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[strawberryforks]

drunk fools to lovers // jj maybank x reader

summary: a drunken hookup has a bettering ending than anyone expected (terrible summary but i’m exhausted)

warnings: swearing, allusions to sex (nothing too crazy i still have no clue how to write smut), underaged drinking

word count: 1098

the first thing that registered in your mind was that the light was too bright and someone needed to shut it off. the hand you draped over your eyes was reflex just like what you shouted, when hands started pounding against your door, trying to knock it down or at the very least get your attention—which they had. “shut the fuck up!” you screamed in response. your head was throbbing, mind lagging behind, and thoughts still suspended in whatever liquid you’d drank way too much of the night before. fuck, you felt like you were the door. “jesus! alright, alright, i’m coming,” you groaned and shoved at the comforter. it wouldn’t budge. you kicked a bit, winding your legs up, because they were trapped. trapped under a blanket, trapped—someone groaned.

awareness returned, your hand stopped covering your eyes. fingers kneaded into the mattress as you pushed yourself up, bending at the stomach. you looked down at yourself first—missing your bra and no doubt panties, and with a boy in your bed, quite literally on top of you. it wasn’t the forst time this had happened and probably wouldn’t be the last, but the embarrassment slammed into you like a wave anyways. the kind that would knock you from your board and bully you underwater for awhile… fuck, you weren’t proud, but this was… it was manageable. the knocking never ceased but you were getting used to the pounding. if the door didn’t break becore you figured out what mistake you’d taken home with you, you’d be fine. john b was a protective bastard but he wouldn’t have to know. push the nameless one-night-stand out your window and be done with it. yeah, that would work.

looking down at the mess of blonde hair, you prod the boy. your eyes are still blurry, your head still hurts but unfortunately, the light you need turned off is the fucking sun, and you’ll have to deal with it for another 12 hours. “hey,” you whisper. “hey. wake up. you gotta go.”

the figure who’s figure you take the time to admire groans again. ringed fingers swipe through their hair, messing it further, as you shove harder. “my brother’s going to kill you if you don’t get out of here. kill, as in… murder.” there’s not many other ways you can explain this but the boy seems to finally understand. he startled, and when he lifted his head up, your eyes met and fuck. woah, okay. it was jj. jj maybank.

your jj. your brother’s bestfriend jj. that jj.

your brother really was going to kill him.

now you’re panicking.

“y/n i swear! let me in or i will kick down this door!” your brother threatens.

“i’m fine john, shit! give me a minute to get dressed!” you’re staring at your brother’s bestfriend with wide eyes but at least you’re not lying. you get up, scramble to put on an oversized t-shirt, and make crazy gestures with your hands.

jj, like you, is freaking out. he’s slipping on his shirt, putting on his boxers and then jumping into a pair of sweats. he looks good, really good, and your tongue darts out to wet your lip. you can see how this happened—what you can’t see is where to go from here. “oh my god oh my god.”

you’re nodding, agreeing, because this is crazy and unexpected and you’re not sure that either of you remember what went down last night. goddamn keggers.

“the window!” you’re whisper-hissing, helping him hoist it open and holding it that way as he crawls out. “we’ll talk about this,” he tells you while you all but chant “go, go, go.”

then you’ve got to open the door. to face the music. “hey john… couldn’t have been a bit quieter?”

“its lunch time, y/n/n.” he peers around you, into your room, as if not truly believing your alone and okay. “and you were wasted last night. i had to make sure you weren’t lying dead in a puddle of vomit”

“yeah, yeah. you’re not one to shirk your brotherly duties. did you happen to make breakfast?”

“eggs and bacon, plus, i made you some of that vitamin c drink you swear by.”

“you’re the best,”

“i know.”

john b leaves, he and jj hangout, as always, and then, a few hours later all of the pogues are meeting up to go surfing. john b, kie, and pope are in the water while you’re hanging back on the beach. jj jogs over to you—he’s been trying to find an opening to talk to you and now is as good as any. unfortunately for him, you’ve had hours to overthink. hours and hours to myll over the fact that you finally slept with your crush and didn’t even remember it aside from some day-after-aching. you’ve had hours to agonize over the fact that he doesn’t want you, doesn’t remember you, and probably can’t stand to be around you anymore. after all, you had to have embarrassed yourself. drunkenly professed your love or something crazy.

“jay i’m so so sorry.” you rush out, “that was a mistake, a drunk mistake, and we can pretend that nothing happened—no one has to know and i swear i won’t tell my brother.” your words spill everywhere, fast and full of panic. you can’t lose a friend and you can’t make things awkward withing the group. no-pogue-on-pogue-macking was like, the one rule, and you went and broke it.

jj isn’t wearing a shirt and that isn’t good because having this conversation, you need to focus on his face, how he’s reacting, and responding. his arms are crossed over his chest and he doesn’t look mad—he looks confused, maybe? worried? “is that what you want?”

“is that what i want?” you echo

“because it’s not what i want, but i can respect it, if you’re sure. i’ll have made an ass out of myself because i spent the afternoon begging john b to let me take you out on a date—“

“we’re going on a date? you asked john? for permission?”

jj smiles, almost shyly, and palms the back of his neck. “it felt like the right thing to do.”

you laugh, smile lightning up the sky, and brightening his entire day. “jesus jj, we’re going on a date, not getting married.”

he wraps you in his arms, hugs you tight. his hands are on your lower back, yours are wrapped around his neck, one threaded through his hair, “but we will someday.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. the most sure about anything i’ve ever been.”

[strawberryforks]

blue walls, blue eyes, and the blue blanket // cole walter x reader

summary: you don’t have a good home life and end up unofficially moving in with the walter boys.

warnings: physical & verbal abuse, underage drinking, counsellors depicted in a negative light, swearing, canon divergence–jackie’s family never passes away, so while katherine and her mother are still good friends, they’ve not met/moved in with the walters.

word count: 5957

there’s a ding, and the principal is speaking over the pa. everyone stops what they’re doing so nothing is missed. after all, this doesn’t happen often.

the teacher freezes, dry erase marker still pressed firmly against the board, the end squishing and ink bleeding atop the letter he was writing and danny, who’s sitting beside you, gives you a look. you know its meaning, recognize the weight behind it, and know this routine. you stand up quickly. the backs of your knees slam into the hard plastic you had been sitting on and the chair goes skittering back, bumping into the pair of desks behind you.

you’re too tired to send that apologetic smile to anyone else. fortunately danny isn’t. making sure you aren’t alone, aren’t the only one being disruptive and making noise in an otherwise silent classroom, he braces a hand on the back of his chair, twisting around, to face your wide-eyed classmates. “sorry about that,” he whispers.

your movements are all harsh. they’re fast and full of annoyance, as you swipe your textbook, pencil kit, and water bottle off your desk and into your awaiting tote bag.

standing up, you make your way to the door. the teacher stares daggers at you the entire way. They go to grab your arm and you flinch away. “don’t touch me,” you grit, hands gripping around the doorknob so tightly it hurts. air is hitting your face, propelled towards you by the door you shoved open, when you hear your dismissal “please send y/n l/n to guidance,” spoken over the announcements. your teacher follows you out into the hallway, shouting instructions that you reluctantly follow, after you.

you count the tiles on your way. nearly running into the blue door, you end at fifty six.

ms jacobs, tara, as she’ll insist you call her, is a nice enough lady. she has curly brown hair, brown eyes, and perfectly painted on lipstick. she looks disarming, as a counsellor with the numbers of everyone that could ruin your life on speed dial, you suppose she has to. still, this isn’t new. she leads you further into the room and gestures to a chair “take a seat.”

when you don't, her smile becomes more strained. “please, y/n. this doesn’t need to be difficult, we just need to have a chat.”

you sigh, shoulders sagging as you plop down into the hundredth blue thing in this office. doors, trim, there’s a ridiculous amount of the colour and you don’t like it. blue, represents sadness. it’s something you’ve had enough of. sure, there’s other colours. posters upon posters–some neon, and green leaves stuck onto a large potted plant. there’s other colours just like there’s other feelings, but the one you’re stuck on, the one you can’t get over is sadness; it's blue.

“i hate the colour blue, Ms. Jacobs.” You tell her.

“why?” she asks, interested in you opening up further. you don’t.

“are you going to give me the run-down? tell me what i can and can’t say?”

her brows furrow. “do i need to? i called you here to talk about your grades but if there’s something else going on–”

“there isn’t ms jacobs. i do appreciate the concern, though. about my grades. they’re passing, i don’t see the problem.” you didn’t have a single grade above fifty five. it was hard to, when all of your teachers assigned heaps and heaps of homework and you would rather take a deep-dive into hellfire, brimstone, and lakes of lava, then return to the place you were expected to complete it at.

“call me tara.” you don’t.

“ms jacobs, if it would make you happy, i’ll try harder.”

“it would, y/n. thank you.”

you gather your things and stand. a glance at your phone lets you know your second class is over, so you plan to head to the cafeteria. “and y/n, just know that whatever you say to me is confidential.” Unless you are or are planning to hurt yourself, someone else, or if someone is hurting you.

“bye ms jacobs.”

walking into the cafeteria was masochistic in a way, when they were serving your favourite food, and you had no lunch or money to buy any with. still, in your hurried text chain with danny, this is where you had decided to meet. If you had to sit with the theatre kids to score some time with your friend, you would, although it would be better if you could grab him and go somewhere that didn’t make your mouth water and stomach ache.

walking over to his table, you noticed alex was there too. Just chatting with his brother. You and alex weren’t the best friends, but he was nice enough, and like issac, lee, nathan, and cole, you had his number written down in your notepad under the ‘just in case’ column. you didn’t mind alex, he was polite and much like his brother, danny, never made you feel less than. alex was always armed with a smile.

“danny!” you called, announcing your presence so you wouldn’t scare anyone. you smiled at Alex who as expected, mirrored your expression. “nice to see you. mind if I cut in and steal your brother?”

alex nods, “be my guest. i’ll see you at the end of the day danny!”

he leaves and then you’re pulling danny up and along with you. he barely has time to grab his lunchbox before the two of you are leaving the cafeteria and heading outside. you slump down against the brick wall and danny takes a seat across from you. cross-legged, he pulls out two sandwiches and hands one to you. you eyes widen.

“i’m pretty observant,” he supplies, shrugging.

“thank you, d” you eat the sandwich, and it’s a good one. “do you have plans after school?” ‘please don’t be busy, please don’t be busy, please don’t be busy’ you repeat in your head over and over again. it’s a mantra, you’re manifesting. hoping, hoping, hoping.

“y/n/n, i’m sorry, i actually do. erin tried out for the school’s production and she wants help going over her lines–i would invite you to tag along but…”

“no, no!” yoy laugh. manifesting doesn’t work, mantras are pointless, and shit, what are you supposed to do about tonight? “no, danny. don’t worry about it. i know you like erin and this is the perfect opportunity! if she’s asking for help with lines–i mean you’re awesome–but let’s be real, you can go over lines with anyone. so, if she’s asking you specifically for help, that's such a good–a really good sign!”

you two talk for a while longer but it’s easy to see your mind is elsewhere.

the bell rings, you head to your last classes, and then home.

you’ve got to go home.

well, to your house. that place, those four walls, they stopped being your home a long time ago. when your dad got drunk and your mom got mean.

cole walter pulls up beside you on your way home. his truck slows down, nearly to a stop, and you keep walking. your headphones are on and you’re pretending you can’t hear him. you can, but, you hope he’ll tire of shouting, slam his food on the gas pedal, and leave you in a cloud of dust. “y/n, hey! l/n, you need a ride or what?”

the truck stops, pulls off the side of the road and then you’re hearing a door slam and cringing, face crinkling as you realise you should’ve just said no. shouted it, even.

cole walter jogs up to you. he knows your house is quite far away. too far away to be walking. he calls to you again but you’re still walking forward. he places his hand on your shoulder. you know he’s there. you know he’s beside him and still you fucking flinch. the second time today and you're feeling pathetic. you shouldn’t be–really shouldn’t be. it’s not your fault that people can’t seem to respect the concept of personal space, not your fault that your trust has been violated, shredded and spat out, so many times that touch makes you jump. makes you want to jump, or crawl, your way out of your own skin. you flip your headphones down, letting them fall around your neck, but turning your music up a few clicks so you can still hear it. music is your vice, but no one’s complaining because it’s better than alcohol or drugs or, i don't know, being an asshole–you do that too. unintentionally sometimes. like now.

“what?” you snap. on the defensive.

cole isn’t surprised by your flinching. You were dead to the world, listening to music so loud he could hear it from where he stood paces away from you. if he were you–if it was your hand that had sat down onto his shoulder and surprised him he probably would have shouted. he caught you off guard, he was sorry. both of his hands stuck up in the air. “that’s my bad. sorry for scaring you.”

“sorry for–” you guess he did scare you. in a way. “it’s fine. what are you doing here?” you take your time looking at cole. his sharp jaw, full lips, his blue eyes. usually you hate that colour, but on him? it’s not so bad.

“offering you a ride. youe place is pretty far from here, yeah?”

“it is but i like walking.”

“walking is fine and all, but it’s getting colder and it gets dark around five now. by the time you make it home it’ll be past that. my truck has heat, comfy seats, and i’ll even let you have aux.”

you’re not a stranger to the effect cole walter has on everyone. not at all. when he smiles at you, you feel your cheeks warm. you’re an idiot for not taking him up on that offer. your feet already ache and your legs burn.

some things hurt more, though.

actions, all of them, have consequences.

“i’m fine, cole. but thank you. you’re sweet.”

he shakes his head. you aren’t walking anymore, instead, stopped on the side of the road just waiting. this conversation, it’s going places. places you don’t like. “i can’t let you walk home alone. not in good conscience.”

he’s jogging back to his truck and pulling up beside you. he’s leaning over the centre console and pushing the door open. leaning over further, and helping you up, not starting to drive again until your seatbelt is buckled. if only that was the least of your worries. if. only.

“so what do you want to play?”

you plug in your phone and queue up your playlist. a sad song blasts and you hit skip very quickly, not missing the questioning look cole sends you. you laugh, “don’t tell me you’ve never listened to sad music while you’re reading.”

“i don’t read much, and most of the music i listen to is because of the lyrics. those ones were… dark.”

choosing to disregard most of his statement, you echoed his words back to him. “you don’t read much?”

“alex reads a lot. you two would get along.”

“shared interests aren’t everything. we don’t have much in common but i enjoy your company and danny and i click and we both hate each other's favourite tv show with a passion.”

“what show is that?” you tell him and he grins. “that’s my favourite too–seriously. we should get together and watch it sometime.”

“i’d love that!” so, shared interests aren’t everything, but they’re certainly something. you smile for a couple more kilometres and then it gets harder. when you see the sign with your civic on it, you know that the ride, no matter how awesome it was, and how much fun you had, wasn’t worth it.

you hop out of the truck–cole offered to walk you to the door but you denied, knowing you were already in for it. “thank you, though.”

He nodded. “i can give you a ride tomorrow, too. anytime you need one, really. just ask–or get danny to. I really don’t mind.” you smile. thank him again and climb out of the truck. you walk confidently until he pulls out of the long driveway and onto the road. then you sigh, and it’s because of cole’s conscience that you get home before it’s dark enough for you to slip in unnoticed.

you pause on the porch. you don’t want to go in, but you don’t have a choice. not really. what are your other options? run off into the woods and let yourself be some colorado woodland creature’s lunch? knowing what’s coming, it doesn’t sound too bad. you open the door and nearly sob when the wind slams it shut behind you.

your heart beats hard in your chest like your father’s boots do on the floor. “where the hell have you been! days, gone for days. you couldn’t call, couldn’t fucking text,” with each word, most of them slurred, he storms closer. it’s not even suppertime and his eyes are glassed over with that familiar film, his breath a pungent reminder, as obvious as the one in his hand, of what he’s been drinking all day. your mother is behind him in the hallway, puffing on a cigarette, uninterested. “there’s no respect! ya here the brat? thinking they run the place. comin’ and goin without a care.”

“i don’t–i know i don’t run the place.”

“damn right you don’t!” the half empty–you’ve never been a glass-half-full type of person, not growing up in this–bottle of beer come flying at the wall. it hits just above your head, the liquid and brown pieces of glass falling all over you.

“look what you made me do now! gone and spilled m’drink.”

you had taken your converse off at the door. always being yelled at for trekking in mud and dirtying the floor, the hurried steps you take backwards, hurt. your dad is wearing work boots, steel toe, but the only thing between you and the broken glass is a thin pair of socks. your skin splits. the light blue fabric on your feet turns dark red.

you whimper and each step hurts more than the last. then you bump into the wall. “dad, please.”

“calling me tha’ like you think it’ll make me forgive you. fuck,” he throws a glance over his shoulder. “how’d we make something so… so pathetic?”

your mom shrugs, like she hasn’t a clue, either.

“dad, please. i’m sorry, okay? i’ll call next time.”

“there won’t be a fucking next time! get your shit and get out. all we do for you, all we do and you’re still impossible. keep you fed, clothed, give you a place to sleep and just get attitude, attitude, and disrespect. i’m done being disrespected. done!”

“you can’t just kick me out! i have nowhere to go.” you yell. you yelled. you yelled. oh god. oh hell. oh shit. you see his leg rear back and you go to jump out of the way. you’ve already been kicked out–you just need to get out, and quickly. you jump over his leg but then his fist is wrapped in your hair and you’re falling. then the boot you dodged is slamming into you side. again, again, again. tears are streaming down your face. you’re sobbing.

then he’s picking you up by your shirt. lifting you, dragging you. he opens the door, grabs your bag, your shoes, and throws them outside. then, then he throws you. you land on the porch, body aching and pressing into the hardwood.

the door slams and you’re still sobbing. you’re pretty sure that your new mantra is ‘fuck’. it’s what you repeat over and over again as you drag yourself up and away from the front door. You need to get away, you need to get away. You really need to. creating distance between you and that door, you and those people, is priority.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.”

running isn’t really in the cards for you. you limp away and don’t miss your mother peering out the kitchen window. you guess that from her perspective you do look pathetic. but no more pathetic than your dad, the grown man who had to hurt you to feel powerful and get his point across. your pace is terrible but the darker it gets, the further you get. you’re in the woods now, with no idea where exactly you are and not much supplies. maybe you will end up as woodland creature dinner. there’s not much you can do to help it now. you think about calling someone and then you realise your phone isn’t in your bag. you start to shake. choked laughter bubbles it’s way out of your throat. you’re laughing and then the hysterics shift and you’re sobbing. arms wrapped tightly around yourself you cry for what must be hours.

later, slumped against a tree trunk you decide to tackle your feet. one problem at a time, one shard at a time. you pluck pieces out of your skin and the blood makes you feel nauseous. when the job is done, you slide your socks back on, and walk towards the sound that comforts you most. Rushing water. you find a river, and kneel at its edge. you wash your socks, yourself, and dry on a stone in the sun. you scrub the dirt and grime from your feet. when your socks are mostly dry and the cuts have stopped gushing blood, you put on your shoes and lace them up. then you follow the river. you’ll reach town soon enough. your face isn’t marred, just the rest of you, all hidden beneath layers of clothes–a long sleeve, a flannel, blue jeans.

ideally, you’ll find danny.

you don’t live in an ideal world. the boy you find is not danny but he wants something you can give and has something you need–a place to sleep. you do so without clothes, lying next to him. What you did was in the dark, would stay that way, because before he woke, before you were made to converse with the nameless boy, you dressed and snuck out. the walk of shame was just that, shameful. you felt horrendous. your body still hurt and you found yourself walking into a cafe you knew haley, will’s wife worked at.

asking for handouts made your stomach sour but you couldn’t do much else.

haley was scrubbing down a table when you approached her. “hey, haley.”

“y/n, hey, how’s it going?” then she turned to you and realised, not good. that it was not going good. you shot her a flattened smile. “i really hate to ask. like, i really really do, but i haven’t eaten in a bit and was wondering–”

“yeah, yes. of course. just have a seat, i’ll grab you… do you have any dietary restrictions?” you answer her, and when she comes back, handing you a wrapped meal you thank her profusely. “is there anything you need done around here? i appreciate this so much, but i don’t want to take advantage. i can clean–i’m not a great cook but I can make coffee.”

“you don’t need to do anything. you aren’t taking advantage. not at all. is there anything else i can do for you? anyone i can call? your parents?”

fear fills your eyes and perceptive as ever, she catches it. “not them, please.” is what you whisper. haley nods, disappears behind the counter and makes a phone call. then, she dotes on you for the next ten minutes until wil pulls up outside. he comes in, walks over to your table and sits down across from you.

you’re pretty sure you’ve been caught. the ruse, it’s very much up.

“what’s going on, y/n?”

you shrug and sip at the hot chocolate haley made for you. “well, come on. you don’t have to say anything right now but let’s get you home.” you stand, ready to go anywhere but, and will stops you. “my parent’s home, danny’s. katherine knows you’re coming. come on, kid.”

you follow him to the car. most of the drive is silent, but you thank him when the walter’s house homes into view and katherine is waiting outside on the porch with a smile. up the few stairs, and you head straight for her. you’re grateful for her gentle nature, because as you throw your arms around her and squeeze, she simply rests hers on your back, rubbing soothing circles. “they–they kicked me out.”

she takes a minute to respond, only because she finds this hard to process. you were a good kid, a great one, and she, having so many of her own, couldn’t think of a single thing that would make her abandon or discard one of her own children. “you’ll stay with us then.” it isn’t a question and you’re glad because how would you have answered? your mouth is dry but your eyes aren’t.

you sit in danny’s room. he isn’t home from school yet but he will be soon. katherine and george are upstairs making room for you. you feel like a burden, they assure you that you are not.

you’re waiting for danny, only he isn't who makes it home first. it’s cole. he walks in, tosses his bag down onto the bed, none the wiser that there’s another person in the room. his back faces you and he’s rifling through a drawer when he hears you hiccup. he turns around quickly. Sees you, crying in his brother's bed and immediately his brows are furrowed. “y/n?” he walks closer. the bed is near to the ground so he drops onto his knees. he’s close to you know but he’s made himself less intimidating. “y/n/n? hey.”

“hi Cole.”

“are you okay?”

“i’ve been better.”

cole doesn’t ask, he doesn’t push. instead he opens his laptop, logs into his netflix and puts on the favourite show you both discussed watching together. when the two of you are settled. him on the floor, face resting on the mattress, where you’re curled up in a blanket that belongs to his brother, he breaks the silence. “do you want me to get danny?”

“where is he?”

“he’s with erin at the school. i think they’re going over details for the production. but i can go get him if you need him. do you need him?”

you shake your head. as danny’s best friend you were the biggest ‘derin’ shipper there was. plus, cole was here. he made things okay. “no, no thanks. i don’t really want you to go anywhere if that’s okay?”

“that’s more than okay, but i will say, my bed is comfier.”

you smile for the first time in a bit, looking at the uncomfortable position he has himself in. “yeah? well, we should definitely watch this, over there then.”

“my thoughts exactly.” cole grabs the laptop, grabs you, still wrapped in the blanket he tells himself he’ll replace from the linen closet, and carries both over to his bed. you squeal a bit and bite back a real whimper when his hand touches what you know has to be a massive bruise, sitting you down.

you fall asleep, leaning against him. he pauses the show, closes his laptop, and promises to resume it when you’re awake to watch it with him. then he sends a threatening text to his brother, danny.

COLE: Y/n/n has had a rough day and is sleeping in our room

COLE: Wake her up and you’ll get hit

DANNY: is she okay??? ALSO since when do you call her y/n/n???

COLE: I’ll see you later

COLE: Tell Erin hi for me

DANNY: fuck off

george and katherine didn’t receive that same threatening text but when they peeked into the room to check on you and found you cuddled up against cole, snoring lightly, and looking peaceful they left you be. your room was ready and in the morning you moved into it. your clothes were dirty and katherine washed them for you but in the meantime… well it was her dresses or… or what you went with.

you knocked your fist against the door and cole opened it, shirtless.

“hey cole,” look at his face. just his face. only his face.

“hey y/n. What can i help you with?”

your hand flew to the back of your neck which you rubbed awkwardly. “can i, uh… would you mind if I borrowed a pair of jeans and a belt?” cole chuckled, then realised you were completely serious. then he gave you the jeans. then the belt. “need a shirt too?”

you laughed, cheeks stained pink. “i wouldn’t mind…”

he handed you the plain black one in his hand. “riding with me to school?”

“if i’ve got shotgun.”

“‘course.” he said, grinning.

you headed upstairs and got changed. the pants were big but with the belt, and them cuffed they fit alright. then, came the shirt. it fell mid thigh but once you tucked it in a bit it didn’t look too terrible. you brushed your hair, your teeth, and headed downstairs. george looked at you with wide eyes and you shrugged, “i don’t really like dresses?”

katherine sighed. “we’ll get you some clothes after school.”

“from the thrift store!” you amended.

she rolled her eyes but agreed anyway. then, you were sitting beside cole on the way to school, during the one class you shared, and at lunchtime. you weren’t ditching danny, just his time was split between you and erin now. they started dating. they were sweet, good for and to, each other.

you’d only been living with the walters for two days, but everything was great. until cole invited you to the lake house. two coolers had you feeling buzzed and when it was your first turn, playing ‘truth or dare’, you picked truth and ended up faced with a question you didn’t want to answer. so you turned, and pressed your lips to cole’s. his lips parted in surprise, but then he kissed you back, tongue slipping into your mouth as he deepened the kiss. his hands flew to cup your face, your eyes were shut, and you were feeling things. until someone whistled and another yelled: “get a room!”

next round, you were three coolers in and ballsy enough to pick dare. “i dare you to jump into the lake!”

you rolled your eyes. like that was difficult. sure, it was a bit chilly, but you’d been in the river days ago. rushing water compared to water the sun had beat down on all day was nothing. you grinned, and ran to the edge of the dock, canon-balling and sending water flying everywhere. when you surfaced you saw the asshole who wore cole’s jersey shaking water out of his hair like a dog. you grinned, and started to swim back over when you saw something that caused you to sober up quickly. the foundation and powder you had painted on top of the hand shaped bruise on your arm had worn off. gone. It was gone and fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck.

when you didn’t get out of the water immediately cole was curious. when your face reflected horror, he was concerned.

“you good?” you weren’t. he walked over to the edge and dipped his hand in. the water was freezing. “come on out, you’ll get sick.”

you shook your head, plastering a clearly fake smile on your face. “my immune system is really strong and i want to swim! i’ll be fine cole, gonna go that way.” you make a gesture with your head and begin to paddle in that general direction. away from the lakehouse, away from the people, away from the party. away from cole—or, you tried to get away from cole. he walked on the bank, steps matching your strokes as he followed you. “get out of the water, y/n.” you were still swimming, and now cole was having to duck under and climb over branches and bushes to continue following. now, you couldn’t even hear the people at the lake house.

“no thank you.”

“don’t be stubborn. this was—it was funny thirty minutes ago! It’s lost the charm. just get out, we’ll go back and…”

“i don’t want to go back.”

“then we’ll go home. would that make you happy? we can leave, we don't have to go back to school, i can take you home.”

“i want to stay in the water, cole.”

“y/n, just get out of the fucking lake. it’s not that hard! i don’t understand why you won’t—“

you’re in waist deep water and all of you is submerged until it isn’t. you stand up quickly. teats sting your eyes and emotion clogs your throat. “you don’t understand, huh?” your voice breaks, shatters, and cracks. “does this help? do you see why when i say i want to keep swimming, i mean it? do you see why i want to stay in the water cole?”

he sees something. he sees bruises on your arms. deep purple handprints put there by too big hands and with too much force—force that never should have been used on you. he’s blinking, his eyes are seeing but his mind isn’t thinking, not fast enough.

“do you see?!” you’re shouting now, sobbing too. “because the makeup washed off and now you can see it. bow everyone can. everyone will see and then they’ll report it and i’ll end up in the system in an equally shitty situation! cole,” another wave of sobs interrupts, “cole don’t make me get out of the water.” he doesn’t, he climbs in with you. water soaks his boots, the bottoms of his jeans, you hear it slosh as he takes large steps and closes the distance between you both. “y/n/n.”

“what?” it’s a sob, a plea.

“we’re going to get out of the lake. i’m going to walk you through the woods, out to the road and then i’m going to go get my truck. i’ll be ten minutes tops. i’ll grab my hoodie too.”

“it’s… it’s back on the chair.”

“the red one, i know.”

“okay…”

cole keeps his word, but after five minutes you hear his truck. it stops, he hops out. he sets the hoodie on top of you and you shimmy into it. “No one will see, no one you don’t want to know, will know. but y/n, you will never go back there, okay? not to that house, not ever, because if you go, i’m following, and the things i do, most authorities will not agree with.”

“i don’t ever want to go back there.”

“you won’t ever have to.”

“thank you.”

“don’t thank me for helping you with something that never should’ve happened. we’ll get you some ice as soon as we’re home.” cole cranks the heat up and angles the fans to point your way.

he opens your door for you and walks closely behind you. no one else is home—katherine and george both working and the others at school. cole raids the freezer for anything remotely icey and heads up to your room. he makes a pit-stop to grab his laptop and some snacks from a drawer none of his brothers would ever know about. he steals the blanket you like off of danny’s bed too—the soft one with the blue plaid.

you both watch the show, he looks concerned when you press the frozen peas to your side too. you lift your shirt, show him the damage and he freezes. “ugly, huh?”

“nothing about you has ever been ugly, y/n/n but jesus, maybe we should go to a hospital.”

“flattery will get you everywhere cole but there’s no denying i looked like van gogh fucked up starry night—and no hospital. they’d like immediately call someone. plus i think they’re just bruised and not broken so that’s good.”

“i’m sorry that this happened to you.”

“oh don’t do that. i hate when people apologise for things that aren’t their fault.”

“can i apologise for danny, then? for him not realising what was happening sooner?” cole asked. people weren’t perfect, you realised that then, cole having said the first thing that genuinely upset you. this was no one’s fault. No one but your scum of the earth parent’s.

“no. danny didn’t do anything wrong. i didn’t want him to know and usually i’m good at hiding these things.” a bitter laugh, and: “usually.”

“i blame the alcohol, but, i guess it’s nice that you know.”

“i’m glad i know.”

and he is. he carries your bag, your books, even goes thrifting with you and katherine. “i like this one,” he’d said, holding up a shirt that barely had any fabric to it. you rolled your eyes for the fiftieth time and picked out a baggy graphic tee shirt instead.

at school he walks you to and from your classes. he sits with you at lunch and helps you come up with excuses—none so awesome that they work without the grin and charm he lays on your pe teacher.

weeks later, your bruises were healed, and to the blind eye, the only indication you’d been abused was the occasional flinching. cole tended to call out his moves before he made them, especially if you weren’t sure exactly where he was. your arguments–few and far between, seriously, the only thing you’d argued about so far was where you went for lunch, were had with calm voices and distance between the two of you. cole was perfect. he never caught you off guard, he was just always there.

wouls see you getting anxious and move closer. “i’m going to hold your hand,” he’d whisper. when you needed someone to talk to it was always him because he was always there.

then, one night, the two of you were sitting on that same blue plaid blanket. the one you loved–the one cole had paid danny $40 for. you were both staring up at the same stars, both wondering the same thing: when had you become so close? you weren’t sure if there was a turning point, a particular defining moment, but cole had taken danny’s place in your heart as ‘best friend’. cole had done that and more. he was more to you than that. he baked your favourite pastry, would go just about anywhere with you, and he made you smile. he made you feel safe. he had told no one your secret–but katherine and george had a clue, enough of one that they welcomed you with open arms and seldomly raised their voices. enough of one, that for that first few weeks, the ice was always restocked in the freezer.

they had an idea.

but cole knew. knew everything. knew and made you feel okay in spite of everything. he knew and still.. still looked at you like… like that. cole, he leaned in closer. you waited and listened. “i’m going to kiss you. because i want to. because i love you how you deserve to be loved. and not because of some truth or dare game.

“it wasn’t bad though, right? because i thought it was a pretty good ki–”

cole walter kept his word. he kissed you, and sure, the kiss at the lake house was good. this one was just better.

[strawberryforks]

whatever the hell we want // bellamy blake x reader

summary: reader didn’t care much for living, the eldest blake sibling made it worthwhile, even enjoyable

warnings: angst, suicidal thoughts/ideation, swearing

word count: 1908

a/n: this one is a bit heavy. i was having a bad day so i will apologize for turning the cutesy “how did bellamy and reader meet” request into this emotional abomination (sorry)

you probably should have been excited to be on the ground. it was that or being floated–tossed into a lock sealed door, trapped, and taunted with the faces of whatever loved ones chose to say goodbye (you didn’t have to worry about that, the only family you had, you met in lock up–your bio dad, marcus kane, was awful and on days that ended in ‘y’, you opted to pretend he didn’t exist) before another door would open and you’d be sucked out into space. the little oxygen in your lungs would tear them apart. what had sustained you for so long would then be your downfall. what you needed to breath would kill you.

you’d be so hot, so hot as your blood boiled and so hot as you died, staring out at the stars you loved so much. you were nineteen, the oldest prisoner to be alive and on the arc, but even kane’s powers had their limits. in three days you would be floated. three days until that would be your fate and still.

still.

when you woke up on that dropship you were pissed. it was the first thing you were mad about.

with a forever fuck-it attitude, you unbuckled your seat. floating around with a few others you ignored your best friend when she told you “sit back down, dumbass!” you cracked a grin and then the lights flickered.

while entering the new atmosphere something went wrong—something malfunctioned. maybe the shutes didn’t deploy or maybe you were just lucky but when the screaming started, you didn’t hear it for more than a few seconds because you were flung into one of the metal walls, just above the seats, and your vision spotted before going disappearing completely. sounds dulled, everything dulled. you were probably dying, you smiled because of that

when you landed, you woke up. that was the second thing you were mad about.

you were suspended in the air in some kind of fabric. It wasn’t uncomfortable or anything, not until you attempted to stretch your stiff limbs and found the material twisting. it spat you out on the ground and you made a noise. it bubbled from the back of your throat, expressing your obvious upset, you lifted your hand to touch your cheekbone–it was throbbing and you had the vague memory of your face slamming into the dropship wall. at fucking nineteen, you weren’t supposed to have to deal with any of this. you should’ve been floated a long damn time ago, would’ve like to have been too. you were the oldest prisoner on the ark, only alive because of who your daddy was. the daughter of marcus kane (you hate him as much as the next person) you’d been spared. he tended to get what he wanted.

where you lie, a boy does across from you on another makeshift bed. you lean over him, study him. He has some features you recognize. freckles and long eyelashes. you’re peering over him, observing, when those eyelashes lift and he’s blinking up at you. you scoot backwards not wanting to bang heads (yours was quite tender).

the hand that you have been absentmindedly feeling around your face with, came away with no blood coating, “i’m ocatavia’s brother, bellamy.” bellamy blake, okay. you’d heard of him and despite never meeting him before, the stories octavia had told you, mostly about how he protected her and made life under the floor less horrendous, you decided he was safe.

you glance at him, not all that hesitant. your best friend was a force and if she left you alone, in here, with him, he was trustworthy. your lips are pressed into a tight line. you don’t need to introduce yourself, he already knows. of course he does. you assure yourself he knows because you’re his little sister’s best friend and not because you’re kane’s daughter, the one who killed a man and got away scot free. you had a damn good reason but the ark’s justice system was lacking.

you tell yourself he isn’t judging you, he doesn’t look like he is, but you know you deserve to be judged so it’s a losing battle.

you glance down at your wrist and see it’s bare. the band that transmits your vitals to the ark is missing, and when you look at his wrist, you realise he isn’t wearing one either. “lost in the rough landing?” you ask, with a lilt to your voice.

his shoulders shake as he laughs a little. “something like that.”

you sit back up and climb back into your hammock. this time your hands are both out beside you to stabilise yourself. it’s quiet for a moment, the tent dark enough you know it’s night time. “why’d you take it?” you asked, unable to stop your curiosity.

“the ark hasn’t done anything for us. they sent us down here to die, because we’re expendable. in their eyes we’re just repaying them.”

oh. so your dad probably thinks you’re dead right now. that doesn’t unsettle you as much as it would the average person–actually you don’t mind it at all. let him learn what it means to fail, to lose, in some permanent way. let him face the brunt of the consequences his actions wrought for once. maybe this sentence would be the one to ruin him.

you stare at the pitch of the tent. are we on earth right now? is it safe? did the others survive? what happens now? your mind is flooded with questions.

“you think loudly.” bellamy informs.

“i’ve been out for awhile, huh?” in response, he nodded. “is it okay? is everyone okay?”

“they are. you almost weren’t though. that stunt you pulled? it was a whole different level of dumb.”

it’s peaceful until sunrise when the screaming starts. Guttural moans and groans echo from within the camp. “That’s jasper,” bellamy supplies while you’re rubbing your head, all but pleading with the ache to subside.

then octavia’s bursting through the tent flaps, “i knew i heard voices!” she pulls you outside with her and just… woah. everything is brighter. unlike the monotones on the ark there’s all kinds of colours. blue sky, green tress. they’re so green and so many different shades. light, dark, sage, evergreen. you’ve never seen anything so beautiful, other than your stars. you miss them, and looking up at the sky you can’t see them only clouds–white floating cotton that moves with the wind. you’re on earth and you don’t know if you belong here but in all fairness you didn’t belong on that spaceship either. the only place you thought might be a good fit for you was now miles upon miles away. a good thing, if you asked octavia.

the “whatever the hell we want” movement was one you supported quickly and joined even quicker. bellamy and his buddies at its forefront you figured, why not. you liked to fight, so thats what you did. you threw punches and received them and slaps to the face. It satiated you need to self destruct and would until bellamy or octavia intervened. you didn’t quite care for danger and took as many guard and patrol shifts as you could. you liked carrying a weapon, liked exploring, and hated being cooped up and confined.

you were walking away from the wall, alone this time, with no particular destination in mind. sometimes you brought octavia with you but she was busy talking and flirting (not in that particular order) her brother never liked when she joined in on your adventures so it was probably better that she wasn’t with you.

“not dragging my sister along with you this time?” a familiar voice chided. bellamy blake. speak of the devil and he shall appear.

you shrug your shoulders and continue walking. “not this time, no.”

“hey! come back. where the hell do you think you’re going.”

“i haven’t decided yet. maybe the river. maybe the caves. maybe, it’s none of your business,” you respond dryly, still walking ahead. his hand clamps down on your arm and he stops you from moving further, “what, bellamy? what?” his eyes, alight with fire, something you’ve seen in your best friend once or twice, full of curiosity, and understanding, meet your own. he gazes into your dead ones, takes a look at your blank expression and bends down. a hand grips the backs of your thighs and then he’s picking you up. you’re slung over his shoulder like you weigh nothing and had you not been so emotionally empty you would've been incredibly impressed. “what the hell bellamy? what are you doing?”

“whatever the hell i want, though, that? it doesn’t apply to you anymore, not when you don’t know what you want,”

“i do,” you argue.

“not when what you want isn’t anything good.” he fires back.

and that’s how you met bellamy blake. at first you hated him, hated how he drug you along wherever he went–patrol was nice but he would insist on bringing you everywhere, even on the most pointless errands. to do the most boring things. he made you drag logs to help reinforce the wall and sometimes he didn’t even help. prison warden or friend, who fucking knew?

but bellamy kept you busy. kept you distracted from the brewing storm in your head.

you got used to him. bellamy blake became your new normal and even made you smile a few times, usually when firelight was reflecting off of both of your cheeks as you roasted your dinner. the first time, you sat on a log beside him, your supper sitting inside of the flames, blackening. he went to grab the stick from you–probably guessing you were attempting to light yourself on fire, or that you’d begun to dissociate. you snatch the stick back. “it’s burning,” he warns, voice having a sharp edge.

“sorry if i would rather taste charcoal than two headed, six tailed, mutated squirrel.”

that night he held you. you let him.

close to his chest and away from any and all danger, you slept soundly and dreamlessly for the first time in years. the sleep–it helped with your mood, too.

bellamy held you again. he always liked to hold you—to have a hand in yours or resting on your shoulder. this time, the touch wasn’t comforting, to assure himself that you were real and not going anywhere. this time that physical touch was the only reason you weren’t going anywhere. his grip was tighter, thank god.

the grounders were coming an the only way to stop them or at least to slow them down was to blow up the bridge. you needed to place the bomb but everyone was terrified to let you go, bellamy especially. you did what you had to, sneaking away and setting it. you were scared–you didn’t know when it happened, when you started wanting to live, but it was a soul-deep change that you knew had something to do with the blake siblings. specifically bellamy, who’s companionship you hadn’t wanted but needed more than anything.

you placed the bomb on the bridge and detonated it, running as fast as you could as the moss covered stone crumbled behind you. the structural integrity was giving away and you were so close tot he edge but… you started to fall. you closed your eyes, pressed them shut as tightly as you could and then that hand was there.

bellamy’s. closed around your wrist and holding on for all he was worth. your heart beat so hard in your chest you had to look down to make sure you hadn’t been speared by a grounder, and that it wasn’t leaking out.

you loved him and you were so thankful he never listened to you. when you said you didn’t need him, when earlier, you shouted at him and told him not to follow you–it was a weak distraction but now, he pulled you back onto solid ground and wrapped you in his arms and you had no regrets. none at all. well… you had one, but it was easily rectified.

it was a struggle, pushing him away at the shoulders, holding him at arms length and seeing the worry on his face all over again. it was a struggle but when you stopped regretting things and dove back in, moulding your lips together in a passionate kiss, everything was better. bell’s hand palmed your cheek and pulled you impossibly closer as yours moved through his hair.

[strawberryforks]

your favourite nuisance // red hood x vigilante!reader

summary: you have another run-in with the red hood. this time you’re the one doing the annoying—defeating his target before he even gets to the scene. your vigilante name is striker!

warnings: violence, swearing

word count: 1036

a/n: striker!reader is such a fun character to write and i will probably continue to do so! that said, request/asks are open and encouraged as always!

you get the villain red hood was after. by the time he arrives to the fight, they’re being carted off by police. they’ll be headed to arkham, instead of carted off in a body bag destined for the morgue and the red hood–you add a ‘the’ because it makes his name sound more threatening, and right now, stalking towards you, he looks threatening. at least a head taller than you and wearing that stupid mask that should make it infuriatingly easy to hide his emotions–but he wastes that opportunity. his body language gives him away every time and you swear you can almost see steam billowing out of his ears like some ready-to-explode, red-with-rage, cartoon character. “red hood,” you acknowledge. “nice to see you.”

he starts shouting and you ignore him. you turn into an alleyway, keeping your back to him as you walk away. in gotham, there are very few people you would trust to stand behind you, to watch your back and not jam a knife in it. you’re really surprised when you realise red hood, the red hood, is one of those people you trust. you laugh a little, shaking your head all the while. glancing into a puddle, you see red hood’s reflection storming after you, getting closer and closer. you don’t change your pace. you aren’t trying to avoid a confrontation, you actually don’t care at all. as far as you’re concerned it’s inevitable. you knew what you were doing taking down a villain red hood laid claim to. you knew what would happen, how he’d react and you did it anyway. You’re not trying to avoid confrontation, you’re just trying to move it away from the reporter who had been lingering beside your crime scene, wanting the scoop. you happily gave her the details you could, but didn’t want your generosity being a mistake.

you didn’t want to go home and find yours and red hood’s faces in the paper. not for fighting. not for anything else. drama was something you tended to stay out of and this was different, okay? you weren’t being dramatic, you were simply having fun. red hood was as much a rival as he was a friend. you would never ever voice that, but it made it no less true.

in another puddle you see his hand raise. Before he can grab your arm and force you to look at him, you spin around. you face him but only because you want to (not because, never because, if he really wanted you looking into his eyes he would be able to make you and that could be incredibly embarrassing)

you smile up at him, all fake-niceness. you pat his shoulder, “aw, don’t worry red. i’m sure you’ll get ‘em next time. if not, i left some of the small fishes for you.

“what the hell striker?”

“get over yourself, red. you’ve ruined my day more times than i can count, it’s time you see how it feels.”

he scoffed. “more times than you can count? you’re going to have to go back to school sweetheart because vigilantism doesn’t pay the bills and if you can’t count to twenty eight not even the supermarket near crime alley will hire you.”

“twenty eight? has the red hood been counting our encounters?” you laugh, being flooded with all sorts of ridiculous mental imagery–red hood scribbling in a pink notebook, red hood writing with a dry erase marker on the fridge, red hood, get this, looking forward to seeing you. jeez, you’re laughing so hard your stomach aches.

“do you journal? ‘dear diary, today i saw striker for the fifteenth time! i stole her thunder, ruined her night, and she went home and cried into ramen. ah, such a productive day fueled by tears, the blood left on my suit from the needless slaughter i just love to partake in, newspaper headlines, and assholery!’ is that about right?”

“shut the hell up.”

“i don’t think i will. besides, you don’t want me to. you’d be bored and have nothing to write about.”

“i wouldn’t be bored. there's a clear difference between bored and peaceful. also, i don’t write about you. i don’t even like you, striker.” okay, ouch. the big guy might as well have punched you in the nose because that one hurt a surprising amount.

you recovered quickly, never letting your mask (metaphoric) fall, your actual mask you didn’t need to worry about. it was as secure as secure got. covering your nose and mouth, all that could be seen was your eyes and on nights where you knew things would get messy, you wore goggles, rose tinted ones, that blood couldn’t stain, that you had commissioned from a seller on etsy. “you do too! i’m your favourite nuisance.”

“you aren’t.” he says immediately. hating you is one of his reflexes, how sweet. “you’re like my third favourite nuisance.”

you raise an eyebrow. just one. it’s as accusing as it is amusing.

“second…” he trails off. “alright, goddammit. yeah, you’re my favourite nuisance. happy?

“fucking ecstatic, actually red.” you grin and if you had to guess–he rolls his eyes.

“that villain,” back to business, as always. you straighten your spine and prepare for the scolding of a lifetime. you tilt your chin up and glare at his mask. “that was my target and you know it. that said, you did a good job.”

“if he hangs himself in his cell at arkham i’ll know it was you. i’ll be pissed–wait, red, there’s no way that you just said that. that was so a compliment. the only thing missing and making you seem awful was the fact you forgot to say ‘thank you!’ wow, regardless, i’m proud. honoured, even.”

“next time let me handle it.”

“you’re welcome!” you say in a sing-song voice. one that’s way too cheery for the other vigilante’s liking.

“striker?”

“yeah?”

“you really are a nuisance.”

“i like to put the emphasis on ‘favourite’ but sure, that works.” you slide past him in the alleyway, heading out. you stop on your tippy toes to whisper your goodbyes and don’t miss the blinding camera flash or the gawking reporter at the entrance of the alleyway.

[strawberryforks]

sticky note // alex walter x reader

summary: alex is in love with jackie, you leave him a sticky note explaining how you’re feeling.

warnings: underage drinking, sadness

word count: 481

a/n: requests/asks are open & encouraged! my first ever post (scroll down) is a list of characters i will write for!

“she didn’t say it back… y/n why didn’t she say it back?”

“all good questions for tomorrow, alex.”

the back of his knees hit the bed and he fell. luckily you’d moved the blankets so you were able to pull them over him and tuck him in. a few moments later you come back into the room with water and advil. alex is asleep so you set everything on his nightstand and fill out a sticky note, ignoring the stinging in your eyes and pinning it to the glass.

katherine is downstairs, taking a step away from the wedding. she waves you over and you walk with a small smile that you have to fake. does she know her son’s drunk and pining for the girl they took in? her best friend’s daughter? probably not, but anything’s possible. maybe she knows he’ll have a hangover tomorrow, maybe she knows he beoke your heart. maybe—but you aren’t about to tell her. “everything’s so beautiful,” you gushed. flattery could bury anything. sadness, anxiety, guilt, lies. all things you were riddled with.

katherine nodded. she was beaming, a perfect smile aimed at you as she sung the praises of the newest addition to the walter household. “that was all jackie,” she credited. “she’s worked so hard.”

she had but still, your smile became more forced. jackie was sweet and really good at things (better than you were, unless we were talking about how many words you could write/read per minute or how many kills you could get on just about any fps game) but even though her smile was nice and she’d been through a lot, you couldn’t make yourself be anything but civil.

you couldn’t be her friend. not when you felt like she was toying with alex’s feelings. not when cole was involved and the paige situation was still so raw alex would talk to you about it and hadn’t forgiven his brother. “i don’t doubt it,” you said. “it was a beautiful ceremony. now,” you hug katherine. “i’ve got to head home before it gets too dark.”

“do you have a drive?”

“no, but it’s okay. i like to walk.” you assured her.

“alone? y/n it’s late. i’m not sure i like that… stay the night, please.”

you weren’t good at saying no. especially not to sweet parental figures who only want what’s best for you and that make the best food. “you can sleep on the couch… or… in alex’s room as long as there’s no funny business.” you laughed and raised a brow, ‘really?’ was your silent question and katherine just shook her head. “don’t tell george.” she amended. “i won’t.” you swore.

katherine piled blankets and pillows from the linen closet into your arms and patted your shoulder as you passed, heading back to Alex’s room. you made a pallet on the floor and fell asleep, completely forgetting about the sticky note you’d left him.

the one that said: “hey alex, hope the hangover isn’t too horrendous. i didn’t mind taking care of you last night because that’s what friends are for, but you said some things that upset me and i’m just going to need a little time.”

[strawberryforks]

concussed // adrien agreste x reader

summary: falling in love with your best friend in and out of the suit goes a little like this…

warnings: head injury, akumas

word count: 1126

a/n: requests/asks are open & encouraged!

you’re not supposed to fall in love with you best friend—it’s a universal rule. sure, sometimes you hear about the success stories. childhood friends to lovers is a trope and a popular one. books are written, movies are made, and who doesn’t love them? the problem is: it’s fiction. it’s all just fiction. in reality—your reality at least—you fall in love with your best friend and you’re screwed. it becomes the world’s best kept secret because you’re not the only one crushing on your best friend, adrien agrest, model and son of the designer gabriel agreste and you’ll be damned if you ruin the friendship.

something you never expected was that your best friend felt the same. and because you didn’t expect it, you couldn’t accept it. anything remotely romantic adrien did, you rationalized.

his leg brushed up against yours? coincidence.

he brought you chocolates? he was your best friend, he knew you liked chocolate.

one night, he changed strategies. although it was unconsciously...

mid-akuma battle chat noir was injured. it was bad enough he couldn’t keep doing his job. he wasn’t helping ladybug, only endangering her further and he couldn’t bare it. with his heartbeat feeling like it was in his head; like a drum smashing against his skull loudly and painfully, he barely managed to perch (he would’ve said purrch had he not been so dizzy) on your windowsill. chat noir tapped on the window pane. it was late but you couldn’t sleep. dark, but you cradled your phone, watching for updates on the latest akuma attacks. when something knocked against your window you jumped up. you grabbed the baseball bat propped up against your closet door and hesitantly approached the window. when you opened it a body fell at your feet. you raised the bat above you head and then you saw a tail… “chat noir!?”

“hey… y/n. sorry for dropping in i think i used a few of my nine lives.”

“how do you know my—you know what, that doesn’t matter! are you okay? what happened?” you asked but before he could answer, you continued rambling. “well i saw the footage on the ladyblog but! just stay here, i’ll… i’ll go get the ice.”

the leather clad hero rolled over, gloved hand over his eyes as he groaned. “oh god, no. here,” you help him up onto your bed and gently push him back into the pile of pillows. “stay here. i’ll be right back.”

“sure thing purrincess,”

“i was hoping you were so concussed you’d forget the puns.” you say on your way out.

your mom asks you what’s going on, and you tug down your pant-leg, revealing a bruise on your knee from the day before yesterday when you fell up the stairs. “just grabbing some ice and then i’m heading to bed.”

“alright hun. sleep well.”

you go to leave and she stops you. “tomorrow you and adrien are meeting up for icecream and i’m assuming you’ll be coming back here to game for awhile. that’s fine, just remember to leave your door open.”

you smile, nod, and head back to your room. you’ve got a large ice pack that you pass to him and after opening your drawer, you pass him two ibuprofen. “i don’t know if those work for superheroes, but here’s hoping.”

“thank you.”

“you don’t have to thank me, chat. you’re the hero here. you owe the citizens of paris nothing and we owe you everything. i won’t lie, i’m pretty confused about how you know my name and well… where i live but… i won’t push.”

“lb’s always saying how important our identities are but you’re my friend and—“

you press your hand over his lips, mind working at a million miles a minute. you shush the feline hero and move some of the blonde hair out of his eyes. his green eyes. “get some rest, i’m going to use the bathroom!”

you all but sprint to the washroom. hands braces on the counter you breathe deeply and splash water into your face. you weren’t ready for this kind of relevation—that adrien, your adrien, was chat noir. the chat noir. part of paris's hero duo.

its fine. it’s okay. it’s perfect, actually. you’re freaking out a bit but he’s still the same person. your panic ceases when you realize this is a good thing. him being in danger constantly is terrifying but him having a way to avoid his father that doesn’t involve you being his one and only saving grace lifts a weight off of your shoulders.

with your composure back, you go out there. thank every ethereal force there is, because he’s fast asleep.

you debate taking the floor but it’s adrien. it’s adrien, and you two have shared a bed before, is what you remind yourself when you crawl in next to him and hike the comforter up to your neck.

when you wake up your alone in your bed and your window is open just a crack.

that night, chat stops by again. he brings you “thank you” flowers and some cookies ladybug—who’s a strangely awesome baker—made, to share with you.

“adrien! hey! i missed you.” you didn’t miss him that much, you’d seen him yesterday. you just missed being able to know him, talk about any and everything, and see all of his face. not the mask wasn’t flattering, you best believe it was, just you loved being able to see all of him. to adrien, knowing you knew all of him too? the pieces of him that made him chat noir too. it would be everything. you know how much it’d mean to him and knew that keeping tbis secret must’ve been killing him. you were a big ladybug fan, but a bigger chat noir fan (bigger your-best-friend fan) and if ladybug was the one who was making him keep this secret? well, it’s not like you could do much but unsubribe from the ladyblog. and if adrien was the one wanting to keep his identity secret? you don’t know what you’d do—whatever reveal you go with will suddenly suck.

“thank you natalie,” you say when she opens the gate and lets adrien out without forcing his bodyguard to tag along.

you get your icecream and when you’re given a cone thats black with green icecream and a paw print and he receives an icecream that matches you perfectly. adrien’s hand falls to the back of his neck “well this is awkward…”

you grin, “is it really?”

“what do you mean?”

“well—you uh, hit your head pretty hard, that’s all. and uhm, said some stuff. basicallyiknowyou’rechatnoirandit’sokaybecauseiloveyou.”

“you love me?” he echoes.

“i do, and have for awhile. i love all of you.”

“i love you too. but that doesn’t mean i’ll go easy on you when we play ultimate mecha strike 3!”

“wouldn’t dream of it!”

[strawberryforks]

a fragile peace // red hood x vigilante!reader

summary: fighting crime is hard when the red hood makes (annoying, trailing, helping) you his business

warnings: violence, blood, guns, swearing

word count: 474 (a short one buuuut could become a mini-series if there’s interest)

a/n: requests/asks are open & encouraged!

red hood isn’t your enemy by any means–and you’re grateful for it. you don’t kill and he does so regardless of skill level, you just can’t see that ending well. you weren’t friends though, it was hard to be when he’d rather ruin your fun, attempt to kill (but succeed in maiming) your nemesis, and interrupt everything you did in the suit. being a vigilante (you went by striker) was supposed to be fun. it wasn’t when your mask wearing rival, and occasional reluctant ally, was always up in your business. it wasn’t, when he was always so serious.

he’s aiming a gun at the all but harmless villain lying on the ground–the guy, called himself ruckus, is already bleeding. externally. internally. all over the alleyway. “red hood!” you shout. he drops his chin down and turns his head to the side, looking at you. you can’t tell whether he’s smirking or angry, not with the mask on, but you don’t care. you tackle him to the ground. he throws the gun away like it burnt him. “don’t you ever fucking do that again, striker, i swear.”

you don’t care much, ignoring his words and the anger that bleeds into them. “and let you kill someone on my watch? you’re crazy!”

“that’s not what i’m talking about,” he grits. he pushes you off of him, manoeuvring into a sitting position. you realise then that he’s not smirking, he’s livid. snarling, almost. he glances at the villain who’s pathetically limping away and then to the gun, and back to you. “the safety on that was off. i could’ve shot you.”

“no, you were about to shoot him.” you say, angling your thumb towards the opening of the alleyway.

then red hood is up in your business, in your face. he’s taking small steps forward that you match with large ones backwards. you’re backed into the wall, your back hits first and your head presses back into something softer than bricks. one of red hood’s hands is above your shoulder on the wall and the other is behind your head, like a cushion.

caged in, your breath quickens. you feel wild, like a cornered animal and debate doing something stupid, something so predictable, as striking. red hood drops his head, and looks (you think but then again he’s wearing a mask) directly into your eyes. “i said, don’t you ever do that again.”

“maybe back off once in awhile red—i could’ve handled him.” you hate that your voice wobbles but how the hell are you supposed to be confident when he’s talking to you like that and looking at you in a way that you can’t decide if you hate or love. woah. that thought makes you pause.

he’s still staring at you, glare ever unwavering. “i won’t tackle you when you’re holding a loaded weapon. there. happy?”

he pushes off of the wall, taking a small step back and nods once. “i’ll leave the little criminals to you, i guess. don’t die and make me regret it, striker.”

it’s peace. a fragile one, but you’ll take it for now.

[strawberryforks]

best friends // cole walter x reader

summary: reader and cole are best friends, after sharing a significant moment, she leaves, afraid of her feelings complicating and ruining things…

warnings: swearing (maybe, i don’t remember) mentions of loss of virginity (not elaborated on, i’ve never written smut before, why start now), yelling, miscommunication

word count: 1599

a/n: asks and requests are open and encouraged! thank you so much for the support <3

you and cole were the kind of close that people envied. even before you could talk, when your communication was limited to waving and babbling, you had a special bond. everyone could see that. your parents, his, and in your early years of school, the other children who wanted to sit next to cole (but that was your spot) or play tag and be “it” (cole’s job, because he loved the chase, and more than anything loved chasing you)

the dynamic, the one in which it was you two against the world, didn’t change until high school.

cole played football with his teammates instead of you and hung out more with the popular kids. he decided to forgo the small traditions that meant so much to you—movie night and hanging out by the lake—to kiss other girls, to call them pretty, to break your heart. your relationship was platonic... well, maybe that wasn’t the right word. one-sided, unrequited, unknown were all better suited. over the years you’d done the one thing you weren’t supposed to, that everyone was warned about—you’d caught feelings, but terrified to ruin the friendship, you’d been tight lipped about the whole thing.

still, cole’s smile had become your favourite thing and you began to value the dwindling time you spent together more. you and cole were still best friends, thank god. you still walked each other to class, still told each other about your lives, and you still listened with a smile regardless of which girl he prattled on about—and that was a feat, because there were a lot. so many, he wouldn’t be able to keep track of if not for the notes page on his phone. but, to his credit, he listened to your ranting too. when you talked about the boy you liked, never addressing him by name, cole always smiled. you paid him the same courtesy never noticing how they didn’t reach his eyes. you and cole were best friends and you helped each other with things. studying, sports, chores, this… well, to him you were sure it was no different.

when he’d heard that his best friend was a virgin? well, he had to help.

the morning after, lying next to him, should’ve been blissful. there was no one you trusted more. you should’ve been smiling and making stupid small talk—joking about his brothers and even making plans for the weekend. you should have been happy, after all, you’d wanted this for how long?

silly, you were being silly. staring at his back and at the arm he had draped over your midsection like it was made of flames and burning you, tears pricked the corners of your eyes and they stung. your chest felt tight and there was a lump in your throat making it nearly impossible to swallow and even breathe.

waking up next to cole walter after the night you shared? it should’ve made your day—your entire life, actually. it should’ve been more. to you it was huge, you’d given cole a part of you and had you possessed the ability to time travel you knew you would do it all over again. you loved him and would take what you could get. last night was amazing but this hurt? you couldn’t stand it. soul deep, you felt the fracture. you fearee if you didn’t leave you might just break completely. you’d be fine in a few hours, after you had time to collect your thoughts, process, and compartmentalise, you would be fine. you just needed to get out. to leave.

carefully, you snuck out of his hold. a frantic glance around had your breathing coming out in short bursts. you couldn’t find your clothes. where were your clothes? pressing a hand over your mouth to stifle a sob you picked up one of cole’s discarded shirts and a pair of sweatpants, dressing quickly. then you were gone. the sun hadn’t risen yet but because you were just so damn lucky, alex was sitting downstairs on the couch. he’d seen many girls leaving his brother's bedroom. the distinct difference here was that this one was his brother’s best friend and she was sobbing. you rubbed at your eyes furiously, “not a word, alex” you threatened, ignoring him when he yelled your name and “wait! are you alright?”, you just bolted, slamming the door quickly and breaking into a sprint. the road ahead of you blurred as your tears fell faster and it was by pure luck (surprisingly you had some) that you didn’t end up with a face full of gravel.

cole had driven you both so now your walk-of-shame would last a good twenty minutes. more, if you couldn’t catch your breath.

if it was any consolation, cole’s morning was just as terrible. instead of waking up to an image he had only dreamed up hundreds of time, he woke up to his younger brother, yelling. cole grabbed the blanket and hiked it up, cursing at alex. “what the hell did you do to her?” alex demanded. cole was confused—he’d just woken up, what was alex on about. he glanced to his left and found the bed empty. strained to listen, and didn’t hear the shower running either. he sat up, pulled the blanket with him. “where is she?”

“what did you do!” alex demanded again

cole’s face flushed red and he chased away the mental images of all that had taken place last night. “nothing alex! jesus. what the hell is going on?”

“she was sobbing so you obviously did something!”

cole was done being yelled at. he shoved alex out of his room and pulled on a pair of jeans. he threw on a zip-up that he did in fact, not zip up, and then he wrenched open the door, having to deal with alex’s pestering again, as he pushed past him and rushed down the stairs. cole jumped in his truck and started down the road. he drove all the way to your house, threw pebbles at the glass panes of your window and when you didn’t answer, when your mom, sleepy and still dressed in her nightgown opened the window and sighed quite loudly. “cole dear,” she shouted, “don’t wake my partner please! she isn’t home right now—i actually thought she was with you, but…”

“thank you!” he shouted, not waiting for her to continue before hopping back into his truck and driving off. one last place. there was one last place he knew to check. it was your spot—the two of you. and sure enough, sitting on a rock slab, head buried in your knees and shaking slightly, there you were. cole wasted no time putting his truck in park and he ran to you. moved faster than he had since hurting his ankle, which he wasn’t paying any mind to right now, as he was only focused on you.

“hey, hey.” he soothed. he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his arms, swaying lightly. “are you okay? did i hurt you? god, i’m so sorry.”

you shook your head feeling more pathetic than you had in quite some time—possibly ever. “i’m okay,” you assured him.

“you’re crying. that’s far from okay. look at me.” he lifted your chin, making you look him in the eyes despite the small shake of your head, “tell me how to fix it. tell me how to bring your smile back i can’t see you like this.” his words sound genuine, you know they are. you know he isn’t a bad person. actually, you know he’s the best person. it doesn’t make the hurt less.

“it’s… it’s stupid.”

“nothing you feel is ever stupid.” he says, combatting your words.

“last night… it… cole, it meant more to me than it did to you. i know it was just a favour; you helping me, and i’m sorry, but i did it, i caught feelings and i know, trust me i know you don’t see me that way—“

“i was wrong.” he interrupts, “that was stupid.”

you’re about to speak but your mouth closes, suddenly feeling dry. “pardon?”

“that you feel like i’m not absolutely obsessed with you. that you think i’m able to think about anything other than you. you’re everywhere. i dream about you and if i wakeup and you’re not there i go and find you. god, i could stare at you for the rest of my life and find a new thing to love everyday.” cole is saying all of this and looking into your eyes—though it feels more like your soul. he’s always seen you, always loved you, really. you’re it for him. “you’re my best friend, there’s no contest. but i’ve always wanted you to be more. i’ve always hoped we could be more.”

hearing those words from him you can’t stop your smile. face still wet with tears, his thumbs wipe them away. you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tightly. “last night was everything to me, i’m sorry for not making that clear sooner.” he mumbles into your neck, his hand cupping the back of your neck.

you think there’s something other than hugging you’d like to do, so you pull back a bit and then press your lips against his. the kiss though, it’s different. it isn’t hurried like last night. there’s no hesitation, no uncertainty. he smiles into it, so do you. you both take your time. stop to rest your foreheads against each other’s because you just can’t stop smiling. you’re okay with waiting, you know you have a lifetime.

[strawberryforks]

quite the pair // jason todd x reader

summary: you and jason are bestfriends, partners, and you’re sick.

warnings: swearing, alludes to assualt, violence, throwing up

word count: 1961

there was more to jason todd than met the eye. he didn’t make friends easily but he was a good one. he had you, who he met in the streets, back when he was living there. who smiled at him and handed him a can of corn that had it not been unopened, he would’ve swore was poisoned. or a disguised explosive. or… well, he didn’t know, but nothing good ever came for free.

he needed to repay you somehow so he stuck around. he didn’t do anything but he watched. observed.

you were skin and bones; the picture of malnutrition. you shivered and your teeth gnashed against each other while you slept, leaning against the side of a green bin. you had a blanket for the longest time and then you didn’t. he’d come back from stealing and selling tires to find the only warmth you had was your own embrace.

your arms were wrapped tightly around yourself and you rocked back and forth. the only sound in the entire alleyway, as he approached, was your breathing and the thrumming of your head as you banged it lightly on the metal behind you. you heard his footsteps, heard them get louder, heard him get closer, heard them stop in front of you but still, you kept your eyes shut tight. you didn’t have anything else to give, you couldn’t help anymore, and more than that, you couldn’t bare to see the disappointment in someone’s eyes when you turned them down.

it was dark–you recall it being around midnight because moments before the footsteps, before meeting the boy who’d come to change your life, you were staring up at the sky. clouds were thick and dark but moonlight sat behind them, just a lighter patch in the sky, waiting for it’s chance. the stars, though, there were none. the closest to that you had gotten that night was when a man flicked away the ash from his cigarette. on it’s decent to the puddle ridden asphalt it glowed a deep orange. like a shooting star, hell, like a meteor, you wished on it. you don’t remember what you wished for, just that it came true. you felt wind in your face and fabric was draped over your shoulders, then there were hands.

“up you go,” jason encouraged. he’d pulled you into his side, given you his sweater, and got some food into you.

he’d more than repaid the debt but… you did your part too. you made him smile–a feat he didn’t think was even possible, having not used what he assumed were dead and decaying muscles, in so long. you told dumb jokes but they made him laugh so you didn’t care, you called him jay and you helped when you could. he kept you as close to him at all times as he could.

gotham was a dangerous place. it was too dangerous for someone as good as you, but he couldn’t help that. he couldn’t make the world a better so he had to make you worse–because your trusting nature? your tendency to see the best in people? to smile at strangers and go without so someone else wouldn’t have to? it fucking terrified him.

he brought you with him one night, and made you a witness to various crimes. each time, he quieted you, pressed his hand over your mouth and whispered horrors he’d seen. he told you how the world was and how it worked.

but until something happened to you, until jason came back from stealing and saw a man hurting you, you didn’t believe that the whole world was awful. until jason slammed a tire rim into him, staining it red and leaving him limp, you thought there was some good. then you didn’t. you realised there wasn’t.

and then? then batman took you both in. the batman. bruce-motherfucking-wayne decided to play dad to two homeless, orphaned, violent, and thieving teenagers.

at first he just wanted to take jason. he had no interest in raising a girl but when he looked at you, watched you hug jason, whisper “goodbye,” and saw you ready to sprint away, it was decided.

the world was selfish and in a way it had made you selfish too. but there was one person you were willing to be unselfish for and it was him. jason todd. your jay. you wanted what was best for him, you’d live on the streets, die there too, if that’s what it took. then, batman, who’d decided he also wanted what was best for jason, realised that it was you. you were what he needed.

both of you were placed in the backseat of the batmobile that’s tires, much to jason’s displeasure, were still in place.

then you were brought to your new home. it had more to offer than the occasional canned food and bread crumbs. you didn’t have to dumpster dive, didn’t have to struggle. there were heaters and blankets and stocked cupboards and even a butler named alfred.

batman didn’t have plans for you, just jason, who he wanted as his robin. you never liked feeling left out so you trained too. just… privately at first. sitting on jason’s bed (you weren’t yet comfortable sleeping anywhere he wasn’t and batman came to realise that superhero–super vigilante, or whatever, it didn’t matter because there was absolutely nothing short of attaching a ball and chain to both of your ankles that he could do about it) you swung your legs over the edge, them not quite hitting the floor, and made what jason thought was small talk. idle conversation.

“so, how was training?” he dabbed at his face with a cloth, collecting sweat, and sighed. he didn’t mind training, i mean, he thought it sucked, but liked that there was a goal to work towards, and that the goal was him being stronger, and that if he was stronger no one would ever be able to hurt anyone he cared about–there was only you–ever again. “what did batman make you do today? anything different?”

“well,” said jason. “we sparred today. i ran on the treadmill, lifted weights, and i think he made me do, like, 1000 pushups.” jason may have exaggerated there, but you didn’t quite understand. sarcasm, hyperboles, they weren’t your forte. it took you a full twenty four hours, but in sets of ten, you managed. you fought one of the pillows in your room–not well, but you did, and ran around the bed that you’d pulled into the centre of the room until you were panting. the next day you couldn’t spoon fucking cereal into your mouth but six months later batman finally caved.

“train me.” you said, not begging anymore–long past that actually. “i can do just as many pushups as jason can. i can run fast. i can do good, batman. i know i can. i know there's not enough good in the world, that it’s a shit place and that there’s shit people but i’m not one of them. i’ll do good, be good. i swear.”

“you can train but for self defence purposes. robin and i have the crime fighting handled.”

“i’ve been training. i want to train with you and jay. if there's something i can’t do i’ll sit out, you won’t have to babysit me, i won’t say a single word. just let me try. if i fail i’ll drop it.”

when batman tries to make you fail your odds aren’t great. when your best friend, his sidekick, taps out before you do, they improve drastically.

with the bat’s stamp of approval you kept training and training. you patrolled with them, with jason, and while jason was robin you were batgirl. at 18 (you) and 19 (jason) the two of you go out on your own without batman, he checks on you sometimes but doesn’t feel the need to chaperone you on your crime fighting endeavours.

it’s around ten pm, when the crime picks up in the streets, and jason is beginning to get impatient. you’re not the most punctual but right now you’re really late. he could start without you, scale a building and begin searching for some drug deal to bust or mugging to stop. he could… but he doesn’t. jason–well, robin, pulls out his phone and calls you. you’re in bed, not dressed in your suit, and it’s all you can do to roll over. you slide your thumb against your screen, answering with a barely audible groan. your face is pressed into the blanket and jason’s voice spills through the speaker. “where are you?”

“m’home…” you manage.

“what’s wrong? did something happen? home as in the apartment or–screw it,” jason is standing up, he’s checking your location himself, seeing that you’re at the wayne manor and sprinting back the way he came.

“jay it’s okay. i’m fine, just sick.”

“i’m coming home.”

“no,” you whine, “you have patrol. protect the city and the people. duty and…” you cough. rub your throat, “whatnot.”

jason doesn’t respond but you know he’s not listening. you hear the sound of clothes being removed and assume he’s changing out of his suit.

you roll your eyes, he really is stubborn. you try again “you’re a hero, jay.” what’s supposed to be a motivational speech is interrupted by a coughing fit. you slam your finger down on the mute button and press your face into the big bowl you took from the cabinet, retching.

when you’re done, you hit unmute. “you’ve got to do your thing and save the world.” your voice is scratchy, your throat hurts. your ribs too. you’ve been in serious battles less painful–against two face, the joker. being sick sucks.

“i plan to. but my world’s at home in bed, coughing her lungs out. i’m stopping at the drug store and i’ll be home, ‘kay?”

“okay…”

jason makes you stay on the phone until he walks through the door. he hangs up and helps you to the bathroom. “you should’ve told me you were puking i would’ve grabbed some pepto,” you shake your head, “wouldn't be able to keep it down,” and watch as he not-so-subtly attempts to slide the bag of your favourite candies behind him. your smile comes out pained as another wave of nausea hits and you’re in the bathroom dry heaving above the toilet. he holds your hair back (if it’s shorter, he rubs your scalp soothingly) and when you’re done, helps you back to the bed.

he’s walking around you, doting. there’s a water and ibuprofen on the nightstand, he’s brought you a heating pad, filled a hot water bottle, and pulled the blankets all the way up. tucking them under your chin. he’s checked your temperature twice and walks back in front of the bed toying with the thermometer. “jay, stop pacing.”

“are you okay? should i get alfred?”

“i’ll be fine. either leave so you don’t get sick or come here,” you pat the spot next to you and jason walks over, lowering himself down onto the bed and pulling you into his arms. he kisses your forehead, “my immune system seems to be a lot stronger than yours, batgirl.”

“mhm,” you agree. “all the training in the world couldn’t help that, robin.”

jason grumbled and you raised a brow. “still mad about that?”

“that you got the bat prefix? nah, i’m happy being a sidekick named after a bird. ‘course i’m mad. not at you though.” never at you is what he leaves out, “at batman. my hero name could’ve been way cooler.”

“are you telling me you’d rather be batboy?” you ask, tone incredulous.

he chuckles, shoulders raising in a shrug. “we’d make quite the pair.”

“we already do, dummy.”

that night batman covers for you two–he patrols and you stay in your partners arms, recovering. later, he helps alfred make you soup. everything is easy with him. even getting better.

[strawberryforks]

the cole walter effect // cole walter x reader

summary: you fall victim to the cole walter effect, then he, falls for you.

warnings: swearing

word count: 1850

a/n: requests/asks open and encouraged! <3

one look and you were a goner. two, and you were a blushing mess, sitting beside erin, your best friend. desks pushed up against each other, wondering what business letters had in maths class and what business cole walter had being so… so him, you toyed with the mechanical pencil in your hand, pushing the led in and out.

even acting like a jackass, cole had a sweet smile and was the king of gestures—grand or otherwise. hanging around him could light up you day (or darken it substantially depending on his mood) but mostly, cole walter made you feel special for however long you managed to keep his attention.

since he’d hurt his leg and lost his spot on the football team he’d been treating everyone awfully. you, erin, the dozens of other girls he led on, his parents, siblings, himself. it wasn’t like cole but it didn’t seem like there was much anyone could do…

you made a point to cherish the good moments even more.

when someone bumped into you in the hallways he scooped up your books and handed them to you. “sorry about that, y/n, some people don’t pay enough attention to their surroundings,” he watched the perpetrator retreat, glaring at their back all while helping you up.

when you two skipped school together and he brought you to his favourite spot. the sun beat down on the lake and reflected on your faces. “happiness looks good on you, sunshine,” he’d been trying out stupid nicknames all day and none of them stuck, not until then, you scrunched your nose and shook your head, laughing at him and he smiled back. you’d listen to that stupid nickname every day for the rest of your life if that was your reward.

and that time you got stuck walking in the rain. it was storming and you were supposed to be on your way to his house—to hangout with danny, but still. when you were late he cared enough to call your mom and when she said you’d left on foot fifteen minutes ago he was out the door in no time at all. he pulled up alongside you and let you climb into his truck even soaking wet. “sunshine, you’re shaking,” you were, you were drenched and chilled to the bone. “here.” he shrugged off his jacket, gave it to you, and cranked the heat. your teeth chattered while you thanked him and he brushed it off, said: “no worries; it’s nothing.” what he didn’t know is that it was everything.

you felt bad for cole walters and his devilish grin but you felt other things too. in that ooey gooey crush phase where a wink could turn you bright red and you treasured each and every conversation—dissected each word and then talked about it with your best friend.

“he’s pretty, i’ll give him that.” she said, giving you the sense that wasn’t all. “but?” you encouraged.

“but he’s kind of an ass and he stopped treating me right a long time ago. casual hookups are all he can offer, y/n.”

you’d be fine with that and you love erin but you don’t really believe her. no, it’s not that you don’t believe in her it’s just… you believe in cole. believe he can do better, be better, and be more.

still, her tone worries you. you know something’s up so you push a bit. you’ve known her since you were in diapers and cole was her off-and-on-again boyfriend for quite awhile. you have a crush on him but who doesn’t? falling prey to what dozens of your peers have dubbed the cole effect is almost easier than breathing in this tiny town. “are you sure you’re okay with—“ you gesture between you and then point out the window to where the eldest walter boy stands talking to his twin, danny. there’s no other way to explain it, really. there is no you and cole, you’re just hoping that one day there could be. erin looks out the window, “to clarify you’re talking about cole, right?”

you nod quick and when she seems relieved your mouth tumbles open. you gasp and erin’s hand flies to the back of her neck, cheeks turning red, “yeah,” she admits. “i’m suddenly only okay with you going after one of the walter boys.”

“you like danny!” you whisper-shout. “that’s fantastic, that’s just so great! i’ve known him for ages i can totally set you up. would it be okay if i gave him your number?” erin nods, grateful, and you can’t wipe the grin off of your face all day.

you see danny and rush over to him. you pluck his phone out of his hand and he messes up your hair with his hand, “i’m just putting erin’s number in!” you defend, “she’s interested in acting” and you, you omit, “and since you’re the best actor i know, i figured you could help her out!”

danny smiles and stuffs his hands into his pockets and shakes his head. he’s your other best friend, the one you tell all of your walter free drama. to spare his sanity, not once have you mentioned your massive crush or burdened him with your boy-problems. boy-problem, you corrected, seeing as there was only one. “you coming over after school?”

“only if you’ve got room!”

“we do. always. and see if your friend erin wants to come with.”

your excitement is palpable as you nod quickly. Then, you skip off to find erin, plans already forming in your mind.

You’re the first one to the car–you call shotgun and slide into the passenger seat, looking at cole. earlier, you’d slipped issac, lee, and nathan $10 bills to manoeuvre themselves so erin and danny would have to sit next to each other. To add insult to injury, or the cherry to your sundae of a master plan, you slip issac an extra $5. he sits with his legs spread and rests his elbows on his thighs hunched over. he sits his backpack beside him and when erin figured out where she had to sit–having only half a seat’s worth of space, you swear, she had a mini-aneurysm or something. you almost felt bad. erin glared but you played dumb you did feel bad. a little. until cole hit a bump and looking in the mirror you saw them holding hands. a victory, a smile, now it was your turn.

being cole walter’s friend was surprisingly easy. turns out, he just needed someone to really hear him. To really listen. Sure, to get to that point you had to push a little (but two shouting matches later and) “it’s just–there was all this pressure on me to make a comeback. I love footbal, i do, but it doesn’t change the fact that my foot is fucked. mom and dad spent all this money on my rehab and it’s still useless.” you hugged him tight, “but you’re not. Not useless.” he sighed, holding onto you, like the lifeline you allowed yourself to be. he didn’t believe you when you told him he was worthy, that he was good at things other than football, but maybe one day.

winning over cole took more attention to detail and care. care was the big thing–thoughtfulness, kindness, creativeness. cole walter does things for people and he doesn’t have to be asked or begged. you’re certain his love language is acts of service and yours is a combination of several. you like physical touch as much as the next person, gift giving, and quality time. when you combine all three? it’s his turn to blush.

you find field and pick a handful of flowers–all as close to his favourite colour you could find. you arrange them in a tinted and curved glass vase you found at the thrift and you write him a letter. when you deliver your gift, passing it over, your hands touch. “who’s this for?” he asks, confusion present on his face. He’s thinking maybe it’s for his mom, maybe parker?, when you tap your index finger against the envelope and he reads his own name. he’s caught off guard. he takes the gift, thanks you somewhat awkwardly and then walks off. (you think you failed until he returned the sentiment the next day and you found flowers in your locker)

the next thing that you do isn’t even intentional. you don’t do it to make cole like you more, it just happens that way. “Hey!” you shout, walking up to the new quarterback. “taking his number and flaunting it around like that–well that’s a real shit thing to do.” lake houses with colourful chairs aren’t made for confrontations like these. nor are you usually, not in front of your peers at least. but after a cup full of liquid confidence, well, you’re in the middle of a truth or dare game and things are about to get messy. you’re to his left and if he leans in the only kiss he’ll receive is from your knuckles. “i dare you,” he rolls his eyes, “i pick truth.” you scoff and when some of his friends laugh too, one crowing “what are you, scared?” he doesn’t budge. “truth, then. do you think you’re better than cole?” he gulps, “even with an injured leg he’s a better person and player than you could ever dream of being.” cole watches from the sidelines, ready to intervene if necessary but also… he’s thinking. thinking hard and wondering where the hell you came from.

he taught you how to ride horses, you taught him how to paint–painted him, actually, which his mom just thought was the best thing in the entire world. “she’s so sweet, george.” katherine told her husband, “she’s so good to him. just what he needed.”

you take the liberty of walking him to a few of his classes and he pays you back by driving you places–your home, his, issac jokingly called you cole’s passenger princess and the second eldest walter boy didn’t correct him. being cole’s anything gave you butterflies.

but still. the one step you wouldn’t take was the one that took him the longest–it was the label that stopped him, that scared him. the exclusivity (he hadn’t so much as flirted with anyone else since you two started hanging out more) and the fear of error, of messing up. a month later was when he finally asked you to be his girlfriend. the two of you went on a picnic (he cooked all of the food but didn’t tell you in case there was something there that you didn’t like) and brought you flowers and a letter. “who’s this for?” you asked, grinning. it was a full circle–one with a curved line and two dots inside of it. you were beaming and when you finished reading the letter you threw yourself into his arms. your hands found both sides of his face and you pressed your lips against his.

the cole walter effect got you, but you weren’t mad about it.

[strawberryforks]

extra credit // cole walter x reader

summary: you and cole had a falling out. you’re not friends anymore but you still can’t sit back and watch him fail all of his classes—when you decide to tutor him, things are revealed, and things are fixed.

warnings: swearing, crying (this one has a happy ending don’t worry)

word count: 1730

a/n: requests/asks open and encouraged! <3

you hated cole walter more than was probably healthy. he broke your heart in fifth grade when he destroyed the science fair project you’d spent months working on and telling him about. family dinners were awkward as sin because even though you’d fallen out with the walters, your parents hadn’t… they owned a neighboring ranch and had know the walter family your entire life. so yes, you hated cole walter but you didn’t hate yourself which was the only reason you’d agreed to tutor him. your mom had begged you and your teacher mentioned that it would look good on your transcripts. in class, when you looked over and saw a red ‘f’ circled on the corner of his assignment, you almost felt bad. he’d shook his head and stuffed it into his bag. when the bell rang he was the first one out of his seat—you slung your bag over your shoulder and followed behind him, legs working twice as hard to catch up to his insanely long ones. “walter!” you shouted, “wait up!” he didn’t slow his pace but lee turned and tilted his head to the side. “not you.” you dismissed. “cole!” you tried again. this time he stopped. In the middle of the hallway teeming with teenagers, all in a rush to get home, he stopped. cole turned around and his blue eyes were full of confusion. it made sense, his apprehension, because you hadn’t spoken to him directly in years. yeah, you could hold a grudge. he looked side to side, almost expecting there to be another person with the same name. when there wasn’t, he gulped. “y/n/n?”

it was your turn to gulp. you hadn’t been called that in quite sometime. not by someone who mattered—who had mattered so much to you. “just y/n please.”

cole nodded and muttered his apologies, he could give you that much. “do you need a ride?”

“i need to talk to you, but we can do that in the car if you’ve got room.”

cole nodded and left through the double doors heading out to the student parking lot. He cast glances over his shoulder checking that you were still there and not a figment of his imagination. He opened your door and you scoffed but slid in anyways. “Thought I called shotgun!” Issac yelled, knocking into the passenger door before sliding into the back. cole shot him a look—one that said ‘shut up’ and he did. lee slid in beside him and then alex. the rest of the boys climbed in as well. you peaked over the back of your seat, meeting issac’s gaze. “sorry ise, i had no idea. we can swap spots if you want.”

“he’s fine,” cole said. he reached across you, grabbed your buckle, and plugged it in. “i could’ve done that,” you grumbled. cole didn’t care. he cranked the tunes, you switched the station and because you were talking to him, because you hadn’t in so long and he’d quite literally dreamed of this moment, he let you. he sat and listened to the shitty station you chose with a smile. danny bumped your shoulder on the way in and in the living room, you sat close to alex. your legs touched and though you thought nothing of it, cole was far from happy. alex whispered in your ear, “stay here for a second, i’ve never seen cole so red in the face.” you rolled your eyes, “i don’t need to make your brother jealous, alex. one—you have a girlfriend,” jackie was at one of her friend’s houses, “two, i’m not interested, and three, you guys don’t need another reason to fight. you hit him last time and i bet he’s itching to get even.”

cole passed you a glass of juice—your favorite and when his hand was empty he grabbed your arm and pulled you up. “what did you need to talk about?”

you weren’t stupid, you knew that was his way of getting you away from his brother. you didn’t care, though. you followed him and instead of leading you to his bedroom he took you out to the loft. you two had spent plenty of time together out there and you wondered if that was intentional. you climbed up and sat down, balancing on your favorite beam. cole inched closer, so he could reach you if he needed to. below there was only hay, but still, he was nervous, “i hate it when you sit there.”

“i know,” you said, but didn’t move, and that was that. “what’s up?” he asked softly.

“your hair. the middle part, i don’t like it.”

subconsciously he drug a hand through his blond locks then he saw a smile split your cheeks. you started laughing and he rolled his eyes. “had me ready to ask my mom for a haircut, y/n. not cool, not cool.”

this, you two, it felt too normal. too comfortable. too right. it was hard to remember that you were mad, let alone why.

you coughed a little, cleared your throat. “your grades, cole. they’re bad. i mean they’ve never been good—but you’ve really fallen off.”

cole’s smile flattened but you considered your small verbal assault “even when you were busy with football and with me it was never this bad, so what’s going on?”

“it’s not like i can go to college. football was all i had, it was my way out. when i lost it i had nothing, y/n. the only reason i haven’t dropped out is—“

“is because katherine and i would kill you?”

“i didn’t know you cared.”

“oh my lack of caring is not the problem here. it’s never been so don’t even start.” you take a breath, “ms jacobs said you’re doing bad in everything and worse in english—not in those exact words, so don’t start pouting or anything. i went around and talked to your teachers and got the work you missed, what they’re willing to let you redo, and extra credit assignments. so, get to work. i’m officially your tutor and no one i’m tutoring is getting anything less than an eighty.”

cole groaned when you handed him the pile of work but when you divided it by subject and deadline it was less overwhelming. the two of you worked in tandem for hours. he wrote, you edited. he attempted problems and you corrected them it he was wrong—explaining how to fix things. you went over formulas until he swore they were permanently burned into the backs of his eyelids.

“we’ll call it a night.” you decided when a quarter of the pile was completed. “you write an essay tonight and email it to me—i’ll edit it for you. the rest we can do when we meetup another day.”

“okay.” cole insisted on helping you down, and then when you turned to head out the driveway he grabbed your arm. “where are you going?”

“home.” you said.

“stay the night. you can take my bed and i’ll sleep on the couch. it’s dark and walking alone, especially at night, isn’t something i want you doing.”

“cole.” you warned.

“i don’t want anything to happen to you.” more than anything it was a confession. “stay for dinner at least, if you still want to leave i’ll drive you home. if you’re dead set on walking, i’ll walk with you.”

you couldn’t argue with that, not when kathrene and george were such great cooks. you headed inside and cole pulled an extra seat up to the table for you. “just you tonight, y/n?” george asked.

“yeah. mom and dad are at home, i just came over to help cole with… uh…” you didn’t know if all of his siblings and parents were aware of how he was struggling so you opted to say nothing. “with my truck,” cole supplied when his mother pinned him with a glare full of suspicion. “i love your outfit,” you tell parker when she passed you butter to twirl your corn through. cole passes you the salt before you can think to ask and it’s nice that he remembers these things. a smile tugs at the corner of my lips. small but bright.

after dinner you give in. you agree to sleepover and decide that you’ll take the bed and cole can sleep on the couch. when you’re settled in his room he leaves. you’re about to go to sleep, blankets piled on top of me and a smell that is so uniquely cole all around me when something catches my eye. it’s… it’s your project. you stand quick and cross to the closet, pulling it down carefully. the project he ruined in fifth grade is all there—glued back together. it’s perfect. you cry. it’s like you can’t stop crying. relief, anger, sadness, happiness, the emotions all slam into you with such force. tears trail down your cheeks and the wetness is still there when you find cole staring up at the ceiling, on the couch. he stands up quick—you’re upset, crying and he hates it. he doesn’t know what to do, what happened, how to fix it. you wrap your arms around him and squeeze. with your face buried into his chest you sob, “cole you fixed it,” it’s then that he finally clues in. “i couldn’t fix us so i… i fixed that. i never meant to break it.”

“i’m sorry!” you cried—loud and quiet at the same time. “no i am. i should’ve tried harder to explain myself,”

“i should’ve let you, cole. i never gave you a chance.”

“will you? give me a chance?”

you nodded. having cole back was the best thing that’d happened to you in a long time. family dinners became less awkward, you hungout with the walters more and a few weeks later, when it was time for the semi-formal dance, he asked you. picked you up in his truck (it was fixed and working great), gave you flowers, and spun you around all night. you held onto his arm, chatted, and at the end, you two stood outside under the stars, not quite ready to say goodbye or goodnight.

“i love you.” he said—it suprised you but not too much.

“i think i love you too.”

"you think you love me?" he asked with a teasing smile. “what if I kiss you right now? would that make it fact?"

you nodded, your lips met, and then the night was perfect. the project was fixed and so were you and cole. your best friend was now your boyfriend and you couldn’t be happier.

[strawberryforks]

small city, small problems // (eventual) dean winchester x reader

summary: you move to lebanon kansas and have two run-ins eith the winchester boys. in one, you’re awesome, in the other… well…

warnings: violence, blood, swearing

word count: 1343

author’s note: requests/asks open & encouraged!

hunting was your job but it didn’t pay the bills. no, that was taken care of by the numerous scams you ran. monster slayer by day (who would willingly go after those freaks in the dark? thinking about it made you shiver) and door to door salesman, telemarketer, pyramid-schemer by night. credit card scams and fake identities had stopped helping you the minute you decided to settle down. now, going by your actual name for the first time in what felt like forever, you house hunted too.

small city, small problems, you thought, settling on lebanon, kansas. you found a duplex for $700 a month and moved all of your belongings in--it took hardly any time because your entire life could fit in the box of your truck. none of it was damp or damaged thanks to the tonneau cover you splurged on.

neighbors could be difficult to deal with but yours seemed unassuming enough. the landlord had described them as an older couple that kept to themselves and that sounded better than rooming with five college students or staying in a rundown motel. you just hoped they wouldn’t notice the blood caked under your nails when you checked the mailbox, or the various injuries you always had when you walked to and from your truck.

you were sitting on the floor, both legs stuck out in front of you, and dozens of newspaper clippings in between them. you planned on taking a break from hunting but when you were in the life and aware of the creatures that go bump in the night, these things tended to fall right into your lap. missing people--this many--in such a small town was never innocent. nor were the all black eyes you made contact with on your way back from the supermarket. a demon problem you could handle but it didn’t quite explain the missing people. It was fine, you would figure it out.

a fist slams against the door in an aggressive manner, one that far too many policemen used for you to be comfortable with. you lift the corner of your mattress and swipe the information you’d found under it. you hide any evidence of your wrongdoings and stuff your phone into your pants pocket. then you pulled open the door. two men stand, wearing suits and presenting badges. you look at the badges first--agent figsbottom and dave. you snort and your hand moves over your mouth quickly as you try (and fail) to stifle laughter. the taller man frowned and his brother’s eyes narrow. “come on in, boys.”

the winchester brothers are confused. this isn’t the level of respect they were used to receiving when posing as federal agents. the thing is, you knew them. well, knew of them. dean and sam winchester were pretty famous in the hunting community so no, you weren’t about to play concerned citizen even though… well, you were concerned. the hell were they on your doorstep for?

“we have some questions for you miss,” dean says. he flashes you a smile along with his badge and sam shoots him an irritated look, placing a hand on his shoulder and shoving subtly. “have you seen either of these people? samantha and owen have--”

you hadn’t seen them anywhere else but on the newspaper. you lift the corner of your mattress and pull out the papers. “they’ve been missing for just over a week. you should be looking for these two if you want a rescue mission and not a recovery one.” you tap your hand against another couple's photo and sam’s eyebrows raise. “i’m a hunter too. just moved into the area. y/n l/n, nice to meet you.”

dean shakes your hand and you tighten your grip in challenge. the two of you stand, staring at each other and aggressively shaking hands until sam’s laughter interrupts your brief pissing contest.

“i’m sam,”

“and your dean,” you look at the shorter brother, right into his green eyes as he nods. “your reputations precede you.”

“all good things i hope?”

you laugh and give a small shake of your head. “so, the case. what do you guys know that I don’t?”

“no offense sweetheart but we don’t need any extra help. you and your partner can pick another town and another monster.” dean says.

you scoff. “no. first of all, i live here now, and secondly, i’m on my own. no partner needed.”

“you hunt alone? that’s a death sentence.”

“death is the only thing certain in life though you and your brother toe the line often--anyways, i’m not phased by it. hell or heaven, they’ll be lucky to have me.” neither of the boys have anything to say to that. sam keeps trying to angle his head just so, wanting to see all of the pages you’ve compiled and dean is staring straight at you, saying nothing. you clap your hands together, breaking up the silence. “want to compare notes or are you going to get the hell out of my house?”

neither winchester wanted to compare notes and so, you chased them out with various threats of violence. the eldest one had the gall to smirk and shout “goodluck!” before climbing into his beautiful ‘67 chevy impala.

—

the next time you see the brothers you’re in mortal danger. you're tied to a chair and bleeding all over the place--head swimming in regret and your own mistakes. if you were conscious enough to be embarrassed you would be. your neighbors, the sweet and unassuming old couple were actually long gone. dead and rotting. a pair of ghouls were wearing their bodies like meat suits and the gardening the old lady did every day like clockwork was her burying bones. they nabbed you while you were sleeping and you were a good fighter but with your limbs still heavy with exhaustion, were no match.

the rope was tight around you and it was stained crimson. they were taking turns biting off chunks of your flesh when the front door was kicked in and you could barely lift your head to see which brother had managed to break the door in just one go-- “impressive,” you acknowledged weakly. there was a struggle. you heard it but couldn’t track it with your eyes, not as they blurred and unfocused.

then you were being untied. you fell forwards and into strong arms. “hey. sweetheart, going to need you to stay conscious, yeah? not going to let a few ghouls be your end are ya?”

you shake your head ‘no’, and fight to keep your eyes open. “sammy!” dean shouts. “we need to get this bleeding stopped.” you’re passed to the taller winchester who puts pressure on the worst bite. dean starts talking to himself or his imaginary friend, cas. “cas you feathered fuck, hurry up!” he shouts to the sky and a moment later there's a ‘whoosh’ and a new hand is on you--on your forehead. light erupts but you only see white.

when you wake up you’re in a bed that isn’t your own--in a room that isn’t yours but that smells like leather, firewood, and vanilla? your face crinkles in confusion and you haul yourself into a sitting position, groaning. then, you notice the eldest winchester, dean, sitting in a chair across the room. he scoots closer to you looking you over to make sure that you’re alright.

“sorry about that,” you apologize. “can i, uh… is there anything i can do for you, your brother and… the angel?” you’re still unsure about that one, but hate owing people (or magical beings) more than you could ever articulate. “to repay you all for…”

“for saving your ass? yeah. there is.”

“okay…?” you’re hesitant.

“if you insist on hunting, don’t do it alone. not ever again. you can stick with us or go off on your own, but the second you find a case, you call me.” you agree easily. you’re alive and he isn’t making you clean toilets or sell your soul, he’s offering to help you.

you exchange numbers and then you’re off. you’ll keep your promise. probably…

[strawberryforks]

focus // finnick odair x reader

summary: it’s the 65th hunger games and district 4’s tributes are best friends. what’s unfortunate is that everyone knows there can only be one winner…

warnings: violence, suicide, underaged drinking (which i do not condone), no happy ending

word count: 2099

author’s note: this is my first fic and as i’m new to writing for “reader” or “y/n” the format may be different on others! but hopefully this is angsty enough <3 ALSO, REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!

sitting on the train, in a booth, beside your best friend finnick you were the furthest thing from present. you paid more attention the the blur of trees and buildings than him and your mentor, mags. your cheek was pressed against the glass and your hot breath was causing it to steam up.

was dragging your finger overtop it and making various smiley-faces more interesting than whatever finnick and mags were discussing? well, yes. still you couldn’t delude yourself into thinking it was the best use of your time. just like you couldn’t be surprised when finnick’s elbow found purchase in your side. it wouldn’t bruise but it didn’t feel nice. “focus,” he scolded. “you have to listen to what mags is saying. she’s been through this already. she won. she can help us.”

finnick, with his hopefulness, blonde hair, blue eyes and fourteen years worth of boyish charm was perfect. sometimes too perfect because you would catch yourself staring. eyes stuck and cheeks turned redder than a tomato whenever he caught you. embarassing, really, because it’s common sense. you just don’t look at your best friend like that.

“sure. sorry mags. i’ll pay attention.” the victor nodded and continued her explanation—told you and finnick that your best bet would be getting away from the cornucopia as soon as possible. you nodded and though you did your best to listen, you just hoped finnick had, because wherever he went, you would follow.

—

“what are you doing?”

you were doing something you shouldn’t have–but caught, the sounds that spilled from your lips weren’t hurried explanations. you just giggled. “uhm,” you held one hand out in front of your face like a shield and sat the cup of bubbling liquid down on the dresser.

drinking. you were drinking. you moved in front of the dresser hiding the evidence with your body. finnick stepped forward quickly, crossing the room and making it to you in no time at all. he was frowning, he saw the drinks and he wasn’t happy which you didn’t understand because you were overflowing with the stuff. everything was greater than it had been, you were smiling, laughing at things that weren’t funny, and felt a bit like you were floating. “that’s not allowed—where did you even get that?”

“there was a buffet table and,” you burped, “they had drinks. y’wanna try?”

he didn’t. finnick shook his head–didn’t understand why you weren’t taking this seriously. usually he loved your attitude and outlook on things, ‘whatever happens, happens’ was usually said on your adventures but this wasn’t that. this was serious. now was not the time. he just wanted you to focus. “we’re almost at the capital. you can’t do this again, you understand?”

you bite your tongue so your inner monologue doesn’t get out. because yeah, you wouldn’t ever get to do this again (drink, legally or not). you wouldn’t get to do much of anything ever again. your days were numbered. in your last ones you would smile and wave, play pretend with your best friend at your side.

finnick was quite possibly the best and worst person to be in this situation with. on one hand, you’d be with someone you loved in your last moments, on the other… there was no world in which you won this.

finnick swapped your drink with a tall glass of water. sat by you while you sipped at it and helped you to bed. morning came and he was still there. your eyes cracked open, narrowed by bright light and confusion. “you’re good now, yeah?” he asked.

your head hurt but you nodded it anyways. there were purple bags below his eyes. “did you sleep?” you asked despite the answer being obvious.

“someone had to make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit and i didn’t want to tell mags.” lest you disappoint another person. is what he was nice enough to omit.

you weren’t fast enough with thanking him and he left you alone with the myriad of thoughts you just wanted to ignore.

—

“i know what you’re doing.” it was mags.

you turned around to face her—had just finished being interviewed by a loser in an extravagant suit, and felt like a loser, dressed in a blue frilly dress. you kind of looked like a loser too, one late for tea time.

“i don’t know what you mean.”

mags sighed and shook her head lightly. “it’s honourable but he’ll hate you for it.”

you shrug. you don’t care, your mind is more than made up, and has been since you heard his name called alongside your own. “if he’s alive to hate i’m okay with that. you know there can only be one winner.”

mags knew more than most. “i won’t tell him. don’t worry.”

“Tell him,” you made her promise, “that i’m sorry. you know, tributes are vicious but the capitol is worse. keep an eye on him for me please?”

“of course.”

—

then you trained.

“come help,” he called. finnick was practising tying knots, all which he was excellent at. “sure,” you said, allowing him to interrupt your people-watching. you were worried about the careers but figured that together you and finnick could handle them. they were adults but… most of the others were. it was fine, would be fine.

“think you should try something else? you’re pretty good at this.”

finnick laughed and you tucked the sound away in your mind. “thanks, but you? You’re not.” He gestured to the mess of rope on your end before scooting closer. his hands overtop yours, he moved them and showed you the right way to do what you had been failing at. “and there’s no way you’re telling me to train something else. have you even picked up a weapon?”

you shrugged. “i’ve just been watching. i know how to shoot a bow and use knives, i get either of those and i’ll be just fine. a few days of preparation with either won’t change much. i've used them since i could walk, y’know?”

“i just want us to be prepared.” he said.

you smiled and stood, you held his hands and pulled him up with you. “the arena’s usually have tridents, right? you’re great with those.”

and he was. you didn’t care about impressing the judges but finnick did so effortlessly.

“we’ll stick together in the arena, right?” you blurted once the two of you were alone and resting.

“until the end,” he said with a sad smile.

then, almost out of nowhere, his smile brightened. “sleepover?”

that was something you did a lot. Sleepovers under the stars, in your bed, on your father’s boat. it was your thing and somehow the idea of one last sleepover was enough to make everything okay, even just for a little while.

you crawled into the big bed the capitol provided, finnick at your side. you pulled up a blanket at the same time he pulled you into him. he held tight. so tight, for a second you forgot to breath. it meant so much. so, so much. your back was pressed against his chest and his arms were around you–hours later, you were grateful he was such a heavy sleeper. finnick was warm and safe. he was home. you were thankful he was a heavy sleeper because otherwise the way you shook as wet trailed down your cheeks would’ve woke him.

–

finnick’s knots came in handy. you stuck to higher ground, perching in trees and climbing cliffs, and managed to booby trap most of the area around us. after tributes were caught in a net finnick made, you would take turns finishing them off. you, who’d been preparing to kill since your name was called, went first.

a teen who killed without issue was concerning but so was a civilization that made their people fight to the death for glory and entertainment so what could you do?

you killed the first one with an arrow—having got both the weapons you wanted, and finnick took the second, ending a thirty year old man who had more muscles than brains with a trident that had been gifted to him by a sponsor.

two days later and you both were still kicking. In the final four.

you knew what had to be done. your plan only solidified when the other two–also allied, found you. the fight was fast. finnick went up against the remaining tribute from district ten and you fought against the tribute from district two

you were uncomfortable with the distance between the two of you. you both had stuck together like glue the entire time and now fighting and separated? you hated it. if something– “shit,” the man swung the axe and you barely threw yourself out of the way in time. you list some hair and some skin off your shoulder but nothing you really needed. the axe buried itself in the ground behind you and before your opponent could yank it back you struck. you buried a dagger in his stomach and twisted it. his hands found your throat and black dotted your vision but you kept slicing and he went limp.

you rolled the man off of you and immediately ran to help finnick.

another minute and his opponent was dead. you was down a dagger but one was enough. you smiled so wide my cheeks hurt and flung yourself into finnick’s arms. he hugged you hesitantly at first–like he was wary of you. like he expected you to bury a dagger into his back. you would never. besides, your last one was… occupied. “we did it, finn. we did it.”

“only one of us can win…”

you pulled back. both of your hands–both shaky, both covered in blood, cupped his cheeks. “i know, i know. it’s okay. you did… you did great.”

“what? y/n what are you–what do you mean?”

your legs picked that moment to give out. you dropped, knees slamming into the rock. still, you wore that lazy smile. you were losing blood quick and lots of it. you saw the drone that recorded everything begin to inch closer, zooming in as terror finally flooded finnick’s face. he fell to his knees beside you. “no, no, no, no.” his hands pressed on either side of the dagger you had yet to pull out. “what did you do?” his voice broke and his eyes glistened with moisture. you wanted to wipe them away. it was okay. it would be okay. you made sure of it.

“i helped you win...” you assured.

finnick pushed harder on your stomach and you sobbed. he pulled his shirt and pressed it around the blade. pushed again. “finnick. finn, no,” you told him—pleaded with him. you moved your hands… wanted to move his but was too weak. “you didn’t–this isn’t helping. ” he shook his head and more tears fell. “why? you can’t leave me. friends forever, remember? what about that?”

“you-you’ll be okay.”

“not after this. not without you.” agony, finnick was in agony. an ugly sound tore it’s way out of his chest. you couldn’t leave him, not like this.

“c’mere,” you begged. he did, how could he argue with you now? the damage, the irreversible damage, had been done. you pulled his head closer to yours as he choked on more tears. the capitol had taken many things from both of you—and you decided that they could have your life, your future, your finn (you hated that most, but at least he would get to live. get to have his shot at happiness) but they couldn’t have your last words. those… well, they were only for him. “i love you finn. focus… on that.”

“no. no! focus on me, on my eyes—dammit, don’t close yours. no, no, no.”

then your eyes closed again for the last time. he called your name over an over like a prayer, one that went unanswered. but you tried, you swear you did… you just couldn’t get them open again. not as finnick sobbed, not as he stood up and faced the drone. “help her!” he cried, “help her dammit!”

“kill me instead, take me instead. i’ll die, i will! just bring her back, help her! you can’t—you can’t do this!” he begged and when that didn’t work he screamed at the cameras, cursing the capital until the footage stopped being streamed.

when your heart stopped, he refused to let go. clinging to your corpse, to his best friend, he hugged you for the last time.

finnick had won, but he didn’t feel like a winner.

[strawberryforks]

new to this whole fanfiction thing and these are the characters i know i would enjoy writing about! send scenarios you’d like me to write and i will happily do so! that being said, happy new years! <33 red highlights are my favourite characters (feel free to psychoanalyse me based on my type in fictional men baha)

the vampire diaries — damon salvatore, stefan salvatore, klaus mikaelson, rebekah mikaelson

outerbanks — jj maybank, john b routledge, rafe cameron (regrettably), pope heyward

marvel — peter parker, bucky barnes

dc — jason todd, gar (beast boy from netflix’s titans)

station 19 — jack gibson, victoria hughes

grey’s anatomy — derek shepherd, mark sloan, jackson avery

macgyver — angus “mac” macgyver

the 100 — bellamy blake, john murphy, raven reyes

the hunger games — finnick odair, peeta mellark, even the primreaper if you ask really nicely

call of duty — simon “ghost” riley, john “soap” mactaviah, kyle “gaz” garrick

stranger things — steve harrington

one tree hill — peyton sawyer, lucas scott, nathan scott

supernatural — sam winchester, dean winchester, castiel

my life with the walter boys — alex walter, cole walter, issac garcia

misc. — chat noir (mlb) draco malfoy (harry potter), harry potter (explanatory), dash (dash & lily), carl gallagher (shameless), lip gallagher (shameless), marcus baker (ginny & georgia), gilbert blythe (anne with an “e”), killian jones (once upon a time)