#shitty graphics n stuff

[bluemantics]

guys help i just got in a small fight with voltronofficial’s instagram and threatened to write a post s8 miniseries that actually showcased character development

[woahjo]

The People We Became (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Zombie Apocalypse Au.

The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.

When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.

Chapter Content Warnings:  fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity

All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.

Word Count: 14.4k — 53k total on ao3

A/N: it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.

Two hundred and seventy six. It’s been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You don’t really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else. 

The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone you’re not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why you’ve brought it along with you all this time. There’s no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost. 

Maybe it’s because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend you’re in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment. 

The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire. 

It’s easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when they’d cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, you’d do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you don’t want to hear. 

Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters. 

A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell. 

You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse. 

"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent. 

You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight. 

"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula." 

The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the man’s features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these. 

You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity. 

"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent. 

You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word “ground”. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands. 

Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.

"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed." 

He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs. 

"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him. 

"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you. 

"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?" 

The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I don’t want your shit." 

You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane. 

"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid." 

"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess." 

The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now. 

"Got a name?" he asks. 

You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. “You want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?” 

You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling. 

"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?" 

You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat. 

"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am." 

He nods his understanding. 

"Come with me." 

"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if you’re stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both. 

"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed." 

You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that he’s willing to take you there at no cost. 

He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?" 

He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesn’t look so promising. 

"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to." 

"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?" 

Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase. 

"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."

You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything you’ve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldn’t go with him. What if they’re dangerous? It’s easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesn’t exist. Or worse, it’s easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you don’t know yet if he’s the type to delude himself. He doesn’t seem it. 

The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesn’t have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if he’s too heavy to be swayed by any missed step. 

As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees. 

Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. It’s relatively small, for how large the world is, but it’s some of the most open space you’ve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where you’re both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you. 

By the edge of the clearing, there’s a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that it’s likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation? 

"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!" 

In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You can’t make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room. 

Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him. 

“Yeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned." 

The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost. 

"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while." 

"Well, I'm back," he says. 

"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.

"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. “I found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didn’t bring them back.” The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word. 

"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?" 

Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check." 

Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.

"You must be tired.” 

When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?" 

"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?" 

"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, don’t tell anyone." 

You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell? 

"Sounds like a good deal," you say. 

You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn you’d assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock. 

Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki. 

"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..." 

She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him. 

There’s an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.

“Uhm…” you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you. 

“You’re okay,” Mina says lightly. “Plenty of time to get to know you when you’ve rested and had something to eat.” 

Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.

"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting. 

"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't." 

Those listening in the group nod their affirmation. 

"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?" 

“Like you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.

"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day." 

The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. You’re salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. There’s something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen. 

"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if you’re at all concerned with the implication that she doesn’t do much work, "they know we’d hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this." 

Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isn’t just her doing it. 

"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can." 

You can’t really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe that’s rude, but you don’t have the energy to consider it. There’s food in front of you. Food that doesn’t taste like it’s been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months. 

The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You can’t relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up. 

They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, you’d done this around a fire with the people you loved. You’d passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit. 

“So, where did you come from?” Izuku at the end of the table asks. 

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking to you and there’s an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words. 

“Leave them be,” Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. “They just got here. They’re probably freaked out.” 

The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together. 

“I think,” she says with an awkward laugh, “it may be time for bed.” 

Mina turns to you. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” 

You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that you’re grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words don’t come. Instead, you meet Katsuki’s gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away. 

—

“It’s just up here,” Mina says as she guides you through the house.

You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. It’s like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.

“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “You can take a shower if you want. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.”  

You nod. 

“No worries if you don’t,” Mina adds in a whisper. “When I first met everyone, I didn’t undress to bathe for days so… take your time. We won’t be offended.” 

She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. It’s not much, but it’s nicer than anything you’ve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You haven’t had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You haven’t felt safe enough to properly wash since you’d lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric. 

You probably shouldn’t. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still don’t know these people or what they’re capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet. 

The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though it’s cloudy, there’s a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse you’ve had of yourself in weeks. 

You don’t know who you’re looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animal’s, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person you’ve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if you’d ever encountered them. 

You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant. 

The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing. 

The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You don’t look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your body—a part of yourself you never really recognized—would drive you over the edge. 

Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. That’s fine. Beggars can’t be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, it’s warm enough outside that the water isn’t too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldn’t be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring. 

There’s a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. It’s simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if you’ve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. It’s dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark. 

The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. They’re someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it weren’t for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back. 

The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that it’s safe out of habit. 

Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and you’re unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didn’t get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway. 

Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. They’ve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you weren’t sure even existed anymore, yet you’re sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.

The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that you’ve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment. 

The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and it’s entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now. 

The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and they’re made of dark wood. They’re steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner. 

Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner. 

“Oh,” Kiri says, “did you need something?” 

You shake your head. “Not really, I just couldn’t sleep.” 

Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. “Well, you look like you feel a little better at least.” 

You pad over to where he’s doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you haven’t experienced in a long while, even with your last group. 

“Are you sure we can’t get you something?” Mina says, furrowing her brows. 

“Why are you all being so nice to me?” You ask. “You don’t know the first thing about me.” 

“Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be nice to you?” Kiri says over his shoulder. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I just think it’s reckless, that’s all. I could have been anyone.” 

Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like they’re debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina. 

“We don’t usually decide to do this so quickly,” she admits. “We’re friendly, but nobody’s that friendly anymore.” 

Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning. 

“But, Katsuki doesn’t usually bring people in,” she continues. 

“He’s a little more closed off than the rest of us,” Kirishima adds. “He’s a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.” 

“Mhm,” Mina says. 

“What does that have to do with me?” you ask. “This is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I’m wary.” 

“He’s a good judge of character,” Kiri adds earnestly. “He doesn’t bring people in often, but when he does, he’s usually right.” 

You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you don’t plan to do anything terrible. In fact, you’re content to accept their kindness and stay, if they’d let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one man’s judgment of character makes you uneasy. 

“He was alone for a really long time,” Mina adds. “A lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsuki’s luck was a little less fortuitous.” 

“So you all just… happened upon each other by chance?” You ask. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Mina says. “It was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. We’d found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didn’t seem to like each other all that much. We still haven’t really figured that out, especially because they’re so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. We’ve been like this since.”

“So you’re all strays,” you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri. 

“Sure,” she says. “We’re all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denki’s girlfriend.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, you’d be apologizing forever. 

“Don’t be,” Kiri adds. “But best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denki’s only just started to get over it.” 

You swallow thick and nod a little. 

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we can’t really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. That’s all.” 

“Hm,” you hum, understanding that to a degree. 

You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where they’re coming from. 

“What are you talking about,” Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink. 

“Nothing really,” Mina says. 

Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly. 

“Don’t you look cozy,” he says. “You get settled?” 

“When can I go get my stuff?” You ask. 

“Someone’s eager,” he says through lightly gritted teeth. “Didn’t I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, what’s there really to miss in that lot of junk?” 

“Katsuki!” Mina quietly chides. 

“I have things I care about there,” you say. “Things I’m not ready to lose.” 

Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. “We’ll leave when you get up in the morning.” 

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude. 

“Like hell,” he scoffs. “What if the dead are waiting back there for you?” 

“I made it this far on my own,” you respond. 

Katsuki nods for a second. “I’m going. Come find me in the morning.” 

He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting. 

“Don’t pay too much attention to that,” Mina says. “It’s past his bedtime.” 

“You’ll get used to him,” Kiri adds. 

“Right,” you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. “I’m going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.” 

Mina and Kiri nod, but you don’t stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom they’re letting you stay in. 

When your head hits the pillow, you’re out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us. 

— 

Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you can’t see them, you get the sense that they’re having a pleasant conversation. 

As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted you’d really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, it’s easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that you’d been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop. 

Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you can’t feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that you’ll never be able to outrun it. 

You wonder if they’ll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than they’ve ever been and if they ask you whether or not you’ve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you don’t even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. You’re just a person and you’ve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, you’re not sure if that’s enough. 

You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. It’s fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still don’t recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago. 

The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you don’t recognize. 

“He should be back by now,” a woman says. “Shoto’s never gone longer than a day or two, max.” 

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? “We’re only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.” 

“Someone needs to go look for him,” a man says.

“And what? Risk getting yourself killed?” the first woman says. “No, it doesn’t make sense. We need you here.” 

“You’d rather we leave him to die on his own?” 

“No one’s fuckin’ dying.” 

You recognize Katsuki’s voice. 

“He’s perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,” he continues. “He’s done it before.” 

“I should have gone with him,” says the same woman. 

“On that leg? You wouldn’t have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,” his voice raises a little. “Don’t be stupid. He’ll be back.” 

You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You can’t sneak up on anyone nowadays. 

“Sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?” 

It’s not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto. 

“Fine,” Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. “Nothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?” 

Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding. 

“I did,” you say. “Thank you.” 

“Nothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,” he smiles and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice. 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman standing across from Izuku says. “I’m Momo. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you last night. I’ve been a little under the weather.” 

You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that she’s guarding that side of her leg. 

“Is it…?” you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit. 

“No,” she says quickly, “no, it isn’t. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.” 

Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. She’s really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like she’s engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. She’ll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe that’s something else their friend Shoto set out to find. 

“I assume you’ll be wanting to go get your supplies?” Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts. 

“Ready when you are,” you respond with a nod. 

Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look. 

“Someone get them something to eat,” Katsuki says. “...I’ll get my shit ready.” 

“Fig jam…” Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen. 

You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. It’s a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than what’s inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop. 

“This stuff is so good,” she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. “You won’t believe it.” 

She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you. 

“It’s fig jam,” she says with a smile. “Homemade.” 

You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. It’s been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You don’t think you’ve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes. 

You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldn’t have been much, today it is something extraordinary. 

Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant. 

“We got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?” she offers. “We were starving and there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like… nine of us.” 

You listen as you eat your crackers. 

“This place was in such an awful state,” she laughs. “I mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, we’d have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,” she interrupts herself “-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didn’t rot.” 

She smiles at you like it’s a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat. 

“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she says, “but for some reason it’s a really nice memory. Honestly, we’re lucky we didn’t die.” 

Mina laughs a little. 

“I mean,” she continues, “we didn’t even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.” 

You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile. 

“You’re really forthcoming with information.” 

“You just seem a little hesitant, is all,” she answers. 

“Can you blame me?” 

Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t really offer an answer. You assume it’s because she can’t, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked. 

“The jam is good,” you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. “Even if it is months old.” 

“Things keep well in jars,” Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you. 

This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop. 

“You ready?” Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder. 

You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down. 

When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you don’t respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl. 

It’s strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someone’s kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and you’re certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didn’t exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it. 

Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing you’d come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that you’re still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.

You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if you’re not. It’s unintentional, but you don’t have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula. 

“How do you know where we’re going?” You ask in a whisper. 

Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. “I’m good with directions.” 

His tone is clipped, like he’s pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadn’t asked him to come along. In fact, you’d have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. You’d have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but you’re not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely. 

“Thanks for coming,” you decide. A peace offering. 

Katsuki doesn’t answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners. 

Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. There’s the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what he’s looking at. 

Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. You’ve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world you’re in now. 

You catch Katsuki’s eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. It’s a silent communication that you’ve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly. 

The two infected haven’t noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. There’s time to look at them like this and you’re struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now they’re a disease using someone’s skin as a mask. 

Infected people aren’t quick, that’s one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyes—like low-grade cataracts—that develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from. 

These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, that’s what causes the twitching and convulsions. It’s what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back. 

Most infected will crack when they move. It’s the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as they’re weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You don’t know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it. 

Maybe the infected think they’re dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someone’s skull if you convince yourself that they’re silently begging for it. 

Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from. 

Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They don’t really have time to begin moving towards you both. You’re faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.

Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you don’t have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someone’s brain. You didn’t used to do that, only starting when you realized that there’s no going through this world anymore without it. 

Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. It’s brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesn’t register in your brain and you continue on behind him. 

There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up. 

“You okay?” It’s barely above a whisper and you wouldn’t have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones. 

“Yeah,” you say, continuing forward. 

The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full night’s sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that you’d hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind. 

You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadn’t even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like he’s covering your tracks. 

“The next person that comes through here might not be alone,” he says plainly. “And they may have more bullets than you did.” 

“Right,” you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion. 

“Got everything?” 

You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected you’d killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it. 

Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesn’t glance back to make sure you’re following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about who’s next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers. 

Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread. 

You watch Katsuki’s back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well. 

Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when you’re alone. Is that worse than loss? If you’re alone long enough, you’d probably forget what you’re missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out. 

Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom you’ve never seen before, Shoto maybe. 

“A plus one,” the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way. 

“Katsuki’s,” Kiri says with a low smirk. 

Shoto’s eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation. 

“Well, that’s rare,” Shoto says. 

“What’s rare?” Katsuki spits. “They were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let ‘em die?” 

“Maybe,” Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. “What’s your name?” 

You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again. 

“How long are you staying?”

You’re not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something. 

“Shoto,” he says. “You’re probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?” 

“Sure,” the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm. 

She glances at you as she passes, almost like she’s too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. It’s like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, it’s not likely in this world. 

“Just until I’m rested,” you add with a small tilt of your head. “A few days.” 

Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. It’s funny, you can see kindness there. His actions aren’t kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsuki’s, you think. Like he’s strange in some way. 

“I’ll start on dinner,” Sero says. “Kiri, give me a hand.” 

The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people you’ve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if you’ve just sealed your own tomb. 

—

After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that they’re probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days. 

You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people don’t know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any. 

You think that if you let yourself walk away, you’ll probably die. You’re out of bullets and don’t know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and they’re everywhere nowadays. It’s spring, water wouldn’t be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, there’s the possibility of loss. You’d come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it. 

You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. There’s really no choice to be made. You’ll let them make it for you, even if you don’t know them. It’s their house and you won’t walk in uninvited or try to take it. You’re not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.

The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. It’s a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. You’re too nosey to leave it be. 

You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source. 

You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. You’re out of sight. The only way they’d know you’re listening is if you made a sound, but you won’t. You’re good at being quiet. 

“We don’t even know them,” someone says in a rushed whisper. “We don’t know what they’ve done before.” 

“Everyone’s done things they’re not proud of now, Shoto,” a woman adds. It’s Mina. She’s spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice. 

“I agree with Shoto,” says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks “We have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.” 

“You mean like me, Ochako?” A man adds. “I could have been dangerous.” 

The group grows quiet for a moment. 

“No,” Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. “Shoto might be right, Denki. It’s been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We don’t- we can’t know for sure.”

“Can we really know anything for sure?” Another man adds, Kiri.

“What about you guys?” Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group. 

“I don’t know.”

“I’m hesitant, but I don’t know either.”  

“Jesus,” another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. That’s Katsuki, the first voice you’d heard of the group. “You guys make me a little sick.” 

“That’s not fair,” Ochako says. 

“No,” he interrupts. “It is fair. You guys want to… what? Send them back out there to die?” 

“It’s not like that,” Shoto says.  

“It is like that,” he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. “You didn’t see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didn’t look… shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckin’ waste away? I don’t know about you all, but I won’t do that to a person.” 

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Katsuki’s right,” Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like he’s finally made up his mind. “Sending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people we’re trying to protect ourselves from?” 

“What if there are more of them?” Ochako says quietly. “What if they’re not alone?” 

“Trust me,” Katsuki says, “They were alone.” 

“But what if they’re not?” She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. “What if people come for us?” 

“See?” Shoto says gently. “There are so many what-ifs.” 

“That works the other way too,” Mina adds. 

You don’t listen to hear the rest of their conversation. They’re going to run themselves in circles debating about you. They’ll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. They’ll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control. 

The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didn’t. You don’t blame those who opposed. You’d have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One person’s stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they don’t know enough about you to be certain that you’re not one of those stupid people. It’s how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago you’d have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didn’t get it until you lived it. 

Still, Katsuki’s humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you can’t help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and that’s why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you don’t recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you don’t expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect? 

Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open. 

You hear a woman’s voice, so muffled that you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then, you hear the sound of a man’s affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house. 

Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, you’d never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. That’s probably why so many can fit. You’d guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place. 

That’s a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal. 

You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. It’s been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. You’re eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. You’re better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling. 

—

“Need some help?” You say. 

Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. He’s holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck. 

“Oh, sure,” he says, a bit surprised. “Do you know how generators work?” 

He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him. 

The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it… generates power, probably. 

“Not quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,” you say softly, passing him a tool he’d been reaching for. “Did it break?” 

“No,” Denki says, “but it’s probably on its last legs. The thing’s almost as old as we are, probably older, so it’s good to tune it up a bunch.” 

You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work. 

You’re not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldn’t. That and he was the first person you’ve come across this morning who you don’t think distrusts you too badly. 

“Are you dodging something?” Denki smirks up at you from his crouch. 

“Who on earth would I be dodging?” you snort a bit defensively. 

“Shoto,” he says with a light smile. “He put you in a tight spot the other day.” 

“Yeah, well,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t have a right to ask.” 

“Right, but it sure was rude, huh?” 

Denki laughs to himself a little and you’re surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others. 

“Oh!” He exclaims, “I have something you can do for me.” 

You tilt your head. 

“There’s a bucket over there,” he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. “We use the water from the creek as coolant. It’s not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when I’m done tuning this thing up?” 

You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek he’s talking about is. 

“The creek is just over there,” he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. “I know you can’t see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, you’ll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.” 

When you don’t immediately answer, Denki whines a little. 

“I mean,” he says, “I’d go myself, but-” 

“I’ll do it,” you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’d like to pull some weight at least while I’m here. Plus, I offered.” 

Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. You’re much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side. 

The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didn’t want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun. 

You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe he’s fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. You’re not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. He’s handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable. 

As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it weren’t for the looming idea that you’re contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denki’s attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that. 

You’re only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.

As you approach, you realize what it is that he’s doing. It’s laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character. 

“Katsuki,” you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.

He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow. 

“You’re still here,” he says plainly, returning to his task. 

“Clearly,” you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket. 

“Why are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?” He says, like he’s somewhat frustrated. “He does that shit to anyone he can.” 

You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?” He huffs out. 

“You’re doing laundry.” 

“Yeah?” he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. “So?” 

“Nothing,” you say. “I just didn’t expect that.” 

“Yeah well,” he stops for a moment like he’s struggling to find the words. “It needed to be done. Figured I might as well.” 

“How progressive of you,” you joke with a straight face. 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit. 

“If you’re going to linger, sit down and do it,” he says. “You’re creeping me out.” 

You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that you’re not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. You’d thought longer than you’d like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if it’s not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe it’s because you’ve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but there’s a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. He’s not looking at what you could be, but rather what you’re showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive. 

You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick. 

Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then you’ll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like he’s trying to figure out exactly why you’re lingering. 

“How long have you been with them?” You ask, more as a way to fill the silence. 

Katsuki’s hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace. 

“A decent amount of time,” he says. “I met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.” 

You furrow your eyebrows. 

“No offense,” you start, “but you don’t really seem like the group type.” 

“And you don’t seem like the type who’d be alone,” he retorts, like your statement was stupid. 

You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond. 

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little. 

“Were you?” 

“What? Was I sorry?” He furrows his eyebrows at you. 

“No,” you shake your head. “Were you alone? Before Izuku.” 

He goes silent. You’ll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, you’d probably react the same way. That’s just as well, you don’t really need to know him like that anyway. 

You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history you’ll likely never be privy to. Then there’s Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease. 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask and Katsuki’s response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh. 

He turns his head and looks at you from the side. “And what the fuck are you asking me that for?” 

“Just curious,” you say. “Is it Momo?” 

“Momo?” He makes a sour face at you. “Yeah, right.” 

“She’s pretty,” you say. 

“Sure is,” he responds dryly. “If you’re into the mom type.” 

“What? You’re not into moms?” You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you. 

“So you do have a personality,” he scoffs a little. 

There’s a pause. You haven’t felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant. 

“I’m kinda serious though,” you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. “Do you?” 

You’re leaning a little closer to him now.

“You seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?” he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when they’re a bit amused. 

“You don’t have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?” You laugh a little. 

Katsuki’s lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry. 

“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking away from you. “I’m a romantic. Sue me.” 

He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? You find that you’re captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. It’s something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food. 

Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. You’re not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him. 

It’s not as if you like him, but it’s something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.

Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesn’t leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. It’s an anxious kiss, confused and slow but—like someone riding a bike for the first time in years—it quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into. 

You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You haven’t felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you. 

The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsuki’s fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. They’re little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both. 

Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. They’re swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position. 

“Denki will want that water soon,” he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet. 

“Oh,” you say, laughing a little. “Right.” 

You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope. 

“Hey,” Katsuki calls softly. “You should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.” 

The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You don’t respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes. 

Dread settles in your stomach. It’s an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d asked you that earlier. 

The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house. 

Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel. 

“Jeez, what took you so long?” Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better. 

“I asked Katsuki for his life story,” you respond dryly, following him back to the generator. 

Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. “Did he tell you?” 

You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in. 

“Nope,” you say. “Not a thing.”

Click Here to go to the second chapter and find the rest of the series on ao3. The remainder will not be posted on tumlbr, but please feel free to reblog!

[star-girl69]

Because Of You

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

synopsis: years after your rite of passage, the boy who’s heart you broke just won’t leave you alone. clarisse, your girlfriend, quickly decides she’s not a fan.

a/n: should i stop procrastinating and then forcing myself to write shitty fics quickly? probably. but not today!! this is kinda just like an au of dont delete the kisses but… you guessed it… IDC!!!!!!!! from this ask

thank you all so much for patiently waiting i love y’all soooooo muuccchhhhhh 🫶🫶💋 as i mentioned on my acc i have the next week off from school, pls expect more content then!!

Because Of You - Lana Del Rey (Unreleased)

warnings: NOT PROOFREAD, this sucks so bad y’all sorry lolllll, y/n is a year round camper!, starts out very background heavy but i really don’t care 😭, creepy men UGH, ugly bitches not being able to let shit go, im gonna say sexual harassment just incase, swearing, usual demigod stuff y’all know what you’re getting into, jealous!clarisse YESSS, possessive!clarisse ik i screamed!!, protective!clarisse too, slightly graphic makeout scene, i think that’s all, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

When you were young, you were thrilled by the thought of love.

The idea of belonging not only with someone- bodies fitting together like puzzles pieces- but belonging to someone- wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

Later, your half-siblings would describe mostly similar experiences to yours- an overwhelming desire to be loved, wanted, needed. Ever since you ran into camp with a monster hot on your heels and satyr shouting encouragement next to you- everyone’s stared at you. They poke and prod, they act like they’ve never seen a daughter of Aphrodite before.

It’s annoying, but it makes you feel good- but not quite.

Until Alek came along.

You were both 13, you still believed in soulmates, and you wanted nothing more than to be with each other for the rest of your lives.

You were 13, and he felt like the only one for you.

And when you had to break up with him to fulfill your rite of passage- it felt like the world was ending. You cried for days and begged your sister Phoebe to say it wasn’t a true, it was just a mean, mean prank.

But she couldn’t tell you that, and there were more types of love that romantic.

While you longed to hold someone, to be held- you also craved your mother’s approval like you were starving. You wanted her love, you wanted her to visit you in your dreams, you wanted gifts from her, you wanted everything and anything she could give you.

So, it hurt like you had never known hurt before, but you did it. Alek seemed entirely indifferent to it, almost ignoring you and pretending you hadn’t said it- but you felt a warmness around you, a dove flew between trees, you knew your mother was there and she approved.

Breaking up with Alek felt like the sun had exploded on top of you.

Being with Clarisse felt like the sun was wrapped around you.

—-

After Alek’s initial denial, he went through all the other stages of grief, mourned your relationship like you did, and you came out on the other side with a one-sided agreement to forget it ever happened.

Alek got stuck. Or went back. He started to believe that you were still meant to be, that much you could tell.

Until that day at the training fields when your hand slipped at archery and you almost shot Clarisse in the head- and she had glared at you so harshly while you ran over and examined her head, gushing out apologies and fretting over her.

She pushed you away, hand lingering for a second, eyes softening before she quickly looked away.

“Just… be more careful,” she had said, almost like a question, like she wasn’t sure the words were coming out of her mouth.

And, Gods, were you terrified it was all some secret plan. Make you think it was alright only to corner you in the woods and probably kill you, or something.

And when she asked the next day to teach you how to shoot a bow, you agreed with tears in your eyes, knowing of her reputation, and it took a lot of trust and a lot of swapped secrets for her to prove to you it wasn’t all some elaborate plan.

But even if her plan was to kill you the entire time, you fell in love over her fixing your stance, hands brushing as you accidentally grabbed the same arrow, stolen looks across the pavilion.

It wasn’t until a random kid bumped into you, making you fall and twist your ankle. Clarisse had this look in her eyes that was so genuine, so full of love and care for you, softly caressing your leg after she had punched the other kid in the face.

And you realize as she said you were doing great, limping while she helped you to the infirmary, that this was something.

And as much as you hated the violence being committed over you, it was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, and the warmth in your chest was all you had ever wanted. This was what it was like to belong with someone, to someone, with her, to her.

This was what it was like to be admired. Loved. Wanted. Needed.

And when she softly told you goodbye, you had kissed the corner of her lips and thanked her- turning to walk into your cabin, ankle already feeling better thanks to the ambrosia.

She grabbed you by the wrist and turned you around, pulling you against her tightly and kissing you so harshly like she had just found the secret to the world in her lips on yours, her hands on your hips.

And when she finally pulled away, embarrassing strings of spit connecting your lips, she said she was sorry. Probably the first time she had ever said that to someone, and you smiled.

“Sorry. It’s just… once your lips were on mine, I don’t think I can ever stop. I don’t wanna stop.”

And she kissed you again and it was all you ever wanted out of this life- to love and be loved, to hold and to be held, and it was all because of her.

—-

The welcome back campfire is your favorite time of year.

It’s when the camp comes alive, when the Gods themselves seem to return to this place- even Mr. D is a bit more lively with all the pure infectious energy running through the first few days of camp. Everyone’s getting settled, classes haven’t started quite yet, and the year round campers get a much needed break.

As much as you and Clarisse wanted to keep things private, when she punches someone in the middle of the pavilion for accidentally bumping into you, it’s not hard to figure out Clarisse cares for you more than she does anyone else.

And after one of your younger siblings, Cara, a 12-year-old notorious for staying up late, saw you and Clarisse kissing that first night- it spread like wildfire.

But it was the winter, so it still felt secret, until summer rolled around and Clarisse kept getting more and more annoyed by every camper who entered the gates. She would grab at you in the middle of meals, drag you into her bed, even kiss you in public- do all these things that seemed so out of character for her, but she was a different person when she was with you.

Everyone had been looking at you oddly all night, shocked, confused, even Clarisse has cracked a genuine smile at someone who dropped their drink- squeezing your hand.

Maybe they had all heard the rumors. Maybe they didn’t believe them.

But it’s all cleared up when Clarisse leads you to the best seat, the log not too far from the fire but not too close, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your temple.

Your cheeks heat up, only because Clarisse is never this touchy in public, and never around this many people before.

All of the eyes on you feel weird- they feel so judging.

And you’re not used to that, however vain it may be.

“Everyone’s staring at us,” you mumble, shuffling closer to Clarisse so your legs are pressed together.

She leans her head against your shoulder. “‘S okay. Don’t worry about ‘em, baby.”

You huff. “Did no one ever teach them it’s rude to stare, though? Like… c’mon.”

She sighs dramatically, lifting her head from your shoulder.

“Stop fuckin’ staring,” she says. Not quiet shouting, but her voice is loud and forceful. Her voice carries weight.

And eventually, at the risk of Clarisse’s wrath, all the wandering eyes stop.

A few of Clarisse’s siblings laugh from around you, commenting that the stares were getting a bit ridiculous, everyone just grateful that you all might get a little reprieve from the overwhelming stares and whispers.

But, you still feel uneasy. Clarisse kisses your shoulder.

And while you look around at the faces very pointedly not staring at you, there’s one person who still is. You roll your eyes, open your mouth to comment on it- but your mouth quickly snaps close at the sight of Alek.

—-

You don’t mention it to Clarisse. Maybe because breaking his heart haunts you, maybe what could have been haunts you.

You try not to think of Alek or that night, you try not to think of the entire age of 13. You always knew that Alek never quite let you go. He still sort of believed that the two of you would come back together- subscribing to some abstract belief soulmates.

You don’t think about Alek. Everything you do is because of her, because of Clarisse.

Sometimes, knowing you have secret admirers makes you feel all happy, but now that Clarisse sneaks you into her cabin every night- it makes you feel weird. You really don’t want anyone except for Clarisse, the idea of even being near someone else kinda disgusts you.

But, you choose to believe that maybe he was just shocked, and he’ll get over it in a few days.

You spend your days in the summer sun with Clarisse, holding her hand on walks through the strawberry fields, still using your archery lessons to spend time together, staring at each other from across the pavilion at meals, dreaming about a future together when it gets dark and you’re forced to whisper softly.

Alek is just always lurking. Is it coincidence? Is he stalking you? Every time you’re with Clarisse, trying to enjoy a nice date, he’s there- staring at you like a lovesick puppy.

And if it wasn’t because of her, you would probably be flattered. But you have Clarisse, you’ve moved on, you’re in love and happy.

It’s the late afternoon, you’re trying to enjoy a long moment with her, breathe in the sweet smell and just feel how happy you are, know it’s because of her.

The fields are still crowded with kids who pushed off their chores until the end of the day, so you and Clarisse stay on the outskirts. Not too far into the woods that’s filled with satyrs and nymphs who have grown very hostile towards any two campers who make their way into the woods. But not too close.

You don’t even register that other people are there. You’re going on about your annoying half-brother, she’s pretending to listen intently- but it’s just enough to be here with her, and at least she’s listening to the sound of your voice. At least that brings her some comfort, and that makes you feel good.

“And then, he said-” you trail off, feeling like something’s crawling all over you, practically being able to feel the anger in the air.

“Hm, what?” Clarisse asks, snapping out of her reverie at your silence.

Alek is glaring at you, of course. It just feels so juvenile. You had received letters from him for years- ones that he didn’t sign- but you knew. He said that the two of you had so much more to give together, that a second chance was all he needed to make you forget about the rite of passage, about pleasing your mother.

Clarisse squeezes your hand, leaning closer to you.

You used to like the feeling of getting those letters, of knowing you were loved and wanted. But now, with Clarisse, because of her- it feels wrong.

She follows your eye line and Alek quickly looks away, back down at the strawberries he’s supposed to be picking.

Clarisse’s hand tightens around yours.

“Who the hell is that?” she huffs.

You suck in a breath. “Alek.”

“Al-huh?”

You smile, despite how uneasy you feel.

“Alek, Clarisse. From my rite of passage?”

“Oh,” she nods, nose scrunching ever so slightly. “The one who left you those creepy letters? Has he left anymore?”

“No, no,” you say, risking one more glance at his back- just to assure yourself. Maybe you’re just making it all up. “Not since last summer. I mean, he was staring at us the night of the bonfire too, he’s always around on all our dates- it’s just creepy, at this point.”

“Sounds like the fucker has a death wish,” she drawls. “I’d be happy to help him with it.”

You bump her shoulder with yours. “Yeah, yeah Miss Violence.”

She smiles back, but she searches her eyes and you can tell she doesn’t like what she sees.

“Hey, c’mon. I’ll kill him if he pulls some shit again.”

“Clarisse.”

“Beat him up?”

“Clarisse.”

“Physically threaten him?”

“Clar-”

She smacks her hand over your mouth. “Shhh,” she smiles. “Don’t stress. I’ll take care of it.”

“Clarisse!” you shout, laughing, but her hand is still pressed tight over your moth.

“Oh, sorry, baby, I can’t hear you!”

“Bitch,” you hiss, and she frowns.

“Mean.”

—-

Clarisse, unfortunately, is true to her word.

Alek finally leaves you a note. It’s simple, unsigned, but obviously him. You recognize his chicken scratch scrawl.

All it says is:

I miss you, we could be something

She writes him a note back, a long one- first talking about all of her accomplishments as a daughter of Ares, then detailing all the ways she’ll make him regret thinking about you.

She tells you now, whispers in her bed, she laughs and your mouth hangs open.

“Clarisse!” you gasp, scolding her with a soft hit to her shoulder.

She rolls her eyes and moves closer to you.

“What else was I supposed to do? Ignore it? You don’t know me if you think I could just ignore some random dude flirting with my girlfriend. He’s a fuckin’ weirdo, and hopefully that note will teach him somethin’.”

“I mean. I doubt it will,” you mumble after a moment.

She smiles, your heart squeezes- because her smile is so beautiful- and because Clarisse never smiles like this. It’s bloodthirsty. It’s almost inhuman. It’s Godly.

“Then I’ll have to teach him in… other terms.”

—-

Dinner this evening is slow and relaxed. It’s Friday, so you’ve all made it to the end of the first official week of camp. Chiron let’s the rules fade away tonight, cabin tables have been abandoned and everyone sits where they want.

A few Hermes kids volunteered to start a fire, Mr D is busy trying to get the new kids to sneak him some alcohol- but he’s hard pressed to find ones who haven’t already been warned not to.

The energy in the air is infectious. The promise of a late wake up tomorrow, a fun night, the feeling of the moon and the fire, warmth on your skin- it’s a recipe for lowered inhibitions, for everything to come a little easier.

Clarisse sits next to you a table in the pavilion. You’re surrounded by Silena and Beckendorf, a few Hermes kids, a few Ares kids- a big mosh of random campers squeezed together at this one table- but it works, for whatever reason.

There’s nothing like laughing at someone’s shitty joke and feeling Clarisse laugh with you, pressed close to her so you can feel her chest rumble, feel her arm squeeze around you.

“He did what?!” Silena screeches, looking at you with wide eyes.

You laugh at her shock, at the audacity of Alek.

She sneaks a quick glance at Clarisse, who seems entirely engrossed in her siblings’ arm wresting tournament at the next table over.

“Yeah,” you sigh, feeling sort of complacent with it now. It’s not like anything will change. You’re here because of her, because of Clarisse. Everything you do is because of her.

Breathing, eating, sleeping. Basic human functions and the need to survive has only strengthened with the motivation of staying alive for her.

“Anyways,” you smile. “Clarisse left him back this big, long note. All about how she’s the strongest girl at camp,” you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too big to be anything but joking. Besides, everyone knows she’s probably right. “And then threatened him a whole bunch. So, hopefully, he’ll just get his head out of his ass and then everything will be good again.”

You breathe out at the end of your small rant, and Silena smiles sympathetically.

“Hopefully,” she echoes.

But, because of Clarisse, because of her arms around you, you don’t feel anything but peace.

—-

Of course, life is not straightforward for demigods.

At the end of the day, you’re doomed to fall in your parents footsteps- except there is no immortality for you to fall back on. You’re vain and you’re proud, just like your parents, and you step too far, jump too high, and you’re as left dust on the floor.

Even though the same path had been left out for you to repeat, doomed footsteps to follow in, you step where they stepped and expect a different end.

The night is pitch black, besides for the brilliant stars and the bright, bright moon. It makes everything feel so private and secret. It makes Clarisse relax, makes her hold you closer but looser.

It feels good to feel her arm loose around you. She’s not afraid of you disappearing, because she knows of someone dragged you away you would rise up from the waves and straight back into her, into her arms.

The Apollo kids are playing music, voices hum along, the night is on fire with the crackles and the rising smoke, on fire with the peace, the content.

It feels like nothing can hurt you here.

But you’re a demigod, and life is not that easy.

The seat next to you is abandoned, and you barely even take notice as it’s quickly filled again- but you take notice of the eyes on you, of the body leaning forward to speak softly to you.

The fact that he’s here, the fact that he blatantly didn’t listen- you suppose you could have felt some sympathy for before, craving a life that wasn’t his anymore. Living off of memories made him too hungry.

Your mouth presses into a thin line as you recognize the voice in your ear.

“Y/N, I jus’ wanna talk.”

The rest of the table has fallen silent, and you realize everyone had almost immediately taken notice of his entrance- and you could tell by the way Clarisse’s body was tense against yours- he would regret ever coming over here.

“Clarisse,” you mumble, shifting closer to her.

She hooks her head over her shoulder, shifting completely so she’s straddling the bench, pressed up against your back.

Her tone is genuinely confused.

“Are you, like, okay in the head?”

The table, previously silent with fear, now bubbles with forced laughter.

“It’s not of your business,” Alek says, staring directly into your eyes. You feel like a deer caught in headlights, just completely shocked, too scared to move like it will all become real.

Clarisse puts her hand on your forehead and floats it down across your face, and your eyes voluntarily flutter shut.

“You’re not even worthy of being looked at by her,” and you can hear the smile on her voice. She confidence seeping from her pores- you can feel it all with the way she’s protectively wrapped around you.

“Y/N,” he says again, ignoring her through gritted teeth. “I just want to talk.”

“If you say one more fuckin’ word to my girlfriend I’m gonna kill you.”

There’s no smile on her voice, no edge of a joke. Not even angry. She’s deathly calm. She’s focused, like a 20 pound weight sinking to the bottom of the sea. She cuts through whatever she has to and everything else knows to avoid her.

You don’t know why the hell Alek just can’t let the 13 year old version of you go, why he’s looking something where there’s nothing, and you’re just so done with all of this.

You open your eyes, sitting up, letting Clarisse’s arms fall around you in confusion.

“Alek,” you start, softly. “We dated for a month when we were 13. That’s all it was, that’s all it’s ever gonna be. It’s over, okay?”

“Exactly,” he breathes. “A month when we were 13- and we were that good together? We could do so much more now, I wanna show you.”

“Okay, I’m done,” you mumble, standing up.

And without you in between, Alek finally gets a good look at the daughter of war. She’s pure, streamlined muscle. Every inch of her body has been meticulously trained to kill monsters- Alek knows that killing him would be easy.

Clarisse cracks her knuckles and you almost laugh at how cinematic it is.

—-

You hum as you run the alcohol pad over her split knuckles. Clarisse likes to leave the scars like this, the small ones, let them heal on her own. Even though she winces at the feeling, you know she’ll be walking around, proudly showing off her scabs until they finally fade away. She’ll cross her fingers and hope they scar, probably.

Clarisse watches you with admiration, admiring your movements, your voice, even though you’re really not doing anything special. But, to her, everything you do is special.

“Did you see how bad his face was?” she asks, trying to remain calm, but eagerness slips into her voice.

“I did,” you laugh. “It was real bad, baby. Good job.”

She huffs, as if it’s common knowledge.

“I always do a good job, just matters what level of good I’m on. I think this was one of my best works though, huh?”

She admires her split knuckles and you roll your eyes, finally starting to put some bandaids on the clean wounds.

“You’re crazy,” you mutter.

She shrugs. “You’re the one who let me. You’re the one who loves me.”

“Yeah,” you mumble after a moment, not really wanting to lie to her, tease her right now. She smiles soft and sweet, placing her fingertips against your jawline and leaning forward.

“Did you like watching me?” she breathes, her low voice hitting you right in the stomach, breath against your lips.

You circle her biceps with your hands and run them up and down the tense muscle.

“You know I did.”

“Three months no dessert,” she smiles.

“Three months of sharing with you,” you laugh. She smiles wider before finally, mercifully, putting her lips on yours.

Everything you do is because of Clarisse. It feels so good to be close to her like this- practically in her lap- fo feel how strong she is, to know what she did for you today.

It feels so good to know she loves you.

When you pull away, trying to chase her, she dodges you and kisses your jawline, your neck, and you throw your head back and release the most unladylike sounds as she leaves hickies on your neck, seemingly determined to make them as dark as possible, as easy to see. And a lot of them.

“Jealous?” you say, biting your lip to keep in a moan.

“Just want everyone to know you’re my girl. Want everyone to know who makes you feel good, feel loved, huh?”

You stomach twists and your mind goes blank.

“Huh?” she repeats, sticking her face in your neck to breathe in and out, catching her breath. “Why you feelin’ like this, baby?”

“Because of you,” you breathe. “Because of you, Clarisse.”

—-

y/n walking around the next day looking like she got attacked by a vampire

silena trying to be happy for y’all but also concerned for your health

clarisse just being proud as hell

—-

this was small so idk if y’all picked it up but clarisse was jealous before alek even came along- jealous that there were more campers coming! like? she just doesn’t like unworthy losers looking at her girl 🙄

—-

possessive!clarisse i love you so much baby

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1

[softspiderling]

think you're a genius (you drive me up the wall) | r.c.

summary: it wouldn't be an outer banks party if there wasn't at least one fist fight. also, rafe is trying to turn over a new leaf.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

word count: 3,8k

warning: mention of blood, violence (reader gets punched in the face, but there are no graphic details), shitty topper (sorry top)

author's note: long awaited (at least by me) rafe fic, whoop whoop!!! no usage of Y/N, happy reading, don't forget to reblog!!! also tagging @sunderlust bc i borrowed some of our conversation in this fic😘love you sol

☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄

“Since when do you drink beer?”

Barely pausing at the words, you continued to stack cold beer cans in your arms, the condensation dripping onto your skin. You didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice belonged to, having heard it so many times. And this was his house after all.

“Wasn’t aware you kept track of my drink of choice,” you retorted, turning around to face him, while simultaneously trying to balance the cans.

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you before his gaze lowered to the beer in your arms. “… You trying to tell me that all that beer’s for you?”

“You calling me a lightweight?”

The corner of Rafe’s mouth ticked up and he took a sip from his drink, the ice clinking in the glass.

“I think we both know I’m not.”

If someone had told you that one day you’d be standing in the parlor of Tannyhill, having a mostly civil conversation with Rafe you’d have them institutionalized. But things have changed. When Sarah returned with the news that Ward has died protecting Sarah, Rafe imploded at first. Blaming her for his death, the downfall of their family and generally being ungrateful for Ward’s love for her.

Everyone avoided the Cameron estate for a while, hearing stuff crash and yells from a mile away. No one dared to step close. A few days after, the disturbances stopped, being replaced with complete silence.

It was so silent, you actually grew concerned until Rafe turned up at Heyward’s setting up a weekly grocery delivery. Pope had dumped the stuff he was holding as soon as Rafe had stepped into the store, storming outside, with Cleo hot on his heels, leaving you to set up the standing order.

“Can you tell Sarah I’m sorry?”

“What?”

You looked up from the register and Rafe clenched his jaw, giving you a look.

“You really gon’ make me say it again?”

“How about you call her yourself instead of making me deliver your message like a post boy?”

Rafe exhaled deeply, knitting his eyebrows together like he was really trying not to explode and honestly, you had to respect him for that. You know how impatient he could be.

“I tried, okay? Don’t you think I’ve tried? I’ve tried to call her, she’s not picking up. Fuck, I don’t even know if she still has the same phone number,” he said, like the words physically pained him. “I don’t even know where she’s staying. Is it at John B’s new place?”

Somewhere between his words, Rafe had started pacing up and down the stairs, making you antsy.

“Hey,” you said, coming around to slowly, carefully - like you were trying to pet a stray cat - curl your hand around his wrist. Rafe immediately stopped, eyeing his wrist where you were touching him.

“Sorry, I’ll take my hand off,” you quickly said, but before you could, Rafe stopped you.

“’s fine,” he muttered, meeting your eyes for a second before looking away again. “Physical touch grounds me… Y’know… When my thoughts get too… Much.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding at him and staying in place, for god knew how long, until Rafe had seemed to calm down.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

You drew your hand back, crossing your arms over your chest and leaned against the counter to put some distance between you and him, wildly overwhelmed with this situation. Rafe didn’t seem like he knew what to do either, turning his ring on his finger, his eyes cast on the floor.

“If you really want to apologize to Sarah,” you started, making him look up. “Maybe I can talk to her. Ask her if she’s willing to meet up with you.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you, clearly surprised. “You’d do that for me?”

“Don’t let it get to your head. I’m mostly doing it for Sarah,” you scoffed and Rafe only smirked, shaking his head.

“Sure, tough girl. Gonna ring me up now or what?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you returned to the cash register, finishing up his order. You still felt his eyes on you as you worked away.

“Thanks,” he finally said, and you lifted your head, briefly meeting his eyes.

“Don’t mention it.”

And he never did.

Miraculously, you had managed to get Sarah to agree to talk to Rafe and while you had accompanied her to the beach, where she had met up with Rafe, you stayed behind to give them privacy. You weren’t sure what they had talked about, but you didn’t press her about it either when she came stomping back to you with tearstained cheeks. Whatever they have talked about must have helped though, because even though Sarah still stayed with John B of the the times, she went home every odd night, returning with sandwiches and drinks the next day like a soccer mom. It went unsaid that Rafe had provided her with everything and Sarah avoided talking about him, mostly because Pope still got that distant look in his eyes whenever she mentioned her brother. Which is why you were surprised that he was the first one to agree to go to a party Rafe had invited Sarah to, forwarding the invite to her friends.

“What?” Pope had said everyone gave him an odd look. “He stole a family heirloom of mine. The least he can do is invite us to a party of his.”

“Okay then,” JJ jeered, beating on Pope’s back with his opens palms. “Let’s go to a Kook party.”

You had to admit that it was nice to see that the two tribes of the island coming together. The fact that Pogues were invited to a party on Figure 8 was huge. Granted, it was just you and your friends, but still. It was a start.

Loud cheering from outside brought you out of your thoughts, you and Rafe both looking towards the dimly lit backyard, where the main attraction of the party took place.

“JJ and John B are destroying a group of Kooks at Rage Cage right now,” you then explained, lifting the beer in your arms. “Hence... You know.”

“Right right, I was starting the wonder what all that yelling was about,” Rafe mused.

“So how come you’re not out there?”

Rafe shrugged. “Needed some quiet.”

“What, you having your private party in here?” you teased and Rafe smirked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Why? You jealous?”

You rolled your eyes, shifting the beer cans in your arms, the weight slowly getting to you.

“In your dreams, Rafe,” you scoffed. “I got to go, get these beers to the boys before they’ll get warm. You should come down, when you’re done brooding and shit.”

Throwing your last words over your shoulder, you returned to your friends, being welcomed with loud cheers as the empty cups get filled rather quickly. You dropped down into your empty chair, taking your drink from Kiara who had been holding onto it during your absence.

“Pope was about to send a search party because you were taking so long,” she said and you gave Pope a look over the brim of your cup.

“You’re such a mother hen. I was talking to Rafe.”

“Why the hell were you talking to Rafe?”

“You talked to Rafe?”

“Jesus, guys relax,” you groaned, leaning your head back. “He’s fine. He didn’t even do anything. We just talked.”

“It’s never just anything with Rafe,” Pope muttered.

“I get that,” Sarah started, rolling her empty cup in her hand. “But he’s different.Like… He regrets a lot of the thing’s he’s done and trying really hard to make up for his mistakes,” she paused, pressing her lips together tightly. “I’d be the last person to defend him, but I feel like he’s trying to turn over a new leaf.”

Before Pope was able to list all of the bad things that Rafe has done in the past, your conversation was interrupted, angry yells ringing over the music.

“So now you’re just all buddy buddy hanging out here, huh?”

The new voice wasn’t really new and everyone looked at Sarah, who paled, slowly pushing herself up from her chair, looking towards the disturbance, the rest of the group following her.

“Shit. What the hell is Topper doing here?”

The sudden intrusion of a rather inebriated Topper had immediately tanked the relaxed and laid back atmosphere; suddenly, everyone was tense, not daring to make a move in fear of making the wrong one.

“What? Aren’t we here to party?” Topper cajoled, waving a half empty bottle of whiskey around. “Let’s get rid of these Pogues and party!”

The rest of the Kooks looked between themselves, not really wanting to follow Topper’s request but also not wanting to defend your friends. Even if they just had fun together, the Kooks wouldn't go as far as openly defend Pogues, you knew that.

“You should leave, Topper,” John B said, his hands curling at his sides, which was fair, honestly. Even though you had rebuilt the Chateau, bigger, better and most importantly more fire resistant, Topper burnt down John B’s home. His safe space. Topper only widened his eyes at John B comically, snorting.

“Who are you to tell me to leave?”

Sarah pushed herself to the front, pressing herself to John B’s side, which was probably not the smartest thing she could have done, as it only aggravated Topper even more to see her next to John B. You and the others stood right behind her, ready to step in as soon as it escalated.

“Leave, Topper,” Sarah snapped at him. “Nobody invited you.”

“Yeah, as far as I know, you don’t even live here anymore, Sarah,” Topper said, spitting out her name like it was venom in his mouth.

“I didn’t invite you.”

You hadn’t even noticed Rafe having joined you, not really standing on your side, but not on Topper's side either. Suddenly, the tension had grown even thicker and by now, you realized this could go wrong in about a 100 ways.

Topper stared at his friend, mouth agape, before he collected himself, pulling a face.

“Seriously, Rafe? Weren’t you the one who told me that I’m better off without your bitch of a sister and now you’re taking her side?”

“Watch it, Top,” Rafe only said, not even moving an inch.

Not that he had to. Everyone knew what Rafe was capable of, if he was angry enough. Topper only narrowed his eyes at his friend, weighing his options.

“Topper, just go,” Sarah yelled, walking towards him for good measure, trying to offer some sort of olive branch, but Topper only pushed Sarah roughly, causing her to stumble to the ground.

“Jesus, fuck, Topper,” you snapped, rushing to get Sarah back on her feet again, making the fatal mistake of getting between him and John B, as you received a sickening punch to the side of your face.

“Fuck!”

“Holy shit, Topper are you insane?”

You had toppled over your feet to the grass, not having expected the punch at all. Disoriented, you touched your throbbing cheek, your fingers stained red when you looked at them.

“Fuck,” you moaned, feeling like you were about to pass out. Your friends quickly crowded around you, helping you up.

“Shit, girl, you alright?” Cleo asked, carefully pushing your hair to the side to assess the damage.

“Is Sarah okay?” you only asked, pausing to spit out some blood, leaning on Cleo, your legs still shaking.

“Dude, I’m fine!” Sarah said, wrapping an arm around you, still shaking herself.

Your vision was still dizzy, and the voices were not helping, but it seemed like most of the party goers had dissipated as the argument had started. As your eyes adjusted, you could just see Rafe holding Topper by the collar of his shirt and saying something you couldn’t quite understand, before he tossed his friend on the ground. Topper didn’t take long to get back to his feet, fleeing from the scene.

Rafe turned around, his eyes scanning over you before turning to Sarah.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a bruise,” Sarah said, her eyes fixated on you. “But you should definitely get checked out. I can't believe Topper punched you."

“Come on, I got a first aid kit upstairs and some ice for the swelling.”

Rafe reached out to grab you under the arms, but Cleo was reluctant to let you go.

“Maybe I should help.”

“Seriously?” Rafe asked, incredulously and you only watched with narrowed eyes, your reaction time still limited.

“We should just take her home,” Pope chimed in, grabbing you by the shoulder gently, jostling you around.

“Guys, I’m gonna be sick if you keep handing me around like a joint,” you groaned, shutting your eyes, in the hopes of making the dizziness better.

“Pope, it’s fine. Rafe’s not going to hurt her. And he knows a thing or two about patching up wounds,” Sarah said, Pope’s grip on you loosening.

“Fine. But you even look at our girl funny, and you got another thing coming, you hear me, Rafe?”

“Yeah yeah, I got it,” Rafe grunted.

You peeked an eye open, when your friends let go of you, Rafe looping his arm around your shoulder, pausing to look at John B. “You got Sarah, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about her.”

Rafe nodded his head in thanks, before leading you towards the house.

"Hey, just call if you need anything!" Kiara called after you, which you only replied with a weak "Okay!", your focus on putting one foot after the other. Rafe had his arm around your waist, taking most of your weight.

“Can you walk alright or do you need me to carry you?”

“If you pick me up right now, I will vomit on you,” you moaned and Rafe snorted.

“Right, and neither of us want that.”

It took you guys an embarrassing amount of time until you reached the house, since you kept making Rafe stop because you thought you were going to throw up. When you finally walked inside, Rafe lead you upstairs, instead of steering you towards the living room.

“Where are you taking me?”

“First aid kit is in my bathroom,” Rafe replied, mostly supporting your weight as you climbed the stairs.

“Ugh, your bathroom? Am I gonna get infected with herpes or something?”

“Is it the smartest idea to insult me in your position right now?” he asked dryly, and you almost sighed in relief when you reached the second floor.

“Just take me to your bedroom Rafe.”

“Alright, Princess,” Rafe sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he guided you to his bedroom, carefully depositing you on the bed. While he went to the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit, you took a second to catch your breath, hoping the world would stop spinning.

Rafe returned with the first aid kit, moving slowly so as not to startle you. He set it down on the bed and then looked at you, concern flickering in his eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you mumbled, pressing a hand to your throbbing cheek. "Just a little dizzy."

"Right." Rafe opened the kit and began to rifle through it, pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and some cotton pads. “This is probably gonna sting,” he warned you.

“Do your worst.”

You managed to flinch only slightly as the cool, yet burning liquid hit your skin, with Rafe’s surprising gentle touch as he cleaned your wound. He put a small bandage on the cut, before sitting back to inspect his handiwork.

“I’ll go grab you some ice for the swelling,” Rafe then said, standing up. “No dozing off, though, a’ight?”

Without waiting for an answer, Rafe left the room, leaving you by yourself yet again. Even though he explicitly told you not to doze off, you laid down on the bed, figuring that it might make the pain a little less bad. As soon as your head hit the pillow, Rafe’s scent engulfed you, and you weren’t sure if you lying down in his bed was too... Intimate? Then again, he was the one who had left you in his bedroom by himself. Before you could sit up again, Rafe reappeared in the room, holding a bag of in his hand, an unreadable expression on his face as he took you in on his bed.

“Sure, go ahead and make yourself at home,” he huffed, but you could see the frown on his face. Rafe sat down on the bed next to you, carefully wrapping the ice bag in a small towel and pressing it against your bruise, his other hand cradling your face. Despite the ice on your skin, you felt your cheeks heating up.

It was odd. You’d never have expected that Rafe could be able to be so gentle, so caring, and you suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

“What’d you say to Topper?” you blurted out instead, breaking the silence. You reached up to hold the ice bag, and Rafe pulled his hands back, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What?”

“After he hit me. What did you tell him to make you leave?”

Rafe sighed, leaning back a bit, staring at the wall as his eyes hardened. “I reminded him of what he did to me when I… Hurt Sarah. Asked him if he was willing to beat me to a pulp for my sister, what he thought I’d do to him for hurting her.”

His eyes flickered back to you.

And you.

You let out a breath at the pregnant pause, scared he’d say something he couldn’t take back. Something real. Maye you had been flirting with him, but so what? There was no harm, they were just words. Right? But admitting something real? That was a whole other story.

“Who would’ve thought Rafe Cameron could be so nice?” You said instead, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Rafe snorted, shaking his head with a laugh, the moment dissipating. “Yeah yeah, don’t get used to it. It was a one time thing.”

“Right, right, we wouldn’t want people to think that Rafe the Kook prince actually has a heart.”

“Does that make you the Pogue Princess then?”

“What?” you asked, flushing. “Where’d you get that idea? That’s obviously Kie.”

“Come on,” Rafe huffed, rolling his eyes. “Kie’s half Kook. And don't even start with my sister. Sarah’s… Half and half, at least.”

You eyed him in amusement. It was clear that he’d spent a good amount of time on that analogy.

“What about Cleo?” you asked, humoring him.

“Ehh. She would’ve made a good Pogue princess, too bad you’ve already taken the spot,” Rafe said with a shrug. “Pogue Princess. Flirts with everyone, heart of gold, never hesitates to get right between a brawl to help out a friend and to call people out on their bullshit…. Should I continue?”

“Please don’t,” you laughed, pressing the ice bag to your cheek. “You’re talking shit out of your ass right now.”

“I’m talking shit out of my ass? You’re the one saying everything that comes to your mind to stop yourself from kissing me right now.”

What?

“What?”

You never thought he’d actually say it out loud. Mention the elephant in the room. The tension you had been trying to ignore all this time. The silence that followed was deafening as you tried to find the right words, your heart beating in your chest.

“In your dreams,” you muttered hotly, repeating your words from earlier in the evening, looking everywhere but at him. It didn’t take long for Rafe to grab you by the chin gently, forcing you to look at him, his eyes piercing yours.

“In my dreams, yes,” he said quietly, inching so close that his warm breath was fanning across your face. “What about yours, princess?”

Gaping at him, speechless, you knew you didn’t have long until Rafe would take your silence as rejection. Your mind was racing, but ultimately, you leaned in, closing the gap and finally kissed him. Rafe let out a soft grunt, dropping his hand from your chin and cupping the back of your head instead to press even closer to you. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, as you finally admitted the attraction you felt to another, but you pulled away, when you felt a tad too dizzy.

“Right, shit,” Rafe cursed, knitting his brows together, examining your cheek. “Got too carried away.”

You flushed, handing him the small ice bag, that was more or less a bag of water now. Rafe dumped it in the trash next to the nightstand, before turning back to you with a smirk.

“Took you long enough.”

“Shut up,” you huffed and Rafe only grinned, pushing your hair out of your face, where it stuck to your wet cheek. You leaned in for another kiss, only for Rafe to stop you, holding you back.

“Nuh-uh. You get better first. Next time, I want you to get dizzy because of my mouth and not because you just got punched in the face.”

“You sound real confident there will be a next time,” you pointed out.

Rafe sighed, faux-exasperation. “Princess, don’t act dumb, it doesn’t suit you. You really think I’ll let you go after you’ve professed your love for me?”

“After I did what?” you shrieked in laughter, and Rafe only laughed. It was nice seeing him laugh for real for once, not the smarmy, smirk he used to do. After your laughter subsided, your pursed your lips, serious.

“You know my friends won’t take this well, right? Especially Pope.”

Rafe ran his hand over his buzzed hair, exhaling softly. “I know. But I won you over, didn’t I? Rest will be a piece of cake.”

“I’m serious, Rafe.”

You gave him a look and he leaned down, clasping his hands in his. “So am I. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have been trying to make things up to him, to Sarah. To everyone. It might take a while… And I don’t blame him.”

“As long as you’re aware…. Now, can we get back to kissing?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

Pushing your lower lip forward, you pouted at him. “One kiss.”

Rafe stared at you for a hot second, frowning. “Fine. One.”

But when he leaned down to give you a chaste kiss true to his words, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you.

"Jesus, are you trying to kill yourself?" Rafe hissed, but you only cackled, almost taking your bandage off in the process.

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠂⠄☆

author's note: pls leave a comment/reblog/like if you liked it🥹

[teddiesworldd]

your neighbour, simon, the stalker.

you don’t know it but it’s for your own good, love. (350 words)

a/n: simon is your scary dog privileges. it's short and a bit darker than my usual stuff but i hope you like it!!

pairing: simon riley x female reader

tags/warnings: nsfw, mdni!!, pervy creepy neighbour!simon riley, obsessive, stalking, some mentions of violence

simon didn’t think he was a creep. 

at least not in the usual sense.

he didn’t want to stalk you or put a tracker on your car or watch you undress through the window late at night. no no, he just wanted to make sure you were safe. that makes all those things okay, right? it was for your own good. he thought of himself as your own personal guard dog. 

i mean, it was obvious you couldn’t protect yourself. if you could, he wouldn’t of needed to beat that guy in an alley for following you home that one time. sure, he was following you home as well, but he had good intentions. and when you saw him in the hallway between your apartments the next day, asking how he got the bruises on his knuckles, it made his cock ache for you. 

and when you brought a bloke home the other night from the bar and simon watched you strip off your shirt, and then your bra, and then your underwear through the gap in your curtains from the street below, it was just to make sure the guy was taking care of his girl for him. he needed to know you were being fucked properly.

he loved getting the notification on his phone that you had pulled up to work safely, when that little tag he stuck under your fender let him know you had made it okay. he wouldn’t want you getting in an accident without your big strong neighbour there to save you. 

his favourite thing of all though, was when you touched yourself in your room, thinking no one could hear you. but really, your lewd moans went straight through your joined wall and into his ears, pumping his thick cock to your noises. one time, you even moaned his name, and it sent him over the edge immediately, causing thick ropes of cum to land all over his hand and stomach.

it was for the best, really. 

he knew he could treat you better than any of those shitty guys you brought home.

˚✧. thank you for reading!

˚✧. please reblog to support me <3

˚✧. dividers by @ saradika-graphics and @ si-eunnis

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[writermask-0807]

“heaven’s blessings.” {king baldwin iv x reader}

A/N: ahaha so yk how i said i'm gonna watch kingdom of heaven?? (it isn't available on bflix or any other website/app i checked 😭 someone pls help) i haven't yet 😅 (ALL HISTORIC AND KOH CRITICS PLS DONT COME FOR ME I DONT MEAN ANY HARM) so there's probably gonna be a lot of stuff wrong with this, and um. yk how i also said i was working on a koh fic?? yh this is not that one. for some reason i couldn't go any further than a couple of paragraphs, so here i am. with this absolutely shitty fic that looks even more horrible as I reread but. hope you enjoy?? 😭😭

warnings: hanahaki, some descriptions of hanahaki (?? it isn't that graphic or anything tho), also feel like i used 'bcos' too much, angst with no happy ending 😭 I promise the other one is happy!! 😭😭

word count: 322

thinking of king baldwin iv w hanahaki.

don’t you think that he would be the type that, as a man of strong faith, to think that this, too, is a blessing from god?

as a man of already frail health, this new illness is bound to take an even more horrible toll on his battered broken body;

taking root under his disfigured skin. fronds twining through his veins, greenery curling round his ribcage, twisting in his airways, stealing his very breath. blooming quietly in the darkness, petals like cremation ashes falling past his bruised lips like a prayer, some holy thing that can’t be attained.

because that’s what you are.

unattainable.

because knowing you - you with your tender smiles and your healing hands and your kind heart - you might probably still accept him, even with all of his ugliness, his ruined skin and broken bones, even with this blessing that’s really only a curse. but he can’t allow that. he can’t possibly be that selfish.

not to you, never.

it’s why he flinches away from your touch (no matter how much he yearns for it), soft and feather-light as it is, why he forces himself to look away from your wide eyes, your expression that’s hurt but you smile through it anyway because you wear your heart on your sleeve and you’re so gentle and kind and loving-

and he can’t.

and maybe that’s what his love for you is meant to be, in this lifetime. a love that seeps through skin and blood and bone. a love that lingers like an illness, because he can’t let you.

a blessing.

(and it’s only when the end is near that he gathers the delicate flowers into his arms, holds them close to his chest. this is the closest he can ever let you be.

and as his eyes flutter shut for the last time, he dares to hope-

perhaps, in another life.)

[sunflowersandsapphires]

The Sun Will Rise

Wake Up, Chapter 8

Series Masterlist           Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: sexual assault themes and descriptions, if non-con themes trigger you please do not read. other warnings: swearing, misogynistic language, violence

This chapter is very intense. I tried to keep the S/A stuff as not graphic as possible to avoid triggering people but it is very much there and the violence is more present than any other chapter.

a/n: Today has been a fucking DAY yall. My new cat got sick (he’s ok he just ate too fast and then got sick on me and my bed which was gross), I am having issues with pay equity at work, and trying to deal with utility issues in my house. I am very sorry for the late update. PLEASE let me know how you feel about this chapter, your comments and reblogs literally make my day every week. 

w/c: ~4.5k

Four years ago, you’d been desperate for a change.  Despite spending thousands on a fancy degree, you had gotten nowhere in the legal field and your job waiting tables at a diner in Queens barely paid the bills, though you were grateful for the work. 

Pouring coffee and taking orders wasn’t the worst job you’d ever had and the majority of customers during your shifts were sweet. You played the role of “cute, friendly waitress” well, making even the grouchiest patrons appreciate your soft smile and quick response time. Maybe this persona you’d adopted in your efforts to avoid your crippling anxiety was the reason he started looking your way. Perhaps it was your obvious desperation to be liked. Whatever it was that drew his attention, it was your eventual disinterest that kept it. 

The first day you met James Lannister was a shitty one. You’d worked a double shift, meaning you had been less than perky towards the end of it, leading to stupid mistakes and screaming customers. Emotions were running high when he took a seat in your section, so his calm demeanor and attentive smile drew you in. 

He’d only made pleasant conversation with you the first few visits. Asking about your day, your week, your hobbies, your interests, your family, your aspirations. Anyone would’ve been eager to spill their guts to him, he was quite charming. The way that his green eyes pooled with fascination as you spoke was almost reverent. No man in your life had ever made you feel that way, like nothing else in the room mattered. 

Which is why the red flags zipped right by you without triggering your internal security system. Day after day, he’d visit your place of work after his own shift at the Pro Bono Association. He’d ask his questions and encourage you to ask your own, which led to a standing invitation to sit with him when there was a lull in traffic at the restaurant. Your shared interest in the legal system and his willingness to share a slice of that life with you compelled you to take him up on the offer. 

Next came the gifts. Little things, at first. Large tips, suggestions for weekend entertainment complete with a gift card or fully funded ticket, books to further your legal studies after work. It was strange, but the attention was divine. He wasn’t an ugly man, and you’d never felt noticed like this before. 

Eventually, he’d goaded you into joining him and his wife for dinner at their house. Mrs. Lannister was beautiful and cunning. On the surface, she was always polite, reassuring, more than willing to host you or have you join them in public, but there was an ominous undercurrent that you never could place. The way she looked at you when her husband turned his back was almost murderous, but you were so caught up in the idea of being wanted that you glossed over the tension between the two of you. 

You were lonely, sure, but you never wanted romance or…other things…from Lannister. To you, he was a mentor, an idol. Someone to live vicariously through while in a transition period in life. But after accepting all of his kindnesses, you’d unknowingly crossed a line. 

Before it all fell apart, it almost seemed like universal intervention. During a seemingly mundane conversation, Lannister clasped his hands over yours with a giddy expression. It seemed that there was an entry level position opening up at the PBA office in Queens and he thought you’d be perfect for it. Not only would it be a substantial pay raise from your current position, but there were opportunities for growth and he would be your boss. 

At the time, it felt like a miracle. Your ticket to the next stage of your life. And it was, but letting your guard down for that shark ended up being the biggest regret of your life. 

Transitioning into your new role wasn’t seamless, but you took it in stride. Your eagerness to take on complex projects and expand the mission of the organization impressed the more seasoned employees. Lannister began taking you to lunches, galas, drinks, anywhere that he could introduce you to his network of attorneys. It was thrilling to be thrown into the world you’d always dreamed of and received with such open arms. 

For a few months, it was pure bliss. Until the night you placed your first case. 

Placing the case itself was unproblematic, you were happy that you fit into the role so well—and you expressed such sentiments to Lannister who invited you over to his house to celebrate. Arriving with a bottle of your favorite wine, it was immediately clear that something had changed. The once cozy house was in absolute disarray, riddled with empty liquor bottles and boxes of feminine clothes. And, although Lannister had implied there would be others there, you found him alone. 

Lannister noticed your wandering eyes and explained that his wife had left him. He told you not to worry about that and to focus on your personal success. The two of you enjoyed some good food and cheap wine, the older man drifting closer by the glass. Eventually, you felt your eyes growing heavy and he insisted that you stay over given the late hour. 

That night, you dreamt of a large shadow, looking over you while you slept, warm touch dancing over your clothes. You tried to protect yourself, but your arms wouldn’t respond to the commands your brain sent. When you woke up, you found your skirt unzipped. 

It got blurry after that. Lannister’s very public divorce led to inopportune inebriation, massive hangovers in the office, lewd comments, and wandering hands. While you still accompanied him to events, he began claiming you in public in increasingly repulsive ways. Holding you by the waist, kissing your cheeks, stroking his fingers over your neck, using that disgusting pet name. My little Princess. 

You only tried expressing your discomfort once before it escalated. You’d approached him in his office after lunch, when he was likely to be more sober, and hesitantly asked if he would consider pulling back. You’d been met with the most terrifying display of anger you’d ever seen. You hazily recall books being thrown, hits landing along your arms and torso, insults being hurled at you. 

He had made you. You would be nothing without him. You were ungrateful and whoreish and conniving just like his wife. While the memories faded, the scars from your skin splitting over the hinges of his office door still shone in certain lights. 

After that his actions were deliberate. His lingering touches scalded you. Being alone with him meant sentencing yourself to torture. When he was angry, he’d call you into his office to “talk it through.” To your absolute horror, these talks often involved a locked door and drunk hands groping your trembling form. 

For weeks you endured his abrupt switches between calculated insults, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, and inappropriate contact. You were barely alive, going through the motions and slowly convincing yourself that you deserved it. You’d fallen out of contact with your friends, were so emotionally fragile that a stern look from a stranger could send you into a panic attack, and you found yourself so nauseous that the first few hours of each day were spent hugging a toilet. 

It was clear you needed help, but Lannister was your boss and his threats terrified you. He’d made it clear that if anyone found out about his behavior, it would cost you your livelihood. As an incredibly well-known attorney with an impeccable record, there was no way you’d win in court, he had too many friends on the force or the bench. Not to mention how new you were to the organization. Despite his growing alcoholism, your coworkers were as enamored with Lannister as you used to be, the chances of them believing you were minimal. 

So, you stayed, trapped in a nightmare of your own unintentional creation. Until a position opened up in Manhattan. 

Applying on a whim, you’d kept your application a secret, not expecting to even get an interview. But, apparently the managing attorney across the East River had heard your name through the grapevine because she reached out within the week to schedule a lunch with you. 

The heavy weight that hung over your shoulders like a shadow has lessened considerably in the days leading up to the lunch. The possibility of escaping the hell you were living in quickly appeared like the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Manhattan was beautiful and the employees of the PBA office in Midtown were ecstatic to meet you. It was the best day you’d had in months, until you got back to your own office. 

Realizing you’d forgotten an important file you needed for a clinic the next day, you walked briskly through the quiet building, hoping to get in and out without running into your supervisor. Unfortunately, the world was not that gracious. 

As you rummaged through your desk, the overhead lights turned on making you flinch. Your hands stilled over the file cabinet, your breath catching on your throat. 

“You little bitch.” Lannister was furious if the rage dripping from his tone was any indication. “Tell me, Princess, why did I receive a call from Midtown about how happy they were to have finally met my assistant?”

You couldn’t speak, your throat constricting as if wrapped with fabric. Frozen in place, you heard him approaching and you cowered. 

“Thought you could go behind my back? Leave me high and dry without a warning? You owe me, little princess. After all I’ve done for you…”

Whether from fear or something else entirely, your brain blocked out the rest of his actions that night. You came to shaking on the floor, bloody and partially undressed, but you weren’t alone. Lannister had disappeared, thankfully, but your coworker stepped into your office with a shaky inhale. 

Erica was a young attorney who’d started a few weeks before you. Your emotional state had made it difficult to grow close to anyone in the office, but she’d always seemed sweet. And, fortunately for you in the end, she’d heard the commotion your boss had caused before storming home. 

As your wonderful coworker helped you clean yourself up, you tearily confessed the secrets you’d worked so hard to hide. Disgusted, Erica had encouraged you to speak to HR and you’d submitted a complaint later that day with her assistance. 

You owed Erica a great debt. Over the period of the investigation, she’d become a fixture in your office, making sure to keep you at a distance from your abuser. Without your prompting, she’d offered the committee looking into the allegations her full testimony. You were quite certain that her statement is the reason Lannister was fired. 

In the weeks following his termination, you felt like a new woman. You’d moved to a cute little place in Hell’s Kitchen and begun your new work as a volunteer coordinator. While you still struggled with crowds of lawyers and the taste of alcohol, a good therapist and a decent amount of time had helped you heal a considerable amount. 

Enough to open yourself up for the possibility of a relationship, which you weren’t sure you’d ever want after everything you’d been through. Meeting Matt had changed that though, turning ‘never’ into a ‘not right now’. 

Sweet, considerate, adorable Matt who had brought you more comfort than you ever thought you deserved. Who was probably still furious with you for falling for him, but you couldn’t help but plead with the universe to send him anyway. Please, Matty, please come for me. 

As the muggy van rumbled over potholes and uneven roads, you pictured his beautiful face. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. How his brow furrowed with concern over the most minor harm that had befallen you. The beautiful way his lips melded with yours as a single kiss made you feel weightless. You regretted not kissing him one last time before ruining what you had. 

I’m sorry, darling. Please don’t let them take me from you. I’m not ready to let you go just yet. 

As Matt neared the 4th floor, a knawing pit of dread grew in his stomach. He could smell your tears, newer than those that had fallen after he’d left, but your heartbeat was nowhere to be found. Frantically pacing the hallway, he quickly noticed your suitcase abandoned a few feet from the door to your shared room. Crouching down, he tilted his head, evaluating the scene. The scent of your fear coated the floor, walls, and fabric of your bag. You must have been terrified for it to penetrate your surroundings to that degree. Underneath your pheromones, Matt shuddered with rage as the sickly saccharine fragrance of Beatrice Snyder’s reached his sensitive nose. Mingling with her perfume was a different smell, smoky and dark. 

You’d been cornered by Snyder and an unidentified man, he was sure of it. Fumbling to find the right end of his key card, he threw open the door and stripped out of his suit. Given that he’d intended to share the night with you, he’d intentionally left his body armor at home. A black long sleeve tee and scarf around his face would have to do tonight. 

Stepping back into the empty hallway, he fled to the stairs. While the scent of your fear only fueled his dark anger, it was strong enough to leave a trail down the stairs and out the back door into the cool night air. As inconspicuously as possible, Matt navigated through the building, dodging employees and guests successfully until he reached the loading dock behind the kitchen. Your scent stopped here, replaced by the smell of gasoline. 

No, no, no. Where are you, angel? What happened to you? 

Matt growled in frustration, spinning around desperately searching for any sign of you, he ripped his phone out of his pocket and pressed your speed dial, hoping that you could still reach your phone. 

Receiving nothing but your voicemail message in return, he felt his fists clench. “It’s going to be ok, my beautiful girl. I’m coming.” 

Replacing the phone in his pocket, he took off in the direction of the strong scent of auto fuel, praying to God that the most recent vehicle would lead him to you. 

The van jolted to an abrupt stop and you slid along the dirty carpet into a seat in front of you. Your back ached from the jostling you’d gotten on the ride to whatever destination you’d apparently arrived at, and you could feel the imprint of thousands of plastic carpet strands that had melded with the flesh on your cheek during the drive. The sound of car doors slamming and the heavy footfalls following made you strain against your binds one final time. 

A large, rough hand snatched your ankle, yanking you towards the night air at the tail end of the vehicle. Kicking your legs wildly, you flopped like a dying fish along the carpet as you were slowly pulled outside. The fingers at your ankle moved to wrap around your throat, forcing the airway to constrict. Struggling fiercely against your captor, you heard a familiar, rasping voice from behind you snarl, “Shut her up, you idiot!” 

Lannister’s goon pressed a sharp implement against the soft flesh of your stomach. “Keep movin’ and you’ll lose a lot more than your man, bitch.” 

As your squirming died down, reality set in and tears began flooding down your face. It was over. He’d won. All of the efforts that went into putting distance between the two of you were meaningless. He’d found you, and Snyder was going to take Matt from you because of it. 

You were roughly stood on your feet and forced to move in the trail of Lannister and his other goon. Eventually, you were forced into a cold metal chair, binds attached to the stiff bars of the furniture. Your blindfold was ripped off, though your gag remained. James Lannister’s ferocious grin appeared in your line of vision, making you flinch. “So glad we’ve been reunited, Princess. We’re gonna have some fun.” 

The group had taken you to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. There were broken wooden palettes and scraps of steel scattered around the floor. Holes in the sheet metal walls allowed cold, winter air to blow crisp waves of wind through the space, raising the hairs on your neck. A gaping hole in the roof above you showers you in moonlight, illuminating a small s circle around you and Lannister. 

A knife glinted in your peripheral vision and you whimpered, squirming involuntarily. Lannister grabbed a fistful of your shirt, yanking you forward with a growl. “The more you squirm, the more damage I do, little princess. I’d hold still if I were you.” 

With that warning, he slashed a jagged cut in your top, nicking the skin along your collarbone. A hand ran over your hair, grasping the strands and tugging so that your face was turned towards your captor’s once again. “There’s my obedient little pet. Was wondering where she’d gone.” 

Bile rose in your throat as Lannister stroked his massive hands along your face, planting heated, bourbon-soaked kisses along your neck and down your chest. Prying away your torn clothes, he turned to face the goons. “Is it ready?” 

“Yes, sir.” One deep voice responded from the shadows of the warehouse beyond your visible surroundings. “Before I have my fun,” Lannister stepped aside, revealing a tall dark shape topped with a blinking red light. “I’d like to record a confession, dear. For my sanity, and for the board to know the truth.” 

Raising his barely slurred voice, he turned to the camera. 

“State your name, for the record.”

“Please don’t do this. I don’t—“ Your pleading morphed into a screech of pain as the point of the blade ripped a gash in the exposed skin of your shoulder. 

“Wrong answer, pet.” Lannister took a swig from a practically empty bottle of liquor that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. A trail of blood wormed its way to the cement floor, pooling at your feet. You stared at the river of red liquid for a moment before stammering out your name. 

“That’s a good pet. What’s your relation to me, my dear?” Chucking the now empty bottle aside, it shattered at your feet, spraying you with cheap alcohol and pieces of glass. 

“I worked with you. In Queens.” A smaller knife plunged into the meat of your thigh and you screamed in agony. The larger of the two goons shuffled into your wavering vision, smiling as he wiped your blood from his hands. 

“More specific, Princess.” Lannister spat at you. 

“You were my boss.” 

“That’s right. Now tell us, how did you get me fired?” 

You sobbed, “I didn’t, I wasn’t—“ Grasping the knife still planted in your leg, Lannister twisted it, grabbing your throat. 

“Yes you did, you miserable bitch. You ruined my fucking life. I lost my divorce settlement, my job, my house, my reputation. All because I took an ungrateful slut under my wing.” Ripping the blade from your body, he hurled you to the ground. 

“TELL THE TRUTH!” Lannister roared, sending a brutal kick into your chest and knocking the air from your lungs. “Tell them that you seduced me for months and then used me to land a promotion. TELL THEM THAT YOU TOOK MY ENTIRE LIFE FROM ME AFTER I’D GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING!”

Stomping over your body again, he stumbled backwards allowing you to cough out a response. “I—I took everything f-from you. I was un-ungrateful.” 

Lannister cackled, pulling you from the ground by your uninjured arm. “Turn the camera off. They won’t want to see this next part.” 

The goons stepped forward to follow your former boss’s orders, but a piercing sound from outside halted them in their tracks. A horrific shriek, the sound of metal grinding on metal, echoed through the warehouse. All three men froze, looking to each other as if expecting to find the cause of the noise at the hands of their fellow assholes. Dropping you hard onto your shoulder, Lannister turned towards the source of the creaking and your head lolled after him.

As the door to the warehouse slammed open, you cried in relief as your weak gaze made out the black clad figure against the night sky. Daredevil. Your devil. He came for you. Tears poured down your cheeks and your limbs tensed, Matt’s presence drawing you in like a magnet. 

Lannister huffs out a laugh. “The fuck do you want, shadow man? Don’t you have robberies to stop?” At his sides, the other men shuffled nervously, knives gripped firmly as they awaited their next command. 

Matt stalked forward into the warehouse, his body stiff as it held his rage back, visible tension like that of water building against a dam. Fists clenched, he prowled an arc around your three kidnappers. “Step the fuck away from her.” His deep timbre was pitched exceedingly low with pure fury and it sent ripples of goosebumps across your bare skin. 

Drawing the handgun from the back pocket of his slacks, Lannister stepped towards you once more. “Do your worst, Devil. She’s not leaving here alive.” The world slowed, as if the air around you was suddenly thick as molasses. Your eyes were processing as much as they could as dread settled in your stomach. The barrel of the gun moved across Lannister’s body and pointed at you as his meaty thumb cocked the weapon. 

Simultaneously, Matt’s athletic form rocketed forward, skillfully dodging the swings from both of your unnamed assailants and leaping at Lannister. A gunshot rang and you traced the bullet as it soared towards you. Suddenly, your vision went white as pain seared through your body following the pointed metal cylinder as it tore through your abdomen. Screaming in anguish, your ears rang with a high pitched tone, the flash of white across your sight fading to black. The only thing you could focus on was the burning agony as the puddle of your blood seeped into your torn clothes. Forcefully shutting your eyes, your inhales turned shallow, and you prayed to your beloved Matthew that he would get you out of here before you took your last breath. 

Matt’s skin was alight with rage as he maniacally tore through the three brutes to reach your collapsed form. The head captor’s words barely registered in his ears over the deafening sound of a gun being pulled. No. Do not let it be her, take me. The safety was undone as Matt ripped one man’s shoulder from its socket, using the falter in his steps to knock him unconscious. He needed to be faster. He had to reach you. Planting a hefty kick into the next guy’s stomach, he brought his billy club up to meet the force of the man’s own body weight bringing him down. A hollow thud of a body on cement meant there was one attacker left. And then came the gunshot. 

As the bullet escaped the barrel it was encased in, Matt roared, the devil inside him fully consuming his consciousness as tackled the shooter. Knuckles connected with a jawbone, then the softer cartilage of a nose, then the lumpy space of a rib cage. Matt poured every emotion he had into this criminal, each punch holding seeds of guilt and regret and desperation. 

The smell of your blood cascading over the dirty floor broke him from his trance. Dropping the battered body of your captor to the floor, he dove beside you, hands hovering over your body as he assessed the damage. 

Sobbing in relief, he cupped your face as gently as he could. “It’s ok, angel. You’re gonna be ok. They’re not gonna hurt you anymore. Just breathe with me, please sweetness, breathe.” 

Your shallow pants stuttered as your hand weakly grasped his shirt. “Ma-Matty?” 

“Yah sweetness, it’s me. I’m right here. Gonna get you out of here, ok? Just hold on.” Ripped a strip of fabric from his shirt, he pressed it over your largest wound, biting back a pained sound of his own when you hissed. “I know, I know, angel. I have to stop the bleeding.” 

The soft smell of salt melded with the metallic odor of your blood. You were crying, holding on to the fistful of his shirt like it was a lifeline. “Y-you came for me? I’m—I’m so-sorry” 

Stroking your face lightly before he dialed 911, he cooed. “Of course I came, lovely. I’ll always come for you. Always. Now you just focus on breathing. In and out, sweetness. Good girl, just like that.” 

At the operator’s greeting, he spit out a rough command for police and an ambulance, giving a brief description of the events that had happened. Next, he pleaded for their help. There was no way he alone could get you to a hospital in time. 

“They were holding her hostage. She’s been shot, stabbed too. Lost a lot of blood. She’s still alive but she needs medical attention, please hurry.” He spit out the approximate location, scrubbing tears from his face as he pocketed his phone. 

Pressing his forehead to yours delicately, he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my sweet girl. It’s going to be ok. I’m so sorry.” Your hand raised shakily to cradle his nape. 

“Matty,” Your voice was weak, but determined. “I—I need you to know—“ 

“Hey, this isn’t one of those moments, sweet girl. You can tell me later, when you’re healing. You focus on—“ 

“No, please.” You begged, he fought back a choked cry so that you could say your piece. 

“I love you. S-so much.” You heaved a breath.  “I’m sorry that I ruined—“

“Shh, you didn’t ruin anything.” Matt chided gently, tears slipping faster after you'd confirmed his previous mistake. “I love you too, my wonderful, sweet girl. I won’t let them take you from me. I won’t.” 

“I’m sorry.” You choked out, and then you fell out of consciousness. 

Matt collapsed against your chest, clinging to the sound of your weak pulse as his body trembled with sobs. He planted soft kisses to your hair and cheeks, stroking lightly over your skin as he willed God to save you. 

The distant sound of sirens forced Matt to pry his face from your pummeled body. As the sound of vehicles approached, he made sure to alert the paramedics to your presence before taking back to the shadows. Hearing the clamor of attendants around you, he made a promise. “I’ll be there when you wake, angel. I’m sorry.”

Taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle @sweetbee0108 @dark-night-sky-99 @fallen-angels2213 @will-delete-this-later-probably @cheshirecat484 @thornbushrose @vernon-dursley

[physalian]

Content Warnings for Original Books

Can we please encourage content warnings for smut and other triggering topics in published literature? This needs to be a thing. Everyone bashes fanfiction for being fanfiction, but I’ve never seen a fanfic where the smut or trigger warnings weren’t tagged to high heaven somewhere in the description or in the opening author’s note.

AO3, compared to FFN, even has a specific “mature” rating just for sex—”E”—that FFN didn’t have. FFN had nervous authors throwing objectively mild content into the “M” rating (e.g. "rated M to be safe"), which meant that if you wanted to read a story that was a little bit violent, you had to turn off your filters as a kid and sift through all the smut just to find that one smut-less, but violent, fic.

When I was a kid in my early FFN days, I was probably exposed to way more stuff I shouldn’t have been reading because I had to disable the mature filter, just so I could read so-called “graphic violence” from pearl-clutching authors. I’d be looking for that one action-adventure fic that happens to have a little murder in it, and sift through fifty pure-smut summaries that ranged from vanilla to straight BDSM—of which had a high chance of being incredibly unhealthy, but you wouldn’t know that at 10, 11, 12 years old.

Fanfic authors, especially when the fanfic platform gives them the freedom to tag, are very clear to let you know just what you’re getting into.

—

I doubt I need to explain what a content warning is on Tumblr, but I will anyway. A content or trigger warning is a heads up at the beginning of a work of media that there are some elements not meant for younger audiences, or for sensitive audiences, or for people who have experienced situations depicted in traumatic ways, or for people who just don’t want to consume media with such content.

In film, this is obvious. If it’s rated R, you generally know what to expect. Generally. Because an R rated film could be R because of anything from profanity to graphic sex/assault and torture scenes. The MPAA rating system is garbage and ‘harsh language’ is not nearly on the same tier as sex in terms of what we should expose our children to.

Before streaming like Amazon as a platform to get around cable censorship rules, you had premium networks like HBO for all your adult content, and then some shows greenlit on smaller networks like AMC—never on ABC, CBS, TNT, etc. HBO wasn’t only for adult stuff, I used to watch Crashbox all the time.

That was the place you went for media that circumvented foul language, violence, and nudity rules in America. It kind of came with its own built-in content warning by virtue of being on those networks, and even then they still give warnings for shows on HBO, Showtime, Starz, etc.

At the start of every episode, you either get a full screen from Starz with the little icons for profanity, nudity, violence, etc, or it would be up at the top around the episode's title. You'd know exactly what you were getting into.

—

In a fanfiction, because I’ve never seen one in an original book, much less for generic vanilla sex scenes, this is what we’re all familiar with:

A/N: Trigger warning! This story contains mentions of rape/non-con. Turn back now, don’t like don’t read.

They also tend to appear at the top of the chapter that contains said scene to double down on the warning, or will, upon completion, include which chapter or chapter section to skip in the work’s summary or opening author’s note. In the old FFN days, there might even be a 4th wall break mid-chapter. Though the terminology we use over the years shifts, we still manage to get the point across.

Like, if I turn off all the filters on AO3 trying to browse for tags and underloved characters that may be lumped in with stuff I’d rather not read, I’ll see tags like “DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,” which was not a thing in FFN days, even if FFN had allowed things like tags.

While it’s easier to tell in movies due to that shitty-but-functional rating system, that’s not really the case with fiction books. With books, I know the genre, and I know the intended audience age group. If I pick up a book in the children’s sci-fi section, I know it’s going to be something about robots or space or the future and our characters are going to be about twelve years old.

If I pick up a YA thriller, I know I’m going to have a cast of sixteen-to-twenty-somethings and there’s going to be some violence, very vanilla cussing or the author’s own slang, and probably some murder.

Adult or new adult romance—Sex. At least one scene guaranteed.

The problem is that unlike films and TV shows, we don’t get a breakdown for books on what to expect and the nature of those scenes. There’s no little ‘R’ sticker on the back cover and there’s certainly no little insert between chapters to let you know what’s coming next. There's no "trailer" I can read to get a sense of your tone.

So if I’m in the mood for a new adult supernatural romance novel and I have to sit through a vanilla sex scene, that’s fine, that’s what I’m reading it for. But if Mr. Badboy is incredibly aggressive and dominating and being an asshole with very dubious consent, that’s different (although, objectively determining what is and isn't 'dubious' is mighty difficult).

Should I still expect that I take my fluffy or angsty romance with a fat grain of salt just in case?

What happens if it’s not a romance novel, but I get a surprise rape scene as my character’s Tragic Backstory? What if it’s an adventure novel? Spy thriller? High fantasy or historical fiction or murder mystery? If there’s no indication in the genre, summary, or by the style of the cover that I’ll have to read about two characters getting it on?

Some people don’t want to read your characters in all the nitty gritty details. They really like everything else about your book, they just don’t want to read a sex scene, and they really don’t want to be super invested, hundreds of pages and even years of series dedication in, and be massively turned off by smut.

It doesn't need to be this big to-do or hyperdetailed like fanfic. In my upcoming book, I had beta readers with personal and moral objections to some of my themes. From then on, I made sure to ask up front so I didn't trigger my betas.

ENNS is about vampires. I haven't settled on what my content warning page might look like or how exactly I want to phrase it, but it might read something like this:

Dear readers, this is a content warning for graphic violence and adult themes. This book contains mentions of assault, self-harm, and suicide. Please be warned that these themes are present and prevalent in this story and readers should take the utmost care for yourselves when approaching this book. Thank you.

Something like this, just a quick, lighthearted heads up for your novel would suffice:

Dear readers, this book ain’t for kiddies! Be prepared for some adult themes and suggestive romance between characters.

I'm definitely not in the camp of pearl-clutching suburban conservatives, but if I'm browsing for a new novel for my tweenage bookworm and I opened up a book with an intriguing summary, and saw that warning? I'd be much happier with the author for their consideration, instead of buying it blind for my kid. You have no idea why someone wouldn't want to read a sex scene. They might be prude, or they might be a survivor just trying to enjoy a new book.

Because romance and sex is taken for granted, most people are at least going to be open to the possibility of sex, but not everyone will be expecting it or wanting it or think it warranted. It’s not spoilery, it’s not revealing some surprise plot twist, it’s a kind and considerate gesture for those members of your audience who just don’t like sex scenes. And heck, maybe they don't want to read it right now, but they'll remember you and pick your book back up later because you tried.

—

TL;DR: I don’t mind smut. When done well.

There’s a reason romance such a compelling story and why it dominates fanfiction and original works leagues ahead of all other plotlines.

But it still needs a content warning, even if you think it’s obvious, or spoilery, or patronizing. Because if I’m not in the mood for it, it just drags and I want to put the book down instead of reading all your hard work to completion.

[jnnul]

nct dream in college

a/n: my third fucking time posting this istg this is why i quit the first time tumblr let me post things in peace

word count: 2.6k

tags: idk the frattiest boys in town doing what college dudes do, just fluff, hinting at insecurity + fear for the future, and a couple mentions of ppl not following their dreams for practicality sake but what can u do tw: mentions of drinking & underage drinking, mentions of sex but no graphics

Originally posted by choi-soobin

gif creds: @choi-soobin​

finance bro w a music minor

i’m so sorry to all of the ppl who hc him as a nerdy music kid who just always thinks abt music

but that boy is a finance bro thru and thru and i will die on that hill

he’s in a frat but he’s honestly rlly shitty abt act going to the non-party frat stuff

and even the parties, he rlly only goes to bc he dj’s every single time

ppl get annoyed sometimes bc mark always tries to slip in some of his stuff into the mix but it’s honestly so good that he gets away w it

his homies make fun of him for it but he sits in the first three rows bc a) he’s fucking blind and b) he act rlly likes finance

like he enjoys the idea of finance + what he could do w it in the future

even if he doesn’t necessarily like business calc

goes to church on sundays (if he’s not hungover) and will be so respectful abt it that he convinces some of his non-christian friends to go to

mark has a good rep on campus for being an all around pretty chill dude

everyone’s also half convinced that he’s a plug

swears up and down that he doesn’t smoke but ppl have videos of him puffin like it’s his side hustle

it is

kinda sticks to his own friend group bc he’s a little shy

but when he’s drunk (when someone wrestles him out of his little dj booth to do shots w them)

he knows everyone and their mother all of a sudden

kinda cute when he’s drunk cause he’s rlly lovey

ppl kinda like like him as that cute guy in their class but he never rlly goes out of his way to pursue anyone so anyone who’s interested has to be the one who chases

isn’t clueless but is oblivious until one day you’re basically sitting on his lap during lecture and he’s like 😟🤨🧐😏

the day he gets cuffed tho literally no one can pull him apart from his girl

Originally posted by rainbowrenjun

gif creds: @rainbowrenjun​

so...this might be controversial

but i think renjun would be a international relations major, not an art major

i feel like he’s a practical guy and he likes art but not enough to pursue it as a livelihood yannowhatimean

isn’t that well connected on campus bc he keeps his friend circle very exclusive but literally everybody and their mother knows him

kinda has a reputation for being a little cliquey but he gets away w it bc he’s just genuinely a decent guy who’s on the more private side

you will never catch him drunk

like he def won’t be sober at parties but you’re never gonna see him stumbling around

the type of guy to keep an eye on a girl’s cup if she leaves it somewhere, even if no one asks him to

also volunteers on the weekends at a local shelter for ppl of different nationalities

a private guy tho. ppl rlly don’t get to know or understand him unless they’re part of his friend group

which is nearly impossible to join

just kinda cruisin’ thru life bc he’s unproblematic and just rlly wants to get a degree and dip

gets the some of the best grades out of his friends (jeno is the only one who does better and jaemin make a close second) but donghyuck insists it’s bc renjun’s major isn’t a real major

chenle threatens to send the video of donghyuck and renjun slipping on their asses and falling into the pool as renjun tried to fight donghyuck to every single person that renjun even considers seeing romantically

probably dates once a year, eventually falls out of attraction and then swears off dating

until donghyuck gets on his ass abt not having sex and then renjun’s competitive streak gets activated

during which he speed dates for like three weeks before finding someone and then trying to date them

isn’t very emotionally invested in his romantic relationships

except for one of them, and ever since they told renjun off, he was unseperable from them

renjun may or may not have a masochist streak it’s still unclear

Originally posted by poppypeachy

gif creds: @jaemtens​

a physics and education double major

he didn’t really know what he wanted to go into so he was undeclared for the longest time until he took a physics gen ed and ever since then, he’s been super into physics

only added education as his second major after he ta’d for physics 1 and for the first time, could actually see himself in that career

gets the most shit for being in a frat and simultaneously being the biggest fucking nerd but he just thinks its funny

isn’t super smart (like he’s not a genius or anything) but he works rlly hard for his grades so even tho his friends (donghyuck) make fun of him, everyone is inspired by his work ethic

until it’s the weekend

and then it’s like he’s another person altogether

he’s downing shots like there’s no tomorrow and if jeno lee attends a party by himself, then he’s leaving with at least one person

on a particularly daring occasion, he was seen leaving with three

people are convinced that jeno has a twin brother bc of how bold, lively, and undeniably charismatic he gets when he lets go of his inhibitions

jeno just smiles a sweet smile and redirects the conversation

a very much go with a flow type of guy

he’s down for pretty much anything as long as he makes it home in time to study for the next day

spontaneous camping trip? sure. smoke a blunt? sure. join a threesome w one of his best friends and his girlfriend? sure.

he just didn’t take a lot of things too seriously (besides his academics and whether or not his dick got wet)

and that was why a lot of ppl liked him

he was also a rlly easy person to talk to

everyone knew that the first half of his office hours were for actual physics and stuff and the second half was just for chilling w him

which is how he met his s/o, actually

they used to come for office hours every single time jeno held them and would stay the whole time; it was only two weeks later when jeno accidentally saw their test scores (straight 90s without the curve) that he realized that maybe, he was in the clear to make a move

after the semester is over ofc

Originally posted by donghyuckkies

gif creds: @donghyuckkies​

a poli sci major with a minor (or as he likes to call it, a concentration) in criminal justice

will not let you forget that he’s in a frat

no one has the heart to tell him that he almost got kicked out of the frat 3 times but they keep him around bc he’s just a good guy overall

plus he brings the most girls to parties so it’s rlly not all that bad

the dude who’s surprisingly quiet and intellectual, but only when you catch him on his own

when he’s with his friends, he acts completely differently, even if he turns around and mouths “i’m sorry” while no one is looking

probably runs a club like devil’s advocate club but it’s just a silly club that uses university money to buy snacks, chill, and talk about controversial opinions

lowkey the guy to go to if you need something or need something done because the man knows everyone

and everyone knows him

will make fun of you for studying, and might even steal your textbook, but sends you a quizlet with last year’s answers bc that’s just the type of person he is

does not study. will not study. would rather listen to music w mark or party w jeno.

still has pretty decent grades bc he’s charming and persuasive and what is political science besides the art of professional bullshitting

once you get close to him, he becomes one of the best ppl for advice

will not let you go after the sneaky link turned situationship

mostly bc he knows exactly what said situationship is rlly up to behind the scenes (i’m telling you, the fbi wishes that had him; he knows everyone’s business)

will die before he tells anyone but probs runs one of those confession pages

partly how he gets all of his info from

thinks it’ll ruin his street cred if he tells ppl he’s secretly playing cupid and that’s why he’s always messing w seemingly random combos of ppl

until one day, a confession comes in for him

def one of those boys who ‘reforms’ after he meets his s/o but is a loving menace nonetheless

Originally posted by jae-min

gif creds: @jae-min​ 

microbiology major on the pre-med track with a minor in visual art

has tried dropping the pre-med track at least 4 times but absolutely will not bc he gets too much fomo

also wants a job. with guaranteed 401k compensation and benefits. so.

is one of the less toxic pre-med kids but only because he’s so close to dropping out that he just can’t seem to take or give a shit anymore

lives in a perpetual state of caffeine high bc he will be damned if jeno gets better grades than him

lowkey, i feel like he’s one of those guys who only goes to parties to find ppl to fuck

like he doesn’t rlly like to drink or smoke (although he will take the occasional eddie)

but mans is stressed from the constant personality clash (within himself) so he literally jackhammers his stress away

too crude? sorry.

was once upon a time in every single club known to mankind

dropped out of almost all of them when he made the friends he wanted to make

somehow always ends up having to pay when everyone goes out

doesn’t tell anyone that he always loses on purpose (unless it’s to chenle) bc he knows that college is tough and not everyone has the same financial freedom as he does

exclusively studies at the school library bc he doesn’t rlly spend time w his friends outside of his main friend group unless its while he’s studying or at a party

although he’s not rlly studying bc he probably already got the notes and answers from the people who took the class a semester earlier than him

but again, he’s got a competitive streak about his grades so studies anyway

which is where he meets his s/o bc they’re always sitting in the same spot, looking stressed as fuck as they study

one time, jaemin and the other person are the only two ppl left studying post 3 am during hell week and he offers to buy them coffee

studies w his lovely s/o from then onwards and offers to bite donghyuck whenever he tries to disturb them <3

Originally posted by istjun

gif creds: @istjun​

marketing major i’m so sorry

he’s just such a finance bro + business major but he hates finance so he goes into marketing instead

school is a fucking joke to him

he’ll try hard enough to get by in his classes (and bc just being around poor stressed out jisung gives him motivation to study) but no more and no less than that

the first one to call it quits when they’re all studying together but renjun practically tapes him to a chair

also surprisingly intuitive and good at marketing so even if he barely tries, professors love him and somehow make him pass anyway

knows every international kid on campus bc he gets what it’s like and makes an effort to make them feel more at home

gets invited to every party that the international kids throw and never looks at a frat ever again

they go so fucking hard at those parties that chenle, THE business major, gets tired and has to turn in pre-2 am to avoid alcohol poisoning

doesn’t get home until 7 pm the next day bc a) he’s hungover and b) they love him so much and force him to stay so he just bums at their place until he’s good to go

will make fun of you and your bad decisions (even if they aren’t that bad) but will protect you at every turn if anyone else tries to say smth

will fucking go to bat for ppl he doesn’t even know that well bc chenle hates mean ppl

is on the intramural basketball team w a couple other guys

is very popular on the team bc he always knows the best restaurants and has been known to pay when he knows someone’s a tight spot

is very lowkey abt his wealth bc ppl like to take advantage of it so the ppl he does choose to help out are also very lowkey abt it

the type of dude to spot you like $50 and won’t ask you abt it

but ppl always pay him back whenever they can bc they know he’s helping a lot of ppl in rough situations, even if he’s very hush hush abt it

is the reason why jisung joins a frat and singlehandedly boosts his rizz by a decameter

probably has a childhood sweetheart that lives at home so he doesn’t partake in the romance scene on campus at all

is in love with them and will boast abt being taken

Originally posted by fool4nct

gif creds: @fool4nct​

a dance major

impractical? maybe. but the world’s going to shit anyway so might as well do what you want, right?

that’s what chenle says to jisung the day that he’s applying to his top school

is literally the student that the school begs to have join

offered every single scholarship under the sun to have him join bc such raw talent is rare nowadays and he’s just stuck like 😟😟😟

bc he had no idea that he would get in, much less have them like him so much

but for all his talent, he’s always fucking stressed abt something

sometimes it’ll be about a choreo and other times it’ll be abt the fact that he’s almost 98% sure he won’t get a job after college but his friends always get him out of his head

has abt 6 friends on campus (total) and it’s bc of chenle

so after freshman year, he decides to get out of his shell a little bit

and jisung park is the MAN to be around when he does

he’s charismatic, tall, an amazing performer, and really, just such a suave guy that straight men kinda have that weird jealousy where he’s so cool ppl wanna be friends w him and also hate him

still gets insecure abt his skills or his future but has ppl around him who love him and help him out of it every time

i’m ngl i think that he singlehandedly makes the dance team tryout numbers go from 12 - 15 ppl to 50 - 60 ppl

dance is his entire life and when he’s not rizzing up ppl (or honestly, getting rizzed up by them; he can’t flirt for shit when he rlly wants to) he’s on the dance floor

donghyuck has had to physically rip him off the floor to get dinner after a particularly rough night

even his fave dance teacher revoked his after class dance room privileges bc ppl got worried abt how much time he spent in there

decides to take a break when he realizes just how empty his days are w/o dance

gets into music production and has worked w mark more than once under pseudonyms

won’t say anything but listens to what everyone says abt the song when mark plays it at a party

still working on himself so a s/o isn’t rlly in the picture but ppl are not mad abt it bc he’s a good time with or w/o commitment

[bug-bites]

west side apartment, paper plane

tw: brief non-graphic mentions of ghost going thru war stuff and ghost's backstory in the comics (changed a few details because this is fanfic. duh), slight angst (bc yk,, yearning) but sort of fluff if ghost had a dollar for every moment he spent yearning he would have enough money to retire and live a happy life away from the military, also we're pretending british chinese takeout is good, not proofread :P

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader (like always can be read as platonic or romantic)

characters: simon "ghost" riley

a/n: i hate how fucking massive the song link is but yk what its fine. but i am back and in a laufey moment!

simon has lived an interesting life, maybe he wouldn’t use interesting. if he could describe it he would probably use words like terrifying, cruel, or for a lack of better terms, shitty. from the moment he was born it seemed like misery and tragedy followed him around like a stray dog, finding its way into every aspect of his existence. his childhood home was always something he wanted to escape, or rather his father was what he wanted to run away from. there were good moments after he kicked the old bastard out, but the ever present threat of tragedy proved that it wouldn’t last. life had been cruel, dealing him possibly the worst hand possible, the only constant being misfortune, that is until you came along.

a temporary living arrangement. thats all it was. rent was a little too much for one person to afford, so you both signed the lease on a crummy, small, mixed-use apartment right in the middle of manchester. it wasn’t much, takeout dinners from the restaurant below and late rent payments were the norm but even with the busted heating, life in that apartment had never felt so warm.

after long shifts at your respective jobs he would come home, plastic bags of takeout in his hands, a sign for you to set a few blankets on the ground before both of you eat ungodly amounts of shrimp fried rice and orange sesame chicken. he could spend hours listening to you speak, nothing made him feel so at home. maybe it was the fact that the food was good and also inexpensive, or maybe it was because he was too exhausted to do anything else, but he loved those long sleepless nights spent sitting on the floor, talking about everything and nothing. simon cant imagine another time in his life when he was genuinely so happy or another time he laughed so hard water came out his nose.

he especially loved opening fortune cookies with you at the end of every meal. sure, he never believed in those fortunes but the idea was always fun to entertain. the sound of the cookie cracking open to expose the slip of paper, revealing what the future had in store for him usually filled him with a childlike curiosity. or at least got a laugh out of him.

“hah, mine says ‘there will be a happy romance for you shortly’. these things really could not be farther from the truth. bet yours is more accurate” you say, popping half of the broken cookie into your mouth “your father loves you and is always with you. remember that.” he reads out loud with a chuckle “oh. that- hm. yeah i take that back”

but the one thing he loved more than opening those silly fortunes with you or the late night dinners was after you both cleaned up the empty takeout boxes, taking the menus and folding them into paper planes. it became a sort of tradition after you got bored and began to mess around with the glossy paper that listed mouthwatering dishes and house specials. he could never get it right, one wing was always too big or his folds were clumsily made and uneven, making them practically incapable of flight but yours were the complete opposite. each crease made was perfect, every intricate pleat skillfully crafted to allow the small paper aircraft to glide through the air with ease. as you tossed your planes off the balcony of your shared flat, the sight of the plane sailing through the air as the sun set always filled the both of you with a sense of nostalgia. and of course you both picked them up and tossed them out because we dont mess w/ littering over here

simon cant help but look back at those simpler times and miss them. he knows from the start it was intended to be temporary, but he’s been through so much chaos and trauma all he just wants a quiet life where he doesnt have to be ghost. he just wants a nice warm home to come back to. it doesnt have to be big, it doesnt have to be expensive, it just has to feel like home. it just has to feel like you. its been so long since the two of you parted ways but as he stares at the last paper airplane that he kept, he cant help but wonder if you feel that way too. as he lies awake in his bed at the military base he’s stationed in, he spends those nights craving that domesticity he had with you. he recalls every memory, every minute detail that made him love that cramped apartment and maybe how he loved you even more.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Happy New Year (A Doppelgänger interlude)

Pairing: Ransom x Reader, Lloyd x Reader

Summary: Your fiance has a special New Years surprise for you. 

Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon, Dark!Ransom, Lloyd Hansen is his own warning, Switching Places, Alcohol, Mind games, Darkfic, Smut, Dead Dove: Do not eat, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: so lots of people have been asking when the first time they switched places on reader was… happy new year, everyone! divider by @firefly-graphics​

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I’m just not going to make it home.” Ransom sounds genuinely apologetic over the phone. “Something came up. Harlan’s sick—could be bad.” Your heart sinks as he says it. You don’t want to feel anything but empathy, but instead, bitter jealousy curls in your stomach alongside it. After all, you’re family too, aren’t you? You’re engaged, aren’t you? 

 When do I get to come first? You feel guilty even thinking it—after all, it isn’t like Ransom hasn’t put you first in all sorts of other ways. But you’re lonely, and you miss him. You’ve been alone in this big house since just after Christmas, and it’s starting to get to you. His “day or two” visit had become three, become four—and now you were standing alone amidst the various holiday decorations you’d put up in anticipation of his arrival. 

 “That sounds terrible,” you say, swallowing down the bitter frustration. After all, it isn’t his fault. You know he’s in charge of so much at the publishing company, and you don’t want to complain. “When do you think you’ll be home?”

 I know it’s a shitty way to spend your New Year’s,” Ransom says. “No need to sugarcoat it.”

 “I just… dammit, Ran, you know I miss you,” your teeth sink into your trembling lower lip. You don’t want to cry, dammit, you’re not one of those girls who can’t spend a weekend without their fiancé. You feel silly even being upset. 

 “I know, Sweetheart. I miss you too. I promise, I’ll fly home tomorrow, and we’ll have a belated New Years party. Just you and me. Okay?” He sounds so earnest, it’s hard not to forgive him instantly. 

 “Okay.” 

 “Don’t say it like that, baby. I promise, we’ll make it special, okay?” 

 “Okay, Ran,” you say, a small watery smile crossing your features. He can’t see it, but his relieved sigh tells you he can feel the tension easing between you as well. “And you’ll call at midnight?”

 “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 You hang up the phone, and stare dejectedly at your festively decorated house. Even though Ransom’s only coming home a day later, it all feels like wasted effort now, like you invited all your friends to your birthday party and not a single one of them showed. You kick at one of the silver balloons littering the living room floor, and it pops, showering both you and the carpet in brightly colored paper confetti. 

 Maybe it was silly to go to all of this effort, but… you want things to be special. First New Years together, first apartment together—a year of firsts that you’d completed together. It feels bittersweet to be alone now, but you swallow it. You sigh, shoving more balloons off of the couch and collapsing onto it. 

 Maybe it’s not too late to call Nat.

 Your sister texted you just the day before to ask if you had any special New Year’s plans, maybe it’s not too late to tag along with her. You grab your phone. It’s not too late, only a little past six as you pull up her contact info, and punch the green button to dial her. 

 “—as anyway. Hello?”

 “Oh, hey, Nat.” You can hear muffled laughter and the low murmur of conversation in the background. “You busy?”

 “Just pre-gaming before we go out,” she says. That rich, deep laugh sounds again, and your cheeks heat. You hadn’t realized Nathalie’s we included a male friend. “Your boo-thang home yet?”

 You let out an awkward laugh. “Ugh, no. He, um. He got held up, family stuff. I was wondering if you wanted to come over? Maybe hang out tonight?” Even as you’re speaking, you hear someone on the other end groan frustratedly. 

 “Come on, Nattie,” The deep male voice is just loud enough for you to hear. “You said you were gonna make me see stars. Was that all talk?” 

 “I would,” You can practically hear the sly smile on her lips. “But I kind of… already made plans, if you catch my drift.” There’s a loud slap, and Nathalie’s girly giggle makes you roll your eyes. “I can stop by after?” 

 “I don’t think you’ll be walking after,” you retort. “Don’t worry about it. Happy New Year.” 

 You shuffle around the house irritatedly, trying to find something to do with yourself that doesn’t remind you of just how alone you are tonight.  Depressingly, you settle on chores. You throw a load of laundry into the washer in the hallway, and meander back to the living room. You know your little decoration whirlwind will only be a hassle later, but you can’t bring yourself to take them down. The bottle of prosecco you picked up at the liquor store is still sitting in its melting ice bath on the coffee table, the two glasses next to it sadly empty. 

 “Happy New Year to me,” you mumble, climbing over the back of the couch and landing on the pillows with a dramatic oof. You reach for the bottle, carefully undoing the aluminum contradiction that keeps the cork in place. It pops out, skittering away underneath one of the living room chairs for you to find later. You pay the errant cork no mind, and pour yourself a liberal glass. 

 Bitterly, you hold it up to the quiet air in a mock toast. 

 “First drink of the night,” you say, downing half of it in a single gulp. The bubbles tickle your nose, but the alcohol is sweet and palatable. You finish the glass and pour another, reaching for the remote. By the time you've finished your second glass, the alcohol is sitting warmly in your belly, and the bitter, angry feeling roiling in the back of your mind is both less obtrusive and somehow more present than ever. Aimlessly, you flip through channels, watching other people celebrate the new year as you slide progressively further and further into the bottle. 

 After you finish your fourth glass you don't bother with it anymore, instead swigging straight from the bottle. The comfortable warmth settling in your tummy is spreading out, down your limbs, into your fingers, making your head loll as you lay there. You squint at the cable box—10:45. A whole hour and fifteen minutes left of this year. 

 The dryer dings, and you groan. “Stupid thing,” you mumble, staggering to your feet. Doing laundry while drunk is a skill set, you decide as you make your way to the hall closet, the floor tilting dangerously under your feet. There's a bang that echoes down the front hallway as you open the laundry room door, and you squint at the dryer, swaying as you try to place the noise. It sounds again, and it takes your liquor muddied brain a few seconds to understand—

 It's the door. 

 “One second,” you say, hoping the words don’t sound as slurred to the person on the other side of it as they do to you. “M'Coming.” You eye yourself in the hallway mirror, and practice walking in a straight line before you reach for the door handle. “How can I—Ran?” Your husband's face cracks into a wide grin as you blink at him. “How—?” You hiccup, covering your mouth as your cheeks warm with embarrassment . 

 “Happy new year, Princess.” He steps over the threshold, wiping his shoes on the mat. You're so happy to see him, you practically throw yourself into his arms, sniffling. He smells good, like pine and leather. gold chain under his turtleneck rubs against your cheek through the fabric as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. 

 “II thought you had to, um. Harlan,” you try to make the alcohol added words make sense on your loose tongue. “Sick?” He chuckles, cupping your chin. 

 “Someone's had a few,” he says with a laugh, and you giggle up at him. “Besides, I needed to see my girl,” he says, drawing his thumb affectately over the apple of your cheek. “I missed you… ” He trails off, his eyes focusing on something behind you. “Did you do this?” Ransom gestures to the decorations. You nod, another hiccup forcing its way up through your lips. 

 “I w-wanted to surprise you. Do you like it, Ran?”

 “I love it.” His responding laugh is dark with an emotion you can't name. He leans down to kiss you, his mouth moving hungry against yours. You kiss him back, and then wrinkle your nose, frowning as you pull away . 

 “You grew out your beard,” you say, drawing a finger across the mustache sitting just above his upper lip. “So fast…?” He chuckles. 

 "I'll shave it tomorrow." He kisses you again, moaning into your mouth. "Fuckin' sweet," he mumbles, worrying your plump lower lip between his teeth. He pulls away, panting, his eyes dark. a drink, Princess,” he says lowly. “I need to catch up.” 

 You're acutely aware of your stumbling as you head back to the kitchen for the other bottle chilling in the fridge. Ransom saves you the trouble of opening it, popping the cork and pouring himself a glass. He refills your discarded flute, and the two of you drink together. 

 “You really outdid yourself, baby,” he says, nodding at the brightly colored, festive streamers hanging in the doorways. You can't help but beam a little proudly at him.

 “I thought you would like it,” you say, taking a sip from your glass when Ransom indicates that you should, tapping the stem as if to say bottoms up. 

 "Can't ring in the new year sober, can we?" He says, topping your glass back up before its even empty. "I love it. I can't believe I almost missed it," he says, shaking his head . You watch as he rounds the kitchen island, placing his hands on your shoulders. “Getting close now, aren't we, Princess?” He asks, his hands straying underneath the hem of your plain pajama shorts. “We should get ready to count down." 

 He walks you back out to the living room and flips on the television, a snowy Times Square appearing on the flat-screen. The music is almost too loud, and the room spins around you as Ransom leads you back to the couch. The champagne glass in your hand slips from your fingers, landing on the carpet with a soft tinkle as the stem snaps neatly in two.

 “R-Ran, we sh-should—” You don't remember sitting down, but suddenly you are, splayed messily across the sofa as Ransom climbs over you. Your skin burns hot from the alcohol, and you whine as his cool fingers press into your hips. 

 “I'll clean it up later.” The low sultry purr makes you shiver. You can't shake the niggling feeling that something is wrong, but Ransom won't let you think. He kisses down your jaw, nibbling at your throat as he sandwiches you between his hard chest and the couch cushions. He slides down, his knees hitting the carpet with a muffled thud as he stars up at you from between your thighs.

You don't remember him sliding your shorts off, but as his breath puffs across your moist, swollen folds, he licks his lips. 

 "Even prettier than I thought you'd be." Something about his words gives you pause, but as you struggle to sit up, Ransom's arms tightened around your thighs, pulling you forward until your hips dangle off the edge of the couch, your thighs slung over his shoulders. “That's better.” The harsh rasp of his mustache against your cunt is lost in the sensation of his tongue sliding through your folds. 

 You can't even remember what you were going to complain about, the words lost in the hiss of air through your clenched teeth. Ransom does it again, parting your soft, puffy lips to circle your slick entrance with his tongue. 

 “Princess, you better start counting,” Ransom says cheekily, “or you’re going to miss it.” 

 “T-ten. Nine— oh fuck,” you whimper, your hips rolling against his face as Ransom’s tongue flicks expertly at your clit. “R-Ran—”

 "I said count, Princess." 

 "F-five, four, three— God—!" You're barely aware of the sound of your phone ringing somewhere else in the house, but you can't focus on it, not when Ransom is curling his fingers inside you like that and—

 You press your head back into the cushions, staring unseeingly at the ceiling as you cum with a whimper, your thighs clenching tightly around Ransom's head. You try to pull away, but his grip only tights, his tongue lashing against your clit as your cries grow louder, ringing in your own ears. 

 "Ransom, Ran I c-can't, I can't—!" You babble gibberish down at him as your toes curl. He doesn't move, though, doesn't relinquish his grip until you're dragged down underneath the current of sticky pleasure again. You go limp, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes and down into your hair as you struggle to catch your breath. 

 “Happy New Year!” The television hosts jump excitedly as silver and gold confetti rain down around them. Auld Lang Syne blares from your television speakers as Ransom leans back on his knees, admiring the sloppy mess between your thighs. 

 “Happy New Year, Princess,” he echoes softly, drawing a finger through your trembling folds. You whine, trying to close your thighs around his hand. “Let's make it a good one.” 

[breezypunk]

How do you get so much love for your Cyberpunk 2077 screenshots? I spend hours posing, setting up lights etc etc but I get 0 love. Ok, I'm definitely not a professional photographer, but 0? Teach me, plsssss.

Oh my goodness, I need to gather my thoughts for this because as someone whose struggled with this for a long time, I understand 100% how you feel right now and I just want to give you a bit of advice.

I'm not a professional either, and what I mean by struggle is that when I first came into this fandom I came in with nothing. I hardly got any notes or any recognition for my posts as well.. Granted I was on console and console users sadly don't get the love they deserve, and I think they deserve just as much love if not more from people, and that doesn't happen, it's a fact.

When I started using mods and got on PC, I still barely got anything, and it started becoming a struggle for me because I fed off of validation and approval from others, and that is something I still struggle with to this day, maybe not as much, but I def still do and I think most people in this fandom do. No one can say they don't crave validation, we ALL do, if we didn't we would post n o t h i n g. And while I do agree that we should post for ourselves, we also post because when we do something we are super proud of, we want others to see it and enjoy it as well and there's NOTHING wrong with that at all. We reblog our things multiple times to push it out so other's can see (and because the algorithm truly sucks, just my opinion).

I was desperate for validation because I craved interaction and friendship, that's all I ever wanted, and I wanted to bond with people I have the same interests in and because of my desperate need for it I made enemies, still to this day. It only makes you feel icky on the inside when you're constantly trying to appease others, and while it's normal to want validation, it's not normal to only do it for that and that alone. I don't know who you are anon, and I cannot "teach" you, simply because what you're doing right now is good enough, not even good, it's great & regardless of how many people interact with your VP, you are good enough and you shouldn't stop, because if you love it that's the #1 most important thing. But also don't be afraid to reblog your stuff! Reblog it as often as you like.

Also, P.S.. I am still not always proud of what I do. I still get a little envious, it's human nature, I'm on a shitty laptop with horrible graphics and I can't do much with it, but I love taking VP, it's a passion and I will do it no matter how it looks. You should do it too, the best part of doing it is doing it because you enjoy it with no regrets. Sometimes this fandom will make you feel like you have to be the very best or at the very top for people to interact with you or enjoy your VP/art, and sometimes that's true, mostly it's true... but there are still good people here who genuinely appreciate all forms of VP, whether it's console, modding, gorgeous lighting, no lighting at all, etc. It's all beautiful, and at the end of the day, that validation is gonna come and go anyway. But you will continue to look at your art and go "yeaaaaah, I did that :)"

So please don't feel upset for getting "0" love, cos I promise someone loves it.

[colorfulbard]

The Great Escape Artist

Summary♡ Your very brilliant plan goes wrong after being captured by the Marines.

Pairing♡ Buggy x Reader

Warning♡ Brief descriptions of torture and blood, but nothing super graphic. Lightly suggestive NSFW

A/N♡ Ever since I saw the posts about LA!Buggy with a Harley Quinn inspired reader I haven't been able to get out of my head. This fanfic is fully based off this scene from suicide squad, "Harley's Great Escape scene". This is written with LA! Buggy in mind, but you can still read it as Anime Buggy too.

w/c♡ 3.8k

This was the first time in your life that your mind had been quiet enough to let you think for an extended period of time. Which felt depressing, so, you pushed that to the back of your mind. There were more important things at the forefront of it. Like, for example, despite having been tortured for about an hour or so, this wasn't the worst day of your life. You knew what day that was.

That horrible day had caused you to be saddled with a 25-million berry bounty. A bounty that made shitty days a common occurrence thanks to the Marines. Not a day went by where you didn't spot your bounty poster with that number, courtesy of those pesky fuckers. It felt undeserved in your opinion. The only thing you had done that day was set yourself free. It's not your fault there was collateral damage along the way.

You did, however, feel quite satisfied when you learned it was higher than Arlong's. Irregardless of that satisfying discovery, that bounty still brought nothing but trouble your way. This time trouble led to you strung up by your wrists in chains, swaying from side-to-side.

"Who sent you?" The cadet had been asking the same question over and over. You were getting sick of it.

You didn't respond, you hadn't responded since he began asking. You began to hum to yourself as a distraction. The cadet grew impatient at the sound of your humming and placed his hands over your abdomen to send waves of electricity into your body.

You grit your teeth to hold back a scream, waiting for him to finally grow tired. Who knew this branch had a cadet with devil fruit powers specifically for torture? You did now. You learned his powers were using electric shocks.

The cadet finally let up and turned away from you to seemingly take a breather. He began to fiddle with a mini transponder snail, most likely to inform the pseudo Captain of the base that no progress was made. That man was surely was going to be displeased at that. You tried not to laugh at the thought of that man throwing a temper tantrum. Typical Marine behavior.

You've never met a single Marine that was actually a good person. Not even the actual Captain was a good person despite public opinion saying otherwise. Everyone in this little town said he was the best Captain they've ever had. Hardworking, responsible, and a loving husband.

Too bad that last trait was a lie.

That was something you found out the hard way. There were rumors going around that this specific branch had maps to the grandline. Which is what your beloved Captain was desperately searching for. You couldn't blame him for your plan going sideways. He didn't even know you were here.

Your Captain had his own stupid plan, which you said was brilliant (a lie), and you came up with your own. It was full proof. You'd done stuff like this a million times before.

You had put on your best dress, your favorite; a gorgeous red dress gifted to you by your Captain. You put makeup on to cover up your most recognizable features. Then, found the Marine Captain's favorite bar. From there, it was simple, you seduced him, and allowed him to take you back to the base to get the information you needed. It was going great, but then it all went to hell when he recognized you.

He had placed a hand on your cheek and accidently wiped some of the makeup off, revealing what was underneath.

Thankfully, you found out everything you needed before you put the bullet through his skull.

Everything was still going okay, until his damn wife showed up just after you killed him. She screamed at the top of her lungs at the sight of him. That was the moment you found out the pig was actually married. You compared the teary face to the one in a picture on his desk. Sweet picture, they were gazing into each others eyes, holding hands. He was wearing a fancy tux and she, in a beautiful white dress.

Their wedding day.

You were almost jealous till you remembered he was intent on cheating had you not stopped him. They were probably living a nice, calm life. Maybe they were happy (despite attempted infidelity) and thinking about starting a little family.

You let your eyes linger on that loving photograph for too long, which is how you got caught in the first place.

You were thinking too much whilst staring at it. Until a whole squadron showed up with rifles drawn and pointed at you. They, obviously, recognized your poster thanks to the makeup being smeared.

From there, the pseudo Captain took over and ordered to have captured to get information. That damn Captain was surprisingly cruel despite not bothering to get his own hands dirty.

He ordered to have you tortured till the end of the next day. If you died before then you'd just be sent back to your Captain, in pieces. If you had put in your own two cents, which you did just before he left, you said it was unoriginal, uninspired. Nothing flashy about that, as your dear Captain would say.

You'd received your first shock of many after saying that.

You twitched at the feeling of blood dripping from your nose, reminding you of your current situation. If that cadet succeeded in contacting that Captain you were screwed. Which meant it was time for your great escape.

With the cadet turned away and distracted, you took the opportunity to lift your head from its downturn position and glare into the back of his head. You gripped the chains and used them to slowly lift yourself up. When you were high enough that your legs reached his neck you swung yourself forward to wrap your thighs around his neck. You squeezed as tight as you could and lifted yourself higher to make sure he couldn't try stomping his feet on the ground.

He was digging his fingers into your thighs, clearly trying to use his powers, but it wouldn't work. They were useless now thanks to the sea prism jewelry you had on your ankle. It was the one gift you had kept from your old life. The one thing that bastard gave you that was actually useful.

The cadet was finally losing his strength and went completely limp. That's when you finally snapped his neck and let go. His body fell to the ground and you spotted a key on his hip. You smiled and slowly tiptoed your way up his body to grip the key with your toes.

You took a deep breath and prepared yourself to rely on your upper body strength again. You bent your body forward so your feet could reach the lock on your wrists. You groaned at the pain coming from your abdomen, the pain from the shocks didn't help. You'd like to think that your Captain would be proud if he could see you. That acrobatic training paid off.

You sighed in relief when your aching wrists were finally free and let go of the chains. You dropped down on your hands and knees, and took a few deep breaths. You assessed the damage on your body when you stood. Your thighs had red marks on them and your beloved dress was ripped up the side. Your abdomen was also horrendously sore.

You growled and eyed the pistol at the cadets hip. You smirked and pointed it at his head. Even if he was dead, snapping his neck wasn't good enough for you. You shot him in the face and reveled at the blood splatter it created.

"That's for my dress, fucker," you spat as you stepped over him.

Before opening the door leading out, you grabbed a pair of boots for your bare feet (they took your shoes, pervs) and cracked your neck to alleviate the ache there.

On the other side of the door, two Marines were at attention. They appeared suspicious because of the gunshot from the other side. Especially since their "Captain" gave no such orders to do so.

It was too bad they wouldn't be able to warn anyone, but then again, the two consecutive shots that rang out would be signal enough. You grabbed another pistol off them to prepare for the eventual onslaught of Marines that were surely on their way.

You kicked open the next door that hopefully led to an exit, only to find a circular room with multiple pathways leading who knows where. You didn't even have time to think about which one to take before they all started running in, like rats who spotted the cheese. They were coming from all sides, it kept you on your toes, literally. You were twirling around the room firing shot after shot on the tips of your toes.

Even if there was a risk of death, you had to admit, it was fun. It felt like you were dancing with the way your skirt spread out around you.

When the last two cadets finally fell, your fun was over and the pistols clicked. You dropped them to the ground, deeming them useless and ran down the path with the most dead marines. You kicked open another door and found what you assumed was the armory, based on the walls full of weapons.

Fancy iron gates separated you from the mass array of weapons they had, so, you had to get creative. You headbutted one charging at you and kicked a gate closed on two others trying to open from the other side. Geez, these guys were like a damn hydra. Take one out and two more take its place. They never stopped.

The next one tried stabbing you with a knife, a nice change of pace, but useless. You looked down forlornly at your dress and, with a heavy sigh, ripped off a long piece of it. You wrapped it around the wrist of the knife wielder and maneuvered yourself around him. You were back to back with him and with all your strength, you flipped him over you onto another Marine running in. Both of them grunted and fell to the floor.

Another came charging at you and you ran to the other side of the now open iron gate to slam into the Marines face. He groaned in pain with a fierce glare and thrust his arm through the opening to attempt to stab you, big mistake. You grabbed his wrist and crushed it on the gate causing him to scream and drop the knife. He had no time to recover because you began to repeatedly strike his face into the ornate design covering the sides of the gate.

Yes, it was bloody mess and unnecessary, but it was way more fun than using a pistol.

You cheered when he fell to the ground and turned back to your possible exit to see another blocking your way. You rolled your eyes, just how many soldiers did they have wandering around?

As you stalked towards him, he flinched with a knife in hand. You hummed with a chuckle, at least someone here finally had the decency to fear you. It wouldn't save him from your wrath anyway.

Despite the fear in his eyes he lunged at you. You grabbed his wrist and bent it back into his torso in retaliation. You ears perked up at the found of footsteps right behind you and you kicked your leg back, aiming high. The first fell forward and you grabbed the knife before he fell to the ground.

The second choked and held onto his throat. "Bullseye!" You cheered at the sight. You pinned him to the gate and slit his throat.

It looked like you were down to your last one here. He was holding a knife, a popular weapon here. You dropped your own and pulled the sash taut in your hands, that was all you needed. He lunged at you and you used his own momentum against him. You wrapped the fabric around his wrist and moved yourself behind him to pin his own hand to his throat and pulled.

He slit his own throat thanks to you.

You sighed and grabbed two rifles from the ground. "How careless," you mused. You walked out of the armory and pushed open what was hopefully the last fucking door before the exit. You were now in a long hallway with double doors at the end.

Too bad a whole squadron of Marines were blocking the way, the same ones who caught you. You smirked as you watched them all begin to charge you and the captain yelling orders.

"GET HER!" He yelled.

You opened fire on all of them. They didn't even have a chance as you cackled with glee, never once letting go of the trigger. They all fell to the ground with their blood decorating the drab, white walls. And then it was down to one person. The beloved "Captain" of this Marine base. He pressed himself against a wall, gripping a small pistol in his shaking hands.

You snickered and slowly walked towards him until you were close enough to kick the pistol out of his hand. He whimpered and raised his hands up, "w-what do y-you want?" He asked, cowering under your gaze.

You knelt down to his level and raised a hand to cup his cheek. He yelped at the feeling of your cold, bloodied hand, but didn't dare push it away. He froze at the sight your eerily calm smile and clenched his eyes shut as you leaned forward. He flinched at the feeling of your cold, rough lips on his cheek. You pulled away to whisper something into his ear before leaning back and finally leaving this damn hellscape.

"Captain Buggy sends his regards."

The moment you stepped outside you breathed in the fresh air and took in your surroundings. There was still daylight outside, most likely late in the afternoon now. The brightness of the sun made it easy to spot three familiar faces sneaking around the side of the base.

Peeking around, watching the grand entrance of the base, was Mohji. He narrowed his eyes at the inactivity. "Are you sure this is it?" He asked, skeptical. He had a weird feeling about it considering it was so quiet. Not a single Marine in sight.

Cabaji, who stood next to Mohji, hummed in agreement. "He has a point, Captain. There's no one here." He pointed to the unguarded entrance.

The esteemed Captain, Buggy, rolled his eyes and pointed to the sign displaying, '149th Marine base'. "Yes, positive. It's pretty hard to fucking miss." He chocked up the missing Marines to pure luck and pulled out two knives. He took a deep breath, "Okay, get ready in three, two..."

"What are you guys doing?"

Your familiar voice appearing behind Cabaji caused him to practically jump out of his skin.

"What the-?! What the hell are you doing out here?!" He exclaimed.

Buggy ignored his outburst and blinked owlishly at the sight of you. He ran over here with Cabaji and Mohji in tow after hearing word that the Marines had finally captured 'Buggy's Beloved Harlequin'. So, to see you here, alive, was quite a confusing sight.

He glanced back at the base and then at you, he shook off the lingering confusion. "We're here to save you!" He explained, gesturing to you.

You pouted and held back tears forming. "You were gonna... Save me?" You whimpered.

Buggy groaned and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Yes, it was a really good plan too..." He trailed off, slightly disappointed it was ruined.

You frowned, "well I could go back inside and you could still do it," you suggested.

Buggy scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, not gonna happen, angel face." He grabbed your wrist to pull you close. He wrapped a hand around your waist and held you close to his chest.

You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck. You sighed at the feeling of his warm hand on your cheek. You could tell his eyes were on your bloody nose. "You kill all the fuckers that did this to you?" He asked, voice low in a whisper. He looked back into your eyes and you could see the rage that filled them.

You smiled and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. It always warmed your heart when he cared for you like that. While he had his cowardly moments, he never backed down from a fight when it came to you. His anger was momentarily forgotten about until you pulled away.

Your eyes were still glued to his lips when you answered his question. "'Course I did. Every drop spilled was courtesy of Buggy, the genius jester.-" you pecked his lips- "even left one alive to tell the tale." You kissed him again and placed your hands on his cheeks so he couldn't pull away.

Buggy still managed to pull away despite that and chuckled. "Stop trying to distract me, angel. The hell were doing in there anyway?" He asked, rubbing comforting circles on your hip. Good thing he hadn't noticed your ruined dress yet.

You pulled away from him and grabbed his hand. "Let's talk about this on the ship. Reinforcements from the next town over are probably on their way." You laughed, "and I don't think they'll be happy to see the mess here." You tried to lead him away, only to be pulled back into his arms.

Cabaji and Mohji tried cutting in after successfully ignoring your loving reunion.

"She has a point, Captain-" began Mohji.

"Yeah, we should really-" continued Cabaji.

"Shut up!" Snapped Buggy, glaring at the two who cowered. His attention was back on you with an enamored expression. Buggy grabbed you by the waist. "Does that mean you-?"

You nodded, "uh-huh." You tried pulling away again, but were stuck in his tight grip. You furrowed your brows, but that tense expression melted away when you felt his soft lips on yours again. That was one feeling you would never get tired of.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you felt his tongue against your lips. Even though you were dying to feel more of him, you had to break the kiss to focus. You were breathless, "remember we have to go." You grabbed his hand to lead him away.

Buggy groaned and followed behind, but not before dragging you back one last time against his chest to whisper a promise in your ear. "I swear the second we get on that ship... You're mine." He nipped the shell of your ear.

You squealed and pulled away. "Then, hurry up, Captain!"

He finally allowed himself to dragged along and laughed with you. Clearly, he was ecstatic to see your gorgeous face until he spotted something peculiar. His anger rose tenfold when he finally noticed.

"What the hell happened to your dress?!"

It took time and a lot of kisses to get him to calm down about the dress when you reached the ship. You were currently sitting on his bed, fingers stroking his hair as he knelt down in front of you. He was assessing the damage. Even though the ship's doctor already had, he still wanted to check every square inch.

You shivered when his warm hands lightly trailed over the skin of your bare legs. It was easy considering you were wearing one of his shirts. You smiled at the concerned expression he had. It was easy to get him to calm down by running your hands through his beautiful hair.

All bets were off, however, when he finally saw the red marks on your thighs from where the marine gripped you.

"Who did this?" He asked softly, his eyes glued on the finger shaped marks.

The smile didn't leave your face, it only grew when you heard his tone. You could tell that he was ready to storm the base again, if only to burn it down. You trailed your hand down from his hair to his cheek.

You stroked his cheekbone with your thumb. "You don't have to worry about it now," you whispered, putting your other hand on the marks with a demented smile. "He's dead. These are a... memento..." You were still quite proud of your method of killing and you were sure Buggy would be too when you told him.

"Are you serious?" He asked after your retelling. You nodded and giggled when he stood up to push you back into the bed. He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh and crawled on top of you. "Lucky bastard, getting to die between your thighs." He pressed kisses to your neck as he spoke.

You couldn't stop laughing and let out a delighted yelp when nipped the spot under your ear. "What? Don't tell me that's your dream now?" You pulled his head away from the spot in your neck to gaze into his eyes.

"I'm just saying I'd die a happy man if that were to happen."

You shook your head, laughter dying down when you felt his thumb trail over your cheek. The look in his eyes turned sour, he could see the makeup you used to coverup was smeared off. "Are you alright?" He asked.

He didn't need to say more for you to understand what he was referring to. There wasn't a day that passed where he didn't check in with you. You did the same for him when you noticed him looking in the mirror for longer than normal.

You grabbed the hand touching your face pressed your lips to it. "I'm fine." You held his hand there.

Buggy didn't want to press the issue and nodded. He leaned away from you to lay back against the pillows and open his arms for you. You smiled and crawled into his arms to rest your head against his chest. "I love you," you sighed.

"Love you too, angel."

It used to hurt to look into a mirror, but Buggy changed that. He knew what it felt like to have people turn away in shame after being caught staring. Now, as you stood in front of his vanity, staring, you didn't break the mirror. You used to do that a lot when you first came, but he never cared about constantly needing to replace it. He just cared about comforting your raging thoughts of insecurity.

With a soft candle illuminating your face in the mirror, you raised a tentative hand to your face. You lightly touched the clean-cut mark there. It started at the edge of your lips and ended at the your cheek. There was a matching one on the other side. It was scarred permanently there years ago. You let your hand fall. You looked back at the love of your life, snoring, and snickered to yourself.

No time to think of that, you had to get back to bed before he woke up. The candle was blown out, and so were any negative thoughts brewing in your head.

[herofics]

could i ask for gojo or basically anyone from mha with a reader who's suddenly dealing with memories of cocsa? thanks

A/N: I picked Gojo, since I just felt like I wanted to write about him this time around. I know you just sent this, and I have a few older requests that I’m working on, but I wanted to write this right away for some reason. I don’t know any other meanings for COCSA other than child-on-child sexual abuse, so I’m assuming that’s what you meant. This request is a bit broad, but I just did some angst with comfort. I haven’t written stuff like this in a while, but there are some similar scenarios in my masterlist, which you can find in the pinned post. I feel like I’ve mostly dealt with my own COCSA trauma, but I do still find these kinds of things therapeutic to write. Not gonna lie though, this sort of triggered me and I cried a lot while writing this, but I’m all good now and it was therapeutic I guess.

Word count: almost 2k

Warnings: (Graphic?) mentions of COCSA/rape, mentions of blood, self hate and reader blames themself for what happened

Today was not a good day. You were almost glad Gojo wasn’t going to be home for at least a day, he didn’t need to deal with this too. He had enough on his shoulders already, he didn’t need to try to handle your shitty mood and flashbacks too.

It wasn’t like this everyday. The memories just resurfaced sometimes and it was like they knocked the wind out of you. It was like a punch in the stomach and it made you want to puke. Sometimes you could still feel hands on you and this was certainly one of those days. You scratched your arms and thighs but the feeling wouldn’t go away. It never did, but you still always hoped that maybe this time would be different.

You decided to take that shower you’d been avoiding the whole day, hoping that maybe the warm water would wash away some of the guilt and self hatred.

You were almost done taking off your clothes, when you happened to glance in the big mirror that covered the inside of your wardrobe door. You saw it again. It was like someone had turned back time and you were staring at your child self in the mirror. A little kid, crying, disheveled in just a t-shirt and bloody underwear, with bruises all around their body, and blood running down their inner thighs. You didn’t even notice you were crying too, before your legs gave out and you just sat on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Why me?” you whispered between your sobs.

Your whole life you’d been told it wasn’t your fault, but no one had yet managed to convince you that that was true. You knew it had been his fault too, that boy who did this to you all those years ago. You’d also convinced yourself that you were to blame. You were the one who went with him. You were the one who didn’t scream and shout, you were the one who didn’t try to run away until it was too late, and by then, he already had you in his grasp.

“Why did you follow him? Why didn’t you fight back?” you’d heard those questions countless times. It was horrifying how much parents tried to justify their kids’ actions. “Surely you did something to make him do this to you” was one of the phrases you would probably never forget.

You felt like you were drowning in self hatred and guilt. How could you have been so fucking stupid? “You were just a child” some reasonable part of your brain whispered, but that was swiftly drowned out by everything else. You were still just sitting on the floor, but now your crying was quiet. You were rocking yourself back and forth, as if in a trance. The words “It’s your fault” kept running circles in your brain.

Gojo knew he wasn’t supposed to be home yet. He knew you weren’t expecting him for at least another day, but he was just happy to get back to you. He pretty much skipped up the stairs to the front door, he missed you.

He opened the front door, the house was quiet, suspiciously so. The lights were on, so clearly you were home, but you wouldn’t answer when he called your name. Nothing was out of place, but something was wrong, he could feel it. He just didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t feel any hostility or strange cursed energy around, but something was undeniably wrong.

When he found you on the bedroom floor, sitting in front of the wardrobe, he could see your reflection in the mirror. You had this vacant look in your eyes, you hadn’t even noticed him come into the room.

Gojo knelt down next to you and put his hand on your shoulder. It brought you out of your trance immediately, but not in the way he expected.

“Please don’t-don’t touch me” you pleaded as you suddenly started backing away from him.

You hadn’t noticed Gojo come into the room, but the moment he touched you, you came back to reality. His touch felt disgusting, you felt like his hand would burn a hole through your t-shirt. God why was this happening? Why were you reacting like this to the person you loved so much?

“Okay, okay, I won’t” he assured. “What’s wrong doll?” he asked as he stuffed his blindfold into his pocket.

You had backed away from him until your back hit the end of the bed, so there was about a meter of distance between you. Gojo felt like there was a ravine between you, like he couldn’t reach you on the other side. All his powers and techniques wouldn’t help here. He hated feeling this powerless.

“Talk to me, please?” he almost sounded like he was begging.

You shook your head with this panicked look in your eyes. Gojo didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to comfort you if you wouldn’t let him hold you. It was like someone was tearing his heart into pieces. All he could do was sit there, and wait.

You wanted to tell him what was going on, you wanted to explain, but you didn’t know where to start. Would he think it was your fault? Would he blame you too? Before you could stop yourself, the words escaped your lips.

“I was raped”

Gojo just sat there, he felt like couldn’t process what you’d just told him. Raped? No, surely he heard wrong.

“What?” he had to ask, he had to make sure he’d really heard wrong, he really hoped he heard wrong.

“It-I was a kid and I was-I was raped…” you stammered.

He hadn’t heard wrong. Gojo had to really restrain himself to stop from embracing you. He wasn’t sure how else to comfort you. That was his love language, touch, but you really didn’t look like you could handle any of that right now.

You took a few deep, wavering breaths. You had stopped crying, at least mostly, but the self hatred and guilt were still very much there.

“I’ve been having some-some flashbacks and memories-and memories resurfacing today, and as you can-as you can see, it’s not a good day for me-me” you tried explaining.

“Do you need me to do something? I’ll do anything” Gojo stated very seriously.

“Can you just-Can you just sit there until this passes?” you asked apologetically. “I don’t- I don’t want to be touched right now, even the thought makes me want to vomit”

You didn’t want to make Gojo feel like this was about him, it wasn’t him touching you that made you feel nauseous, anyone would have gotten the same reaction.

“And it’s not about you, I just don’t want anyone to touch me right now” you added.

Gojo sighed in relief, for a moment he was scared he had done something wrong.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked carefully.

You were starting to feel more stable, not good exactly, but better than before. Gojo’s presence helped, he made you feel safe and like no one could hurt you again. It was also a bittersweet feeling, you just wished someone like him had been around back then. Someone to stop anything bad from ever happening to you.

“I-I don’t really know how to talk about it. People don’t want to hear about stuff like that, not really, even if they want to help” you shrugged.

“I want to help, I really do”

“I don’t think you need to hear all the nauseating details of it. I know you want to help, but I’ve only got myself to blame really. I was so damn stupid” you shook your head with a disappointed sigh.

Gojo had to stop himself from reaching his hand towards yours, instead he just balled his hand into a fist. You didn’t want to be touched, he needed to respect that. Hearing you say that made him so incredibly frustrated. How could you blame yourself for something so horrific someone else had done to you?

“You weren’t stupid, you were a child and that should’ve never happened” Gojo said slowly.

“That’s no excuse though, I should’ve known better. I should’ve know the things he did were wrong, before it was too late”

“I don’t know how old you were when this happened, but would you expect a kid that age to know what you were “supposed to know”?” Gojo asked.

“No, but-” you started but he cut you off.

“So why would you expect it from yourself at that age? You shouldn’t need to know better as a kid, other people should know not to do shitty things” Gojo tried to reason with you.

That shut you up quite effectively. You would never expect it from anyone else, so why would you expect something like that from yourself. You didn’t really have a counter argument, and it had undeniably shaken your attitude of self blame and hatred just a little.

“Hah, you can’t argue with that, can you” Gojo smirked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“You’re so proud of yourself for coming up with that” you rolled your eyes, but your lips curved into a slight smile.

“If it made at least a dent in all that self hatred you’re carrying around, then yes” Gojo nodded.

“It’s not like I actively hate myself, it’s just days like these… mostly” your voice faded.

“Then I want to make sure you’ll never have a day like this again” Gojo said with a very serious tone. He looked so determined.

“That’s sweet Satoru, but I can’t promise that, and neither can you” you smiled sadly.

“Well we can at least aim for less days like this, right?” he asked.

“I think that’s a good start yeah” you nodded.

You were still sitting on the floor against the end of the bed, but you seemed much more relaxed and calm than when he came into the room. Gojo was happy you’d shared more of yourself with him, but he obviously wasn’t happy about what you’d told him. If Gojo were to ever get his hands on the guy who’d hurt you, he wasn’t sure what he might end up doing.

“I think you need some food and a lot of rest. I can take care of the first one and cook you something, but after that, you're going to bed” Gojo announced.

“I’m not even gonna argue with you about that, because you’re right”

“I’m always right” he smirked.

“Oh yeah, definitely” you rolled your eyes with a playful chuckle.

“Let’s go, I’ll cook for you” Gojo said as he stood up, and offered his hand to you to help you up.

You looked at his hand for a moment, before looking up at him. It made you feel guilty that you didn’t want to touch him right now. You loved him so much, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to take his hand right now.

“Sorry I-I can’t, not yet” you apologized and got up on your own.

Gojo realized what you meant and pulled his hand back. He couldn’t help but feel a bit bad, he didn’t want to seem like he was pressuring you, even if he desperately wanted to hold you.

“No worries, you don’t need to apologize for that” he shook his head.

“I love you, Satoru” you smiled with some residual sadness still in your eyes.

“I love you too, (Name)” he smiled softly. “Now then, what would you like to eat?”

[frostironfudge]

Silhouettes In The Spotlight - Bucky Barnes - Chapter Fifteen

Summary: Bucky Barnes has worked immensely hard to have a filmography expanding across genres and garnering accolades from critics, peers and fans. Y/N Y/L/N, with her debut novel (fan-fiction turned New York Times Bestseller) has two other best sellers under her belt. Next is her highly anticipated fourth book lined up for release. SHEILD Productions has acquired the film rights to her debut novel and they want Bucky Barnes to play the lead (aka himself) by any means necessary. This story is about angst, lust, heartbreak, and love. After all fairytales only exist in books and movies right?

Warnings:fluff, angst, SA mentioned not described, drugs mentioned not consumed, entertainment industry language (basically misleading way of delivering news), legal stuff, anxiety, court proceedings, bucky is sweet but also a menace, shitty lawyers and victim blaming, comments made on size of reader

Pairing: Actor!Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || AO3 || Fic Playlist

Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Sixteen

HEADLINES:

Natasha Romanoff Unleashes Scathing Tweets While Defending The Victims Who Have Come Forward Against Alexander Pierce

Y/N Y/L/N Looks Sombre Attending Court Hearing. Bucky Barnes To Take The Stand. Fans Gather Outside Courthouse To Support Actor As He Supports His Colleagues. 

Twins In Style, Reclusive Lawyer Andy Barber Looks Dapper In Suit Matched With His Brother Steve Rogers. Watch Exclusive Video Of The Lawyer As He Ponders Over Case Details In The Parking Lot. 

Dolores Stuns In A Cherry Red Outfit, Is It Appropriate For Court? Watch As Our Fashion Experts Breakdown These Courtroom Looks.

HYDRA Now Pushes Innocence Narrative, Sharon Carter Leading Charge To Safe Face Of Organisation. 

Fans Reign Down Hell On Ace After Comments About Shocking Revelation On The Truth Of Alexander Pierce The Star Deletes Social Media In Response. 

Loki stares at the iPad lying on the desk. The shower turning on brings him back to the present. Dozens of emails, back and forth correspondence. 

Pictures. 

Pictures of him.

Pictures of Bucky.

Pictures of Steve.

Pictures of You.

Pictures of Bucky and You.

Pictures of Steve and You.

Some actual and several altered to insinuate much more than what was ongoing. Bile rises in his throat as he scrolls to the top and through the chain again while recording all of it on his phone.

Intimate pictures he exchanged with Ace, the bathroom door opens. He exits the iPad back to the home screen. Making sure to close all apps before locking the device.

“Are you coming in, big boy?” They call out, beads of water flow down their naked form. A sight which would have Loki tempted but now churns acid in his stomach.

“I’m terribly sorry, it's my brother. I need to go.” He explains having told Ace enough about his sibling, Thor, that they could draw conclusions for the need to retreat. He had done it before genuinely. 

“Oh no, would you like me to come along?” They step out further grabbing the towel.

“No, I um, I’d appreciate that but I’ve already asked Bucky. I’ll update you in a few hours. I apologise for cutting this short.” He buttons up his shirt, swiftly.

Ace stands before him, reaching up to cup his cheeks. They stand on their tiptoes, pressing their lips to his, Loki’s hands grasp their waist. Eyes closed as the two share the kiss so steeped in with betrayal.

Loki rushes out as the air is leaving his lungs, the court hearings are ongoing. The next date is scheduled for next week. He gets into his car, uncaring for the tickets he might receive and speeds along to his best friend’s apartment. 

Bucky opens the door to a frantic looking Loki who just thrusts his unlocked phone into his palms. The green eyed man heads straight for the bar cart and pours himself a generous serving of the amber selection. Downing it in one go.

Bucky stares at the playing footage, stomach knotting with every exchanged email. Natasha was right. 

It was someone on the main crew. 

Someone all trusted. 

Someone you considered a close friend when Natasha and Yelena seemingly abandoned you. 

“Pour me a glass too, I need to tell Feather.” Bucky holds out his hand and the cold crystal is placed in, he takes a sip then a longer one. Calls are exchanged between Andy, Matt and himself. More calls are made to Agent Lewis and Agent Lang.

The calls take hours and a meeting is called in order. 

Bucky closes his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

When would this nightmare end? 

A sniffle brings him back to the present Loki hunched over and trying not to cry into his hands.

“I trusted them.” He mutters as Bucky’s arms envelope him into a hug, “I, I– Bucky I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m so sorry this happened to you. You don’t deserve this, not one bit.” Bucky pulls him in a tighter embrace, “I know how much they meant to you.”

Loki sniffles, holding onto Bucky, “I’m so sorry.”

You stare at Ace across the hallway of the courthouse. They meet your gaze, offering you a bright smile. 

“Smile back.” Bucky reminds in a soft murmur, from his position, leaning against the wall, coffee cup in hand. You offer them a tightlipped smile. 

“I feel sick.” Your palm pressed against your stomach, the queasy feeling blooms, “I can’t keep up this charade for long. Behaving as if yet another person hasn’t betrayed us.”

“I’d recommend a stiff drink.” Steve drinks from his own cup wishing it was something else. Glare affixed on Ace who was busy chatting away to their assistant.  

“I don’t believe alcohol is the answer, Rogers. Believe me, the four ibuprofens I’ve taken agree.” Loki observes making his way over to your small group. 

“How are you?” You hug him, he hugs back. Sighing deeply.

“I will be better.” He says, he takes off his sunglasses as he pulls away with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Don’t apologise again, please.” you request, he smiles still apologetic.

“Apologise for what?” Ace interrupts, grasping Loki’s arm with their own.

“For stealing me from date night for you know…” Bucky pushes himself away from the wall, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulders.

“Ah, yes.” They smile up at Loki, he grins at them, “I really hope you didn't mind, Y/N.”

“Of course not, I know how complicated a family can be, and having people to trust is extremely important. I’m happy Loki didn’t have to be alone.”

Steve masks a snort with a cough at your thinly veiled jab. Loki shifts slightly, Steve yelps, “These are YSL!” He sneers making sure the shoes aren’t damaged.

“Don’t worry they're baptised now by Louboutins.” Loki winks at him.

“Case in point.” You add. 

Ace only smiles.

Andy waves at you all to enter the courtroom. 

The crowd diminishes, as the courtroom fills up. 

“All rise for Judge Rambaue.” 

Judge Maria Rambaue takes her place, and everyone settles. Matt stands, as does Andy. The defence lawyers comprising the familiar faces of Schmidt and his overworked paralegals eye them warily.

Alexander only glares towards them then his gaze finds yours, he raises a brow. Then your view is blocked as Bucky shifts forward. Glaring at Alexander. The gesture makes the older man laugh, bemused. He looks on ahead.

“Don’t let him get to you, Feather.” Bucky murmurs, kissing the top of your head. You nod, intertwining your hand with his, he strokes his thumb over your tattoo.

“Permission to approach the bench, Your Honour?” Matt’s voice rings across the room. 

“Permission granted.” Judge Rambeau waits as the teams approach. 

Andy speaks and Schmit’s face turns red, he begins firing his paralegal, who cowers back pushing up their spectacles. 

“I’m going to ask you to be respectful inside and outside of my court, attorney.” The judge’s voice is loud enough, the journalists at the back begin scribbling across their notepads vigorously.

The attorneys return to their respective tables. Matt whispers something to Andy, the two share a conversation. The latter stands, buttoning up his blazer. 

Andy takes a deep breath, “Your Honour we would request to call Mr. Peter Quill to the witness stand.” 

“Granted.” 

Peter Quill walks with a confident stride, giving a beaming grin to a very confused looking Alexander Pierce. 

"I solemnly declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth". Peter says, then faces the room. 

“Mr. Quill, you were arrested a few weeks ago on account of possession of several narcotics seized from your home.” Andy questions. 

“Yes, those charges have since been dropped as the evidence collected was planted and it was a thinly veiled warning.” Peter nods. 

“I see, I would request the court to allow me to submit evidence from Mr. Quill in regards to this statement.” Andy returns with the marked evidence in hand. 

The tape is played, Alexander’s voice warning Peter heard by everyone. 

“Untrue!” Alexander yells. 

“Order in the court, Mr. Pierce.” Judge Rambaue’s voice warns. 

Andy shakes his head, “Analysis from Agents Lewis and Lang have revealed this is a non tampered with tape as well as the voice match software affirms it indeed is Mr. Pierce’s voice.” 

“Objection!” Schmidt stands, “Mr. Pierce was in a recorded meeting on the date of this claim!” 

“Mr. Schmidt!” The judge bellows. 

“Your Honour this is a baseless argument!” 

“Your Honour, we have records and geolocations found. Which confirms the call location and CCTV footage affirms Mr. Pierce was on a call at the same time.” Andy offers the evidence yet again. 

Peter smiles at Alexander, “You made a grave mistake by coming after me.” he laughs, the smug expression doesn’t leave his features. 

“I never called you. You were fooled. What would I do trying to one up an imbecile like you?” Alexander rolls his eyes. 

The gavel resounds. 

It's silent in the courtroom, Peter leaves the witness stand and Alexander is called upon to take the place. 

“So you mean to say what? Someone imitates your voice during the call Mr. Quill received?” Matt questions. 

“Yes.” Alexander replies. 

“How are you speaking with such certainty? There have been several people here who have disproved most of your lies.” Matt gestures towards the crowd, “The jury have heard each lie be thwarted.” 

“Several people have tried and failed to copy several aspects of my life.” Alexander sits back in the chair, one hand running through his hair. 

“I understand and what about the call being placed from within the location you were at?” Matt drums his fingers along his guide cane, waiting for Alexander to speak.

“Someone knew I was at my chosen location and made the call. They were present for the sole purpose of incriminating me. I was on a video conference where you can confirm with the person on the opposite end.” He shrugs. 

“You have a lot of enemies, is it Mr. Pierce?” Matt gives a sympathetic smile to Alexander. 

“It comes with the line of work, son.” 

“Who was on video call with you?” Matt turns his head towards the jury then back to the man.

Alexander sighs, “With my nephew, Brock Rumlow.” He flicks away a piece of lint, seemingly bored. 

The lawyer purses his lips, waiting to formulate his next line of questions. Andy stares at Alexander for a moment. Then three taps on the desk. Matt tilts his head then straightens it.

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Murdock.” Alexander smiles as he smoothens his tie. 

“Thank you Mr. Pierce. Now you mentioned that there was a video call with your nephew Mr. Brock Rumlow, correct?” Matt smiles.

“Yes.”

“What was the context of this meeting or agenda if you would be so kind to share?” Matt gestures towards the judge and jury.

“I am not at liberty to discuss since it is about the upcoming film he is directing.” Alexander’s lips press into a thin line.

“Alright and you affirm that you did not take nor make any other calls during the entirety of this meeting?” The lawyer raises a brow.

“Yes, I affirm.” 

“If we were to acquire a recording of this meeting as mandated for all HYDRA, formerly known as SHIELD Productions online meetings, would this support your statement?” Matt smirks as Alexander visibly tenses, his eyes move to his lawyers.

“Objection, calls for speculation.” Schmidt covers.

Matt chuckles, “Alright, can you prove you took no calls Mr. Pierce?”

“Objection repetitive.”

“I haven’t received my answer.”

“Overruled.”

“Mr. Pierce? Since this rule is followed by all members and employees of your co-owned production house?” 

“I am HYDRA.” Alexander grits out, palm slapping against the wood of the desk.

“Sentiments aside, can you prove you took no calls?” Matt keeps his cool.

“I built HYDRA to where it is.” Alexander presses.

“By sex-ually abusing young women and men?” Matt roars, calm demeanour fading away.

“Objection, leading.” Schmidt interrupts.

“I did no such thing, these people are placing baseless allegations for money!” Alexander bellows ignoring Schmidt.

“Mr. Pierce, the honourable court has received conclusive evidence that you did in fact assault the victims who have bravely come forth to share their harrowing ordeal.” Matt points out, “Many of whom have–,”

“Oh please, they received money from HYDRA to keep them more than compliant, silent and happy. This is all for more fame. Especially from that trio there.” Alexander sneers and points his fingers at you, Bucky and Steve.

Silence takes over the court. 

Bucky places a protective arm around you. 

Your hand finds his; fingers intertwined. 

Steve keeps a blank expression. 

Slowly it dawns over everyone what Alexander let slip.

Andy smiles pleased and it makes Alexander lose his composure. 

Schmidt scrambles to stand up after an entire two minutes, “Objection h-hearsay.” He stutters.

Matt smiles, “Your honour, I have no further questions. I would request Mr. Barber to take over.” The two exchange places.

Andy smiles at the Judge and then Alexander, “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Pierce.” Who only scowls at him.

“You may begin, Mr. Barber.” The Judge declares.

“In continuation of the question not answered earlier, Mr. Pierce, can you tell us why proof of your call is not submitted? It increases the likelihood of this one charge you may be found not guilty.”

“I am not at the liberty to share confidential information about ongoing HYDRA projects.” Alexander regains composure.

“I see, so a video conference with Brock Rumlow but you cannot share the discussed matter but you can affirm you did not take any calls.” Andy lists the affirmed matters.

“Yes.” Alexander answers.

Andy cheerily grins at the Judge, she raises a brow.

“Your honour we request the honourable Judge, Jury and court to allow Mr. Brock Rumlow be summoned to witness.” Andy continues to smile.

Schmidt snickers under his breath. Alexander’s shoulders relax further.

You watch as Andy’s smile doesn’t waiver and Matt does a fist pump as the Judge allows the request. Approving the paperwork Andy takes from Matt to handover.

A break for fifteen minutes is called, everyone scatters out yet again. Brock was in custody of the NYPD awaiting his own trial. 

You’re following Andy and Matt into the conference room assigned to them. Bucky and Steve in tow. When chaos breaks in the hallways.

Bucky is pushed up against the wall, lapels of his blazer bunched in Alexander’s fists.

“Admit it.” He sneers, Bucky keeps his hands where everyone can see them, pressed against the wall.

“Alexander.” Bucky warns.

“Admit you fucking made that call. Only you can mimic me without a fault. You did this!” He spits out, fire burning in his eyes.

“Alexander, you need to stop making false accusations, that was a bit for the Emmy Awards. Years ago. I can’t even do a British accent, you know this.” Bucky explains, keeping his hands still in the air.

Your brows furrow when you notice Andy presses his lips into a thin line and Matt grip his guide cane harder. Steve avoids your gaze.

Your lips part as Bucky too, looks at you and then away back at Alexander. 

The guards drag him away.  Bucky smoothens his suit jacket.

“We’ll talk inside.” You know he speaks to you, “Privately for five minutes.”

Bucky grips the back of the chair, he allows you time to form your question.

“Did you mimic him?” You question, you knew he presented at the Emmys with Steve once but you never had gotten around to seeing the video. 

“At the Emmys, yes, I had.” He recounts.

“Bucky.” your lips are dry as you run your tongue over them in contemplation. 

“Feather, why would I?”

“You hated what Peter Quill did at the event…” You conclude.

“Yes, but I didn’t plant the LSD or Coke or whatever the hell they found.” Bucky defends, you press your fingers to your temples. 

“I didn’t ask you about that.” Your eyes meet his azure.

“He’s on the same track as him, he had to be busted.” Bucky emphasises pressing his index finger against his palm.

“Do you have an alibi?” you close your eyes.

“I do. I was at an interview.” 

“Then… How?” 

“Recording played over.” 

“You better not be hiding anything else from me.” You affix your glare on him. Then jog around the table to embrace him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Feather.” He wraps his arms around you, tucking you against him.

“I promised you I’d take care of you.” He murmurs.

“Not when you’re– well, felonies.” You complain.

“Hey when most of your book boyfriends are morally grey why not your actual boyfriend be too?” He teases.

“They do the doorframe lean, amongst other things.” You huff.

Soon enough you’re twirled, back pressed to the wall. Bucky smirks, his hand resting above taking most of his weight. As he leans in, blue eyes full of playfulness. Your skin heats at the proximity.

“This better?” His voice is doing that deep baritone thing, the one that makes the thoughts in your head mush.

“I–,” words don’t support you. 

Bucky leans in further, lips brushing against yours, he cups your jaw. 

Closing the meagre distance between your lips and his own.

In the brief recess after knowing what Bucky did for you. The team never got a chance to speak. The break was extended further into lunch to allow Brock to be brought in, you felt queasy.

You still didn't understand why Brock being there would help the case in favourable manners. He was the nephew of the man being charged. Of course he would only support the man.

Playing around with the wrapper of the sandwich is all that felt right. Bucky prompts you a few times to eat, as do Loki and Steve. 

“I just don’t feel hungry…” You repeat.

“Okay how about this?” Bucky makes smaller sections of the sandwich effectively turning two pieces into four, “Eat two small ones, it will help with the queasiness.” 

When you just look at him, he raises the piece to your lips. 

“The airplane needs landing access.” He chuckles, full of hope that you will eat.

“You’re…” You can’t find the words he’s absolutely adorable. So you do part your lips letting him feed you the first piece and then the second piece.  

Bucky turns for a moment when Sam walks up needing to discuss the shoot scheduled for later today. 

He looks back at you while Sam speaks, raising the third piece, you eat it without protest. 

The rewarding grin Bucky gives you further melts your heart. He turns yet again to answer Sam. 

You eat the fourth piece on your own, the queasiness easing. 

“Good girl.” He praises, placing a kiss on your temple. You smile up at him. 

“It's like watching a sugar rush actually take place.” Steve grumbles. 

Loki shakes his head bemused, “You’d do the same thing.”

The two share a glance at each then the other’s food. Both reach for one piece of the other’s food holding it up to their mouths. 

“Here love, please eat.” Loki  says dramatically. 

“No, honey, how can I eat unless you eat?” Steve defends, pressing the morsel to Loki’s lips. 

You look at the two of them, “You know, I never thought about this, but I think the new book might have the two of you inspiring characters.” 

Bucky and you look at them then back at each other. 

“I see how these two would fit.” Your boyfriend chuckles.

“What are you planning?” Loki narrows his eyes at you and Steve regards you warily.

“Oh nothing at all…” You trail off, then look to the side as Andy walks towards your group.

“We’ve got ten minutes before the session begins, Brock has arrived.” His gaze settles on you. Bucky tenses beside you as does Steve. 

“What?” You ask, looking between them.

Andy sighs moving closer, “He may bring up the night of the assault.”

“And that is a problem because?” You ask, “It happened, it's the truth…”

“There isn’t doubt about that, Y/N. If he brings it up, you will be called to the stand again.” Steve explains softly.

“Oh…” You swallow, the way Schmidt had questioned you, the blatant disrespect, the horrible accusations, the jabs at your weight and your writing. 

Previous Hearings:

‘And what about this? Your literature is so sexually charged, this conversation between your characters suggests women are dominating in nature during sexual situations.’ Schmidt places the highlighted passage before you.

‘Objection Relevance?’ Matt interrupts.

‘Yes, because sex should be consensual, safe, healthy and enjoyed by the individuals partaking, I don’t understand–,’ Your words are cut off.

‘You writing about these things promotes you were asking for it all by coming onto my client. If you couldn’t handle yourself with the substances you abused, a woman of your appearance had to resort to throwing herself on my client to achieve her–,’

‘Objection opinion.’ Matt roars.

‘You were at fault, you were under influence and you came onto my client.’ Schmidt accuses, ignoring Matt. 

‘Objection Evidence!’

You cower back in your seat. Ears ringing, flashes of the evening playing. Breathing hard you search for Bucky. Your knuckles shoot pain at the harsh grip on your chair. 

‘Ms. Y/L/N, your recollection of the night is obscured, how can you yourself believe what happened when all you have are flashes? The drugs you took alter memories, are you sure you weren’t with the people trying to bring my client’s name down?’ Schmidt stares down at you, dismissing you. Dismissing your experience, your eyes move to the jury.

‘Objection evidence! Evidence B351-85 is the entire audio recording of Mr. Pierce’s sex-ual assault on my client.’ Matt pauses hearing your laboured breathing, ‘Y/N?’ 

Black spots cloud your vision, ‘He did it, he said no one would believe me. Please, you have to believe me. I, I didn’t lead him on please. There were bottles and I was thirsty. The water had something in it, I, please.’

Bucky stands, Loki tugs on his arm. The Judge looks at them then back at you.

‘Sit down.’ Andy whispers to them.

Your vision ebbs in and out, you try to anchor yourself to Bucky to something. Alexander grins smugly, you close your eyes, hot tears brim over your cheeks.

‘Crocodile tears don’t win cases Ms. Y/L/N. Your erotic fiction is good only on paper.’ Schmidt smirks, ‘No further questions.’

“But Brock will corroborate, correct?” Bucky stares at Andy, the lawyer nods.

“Given who he shares a genetic composition with, I do not want to trust him.” He looks at Steve and Loki.

“If they call me to the stand again, I’ll tell the truth.” You nod, taking a steadying breath. 

“If anything occurs, we’ll call Steve or Bucky again to the stand, okay?” Andy assures with an apologetic smile.

“We’re here to help okay?” Steve adds, “You call us as witnesses, we heard everything.”

Andy nods, “We better get inside.” 

The courtroom is tense as Brock is led inside his hands still cuffed. Alexander rolls his eyes and shakes his head as his nephew takes the stand. 

Andy stands, his opening statement done. Brock seems every bit laid back. As though lives won’t change based on his testimony. As if this means nothing. 

“Yeah, Uncle was on a call in the middle of the meeting.” Brock says and a murmur breaks out.

“Order in the court!” Judge Rambaue bellows.

“Do you know who was it with, this conversation Mr. Pierce, your uncle partook in amidst the ongoing meeting?” Andy questions, raising a brow.

Brock inhales, “He muted when the call was made, archives will have a recording of the meeting and if not my meetings are backed up to my server. I am willing to provide access.” 

“I see, thank you for your cooperation Mr. Rumlow. No further questions, your honour.” Andy returns to the table.

All eyes move to Schmidt’s table, whispering occurs. Alexander slams his hand on the table, sneering at his lawyers then Brock. Who only smirks at his uncle,

“I would also go on record to say that I have supportive evidence that the man sitting there, Alexander Pierce, has assaulted those three sitting there. I have proof of the blackmail done for the same. In fact it was delivered by their close friend Ace to my uncle in exchange for a three movie deal with the production house.” 

“Objection, lack of foundation.” Schmit points at Brock.

“The foundation is every allegation of this case.” Andy counters.

“Mr. Rumlow, I hope you have evidence to support what you are stating.” The judge looks at him and Brock nods.

“I have someone who can corroborate everything, with proof.” Brock only gives his uncle a wicked grin when Alexander stands marching over to the witness stand. 

The officers stop him, “You won’t fucking get away with this!” Alexander struggles against the guards.

“Order in my court! Mr. Pierce, I will not hesitate to charge you. This is your final warning.” Judge Rambaue points her gavel at him.

“I am paying the price of being by your side while you ruined my life by making me do your bidding. No more uncle.” Brock looks at Andy.

“Mr. Rumlow, you mentioned someone who can prove every allegation?” Andy enquiries, Matt stands as well, ready with the to call witness papers in hand.

You look up at Bucky, he shakes his head unknowing of who it could be either.

“Mr. Nick Fury.” Brock smiles, the doors open, all heads turn to the man entering.

Dressed in all black, Nicky Fury keeps his gaze at level with the judge. 

“Objection….” Schmidt struggles with the reasoning.

“Your Honour, we request to call Nick Fury to the stand.” Matt hands over the papers.

Nick submits three folders and a harddisk, “I know this isn’t traditional your honour, but the board of SHIELD Productions–,”

“It’s HYDRA!” Alexander shouts, Nick turns, his eye narrowed at the man.

“Was HYDRA, as of the Extra Ordinary General Meeting held with the stakeholders and active managerial position holders, you Alexander Pierce, have been terminated effective immediately. All your shares have been forfeited and bought out. You no longer have anything to do with our production house.” 

“You cannot– I will take you down with me!” Alexander warns.

“No Alexander, you’re getting what was coming to you. You abused your power and now it is time to pay up.” Nick taps the hard disk, “Your honour, this contains everything Alexander has done illegally. Our Production House is being cleaned out. All employees are willing to cooperate.” He heads to the opposite side’s witness stand.

Nick meets Bucky and Steve’s gazes, then yours, “I apologise to everyone I couldn’t protect before. It was a stupid ass decision to let Alexander lead, I shall be taking a more active role rather than just financially providing for the production house.

“The court will take four days to review the newly submitted evidence. The jury is asked to consider everything and take their time to decide. Mr. Pierce you are hereby ordered to be placed in custody for your contempt behaviour in my court without bail.” The gavel resounds.

Alexander Pierce is dragged away, the four of you remain seated.

“Where are you off to Ace?” Loki’s words stop them in their tracks.

“Loki, are you going to believe–,”

“Alexander, there is something going on between Steve and Y/N. However I believe they may explore a throuple situation with Bucky Barnes.” He recounts, cutting them off.

“Here are the pictures you asked for, if your team can switch Steve and Bucky’s angles you can push the story better.” 

“You went through my email?” Ace accuses, “That is a violation of privacy-,”

Your snort cuts them off, “You’re the one to fucking talk! You’re the one who leaked everything, I trusted you so much and kept wondering, I kept thinking it was others and not you. Fuck, you should really get the damn awards had me fooled you were my friend. Hell, we all thought you were our friend. You didn’t even spare Loki’s feelings. Fuck you, Ace.”

They blink at you, mouth parted. Loki scoffs at their look of denial. 

“It’s best we leave.” Andy advises gesturing to the one man recording the entire ordeal.

“Feel free to post that everywhere.” You tell the man who scurries out at being caught.

“I’ll pay him to post it all.” Loki keeps his glare affixed upon Ace.

Bucky’s palm rests on your lower back, guiding you out, “Home?”

“Home.” You affirm, he presses his lips to your temple.

Hayden brings the car around. Bucky and you settle in heading home. 

Yelena calls then, you put it on speaker.

“Hey Lena, you’re on speaker.”

“Hey, Hey Bucky, I heard the highlights, how are you holding up?” You hear ice clinking against glass from her end.

“We’ll get there, I suppose.” Bucky shrugs, “Any news on HYDRA Publications?” 

“All of HYDRA is being dissolved, mostly SHIELD is too, it’s going to turn into something new. However, all decisions taken by the companies an hour before the decision to dissolve remain final.” She explains then sighs, “We’re going through the semantics of everything, several of the roster of BW is involved.”

“Did, did we get what we wanted?” You ask, you’d independently publish, you just needed the contract gone.

“I’m just waiting for confirmation from legal counsel at Barber and Murdock.”

“Confirmation for what?”

“If you retain all rights as author even though they have dropped you from their roster, due to poor review performance.” Yelena chuckles, you look up at Bucky.

“Wait, she’s free?” He questions.

“Yes, she’s free. We’ll work on getting the ratings up but as of now, you are not bound by any publication house.” Yelena’s happiness is infectious.

You let out a relieved laugh, “Thank you.” 

“I’ll get back to you, this whole thing has led to fires I need to put out.” She ends the call and Bucky envelopes you in a hug, pulling you across his lap.

“Bucky!” You grab onto his shoulders, he only laughs.

“I’m so very happy for you, Feather.” He cups your face with his vibranium palm.

“Soon you will be free from them too.” You kiss his palm. 

Bucky smiles widely, pink lips leading to the dimple on his cheek and the crinkles by his eyes. Your thumbs stroke his cheekbones, your lips kiss his crinkles and dimple.

HEADLINES:

In What Seems To Be A Shocking And Very On Brand Author Y/N’s Infamous Plot Twists, She Has Been Dropped By HYDRA-SHIELD’s Publication House Due To Poor Reviews. Read On Ahead To Know More About The Contract That Caused This To Occur.

Brock Rumlow Sentenced To Two Years Of Jail Which Was Further Reduced For His Compliance With The Law, Community Service and A Private Facility Allowed.

Alexander Pierce’s Downfall Shocks Hollywood More Stars And Big Names Come Forward As The Man Is Sentenced To Two Life Sentences In Prison. Found Guilty On All Counts.

Nick Fury On How He Knew It Was Time To Do The Right Thing, “It Was Time To Stop Remaining A Passive On Paper Leader Of This Prestigious Organisation.”

Steve Rogers Posts Picture Of BTS From His Next Movie Ghosted, Teases About Familiar Faces As Cameos. We Wonder Who Could They Be? He Also Is Setting Up A Free Mental Health Clinic At His Local Rec Centre.

Bucky Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N Spotted Holding Hands As They Enter Their Apartment Complex. Watch Mini Video Filmed At Her Mother’s Healthcare Facility of The Small Family Laughing As They Eat Jello In The Cafeteria.

Bucky Barnes Shares Heartfelt Write Up About Compassion and Kindness Towards The Victims of Alexander Pierce. Organises Fund Raiser For The Victims and Their Families Or Next of Kin. Loki Laufeyson, Steve Rogers, and Brock Rumlow Pledge To Match Fundraiser’s Amount Each.

A.N.: soooooo i hope you guys enjoy this update! slowly getting back to it all and writing, hope you all are doing well!

Taglist is Open comment or DM to be added!

Taglist: @stevesmewmew @elle14-blog1 @crazyunsexycool@sebsgirl71479 @pandaxnienke @slutforsexyseabass@eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @pandaxnienke @vampire7595 @buckyinluv @almostcontentcreator @calwitch

[watchoutforthefanfics]

I could be your crush, crush, crush (part one) || Reddie (IT)

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Part 2

Inspiration: this post + Crush by Tessa Violet

Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak was built for a strict schedule and precision arrival. Of all the days to fuck up, he does it on his first official day of college. But upon running into an old friend, there just may be a positive to this shitty day after all.

TWs: explicit language, anxiety, and sex jokes.

[[A/N: hunted through some of my old stuff and found this banger idea by @sunshinereddie so uh. I'm doing it. It's going to be two parts, fyi. Anyway, enjoy :)) ]]

Eddie Kaspbrak was never late.

Ever since middle school, he'd always arrived either early or on time (on the dot on good days). It was just in his blood. It made his fucking skin itch if he was late to anything. So, he wasn't.

He probably hadn't been late for something since... god fucking knows. Everything always worked out perfectly.

But of course, on the most anxiety-inducing, most fucking important day of his life so far, the time had escaped him. Of fucking course-

It all started with his scheduled campus tour. It was on a Tuesday. Monday, his car broke down on the side of the road (a loud pop and he was scared for his fucking life). And all of his friends live hours away, of course, so Eddie Kaspbrak had to walk to the nearest fucking Autozone, just for them to tell him it was fucked.

And in all of this commotion, of having to use fucking public transport (his worst nightmare), he'd forgotten to reschedule. Which, in essence, was unlike him but stress fucking topped everything, and losing his car was stressful as fuck. So, Eddie knew fuck all about the campus.

And then, he'd decided to get breakfast on the way. (His next mistake.) Whatever café he went into took his order, but apparently was on backorder or some shit because they told him half an hour. For a premade croissant, and a fucking frappuccino. Eddie had already paid, and he was living penny to penny at this point (saving for a new car), so he stayed. Hoping somewhere up above that they were wrong in their estimate, because it seemed very wrong.

They weren't.

So, Eddie Kaspbrak was wandering around this giant ass campus with no fucking idea where he was. On top of it all, his backpack fucking ripped, and now, he was holding a stack of books for so long that his arms were aching. He'd already had to catch his schedule four times, because he had printed it out (thought it would be easier to access).

Well, actually, he'd stopped wandering about 20 minutes ago, and was trying to desperately understand this campus map. It did not have a 'you are here' spot, and not all of the buildings had their names where he was standing because of course they fucking didn't.

This might be the worst day of his fucking life-

A body slammed into him, and all of his shit scattered along the sidewalk. Eddie wanted to fucking cry.

He nearly growled out, anxious energy on the brink, "Hey, watch it, as-"

Eddie blinked, words stuck in his throat.

Because his eyes landed on one fucking Richie Tozier. Fucking Richie Tozier. No fucking way.

"Shit, sorry, dude-" he kneeled down (all gangly limbs and tall stature), and started gathering up his books, "-I should've been fucking-"

"Richie?"

And then, his eyes shot up and locked onto him. Big glasses traded out for a smoother, more flattering pair, black, curly hair still the exact same (messy as shit) but definitely longer. Eddie thinks he might be able to pull it back, actually. And he was wearing a graphic tee (some sort of video game, Eddie recognized) with a weird button-up thrown over top -the kind he used to exclusively wear in middle school.

Eddie's life couldn't be fucking embarrassing enough, he had to have his middle school fucking crush, old best friend, find him on the worst day of his life. And of course, he was tall and fucking handsome-

Richie blinked once, eyes skimming over him in a very fast swipe, "Eds?"

Eddie paused a second, before scrunching up his nose, "That's not my name, dipshit."

His face grew into the most familiar shit-eating grin that Eddie had ever seen, and something in his stomach fluttered (god, fuck all of this), "No fucking way."

"I'm literally standing right fucking in front of you, dickweed," Eddie responded -instinctively.

Richie's grin dialed up to 100, and he launched himself forward -wrapping Eddie into a hug. It should be said that all of his shit was thrown in the process.

"Hey-" Eddie started to complain, but was quickly shut up by Richie literally swinging him through the air (like he was as light as a fucking feather) in one of those romcom kinda hugs.

His face turned beet red, and mouth snapped shut. God, a fucking crush? Come on, Kaspbrak, get a fucking grip-

"I can't fucking believe it," Richie breathed out, setting him back down gently on his feet (Eddie still felt his arms wrapped around him, it made him feel woozy), "-What the fuck are you doing here?"

Eddie frowned, crouching to gather up his shit, "What does it look like I'm doing here, moron?"

"Oh, shit," Richie scrambled to join him, very easily picking up everything (because of course he could), "-Sorry, Eds."

And then he was standing, 3 textbooks in hand with 3 corresponding notebooks (all color coded, naturally). Like it was nothing. Eddie pressed his lips together and rose to his feet -stumbling just slightly. (In his hands most of the loose paper, and probably the biggest of the textbooks.) He mindlessly tried to straighten out his schedule with his hand -it was so fucking crinkled.

"Were you carrying all this shit by hand?"

Eddie flinched, eyes darting up from his schedule and right back onto Richie. His middle school crush/best friend. The guy whose name he used to doodle hearts around in the margins of his notes. Right.

"Yeah," he leveled, a little awkwardly.

"Why?" Richie questioned, eyebrows furrowing together, "-Where's your backpack? Or whatever fucking bag you have?"

His eyes suddenly caught on the strap on his shoulder, a simple black one. Richie's backpack, he guessed.

"10 trashcans back," Eddie answered, smacking his hand down on the paper which was trying to fly away with the breeze (frustration heavy over his body), "-It's in fucking pieces."

Richie's lips quirked up, eyes smoothing across his face -a little in recognition, "Let me guess, it only gets fucking worse from there."

"Oh, you mean the fact that I'm 45 minutes late to my first-ever class of the fucking semester?" Eddie snapped, anxiety rattling off his bones, "-Or maybe that I have no fucking idea where I am? Or maybe the fact that my car broke down the day before my campus tour-"

"Hey, woah," Richie called out, carefully (making sure to catch his eye), "-relax, Eds. Let me see your schedule."

Eddie slunk out a breath (How the fuck could he still calm him down?). Richie nodded his head toward the stack, so, he put the crinkled paper onto the top of it. His eyes, behind his only slightly rounded frames, skimmed along the paper.

"Hey," Richie smiled, tilting his head slightly at Eddie (he nearly exploded, so genuine and shit. God.), "-we have the same first class. Algebra 1. Shit, and we leave at the same time, what are the odds."

Eddie couldn't tell if he was mortified or excited. Richie Tozier (who'd gotten handsome, and was his middle school crush -college crush too apparently) going to class with him. Probably sitting right beside him. God.

"I know where it is," Richie grinned up him, bright and shiny (Eddie noticed that it was still crooked as shit, it sent a zing straight to his toes) and Eddie got so flustered that he wanted to bite his own head off, "-See, Spaghetti, all good. You're gonna be fine."

Eddie paused, breaths slowing and tension lessening. And then he had a thought.

Furrowing his eyebrows together, he asked, "Wait, you're 45 minutes late, knowing where it is, and just fucking wandering campus?"

"Yeah," Richie shrugged, passively, and ran a hand through his hair (pulling the stack with one arm to his chest) -Eddie watched it maybe a bit too attentively, "-as long as I get the syllabus, I'm fine. First days are fucking introductions and shit anyway. It's like missing the campus tour. I'll figure that shit out, ya know?"

And apparently he did. The fucker.

"You have to fucking show me," Eddie almost begging, "-I'm almost a fucking hour late, and I have financial aid and if I don't get that fucking attendance, I'm fucking screwed-"

"Eds, Eddie-" Richie grabbed his shoulder (it made his skin tingle), and Eddie's lips snapped shut, "-of fucking course I'm going to help you. Obviously."

Eddie faltered a little, frustration dissipating, "Thanks."

"Don't even worry about it," Richie smiled, patting his arm a few times with his freehand, "-now give me the rest of your shit."

Eddie frowned, "What?"

"You've been carrying 4 textbooks for 45 minutes straight, probably more because I know for a fact you got here early," Richie explained -casually, extending a hand forward, "-So give it to me."

Eddie hesitated. His arms really fucking hurt, but wasn't that fucking rude? To make him carry his shit? But, he offered. So.

He carefully handed them to Richie, maybe a little awkwardly. Richie, naturally, accepted them with a smile. Because of course he fucking did, god. All sweet and shit, Eddie was going to lose his fucking shit hiding this.

"You've got tiny little noodle arms, anyway," Richie added -teasing, and beginning to walk in a direction (maybe slower because Eddie was shorter, he decidedly couldn't think about it).

Eddie frowned, shoving his arm and keeping up the pace, "I run track, asshole. I'm probably in better shape than you."

"Shit, seriously?" Richie asked, still smiling, "-Are you on the team here?"

Eddie lightened slightly, lips quirking up, "Yeah, I did well enough in high school they actually fucking wanted me."

Richie grinned brighter, eyes glinting with something Eddie couldn't name, "You always were a fast little fucker. Do you have like fucking... games or something?"

"Games?" Eddie raised an eyebrow, "-You think they're called fucking games?"

Richie laughed, turning left (Eddie followed suit), "I don't know that shit. Why would I?"

"Fair point, but fucking games?" Eddie laughed a little too, "-There's decathlons. And I guess, fucking... races."

"Well," Richie pressed his lips together, maybe nervous (which Eddie didn't fucking understand), "-if you have any, let me know."

"Why?" Eddie faced him, curiously.

Richie's smile changed slightly into something different but not unfamiliar, "Imma go, cheer on team Eds."

Eddie paused, "Really?"

"Fuck yeah," Richie affirmed, before physically yelling out onto the campus, "-GO TEAM SPAGHETTI!"

Eddie watched as the few stragglers on campus snapped to the two of them. He turned bright, splotchy red climbing up his collar.

"Shut the fuck up, asshole," he shoved into him -hard, making Richie sway off the sidewalk, "-You haven't changed at all, you're still a thirteen-year-old in that stupid fucking brain. You know that?"

Richie was snort laughing, "You haven't either Eds. Can't shit on me."

Eddie fumed, saying the first thing that came to mind, "Yeah, I have, dipshit. I went on a fucking... self-discovery journey and all that shit. Came out and started-"

He cut himself off. Fuck, had he just dropped that? That was good for his... acceptance of his identity or whatever, but what if Richie was fucking weird about it? He didn't know, he didn't think he would be, but... Was he about to be hatecrimed right now? Eddie could put up a fucking fight-

"Came out?" Richie squeaked, maybe a little awkwardly. Eddie watched as red flushed up his neck. Huh.

"As gay, idiot," Eddie explained, pink flushed onto the tips of his ears, "-What the fuck did you think I meant?"

"I just," Richie blinked (what the fuck is going on?), "-I had no fucking idea."

Eddie doesn't know what made him do it, but it might've been Richie's very strange reactions. (Or maybe the swirl of hope ignited into his stomach.)

"Seriously?" He asked, "-I acted how I fucking acted around you, and you didn't get that shit?"

Richie paused, blinking again and furrowing his eyebrows, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Something in Eddie just wanted to. And he always fucking listened to his gut.

"I had a crush on you the size of a fucking planet," Eddie explained, fidgeting with his fingers (anxiety pricking his fingers).

"What?!" Richie nearly shrieked, and Eddie jumped back at the noise.

"Jesus Christ, Richie," Eddie chastised, rubbing his ear, "-I didn't know your fucking voice could get that high."

Richie was decidedly not talking. It made Eddie so fucking confused, but something else curious. Incredibly curious. And maybe fucking anxious-

"Do you have like a-" Eddie cleared his throat, awkwardly, "-Are you freaked out by that or some shit? Because-"

"No, no," Richie interrupted, so quick Eddie barely took a breath, "-I just, um... Me too."

Eddie followed up, "You too what?"

"I'm gay," Richie echoed out, not looking at him, "-and I... I had a crush on you that was probably the size of six planets."

Eddie blinked once. What.

"Oh."

That was where their conversation ended, the building in sight and Richie guiding the way. Eddie stayed silent, the word fucking haunting him, and Richie's words heavy in his mind. (We could've been together. Do you still like me?)

It stayed that way, even in the lecture (which Richie did, in fact, sit beside him in). He couldn't focus on shit, barely gave a fun fact about himself because his mind was fucking reeling. Richie had to shove into his side (tingled again) and knock him out of it. Eddie blinked and said something he wasn't sure was true (definitely not based on Richie's reaction).

Richie ended up guiding him to every class, all the way to the door. Eddie thought he might've been waiting for him to get out too. He couldn't say for sure, but Richie was always right outside the door when he got out (not to mention, failing to act casual); it was easy enough to assume. Eddie thought he might just be right, and hope flared up in his stomach again.

Maybe, just maybe.

Eddie swallowed.

They were at some table, one up on a balcony -they had a pretty view of the campus. Eddie wasn't looking at that though, to be clear.

At this current moment, Eddie was unpacking his lunchbox. It was a meticulous set of containers that all fit in the bigger container, perfectly sized. Eddie had sorted it all accordingly.

Richie was surprisingly quiet, but at the moment, he was distracted. Trying to unpack everything, he could definitely admit it wasn't exactly practical. Not in that sense anyway.

Finally, Eddie looked up and caught Richie's eye.

He was just staring at him, head tilted slightly and smiling in a way Eddie couldn't quite explain. Sandwich off in his hand, it was forgotten as he stared.

A knot tied itself in his stomach, flush daring to spread up his neck.

"What, asshole?" Eddie snapped -defensive (he always was when flustered).

Richie smiled, chiming, "You haven't changed at fucking all, Eds. Seriously."

"I already fucking told you-"

"Yeah, yeah, self-acceptance shit, I know," Richie dismissed, waving a hand (the one without the sandwich), "-but, in your very core, you're still the fucking gremlin from 8th grade."

The one you liked? Eddie's mind chimed, Does that mean you still like me?

"I'm 18 years old, Rich," Eddie pursed his lips, swiping the thought out of his head, "-I'm a fucking adult. I'm not a fucking... gremlin."

"It's a good thing, asshole," Richie laughed, placing his sandwich down (on top of the plastic bag he'd had with his lunch in it, Eddie scrunched up his nose) and disconnecting their eyes, "-I liked that Eddie. A lot."

Eddie just looked at him for a second, something stirring in his chest. Had been all day. How the fuck was he ever supposed to get over this?

"About that," Eddie gnawed at his lip for a second, "-What the fuck do you mean six planets worth? That... Are you exaggerating or?"

Richie grinned and Eddie swore his eyes twinkled (fuck everything), "Eds, I was so into you, you should've been scared."

"Yeah, well," Eddie huffed out, picking at his granola bar, "-I was too, what makes yours six and mine one?"

Richie blinked, clearing his throat, "Right, yeah. I mean, I don't... I don't know how much lil Spaghetti liked me for reference but, I'm pretty fucking sure I have you topped."

"Yeah?" Eddie raised an eyebrow, putting a hand in front of his mouth for politeness's sake, "-How the fuck do you know that?"

Richie didn't say anything for a second, hands moving to grab his drink -fluidly. He didn't look at Eddie then, and everything made him want to fidget -anxiety to the brink. He, instead, shuffled through his food, trying to decide what to eat, or if he even could, anxiety made him sick to his stomach-

"You remember that stupid bridge? In Derry?" Richie asked, not eating and talking (maybe for Eddie's sake).

Eddie paused for a second, connecting their eyes together and furrowing his brows, "The kissing bridge?"

Richie seemed to let that settle into the air for a second before saying, "I carved into it. You and... uh, you and me."

Eddie blinked for a second (what the fuck), before being hit with a memory, "Me too."

Richie froze, squeaking out, "What?"

Eddie moved along, casually (it didn't feel quite as nerve-wracking as before), "A big heart with a blocky kinda R in it, I think. I got a fucking splinter because of it, was pissed at you for weeks."

Richie blinked, swallowing, "I've seen that one."

"What about-" Eddie started, slowly, "-What about yours?"

"R + E," Richie answered instinctively.

Eddie paused for a second, all he could think of was the older one -front and center. It was big and simple, and lightly carved. But also huge. So he'd always really wondered how that person felt about the whole thing, and maybe if he knew them (dreadful hope).

"The fucking big one?" Eddie asked, genuinely, "-That's like... front and center?"

Richie bit at his lip a little like he was hesitant, "Yeah, the big one."

Eddie pressed his lips together, processing. He'd looked at that one and hoped with everything in him that it was Richie. And it fucking was. God. He shouldn't be feeling this shit for someone from middle school, but he was Richie. It felt like a limb was cut off when he left, like a piece of him just up and fucking... walked away.

"What was high school like for you?" Richie asked, curiously -eyes settled on him very attentively.

Eddie realized that the look was familiar, have you always looked at me like that?

"Shitty," he answered, "-I didn't really have any friends for a while, but I was in a lot of like clubs and shit. I was in cheer from like the end of 9th grade to-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Richie interrupted, suddenly, and a flush was splotchy up his face, "-you were in cheer?"

Eddie blinked, before settling in a hard frown, "What, dickweed? Do you have a fucking issue with it? Because-"

"No, just-" Richie paused, clearing his throat, "-That's... I... 8th grade Richie probably would've lost his shit."

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, "Why?"

Richie didn't answer that, instead, asking, "Can you do like flips and shit? Or were you one of the ones they launched in the air, or...?"

"A flyer, moron," Eddie pursed his lips, "-and yeah, I was."

"So, you could, hypothetically," Richie spoke, a little like he was excited (or impressed maybe), "-do a flip, or like a... somersault right now?"

"Hypothetically, yes," Eddie answered and he saw Richie physically brighten up, "-but that would be stupid as fuck. This floor-" he stomped onto it with his foot, "-is straight fucking concrete. If I fucked up-"

"Would you fuck up?" Richie asked with a shit-eating grin (Eddie clenched his fists).

"No," Eddie frowned, "-I was the star fucking player, actually, but I don't want to risk-"

"So, somewhere else, softer ground," Richie clarified, "-you'd do it?"

"I didn't say I'd do it," Eddie interjected, pointedly, "-I'm not a fucking circus monkey, I'm not gonna just perform for you, dickweed."

"C'mon, Eds," Richie put his hands together in a prayer symbol, "-I'll do fucking anything. Seriously. You want me to go buy you dessert? I know a fucking great icecream parlor down the street-"

Eddie's mind lit up at that, like a date? That sounded like a fucking date.

"-I'll do your homework for a week, I'll buy you a new fucking backpack, one of those expensive ones too-"

"Fucking, okay," Eddie relented, laughing a little (trying to mask it), "-Fine, asshole, I'll do it."

"Fuck yeah," Richie fist pumped, and Eddie really did laugh that time, "-What's your price, Spaghetti?"

"Just fucking tell me about high school for you," Eddie deflected, picking at his food again.

"No, seriously, name it, Eds, and I'll-"

"You owe me one," Eddie exhaled, "-How about that? It's not like we'll never fucking see each other again."

Richie looked at him then, in a way he recognized but couldn't name, before responding (in what Eddie understood to be a southern grandmother impression), "You're right. Never letting go of my dear Eds again!"

My Eds, it rattled through his mind again, a knot tied up in his stomach. God, this was going to be so fucking hard to deal with.

"Richie, tell me about fucking high school," Eddie leveled with finality, but he was smiling.

Richie pursed his lips, adjusting his glasses, "Not much to say, I... I was in every club at least once because everything was boring as shit to me. I honestly didn't do much, I just... hated it. I had one friend and we met up like once a week, other than that it was, uh, video games and homework. It sucked, seriously fucking sucked because-"

Richie fell quiet, eye falling to the table (his unfinished sandwich specifically).

Eddie raised an eyebrow, and moved to catch his eye, "Because of what?"

Richie looked at him for a second, pressing his lips into a thin line, and just skimming over Eddie in entirety. Somehow like he couldn't believe he was here. Eddie knew the feeling.

"Because you weren't there," Richie finished, eyes glinting in a way Eddie, again, couldn't read.

Oh.

Eddie frowned and looked down to start picking at his food -like he didn't want to eat it. Which he did, he was fucking starving (he'd rounded the entire campus at least once).

He wasn't sure to say, but after a moment, Eddie decided.

"I missed you too, asshat."

Richie grinned at him then, big and bright, and Eddie wanted to scream (because what the fuck, why did he look at him like that? That's so unfair-). Of course, Richie was probably his exact type, maybe his type was based off him-

"How are you getting home?" Richie asked, almost awkwardly -picking at his food and not looking at him, "-Do you have like a boyfriend picking you up? Or?"

Was that, Eddie's mind chimed, Was he trying to nonchalantly ask if I'm single? Really?

Eddie felt his heart leap to his throat, blinking at Richie (who was not looking at him). His eyes skimmed over his face, trying to read it. He thinks if his heart wasn't beating so fucking loud (fuck everything), he probably could-

"No," Eddie finally answered -blush biting up his cheeks (eyes darting down to his food), "-I haven't dated anyone since fucking sophomore year. I've been taking the bus."

"Eddie Kaspbrak taking the bus?" Richie laughed, somehow more... happy (was that the right word?), "-I never thought I'd see the day-"

"It's against my own fucking will," Eddie retorted, lips pressed into a thin line -nose shriveled up, "-I hate it."

"Do you wear little gloves and shit?" Richie asked like it might be the best thing in the world, "-Scoot away from everyone who sits by you-"

Eddie frowned, "You're such a dick."

"So, you do," Richie leveled, grinning.

Eddie pressed his lips together into a flat line, scrunching up his face in frustration, "Fuck you, asshole. Talk to me when you're bedridden with a perfectly preventable illness."

"I have a car, Eds," Riche remarked, "-No public transport for this guy."

Eddie rolled his eyes, "Don't fucking brag, dickweed."

"I could," Richie started, maybe nervously, "-I could be your ride. If you wanted."

"You'd do that?" Eddie eyed him -curiously. Huh.

"I mean," Richie cleared his throat, "-yeah."

"You don't even know where I live," Eddie pointed out -smiling a little.

He was starting to think-

Richie shrugged, bringing a chip to his mouth -a flavor that Eddie would probably regard as too much (just by how it looked), "I don't give a fuck."

"It's Elliott Avenue, near the library," Eddie stated -trying to understand the flickers in his face.

"Yeah?" Richie hummed, nonchalantly, "-That's fine. I know where that is."

Eddie pressed his lips into a thin line, "Where do you live?"

Richie pursed his lips, silent for a moment. Like he was debating how to answer, which meant something. And it made Eddie start thinking himself.

"Hutcherson Road," he finally said, "-close-ish to the Walmart."

Eddie's eyebrows pinched together, "What the fuck? That's halfway across the city, asswipe."

Richie shrugged again, eyes distinctly not on Eddie's, and a splotchy red crawling up his collar. Eddie trailed it with his eyes curiously.

He wasn't fucking stupid.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Eddie asked, blatantly (looking for a reaction). There were two ways this could go, one, Richie would act insanely nonchalant and Eddie would be totally wrong, or-

"Um," Richie pressed his lips together, voice a little squeaky and red darkening against his skin, "-no."

That. Or that.

Eddie wasn't one to half-ass anything so. If he wanted something, he usually got it. Maybe a little because of all the things he'd missed out on when he was younger (like Richie, actually), or maybe because he was like a caged fucking bird and didn't have the opportunity to... do things. So, he made a decision.

"Cool," Eddie spoke, casually, "-You should take me to that icecream parlor."

"You already cashing the favor in, Spaghetti?" Richie laughed, "-That was-"

"Not a favor," Eddie tsked, entirely calm (his nerves had disappeared way earlier, because it was Richie, and then, well, he'd been right-), even still, his eyes fell to picking up some food on his fork, "-A date, dickhead."

"What?" Richie squeaked out.

Eddie chanced a look at him and was met with a very red Richie Tozier. He looked like a fucking tomato, eyes were wide as fuck, and sandwich dropped haphazardly onto the table -in shock. Eddie had the spare thought that it might be the cutest thing he'd ever seen (which he was kinda not mad about but also was). At the thought, he felt a pink dust on his face -maybe just at the compliment, or maybe the fact that Eddie had been able to do that to him. Just by saying he should ask him out-

"Did you not hear me, dipshit?" Eddie quirked an eyebrow.

Richie was unblinking. Anxiety swirled into Eddie's stomach. Well, he thought he was right but maybe-

"Unless you, um," Eddie scrambled, "-Unless that was... Unless you don't want that."

Richie was still just staring.

Eddie swallowed, heat bubbling up to his face -starting to messily pack up his lunch, "Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't... I'm just gonna go, actually. I think I misread-"

"Wait, shit, no-" Richie suddenly straightened, grabbing Eddie's wrist -as if to stop him (his brain froze). It sent a spark down to his toes, a familiar one that he'd missed like a limb.

His eyes dropped to Eddie's wrist, and the red on his face somehow went redder (what the fuck). Richie's eyes shot to his after a few seconds, and Eddie felt like maybe he should just shove him off and run. Because this was so fucking embarrassing-

Their hands connected over a table, hanging a little awkwardly there. Richie's eyes are big and wide, and Eddie’s quite possibly bigger. They were both red as fuck (personally Eddie felt like he might explode at this rate). And Eddie's heart was beating so fast that he thought he maybe should be concerned about cardiac arrest-

"Fuck, no you didn't-" Richie said after a moment, quickly (like he was speaking as his mind thought of the words), "-You didn't read it wrong. I'm... I want to go. With you. On a... Fuck, my brain isn't working-"

Eddie laughed a little, and Richie's eyes shot to it. It made Eddie's heart leap into his throat, as a smile slipped across his lips (an affectionate one, if Eddie was honest).

"-What I fucking mean to say is," Richie exhaled, dropping his wrist (only to fidget with how own hands -nervously), "-I want to. I want to go on a date with you."

Eddie's heart fluttered in his chest -so, not wrong.

"Probably have since fucking 5th grade," Richie finished -laughing.

"Yeah?" Eddie asked, maybe a little uncertain (he almost had a fucking heart attack to be fair-).

"Yeah," Richie breathed out like it took everything in his chest, "-Fuck yeah."

"Okay, so, um-" Eddie felt almost a little awkward, "-What, maybe... Thursday? I have practice tomorrow after all my classes, so-"

"Thursday sounds fucking awesome," Richie interrupted, breathless (staring at Eddie a little like he might vanish or maybe change his mind).

Eddie's heart flipped in his chest, "Do you want to... Do you want to come to my practice tomorrow? I know you said you wanted t-"

"Yes," Richie interrupted -eagerly, before backing off a bit (eyes hitched on Eddie's a little bit like he couldn’t look away), "-Shit, sorry, I'm not like... I just..."

He dropped his head forward, sliding his hands down his face in exhaustion, "Fuck, man, I can't even talk right now."

Eddie laughed, and Richie's head shot up at it -before sliding a hand down his face again.

"And you're just making it worse," Richie spoke -muffled behind his hands.

Eddie frowned, a little defensive, "How am I making it worse, asshole? I'm not doing anything."

Richie took a minute, breathing deeply through his chest. Eddie waited, patiently.

"You're laughing," Richie explained, finally looking at him again but his hands were fidgeting so much that Eddie couldn't ignore it, "-and I fucking... I really like your laugh. Have since I was like 11 years old-"

Eddie blinked. Oh.

"I can't just-" Eddie exhaled, flustered and frustrated, "-stop laughing-"

"No, what, no-" Richie quickly moved forward, hands ending up on Eddie's arms, "-Don't. Don't do that, I'm just... I can't think right now because you're... you. And we're going on a fucking date Thursday. This is like 8th grade Richie's wet dream-"

Eddie scrunched up his nose, and shoved at his shoulder -Richie just grinned brighter, "Ew, asshole."

"It's a compliment," Richie laughed, defending himself, "-Well, honestly, I think seeing you again at all was probably his wet dream-"

"Jesus Christ, Richie," Eddie shook off Richie's hands (even though his whole body rejected the idea, fucking craved it), "-You're fucking disgusting."

"Aw, c'mon, Eds, I didn't mean it, I swear-" Richie laughed more, but genuinely seemed a little regretful (maybe because he actually wanted to touch Eddie physically -the idea made Eddie a little dizzy).

Eddie stayed in place, but still frowned, "Yeah, right, asshole."

His laughter dissipated through the air, and something new laid heavy onto their shoulders. Eddie kind of knew what it was though. They stared at each other for a minute.

"So, what now?" Richie asked.

"You should probably take me home," Eddie leveled, "-I have a shit ton of homework."

"We could-" Richie started, nervously, "-We could get something to eat, and I could... I could do homework and shit with you-"

"We just ate," Eddie laughed, pointing at the forgotten lunches.

"Fuck, right," Richie laughed, a little embarrassed, "-I mean, I could get some like... take out for dinner, and just... study at your place until we need to order it-"

Eddie was smiling in a teasing kind of way.

"-I'd pay. So, it's like free fucking food. And it's just-"

Richie paused for a second and just looked at Eddie -eyes skimming along him.

"-I don't want this to be over yet."

Eddie tilted his head a bit, pink clouding up his cheeks, and laughed, "Yeah, okay, idiot. But you better not fucking distract me."

"Me? Never," Richie responded, grinning way too big for studying.

Eddie didn't get shit done that night, because, as it happens, Richie Tozier (his middle school ex-best friend and crush) is a big fucking distraction. Who knew?