest hospital. He had been in a coma for two weeks. A nasty bruise to the head and when he had woken up it was as if he was a different man. The media was all over it. It got worse when the change in attitude resulted in the divorce. 

Timothy Drake ends in the custody of Jack Drake.  Timothy knows that the man that woke up from the coma is not his father. But the new jack treats him so much better than old jack. The new jack actually listens to Tim. Actually helps him out with homework. Doesn't yell. Doesn't hit Tim. He lets time babble about everything. He even FEEDS Tim. He NEVER leaves him home alone. 

Tim knows that the new ring on his father's hand (that he had never taken off since that expedition) is the cause of it. Or maybe it's the floating crown that sometimes appears when new Jack shows him a ‘trick.’ he likes New Jack. He doesn't want New Jack to go away. 

Which is why he has to keep Bruce Wayne- (THE batman) away from his new father. The detective would suss new jack out immediately.  Because new jack treats Timothy well but he sucks at being human. 

It would help… if New Jack would stop calling the Waynes for every minor inconvenience that happened to Timothy that a regular person should know. 

Ex. 

Jack: tim is sick. 

Bruce, handing the phone to Alfred. : any symptoms-

Jack: he's green, but thats normal because im green sometimes.  But he's not doing all the things I do when im green-

Alfred: such as…?

Jack: well he hasn't learned to walk through walls yet. And he hasn't gotten ice breath though he is a bit cold. His hair isn't white yet.

Bruce, overhearing this: what-

Alfred: nausea perhaps? Has he eaten anything to make his stomach turn?

Jack: we did have some seafood from that new place by Mr.Freeze

Bruce, louder: W H A T

Alfred, writing down a list of supplies and recipes: we'll be there in a moment. 

[pyreneese]

Five Times Light Killed L

@lawlightweek2025

Day 1: Soulmates/Doomed Pairing

Rating: T

Tags: A bit suggestive in places, but nothing explicit. Murder. Reincarnation.

A battle raged across the field, katanas slashing through bodies and crashing into armor. Soldiers slumped dead, their heads rolling.

Up on a nearby hill, two generals locked their blades in a heated battle. Their katanas clashed loudly, sending up sparks. Haruto breathed heavily, struggling to keep Kenji at arms length. Kenji had always been an enigma, scraggly and messy, yet somehow fighting with an impeccable form. Haruto straightened, his usually neat chestnut hair a tousled mess around his face. Haruto flashed the other man a charming smile.

"Kenji… just-just stop this. Just join me. Japan can be ours. We can be together…"

Kenji winced at that. He wiped away a smear of his blood from his cheek, quietly considering. It hurt to look at Haruto. Sometimes, all he could think about were those late nights together, their lips tasting like alcohol as they stretched horizontal in whatever little corner they could carve out, in whatever little corner where they could hide from their people, from the responsibilities and expectations on them. The other was the enemy, after all. The thought of just dropping his sword was appealing… Life would be bliss if Kenji could spend it feeling Haruto's body heat every night… but he found himself slowly raising his sword. No. That was just a dream. A fantasy. They had their lot in life and that wasn't in their future. Haruto's eyes widened.

"W-wait! I love you! Kenji!"

Kenji charged. Their swords swept and slashed, moving so fast that it was impossible to see the movement.

Neither was sure who stabbed first. They both gasped softly in surprise and looked down. Haruto's katana was plunged into Kenji's abdomen… but then, Kenji's own sword was buried into Haruto's sternum.

Haruto opened his mouth, but blood dribbled out. Kenji choked softly, his grip on his katana's handle wavering.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, his head swimming. "I… I didn't want…"

Haruto roughly pulled Kenji into a searing kiss, the feel so rough that Kenji was sure he was burning. And yet… so tender… Kenji didn't even realize when they went horizontal on the ground, Haruto's weight like a stone on his chest. Kenji weakly stared up at him and craned his neck up, lips brushing together.

---

Prince Isamu sat in his room, looking over a list of paperwork his council had written up. Next to him, his servant, Taiyo poured some calming tea. Isamu reached for the cup, but faltered, feeling a familiar ominous sense in his chest. He glanced up at his servant... his lover. They'd spent so many nights together that Isamu was almost tempted to reject the council pushing for him to find a wife.

"The tea smells wonderful." He leaned back, watching his servant amusedly. "Tell me about it."

Sometimes, people confused the two of them. Taiyo had chiseled features, sharp eyes and soft brown hair. Isamu was... different. He'd always been scrawny and surprisingly pale. Definitely not princely. Taiyo glanced at the prince and gave a practiced, demure smile.

"It's a new matcha blend. You should try it."

"Hm. Interesting. Here, why don't we share it?"

A flash of sharpness behind amber eyes. Taiyo's lips twitched.

"You wish for someone of my station to share your cup, my Lord?"

Isamu tilted his head a bit.

"Considering how much we share saliva, I didn't think you'd mind."

There were always rumors about assassins hiding in the corners. Isamu never trusted anyone, definitely not Taiyo. But... he knew he was falling for the man. Falling in love with someone he couldn't trust was a deadly recipe. Taiyo sat next to Isamu, handsome hair falling into his face as he grinned.

"Of course I don't. But tea is... something special, wouldn't you say?"

Isamu's brow quirked. He held out the cup.

"Hm. Maybe to some. But you mean a lot to me."

For the first time, Taiyo's eyes flickered. Isamu stared at him. There was something more raw about the expression, something almost pained and that could be mistaken for guilt. Still, Isamu knew the games of the palace. The games of his life. Taiyo exhaled shakily and reached forward, gently pulling Isamu into a kiss. A pleasant shiver raced up the prince's spine as he melted into it, getting lost in the sensations at the taste of... Isamu froze, grey eyes widening a fraction as a bitter taste coated his tongue. He pulled away from his servant, inhaling sharply as Taiyo pulled out a small vial from his mouth.

Taiyo hesitated, a remorseful expression crossing his face.

"I really did enjoy your company... I didn't know the royal family was capable of such... warmth..."

Isamu started to open his mouth, but blood splattered out, covering the tatami mat beneath them. The prince gave a choked laugh, feeling his lungs begin to burn.

"Why...?"

"Power. What else? I'm well-connected, you know. You're just the next piece on my way to the throne."

Isamu stared at him and slowly smiled, his teeth bloodstained.

"I was right to suspect you... I knew it... I... wasn't wrong-"

The prince's body seized. Taiyo averted his gaze as winced as the prince collapsed backwards, sprawling onto the ground, blood leaking from his mouth.

---

Akito and Sota ran, their fingers intertwined. Sota's lungs burned, his shaggy black hair falling into his face, but he didn't bother to brush it away. They made their way into an abandoned building, the rotted wood cracking beneath their feet.

"They're going to find us," Sato panted.

"Never," Akito growled as he checked the windows and doors. None of the doors locked. "I promised you I wouldn't let them have you and I'm keeping my word."

Sato winced at that. He took a slight step in Akito's direction, grey eyes setting into something determined.

"Exactly… you promised…"

"… It's not going to come to that. Not yet."

Sato gasped softly as he heard the heavy sounds of footsteps. Whooping, hollering laughter drifted up from the area and he didn't need to look to know that the building was surrounded. Sato surged forward and lightly grasped at Akito's wrist, lightly squeezing it. He eyed the knife clutched tightly in Akito's hand.

"You promised you'd kill me before they could get me. I can't go back. Please... I won't forgive you if I go back!"

Akito's eyes widened in alarm, jerking his wrist back.

"No! I'm not killing you!"

Sato gasped when he heard the footsteps thundering closer, the door crashing open. He shuddered and reached forward, tenderly framing Akito's face.

"Hey. It's okay… I'm not angry. I promise I'm not… I love you. Please... if you'll love me... you'll do this."

Akito stared at him for a moment. He didn't give himself time to question himself, allowing his body to move mechanically as he plunged the knife into Sato's chest. Sato let out a rattling sound, clutching at Akito's shirt. A pressure welled behind Akito's eyes as the other man slumped and crumpled to the floor, grey eyes stuck open and staring at the ceiling.

Akito fell onto his knees, throat bobbing. He wouldn't live for more than a few years. He already knew it. Sato was his… everything. Sato was everything. How could he go on? Still. He quietly pulled Sato's body onto his lap, fingers trembling as he brushed some hair away from the man's delicate, porcelain features.

"I'll see you soon."

---

Minato leaned against a building's wall. He popped a lollipop into his mouth and slowly crunched down on it as he watched the doorway intensely. Hikari stepped into the room, adjusting his jacket. Hikari flashed a brilliant smirk, eyes practically glowing as he stepped forward.

"Minato. I'm surprised you actually came."

"Mm. You always make me come," Minato smirked as he crunched down on his lollipop.

It was an easier answer than the truth... that Minato loved him. That he always wanted to be in Hikari's orbit. It was supremely stupid... coming deep into The Shinigami Gang's territory just because the leader asked him to. Hikari blinked rapidly at that and made a show of rolling his eyes.

"God, you're insufferable. Whatever. We need to talk about how your gang keeps encroaching on our turf."

Minato simply chewed on his stick, watching the man impassively. Hikari scowled and took a few menacing steps closer.

"It's been one too many times."

Minato's brow quirked. He pushed to a standing position, his lips pursed as he sized up his chances. It didn't look good... They were both skilled fighters, but this was still Hikari's turf. Even if Minato won, he'd definitely be injured and would struggle through the territory to get back to his group. Hikari watched his lover warily, swallowing thickly. He was getting too soft. Minato made him too soft. Minato made him want to quit this life, to just run away and start over on the other side of the damn planet. That was too dangerous. He had to kill these feelings now. Had to kill him. Hikari flashed a knife and gave a wicked grin.

"Once I kill you, it'll be easy taking over your territory. I guess you can say I'll be the new you, huh?"

Minato chuckled darkly.

"You wish."

He swept forward, pulling out his own knife. Hikari snarled and tried stabbing, the two of them leaping and bounding over debris and boxes. Minato roared and flung his knife. The other yelped as it lodged next to his head. With a yell, Hikari flung his own knife. This time, it landed. Minato grunted as the knife tore into his chest, eyes going wide. He collapsed onto the ground, his breathing going heavy. Hikari gasped softly and straightened.

"Mi... Min..."

All around them, he heard the sounds of whooping laughter. His group coming back. Minato inhaled sharpy, weakly trying to pull himself towards the exit. Hikari stared at him and sighed heavily. He moved in Minato's direction and gently hugged him, holding him against his chest.

"I kept telling myself that doing this would make me feel better... maybe it will... but... for it's worth... I'm sorry."

Minato gurgled, desperately shaking his head. Hikari's eyes misted.

"Trust me, you don't want my group to find you alive."

He exhaled as he slit Minato's throat.

---

Red lights washed over them as L stared up at Light's curled smile, eyes blazing in victory. His eyelids felt so heavy. They drooped, his thoughts going sluggish as his heart twisted.

'I knew it. I wasn't wrong. But...'

His eyes slipped shut, the world going underwater. Light lived in the elation for approximately ten seconds before it sunk in that... he was gone. Light had won, but... there was no one left to share the victory with. No one to best. The smile started to fall. He and L had had sex during the investigation and Light told himself it all meant nothing. That it was just another part of the game.

But... maybe a part of him had been falling... He didn't think it was possible.

So then, why did he feel so empty?

---

Haru picked his way up a few rocks on the beach. He was skilled and athletic. The perfect twelve year old. As he moved closer to the beach, he blinked when he saw another kid around his age sitting on the sand and drawing patterns in it with his toe. He looked disheveled, like one of those homeless people Haru always heard about, drowning in a shirt that was much too big for him, but there was still something intriguing about him. Haru jogged over and gave a friendly smile.

"Hey, there! I'm Haru!" He held out a hand. That was only the polite thing to do, anyway.

The kid slowly blinked, looking between the hand and the boy. He ducked his head a bit as he shook the hand and mumbled a small 'hi'.

"I'm Koji."

"You look lonely."

Koji glanced around and shrugged.

"Not really. It's nice here. Want to sit?"

Haru was about to decline, but... something made him sit down.

The two of them looked at each other and exchanged small smiles.

[animeyanderelover]

"I'm sorry... Please don't leave me..." Dazai/Chuuya x dying s/o

Because of their background/past, s/o become the one that paying the price

I left it open whether or not reader does die in the end.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, reader is mortally wounded

Tags: @shumidehiro @izanami78 @leveyani

First Sentence Prompt

You still heard it. Your ears were still ringing from that shot. A shot for you. Why? What had you ever done wrong in your life? Hadn't you always done everything like you had been told to become a good person? You had graduated school and college with respectable achievements. You'd wasted countless sleepless nights studying for exams or writing your thesis. You had always been polite and nice to everyone you had met to always leave a good impression. All of that hard work. All those dreams you had worked towards. Just when you had been about to score your first real job you had been working towards all those years.

Only to end up with a bullet in your chest.

But you knew. As you were laying there, your chest heaving with every breath you struggled to take and with dark spots dancing around the edge of your vision, you knew. None of it was your fault. You were not to blame for this.

No, he was at fault. The man who had one day dropped in your life like he had always belonged in there. The man who had worn the charming mask to fool you and deceive you. The man who was currently kneeling over you, bandaged arms soaked in your blood. The man who was putting pressure on the wound like his life depended on it, maybe because it did. With an expression on his face you had never seen before.

Guilt. Fear. Dread.

What a rare sight that was. Oh, how it made your chest only ache more with fury and not sadness. Sad was the last thing you were thinking about in that moment. How could you after all when Dazai was here, daring to grieve over your body when it had been his fault you were in this position now in the first place? He was to blame. It was all his fault. Why were you the one with a bullet in your chest? It should have been him.

Your lips parted, every breath you took an active struggle. It sounded off, rattling with every inhale and exhale. You looked like you were dying. You sounded like you were dying. You were dying.

The blood didn't stop. White bandages were soaked in it, the crimson liquid dripping out of the material as no more could be absorbed. It clung to his skin, the scent too familiar that he didn't feel nauseous anymore. He knew that scent. He had seen it more times than he could count before. And now those days had caught up to him again. Only that they hadn't targeted him. That would have been too simple of a revenge, too easy to make up for whatever he had done to the culprit. It had to hurt him. It had to destroy him. That's why you had been made the target. What use would it have been to shoot him after all when shooting his purpose would leave the forever bleeding wound? What was a man without a life's purpose after all besides a shell that merely biologically functioned?

That's right. Nothing.

That darkness. It creeped closer. The more it was, the less you saw. One of your hands reached out, bloodied and trembling but with a clear goal in mind. But not to comfort. No, that wasn't what he deserved.

It found its way though, clutching his brown locks and holding on to it with the fading strength you still had. The look in your eyes was one Dazai knew well. Most people had always stared at him with fear. There had always been a few though who hadn't submitted to fear in their last moments because their hatred had outweighted it. It was the look of resentment. The one that always silently screamed the question of why it was them and not him. Sometimes he had wondered that back then too.

It was the same look in your eyes right now, only that the unspoken question now haunted him. That should have been him, bleeding out on the cold ground. Yet it was you who glared at him as if he had put the bullet in your chest.

Your bloody lips moved, your vision darkening more and more. The only thing yo saw was his face. Were those tears in his eyes? Well, it didn't matter. You wouldn't feel pity for him. It was hard to when you were dying. Still, you needed to say something. Not to soothe or comfort. No, you needed to hurt. Not with a bullet. You didn't have weapons with you. But you had his heart. And that's what you intended to crush.

"I hope that I'll never meet you again."

Whether you would end up in heaven or hell, you did not care. Anywhere where he wouldn't follow. You knew he'd follow you in death. He just wasn't allowed to follow you wherever you would go after you would take your last breath. Whether it was the afterlife or the next life, you would not be cursed again by him. Maybe then you could finally live a peaceful life.

[liliesyearn]

“Just a piercing”

Snotlout x Reader

Summary: Keeping the tradition of your home island was absolutely all your responsibility, yours and your best friend, Indigo.

Berk was still trying to figure out how piercings were helping them, they couldn't capture the essence of beautiful metal permanent moles all over your face, and other parts of their body if they were brave enough.

That's why you were confused when Snotlout asked you for urgently pierce him tomorrow.

Tags: fluff, comfort, silly snotlout, kinda modern... I needed a kitchen

A/N: hiii this is my first time EVER writing something like this, i really mean it; also this has a LOT of lore drop, I just wanted to set a consistent history to make this a series okayy sorry if is kinda long... english isn't my first language tho so it can be a little messed up but I hope y'all understand the vibe!!! it's all for the vibe!!! pluss this is actually one scene of my oc but i preferred posting it like this tehee

“What are you doing here?” Your best friend and roomie curious asked "This isn't too early for you?"

"Snotlout wants a piercing"

Indigo stopped.

"A... Piercing?"

You cannot tell if she was making fun or if she was really asking "What's wrong?" You asked with a fake confusion, even if you knew where she was going.

"There's no way Snotlout gets a piercing" she laughed.

"I know he won't" You said "But he was desperate so I told him to come"

"Yes" She said "Just that and has nothing to do with the little crush you have with him"

Well maybe Indigo was kinda right...

When you came to Berk after the accident of your homeisland, you never felt that needing of being a real viking or whatever they called it.

Having to make your own life with your almost sister was hard but at least both of you had the Hiccup's help, the only guy in Berk that was your friend.

Not all the guys were mean with Indigo and you, but you never had that bond they could, and not going to the academy didn't help as well.

Just some random conversations with some of them when you went to the village were all your relation with the other guys.

Even so, you thought Snotlout was cute, the island constantly talked about how annoying was but something in yourself thought that he cannot be that bad.

Besides you will be a hypocrite knowing that Astrid didn't like you as well even if she didn't know you.

You understood her though, Indigo and you were some of a jobless who did absolutely nothing and she does everything.

You both didn't see each other but when you do, you don't expect her to be nice to us, you even can swear that she and Indigo had some kind of tension but maybe that was you being delusional.

And about being delusional, that was exactly what you were doing while Indigo was waiting for you to answer her.

"Shut up" You said trying to hide that you maybe were a little bit annoyed by her jokes "You are going to sell your crafts and stuff today?"

"Yeah, someone has to bring food to this house" she joked "Whatever you say" You stand up "I'm going with you"

"You don't have to wait for someone, you do?" She lifted one of her eyebrows.

"He's supposed to come later" You said.

"Let's go then"

Both of you went to the heart of the village.

You constantly get lost in your thoughts thinking about everything and nothing at the same time.

"Look who is there" Indigo interrupted your thoughts about nothing while she was again, making fun of you.

You smiled looking at Snotlout near, you weren't annoyed with having to stay together today, you were actually curious about him. It seemed like he realized that you both were directly staring at him so he walked to you.

"You are not supposed to be in my house? like... right now?" You moved your head a bit while you were smiled.

Annoying people was something you really enjoyed, even more if the people get successfully annoyed.

Sadly, the reaction that everyone would expect from Snotlout was not the one you get.

"I'm sorry, princess" He said fastly as if you were actually mad "I was trying to get something for you, you had breakfast?"

You weren't the one amused there, Indigo was even kinda scared and she had to do something about it.

"I heard well?"

Immediately she said that, the one who was scared was Snotlout, who fixed his posture and cleared his throat.

"Since when are you here?" He frowned.

"Since forever, dumbass" Indigo rolled her eyes.

"You don't have stuff to sell or something?"

"Since when have you guys been like this?" You interrupted their little fight.

"Sorry" Indigo said first "Just seeing him makes me mad"

"Hey, I'm still here, dork" Snotlout said notably annoyed.

"I know and I'm done, I prefer not being here than still listening your voice" She smiled victorious at seeing the mad expression in Snotlout's face, she grabbed her basket and looked at you "I hope you finish soon, I don't want to get home and see this stupid guy in" she said smiling looking at the annoyed Snotlout's face again.

"Yeah, I hope so" You softly laughed "Good luck with your stuff"

"I think I'm going with Hiccup later so you can go there" She said while she was leaving you both alone.

"I really can't understand how you can stand her" Snotlout said while he was looking in the direction she walked.

"I'm sure she thinks exactly the same about you" you joked "I didn't get my breakfast"

Snotlout shook his head, like he just got a thought or something "Wait here" he said and left running.

He didn't take long to come back with a slice of pie.

"Do you like blueberries?" He asked with those big eyes.

"I like them" you smiled "You want to go to my place now?" You stopped when you saw his face so you quickly finished your phrase "You know, for the piercing and so"

"Yeah" he looked at the floor "I- I think we should go too"

You saw Snotlout was surprised when he saw your home "You actually live here?" He said.

"Yeah, actually" you made fun of him "Is ugly, right?"

"It's cute I mean, cool it looks cool" he corrected himself "I've never been here"

"Maybe it's because I've never invited you but I don't know" you smiled giving him a little punch over his shoulder "Please come in"

Both entered your home, Snotlout was scanning everything he can. ”You really live alone here?" He asked while he was still watching inside.

"Yup" you said walking to your small kitchen.

"That sounds awesome" he answered "Sometimes I wish I could live alone too" he said and then stopped, like he said something that shouldn't be said" "What are you doing?" He switched the topic.

"I'm cleaning your piercing" your voice was slowly getting sweeter, you didn't know you could do that.

"Oh, true..." Snotlout had a reality check. He walked near you, wanting to watch what you were doing "That really hurts?"

He was being unnecessarily cute.

"Are you scared?" You smiled teasing him.

"Of course I don't" He quickly said raising his tone "Sorry, but I mean it really hurts?"

It wasn't hard to tell that he was scared.

You turned off the stove and served the water in two cups that you were holding now, you turned and walked to the table and did a sign for Snotlout to join you.

"I hope you like tea" You approached him one cup while you finally got to eat that pie.

"Thanks" Snotlout took the cup and sipped the tea you gave him. "Why do you want to get pierced?" You asked.

"What do you mean?" His relaxed posture tensed again.

"I know we aren't that close but you don't see the type of guy that..." "...that" Snotlout said waiting for your response. "That suddenly walks in with a brand new piercing" you quickly said "I don't know what you are trying but whatever it is I'm the only one who's going to hear, you know?"

He thought about it for a second and after a sigh, he said "It's for Astrid"

"Astrid?"

You've been waiting for everything for him to say but that?

"Why is Astrid related to this?"

"Well something like that..."

"I need you to justify your answer, Snotlout"

"Okay maybe we had an argument"

"You had an argument with, Astrid?"

His answers were getting worse.

"No but we are okay, I think so..."

"I still can't understand what this has to do with me and the piercings"

"Okay let me explain" he cleared his throat "We were training and someone started to say how ugly piercings are" he shook his head "I said they were cool and then Astrid said they are painfully awful, I told her she was wrong she was still saying that so I told her I'm going to get one to show her how cool they seem, really thought I was playing but look, I'm here"

"You really argued with Astrid for all that?" You were still shocked.

You thought you were impulsive but maybe you find a good opponent.

"Yeah, whatever" he drank some of his tea "So it hurts?"

"You literally could said anything and you choosed to get a piercing?"

"Yeah, that happened" he was distracted.

"Why?"

"I wanted to defend you" he drank again his tea.

"And how do you know she was talking about my piercings and not Indigo's one?"

Snotlout choked and after recovering he said "Don't say that again ever please, I'm having enough with having a hole in my face for ever" he stopped looking at you "No offense tho"

" "Whatever" you rolled your eyes "You are dumb"

"Yeah... I don't know why I said that to be honest" he scratched his head "Maybe it's because I'm a gentleman and stuff"

You couldn't help bursting in a laugh "For sure is that" you finished eating your pie and said "Thanks for defending me"

"it's okay" he smiled victorious "I know we don't talk that much but..."

"If you say something again about how gentleman you are I'm gonna cry, I mean it" you interrupted him.

"I get annoyed when they talk about you guys, I think it's just that" he started to get nervous and stopped looking at you "I mean, even if we are not that close and even if I can't stand Indigo..." He paused to frown at that thought "I think you are nice, both of you, whatever"

"That's cute" you said "Maybe I get wrong and you really are a gentleman" you wink at him and took the cups going to the kitchen.

"You really think so?" He looked at you, you can even swear his eyes were shining and you didn't have the heart to say you were joking a little bit.

"Of course I do, I never lie" you walked to the stairs where your bed was while Snotlout was following you.

"Well, I'm sure you have said to indigo she's a good person at least once" he laughed.

"You are soo funny, Snotlout" you rolled your eyes. "Yes I am" he smiled

"Is not dangerous like... Getting pierced in your bed?"

"Snotlout you are definitely not getting pierced"

"What?" He looked more scared than disappointed.

You sit in the bed and tapped next so he can sit with you.

Then you looked at him, taking his helmet of and playing with it said "You know we are alone, right?" You took a pause "No one is here, nobody else can listen or see us right now"

"...Yes" he said all confused without knowing what were you trying to say.

"You are freaking scared, Snotlout, you don't want to do this and me either"

"Oh, come on" he whimpered "I promised to show it tomorrow" he pouted.

"It's just a piercing"

"But Astrid is going to keep saying things about you"

"I don't care about whatever she says"

"But I do" he stated "She's my friend but she's getting annoying, I think I'm starting to stand better Indigo than her" he joked "But being real, I would rather she being mean to me than she being with you"

"I doubt she is your friend and you didn't have a crush on her or something? Like I appreciate this so much but you really don't have to do all this for me"

"You doubt she's my friend?"

"Anyways, I knew you were mulish..." You stand up and look for something "So I made something for you"

"For me?"

You came back to your bed and showed him what you had in your hands.

"It's a fake piercing, Hiccup helped me with it yesterday" you gave it to him "it's cool, right?"

"Wow" he turned his tone "That's awesome"

"I know right? I really don't know how I made all that in one day, Hiccup really helped me so much"

"You did all this just for me?" He was still shocked, admiring the little piece in his hands"

"Yes, this is the first time I've done something like this"

"You are amazing"

"It's n-nothing" you suddenly get nervous, you didn't expect him to react like this.

"Even if you didn't knew what this was for you did it for me" He was still amused.

You nodded "Yeah... I thought it was rare all this situation so I made a plan b in the case you get scared with the needle, so"

"Needle?" Hid voice was shaking.

"Well, yes dumbass, how do you think piercings are done?"

"Piercing stuff? I don't know, whatever" he rolled his eyes.

"Silly" you said.

"How do you feel living alone" he suddenly switched the topic.

"I think I finally got used to it" You lay down "I know It can sound kinda rude but I think I finally get over all my parents thing"

"Oh"

You always forget that topic was a little bit awkward so you switched the topic.

"And how are you?"

Snotlout also laid down with you and looked at the ceiling.

"Good, of course I'm good" he quickly said.

"I mean about your parents, fool"

"Well... I think" he took a pause "I actually don't know" he was still thinking"I don't usually think about it"

Maybe Snotlout was lying, maybe he thinks about it all his nights and some parts of the day but he wasn't going to admit it, at least not now.

"Don't think about it then" you said "Parents are fucked up, right?"

"Yeah... Sort of" he smiled "it's been a while since I had something like this" he confessed.

"Something like what?" You looked at him.

"I don't know, don't pressure me"

You laughed at his reaction "You are not that bad as they say, you know"

Snotlout looked you back "Do you think so?"

You smiled "Yeah, I think we should go out more" you suddenly get nervous so you had to add something "I m-mean to talk and stuff... You know"

Snotlout was getting nervous as well "Y-yeah we should" he took a pause "I think it's cute... I mean great, whatever"

Magically you both were closer, the atmosphere was completely different as the one you maybe had one day or maybe a week before.

"Yeah I think the same" you said "You think it would be unprofessional if I get sleep with my not-client? I think I can fall asleep right now"

Snotlout sighed with relief "Oh Thor, I thought I was the only one" he smiled "I think was the tea"

"Sure" you said while both of closed your eyes.

Getting comfortable, maybe friendly cuddling...

[alexeatstables]

I wouldn't have thought I'd be tagged in one of these, but thank you for the opportunity!

Hiii! I'm Alex, and honestly it's going to be hard to only pick three things because I used to go to a pretty crazy school and was (still am) chaotic.

I once stuck 46 (or more, I can't remember the number, it was definitely over 40, though) pencils in my hair trying to get to 100. The teachers didn't say anything until the act was already done. We didn't have enough pencils, btw.

I became friends with a person who had their arm broken in two places by a mutual friend of mine. Yep, that's how we became friends. They're fine, and I don't talk to either nowadays.

I've created and been in many cults (joke cults, nothing serious, but we called them cults nonetheless). All hail the tree, guys, all hail the tree (or whatever it was).

@midniallsnack @tylerhaterx3 @dorianiko328 @masterofdachaos @liiiiiiiiiiza @beetlebugboy21 @mcgriddle-meal @tre-corde @michiyochante @hiiiiii2u

Sorry if any of you don't like getting tagged! You were just the last 10 people in my notifications.

hey guys, if you get tagged in this share 3 random facts about yourself that people may not guess, then tag the last 10 people in your notifs

1: I'm terrified of yellow flowers

2: My favorite band is The Linda Lindas

3: I'm in a band with someone tagged here (stay guessing >:3)

@demonshauntme2 @sasgaycumfilledcondom @warden-draws-sometimes @megarattdrawsstuff @draxolot @cheeseboi101010 @nyxisclown @gothweirdo1 @harumichan12 @jocie-questions-reality

[r11yh1soka]

NEVER THE SAME

joel miller x f!reader

tags/included: wc:4.9k,not proofread, agegap(reader is 27, joel is 56), spoilers for tlou2/s2, takes place after abby attacks joel & ellie(joel lives), joel is a mean old man(for now), reader is a smartass, slowburn, eventual smut, angst(death, ptsd, other mature themes), i know i am forgetting more but i hate doing tags sorry

this is chapter 4 -> previous chapter:here

this fic is also on ao3 and wattpad with the same user/title

an: thank you for all the support/feedback on this! i'm glad other people like it as much as i do :) thanks for reading! p.s i try to write a chapter daily, at least for this ff though i do have others on my wattpad i'm working on so expect chapters pretty often, i try when i can.

March 3rd 9:30 AM

The next day rolled over quickly and the promise of plans made to you the evening before slipped your mind even quicker. Either way, you were in the garage trying to practice. You were going over all the steps Joel had showed you the other day with the garage door open because it could get real hot in there.

You grunted as you tried twisting off the plug for the oil, you'd gotten a jack earlier this morning in exchange for more of your food. You were underneath the car, still in the old clothes of whoever lived here before you.

You didn't notice him at first, you didn't even hear him. Joel had strolled over after hearing your endless grunting and groaning, it was damn near impossible to get the plug off. He was leaned against the wall of your garage, his arms folded over his chest with his work belt hanging a little low off his jeans.

"It's more than likely fused on there, all that gruntin' 'n groaning isn't gonna get it off. This cars been here for years," Joel announced clearly, not only did the hoarseness of his voice catch you off guard but so did his very being.

You completely forgot he said he was coming by to start building you a proper porch. You practically jump at the sound of his voice, damn near hitting your head on a pipe underneath the car.

"Didn't mean to scare ya...just wanted t'see if you would surprise me by gettin' it off," he rubbed his large calloused hands over his brown and grey beard.

You came out from under the car, brushing off your pants that hoenstly fit a little too big, you'd come to the conclusion the clothes you'd found definetely belonged to a man. You couldn't risk anymore food just for some new clothes so you settled on this but there was nothing more that you wanted than to get back into so more clothes that scream you. Not old-man-who-has too-many-fucking-records.

"It's okay," you brushed him off, taking a deep breath before looking up.

"What are you doing down there anyway? Thought we agreed you'd use my truck,"

"Wanted to practice...I don't imagine many people will let me work on their car if I'm not a fucking pro at it," you replied with a bit of sourness in your tone, Joel noticed it, but he didn't speak on it.

"Anyway, was working on the porch 'n Ellie told me you mentioned in being intrested in that kinda thing," he informed you and for a split second you had your brows all bunched up with a wrinkled nose.

You never mentioned that to Ellie at all. But it didn't take a genius to figure out how folk had been treating you here, you're sure Ellie noticed. She was nice, she was looking out for you and you hadn't even noticed until now. You cleaned up your face, forcing a more neutral but friendly stare instead.

"Oh...yeah, that'd be great. Thank you," you gulped, hoping it wasn't obvious that you we're lying.

He didn't say anything, just let out an approving grunt before taking you out of the garage and over to the front of the house. He'd already got a lot done, you we're surprised. You didn't know how long he'd be out here but it couldn't have been too long. The ground was muddy and cold underneath the land whe're your porch used to be, no grass grew there and now that it was gone and beaming in the sun, the melted snow made it rather squishy. Joel didn't seem to mind but you figured a guy like him was probably used to getting his hands—and boots for that matter, dirty.

You followed out behind him, you we're dressed in a loose red and white flannel, thick and slightly loose blue jeans, you realized that you strangely looked like you we're trying to impersonate him. The old man who used to live in your place had similar taste to the old man in front of you. Though today he was dressed differently, just a simple light blue button up tucked into his blue jeans with his black boots.

The mud smushed beneath his boots and yours, he walked over to a few bags of dry concreate leaned up against the house next to some buckets.

"Know how to pour concrete?" he questioned and you didn't think he was being serious but given how you we're dressed, you sure looked like someone who knew how to pour concrete.

"Yeah, I do. Got my building permit back in '96," you joked and instead of laughing, he stopped walking and turned around to give you a peculiar look.

You thought it was funny at least. He sighed when you gulped and averting your gaze, he turned back around and pointed to a bag.

"Can you lift that?" he inquired, you met him with a nod as you reached for the concreate.

He held the bucket steady for you, slightly hunched over as he watched you pour it in. The powder came up in his face but he wasn't bothered by it. When you had enough in there, he let go but as you filled it up, the bag became lighter and subjected to the tremors of your bad arm. You started to shake, spilling some of the concrete outside the bucket. Joel looked at you, squinting after a minute because he didn't notice it at first, not until you we're cursing and apologizing under your breath.

He didn'y say anything, he was clearly a man of few words anyway. Though he did place his hand on the bag, holding it steady and directing it over the bucket so it stopped spilling. You said "thank you" under your breath, meekly and shyly because you we're embarssed that this effected your life so much.

Everything after that kind of just blended together for you, he was talking only when he had to explain the steps to you on how to do something but that was about it. Unfortunately for you, most of it went in one ear and out the other, you we're too busy being overly aware of your trembling arm. Before you knew it, Joel was already having you watch him work on building the perimeter of the porch. 

"Did you want to look at the records?" you blurted while he was in the middle of drilling into the wood.

He stops the pulsing of the button and turns his head to you.

"Right now?" he asks and you nod.

"Not interested in this, are ya?" he lets out half a chuckle when you shake your head and he sets the drill down.

"Got the idea you weren't," he ducked under the foundation of the porch and used the rag in his pocket to wipe of his hands while following you through the garage, inside your home and down the steps of the basement. The boards creaked beneath the both of you, you ran your hand along the wall until you found the switch and flipped it on.

"They're just over here," you murmured and went to the corner of the basement, your boots hitting against the concreate floor.

You stood in front of one box stacked on top of two more, lined down to the right where Joel stood next to you we're several more boxes. You opened up the first one and he stood close by, just to look into the box. You stepped back a little when his arm brushed against yours and not even a minute in, he found one he wanted.

"Thank you," 

"That's it? I've got like...six boxes of just records and you only want one? I don't...I don't have anything else to give you for building me a porch, Joel," you stammered and he returned back to the boxes even though he looked content with just his one.

"How many can I take?"

"As many as you want. I don't have a record player so...I'm not using them," you shrugged and he just grunted in approval.

To make things less awkward with you just standing there, you walked over to the left and busied yourself by clearing out more of the boxes. They we're filled with mostly random stuff like lamps, clocks, more clothes and other little trinkets. You could hear Joel rummaging through the box, his pile of records slowly piling up ontop of a seprate box. Two of you didn't bother making any conversation, you saw no reason to either.

Though you'd begun to remember how hot it got in the basement. You managed to find a tank top in the attic, more like a wife-beater than anything with it's thicker straps but it fit pretty well. You we're in need of some clothing like this with spring on the rise and summer approaching after. You got your hands out of the mess of the boxes and you looked down to begin unbuttoning your flannel, you pulled it off and set it aside. You stood there in your white tank top, it was a little see through but with the dimness of the basement light you didn't think it was all that obvious.

But it was obvious to Joel when he happened to look over his shoulder, his words catching in his throat when he got a look at you. He let his eyes linger for a second and then turned his head back around. He cleared his throat with a small cough and shook his head while grabbing more records.

"Shit, woman...don't think you should be givin' these to me for free," he chuckles while holding up a record with a cover you'd never seen before.

"I'm not. You're putting up the porch and teaching me the basics of car maintenance, remember?"

"That's not worth half of what it feels like to listen this," he says softly, looking at the record cover in absolute awe.

"Who even is that?" you paused and tilted your head to the side, not recognizing the name.

"You kiddin'? You don't know who Pearl Jam is?" he scoffs slightly, his expression deepens when he's met with silence from you.

"No..."

"Ah, hell...I mean even Ellie know's—"

"Well Ellie lives with you so that's not really fair, is it?" you cut off with a dramatic tilt of your head.

"'ts no excuse. This is art right here and you're just...givin' it to me,"

"Would it make you feel better if I asked you for something else? A favor?" you turned around fully, hoping he might actually be inclined to do this for you.

"I'm listenin'," he sets down the record and turns his head over to you.

You fidget with your fingers, taking a deep breath because you know he and Tommy are close and Tommy would never approve of this. You gulp as you look at him staring at you with those eyes of his, dark and sharp, he's older but he's got more than just his wits about him and you know that. It frightens you a little, especially given how wrong this could go.

"I want to go outside the walls of Jackson...I know your Tommy's brother and I figure—"

"That I can sneak you out?" he finishes your sentence for you and you nod slowly, despite feeling like you know the answer already. 

He leaned to the right side, his thumb tucked behind his belt as he looked at you with a slight squint.

"Why do you want to go out there?" he tilts his head up a little with curiosity and you find yourself not even wanting to share why, it feels too tender still.

"Can you help me or not?" you huff, crossing your arms over your chest out of nervousness.

"You'll answer my question first...I'm the one you're askin' favors as dangerous as that from," he licks his lip and stands firm, not necessarily tall as his weight is still leaned to the left off his bad leg.

You look off to the side, gathering a bit of composure as you practically open up an old wound, one that's not even fully healed and you don't think it ever will be. But this might help...and he's you only chance at this.

"I need something from the home I used to live in...before I came here. It's not...far, it's just up in the mountains," you can feel your throat closing up as you speak but you do your best to sound sure, firm and ready.

He stares at you for a long while, not saying anything. He finally leans against the boxes and folds his arms over his chest before dropping his head with a loud and exhausted sigh. He lifts his hand and rubs his hand over his face before brushing it through his hair.

"On one condition," his voice is as hoarse as every, probably dry from the basement air but he seems broody all the same.

"I can get you out but that's on a promise to my brother...that we're stopping by an abandoned town, on the other side of the mountain. I agreed to it before everything went down but I intend on keeping my word so if that doesn't work for you then—"

"When do we leave?" you cut off, he pauses for a second to see if you're really serious about this.

"After I've finished listening to this album," he nods his head towards the stack of records and you nod slowly.

"But I've got a few rules if we're doin' this," he stops leaning on the box and stands up straight, slowly making his way towards you.

"Which are?" you try not to smile at the fact that he's actually going to help you, just to be met with the sharp edges of his clenched jaw, the veins of his forearm peeking out with his clenched fist and his wide shoulders blocking the light behind him.

"First off, when we're out there, I don't you questionin' me...at all. I know what I'm doing, I've been on patrols, you haven't."

"Okay..." you gulp as he makes another step towards you, suddenly you're reminded of why when people talk about him, "unfriendly" is a word often used.

"Secondly, what I say goes. You listen me and what I tell you to do," he says harshly, reminding you of why "hard-ass" is also used when people talk about him.

"And finally...Tommy told me about the shit you pulled when he took you out there. You pull some shit like that with me? I won't save your ass, I will let the clickers,runners—whatever, get you and I won't feel bad about it." he's standing right in front of you, his jaw ticks and his brows are narrowed like his eyes.

He holds his eye contact with you for a minute of just pure silence aside from the sound of your breathing. You're not sure why you didn't think that Tommy would have told him about your recklessness outside the walls but you're even more unsure why Joel would want to tak you even though he knows. With him this close you we're able to get a good look at the scar across his nose bridge, you hadn't noticed it before with all the swelling and other wounds he once had. Though you knew he probably still carried that with him in his back pocket, right next to his cigarettes.

"I told him I gave him permission to shoot me, should I be bit...I give you that right too," you kept your head up, not looking down despite how nervous you felt.

"Yeah I know what you told him...didn't need to "give" me that right, I woulda done it without your permission. That's just how I am...you need to know that if we're gonna do this. So...are you still wantin' to do this?" he gaze flickers down and then back up, you're not sure what he was looking at but that wasn't really on your mind.

The way he looked like he already wanted to shoot you for what you said to Tommy concerned you more.

"Yes." you agreed and only then does he step back a little, giving you space.

"Start packing. I don't like waiting...I'll come get you when it's time to go," he mutters before walking back to the albums, grabbing them and letting himself out by fleeing upstairs.

For the rest of your afternoon and evening for that matter, you spent it packing what you could fit into the bookbag you'd found laying around under an old box. It was normal sized but you didn't know it would enough for how long you we're leaving, however long that was. To be quite honest, you didn't mind asking him because you thought you we're just going up the mountain to your old house and that was an easy enough trip. But going to the other side of the mountain? You thought Joel seemed a little too old to making trips like those, especially with the injuries he suffered, they still lingered about him but who you we're to talk? You just hoped that little fit you having a shaky aim was over with by now.

You tried to prepare yourself for how much of a hard-asshe actually was but there wasn't much you could really "prepare" yourself with. You just told yourself to roll with the punches and not take him too serious, even though he was a very serious man. A heavier coat calls your name, going up the mountain calls for that so you find an oversized leather jacket and slip it on over your flannel. You look at yourself in the mirror and sigh, you hate that you feel like you're dressing up as Joel and ever other man in Jackson. But it's all you had so you made do with it.

You find yourself just sitting, waiting around for Joel to come get you. A nap would be nice but you knew how that would go. The clock struck 7:45 and Joel was there knocking on your door. You perked right up with your bookbag and headed out, joining him standing by your unfinished porch.

"Let's go," is all he says to you, jerking his head towards the street.

You follow behind him, he walks faster than he ever has and you can already sense the irritation he feels. Unfortunately, you took that as a sign he was going to be especially hard ass-y. Still, you shrugged it off and followed him to the horses he had waiting just in front of the entrance by the walls. He grabbed the reins of his horse before before he could mount, you both turned your head to his name being called.

"Joel!" Ellie shouts, slightly rushing forward with a woman (Dina, you think?), behind her.

Joel, for the first time, looks taken off guard, he gets as stiff as a board, clearly not expecting her.

"Tommy just told me you're going out, to the other side of the mountain," Ellie catches up and stops just a few feet away from him.

"Yeah...I am," he clears his throat and avoids her gaze.

"You weren't gonna say goodbye? Say anything?" she questions, her voice growing softer as her eyes become glossy with hurt.

"Didn't wanna bother you, kiddo...that's all," he still looks off to the side rather than at her.

Ellie looks up at you sitting ontop of your horse, she sighs, telling you something with her eyes that you can't quite read.

"Fine...whatever," she scoffs when she looks at him again before turning around and walking right past Dina to leave.

Joel stands there for a few beats, watching her walk away. Instead of calling out to her, he mounts his horse and keep's it moving. You don't dare say anything about it, offering your unwanted input. Instead you follow his horse through the opening doors that open up to outside of Jackson. You recognize your horse, it's the same one from last time that you feed whenever you can, his name is Snow, fitting given that he's all white but you found it a little lazy.

The silence bothers you and when you're bothered, you tend to get a little stupid. A least stupid in this case, especially with Joel.

"Why didn't you tell Ellie we we're going?" you inquired curiously.

"Why don't you mind your business?" he scoffs sharply.

You should have expected that. You didn't deserve it but you did in a way. Their relationship was a mystery, you haven't been here that long and certainly not long enough to pry like that. Still, a part of you felt like even if you had been here long, prying at Joel was like trying to pry open your hands if they we're superglued together.

Joel can't be bothered by you, not when the look on Ellie's face weighs heavily on his mind. But he needs this. He needs to feel needed, even though you we're satisfying that for him with all that teaching and fixing he was doing. But going outside the walls? That was Joel Miller a hundred percent, Joel Miller before Abby damn near smashed his skull open. Joel Miller before he had to relearn basic motor skills until it all came back to him but he still wasn't a hundred precent healed. Unlike you, he actually went to his physical therapy even though he hated it.

He still kept his broad heavy shoulders but he didn't stand as tall as before, his knees popped more than they used to but only if he didn't stretch in the mornings. His eyes felt heavier, but that was debateable if it was because of his age or because he wasn't sleeping. Nightmares of being half beaten to death while Ellie watched still occupied his mind, at all hours of the day. He needed this.

Sure, taking you out was a big risk but your regard for your life became little and less after the loss of your father. He had no problem shooting you if shit got out of hand and that made this whole trip feel better for him, made him feel like doing this for his own sake would be worth it even if you got caught in the crossfire of your own stupidty. our stupidity wasn't his buisness unless you made it his and if that was the case well...he'd kill you just like he said.

You ride, not really together but still side by side. He doesn't speak and neither do you, doesn't even look your way. When a branch snaps, an animal squeaks or a bird chirps, he's focus intensifies but that's about it. After only a few hours of riding, he pulls off the main path up the mountain but you don't follow him, you're confused.

"Where are we—"

"Rules." he interrupts, that's all he says to remind of you of his first rule, "no questioning me.". You roll your eyes and follow him, the sun was just about all the way set and darkness had taken over by the time you reached the place he took you to, a small wooden cabin. You hear keys jingle in his pocket before he stows his horse nearby and you dismount to do the same. You want to ask about the cabin but you don't feel like being interrupted rudely again so you just go with it.

To keep your mind busy, you wonder about Ellie and his relationship. She says that he's not her dad but they sure speak to each other in a fatherly-daughter manner. You know people have all kinds of situations here but you're just nosey, you'd spent the last twenty years with your dad being your sole company. Now there was a whole town full of company, company that just didn't want to talk to you. Spring nights are cold, especially up in the mountains so you shiver a bit and tighten your jacket around you. It's loose so a lot of air gets up there trying to freeze you to death.

"I'll take first watch. You sleep," he opens the door to the cabin and tries to hand you the latern in his hands.

You nearly agree almost instantly but then the reminders of the fact that you hardly sleep brush against you and you step back from him.

"That's not necessary...I don't mind taking first watc—"

"I wasn't asking." he cuts off sharply, the grumple in his voice has you feel heat where you need it least.

"I wasn't asking either, asshole." The words spill out from your lips like wine, just like how bad decisions spill out of you when you have too much wine.

He cocks a brow, his jaw ticking before he says absolutely nothing else and just walks inside the cabin, slamming the door after himself. He leaves the lantern on a desk or side table of some sort, you can see it through the curtainless window. 

You look around, trying to find a log that looks somewhat comfrotable to sit on. You find one not to far from the horses which makes you feel even better. You've got your gun tucked in the back of your pants and even though it's silent, the noises of the night soothe you in a way. You don't have to hear Joel being an asshole and you while sitting you find the strength to find other things to distract you from the screams of your father you hear almost always.

While looking around, your eyes settle on the window of the cabin. Joel's standing, his back facing you and the window as he removes his shirt. His back is broad even this far away, he has more muscles than you thought. They flex when he get's his shirt all the way off, his tanned skin flourishing against the warm light of the latern. It's only when he starts reaching at the front of his jeans that you realize you're staring. 

You whip your head in the other direction, staring at a very boring tree instead. You wait until you think he's done or at least moved from the window before you look over your shoulder. The latern is off and you can't see anything inside the cabin. As you're sitting there, you decide to get up and at the very least somewhat patrol the perimeter. You do just that, keeping close by the horses though.

AN hour in and everythin is fine, no strange noises...not until about half an hour later. Both of the horses perk their heads up from munching on some grass, they look to the left and you do the same. You watch closely, pulling your gun out from behind your back and clutching it tightly. You we're no stranger to using a gun and you guessed Joel knew that given that he never asked if you knew how to use one. You creeped up slow and calculated, you we're careful not to step on any big branches.

You we're approaching expecting a clicker or a runner and that's exactly what you got. A runner rushes the horses, not you, the horses. It jumps onto the back of your horse, snow, and bites down while ripping into it's sides. You run like a fool, rushing the runner instead of shooting it where you stood but something about it attacking the horse and not you upset you beyond words. You clutched the gun and raised it but before you could shoot, with Snow's bucking it was thrown off and onto you instead.

You're knocked down onto the ground, the gun falling out of your hand. This runner has more strength than ever, more strength than one you've ever encountered. You can't see, can't reach for your gun but up your sleeve is a blade. You're pushing the runner back, keeping it from tearing into your neck. You have half a second to let go so you can grip the blade and jam it into it's neck. And you do that. You bet your life on the blade up your sleeve and you win.

Your's father's screamins mix with the wailing and shrieking of the horses, the bucking of Joel's horse and the collapsing of yours. You don't stab once, you stab over and over and over again into the neck of the runner. Blood is spraying all over you, covering you in a way that's familiar. You're stabbing so much you don't even realizing that you're sobbing, you can hear his screams and the shrieking of Snow.

You shove the runner off of you, knowing that it's more than dead. You crawl, unable to feel your legs from the pain maybe or the way you'd been caught completely off guard. You landed badly on your ankle when the runner jumped on you. Your tears spill from your eyes as you crawl over to Snow, still shrieking with his guts spilled out from the runner. You force yourself to sit up, lifting his head to put on your lap.

You don't even hear the cabin door open, Joel rushing out in nothing more than a different pair of jeans and a fresh black t-shirt. He's got his gun held up, you're cradiling Snow's head as the tears pour uncontrollably.

"Shh...shhh," you whisper while brushing his mane softly, it tangles between your fingers.

You don't even see Snow anymore, you see your father's lifeless body with his guts spilled open just the same. Snow calms down but still makes noise, you raise the gun but keep it out of his sight so he doesn't see it coming. Your sob's don't stop even when you pull the trigger. Snow stops moving and so does the world, you lean down and kiss his soft face.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry, dad." you whisper shakingly and Joel approaches slow and calculated.

You look up when you hear him step on a branch, only to find that the runner you thought he was standing over, isn't a runner at all. It's a mountain lion. There was no runner, your father isn't in front of you either. You gulp, looking between Snow on your lap and the death mountain lion and now Joel looking at you sitting there with blood all over you. He lower's his gun and rubs his rough hand over his beard with wide eyes at the sight of you.