#Class 1 - Number Sense

[dailyhtfboards]

Day 89

As a guy with a musical background, the note sequence at the bottom hurts me /lh

(From TV episode 12B In a Jam)

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 7: Silver Spoons And Butter Knives, Living Hand To Mouth I’m Getting By

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 (Here!) / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of Bullying, Suicidal implications, Body harm, Body Horror

The concept of boarding school wasn’t as bad as people portray it.

A boarding school is an institution where students live on the premises while receiving formal instruction, essentially providing both lodging and meals. Unlike normal schools, boarding schools offer a residential experience, often encompassing a wider range of extracurricular activities and a sense of community.

At least, that’s the literal definition she found on the internet. 

When Bobby (with whom she had exchanged phone numbers and yapped the whole weekend through text, and sent her way too many TikToks she didn’t really understand but found funny) had asked her if she was staying at the dorms so they could hang out after class, she suddenly found a ray of hope of getting away from the Waynes.

Which led her to do a thorough research on Wikipedia.

Gotham Academy has been a prestigious, private boarding school for Gotham’s elite. And anyone who could afford it, or had a scholarship. 

Most members of the Wayne family had gone to the academy. Most of the said members were expelled or dropped out of it.

Including Bruce himself.

Which is why she was currently pissed off on a Monday morning as Alfred drove the younger members of the family to school.

“This is bullshit,” She muttered while pouting at the window, arms crossed and legs sprawled out in the passenger seat.

The butler gave her a pointed look, letting her know that she should behave. The young girl readjusted her sitting position with a grumble. Her glare followed the tall buildings and the people walking around the busy sidewalk, passing them by in a blur to those with normal eyesight.

Not for her, thought. Everything seemed so slow-paced today.

It was quite annoying. From the moment she woke up that morning, it had been like stepping into a slow-motion sequence. The curtains of her room moved oh so gently, it almost seemed like they were floating. The water from her shower had stopped for a few moments, and she could even count the drops of the stream that stood frozen in the air before she received a cold splash in the face that almost made her crack her head open again if she hadn’t hung onto the built-in shelves on the wall. Then, the gremlin at breakfast. He seemed to take his sweet time eating his French toast, which was almost disturbing to see how slow someone could chew on his food. It made her sick to the stomach remembering it.

They were short lapses of time. Didn’t last too long, but those moments still managed to unsettle her and keep her on the edge.

“I’m afraid this is something you will have to discuss with your father, my dear.” His voice took her away from her musings, returning her mind to the present.

‘Where was I? Oh, right,’ her anger returning once again.

Just when she thought she had found a way to escape from the suffocating manor, the family had once again meddled with her brilliant plans.

Apparently, she did not form part of the whole boarding school experience. (Well, Wayne didn’t)

Due to the many incidents involving her ‘siblings’ and ‘father’ at the school in their scholarly years, they had gained a rather infamous reputation. This led to taking away certain privileges when a member of the Wayne family was to be enrolled at the academy.

Said privileges were not being able to partake in staying at the dorms through the semester.

(aka. Waynes were banned from the academy dorms.)

“I don’t understand why a sudden need to stay in such facilities.” Damian retorted from his place in the backseat. Still giving her the stinkeye for taking the front seat first (she had taken off while yelling ‘shotgun’ through the halls, making Drake get up from his deep sleep and come out of his room to see what was happening with his sheets all tangled on his legs.)

“Pennyworth makes far better meals, and the beds haven’t been thoroughly cleaned in ages. That’s without mentioning having to share your personal space with a stranger who lacks manners.” That last part made her bite her tongue hard.

‘When the irony is ironing,’ She thought sarcastically.

 “It’s all about the independence and socializing. Who doesn’t like talking to total strangers and getting to know them while also sharing a bathroom?” Her lips were curling in a grin, her tone letting on very clearly what she was referring to.

Damian tutted, harshly crossing his arms while glaring at her. Alfred simply sighed as he pulled through the metal front gate of the academy.

“Since when do you like socializing, Embarrassment?” He remarked on the nickname with a cold glare at the back of her seat. 

And as if she had sensed it, she took off her seatbelt and turned half of her body to the back so she could face him directly. Both of their glares clashed with one another. 

Alfred got out of the car to take out her school bag from the back of the car, wondering to himself if he was truly paid enough to deal with teenagers.

Damian was very much annoyed at her new attitude. It was getting on his nerves how she stood her ground and didn’t flatter. He couldn’t have missed this part of her. He was the son of the greatest detective in the world, and he took pride in his deduction skills. And he had deducted his sister from the first moment they met. Never, in a million years, would she have the courage to act like this. Too insecure. Too weak. Too scared.

She would have had to die and be reborn to be acting like this.

“Don’t act like you know me, Damian.” His name sounded like a curse in the making on her tongue. Her deep, dark eyes stared directly into his own, a glint of something akin to sardonic gone the moment she turned back on her seat and opened the car door.

“You don’t have the right to judge. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”

With that, she stepped out and slammed the door shut, leaving him with words in his mouth.

He could only follow her stomping outside towards Alfred out of the corner of his eye, refusing to turn his face a single inch towards them. She seemed to mutter something to the older man, to whom he put a hand on her shoulder and spoke very gently. 

Her eyes softened, and Damian couldn’t help but be put off by it.

He was well aware that she used grey contact lenses. She always wore them, no matter what. One would think she would sleep while wearing them, but he knew she wasn’t that stupid.

He never wondered why she used them, scraping it off as some odd fashing trend girls her age were into. They just were part of her and he went along with it. Never putting much thought into it.

Now, Damian was putting a lot of thought into it.

He had always known that he was an almost carbon copy of his father. Black hair, facial structure, etc. There was little doubt about his heritage and he took pride in it.

His half-sibling was another story. No matter how hard she tried to dress, act, talk, and move like them, she didn’t seem to fit in. The cold colors and heavy presence that were very characteristic of the Waynes didn’t suit her. 

It had been obvious before, but now it was undeniable to Damian. 

And it was all because of those damned eyes.

He wouldn’t dare to say it out loud, maybe just ponder it to himself, only in his thoughts, but Damian wanted her grey eyes back.

Those grey eyes that would crinkle in worry when he came back upset from a bad patrol night. Those grey eyes that would widen in excitement when she looked over his sketchbook and praised his skills. Those grey eyes that were full of softness and care, asking about how his day was at school.

…Maybe he wasn’t missing the grey. Not really.

‘It doesn’t make any sense.’ His mind hissed, making his frown deepen. ‘Why is this bothering me so much? She is just a nuisance and below-’

“Hey! Bobby! Over here!”

Her shout made Damian snap his head towards the car window with a snarl. Which slipped down slowly as he took in the scene happening outside.

She was waving her arm over her head quite fast towards someone. A guy who was smiling way too much for his taste (it almost made him turn away in disgust, but he fought against it), as he moved towards her with a jump in his walk. He looked like an overgrown golden retriever, wearing the academy uniform.

What happened next made Damian’s blood go cold and hot at the same time, his nails sinking into the fabric of his clothes, and his lips pressed tightly.

Because that guy dared to come close to his sister and pick her up in a hug while twirling her around.

Her bright laugh as she was put down, quickly jumping into a conversation with the big oaf while patting down her now wrinkly uniform, made his stomach twist into a feeling he couldn’t quite place yet.

The warmth in her eyes had Damian bite inside his cheek, chest tight as she began to walk away with the guy, with a quick goodbye to a smiling Alfred, who had begun to go inside the car and pull away from the school grounds.

The young boy’s stare didn’t move away from the pair. Not until he lost them out of sight due to the distance.

Who did that guy think he was?! Coming so close to her and acting so touchy with his sister.

Was he a friend? No way. She didn’t have any friends. He was sure.

Was he?

Was he a boyfriend? Ridiculous, there was no way she would have hidden something like that from the family. She wouldn’t.

…Would she? 

What else had she been keeping quiet? What else didn’t he know about her? When had she changed? Had she even changed? Was she always like this and he just came to notice? When she grew tired of his prickly nature and sharp words? Did he lose her affection? Was he too late?

Did he lose her without even knowing?

‘No,’ He thought, fingers curled into fists by his side as he gave a glance to the smaller view of the academy through the window.

‘Something is wrong here.’

‘And I will find out.’

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

The academy was huge. It had halls over halls and stairs over stairs. An old smell stuck on the stone walls that gave the building an even more mystic flair, as if the gargoyle statues on every corner of the gate halls weren’t enough. It even had tall stained glass windows that gave a view of the huge campus: the main fountain, the track field, the outdoor gym, and many other places.

It was by pure miracle that she didn’t end up lost. But that was mostly because Bobby would drag her by the back of her school vest whenever she wandered off.

She was very thankful for that, since her ghost companion was not here today to guide her.

Wayne said that she would stay at the manor for the day, something along the lines of that she should experience the full school experience without her help (which screamed bullshit but she wasn’t going to fight her on that. If she was a ghost and had the choice to not go to school, she would also do the same) and trying to find any clues for their small quest.

So now, she was walking by herself for the first time at a school. So exciting, right?

“-and then the coach said I could play in the next game if someone hurts themselves. Which is not bad, but I don’t know. I don’t want anyone to get hurt just so I can prove myself as a player, y’know?”

“Aren’t you here because of a scholarship? Don’t you need to play to be able to stay here?” She asked the stressed boy, who had been talking about this for the past few minutes as they walked towards their third class of the day.

Bobby was from New York, and he had taken a sports scholarship in the academy this very year, so he could get into Gotham University to study accounting. Just like his father, who was a bank accountant back at home. 

He formed part of the baseball school team and had been on the bench since he got inscribed into the academy.

Leading to his sudden stress of not having the chance to prove himself.

“Poor athletic performance can lead to losing the scholarship, so yeah. If I don’t play, I could lose it.” He quoted with his shoulders down, a deep sigh leaving his lungs as she patted his shoulder in a small show of support.

They had gotten along quite fast. Probably because Bobby had been the first open person with his thoughts and feelings since she woke up in that nasty pool. 

No underhanded comments. No pushiness. No expectations. Always asking if what they were talking about was okay. If she was comfortable with anything. 

It was a breath of fresh air, and she felt great hanging around him.

“What if I help you out with practice? I know jackshit about baseball, but I think I can throw some balls so you can practice swinging?” She offered with a shrug as they went into a half full classroom.

Bobby perked up with a huge smile and put an arm over her shoulder, slightly moving her side to side. “Please, and I will buy you ice cream every time after practice.”

That made her snort and shove him off of her playfully by pushing his face away with her hand, making him guaff and laugh.

“Personal space, jeez,” She said as he sat down on the second table and moved a chair back so she could sit beside him.

As he muttered his apologies, she couldn’t help but feel somebody’s stare on her back.

Just when she was gonna look over her shoulder, the bell rang, and everyone took their seats. Conversations quieted down as students began to pull out their books without a second thought.

Following everyone’s lead, she put out her history book with a sigh and kept her eyes downcast.

Now, there were many different stares and murmurs in her direction. From the corner of her eyes, she could see a few classmates whispering to each other or staring openly at her. 

‘Yeah, that ain’t gonna fly,’ she thought, twisting her head to give her classmates a dead stare that had them gasping and looking in different directions while pretending they were busy with their phones or books.

“That’s weird,” Bobby’s voice took her away from her successful intimidation. “Professor Jones is usually here before any of us.”

The girl shrugged, leaning back on her chair while she brought one crossed leg on the seat as the other bounced against the floor. “Maybe they got stuck in traffic or somethin-”

The classroom door slammed open, taking all the attention of the students and making the room fall into silence.

A man stepped inside and closed the door behind him, his steps heavy as he walked towards the desk and put down his brown leather handbag on the chair and a pack of old-looking cigars inside one of cabinets. 

He didn’t spare a single glance at them, picking up a piece of white chalk and beginning to write on the chalkboard.

He had a heavy build, like the ones that those wrestling guys on TV have, judging by how his shoulders and biceps stood out underneath his dark leather jacket. Some of the girls and a few other guys were staring intensely at his tight jeans, showing off his sculpted legs as well. 

What stood out more for her was his hairstyle, spiked on both sides of his black hair.

Once he finished writing on the board, he clapped his hands to shake off the chalk on his palms and turned around with a grunt. A severe frown on his face as he looked over the quiet students.

“Your professor has taken a sudden leave for the rest of the semester.” His gruff tone had people straighten up and glup loudly.

Bobby exchanged a quick look of confusion and uncertainty with her.

This man didn’t look like the type of person to give a history class.

“You may call me Teach or Mr. Munroe. None of that formal stuff. Whoever calls me Professor will give ten laps on the track field, am I clear?” He almost snarled the last part. 

Everyone nodded.

The man nodded and sat on the corner of the desk, crossing his arms. His tag necklace glinted with the movement as he pursed his lips in distaste once he saw the books sitting neatly on the desks.

“Now put those books away. We’re learning real history from now on.”

Some students muttered in confusion while a few others cheered as they put the books back in their bags. Bobby almost scrambled and rattled the desk as he took his book away, which made her snort a laugh and put her book down.

As the class continued, bustling with excitement over the new mysterious teacher and his unconventional method of teaching history, she had forgotten the odd stare she felt at the very beginning of class. It had simply slid off her mind.

In the back of the classroom, a guy with golden curls and clear eyes didn’t take his gaze off of her for the rest of the class.

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Bruce wasn’t expecting any visits this early in the day.

He had recived plenty of calls from Dick, trying to check on him and see how the investigation on the case had been going but he didn’t pick them up. Tim had gone to stay at the Titans’ tower, claiming his sleep schedule was messed up and staying at the manor wasn’t helping keep him focused on the case (Bruce had the fleeting suspicion that Conner had something to do with that decision.)

He was more than sure that everyone was clear that he wanted to be left alone at the moment.

But Jason couldn’t give two fucks about what Bruce wanted.

The past Robin had parked his bike by the Batmobile, leaving his red helmet hanging by one of the handles of his vehicle. Sauntering towards the concentrated detective, who was sitting in front of the main computer and surrounded by many documents and files both on the screen and on paper.

“You look like shit.”

Bruce only switched the documents in his hands without lifting his head.

“Gordon told me about the bodies.” He answered, a cold tone in his voice.

Jason threw himself on the nearest chair, legs spread as he stared at Bruce’s back with a smug air around him. 

“Jealous much?” He snarked. “That I got to them before you did?”

He was pushing his buttons. 

Jason wanted to see how far he could get. 

He was hoping for a fight, that way he could at least calm down the fury still running in his veins.

“You left them headless, and Gordon is still looking for their fingers, Jason.” Bruce hissed, finally turning around to glare at the guiltless man.

“They had it coming.”

“That was execution, Jason. It’s not how-”

“I ain’t one of your little robins, Bruce,” Jason retorted, leaning forward with his fists curling and gaze flashing green. “I did what you should have done the moment she was attacked.”

“There wasn’t enough proof yet-” The older man argued back, making Jason scoff and get up from the chair harshly.

The outlaw began to roam beneath his jacket, taking out crumbled files and dumping them over the keyboard of the computer. As soon as it hit the surface, pictures and documents fell out of it onto the ground and the desk.

“Take a look at your precious proof.”

Bruce took a moment before picking up a few of the pictures that had fallen on the floor. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened when he realized what the image showed.

It was from a surveillance camera. All the pictures were from different cameras around the city. The school grounds. The city parks. The mall. 

And even from the abandoned public pool.

In all of the pictures, she was there. Getting pushed around. Harassed by the same four guys. He could recognize that they had the same uniform as her from the academy. Maybe seniors, since they easily towered over her. 

The ones from the school contained different scenarios. Getting a phone flash shoved right in her face. Shoved down the stairs. Pushed on the school fountain. Yanked by her school bag or clothes. Getting too touchy with her, to the point of it being visibly rough.

One of the pictures showed her running in one of the parks, face blurred in panic as she looked over her shoulder at the boys trying to catch up to her.

Another one showed all five of them at the pool. Her on the ground, holding her head as it bled. Two of the boys were crouching down to hold her down while the others lifted a bloody brick.

He slammed the pictures down with a shuddering sigh. Throat tight, cold anger sinking from the tip of his fingers.

How long had this been going on? For how long had she been keeping this quiet? Why had she kept it quiet? Why didn’t she say something?

‘Had she said something? Did she say anything about it?’ His mind came on empty as many questions surfaced.

All those times he had turned her away, her knocks at his office door, and her silent voice asking if he was too busy. Always shutting her down, dreading to see her face and find old ghosts staring back at him. 

Was it right there? Did she reach out just for him to turn her away? 

Bruce felt a burning sensation behind his eyes.

“The documents are the transcripts of what I managed to get out of them on record.” Jason’s voice sounded far away.

Did she gather up the courage to come to him, and he gave her his back?

“Sick bastards, the lot of them,” Jason spat. “They had been tormenting her for years.”

Did she feel by herself in this? Nobody willing to listen? No one to trust?

“It went on from simply things. Spreading rumors about being into witchcraft and stuff. Saying that she would curse people with her bad luck if they came near her and odd shit like that to isolate her.”

How many times did he even talk to her? How many chances did he allow her to have to tell him about this?

“Then it moved to more physical stuff. Shoving, pushing, typical asshole stuff. Did you notice any bruises on her when she came from school?”

Bruises? What bruises? She was always wearing long sleeves, claiming it was too cold in the manor.

“You did notice, right? They said that it got ugly plenty of times.”

Long sleeves. Even when it was hot out. She always wore them. How could he never piece it together? How many bruises did she hide from Him?

“Bruce? Did you-”

His daughter. Bianca’s child. With long sleeves. Bruises. From that filth. How many? How many times was she hurt? How many times did he not notice? Gods, did she also- Had she also done it to herself? Had she felt there was no other way out of the lonesome existence he had put her into? That he was the one to inflict that on her? That would explain her current attitude. Her anger. Her glares. Her snarls. How could he ever blame her for acting out when it was all on him? Only himself to bla-

The sudden throbbing pain in his jaw snapped him out of his thoughts, making him stumble back as he looked at a fuming Jason with a lowered fist.

“No,” His glare was agitated, chest heaving, and teeth in a snarl. “You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself.”

Bruce took a sharp breath, his gaze lost as the sharpness of Jason’s words cut deep into his throat, making him unable to utter a word.

The younger man pointed a shaking finger at him in anger, taking steps closer towards the shocked man. “Either you fix this and admit you failed her, just like you failed me,”

Jason got up in his face, fist hitting against Bruce’s chest with a shuddering breath. Eyes blazing a toxic green, staring right into his grey ones.

“Or I will make sure that she turns out just like me.”

With that, Jason turned around and stomped to his bike. The engine roaring to life as he took off from the cave without giving him a single look back towards the currently shocked, quiet man.

Bruce then sank to the floor, hands tangled on his hair strands as he took deep breaths. Mind echoing with many words and questions.

But he could only choke out a few words to himself and the air.

“Oh, Bianca, I fucked it up to hell and back, didn’t I?…”

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

The piano room was too silent.

Ever since Cassandra set foot in the manor, the piano room had always been filled with contained noise. The keys echoing down the halls, a soft melody that made her skin embrace the foreign warmth of a ballad repeated over and over, day by day.

She hadn’t heard a single note in the past week.

It made the air in the manor heavy and constricted, the halls darker, and the silence almost unbearable.

Cassandra didn’t plan to pass by the piano room. Her feet just led her wandering steps towards the halfway-opened wooden door. The creaking made goosebumps break out on her skin.

The curtains were closed, and no natural light entered the room. Just a few lamps that flickered every once in a while and a very cold sensation covering her when she stepped inside.

Her legs guided her to the untouched piano. A hand passed over the worn keys, feeling a thin veil of dust under her fingertips.

A shard of guilt stabbed right through her stomach.

She had gotten exactly what she wanted…

Silence.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

Call it pettiness or whichever useless feeling people came up with, but Cassandra was done with all the noise that she made.

It's always the same song. The same melody. The same lyrics.

She was tired of it.

She stood by the door, staring directly at the young girl who didn’t seem to notice her as she continued to sing that ballad over and over.

“If I can’t reach you, let my song teach you,” the younger girl sang softly, eyes closed as her fingers played smoothly over the keys.

Cassandra clenched her teeth. 

She wanted silence.

“All you need to keep our love alive,”

She was tired of her playing.

“If I can’t hold you,”

She was tired of her.

“Remember what I told y-”

“Could you keep it down?”

The girl startled, smashing the keys and making an awful sound. Both of them cringed at it. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” She tried to apologize with a stammer as she stood up, stumbling and fidgeting fingers.

But Cassandra didn’t let her finish.

“You don’t know any other songs?” she questioned.

“Not really. My mom only taught me this-”

“Then why play at all?” She didn’t understand. It was useless to know just one song on the piano. A waste of skill and talent, if she were honest. It didn’t make any sense.

The girl took a sharp breath, hands wringing with the hems of her sleeves and fingers. “It’s an important ballad. My mom used to say it was a protec-”

“It’s too loud. Keep it down.”

Cassandra didn’t care about the importance of the song. She just wanted silence. Her ears were ringing, and she could feel a headache coming on if she heard another keynote from the piano.

They stayed quiet for a moment. A slow nod from the younger girl was answer enough for her.

Cassandra turned around and left.

She had blessed silence for the rest of the day.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

That happened years ago. She still played the song, but kept the door closed and put heavy curtains to muffle some of the noise. It still managed to slip through, but Cassandra didn’t really care as much anymore. It had blended into the background noise of the manor. 

It had become part of their daily life. Something that just fitted right in.

And now that it was gone, the absence of it had been loud.

Such a loud silence.

She didn’t like it.

Cassandra hummed to herself, looking around the room one last time before walking outside into the. Leaving the door open behind her.

Maybe she could ask her if she could play again after she came from school? It wouldn’t be too much to ask of her. It wasn’t like the younger girl had done a lot around the manor lately. Just stay in her room all day and night, only coming out to eat and talk with Alfred, and then just go back to her-

‘If I can’t reach you…’

Cassandra came to a full stop at the end of the hallway.

The piano played slowly inside the room.

‘Let my song teach you…’

Her chest became heavy. Throat tight, as if cold fingers wrapped themselves over her shoulders. A wet sensation was sinking through the fabric of her shirt, making shivers go down her spine.

The voice was like a whisper, only for her to hear.

“Am I too loud now?” Cold lips whispered in Cassandra’s ear.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra only managed to see a tangle of wet, dark hair and a bloodshot grey eye with blood dripping down a side of her deadly pale skin.

When she finally got the strength to turn completely around, the hall was quiet. Not a single echo or resonance of the keys was heard. 

Cassandra patted herself down quickly, shaking away the sudden cold over her skin. She felt over her shoulders, trying to find any wet spots on her shoulder or near her ear and back.

There was no trace of it.

She left the hall quickly, deciding to put this on the back of her mind as a headache invaded her head.

The lights flickered in the piano room, the door creaking closed by itself.

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“I wasn’t expecting to like history that much.”

It was already past three in the afternoon, the classes had barely been over a few minutes ago.

But Bobby had already dragged her through the halls towards the baseball field so he could practice some pitching and bat swinging. As he had explained excitedly over lunch to her, shortly after Mr. Munroe’s class. It would be just like playing catch, but with some real damage on the side.

She could play catch! She remembered playing it with Billy before!

And with a white haired man.

And by herself, oddly enough…

“I guess Mr. Munroe just knows his stuff,” Bobby suggested, dodging a few students who walked in the opposite direction from them. He then grinned, “You could even say he lived through it with the way he talked about war stories.”

“He can’t be that old.”

“Just saying. I mean, how old could he be?” He quipped with a shrug.

She wheezed a short laugh. “Can’t be older than the Great Depression.”

Both of them were wheezing as they stumbled down the stairs, shoving and hitting each other on the arms and shoulders. That gained them a few odd looks, but they didn’t notice it at all. Too busy fighting to stay upright and keeping air in their lungs.

They made their way through the front doors of the school, taking the outside route but still inside the school grounds to the sports field.

“He has such a stern air around him, too. He kind of gives-”

“Please, don’t even go there.” She pleaded with a hiss. But Bobby only began to whisper loudly to her.

“Hey, everyone was looking at him like a piece of meat.”

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“Oh, please. You totally looked.”

“Did not.” She denied with red ears.

Bobby looked way too smug. “Liaaaarrrr.”

She shoved him, making him burst out laughing as she stomped faster and a couple of steps ahead of him, ready to take a corner.

To which she instantly froze on the spot with a wide-eyed look.

Bobby took notice of her sudden change, still laughing as he looked over her shoulder. “Hey, what’s-”

She quickly pushed him back until they were back to back with the corner wall, away from the view of the hall. Her hand gripping his vest with white knuckles as she looked carefully over the edge. Holding back her breath, cursing to hell and back the person standing by the front gate.

Dick Grayson was leaning against a expensive sports car, looking at his watch every five seconds when he wasn’t looking around the premises and between the groups of students walking around.

‘The fuck is he doing here?!’ She shouted in her head as she bit her tongue.

She had written to Alfred that she was going to stay for a longer time to hang out with Bobby. Why was the touchy asshole here? He was supposed to return to Bludhaven yesterday and give her some peace and tranquility!

“Um, you good?” Bobby muttered, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. She quickly let him go and apologized.

“Sorry,” she grumbled. “It’s my, ugh, brother.”

That last part was said between her teeth. Bobby frowned at that. “I guess you don’t get along, then?”

“Not exactly.” She remarked with a wince, giving a quick glance back towards the gate. He had moved closer.

That wasn’t good.

“We gotta be quick,” she urged, pushing Bobby back slowly as he let her guide him.

Before they could take off without catching too much attention, someone decided it was the right time to yell her ‘last name’.

“Wayne!”

The duo snapped their heads forward, towards the male voice that echoed through the hall. Her eye was twitching in annoyance.

A guy with golden curls and a snobbish air around him approached them with decision and fists curled in fists. He looked furious, and even then she could appreciate his handsome features. 

He looked straight out of a magazine, to be completely honest.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hissed in her face, fuming.

If she weren’t in such a hurry, she would have given him a few choice words. But she really needed to run.

“Office hours are closed at the moment, sorry!” She stated, pulling Bobby deeper into the hall behind them. He looked with wide eyes between the three of them.

“Suddenly got a sense of humor?” The guy chided with a roll of eyes, following her steps forward. “Where have you been?! Did you forget about practice?! We have the damned recital in two weeks!”

“Listen,” she fretted, eyes bouncing around to make sure Dick wasn’t nearby. “Right now is not the time to discuss this. I gotta-”

“No, you and I made a deal.” He claimed with a hiss. “I help you with your recital and you-”

“Hun, what is going on here?”

The cold tone made the three teens look at the tight-smiling man who stood beside them. His arms crossed over his chest with his head tilted to the side, blue eyes staring directly at their hands.

Now that she noticed, the two boys had taken hold of her arms while standing between them.

It stayed quiet for a bit. Dick smile becoming tighter and tighter.

‘Fuuuuucckkk-’

“Who are your-”

She didn’t even let him finish. Her legs moved before she could even process it.

It all happened too fast.

She had taken off running, dragging with her the still startled boys down the hall and leaving Dick behind with the words in his mouth. The man also looked caught off guard, yelling after them as he began to run after them.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck-” she repeated over and over while Bobby and Goldielocks shouted at her.

“Unhand me! You’re ruining my shirt!”

“Take a left! Take a left!”

Without thinking about it too hard, she listened to Bobby and took a sharp left. Shoes squeaking as the three of them almost slammed against a poster board, before taking off again. 

They took several turns, with mixed shouts and yells between all of them. Mostly with Bobby yelling directions and the other guy screaming in her ear about going too fast.

It all came to an end when all three of them ran over someone.

Well, more like they slammed solidly against someone and crashed to the ground.

They became a tangle of limbs and curses. Bobby was face-first on the ground, complaining about the heavy weight, trying to lift them off the ground but too tired to do so. The goldilocks was cursing while swinging his arms and legs around, flailing like a stray cat. And lastly, the young girl who lay over the two of them with a manic grin on her face and laughing to herself.

‘That felt soooo good!” She gushed as she laughed breathlessly. 

It felt so right. Running like that felt so right. She had to do it again! Her heart was about to burst out in excitme-

A gruff grunt made all of them fall into silence. Three heads looking up with a gaping expression.

Mr. Munroe stood before them with a crushed cigar by his feet. An annoyed frown in his face that made them gulp at the same time.

“Drake. Worthington. Wayne.” The teens looked at each other with pale faces.

“Detention. Now.”

…That could have ended worse, to be honest.

 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Author's Note: The gangs all here! Finally got to introduce Maximoff's core friends! And so much happened in this chapter too! I had so much fun writting it, you guys have no idea. And logan is now in the plot ( I will shove my Storm x Wolverine agenda down your throats and YOU WILL LIKE IT-) Let me know what you guys liked, theorize or go and scream in the asks. I love reciving asks and answering them💖💖 Lots of love and hugs, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple

Bonus Memes:

[chaoticwriting]

THE FATHER 2

Part 1

After the last incident, Danny totally expects the public to be afraid of him or even persecute him for killing the Joker. He did kill in front of a live stream after all. What he doesn't expect is the public giving their full support to him. Almost every single news media paints him in a good light, saying he is just protecting his children and bringing up all his previous charity.

However, there is one big problem Danny doesn't foresee. Danny doesn't even know about the problem because his children are the one that are suffering from it.

-Gotham Academy-

Emma: *Slamming her phone on the table* For the love of god, stop making thirst trap of my dad. He is too old for some of you (He is 20).

Becky: I know right. This is like the sixth thirst trap video that I see of dad.

Carl: I hate this so much. My crush just accepted my confession but on the condition I will introduce her to dad.

Larry: And you agree?

Carl: What? No! Of course not.

Emma: Ugghhh, this is the worst. Maybe we should ask Uncle Tucker to remove all of Dad's thirst trap online. I'm so done with this.

Larry: I don't know. This is the first time girls decide to talk to me voluntarily. I really am enjoying this attention.

Carl: You're happy now until one of the girls decides to confess to you and just as you thought because she likes you, it is because she has a crush on dad.

Larry: I know you just experienced it but you don't need to curse me like that.

Carl: Hmph.

Larry: Hey, has anyone seen Colin? I haven't seen him since last night.

Becky: *Whispersing* Don't you hear? Colin got shot after he went to patrol the night before yesterday. Dad grounds him cause he tries to sneak out injured last night.

Carl: Oof. Colin really doesn't learn does he? Dad has super sense. He literally can't sneak out.

Larry: Yeah. I don't even know why he wants to be a vigilante so much. I guess he is just kind of something. Couldn't be me to be honest.

Emma: Of course he is not like you. You are not even capable of waking up by yourself in the morning.

*Riiiinngggg*

Becky: Well that is our break then. Let's go to class.

Larry: Eh, it's not like Miss Brown gonna scold me if I am a little late anyway. She has been trying to get Dad's number from me for a while now.

Carl: Does dad even have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Hell, a partner? I never saw him gone on a date once so far.

Emma: Chances are probably super low. Like to say he is dense is an understatement. A woman tried to flirt with him once but he just replied to all the flirting with the straightest face possible.

The rest: *Giggles*

-Gotham Libraries-

Contrary to what his kids have been believing in, he actually knows when someone is flirting with him. It's just that he takes note from the dense anime protagonist and uses it in daily life whenever he is not interested in a person flirting with him. Which is like daily.

But here is the problem. He can respond to a flirt very easily. He learns a lot of that from when he was dating Sam. But he never actually flirts with someone first. And he isn't sure just how to approach the problem.

Having decided that he has stayed long enough, Danny picks a random book from the space section and brings it to the checkout table.

Danny: Hey Barbara.

Barbara: Hey Danny. Borrowing another book?

Danny: Yeah. I just finished the previous one last night. It is a good book. Thanks for the recommendation.

Barbara: You're welcome. How's the kids doing? Still causing trouble for you?

Danny: It's the same shenanigans everyday. Going to lectures, doing paperwork, taking care of the kids. What about you?

Barbara: It's the same with me. Barely any people come to the library these days. Usually it's only either you or my friends.

Danny: Oh. Errmm, Barbara.

Barbara: Yes?

Danny: Would you be free this weekend?

Barbara: Are you asking me on a date?

Danny: Depends. If it is, what would you say?

Barbara: Hmmm, let me think.

Danny fidgets as Barbara taps her finger on the counter. Barbara loves to tease Danny since he is so cute when he is nervous.

Barbara: I think I am free this weekend. So I am available for a date.

Danny's face beams a smile as he hears that.

Danny: So is that a yes?

Barbara: What do you think, big guy?

Danny: Then I will come pick you up at your apartment then?

Barbara: Come pick me up at my dad's house. I will be ready at 5.

Danny: Okay. Have a good day.

Barbara: You too.

Danny then walks out of the library, skipping a little. He has been gathering courage to ask Barbara out on a date for a long time now. They first met when Danny first borrowed a book from a library. It's nothing crazy. Just interaction between two people. But after meeting up a few more times, Danny realizes that he might have a crush on her. After getting convinced by Tucker and Sam, Danny decided that today is the day he asks her out. And he succeeded.

Now, it is just to make sure that the date goes well.

-Clocktower-

Batman: That's it for tonight. Everyone returns back to the cave.

Black Bat/Spoiler/Red Robin: Roger.

Oracle: Hey, B. Can I have a day off this weekend?

Batman: Why?

Oracle: I have a date that night.

Spoiler: You are dating someone?

Oracle: It's not official yet. He only just asks me out on a date this morning.

Batman: Yes. Keep your comms up. In case a breakout happens your way.

Oracle: Okay.

Red Robin: Who are you going on a date with?

Oracle: Danny.

Spoiler: As in that Danny?

Oracle: Yes.

Spoiler: Oh wow! You work fast. How do you know him?

Oracle: He always comes to the library to borrow books. I met him long before he became famous so it is not so hard to talk with him.

Black Bat: Is he nice?

Oracle: He is very nice. It's very hard to even make him mad. The only time I remember him being in a slightly bad mood is at Christmas. He doesn't like it apparently. Wait, Hood is entering the line.

Red Hood: Oracle, you betray me!

Oracle: Tough luck loser. How do you know anyway?

Red Robin: I told him just now.

Red Hood: Yeah! You dare ask him out on a date first before me? I will remember this.

Oracle: He is the one that actually asks me out. We are going on an official date this weekend. I'll take a very nice picture of us together so that you can see from afar.

Red Hood: But your status still isn't official yet. I still have a chance.

Oracle: Over my dead body.

Red Hood: Oh, I will.

Spoiler: Errr, guys. What is happening?

Red Robin: They have a bet on who will get to date Danny first. Apparently Hood gets a massive crush on this guy after what happens in the livestream. Oracle gets the news and they quarrel a little bit. After that I propose a competition between the two.

Spoiler: But both of you don't know that Oracle is already close with Danny. Girl, that's dirty.

Oracle: All is fair in love and war.

Batman: What is his background?

Red Robin: As far as I can see, he is pretty clean. There is even what I suspect some vigilante works that he might have done because he is related to the disbandment of GIW that were supported by both his parents and his godfather. But after some digging into the old GIW files, there are traces of Danny and his friends helping the local ghost hero fighting either other ghosts or the agents themselves. There was also the unexplained money that he suddenly had early on in his career as CEO but so far, it doesn't seem like anything bad.

Robin: Hmmm.

Red Robin: What is it brat?

Robin: I feel like his face is very familiar.

Batman: Explain.

Robin: I need to confirm this with mother. But I am fairly certain that his ancestors have connections with the Al Ghul.

Red Robin: As in blood related?

Robin: No. But there is a book that mother finds about a man who has a very similar appearance to him. The book tells the tale of a kind immortal who spends his lives helping others while learning stuff from them.

Spoiler: A cult of assassins teach young children to be kind?

Robin: Shut it, Brown. I am not finished. The part of the story that interests me is the tale called The Beheader of Demon.

Spoiler: I take it back. That sounds like something a cult of assassins will teach young children.

Robin: The tale tells a story of the immortal meeting a demon who kills people just to find immortality. When the demon finds out that the immortal is well, immortal, he pursues the immortal, trying to kill him and forces the immortal to give away his immortality to him.

Red Robin: What happened next?

Robin: The Demon's head is severed and the Demon's subordinates run away bringing the Demon's body to the pool of revival.

Spoiler: So is this a true story?

Robin: Mother confirms it is a true story. I do not know whether he is a true immortal or not. However, I do know that his ancestors or maybe even him, is good enough to beat grandfather even if he has backup.

Red Hood: What about the other tales?

Robin: There is nothing of note. Some mention of the immortal's supernatural ability, like summoning the dead or the ability to move mountains and divert rivers.

Red Robin: That is not something to take note of?

Robin: No. Because in those stories, the only consistent thing about him is that he is kind. Never harm someone unless provoked.

Batman: Compile all the tales into a file. Red Robin, lists out all the possible powers of target.

Oracle: Oh wow. My date is now a target. How could this get better?

Red Hood: If he is really dangerous, I volunteer to stalk monitor them while they are on the date.

Oracle & Batman: No!

Red Hood: Tsk! Party pooper.

Batman: Red Robin and Spoiler, follow them. Priority is keeping Oracle safe.

Red Robin & Spoiler: *High five* Let's go.

Oracle: Ugghhh, you all better don't mess with my date. Or else I'll make sure you regret it.

Part 3

[teawithcherries]

wrong number

Ghost receives a text that leaves him absolutely reeling. OR the guy that you texted on accident is weirdly flirtatious and you're kind of into it?

1.1k words. lieutenant!Ghost x chef!reader (f). reader’s age unclear but 18+ (not a minor!!). divider by @plutism.

Unknown: SOS!!!!

Ghost immediately goes deathly still, eyes zeroing in on the text message notification that blinks across his phone before disappearing.

Having a SAS issued phone means that his phone number should be impossible to find. He doesn’t receive spam texts or calls and the few people who have his number know better than to bother him when he’s on paperwork duty. Which means that something is not right.

His phone buzzes again, and he feels his gut churn sourly.

Unknown: (1 attachment)

He doesn’t have time to think, he just braces himself for the worst. A photo of Johnny bleeding out with a gunshot wound? Coordinates to a location where Gaz is being held hostage? 

He’s already reaching for his kit in case he needs to jump on a helo when the attachment, an image, finally opens up.

The breath that was suspended in his chest slowly releases like a deflated balloon as he tries to make sense of the carnage on his phone screen. Yet, it isn’t one of his squadmates that’s crying out for help. Rather, it’s an image of a Cornish hen that’s been burnt to an absolute charred crisp. 

His mind is racing at a speed that he can’t quite process, his eyes methodically scanning the photo for any clues or hidden messages in the image. 

Yet, even to his trained eye, the image is perfectly normal. The background of the photo is a standard flat kitchen, slightly disorganized with cooking materials and ingredients scattered about. Your feet are visible in the corner of the photo, you’re wearing a pair of girly pajama shorts and bunny slippers.

His brows scrunch together in confusion, thoroughly perplexed and slightly annoyed at the mental gymnastics that he is undertaking to try to make sense of these messages.

Ghost: Who are you?

Your reply is instant, confirming his suspicion that you have truly somehow managed to message him by accident.

Unknown: It’s (♥︎), your classmate from culinary school!

Ghost glances at the image again, brows scrunching in disbelief that you are training to become a chef considering the charred and blackened state of the bird.

Ghost: Wrong number.

Unknown: Ah, how embarrassing. So sorry to disturb you! I must have jotted down my classmate’s number incorrectly during class. Have a lovely rest of your evening! 

That’s that then.

He sighs and sets his phone on his worn desk, glancing back at the mountain of paperwork that awaits him. He’s several hours away from finishing up, and Price will absolutely have his head if doesn't get it all done.

Yet, for reasons he isn't willing to unpack, the image of your bare legs tucked into those ridiculously fuzzy bunny slippers lingers in the back of his mind. His fist twitches, annoyed with himself for getting so hot and bothered over a mere glimpse of bare ankle.

You’re just another nameless, faceless muppet in the void of the digital age. Even responding back to your text message is probably a breach of security protocol that could land him in another hour long cybersecurity training seminar if he isn't careful.

So Ghost isn’t sure why he bothers picking up his phone and typing a message at all, but his thumb hits send before he can ponder it any further.

Ghost: Chicken seems a bit burnt.

Being the asshole that he is, Ghost can’t help but chuckle wryly at his own joke. He figures you’ll probably ignore his message. Maybe you’ll even take offence to it and block his number. So when his phone instantly buzzes with a response, his interest is fully captured.

Unknown: You think? I worried it might be a bit underdone.

The corner of his mouth twitches upward beneath his mask.

Ghost: I could be wrong. You’re the chef after all.

Unknown: Well, there’s plenty to go around if you fancy charcoals and mash.

He's fully smiling now, embarrassingly chuffed that you're playing along.

Ghost: You asking me on a date?

Unknown: Depends. Are you a serial killer?

Ghost: Depends on your definition of a serial killer.

It’s silent after that and Ghost can’t help the kernel of disappointment that takes root in his chest. Easygoing banter is far and few between for the lieutenant who has spent the last 48 hours trying to make sense of the mountain of paperwork that piled up on his desk during his last mission. He was enjoying this exchange with you far more than he cares to admit, and several minutes pass with no response before he glumly locks his phone and returns his attention to his desk.

A full day passes and Ghost accepts that he has scared you off.

Yet he can’t blame you. He knows full well that there are loads of creeps and nut jobs on the Internet who could take advantage of you. And even so, you’d be better off messaging any one of those weirdos rather than him. Because, after all, he’s ... who he is.

Three days later, Ghost is seven kilometers into his evening jog around the training field when his phone buzzes again unexpectedly. His eye twitches but he doesn’t check it right away, chiding himself for the persistent flare of hope in his gut that refuses to be extinguished. He’s been pathetically rushing to his phone with every notification he receives since your last text message came through and feeling disappointed every time it isn’t you.

It’s only when his phone buzzes again that he decides to bite the bullet and check who's texting him.

He’s fully expecting it to be another stupid meme from Soap in the 141 group chat. Which is why he skids to a stop, heart suddenly pounding in his chest, at the sight of a message from your phone number (which he has memorized at this point).

It’s his trigger finger that flies to open your message, eyes fixed intensely, almost nervously, on the pixelated screen of his outdated phone.

You’ve sent him a photo of a sausage roll, a proper sausage roll, that’s cooling on a wire rack in your kitchen. He's already salivating at the sight of the juicy blend of ground meat packed neatly and precisely into a flaky case of golden pastry, as well as the sliver of your bare thigh that's showing in the edge of the photo.

He assumes that you’ve accidentally messaged him again instead of your classmate until he sees the message beneath the image.

Unknown: Just wanted you to know that I’ve been testing some other recipes for our date. 

Unknown: Thoughts on my sausage rolls?

Ghost doesn’t even realize that he’s grinning like a madman until his face starts to twitch uncomfortably. He hasn’t smiled so hard in months, maybe even years, and the mechanics of beaming like a lovesick idiot have almost been forgotten by his stiff facial muscles.

He responds immediately, almost afraid that you might slip through his gloved fingers again if he is even a second too late.

Ghost: That’ll do.

(thoughts on part 2 from reader pov? i want them to talk on the phone and see ghost be all cute n awkward TT)

[theconcealedweapon]

It's hard to comprehend large numbers when it involves money. So instead, let's compare it to time.

Imagine that you received $1 every second.

It would take you about 4 hours to receive what a full time minimum wage worker receives in a year.

In 1-2 days, you'd receive an upper middle class yearly salary.

In just under 12 days, you'd be a millionaire.

But it would still take you almost 32 years to be a billionaire.

And to become the richest person in existence, it would take 5-10 millenniums (the exact number fluctuates).

A little wealth inequality is understandable. Some people work twice as hard and it would make sense that they'd have twice as much. Some people may just happen to have skills that society considers more valuable. Some people may be lucky enough to receive a little help from their families. Some people took a risk that happened to pay off.

But if the ratio between a minimum wage worker's full time annual salary and the richest person's net worth is literally the ratio between 4 hours and several millenniums, that can't be caused by hard work, useful skills, or a little luck. That can only be caused by the system being intentionally rigged.

[quinny19]

Title: Sleeping my way to victory

Bakugo had never met anyone as infuriating as you.

You were quiet. You were lazy. You slept through class, slept through fights, and somehow, somehow still managed to be one of the strongest people in Class 1-A.

It didn’t make sense.

It wasn’t fair.

And worst of all? You never took him seriously.

Every time he challenged you, you yawned, stretched, and beat him without even trying. It was humiliating, and he swore on his future as the number one hero that one day, he’d wipe that smug, half-asleep look off your face.

Until then, he’d keep challenging you. Over and over.

Scenario 1: A Typical School Day (ft. Bakugo Losing His Mind)

Class 1-A’s morning routine was always chaotic.

Iida was lecturing someone about being on time. Uraraka and Mina were chatting about their favorite snacks. Midoriya was furiously scribbling in his notebook.

And you?

You were fast asleep at your desk.

Like always.

Head resting on your folded arms, steady breathing, completely unfazed by the noise around you.

Bakugo, sitting one seat away, twitched violently. "HOW the hell do you sleep through this shit?! It’s morning, dumbass, wake up!"

You made a vague noise of protest, cracking one eye open to look at him. "Mmm… too early."

"IT’S NOT TOO EARLY!"

Kirishima chuckled from behind Bakugo, nudging his shoulder. "Dude, you should be used to this by now."

Denki leaned over, grinning. "Yeah, man, it’s kinda cute how much you care."

Bakugo froze. "I DON’T CARE!"

"Ohhh, sure," Denki teased, wiggling his eyebrows. "That’s why you always try to wake them up, right?"

Kirishima smirked. "Yeah, what’s up with that, huh? You like watching them sleep or something?"

Bakugo turned bright red. "I—WHAT—SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Meanwhile, you had already dozed off again, completely missing the chaos you had caused.

Scenario 2: Another Challenge, Another Loss

"Oi, lazy-ass. Get up."

You groaned, rolling onto your side on the training field’s grass. "No."

"GET UP AND FIGHT ME!"

You sighed heavily, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. "Again?"

Bakugo growled, cracking his knuckles. "I swear, I’ll win this time."

You gave him a slow, amused blink. "Mmm. Didn’t you say that last time? And the time before that? And before that?"

"SHUT UP AND FIGHT ME!"

You yawned, stretching. "Fine. But if I win, you have to buy me lunch."

"LIKE HELL I—"

"You’re the one challenging me, Kacchan. It’s only fair."

He clenched his fists, then snarled, "Tch. Whatever."

The second Aizawa gave the signal, Bakugo launched himself forward, explosions propelling him toward you. His palm sparked, ready to finally land a hit—

And then—

You dodged.

Not just dodged—sidestepped without even looking, like you already knew where he was going to attack.

He gritted his teeth. "You—!"

Another explosion. Another effortless dodge.

And then, as if to mock him, you let out another yawn.

During the fight.

"Are you—ARE YOU SERIOUSLY SLEEPY RIGHT NOW?!"

"Mmm," you hummed, blinking lazily. "You move too much, Kacchan. You should try relaxing."

"RELAXING?!"

And then—before he could react—your quirk activated.

A sudden wave of pressure rippled across the battlefield, and before Bakugo knew it, he was airborne, sent flying backward by a controlled burst of your power.

He crashed into the dirt, groaning.

You rubbed your eyes, sighing. "Told you so."

Aizawa called the match. "Winner: (L/N)."

Bakugo sat up, seething. "You… lazy… bastard…"

You walked over and crouched beside him, offering a hand. "Guess you’re buying me lunch, huh?"

He slapped your hand away. "LIKE HELL I AM!"

From the sidelines, Denki and Kirishima snickered.

"Man, Bakugo, you get your ass kicked by (Y/N) a lot, huh?"

"Shut up!"

"Are you sure you’re not just doing this to spend time with them?" Denki smirked.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Scenario 3: The Simulation Training (Or, How You Slept Your Way to Victory)

U.A.’s latest training exercise was a massive simulation—designed to test endurance, battle strategy, and survival skills.

It was an all-out free-for-all.

Students had to eliminate robots, avoid hazards, and outlast each other in a controlled battlefield.

Bakugo was ready. He was determined to finally, finally beat you.

Except—

Twenty minutes in—

You were asleep.

Like, actually asleep.

Sitting on a rooftop, arms crossed, napping.

And somehow? Some-fucking-how—

You were still in first place.

Bakugo nearly had a stroke watching you take down an entire fleet of enemy bots while half-asleep. You barely moved, just flicked your fingers and redirected energy waves that erased everything in your path.

He was losing to someone who wasn’t even awake.

"OH, COME ON!"

At the end of the match, the rankings appeared on the screen:

1st Place – (L/N) (Y/N)

Bakugo stared at the scoreboard, trembling.

Denki patted his back. "Damn, dude. You lost to a sleeping person."

Kirishima grinned. "That’s gotta hurt."

Bakugo turned to you, absolutely fuming. "HOW THE HELL DID YOU EVEN WIN?!"

You blinked sleepily at him, rubbing your eyes. "Mmm… dunno. Maybe I dreamed of me winning?"

He twitched. "DREAMED?! "

You yawned again, giving him a lazy grin. "Guess you’re just not strong enough yet, Kacchan."

Bakugo’s face turned scarlet. "I SWEAR TO GOD—!"

Denki snickered. "Damn, (Y/N), you’re really good at making Bakugo mad."

Kirishima smirked. "Or flustered."

Bakugo choked. "I’M NOT FLUSTERED!"

You just shrugged, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Wake me up when you’re strong enough to win, Kacchan."

And with that, you walked off—completely ignoring the way Bakugo stood there, fists clenched, steam practically coming out of his ears.

Denki grinned. "Man… he’s so down bad for them."

Kirishima nodded. "Yup. Definitely."

Bakugo whirled around, furious. "*I AM NOT!"

Part 2:

part 3:

Part 4

[finnbbl]

The Rival's Heart - A Min Ho Fic

Ch. 1: “Pipsqueak”

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Swearing, mention of deceased parents

It was hard to believe that you were here, standing in front of KISS. It was an over-the-top school, to say the least, and definitely not one you ever expected to get into. The past couple of years had been far from easy, and there were a lot of things that you wanted to leave behind. In your first year of high school, you decided to study abroad in America. That turned out to be the worst decision of your life. It only took a semester for things to start escalating during your freshman year. Despite your family, especially your brother Dae, checking up on you often, they knew very little of what was going on in your life. You endured conflict, heartbreak, and lost friendships. At first, it wasn’t easy for you to keep this from them. You always confided in your family. But after seeing how stressed they had been with their own lives, especially with the passing of you and Dae’s mother, you’d decided that your problems would only worsen that. Not to mention, it wasn’t like you wanted to leave America. And knowing them, if they sensed things were too hard on you, they would make you return to Seoul. So, you kept them in the dark. 

You were so hopeful that things would turn around for you, but that wasn’t the case unfortunately. With that, after your second year, you’d decided you had enough. That’s when you came to the conclusion that moving back with your family was for the best. It was simple. You applied for a scholarship to the same school that your brother went to and moved back to Korea, pretending as if the past two years hadn’t happened. You caught the soonest flight the day after classes ended, eager to leave the horrible memories and experiences behind. Summer went by quick. You spent the few months catching up with your family (Leaving out the details of course), and spending as much time with them as you could.

Fast forward, and now it was the day of orientation where you’d get your class schedule, your dorm room number, and find your classes. You know, the first day stuff. The two of you found out there was a welcome party that night, and your brother pleaded for you to go. Parties were something you despised, but you gave in considering it was a school event. 

“I’m so glad you transferred back; it’ll be nice to attend the same school as again.” Dae spoke and you smiled at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you with the new experiences in America and such but...” He trailed off, and you pushed a smile onto your face. “I missed my sister.” He said as he gave you a side hug, forcing your fake smile into a real one. “I missed you too.” You said back. As the two of you were about to walk into the entrance, Dae’s phone dinged. You both came to a stop so he could respond. You noticed that his facial expression faltered ever so slightly, “Hey, sis I gotta go but I’ll see you at the welcome party, okay?” You nodded, slightly concerned but decided to let it go. “Okay, see you.” Waving goodbye, he took off in the opposite direction. You pulled your luggage behind you getting in line to get your dorm number. The line seemed to move extremely slow. And as one would do, you pulled out your phone to pass the time. A few moments later, a voice sounded from behind you. “Uhm, hello? The line has moved.” It came off rather rude, and the speaker had a thick accent. And a recognizable one at that. You sighed before turning around, knowing exactly who it was.

Min Ho.

Based on his lack of surprise when you faced him, he knew it was you as well. He sighed as you pursed your lips. “So, you’re back.” He said, very unenthusiastic. Your mouth curved upwards into a fake smile. “Yeah, and you’re also attending here. Lucky me...” Looking him up and down as your fake tone faltered at the end of your sentence. You’d known Min ho for years. He was Dae’s best friend, but you’d never been particularly fond of him. His ego was high, and his personality was unlikable. You watched as his eyes glanced behind you. “Uh, you’re next pipsqueak.” Min Ho said in a rushing tone, waving his hands gesturing for you to move forward. You rolled your eyes at the name he’d called you. It wasn’t anything new. He was well aware it annoyed the hell out of you, which is why he did it. “Let’s hope I don't see you around,” you said before turning on your heel to make your way up to the counter.  

"Hi, name?” The lady smiled at you. “Kim Y/N.” She began to flip through an assortment of files before her muttering in confusion. Patiently, you waited as she switched her search to another pile, watching her face suddenly light up. “Ah, here it is. It was in the wrong file.”  She laughed it off.

“No worries, thank you.” You spoke in Korean as you took the file from her hands. That was when you started your walk to find your dorm building. Examining the paper, you made a mental note of the number. Then the next thing you knew, you were on the floor. It all happened so suddenly; you glanced up to see a girl sitting on the floor next to you. And that girl was none other than Kitty.

“Kitty?!” Her face lit up as she recognized you, “Y/N!” The two of you abandoned your things on the floor as you embraced.  Kitty was a girl you met while she was on vacation in Seoul. You quickly bonded, and eventually her and Dae started dating. Yet, she lived in America, but you still considered her your closest friend. “What the hell are you doing here?” You asked in disbelief.  “I applied for a scholarship, and I got in!!!” A smile plastered on your face. “That’s amazing, oh my god. Why didn’t Dae tell me?” 

“Actuallyy, I was planning to surprise him. He has no idea that I’m here.” Kitty was sure a different type of person, but she was also one of the sweetest. “That is crazy, if I’m being honest but I’m sure he’ll be so happy to see you.” The both of you started to pick up your stuff as you announced you had to get going to find your dorm. “Oh, think you could help me find mine?” She showed you her paper, and you noticed that it was the same building and dorm number. “Oh, that's actually mine too. Looks like we're rooming together.” You announced with an excited shrug. “Come on, we’ll find it together.”  

"So, what made you move here? There has to be some other reason than Dae, right?" You questioned as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. She nodded before speaking, "Well, I found out that my mom had went here in highschool. I think I could learn a lot about her and feel more connected if I attended the same school she did." Your face fell into a sad smile, you'd known that Kitty had lost her mom when she was rather young. She had no memories with her, so it was natural for Kitty to wanna experience what she did.

"I'm kinda surprised your parents let you," You laughed it off. "Believe me, it took a lot of convincing.."

It didn't take either of you too long to find the dorm. The first thing you guys noticed when you walked in was the rather roomy space it had, despite how small it was. The two of you walked into a room to see two different bags sitting there already. “I wonder where our other roommates are...” Kitty said rather quietly, you responded with a hum. “Probably out socializing, or whatever students do here.” You both decided to settle into the other room. “Oh, I was about to face time my dad, do you wanna say hi?” You debated for a moment, “Hmmm... Maybe next time, I should get some rest. Dae wants me to go to the welcome party; despite knowing how much I hate parties." You couldn't help but roll your eyes, the things you did for your brother. She nodded as you headed out into the common room, letting her have some privacy. It wasn’t long before you dozed off on the couch. You weren’t sure how long you were asleep for, but it was long enough for you to be started when she woke you up. “Shit, what time is it?” You rubbed your eyes before seeing the event starting soon. The two of you got ready in a rush. Luckily, it was a 3-hour long event, and you wouldn’t be there for an extended time anyways.  

You decided to wear a rather short, light blue dress with matching, but subtle eye shadow. The white heels complimented your makeup rather well. Compared to Kitty, you’d gotten ready decently quicker. “Are you okay if I go ahead and head out? Dae will bite my head off if I’m not there soon.”  You said, sighing. With your question, Kitty nodded. “Yeah! Go ahead, I’ll see you there.” She shot you a smile and went back to touching up her makeup. “Thanks, Kitty. And good luck with Dae, see you there.” And with that, you left.  

As you made your way to the building for the welcome party, your phone had gone off. When you looked at the screen, you saw a trail of messages. Most were from Dae, asking where you were since you had dozed off for longer than intended.  

Dae: Where are you?  Dae: Do you know when you’ll be getting here?  Y/N: My bad, I fell asleep LOL  Dae: You’re late   Y/N: Yeah yeah, I’m on my way 

As you swiped out of the thread with your brother, you then noticed messages from an unknown number.  

Unknown: I see you transferred away  Unknown: You know, you honestly lasted a lot longer than I thought you would here. 

You suddenly felt a pit in your stomach, having a strong idea of who those messages might be from. Regardless, you blocked and reported them. This year, you were going to put everything behind you. 

As you walked into the building, you did your best to push the messages out of your head. The first thing you noticed about the party was the very fancy decorations. Your jaw dropped in awe before you mumbled to yourself, “Wow, KISS really went all out...” The next few moments were spent by you admiring all the details put into it. Schools in America were rarely this fancy, and if they were you had to be rich to experience something even close to this.  

“Y/N!” With the call of your name, you glanced in the direction. You had expected to be met with Dae, but you ended up seeing someone else. “Q, Hey!” And it wasn't long before you two were hugging. Q had been your absolute number one best friend. He was there through all of your tough times. Well, those that he knew about. And anytime you needed advice, he was the one you went to because of his logical and realistic thinking.

“How have you been? I heard you were transferring back from Dae... But I never expected to run into you soon. Especially since you hate parties.” His voice was laced with slight confusion. 

“I’ve been good.. And, Dae’s the one that convinced me.” Q nodded in acknowledgement. “Oh, but also-” A groan interrupted your sentence. You sighed when you saw Min Ho out of the corner of your eye. “You talk just as much as I remember.” He complained in Korean. Your lips pursed and your head leaned over to glare at him. “Well, you’re also free to just, I don't know... Leave.” Min Ho clicked his tongue at you. “Ha ha, very creative.” You rolled your eyes at him as he had taken a sip of his drink. And if it couldn’t be worse timing, (for him) someone had bumped into him from behind. This caused him to spill his drink all over his shirt.  

“Oh my god, watch where you’re going!” You made no effort to stifle a laugh, “Nice job Kitty.” You commented off to the side, in a non sarcastic tone. It was enjoyable watching things like this happen to Min Ho. Q only watched before offering you a drink from a nearby table, which you gratefully accepted.

“So you do speak English...” Kitty mumbled. You sighed and rolled your eyes as Q shoved a towel into his chest. "Haha, busted."

"Seriously Min Ho? You still pull that shit on people?" You asked in a lecturing tone.

"Shut up Pipsqueak." You groaned at the name, "How long are you gonna keep calling me that?" You said, throwing one of your arms up so slightly before letting it fall back at your side. He leaned down to your level, even though you two were a decent distance away. "As long as it annoys you." He smile at you in a condescending way, in which you stuck your tongue out at him. "Anyways, welcome to KISS!"

"Don't feel bad, he loves to pull this move on people. He did it to me the first time we met." Q commented before something caught his eye. He immediately nudged Min Ho from the side, causing him to spill his drink once again. "Goddamit Q!" Min Ho raised his voice, complaining about his expensive clothes getting ruined. This caused you to let out another giggle at Min Ho's distress. "Shut up about your clothes for a second, look at our boy!" You turned your head around to see your brother walking in.

"Where did Dae get that suit?"

"Yo, Dae!"

You couldn't help but nudge Kitty and smile. You then watched as they ran into each others' arms. It made you happy to see Dae with someone that could very much be his for the rest of his life. Apparently, he'd been feeling lonely due to your guys' mom's passing, and you studying abroad didn't help. Of course, her death affected you as well, but you dealt with it in your own ways. The two of their eyes were filled with so much love for each other. Well, that's what you thought...

Suddenly, some girl that you didn't quite recognize, linked her arm with Dae's. Your eyebrows furrowed, fairly confused. You watched as Kitty rushed off and out of the building. Your mouth hanging open in shock and disbelief as you tried to process what just happen.

What the hell just happened?

[sturnioz]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MAKE A PART 2 OF THE FRATBOY CHRIS X SHY READER ANGST PRETTY PLEASERE (ily btw)

──── ⭑ ( part 0.1 | part 1 ) .ᐟ

after going home that night, you were almost positive that you were never going to see chris again.

you took every precaution possible to avoid him ─ parking your car far from campus, you deliberately chose the longest routes to your classes, and in the hallways you kept your head down, pretending to be focussed on your phone while your heart raced at the thought of crossing paths.

you deleted pictures on your phone, even blocked his number and his socials, determined to erase him from your life. the idea of him posting pictures with another girl twisted your stomach in uncomfortable knots, leaving you feeling utterly miserable.

during your time alone, you began to realise just how dull your life actually was without chris. sure, frat parties had never been your scene, but you used to enjoy being tucked against his side, watching him in his element ─ dealing, taking drugs, and drinking with his frat brothers before he took you into his bedroom where you spent the night.

and then there were the midnight food runs when the munchies hit, him bringing you along to the nearest 24-hour store and buying all your favourite treats and snacks which you shared.

but that was gone now, you were sure of it. you were never going to experience those moments with him again.

until he opened your bedroom door one night while your were episodes deep into one of your favourite rewatchable series. your heart raced and your eyes widened in disbelief, nearly dropping your cup of water that you've been sipping. you hastily place it on the bedside table, pausing your show mid-scene.

you stammer, confusion flooding your voice. "what.. what are you─"

"your uh, your mom let me in," chris cuts you off with a reply, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the stillness.

you weren't a bad daughter, but you couldn't help but curse your mother out in your head for allowing chris inside the house. she's always had a soft spot for him, drawn to his charm and charisma, even if she didn't know him like you did.

"jus' wanna talk to you, alright? 'cos you leavin' like you did... yeah, it doesn't sit well with me ─ got this..." chris pauses as he prods his chest with his two fingers, his expression a mix of frustration and slight vulnerability. "here. got me feelin' this weird shit and ─ and i can't take it, alright? so jus'... jus' talk to me. use that fuckin' mouth of yours and talk. 'cos i must've done somethin' right?"

you sit in silence, your heart racing as you stare at him from your position on the bed, lips curling into a frown.

the sight of him stirs a whirlwind on emotions in you ─ hurt, anger, longing. you don't want to talk to him; you don't want to bring up the painful memories of his cruel words that still, undoubtedly, echo in your mind. you knew that confronting him would only remind you that he wanted nothing to do with you, but you also understand that conversation is important... even if it felt like a trap to you.

"i... heard you," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. you chew the skin of your cheek, your gaze dropping to your lap, unable to meet his intense stare.

"heard me what, kid?" he presses, his tone blunt, yet you sense a hint of curiosity lurking beneath the surface. his directness catches you off guard, and you feel the room closing in around you.

he leans back against the door, arms crossed over his chest. the posture is defensive, and you can feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, analysing every twitch of your expression, searching for any sign of what you're thinking. it's unnerving, and you shift uncomfortably, feeling exposed.

you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "i heard you say that you want nothing to do with me," you confess, the words tasting bitter on your tongue as the tears begin to brim in your eyes. "you're so... so cruel, chris."

chris' expression shifts a little, "you uh, you heard that?" he runs a hand through his messy hair, tongue prodding at his cheek, frustration evident in his movements. "jesus, kid, i ─ i didn't mean it like that, alright? i jus'... you think i wanna hurt you? huh?"

"then why did you say it?" your voice cracks, a mix of hurt and confusion spilling out.

"i didn't mean it," he repeats again, his voice rough around the edges, but there's a sincerity that catches you a little off guard. he pushes himself off the door, taking a few steps towards you, closing the distance between you. "look at me, kid. i didn't mean it... you ─ you listen t'me, okay? jus' listen for a sec."

you finally lift your head, meeting his gaze, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. the air is thick between you both as he sits down at the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.

"i..." chris exhales deeply through his nose, visibly struggling with his words. "what we have ─ this shit between us? it.. it's new f'me, okay? and ─ and i'm not the type to get all romantic and relationship-like, you know that. but i get this weird fuckin' shit in my chest whenever i'm with you, and i'm tryin' to figure out how this all works, yeah? i'm not... i'm not used to this."

you continue watching him in silence, your heart racing as you stare at him. the vulnerability in his expression surprises you.

"when i said that shit, about how i want nothin' to do with you? that was jus' to get him off my back, s'all ─ 'cos he kept goin' on and on, and it was pissin' me off and i needed him to shut the fuck up," chris explains to you. "i... i shouldn't have said it, alright? and ─ and i'm... i'm sorry, yeah? i'm sorry."

his apology hangs in the air, and you can see the seriousness etched on his face. the weight of his words settles over you, and you feel the walls around your heart begin to crack. the raw honesty in his voice makes you reconsider everything.

"didn't mean to hurt you, kid," chris adds, his tone softer than usual. "don't know how to handle everythin'. it scares the shit outta me, y'know?"

you nod slowly, "i... i get it," you reply, frowning softly. "but i don't know if i can trust you."

chris' jaw clenches for a moment, the muscles ticking rhythmically as he processes your words. "yeah, well, gonna have to try 'cos uh, i can't let you walk away like that again... yeah, s'not happenin'."

he clears his throat, scrunching his nose as he sniffs, and the familiar gesture brings a slight smile to your lips despite the heaviness of the moment.

"now wipe your face 'n scoot over, told your mom m'stayin' the night."

© STURNIOZ

authors note. writing fratboy!chris so vulnerable and soft is WEIRD EEW this isnt my fratboy!chris !!! bring back the pain !!!! (hope you like it tho anon i did this for you im not doing it again im so sorry)

[pellucid-constellations]

Are You Bored Yet?

Pairing: College!Bucky x Tutor!Reader

Summary: God, you hated Bucky. Bucky probably hated you, too. Maybe. It was hard to tell when he was drunk and calling you pretty at a party you shouldn't have gone to.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Alcohol, annoyance to lovers, a bit of angst, a scary man in a parking lot, frat!bucky c:

a/n:​​​ I am so excited to finally post something!! It only took me four months 😅 If you enjoy it please please let me know ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

12:59 pm.

The birchwood table nestled in the back of the library was long but otherwise empty, the only thing occupying it being your laptop and quite a few books. He wasn’t late. Yet. You weren’t going to hold onto that hope, however.

Tutoring Bucky Barnes was not what you had in mind when you volunteered for the peer assistance program at your university. It was true you were only using the club to boost your resume, but you had assumed the only people reaching out for help would be those that actually wanted it. Unfortunately, that was not the case. 

Sure, Bucky wanted help. Just not with anything that actually warranted the word. He wanted help sweet talking the cops so they wouldn't shut down his parties. He wanted help recruiting girls to show up to his parties. And—the one thing you could actually do—he wanted help passing his classes with the minimum GPA required to not get kicked out of his frat. So he could continue to throw parties. 

Everything in his life revolved around his fraternity, which made you very important to him. When he wanted you to be. 

With your apparently astounding knowledge of biology (you took notes during lectures), you became the star in Bucky’s life every Monday and Wednesday from 1:00 pm (give or take ten minutes) to 2:00 pm. He was also very attentive during the thirty minute phone calls he initiated prior to tests, and always looked happy to see you when he passed you devouring a bagel at the crack of dawn in the dining hall. 

Every situation in which you had come in contact with Bucky was isolated and purposeful (minus the bagel). You didn’t hang out or invite each other places, and you were almost positive that if you were to see him in his natural habitat, you would want to tutor him even less than you did now, and that was saying something. So you were important to Bucky during the times you were supposed to be important, and he was important to you in the sense that he was a job. 

But as your laptop blinked the numbers 1:22 pm back at your unimpressed expression, Bucky became much less important today. You took in a long, tortured breath before sending your gaze up to the ceiling, giving it another three minutes before you truly gave up on him for the day. 

One minute. 

Two minutes. 

The library really needed new ceiling tiles. 

1:25 pm and you snapped your laptop shut. Your fingers itched to send yet another complaint about this whole ordeal Natasha’s way, but you stopped yourself. She had already heard plenty about Barnes at this point, plus she always gave you a weird look every time you came stomping into the apartment, grumbling about something else he had done. 

You hated her weird looks, all raised eyebrows and stiff lips.

With your backpack heaved onto the table and your things slowly funneling in, you figured a nap was the best reward for sitting in the library for an unnecessary twenty-five minutes. Your last prickle of irritation was stifled at the prospect of a warm bed as you stood, only to find that irritation had returned to you tenfold. In the form of Bucky Barnes. 

“You going somewhere?” he seemed to taunt, his bag slung casually over one shoulder. 

Your jaw ticked. “Home.” 

His mouth turned up at one side, an expression you had learned meant he found you amusing. He never seemed to outright laugh at your annoyance, but apparently, it was hard to tamp down all of the joy he got out of it. Bucky took two long strides to meet the table you were attempting to abandon. 

“But I still got about—” he checked his watch “—thirty-three minutes? And an arsenal of questions about amino acids. Help a guy out.” 

“And I still got—” you checked the nonexistent watch on your wrist “—no patience for this today. You’re over twenty minutes late, Barnes. Use that watch to set an alarm on Wednesday and I’ll tell you everything you’ll inevitably forget about amino acids then.” 

He groaned, rounding the table to set firm hands on your shoulders as he hovered behind you. “Sit. I’ll buy you a coffee and I promise I won’t be late on Wednesday, okay? I was dealing with something before this and lost track of time.” 

“Were you dealing with another sorority girl in your bed? Who was it last week? Amber? No, Michelle?” 

“It’s a Monday, y/n. Cut me some slack.” 

“You came to me on a Wednesday with a hangover,” you deadpanned.

Bucky grimaced, the expression visible to you as he managed to guide you back into your chair. “Oat milk, right? A double?” 

You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest as he tossed his bag by your feet and jogged over to the coffee cart just outside the library. He fumbled with his wallet when he went to pay, and you watched him point to the carton of oat milk the barista had yet to reach for. His greek letters were printed on the gray hoodie he had haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, and you held the reprimand on your tongue when you saw the matching sweatpants he donned. 

The last time he had shown up in his pajamas—late—you’d had some choice words for him. Bucky turned around with your coffee then, poking the straw through the lid and sending you a sheepish smile through the window. 

He was lucky you accepted bribes. 

~~

“Please,” the boy across from you continued to beg, a pen held loosely between pliant fingers. “Just ask her, that’s all I want. You can even come too.” 

“Oh, wow, the great frat president letting me come to his stupid toga party? How could I ever thank you enough?” 

It was Wednesday now, and Bucky was surprisingly on time to the tutoring session. You’d gotten through about half of the last bio lecture before he started asking you ridiculous questions that had nothing to do with the content. Today, he was dead set on getting your lab partner from chemistry to go to his party this weekend. 

“Okay, yeah, you could come to whatever party you want, you know? I put you on the list—but this one will be even better if you’d just do this one thing for me.” 

You finally tore your eyes from your laptop, glancing lazily at him. “And what would make this one so—wait, what list?” 

He waved you off. “The one at the door. Did it like… the second week we started this? Anyways, Wanda?” 

You let this new information settle and tried to ignore whatever implications came with being on some frat list thanks to Bucky. He had never explicitly invited you to any of his parties over the past few months and you had never asked to come. Apparently, you could have shown up whenever you wanted to and had a grand old time. 

Not that that sounded the least bit grand. 

Bucky was looking at you still, all pleading features and a soft, infuriating smile on his lips. When he wasn’t talking to random girls in the library or taking annoying phone calls in the middle of your sessions, he was sort of endearing. In a terrible, awful sense. 

You groaned, throwing yourself back against your chair in begrudging defeat. “I don’t even talk to her outside of chem. Don’t you think it’d be a little weird to invite her to a party that I’m not even going to?” 

“So come,” he answered simply, as if that was in the realm of possibilities. 

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Sure, I’ll come to your party, Barnes.” 

“Great,” he grinned. “Vision’s gonna be so hyped.” 

You watched as he pulled his phone from his pocket and kept your lie to yourself. He wouldn’t notice that you didn’t show up on Friday, and likely wouldn’t even bring it up the following Monday. He always had such vibrant, headache-inducing stories that you were sure your absence would be nothing more than a fleeting footnote. 

“You have a toga, right?” he mumbled, face still screwed up in concentration as he continued his text. 

“Isn’t it just a sheet all twisted up?” you asked, shutting your computer. Tutoring was obviously over. 

Bucky pocketed his phone again, brows raised in amusement. “Depends on your motives for the night.” 

“And my motives wouldn’t be to… wear a toga?” 

He chuckled and huffed out your name, resting an arm along the back of the chair to his right—your chair. “Other motives. Like if you’re trying to get someone’s attention.” 

You blinked at the warmth along your back. “Oh, of course. Then I would twist up a pillowcase instead, right?”

“Something like that.” 

He smelled like coconut. Like a day at the beach but afterwards, when the sunscreen still lingered in the air but fresh clothes covered skin that had been warmed by the sun. You could usually ignore whatever expensive combination he had on his skin, but when he got close like this it was almost impossible. 

Part of you always wanted to chuck his arm away when he leaned over you, but another part of you liked that he kept it there. It was a strange part of you, the same one that relished the looks you got from sorority girls in the library and harbored a sense of pride each time he made a blatant attempt to touch you. 

You had spent fleeting moments analyzing these emotions and chalked them up to some internalized desire for validation. Nothing else. Bucky was a hot guy and everyone knew that, so having his attention—in any capacity—felt nice. Sometimes. Meaning right now it was nice that he was looking at you with his arm practically glued to your back, but next week when he showed up late with a hangover and tried to steal the jacket off your body it would be not so nice. 

The duality of man. 

It helped your partial insanity that Bucky would never actually be interested in you. You weren’t in a sorority or interested to his parent’s money, and, worst of all, you didn’t know how to maneuver a sheet into a toga. When he put his arm around you or moved your hair from your eyes as you leaned over a book, it was probably out of habit. It felt nice, but you knew reality. This was a passing phase, and by the summer you wouldn’t even speak to him anymore.

“I’ll text you more info about everything,” Bucky called, pulling you from your thoughts. “You can come early and I’ll help you with that pillowcase.” 

You froze, the book you were shoving into your bag pausing in your hands. “Uh, maybe.” 

“No, seriously, it’d be better if you came early. I was kidding about the pillowcase but if you come on time it’ll be too crazy for me to show you around.” 

“You don’t have to show me around, Bucky. I’ve been to a house party before.” 

“Y/n, are you not coming to this thing?” Bucky accused, swiping the book from your hands and softly tossing it on the table. It still made a loud thud that had a few bitter looks thrown your way. 

“Dude!” you whispered, meeting each mean gaze with your apologetic one. “Why does it matter if I come? You just wanted Wanda anyway.” 

He knocked your hand away when you went to reach for the book again, encircling your wrist with his fingers. “You just lied to me. Straight to my face. You said you’d come and now you gotta.” 

You gave his fingers an experimental tug, but he was unrelenting in his soft grip. You glared at him through your lashes, meeting his uncharacteristically stern gaze that contrasted the humor on his lips. 

“You ever hear of sarcasm?” you whispered with a half-hearted bite. 

“Unfortunately, that’s about all I hear outta you,” he smirked back. 

You rolled your eyes, finally yanking hard enough to free yourself from him. “Then you should have known I wasn’t going to come. No matter what ‘list’ you put me on.” 

“What else could you possibly have going on on a Friday night?” 

Ouch. You felt your brows furrow even though you didn’t will them to, and even worse, you felt a rash defensiveness lodge itself in your throat. You hated the heat that now prickled along the skin of your neck, and you hated even more how it extinguished all of the good warmth you had felt from him earlier. 

This was humiliation, surely—the kind that only came from feeling small. 

“You don’t have to be a dick,” you seethed, snapping up the remainder of your belongings. “Just because I don’t want to go to your stupid frat doesn't mean I have nothing to do. I don’t spend all of my time hoping to get invited to ridiculous parties.” 

Bucky shifted up in his seat, eyes blown just a fraction wider. “Whoa, I didn’t mean—hey, stop a sec, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Whatever, Bucky,” you droned, as a new temperature seeped into the skin of your palms and made them clammy. Any semblance of delusion you’d fallen into earlier was long gone now, but you knew to expect that. He wasn’t interested in you and you weren’t interested in him. But embarrassment wasn’t a good feeling, regardless of a multitude of reality checks. 

Bucky got up when you did, his clothes looking creased and lived in. “We still have time in our session,” he defended, arm jutting out to the table. “C’mon, I didn’t mean you don’t have friends.” 

Your glare sharpened. “Great, another insinuation.” 

Bucky sputtered out incoherent words as you continued your trek outside, resorting to grabbing your wrist again, this time with more urgency. You felt the heat in you simmer down to a dull throb as he made contact, mostly out of respect for your future self. If you made this a huge deal it would only embarrass you more. 

“Look, it doesn’t even matter, okay?” you huffed, but he just tugged you forward. It was then that you realized you were in the doorway of the library, effectively blocking it off from anyone trying to leave. Bucky pulled you close enough to his chest that you weren’t in the way anymore. His cologne was back with a vengeance, your nose just inches from his collar.  

You took a steadying breath, blinking away the remnants of shame. “It doesn’t matter, I overreacted.” 

He clicked his tongue. “I’m still apologizing. I didn’t mean any of that stuff you were talking about.” 

Of course he did. You were sure he thought it all the time. He just didn’t mean to say it out loud. 

“It’s fine,” you rushed. “I have to go, anyway. Office hours.” 

“Okay,” he nodded, soft and low, like he just remembered he was in a library. “You’ll still come this weekend, right? Even if Wanda can’t?” 

“You have some kind of girl quota you need to meet?” you pressed.

Bucky smiled, still so close to you that you could feel the small breath that accompanied the expression. “And she’s back.” 

You left without promising anything, and Bucky left feeling like you had. 

~~

Sometime between Wednesday and Friday, your detestment for frat parties had snowballed into determination. You were going to go and you were going to look like you were having so much fun it was ridiculous. Then, on Monday, when Bucky would usually poke and prod about what you’d gotten up to over the past few days, you were going to pretend that it was nothing for you. That you did that every weekend. 

Of course, you didn’t. Your weekends typically consisted of calm nights with friends or dinners near campus. You’d been to a party before, sure, but you didn’t exactly frequent those kinds of scenes. 

Bucky had continued to make it clear that you were invited. He had texted you a few times, prompting you to come and thanking you for getting Wanda to agree. The messages looked strange under the plethora of biology related questions, but that just spurred you further into action. You weren’t just a tutor with no social life, and Bucky was going to see that tonight. You couldn’t remember doing something out of pure spite before, but you figured having fun to prove a point wasn’t the worst thing. 

Wanda pulled you out of your thoughts as the Uber rounded the last dark corner and revealed an overcrowded house with too many lights on. She rambled on about some guy she couldn’t wait to see and confirmed that she would likely be spending the night. You expected as much; it hadn’t taken much convincing to get her to come. If this night resulted in anything good it was apparently the blossoming relationship between your new friend and a man you’d never met. 

Wanda continued to chat as she yanked you out of the car and past the yard littered with sparse grass. The music was loud already—the type of loud that you needed to be at least a little drunk to enjoy. And that was the plan. 

“Okay, if I start dancing on a table you pull me down. And if you start dancing on a table I support you, right?” Wanda giggled, her voice now raised as you walked past the threshold of the house. 

“Exactly,” you yelled back. A guy nodded to you as he leaned against the front door, his eyes glancing up from his phone and then returning. It seemed Bucky’s ‘list’ was a page on some guy’s notes app. How luxurious. “Let’s drink.” 

The next hour was a blur. You tried your hardest to get as drunk as possible and Wanda tried her hardest to find the British man she was enamored with. You hadn’t seen Bucky, but you figured he wasn’t looking for you too hard since you hadn’t responded to any of his texts. Not out of anger, but because you didn’t know what to say. Somehow, with alcohol warming your blood and music vibrating your skin, none of that mattered anymore. 

You: Your house is soooo dirty

Your phone jostled in your grip, people bumping into you from every side. When he didn’t answer in the thirty seconds you spent staring at the screen, you locked it and continued on with your mission. 

After a few too many shots of hard liquor, you switched to beer. Gross, but decidedly less likely to make you pass out on the staircase of this house. Because you weren’t lying in your text—it was slightly disgusting. You figured you should clarify that with Bucky. You reached for your phone once again, knocking your head against the wall in the process and giggling to yourself. You had no idea where Wanda went. 

The device was snatched from your hands just as quickly as the screen had lit up your face. 

“You ever answer this thing?” an accusing voice called out. “Or do you just insult people and put it on do not disturb?” 

The look on Bucky’s face would have made you roll your eyes in any other circumstance. Right now, however, it had a startled laugh bursting past your lips. You clutched at your stomach as the laugh grew and you found yourself tipping forward until your forehead met his chest. You felt delirious, almost silly. A hand came around to rest on the back of your neck.

“Alright, alright.” Bucky’s words rumbled against your face. “I get it, this is hilarious.” 

“Your… your face,” you breathed out, catching your breath enough to part from him. “It was all—” you mimicked the straight line of his eyebrows, voice raising in a mocking tone. “—You don’t ever answer your phone. You’re so boring, y/n, answer your phone.” 

“I didn’t call you boring. Hey—hey,” Bucky stressed, reaching for you as you leaned too far to the side, a smile still lingering on your face. “Jesus, y/n, how much did you have to drink?” 

You went to mock him again, but his fingers on your jaw stopped you. He tilted your head up and to the left, and although he was much more composed than you were, you could still smell the alcohol on his breath. You scrunched up your nose as he continued his inspection. 

“Why’re you being so uptight?” you slurred, trying and failing to push away from him. “I thought you were all like, ‘I’m Bucky and I party and get drunk and have sex with girls.’”

Bucky pulled you forward as you laughed at your impression of him, his shaking head making you blink away a bout of dizziness. You toppled over a set of stairs as he threaded his fingers through yours, and then you stumbled through a doorway and onto carpeted floors. Being pressed into an uncomfortable chair was the most jarring action, the world still spinning as you sat. 

“You’re even more mean when you're drunk,” you heard Bucky mumble. You couldn’t quite catch him as he moved around whatever room you were in. “And I don’t talk like that.” 

You let out a careless sigh and leaned back. “You soooo talk like that.” 

Something cold pressed to your hand, followed by another touch to the back of your neck. You gazed down at the water bottle being guided up to your lips and couldn’t find it in you to fight against it, despite the small spark of defiance on the tip of your tongue. After about four large swallows, Bucky was satisfied. 

He asked again how much you’d had to drink. 

You answered that you didn’t know—that it didn’t matter because he wasn’t your dad and you were having fun like you always did. He bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t say anything for the next few moments. 

And then, “Thought you weren’t gonna come tonight.” 

You hummed, rolling your head against the chair to look up at his standing form. “Of course I was going to come. I love parties. Love drinking alcohol.” 

His expression twisted into something you couldn’t recognize. “God, you’re so drunk.” 

“M’not even that drunk!” 

“You’re willingly in my room right now. You’re plastered.” 

“Maybe I want to be in your room.” 

“We both know that’s not true.” 

You chuckled breathily, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the pretty flush of Bucky’s face. “You think you know everything, don’t you? Don’t know much about me though. Or biology.” 

Bucky kneeled down to the height of the chair. “And what do I not know about you?” 

“So much.” 

“How much?” 

You bit into your lip and cracked an eye open, catching the amusement that had slipped past the strange mask of his emotions. With blissful ignorance, you heaved yourself forward on the chair, your nose a few inches from Bucky’s. His eyes didn’t waver from yours as you swayed. 

“You don’t know that I’m the most interesting person on Earth,” you boasted, fingers gripping the upholstery of your seat. 

“That right?” Bucky probed, his voice a melodic hum. 

“Yup, I’m always really busy and even though you think I’m some boring biology tutor I’m actually super cool and, like, go to raves and stuff.” 

His brow twitched but his mouth stayed soft. “I’ve never said you were boring. And I don’t think you’ve ever been to a rave.” 

You groaned loudly and flopped against the backrest of the chair. “See! I’m telling you I do all this cool stuff and I’m so drunk my fingers are buzzing and you still don’t believe me.” 

You crossed your arms with a huff, a small pout forming on your lips. In any other context, this behavior would probably embarrass you to no end. In the dim light of Bucky’s room where you felt the feeling leave your fingers and the care leave your mind, you were just disgruntled, not embarrassed. If you remembered this tomorrow the latter would surely catch up to you.

Bucky stared at you from his spot on the ground, his gaze a bit foggy and unfocused. He was clearly intoxicated, as you deduced earlier, and it made him look more wild. Mused hair and pink cheeks, he looked like he’d been having plenty of fun before he found you. It was distracting. He was distracting you from proving that you were having a blast.

“What?” you snapped, the tone a testament to the drunken fit you were throwing. 

“You’re so fucking pretty.” 

He must be really, really drunk. Despite your clouded mind, you knew that, but the words affected you just the same. Your lips parted as a new lightness both lit up and compressed your chest, and Bucky watched the movement. 

“Yeah,” you scoffed, but it was hardly a scoff. “Sure, Bucky. How much did you have to drink—” 

“I’m not lying. I’ve thought about you in my room for weeks and now you’re here and you’re so pretty. Even when you’re yelling at me.” 

“You’ve… thought about me in your room?” 

Bucky shuffled forward and you subconsciously parted your legs to allow the space for him. “I think about you everywhere.” 

This was crazy. It was certifiably insane. A voice in the back of your head—Natasha’s voice, it sounded like—was screaming at you to stop and think about the situation at hand. He was drunk, you were even more drunk, and he was far too close to you. He had ushered you in here with good intentions and had sobered you up a fraction, but things had taken a turn and this was a sensitive situation. The kind of sensitive that altered your reality and his and probably a bunch of other people’s you’d never met. 

Or it could be nothing and you were over exaggerating. 

But then Bucky’s hand was warming your thigh. You’d felt the press of it on your back and your shoulder and your head before, but it had never been on your thigh. It felt heavy there, hot. His other hand moved to touch your face and he propped himself up on one knee. His thumb brushed your cheek. Words tumbled from your mouth before you registered that you were speaking. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” 

Why would you ask that? Who asks Bucky Barnes if he’s going to kiss them? 

“Would you let me?” he responds. 

“Yes.” 

He didn’t waste any time, his mouth hot against yours. He tasted like mint and vodka and his lips moved so slowly it ached. You had expected a fervor behind his lips, but instead you got a build up, an orchestra reaching its crescendo. He was kissing you like you were important, like this wasn’t some random hookup in his bedroom at 1 o’clock in the morning, and you had to catch your breath when he parted from you. 

But he moved back in so quickly after your brief respite, and you were eager to give him more. This was crazy, insane. This was the best kiss you’d ever have and also the worst. This was months of staring at his stupid lips when he tried explaining concepts back to you, but this was also weeks of feeling small in his presence. Bucky slid his hand back to press against your hair and you didn’t feel small anymore. 

A loud thud from the hallway interrupted the silence you’d created, and Bucky pulled back, keeping his hands on you as he craned his neck around to stare at the door. He waited a beat, and then two, and then he turned back to you. The moment was gone, but he was still touching you. You weren’t sure what you wanted—if you wanted him to kiss you again or run out the door—but when he slid his hands from your body and rubbed them down his jeans, it became clear that was not what you wanted. 

A knot formed in your stomach when he met your gaze again, and you tried blinking the feeling away. It didn’t work. 

“Um,” Bucky began, his voice sounding more clear, his tone not holding the weight it had.

Your plan had backfired. Severely. This was a mess and you needed to save yourself before you ended this night even more humiliated.

You were still drunk. Pretend you were still plastered. 

You giggled airily, the sound burning your throat. “That was loud.” 

Bucky blinked at you in what you assumed was disbelief. “Probably just someone trying to find the bathroom,” he clarified.

You shrugged, nudging him back with your knee as you stood from the chair. “I’m bored now.” You took fast steps to the door, your words foreign to you. “Thanks for the water,” you all but gritted out. 

You expected him to get up. Not to run after you or proclaim his love or even say anything. But you expected him to get up. 

He didn’t, and you couldn’t understand how the knot in your stomach had moved to your throat. Or how it made tears spring to your eyes when your feet hit the sidewalk outside. Your Uber came and you couldn’t understand how you felt hot and cold at the same time. How it was freezing outside but you were sweating. 

You couldn’t understand why you were crying over a boy that so often infuriated you, or why he kissed you in his bedroom. The reasonable side of you sent gentle reminders that he was in a frat and kissing people is just what he did. All the time. But the unreasonable side of you won out tonight, and it was telling you that this felt different.

That you should be different, somehow.

~~

Bucky: You’re here???

Bucky: Where are you?

Bucky: Y/n answer your damn phone

Bucky: This place is fucking packed tonight I thought you weren’t coming 

You stared at the text messages you hadn’t read last night, the bright light of your phone burning into your retinas. You had a brutal hangover, and the memory of the disaster in Bucky’s room felt like an even bigger one. 

You’d gone through a myriad of emotions the night before, tossing around excuses and speeches in your head until you were so exhausted you let the alcohol in your system lull you to sleep. With all of that delirious thinking, you’d landed on blacking out. You were going to tell Bucky you blacked out last night and couldn’t remember a thing. He obviously wouldn’t care and would probably appreciate it. 

Saturday was slow-moving. Reruns of television shows and bags of popcorn and overthinking. Natasha was at her parent’s house in the city, so you had no one to bounce your racing thoughts off of. You certainly weren’t going to text her about it. 

When the evening finally rolled around and your attempts at distracting yourself with mind-numbing movies failed, you checked your email. You always tried not to on the weekends, but doing anything else sounded much less appealing. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t get past the first one. 

From: University Peer Assistance Program 

Dear Y/n Y/l/n, 

This is an automated message from the campus peer assistance program. We thank you for your continued devotion to the betterment of students at this school. At this time, your tutoring placement with James Barnes has ended. We will search for a new placement to fill your current hours. 

Thank you, 

University Peer Assistance 

You blinked at the email, then blinked again. The breath left your chest and the muscles on your face twitched, but you were otherwise frozen.

This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To be free from the haughty frat boy that didn’t even listen to you when you tried to help him raise his grades. You wanted someone nice, someone that had the same goals as you and appreciated the color-coded notes you took for them. Bucky only tried to get a rise out of you. He sat too close and made fun of you and put you on lists you didn’t ask to be on. 

But he had kissed you. He had kissed you and then tutor-dumped you. 

You knew you weren’t his type, but were you really that bad? Was the kiss so terrible? 

Every inferiority complex you had developed exploded. You over-analyzed things that had already happened, things you had said. Not just at the party, but in the library, the coffee shops, the lecture halls. 

Was he really willing to risk his position in the frat just to avoid you? 

The strangle tickle of tears itched to be released from your eyes again, but you pressed it down. No, this wasn’t on you. He had kissed you. He had dragged you into his room and stumbled on pretty words. If he didn’t want you to tutor him anymore because of his stupid mistake, fine. 

His mistake. 

That word felt wrong. 

You tossed your phone on the couch with vigor. The clock above the television read out 10 pm, but that meant little to you as you slid on your shoes at the front door. You were wearing sweatpants and a jacket that was far too big on you, sadness and frustration and raw confusion propelling you down your apartment stairs. 

Ice cream would fix this. 

The only place open at this time was the gas station at the edge of campus. It wasn’t university affiliated and was usually overrun with belligerent greek life trying to buy alcohol, but the decision-making part of your brain was currently shut off. 

Ice cream, anger, probably watching tiktoks until your eyes were too heavy to keep open—those were the only things rattling in your head. 

You yanked open the gas station door after your short walk, the glass smudged and fogged from the cold night. The fluorescent lights aggravated the headache you’d been sporting all day and the floor made sticking noises with each step you took. To add insult to injury, there were only three cartons of ice cream left, and they weren’t even the good flavors. Grabbing the least offensive one, you made your way to the small line of people by the register. 

“Nice outfit.” 

Too enthralled by the disappointing ingredient list on the side of your ice cream, you had missed the tall man now looming at your shoulder. You whipped your head around with a start, taking a step back, smelling menthol and asphalt and nothing good. 

“Thanks,” you quietly replied. 

He waited until you turned back around to continue. “You go to school over here?” 

You kept your gaze forward. “Um, yeah.” 

“Nice. I graduated a few years back. Marketing.” 

“Cool,” you replied. What had compelled you to leave your phone on the couch? This night sucked. 

You found reprieve in the line moving, the employee calling you over to check out. As soon as you paid—a few dollar bills funneled out of your pocket with shaky hands—you booked it. Your ice cream burned in your palm but you didn’t care, feet carrying you out the door and into the dimly lit parking lot. You fisted your keys in your fingers; pointless, you knew, but a small comfort. 

The man’s voice returned with the chime of the bell over the gas station door. “Wait! Wait, I’m Beck. I own a business nearby.” 

You should have kept walking, but one of your fatal flaws was, apparently, people pleasing. You turned to him. He smiled at you but it made your stomach twist. 

“Oh, nice,” you responded, rocking back on your heels. 

“We should connect. Maybe go for coffee or something?” He took a step forward. You fought the urge to take one back. His beard was unkempt and he held a six pack in his white-knuckled grip. 

“Um, I don’t know. I’m pretty busy with finals coming up. Plus, I’m not really in the business field.” 

“Not for business then,” he smiled again, teeth dull in the streetlight. 

Just agree. If you agreed you could block him soon after and everything would be fine. 

You took too long to answer. He took the final step forward to arrive in your space and wrapped his fingers around your bicep. “C’mon, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything.” 

Frozen by fear, you let out a weak laugh. The pint in your hand was sticking to your skin now in a way that would be painful when you tried to let go of it later. Your breath rattled in your chest when you laughed again. 

“Sure, okay.” But he didn’t let go of your arm, instead sliding it down to the bone of your wrist. 

“What about now?” he posed. “You don’t look too busy. I can make you something at my place.” 

He was at least ten years older than you. You attempted to pull yourself from his grasp to no avail. Maybe reasoning would work. 

“My roommate's waiting for me,” you lied. “Could you let go? I sprained my wrist at the gym last week,” you lied again. 

He refused with a shake of his head. You took a panicked glance inside the gas station to your right. No one was looking. 

“Please let go of me.” 

The call of your name from the other side of the parking lot initially sent more unbearable fear down your spine. But then the owner of that voice registered in your brain, and although it had been the cause of your recent internal strife, you couldn't be more grateful to hear it. 

He said your name again, closer now and questioning. Bucky jogged up to the pair of you, saw your wrist and the man holding it hostage, and looked back up at you with confused, wild eyes. 

“You know this guy?” he asked, jutting his thumb out at Beck.

“No,” you whispered. The word was short but the syllable still trembled. 

Bucky didn’t look confused anymore. He looked pissed. “Wanna take your fucking hands off her?”

Beck was tall, but Bucky was taller. And angry. Beck released your wrist and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, man, no need for the theatrics. I’m guessing you’re here to stock up for a party? I used to be in Sigma Nu.” 

When Bucky’s silent glare failed to dampen, Beck continued with, “We were just planning a night at my place, right?” 

His nod in your direction made your breath catch. Bucky took his piercing gaze off of Beck and softened it as it fell on you. You wanted to respond, but words were gone. They were impossible. Your ice cream was melting. 

“Yeah, I think we’re done here,” Bucky scoffed, placing his arm around your shoulder. He guided you past the wall of a man, making sure to drive his shoulder into his chest as he went. Beck went to say more, to protest or whine, but Bucky shot him such a scathing look it almost made you wither. 

The smell of coconut and spices and a hint of whisky met your nose, and it was familiar. It was safe. You fumbled with the keys in your hands as your feet guided you wherever Bucky was going, and then you fumbled even more, soft jingling disrupting the softness of footfall. God, why wouldn’t you stop shaking? 

A hand fell atop yours, crunching the keys to a halt. You stared down at them, unsteady breath hitting the tanned fingers that served as your current anchor. 

“Look at me, y/n.” 

You couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything. 

“Sweetheart, eyes up. All you gotta do.” Bucky’s voice was as soft as it was last night. That was the only reason you were able to follow his request. “There she is,” he hummed. 

He removed his arm from your shoulders and shifted in front of you, placing his hand on your cheek. You ignored that it felt the same as it had last night. You ignored that you wanted it to feel the same for him, too. 

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his neck down to better see your face. His thumb brushed under your eye. “He hurt you?” 

You shook your head, whispering no, whispering that you were fine. 

Bucky nodded to himself, eyes tracking down to your toes and then back up again. He must have mistaken your shaking for coldness because the next thing he did was guide you into the car behind him. You didn’t know it was his.

He blasted the heat the second he got in. He had shuffled you into your seat with his hands before that, smoothed your hair down and closed the door after you were settled and not shaking as hard. The heat dried out your eyes. It distracted you enough to let words form. 

“Thank you,” you said. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t bring my phone with me. I should’ve.” 

“Of course.” 

There was a beat of silence. The relief you had felt earlier had been muddled down to an awkward pit in your stomach, and you weren’t sure if Bucky felt it too or if he was still riding a testosterone-fueled adrenaline high. 

You wanted to go home now; this was uncomfortable and you had felt Bucky’s lips on yours less than twenty-four hours ago with no closure. He obviously didn’t want to be around you. This was probably a responsibility thing for him. 

“I can… I can walk home now. The guy left. I’m just a quarter mile away and you probably have to stock up or whatever.” 

He looked at you with a pinched expression. “I’m not letting you walk home after that. You kiddin’ me?” 

“I’ll be fine, really. I walk over here all the time.” 

“You get harassed all the time too?” 

“No…” 

“Exactly. So you’re not walking home.” 

“Bucky—” 

“Look I’m not gonna kiss you again, alright? So you don’t have to turn down a ride because of that.” 

Your ice cream was soup at this point. You let it roll into your lap as you clamped your mouth shut just to open it again. Bucky ran a rough hand through his hair before dropping it on the steering wheel, clutching at it with no place to go. 

“I’m not following,” you finally relented. 

A loud sigh released from his nose. “You don’t have to worry about me kissing you again. I just want to make sure you get home safe and then I’ll leave you alone.” 

“Worry about—you’re the one trying to avoid me,” you snapped, frozen fingers pointing to your chest. “You tutor-dumped me.”

“Tutor-dumped? How do you…” he trailed off. 

“I get an email when you make a change request, Bucky.” 

He stared at you for a moment, lips parted and unmoving. He clenched his jaw a moment later, a red tint adorning his cheeks. 

“Well, you—you—look, I know you don’t like me, y/n. You’ve made that clear,” he stuttered, words getting louder as he moved his hands around with each one. “But I like you. I like when you get mad at me and when you yell at me for not listening and when you get all embarrassed when I play with your hair. And I’ve been trying to get you to come to one of my parties since we started this whole thing, but every time I talk about them you seem to like me even less. 

“If I had known insulting you would get your attention, I woulda done that week one,” he exasperated. You sat up in your seat but he continued. “I didn’t mean any of that shit you thought I did. You’re not boring. And I didn’t mean to kiss you, but you looked—well, I already told you.” 

“So you don’t want me to be your tutor anymore because you like me?” You spoke slowly, each word careful. 

“No,” he sighed, frustrated. “I can’t be around you because I kissed you and you didn’t care. Because I’ll want to kiss you all the time and you didn’t even wanna kiss me once. I know we were drunk, I get that, but I’ve wanted that for a long time and I need to move on. It’s nothing against your… tutoring skills. If that’s what you’re worried about” 

“But you talk about hooking up with other girls all the time, Bucky. To me.” 

“You ever hear of lying?”

“Why would you—” 

“You really gonna make me live out all of my failures with you?” 

You’d read so many things wrong. Taken so many things the wrong way. You figured the email earlier was the final nail in the coffin, but this was something else entirely. This was Bucky, sitting next to you in his car looking distressed and frazzled with his hair six different directions, telling you that he’s been trying to get your attention since he met you. That you weren’t small or insignificant or boring. 

It was probably a terrible idea to follow through with your next thought. You’d probably get hurt in the long run. But you did it anyway. 

“I wanted you to kiss me.” Bucky’s head whipped towards you. You bit the inside of your cheek and said, “I want you to kiss me all the time.” 

He whispered your name. It sounded like the air had left every corner of his body. But he didn’t move, and you needed to rectify that. 

“You’re infuriating,” you began. Bucky cringed, but you needed to explain as he had. “You’re like the antithesis of everything I want out of college. You don’t care about classes. You’re always late. You talk too loud in the library.” 

You took a deep breath, fiddling with the loose thread of your pants. You couldn’t make eye contact with anything but the ground. 

“But then you know my coffee order when I’ve never told it to you. You save me from losers in parking lots and make sure I’m not drunk out of my mind at your obscene party. You make me feel… you make me feel stupid sometimes. And I thought it was because you’re everything I’m not, but I really think it’s because you’re everything I told myself I should stay away from. But I don’t want to.

“I wanted you to kiss me at that party and I want you to kiss me now.” 

“Then get over here. I’m not kissing you over some bullshit center console.” 

You twisted to follow his directions, gasping as his hands clasped around your waist to tug you into his lap. It wasn’t seamless—there was laughing and your head briefly connected with the roof of the car—but Bucky’s touch was everywhere, soothing the uncertainty and fear and slight headache. 

His forehead connected with yours when you felt secure in his arms. His fingers slid down from your waist over the material of your sweatpants and when he spoke next you felt the words on your own lips.

“You’re wearing sweatpants. You get so mad when I wear sweatpants.” 

You laughed. “I get mad because it usually means you just rolled out of bed, and you’re usually. late.” 

“I got a secret,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “I’m never late. And I only wear those sweatpants around you. You get cute when you’re pissed at me.” 

“Well, I’m about to be really cute—”

He kissed you. You’d have plenty of time to argue later.

[cheol-e-kat]

coffee shop and forbidden relationship with seungcheol from bingo please! 🙏🏻🥺

also congratulations 🎉💐🤍

hiii anon, sorry, i know you didn't pick a nsfw square, but i made up for that - also to all of the other anons who have been looking for more alpha!seungcheol - hereeee he is, hope you like him this time too...also this is part 1

♡ kat

[ master list ] [ part ii ]

bingo squares: coffee shop + forbidden relationship

Pairing: choi seungcheol / f!reader

summary: seungcheol shouldn’t have a crush on another alpha, but he can’t help the way he feels about y/n, but he also wonders if maybe it doesn't matter

word count: 2.7 k

genre: a/b/o au (omegaverse), coffee shop au, college au, alpha!seungcheol

Rating: 18+, MDNI, explicit

warnings and author's note explaining some omegaverse stuff below cut

warnings: explicit language, drinking, mentioned bitching, fingering, exhibitionism

a/n: just some omegaverse (a/b/o) housekeeping

generally in omegaverse, alphas are not written as being able to have children (even if they are female in all ways, their second gender - alpha - determines their ability to have children, i.e., they are sterile), so alpha males generally don’t pursue other alphas, they pursue omegas (omegas are able to have children).

So this is the ‘forbidden’ relationship setup - alpha x alpha

‘Bitching’ refers to making an alpha into an omega, usually through a lot of sex with another alpha - it’s often used as a non-con element in fics (it’s not used that way here - or I would have marked this as non-con - I’m explaining these definitions and tropes upfront, that’s all - this is not non-con or dub-con).

Seungcheol couldn’t help that he liked y/n. He knew he was supposed to find some cute omega to be with, but he had yet to meet a single omega who set off every alpha sense he had the way y/n did. 

He knew the moment he met her, when he walked into the coffee shop and the scent of sugared raspberries and apple mint slapped him in the face, that he wanted her as his mate - his full mate - all the fancy ceremonies, everything, no question - he wanted her to be his and for him to be hers. 

He’d been meeting Joshua there, and just standing in line had made him antsy because he knew the scent was hers, and the closer they got to the head of the line, the more nervous he was. He wasn’t sure that he had even really placed an order or if Joshua had stepped in and saved him from being an absolute bumbling mess. 

He hadn’t been able to think about anything else the rest of the day. Even when he had finished his coffee in class, he practically growled at Joshua for trying to throw away the cup - as long as her scent still lingered, he was keeping it. Lying in bed that first night, Seungcheol felt certain that he knew just how silky her hair would feel against his skin and how delicious she would taste. 

The only problem he had was that he had never really had to try when it came to attracting omegas. They always seemed to find him. They all seemed to think it was cute that he smelled just a bit like cherries. He had never been out and been alone for any serious amount of time - there was always someone who wanted to sit in his lap. And he sometimes wondered if some of them didn’t keep a calendar of when his ruts were because they sometimes seemed to know before he did. 

But no matter how many times he went to get coffee, y/n didn’t react the way he expected. She didn’t ask him to meet her in the bathroom or the breakroom or give him her number or any of the things he was used to. She knew his order and how to spell his name. She smiled when she said ‘hi,’ and sometimes she asked how his day was. She had called him cute once, when he wanted the mango lemon square thing they had and had tapped on the glass a little too much. But the only thing he could consider flirting were the little smiley faces or hearts she drew next to his name when she wrote it almost every morning. It was the tiniest gesture. 

But he literally had a desk drawer overflowing with all of the cup sleeves she had written his name on. He could pull them out and stare at the progression from smiley faces to just a few with hearts to the return of smiley faces, and finally to only hearts. He definitely preferred the hearts. Even if they were purely random - he wanted the little hearts. 

Really though, he wanted the girl drawing the hearts - he wanted to pull her over the counter and fuck her while everyone else waited in line until they were finished. Privacy was his last concern some mornings when he was feeling particularly desperate for her attention. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It wasn’t until he was out with Mingyu and whatever omega he was with that night, that Seugcheol ever considered that y/n didn’t act like an omega because she wasn’t an omega. 

Seungcheol had seen y/n standing to the side, sipping a drink and talking to a friend. He watched her, jealous of everything from her friend to her drink straw. He couldn’t help that he loved seeing her out - he loved when she dressed in skirts that were just short enough for him to imagine hiking them up and pushing her panties to the side and eating her the way he wanted. 

He heard the omega laugh, “Why is he paying attention to her? She’s an alpha too.”

He had glanced at the omega, “Who’s an alpha?”

She stared at him like he was an idiot before answering, “Y/n - she’s an alpha - you know, as in useless to you, unless she’s down for bitching,” she smiled as she delivered the snide remark. 

Seungcheol stared for a moment, slightly shocked that she had even mentioned bitching, but still letting what she said wash over him.

Mingyu, though, laughed nervously, “I think you need a drink,” and was immediately pulling the omega out of Seungcheol’s range. 

Seungcheol stayed where he was, reeling from the random fact that had been dropped on him. He had never thought y/n might be an alpha, and even if she were, she was the sweetest smelling alpha he had ever met. He glanced up again, finding her quickly, despite the low light. He tried to see her differently, as in not the person he wanted to mark - he tried to make his mind see her as another alpha.

But even in the crush of alphas and omegas and all the scents that swirled around him, Seungcheol could easily pick hers. He could follow it like a trail if he wanted. He was surprised to see her glance at him then. More surprising was the small smile she gave him and the way she held his gaze for a few moments before glancing back to her friend. 

He realized quickly that he didn’t care if she was an alpha - he wanted who he wanted, especially when her gaze returned to him and lingered. He watched her finish her drink and leave her friend to get a new one. He got up too, following her to the bar. As he walked behind her, he tried to see what about her would make anyone think she was an alpha. 

He had met female alphas, and they were like female omegas, some were hot, some were fun, some were annoying - females were females to him. Especially beautiful ones with long hair that filled his dreams. He loved the way her hips swayed as she walked. He wished he could walk up behind her and slide his arm around her waist and nuzzle close to her - he wanted to scent her so no one else would even look at her the rest of the night, or tomorrow even if he did it right. 

He stood next to her though. She glanced at him, and he watched her smile.

“Hi, Seungcheol,” she spoke just loud enough for him to hear her. 

He smiled, “Hi, y/n.”

She smiled again and picked up two drinks, “I only know your coffee order, so I took a guess,” she held a drink out to him.

It crossed his mind that an omega would never buy a drink for an alpha, not unless they were together. And even then. He took the drink, noticing the cherry and orange peel sitting on top of the cup - he wondered how he smelled to her, as he sipped the drink and it hit him, the drink - that was how he smelled to her. Cognac, and bitters, and the slightest sweetness.

“Good?” she asked, watching him.

He nodded, reaching out to let his fingers skim along her hip.

She bit her lip gently, “You aren’t like I thought you would be.”

He watched her and leaned closer, “How should I be?” he asked, letting his arm snake around her waist, pulling her closer. 

She smiled - he watched the way her cheeks flushed, “Um, just,” she paused, and he could feel her hand on his shoulder, “you kind of have a reputation,” she offered, her fingertips tracing along his shoulder.

“I do?” he asked, smiling - he knew exactly what she meant. 

She nodded, humming positively in response.

“Is it that bad?” he asked, tone more serious. 

She shook her head, “I just didn’t think I would be buying you a drink, you know,” she whispered, her voice playful.

He realized how close he was holding her - how warm she was - how incredible she smelled and felt. 

He leaned down, “Come home with me?” he asked, not hesitating. 

She turned, and she was so close to him then - he tried to take her in. But her eyes had gone a bit wider. He suddenly felt like he had said the wrong thing. 

He blushed, “Sorry,” he blurted out before she could answer him. 

She bit back a laugh - he felt her fingers trace through his hair, “You’re so cute for me.”

He blushed harder, pursing his lips - he was the loser between them - she was the hot one and he was the loser that everyone looked at with curiosity because ‘him with her?’

“Not the bathroom?” she asked, her smile faded - he felt like she was teasing him, but she sounded game too. 

He might have been getting hard, but it didn’t matter - he shook his head. Maybe if she were someone else the bathroom would suffice, but she wasn’t someone else. 

Every surface in his apartment - yes, please, he would beg on his knees. 

Dirty club bathroom with stalls that locked only through thoughts and prayers - only if she wanted it there.

He barely felt the way her hand had slid between them, but he unquestionably felt the way she palmed him through his pants. It was like there was no one else besides them when she touched him - her perfect, slender fingers tracing along his cock, while she pressed a delicate kiss just beneath his jaw. He sighed, glancing and realizing they were still surrounded. He didn’t want anyone else around. 

He reached down, catching her jaw gently before she made him groan like he was the one in heat, “Not here, baby girl.”

 She nodded, “Then take me home.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

He kept his arm around her as they left together. 

The issue that grew in his mind while they grabbed a cab to his, was the fact that he needed to remember everything about how it felt the first time they fucked. He wouldn’t be satisfied if there was a single moan he couldn’t recall the next day. That sentiment didn’t seem to stop him from playing with the hem of her skirt, pushing it just a little bit higher and higher - he could smell how wet she was for him. He felt her hand catch his just as his fingertips swiped against the crotch of her panties. 

“Cute,” she whispered. 

He grinned, “Cute when I rail you too, right?”

She kissed his cheek, “You want me too much right now for that,” she whispered.

“Do I?” he pulled her hand closer to him, his fingers shifting to slot between hers. 

She nodded, “You would have already done it if that were what you wanted with me,” she smiled, knowingly - she was so certain. 

He pressed the tip of his tongue hard against the inside of his cheek. She wasn’t wrong, though.

Even when they were in his apartment, he hesitated. She was in front of him, sitting on the countertop, he was between her legs - he could fuck her there - she was wet and needy. He wanted to fuck but couldn’t seem to get past how good it felt just to kiss her. Or the way she tasted. Or the idea of her in his bed and how good his sheets would smell.

She finally grabbed him, holding his cheeks gently, she stared at him for a moment, “You just want me next to you in bed, don’t you? And not to fuck, at least not tonight.”

He flushed brightly and couldn’t help but nod. 

She whined softly, “fuck,” she whispered, sounding distraught, “I should go.”

He grabbed her before she could move, “Why?”

“Because, I kept telling myself you weren’t into me - that you’re just naturally cute,” she trailed off. 

He blinked slowly, “Why wouldn’t I be? Because you’re an alpha?”

She looked up at him, a shocked look on her face, “Why do you think I’m an alpha?”

“Someone told me”—

“That I’m an alpha?” She sounded even more confused the second time she asked.

He shrugged, “I mean you’ve never acted like other omegas around me.”

She sighed, “I’m guessing you’ve never met a sigma?”

He’d heard of sigmas - he knew they were rare, or he thought they were. He shook his head all the same. 

“We don’t,” she sighed, “I like being chased - I like flirting with you, drawing little hearts and stuff, hoping you notice and like magically talk to me just because I daydream about you.”

He could feel her hand tracing along the center of his chest. “Then why would you leave when I’m saying I noticed?”

“Because I’m not what you think I am,” she sounded uncertain, “I’m way braver when I’ve been drinking,” she whispered, glancing at him shyly.

He watched her, realizing he was maybe wrong - she turned him into a dork, and he made her shy, at least when she was sober. He, on the other hand, was hopeless either way. 

He pressed closer, not wanting any distance between them, “So stay the night,” he kissed her cheek, “at least let me scent you so no one else talks to you.”

She seemed more uncertain than he was comfortable with.

“Please don’t make me admit how down bad I am,” he whispered. 

“You just admitted you want to scent me,” she said, smiling.

He shrugged, “Because I do.”

She leaned against him, “Can I shower? And borrow clothes?”

He tried to be calm, “Yeah, of course.”

He wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was beating. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

He tried not to think about her naked in his bathroom and checked his phone instead. His gc had exploded - all questions for him - down to “who’s top?”

He rolled his eyes, not in the mood for his friends. Food, though, he could eat. 

He was scrolling menus when the door opened. He hated that he was too engrossed in a burger menu to look up, but he was happy when she sat next to him. He had never been around her when her scent wasn’t blended with other things, coffee, other people’s. 

He gave her his phone, asking for her to pick while he nuzzled against her throat. She gasped softly when he couldn’t resist pressing his teeth against her skin. He didn’t mark her, but he wanted her to know how he felt. 

“Are you dying for a burger?”

“No,” he mumbled. 

He knew she had placed an order when he felt both of her hands on him. They made out for a few minutes, but he pulled back - he checked his phone and saw the delivery time. 

“I should shower, too.”

But he looked down to see her in his t-shirt and boxers. He bit his lip lightly, glancing up at her.

She just smiled. 

“Do sigmas nest?”

She laughed, “It’s not that time for me,” she answered, still smiling. 

“Still.” He ran his hands along her sides and down her hips. “I like that you’re in my apartment - in my room - in my bed, and I really like that you’re only dressed in my clothes.”

She gave him a light push, “Go shower - it’s not like you’re going to let me open the door to some stranger.”

He imagined for a moment if she were wearing more clothes and shook his head, “Nope, but seriously, make my bed smell like you, please?” he asked. 

“You really are this cute, aren’t you?”

He nodded, “And possessive.”

She grinned, “I did get that impression.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her again. 

She caught his shirt lightly before he pulled away, “I liked when we were in the cab though, what you were doing to me - before I’m too embarrassed to tell you,” she murmured.  

He watched her blush as she said it - he nodded, wondering how the stars had managed to align just right for this moment to even occur. He never wanted her to be embarrassed to tell him what she liked, but that wasn’t something he could address before their food showed up. 

a/n: okieeeeee so, fr i hope you liked this ^^ told you i like omegaverse because yes at least part 2 but part 3 is mapped out

♡ kat

[ master list ] [ part ii ]

p.s. sigmas are like omegas because they can have children, but they can be confused for alphas - btw the drink y/n picked for him is real - it's an old fashioned, bitters give it this herbal note - so cheol is yeah lol

bingo reqs master list

bingo v. 1 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 2 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 3 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 4 ⋆.˚ 333 followers bingo ⋆.˚

seungcheol: knotting + marking | professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) | monster | spanking (neighbor seungcheol) | big dick + hate sex | forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) | voyeurism + punishment | coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (untitled alpha!!cheol pt. 1) |

mingyu: lingerie + praise kink | bed sharing + big dick | praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | drunk pda + no underwear | enemies to lovers + tentacles |

seungcheol & mingyu threesome: oral |

♡ my [master list] if you want to read more

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tag list: ☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @haik-chu [e - o/m] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - o/m/priv] ☁︎ @lovetaroandtaemin [e - b.f.non] ☁︎

[orimuraa]

• The stars, they aligned - 심재윤 ↳ ┊: the boy is mine - ariana grande

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆exams were never your strong suit, but luckily you had your boyfriend to help you—or make deals with you ⨾

۶ৎ nerd!jake x fem cheerleader!reader┆fluff, pretty suggestive┆petnames, making out┆wc 806

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: thank you to 🍰 anon who requested part two! i hope it turned out okay! i tried to make it suggestive but idk how it turned out TT

part 1 part 3

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

spring was rolling around, meaning that so was exam season.

unfortunately for you, you were near failing in physics and you needed to fix that fast.

“jakey!!! hi!!” you smile, your mood immediately picking up when you see jake at the library table.

you sit down beside him, taking out your things as he watches you with nothing but love in his eyes.

“i think i’m failing physics,” you mumble, frowning at your grade. jake peeks over at your paper and he chokes at the number in the corner of your paper.

“yeah- baby- maybe that’s what we’ll work on today..” he coughs out. “let’s start here.” he says, pulling out a fresh worksheet and sliding it over to you.

everything was going well. jake was helping you learn, physics were finally making sense, and everything was good! that was until you started to get a bit distracted staring at jake’s hands…

they were so perfect looking and the veins- oh the veins drove you insane. he was focused on the paper in front of him and his sleeves were neatly rolled up. and of course, to top it off, his glasses sat perfectly on the edge of his nose, making your breath hitch slightly.

before you knew it, you had already leaned in closer to him, placing your hands around his arm and not even paying any attention to what he was saying.

“baby? are you even listening?” jake pauses, laughing at how clingy you suddenly got.

“why don’t we take a break, hm? i’m tired anyway,” you suggest, faking a yawn.

“how about this…if you get an ‘a’ on your physics test next class, i’ll give you anything you want. how’s that sound, darling?” jake smirks, feeling like he wanted to make you work for it today.

"but jakeyyy," you try to pout, leaning in to kiss him.

"babyyyy you have to try, okay?" he says, holding you by your shoulders to prevent your tactics.

“fine!” you huff, determined to get that ‘a’.

---

when your cheer practice had ended, you drove straight over to jake's house, ready to claim your reward.

fumbling with the house key he gave you, you managed to get in, closing the door behind you and running over to your boyfriend's room.

once you stepped inside, you were greeted with jake's adorable room. posters of star wars, lego figures all around, a collection of shoes he was proud of, and old pictures from his childhood.

just then, the bathroom door swung open, revealing your boyfriend with only a towel clung to his waist, letting you drool over his toned body.

"jakey! i did it! i got an 'a'! i did it!!!" you exclaim, proudly showing him your test paper.

"baby! i knew you could do it!!" he smiles back, grabbing his clothes from his dresser. his ears were slightly red from embarrassment of the moment you caught him in as he rushed to slip his clothes on.

"can i cash in my reward?" you say slyly, making doe eyes at jake. you also stepped closer to him, making him smirk back in response.

"you can have it all," he whispers in a voice that gives you the good type of goosebumps.

he pulls you in by the chin with his index finger and thumb, smashing his lips against yours in a fiery kiss. you sigh into the kiss, letting your body melt into his,

your hands travel over his chest, to his hair, where they tangle into his luscious strands. you whine when jake bites you lip, asking to be let in. you part your lips slightly and it's just enough for jake to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring all the corners.

his hands are wrapped around your waist, every now and then pinching at your side to elicit a squeak from you.

you travel to his bed, flopping down with jake caging you in, his lips still attacking yours. he slowly travels his kisses from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck, where he ends up at your collarbones.

when you both pulled apart to breath, you smile at him, and god is it a gorgeous sight. your lips are swollen and parted, your hair is messy, and your cheeks are slightly flushed from all the action.

"hi pretty girl," he mumbles, flopping down to your side. he places a couple kisses at the base of your neck before just nuzzling into it.

"i'm glad i got that 38 on my physics test, cause it made you make that deal," you giggle, tracing shapes on jake's shoulder.

"yeah? well i'm glad you got that 'a' on this test because now i can reward you all night," he chimed, the smirk tugging at his lips once more.

oh, what a long night you had ahead.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic, @woniefication, @melodiessvy, @soona-huh, @kiwicup, @yuuuraaa

[babyblankyerror]

On the Stanley hit man thing(please note 1: prices are at least semi accurate to the 70s and 2: I have no idea how hitmen work and there’s only so many google searches I’m willing to have in my history. Also the name of The Guy is a reference to an actual person who was related to an actual big US government fuck up):

Rubbing soap and water into well-worn gloves in some gas station bathroom in the middle of the night was, at this point, a new normal for Stanley. There were better ways to do this, he knew that, but patience and a horrifying amount of soap did the job just fine. Better than leaving the gloves on the ground where someone might stumble across them and realise there are small dried splatters on them.

The best way to get blood out of fabric was to wash it out quickly. Flood it with water, then scrub soap into it and try to wear through it with paper towel after paper towel until the water runs clear. It was a similar method to removing paint from a roller or shirt. That meant that Stan could just pretend he’d messed up on some project, for an art class or something. Or was messing around with his brother's paints. There was only so well that could work after years of the same routine, but it still worked so there was no reason to change it.

As he ran the gloves under the faucet again, the water flowed only carrying suds. No more damning pinkish hue. Now he just had to dry them, and that could be done back in the Stanley-Mobile.

First he’d have to leave the gas station. Then call the number given to him last week when he got the job and tell them it was done. He’d learn where to meet them to get the back half of his payment, then he could see how to split it. Enough to keep going went to him, a little bit went towards saving in case of an emergency, and the rest went to his dork of a brother.

The first step, out of all of them, was always the hardest. There are only so many ways you can hide sopping wet gloves, especially when it’s warm enough out that you can’t just wear a bulky jacket with inner pockets.

He folded them in half, longways, and put one in each of his pant pockets. It was as inconspicuous as he could get.

Stan hurried to the door of the bathroom, before opening it at a much more reasonable speed and meandered out of the gas station store. He took special care to walk in plain view on his way out. As much as he’d love to skirt around the edge of the store to keep out of view, that would only look suspicious and risk drawing attention.

As the store door closed behind him he let his shoulders drop slightly and fished his gloves out of his pocket as well as his keys. His car was parked right outside so there was no need to separate the actions.

Unlocking the door he sat down in the driver’s seat. He already had a small towel on the passenger side of the bench seats. He dropped the gloves on the towel before swinging his door shut, sticking his key in the ignition, and starting the engine. There was a pay phone a few blocks down, but having just left the store he should still move his car.

It was funny how despite about… three years, he wants to say, he still was always on edge after a job. It made sense, considering that the jobs he took consisted of killing people, but it was still a lot of time to adjust to it. At least the pay was good, and he had ways to get through the actual murder part.

Just line up the shot, and count to three. If you make it to three you might chicken out and fail, or if you aren’t sure of aim you might panic since they keep breathing after the shot. Not to mention you leave a distinctive trace of who’s done it with the bullet. But guns left less room for regret and letting them live than knives or fists. It helped that he pulled the trigger on two, before his mind could catch up to what he was doing. By the time he was weighing whether or not he should do it, he was already checking to see if any blood was on him. Usually just his hands if he got close, but on occasion a drop or two would land elsewhere on him.

Shoes he filed the treads off left no recognizable prints as he would walk away.

The drive to the pay phone was silent beyond the low rattling of the engine. Shifting gears and parking the car was so automatic that if he was asked if he’d done it or not he genuinely wouldn’t know the answer. He took a few coins out of the cup holder and a note from where it was tucked into his front visor.

The air had the everpresent heat of summer, only cut through by a slight wind. He vaguely wondered if it was similar weather where Ford was. Sure Indiana was northeast of Arkansas, but it couldn’t account for that great of a change in weather. Especially since there would be enough plants to keep the heat in at night as opposed to if Ford was in the desert out West. Ford should have been in the desert out West, or at least just near it. He’d driven through the west coast once, it went from desert to a small bit of forest by the coast.

He slotted a coin into the phone and punched in the numbers written on the little sheet of paper. It rang for a few moments before someone answered with a tired ‘hello’. Made sense, it was probably around midnight.

“Is this S Higgins?” Stanley asked, staring up at the sky. The town was big enough that the lights faded some of the stars out. Probably for the best, Ford always liked the stars and it was best to not think about Ford when on the call with a client. His voice got too soft, and when your voice gets soft suddenly everything is up for negotiation.

“It is. I take it, you've done it?” The voice on the other end of the line replies. Always with euphemisms and never saying what they asked for. They wanted someone dead and now they’re dead, and he’s the only one that has to face it.

“Yup. You can check; Kelly on York street- dead center of Warren.” Stan says. He knows they won’t check, but it’s always best to give the information so there’s never any doubt he’s done it. It’ll be in the headlines anyways, Warren doesn’t seem like a place where a double homicide goes unreported on. A lovey dovey couple who just so happened to know a few details problematic to an ongoing political career.

“Is Ray’s in Monticello in three days good for you?” Came from the phone, crackly and disconnected. Three days, enough time for news and an investigation to start. Also enough time to plan out where to go next. There were certain people who talked, and it was through that grapevine his name got spread around. Or more accurately his license plate and car’s description did, it was not exactly inconspicuous, and with that ways to contact him. He just had to go wherever people who knew people that might want someone dead were. So pretty much anywhere, but he’d been thinking about seeing New Orleans so maybe he’d head there. And if nothing came up he was certain to find something in Mobile.

“Around lunch?” He asked. The least suspicious time of day. You could openly talk about his work at lunch and it would be taken as a joke. Because it’s the middle of the day and no actual plots could ever take place in the middle of the day.

“See you then.” The words came out and were quickly followed by a clack and silence. He set the phone up and made his way back to the Stanley-Mobile.

Monticello was less than twenty miles away. He could get there and get a motel room that night. But Warren was a small town and the newcomer disappearing the night of two murders would put the cops on his tail, so he swung around and headed back towards the motel he’d gotten a room at here.

The fact he didn’t immediately collapse meant he must have been running on adrenaline, and so rather than fight it for sleep he got his things packed. He’d sleep in and leave at a reasonable time in the morning before heading to Monticello. That seemed ideal.

———

Over the next couple days the only notable occurrences were the headlines about what he’d done, and him visiting the Allen House. From murder to the suicide house tourist trap. Way to go him!

Stanley had to admit though, while the ‘hauntedness’ of the Allen House left something to be desired he enjoyed the fun romp. He could do it better if he wanted to, but that would mean getting a house which would probably require legal documents that were left back in the apartment on top of a pawn shop in Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. Or he could do it illegally, which was much more likely, but at this point too much of a hassle when his current gig worked just fine.

Noon was approaching though so he turned on the Stanley-Mobile and headed towards Ray’s.

The diner was somewhat cosy despite having a metal back wall that looked like that of a storage container. Probably the warm lighting, benches, and soft music playing from a radio on the counter. He grabbed a table by a window, staring out of it to wait.

After a few dozen minutes of nothing he decided to go ahead and order some fries and a burger, making sure it wasn’t enough he could reasonably eat. He got a to-go bag after picking at them for what he deemed a good amount of time.

It was maybe another half hour or a bit longer when he watched a slightly too-clean Pacer roll up. A man who looked like he’d just been told what ‘casual’ meant last night stepped out and headed towards the diner. That was, without a doubt, Higgins then.

When he walked in the door Stanley waved him over, calling his name with a slight cheer as the man came over.

“You did… the job.” Higgins muttered, pulling a chair opposite Stanley’s spot on a padded bench and shuffling to sit down.

“I did. It’s on the news if you need to check.” Stanley said, leaning back slightly.

“I… I already saw the news. I have the money.” Higgins said, pausing to hum and haw before continuing, “Three thousand, right? Here, in cash.” Higgins said, reaching into a pocket on the inside of his clearly not weather appropriate jacket. And right. Stanley really should remember to get checks and not cash. Checks were easy to hide, especially since he went about being a contract killer in the dumbest way. Instead of just getting in with one group and staying there with a consistent pay and a good public facing business set up for him, he traveled around and essentially worked commission. Granted he got his start making enemies, so maybe staying in one place wasn’t the best. Especially when he could then work for just about anyone he deemed not an immediate risk, instead of just one organization. No matter what though, he should get better about checks instead of cash. Too late now though. Stanley held his palm out and felt a small stack of hundred dollar bills hit his hand, with no small amount of worry. He clutched the bills and tilted his palm down, hiding them from any quick glances.

Stanley dropped the bills into the to go bag as he reached in, and pulled out a small container with the fries.

“I have extra if you want.” He said, opening the lid and turning them towards Higgins. The man seemed to writhe in his chair, face morphing into a performance of guilt. He was certainly new to this. Higgins got up with a rushed apology and excuse of having to get back home. Stanley watched him go and placed the fries back in the bag. Well, to the bank then. He should deposit the cash slowly, he knows this, but he’s fairly certain that the new semester is starting m at Backupsmore which means Ford will need to be spending his money on textbooks. Which means Stanley is going to be extra sure to pay for his tuition.

Stanley’s pretty sure he caught an article about Ford and some other guy proving something or other about the universe, and a few more campus newspapers mentioning the two of them spending time together. So his brother finally made a friend! He’d drive up and hug the nerd out of pride if he weren’t certain Ford wouldn’t be too willing to speak to him. He did figure though, that he had enough saved for an emergency that what he’d usually cut out of his pay for à ‘just in case’ could go to Ford’s friend instead. A brief line of phone books and library visits, as well as word of mouth, made it clear that the guy was also the first of his family to go to college. And was riding on a couple scholarships in order to just cover tuition, but probably still had to take out a loan or two. He wasn’t going to risk Ford’s friend having to drop out and leave him alone due to finances.

The face of the bank teller was of mild confusion when he went to deposit five hundred dollars. Just because he wasn’t waiting to deposit the money didn’t mean he was an idiot. He was just going to spend the day hopping between a few banks to do it in chunks. Stil suspicious on paper but he has a current guise of being ‘an artist’ so sudden large deposits because he ‘sold a painting’ at least didn’t get too many questions.

At the end of it all he ended up sending one thousand five hundred to Ford’s annual tuition, so he should be set for a while longer. Though the idiot of a genius was taking twelve different full courses and each individual course has its own lesser tuition so it wasn’t the full semester it would have been if his brother knew how to stop. Frankly that had been the main reason he’d stepped in, Ford probably could have managed the tuition for one or even two or three courses on his own but somewhere in his mind he’d decided that taking twelve was a good idea. Stanley’s sure Ford could have figured it out, but that’s his brother and he didn’t want Ford to have to figure it out.

He sent seven hundred to Ford's friends’ tuition after some double checking names, and so the apparent Fiddleford McGucket had one less thing to worry about.

That meant he had eight thousand remaining, he wouldn’t have to take another job for a while. A long while. Maybe he just goes to New Orleans as a vacation.

~~~~~~

Ford and Fiddleford were staring at the Backupsmore administrator. They’d gone to check up on what they had to pay for tuition, only to find out that not only had Ford’s gotten a significant amount paid(which was becoming an odd yet consistent occurrence) but Fiddleford’s as well.

The money had been wired in, which meant whoever sent it had a known bank account, but had apparently mandated anonymity. As far as the school administrators were aware, it could have been the king of England sending the money.

The walk back to their dorm was shared in stunned silence. It wasn’t until Ford was sitting on his bed that Fiddleford stopped pacing and stared out the window before gripping his hair and yelling, in the whisper yell mandates by shared walls, cried out.

“WHAT in the world is GOIN’ ON.”

Fiddleford turned to Ford, lowering his hands to gesture in confused annoyance.

“Well, we know whoever is sending this must have a lot of money on hand. And we have been covering a lot of neuroscience, and specifically how to alter brains- right? It’s probably some larger entity with stakes in our current research.” Ford posed, though his voice still tilted with unsureness.

“True, but you started getting the payments before the whole tie thing. So there must have been some sort of investment before then.” Fiddleford argued. Ford shrugged.

“I mean, I suppose the sheer number of courses I was taking may have been noteworthy?” He offered.

Fiddleford began to pace muttering to himself, before an idea seemed to strike him.

“Hey, if we can get into the school records and figure out what bank the money has been being wired from, maybe we can call them and ask for information?” Fiddleford suggested. Ford took a moment to think through the idea, before grinning and jumping up.

“Exactly! Even if we can’t get a name, we’ll still get a rough area and we can go through phone books until we find someone who has a ridiculous amount of disposable cash and a vested interest in both of us!” He exclaimed.

They were probably going to have to break into an office or something, hopefully childhood shenanigans with… his childhood shenanigans would help with that.

Bro you need to publish this on ao3 or post it on tumblr or SOMETHING because HOLY SHIT?!??!?!

THIS is exactly what I was imagining for the Au!!! This is fuckkng great!!! I LOVE LOVE THIS AND YOU AND AAAAAAAA

I imagine Fiddleford doesn't really worry about the random money Ford gets until HE starts getting it too. Then yeah he's freaking out because WHAT THE HECK??

I love this you wrote this so well, so nice and omg??? You did research??? That's more than I'd ever do XD

[keykoso]

Formula 1 drivers as High School students

To spark some creativity and to practice drawing faces I challenged myself to draw all the current and some retired F1 drivers as if they where high school teachers or students for my F1 spiderman AU. So let's start from the begging.

The Seniors

Max Verstappen: A little bit of information on Max. He sits outside the music classroom because the piano music calms him down but he always leaves before Charles exists the room because doesn’t want to admit that he enjoys it. Max has big anger issues and a talent for boxing. Because Daniel, as the PE teacher, noticed that Max was potential he gave Horners number. Daniel was Horner’s pupil back in the days but they had a falling out. However Daniel knows that only Horner can shape up Max to his full potential. In this AU Horner has a boxing school.

Charles Leclerc: Charles has the best face card in school but his fashion sense is his downfall. Also Charles was bleached tips (00s vibes). Also also Charles is convinced that Artur started that rumor but Arthur pleads innocent. Lando is having the best time in the world because of that.

Lance Stroll: Lance is like the super rich but Esteban sees the real him, this introverted kid that just wants peace and quiet. Lance adores Estebans non stop talking that is way they are always sitting together at school assembly and at lunch. Basically, Lance let's Estaben do the talking.

Estaben Ocon: Esteban is the go to guy at school if you need any help especially if you can’t reach something.

The Juniors

Oscar Piastri: Oscar is the Spiderman of my f1 spiderman au. He has the personality of Andrew Garfield Spiderman. Smart smart kid. Lando is always copying homework from him. Hamiltons favorite student. Lewis looks out for Oscar because he sees that the kid has brains but for some reason the brightest pupil is always sleeping in his English class. Oscar noticed that Alonso is interested in him, but his spidey sence is saying that something is up whit him. So as the story progresses Oscar is keeping a distance from his science teacher. However, Lando works for Alonsos lab so that makes it complicated because Oscar wants to protect his best friend

Lando Norris: Lando has this Harry Osborn portrayed by James Franco vibes. HE IS NOT THE GREEN GOBLIN in my au. I'm sorry but I will not hurt my precious baby. The class clown who's always dragging Oscar along with his pranks and antics.

Yuki Tsunoda: The short kid with anger issues. Car guy, always talking about them and dreams about owning a Nissan Skyline car. Has a mood board for his dream cars. If you missed a school fight he's the guy whit the tea.

Logan Sargeant: The exhange student. Keeps it to himself. Only here for one year. Oscar befriended him at science class.

The Sophomores

Liam Lawson: The Lightning McQueen kid, he's the type for guy that would do anyting to be popular and play the guitar to the girls on there first date. Barbie movie reference. An if anything happens to him, Liam runs to the teacher to complain about it. If any of the school teachers see him coming they start running away.

Franco Colopinto: The girls guy, absolute romantic, can get away with anything because he knows how to smooth talk his way out of trouble. However, for some he disappeared for a period of time. Nobody knows here he went. But when he got back Franco acted as if nothing had happened.

Jack Doohan: Because Jack wants to be tiktok famous he shaved his head in the school bathroom while Liam filmed it. It did go viral and he got called to the principals office. Also Jack is like the biggest sunshine and I alot of girls adore him but he's clueless why that is, so he usually never notices the attention he gets.

The Freshmans

Kimi Antonelli and Ollie Bearman they met in preschool. Oli was dressed as a bear for halloween and because he was already the tallest kid in class Kimi really thought that Oli was a bear. Of course the teacher had to explain to Kimi that that’s just a costume. Since then they’ve become friends. Oli always laughs at that moment and Kimi as a shut up gift have Oli a teddy bear that he keeps in his locker. Also Lando believes that Oli and Kimi will become the next pranksters after he and Oscar graduates. That’s why George is absolutely terrified and tries to befriend the younger freshman so that we could discipline from the start. However, the fact that Kimi for some reason has a get out of jail card from Toto him and Oli absolutely abuse this power. Lando noticed that and is super jealous because he’s always sitting in detention.

Gabriel Bortoleto: Gabriel and Oli got drunk together and forgot that they have an exam at Alonso’s science class. Fernando understood that the boys were shit faced but he pretended not to notice Oli sitting in class with sunglasses and drinking energy drinks while Gabriel was as pale as a paper sheet.

Isack Hadjar: because he was this foreign accent he got confused with Logan and was placed in the junior class. Nobody even questioned his existence but Yuki noticed that Isack is absolutely lost at the curriculum. Isack explained that he’s not the exchange student and after lunch break he was back with the freshman. That’s the story how Isack befriended Yuki.

NEXT PART - THE TEACHERS

[lonely-moons]

♡୭something good | sam winchester x reader, pt. 2

title: something good, pt. 2 (read pt. 1 here)

pairing: stanford!sam winchester x socially anxious!reader

warnings: once again a hell of a lot of overthinking, social anxiety, reader is yet again an (i say this with affection) awkward loser, sam winchester being a sweetheart, more m&ms (when do i get sponsored)

summary: you begin to remember your plans to just go at it alone, but it seems as though sam winchester is hellbent on ruining that

wc: 2,943

masterlist

over the next two days, the weekend, where you have no excuse to run into sam, your inflated sense of joy wears down. you wake up and wonder what's gone wrong, how a couple hours with the guy had managed to chip away your self-promise that you would just make it through college without caring about the social aspect. with choosing not to form any connections, so that it didn't hurt as much when no one would want them with you anyway.

you spend an embarrassing half an hour working this through in your head before getting out of bed on saturday. you know there's nothing wrong with being civil - it's not your aim to be an unwarranted bitch, after all - but growing attached? that's a mistake you've made time and time again. you know better now.

even though you and sam had exchanged numbers, neither of you appear in the other's phone over the weekend. not that you're actively checking. you illuminate the screen for the time, for the date, for the temperature before you head out to grab some dinner. it barely even crosses your mind that your inbox is empty.

and when you get a spam call on sunday afternoon, you most certainly do not almost fall off your bed in your haste to grab it.

when monday rolls around, you're the first to arrive in class. you always are. it's a tactical move that you can never quite give up, something that lessens the anxiety that's ceaselessly churning in your gut. you want first choice of a seat so that you don't end up too close to the front or back, where the students usually get picked on. the middle is your comfort zone, where you can blend in with everyone else. you're typically good at that, after all.

when someone slides into the empty seat beside yours, you don't even look up, assuming it's someone you don't know, given that that's pretty much everyone. only when there comes a light "hey" do you flinch slightly and stop digging around in your backpack.

"8 a.m. classes are just the best, aren't they?" sam rubs slightly at his eyes, and despite the exhaustion in his tone, the words come out through a small smile. not for the classes - for you.

"what?" you ask. it's the only thought in your head right now, and it comes out as majestically as it sounds bouncing around in your brain.

"think these should be illegal." he looks at where your hand is still stuffed elbow-deep into the backpack perched on your knees. "you get lost in there?"

you blink, shaking away your surprise even though most of it manages to stay latched on. "um..." your fingers move around, finally finding what you're looking for, and you extract your arm then unceremoniously dump the bag to the ground. it lands on your foot but you act like it doesn't. thankfully there are no 600-page hardback textbooks in there right now. "just... need a pen." you smile clumsily, waving it between your fingers. "got one."

now it's sam's turn to be taken aback. you're about to wonder why he looks like he's never seen a pen before, but then you realise which one you've taken out: the one designed to look like a syringe. you had found it in a joke store one day after going out for a walk in the local town. you didn't like leaving without buying anything - and you had thought it was pretty cool.

"oh, it's - it's not real," you say, pressing the nib to your arm and clicking the top. "see?" you internally roll your eyes at yourself - no kidding.

he looks amused, the beginning of his dimples starting to peek through. you try not to look at them. "well, if it was, i think i'd have to tell you you're in the wrong class."

the sharpness of your own awkwardness manages to deflate you. you had started off on edge with sam on friday, as you do with everyone, but by the end of the evening had felt comfortable. it's only been three days, yet you seem to be back at square one. you look around, frowning slightly now, thinking that at least it can't get much worse. "i don't know, half the people here look like they'd want to be put out of their misery." you're sure you'd make the top of the list but don't mention that part.

"they'd probably prefer something more effective than a syringe."

you click it again, offering sam a brief glance. "anything can be effective if you've got the spirit."

his eyes switch between you and the pen, that amused sort of light dancing in his eyes. "i don't know if i should be inspired or terrified."

"both?"

his dimples finally tip into full-blown as he agrees, "both."

for some reason it eases your tension, and you continue talking until your professor arrives, which ends up being much sooner than you'd have liked. it's much sooner than you'd like every day, because it now seems to be some kind of unspoken routine that sam comes to sit beside you in classes. there's been nine so far. not that you're counting.

you also aren't counting that you handed in your project four classes ago, which means that there's no obligation forcing him to be here. at least not of the scholarly kind. you can't stop yourself from wondering if he feels bad for you. if he realises you have no friends, and this has turned into some sort of pity thing - god, you really hope it's not a pity thing.

but he doesn't act like it's a chore. doesn't seem to be regretting his decision as he asks you about the newest book you're reading, doesn't mind when you start a silent game of hangman during a boring class after finishing the tic-tac-toe he'd initiated. doesn't mind that you sometimes need to pause in the middle of a sentence because your words are becoming too fast, too thick for your mouth to keep up with.

you try not to read into anything too much, which unsurprisingly doesn't work. it's just like you to get annoyingly caught up in anyone being kind, your usual clinginess always threatening to rear its head.

the next day, you're sitting in class wearing a top that never usually makes it out from the bottom of your closet. it's nice, nicer than something you usually wear while not being too over-the-top for a college morning. and you tell yourself it has nothing to do with seeing sam, that you just want to get your money's worth out of buying this thing on a whim. you certainly aren't wondering if he'll notice, if he'll like it, because it wouldn't make a difference to you either way.

you don't care.

that thought repeats in your brain like a mantra, bouncing around so strong that it keeps turning your head in the direction of the door. it's beginning to get ridiculous, which the antsy tapping of your foot so kindly reminds you of. you grab your notebook from your bag and begin to add to some of your notes, just to have something to do.

when your professor arrives a few minutes later, the seat beside you is still empty. you try not to feel disappointed - sam could be late, or maybe he's sick today. or, you think, when you spot him a few rows away from the front and talking to two guys, maybe that clingy nature of yours has made its appearance after all.

you wish you could say you imagined the sinking feeling in your chest, the wheel turning in your head that reminds you of why you don't usually bother with people in the first place. why you made your promise. you know it's irrational, that sam doesn't owe you anything, and certainly doesn't have to always sit beside you.

that doesn't mean you hadn't hoped he would.

when the class is over, you leave on your own. usually you and sam would linger for a few moments outside, talking until he really does have to rush off for his next class. you usually head back to your place, enjoying the walk through the campus. even before you can plug in your earphones, the chirping of the birds keeps your mind happy as you run over your interactions with sam.

now your earphones come out tangled and a crow squawks obnoxiously loudly in your ear. you huff, then it seems the world really does hate you as you feel a small stone in your shoe. the walk home is more of an angry march, your mouth set into a hard line and jaw clenched. your top's thin fabric makes it so that the wind raises relentless goosebumps on your skin. maybe you'll just go to sleep, ditch your class later and mark today off as not having existed.

you collapse into your bed immediately, not bothering to move the blankets. about five hours are lost after you've woken up some time in the late afternoon. the rest of the day is a bust, with you just half-heartedly getting some work done but mostly watching movies that aren't holding your attention either. you know you're overreacting, but you can't seem to bring yourself to care.

the next day, you don't have a class with sam until the early afternoon. you arrive late - by your standards - to class, after having snoozed your alarm one too many times, which drags your mood down even further. you pulled on the same outfit from yesterday, still piled on the ground, and hoped your deodorant would get you through until you could take a shower tonight. now you settle unhappily into a seat at the back, desperately trying not to watch the back of sam's head. you once again leave right after the class, heading back to your room but only making it twenty minutes before your stomach loudly complains.

you head to the closest place on campus where you know you like the food. it's a relatively busy fast food place, but not many people venture up to the second floor, so you're usually able to find a quiet corner to reside in. but you're here later than you usually would be, which means it's rowdier, and as you make your way to the queue, you decide you'll just bring it back to your place where you can continue the show you had started last night.

"y/n?"

you turn in alarm towards the separated queue that's designated for anyone only ordering coffee. sam is standing there, hands in his pockets, that usual smile on his face even despite the bags under his eyes.

you blink for a moment, wondering if you're still half-asleep. you somehow hadn't noticed him, despite his height, but you had been mostly sighing under your breath and watching your shoes. it's weird, though, how you're suddenly seeing him in here, when it's not a backdrop you're used to seeing behind him. but the light streams through the high windows, hitting his eyes in a certain way that draws your attention. they look expectant, a little amused, and you nearly debate running when you realise you haven't responded yet.

"oh." you shake your head, stumbling a little as some old guy in a hurry jostles past you. "hi sam."

"hey. you getting some lunch?"

you nod, still feeling a little bleary from your lack of sleep last night. "coffee?"

"yeah..." he seems to think for a moment, thoughts whirring about behind his eyes as he pauses. "hey, are you busy?"

"busy?" you ask, like you don't understand the word. "um... no?"

he shifts on his feet. "mind if i join you for lunch? my treat."

now you're really sure you're not following the conversation. this doesn't seem like the request of someone who's trying to shake you. sam easily could've pretended to not have seen you, or at least just said a polite hello. now he's offering to buy you lunch?

"you don't have to -"

"i want to."

you think about your promise to yourself, about just making it through college without giving much thought to friends or socialising. maybe you know that deep down you're being dramatic, or maybe it's the fact that the queue moves so that now it's your turn and you have to make a split-second decision. but you nod.

"okay."

sam's shoulders loosen and he steps over from his own queue to yours as you both go up and order. a few minutes later you're sitting at a booth. on the bottom floor, which you're not too thrilled about, but you did at least manage to get a corner. sam's got a salad, but you're starving, and looking forward to digging into your pizza and fries.

"i didn't see you during class," he says. "is everything okay?"

"oh, just... um... had a paper to finish." you take a bite of the pizza, wincing at how hot it is, but you know you'll just start running your mouth if it's free.

"ah." he nods, like it was the answer he'd been looking for. "i was wondering why you looked so busy in class yesterday. i didn't wanna disturb you."

you stuff another bite of pizza into your mouth, feeling horrible. you had practically spent the last twenty-four hours thinking he was another person who would just throw you away like something discardable. you know you overthink things all the time, but recognising that only seems simple in hindsight. and then whatever negative emotion it generates only dissolves into guilt, which hits you in full-force now.

"you know me," you smile, though it feels all wrong, "just... busy." busy mind, you guess, always managing to come up with ways to destroy you.

"i've noticed." it's lighthearted, which might make you feel worse. "you get it finished?"

"yeah. all done."

"well, good, i'll need you there tomorrow. i had to actually listen today."

your mind only just manages to push that first part aside so that you don't begin making a fool of yourself.

you know he always listens anyway. somehow manages to play the silly paper games with you and still take perfect notes. but you widen your eyes. "oh, the horror. maybe you should be laying down right now."

"should i get my vitals checked? maybe i need a shot - you've got that covered, right?"

the jab at your pen isn't lost on you. "yeah, sure, where do you want it?"

his laugh is abrupt, like it snuck up on him. you like it, you think, knowing that it's genuine. that you get to hear it before he can decide which way he wants it to be heard.

the conversation sinks into that easy flow once again, and only then you feel how much you've missed it. you keep talking until your food is nearly gone, just a few meagre fries left. at one point, sam leaves under the guise of wanting to get a refill. but when he returns, he's holding two small ice creams in little cardboard tubs.

you send him an unimpressed look, which deepens into a scowl as he refuses to accept your money. he was the one who'd decided you should have one, not you, which meant he had to pay. or so he claimed.

"so, no game of thrones t-shirt today?"

you look down, realising you'd never changed out of your slightly-more-fancy top from the day before. it hadn't felt like as big of a deal as it had yesterday, but now you're painfully aware that you're wearing it. how it clings to you in ways your spider-man ones certainly don't.

"laundry day." you shrug, a little too quickly, grabbing your drink. some of it sloshes down over the side of the cup, but thankfully he doesn't seem to notice. or, at least, care.

"huh... well, you look nice. it - looks nice, you know, the, uh... colour. suits you."

you watch him, confused. he looks a little shy as he says it, sinking down in his seat slightly. is he flustered? the stammering is usually your thing; while sam isn't arrogant, he does have a particular air of confidence about him. that seems to have dissolved entirely.

as if hoping to save himself, he reaches across and steals a fry from your plate. before you can pry any deeper into this, your face automatically drops into an expression that might be suitable for someone who'd killed your firstborn child.

"hey, i bought them," he says, snickering, and it seems as though the look on your face eases something back into him.

you hadn't even wanted any more of the cold fries, having been about to move on to your ice cream. but you like the way his eyes crinkle in amusement at your reaction. you grab the ice cream now, swirling the plastic spoon around inside, trying not to outwardly react to the fact that there's m&ms added in - which he obviously knows you like by now. you narrow your eyes at him, ignoring the flip of your stomach. "this becoming a thing now? you giving me free food?"

"are you complaining?"

"depends. do i ever get to return the favour?" it's bold for you, something that slips out as a teasing remark before you can really dissect what it means. the kind of thing you probably should've thought out in advance - you have a feeling that the lost time worrying will be made up tonight as you try to sleep. you're not sure if you want to take it back.

sam doesn't react much, but you do notice the quick tick of his lips. "name a time. i'll be there."

never mind. you don't want to take it back at all.

when you get back to your room, you collapse against your bed like earlier. only this time, it's with a sigh of contentment. the thought only hits after a moment, as you're staring at some peeling paint on the ceiling, and it's so swift and striking that you feel as though you've been sucker-punched.

hold on - did you just ask sam winchester out on a date?

and did he say yes?

[opiumfidgetspinner]

For The First Time

Part 1

꧁ You didn’t even know his name. He was just some tall guy with curly hair you’d see between classes—background noise, basically. But then your friend turns out to be his sister, and suddenly the hallway crush you swore wasn’t that deep starts feeling a little more… possible.

2019

hamzah- senior

y/n- junior

You had a small crush on him.

It wasn’t the kind of crush that kept you up at night or made your heart race every time you saw him—nothing dramatic like that. It was more of a habit. Something small you didn’t even notice at first. You’d be walking to class with your friends, hair done, outfit cute, mid-conversation—and then he’d pass by. And without meaning to, your attention would shift. Your eyes would flick to him, just for a second. Like routine.

Tall, curly hair, always in that camo hoodie. He was usually surrounded by his friends, talking way too loud as they moved through the halls like they owned the place. He never really looked your way—except for maybe once or twice when your eyes met for a second. Nothing major. Nothing that made your heart do backflips.

But you didn’t mind. He was a grade above you, probably didn’t even know your name. Just a guy you saw around. One of those faces that stuck in your head for no real reason. Cute, yeah—but that was it. A passing thought. A background character in your school day.

You didn’t even know his name. He was just the hallway guy. The one you’d catch between fourth period and lunch—leaning against lockers, cutting through the crowd, laughing with someone you didn’t recognize. He was there, and then he wasn’t. And that was it

until one day it wasnt.

It happened one morning before first period. You were standing in the hallway talking to your hg like usual when you noticed your friend across the way, mid-conversation with someone. You wouldn’t have thought twice about it—until your hg elbowed you gently and said under her breath, “Bitch.. isnt that the guy you told me about?”

You glanced over. Sure enough, it was him—camo hoodie, curls, the usual crowd of loud boys lingering nearby. And there she was, talking to him like it was nothing.

You went to class like normal, slid into your seat next to your friend Jenna, trying not to overthink it. Still, curiosity got the better of you. You looked over at her, hesitating for a second before asking, “Who was that guy you were talking to before class?”

She didn’t even look up, still digging through her backpack. “Oh—my brother. Hamzah.”

Hamzah.

So that was his name. After all the weeks of catching glimpses and joking about him with your friends, you finally had something real to attach to him. But what really caught you off guard was the fact that he was her brother. Not that it didn’t make sense—they had the same face, practically—but still. You’d been to her house plenty of times and never once seen him around.

Now though? Now he wasn’t just the hallway guy. He had a name. A connection to you and you realised that now you might have a chance to talk to him.

“Oh right,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual. “I think he’s in some of my cousin’s classes.”

You kept your voice even, brushing it off like it wasn’t anything important. Jenna finally stopped rummaging through her backpack and looked up, eyebrows raised slightly like she knew something was up—but she didn’t say anything.

“Hey,” you added, glancing down at your desk, trying to keep your tone light, “do you think I could get his number?”

That got her attention. She turned to you fully now, giving you a disgusted look that made your stomach twist just a little.

“Not like that,” you said quickly, already waving it off with your hand. “It’s just—my cousin needs the homework from last week. She was out, and I don’t really know anyone else in their grade.”

The excuse wasn’t great. Even as you said it, you knew it sounded flimsy, but you hoped the delivery made up for it. You weren’t trying to make it obvious, but at the same time… maybe a small part of you didn’t mind if she caught on. Because now, there was a way to talk to him. A reason—even if it was kind of a bad one.

And that tiny shift—going from a hallway glance to maybe a real conversation—was enough to stir something new in your chest. Still chill. Still casual. But maybe a little excited, like that little crush was now potential.

—

The rest of the day passed in a blur—classes, lunch, more classes—but in the back of your mind, you kept circling back to one thing: Jenna actually gave you his number.

You were walking home with your cousin, both of you deep in a full-on strategy session. She swore first impressions mattered, so obviously, the pressure was on. You tossed ideas back and forth the whole way, everything from a simple “hey” to some overly thought-out message that didn’t even sound like you.

By the time you got to your room, shoes kicked off and sprawled across your bed, the two of you were still debating. You kept opening your messages, typing something, deleting it, trying again. But eventually, you just said screw it. You didn’t know him. What was the worst that could happen?

You went with:

“hey this y/n, jenna’s friend. i think my cousin c/n is in your science class—do you have the homework from the other day?”

It was longer than you wanted. Way more formal than you normally texted. But it was done. Sent. Out in the world.

He replied five minutes later—basically instantly in guy time.

“oh yeah ik you fs gimme a sec”

Then, a few moments later, he sent the homework attachment.

You replied:

“thanks”

And that was that. Left on read.

You stared at the screen a second longer than you meant to, thumb hovering. You weren’t expecting a whole conversation or anything—but still. After all the buildup, it felt… a little anticlimactic. Like ordering dessert and only getting the plate.

But hey. He texted back. He knew who you were. And that was something. Maybe not everything, but definitely not nothing.

You set your phone down, flopped back on your bed, and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your cousin was still beside you, already trying to spin the whole thing into a positive.

“He texted back though. That’s good, right?”

You nodded, kind of shrugging. “Yeah.”

But the little “Read” receipt under your message sat there for a while—long enough for your cousin to go home, for you to eat dinner, and for you to start feeling kind of dumb for even caring.

Then, out of nowhere, your phone buzzed.

Hamzah:

“yo your cousin the one with the blonde hair right?”

You blinked at the screen, surprised. It had been hours. You weren’t expecting anything at that point.

“yeah why?” you replied, lowkey confused but trying to keep it cool.

Hamzah:

“she always mad as hell in that class lmao i thought she was gonna flip a table last week”

You let out a laugh, covering your mouth even though no one was around.

Just like that, it felt strange. Like he wasn’t trying to flirt or be weird—just talking. You started typing back, smiling without meaning to.

And maybe, that little hallway crush of yours had some actual potential now.

part two

A/N first part of my new series also sorry for any bad grammar english isn’t my first language and i’m still getting used to writing on tumblr!!

[bloodb3nders]

part two.

| shota aizawa (eraserhead) x fem!reader |

wc: 3.4k

warnings: same as masterlist, use of yn, injuries

a/n: i lowkey put some heart and soul into this

NOW PLAYING: i can do it with a broken heart t. swift

the following weeks after your first interaction with shota were pretty insignificant. turns out you were pretty good at this whole ‘teaching thing.’ your students had enormous potential to be pro heroes, and you made sure to take note of a few to possibly recruit for your own agency once they graduated. you were sad this was only for the one school year, because you were growing to love your old school again, and being able to see the faces of young kids sitting where you once were made your heart inexplicably full.

despite this triumph, there was still a dark cloud darkening your time. despite hizashi’s numerous attempts to get shota to come over and talk to the two of you, he refused. you’d wave and say hi in the hallways, only to be met with a blank stare. it was safe to say that shota really didn’t want to talk to you.

“he’s just being stubborn,” hizashi said, as the two of you sat together in the teacher’s lounge. you supposed on your cup of tea, mulling over shota’s actions in your mind. “hizashi I still have no idea what I did,” you answered after a few moments, your voice soft and unsure.

hizashi sighed, leaning back on the couch, his head resting on the back of it. “it wasn’t anything you did… it’s just what he didn’t do… if that makes any sense,” he responded, and you exhaled deeply. “I just don’t know how that day could’ve affected so many years of friendship! I know I was a little reckless but still, I came out all right!” you said, and hizashi sighed.

“I know, but you have to understand, we were scared shitless when you took that fall,” he said, and you pursed your lips. before you could even think back to that fateful day, the door to the teacher’s lounge opened, and in walked none other than you’re old employer, all-might. he looked exhausted, with a drop of blood at the corner of his mouth.

“all might! shouldn’t you be at the USJ with class 1-a?” hizashi asks the number one pro hero, who sighs deeply.

“yeah, but I got caught up in heroics this morning, can’t go anywhere til I’ve rested for an hour or so,” he says, bitterness seeping into his tone. he slowly pads over to the couches, taking a seat next to you.

“how have you first few weeks been going?” he asks, and you smile at the pro. “they’ve been good, although I keep getting some serious deja vú from being here,” you say with a chuckle, which the pro joins in on. easy conversation soon falls over the three of you as you chat about the students of class 1-a, and even the young izuku midoriya, who was constantly getting injured after using his quirk. however, your mind kept flipping back to your brief and cold interactions with shota, and you found yourself once again racking your brain, trying to come up with an explanation for why he treated you so,

you did this so often that your brain quickly sifted through your memories, conjecturing possible reasons for why your high school friend no longer cared to give you the time of day. how he looked at you with eyes that held no fondness, no sincerity. you’d only ever come to one conclusion: that shota aizawa had simply had enough of you. it pained you to think this way, to think that your shota, your friend who willingly listened to you ramble for hours on end, would grow tired of you. but it was your only answer.

ever since the incident, the two of you had been torn apart. you and hizashi remained the same, but something lingered between you and shota that you couldn’t quite place. something cold and distant, mainly from him. no matter how often you went out of your way, nothing seemed to bring back shota’s old behavior around you.

so, you’d taken matters into your own hands and moved out. you’d received an offer to help build up your own agency from the ground, and looked at the opportunity like a new beginning. a new chance to make new friends, and to put shota out of your mind for good.

it didn’t help that you still constantly saw him around after the fact. and that despite the numerous dates you went on, none of the men measured up to your shaggy black haired friend. the curse of loving your best friend is not for the mighty.

you suddenly snapped out of your thoughts as you heard your name called out.

“lost in thought?” all might asked, and you nodded sheepishly.

“do you want to accompany me to the USJ? now that I’m rested up I’m more than capable of heading over heading over and finally helping aizawa out. I’m sure he’d be happy for some extra help!” all might spoke, and your stomach tumbled at the mention of shota.

“she’d love to! it’d be good for her to talk to the younger students,” hizashi spoke for you, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“well, let’s get going then!” all might said, and as he entered his hero form, you turned back to hizashi as you left the teacher’s lounge.

“you owe me,” you said, and your blond friend only laughed at your peril.

you and all might soon walked out of the school building, and prepared to activate your power in order to zoom over to the school. however, as soon as the two of you made it no more than few feet past the school grounds, a figure came sprinting into the distance, catching you off guard as you squinted your eyes.

you recognized the figure as a boy from class 1-a, and your face scrunched in confusion as you racked your brain, trying to come up with an idea of why the boy would be running to UA from the USJ. you and all might quickly made your way to the boy. upon reaching him, he had a panicked look on his face, as he relayed a message to you.

“all might! blue phantom! thank goodness I’ve run into you! villains attacked us at the USJ we need your help!” tenya iida quickly explained, and your eyes widened, concern flooding over you. “thank you for telling us tenya, go alert the other professors, we’ll head over right away!” all might spoke, and the two of you took off in the direction of the USJ. you activated your blue orbs, quickly tapping your hands to your feet, gluing them to your shoes as you kicked off the ground and the orbs propelled you through the air.

the USJ soon came into view, and you willed yourself to go faster as you and all might neared the building. the two of you touched on the ground next to the school, and you stood to the side as all might quickly blew through the side of the USJ, before he signaled for you to wait a few moments while he made his entrance. you nodded in understanding, quickly transferring your blue orbs back to your and, splitting them into four before slowly sending them into a spin around you.

you heard chaos ensue as all might assumed battle, and you assumed it was time for you to enter. you quickly rushed through the opening all might had made, willing two of the four orbs around you to form a force field in front of you. as you ran in, you were greeted with smoke, as you watched all might take on a weird looking creature with an open brain who was guarding some weird hand villain behind him. your eyes flashed to the nearby students, and you yelled at them to make a dash for the entrance. your heart felt like it was being squished as you saw a severely wounded thirteen, being held up by ochaco uraraka.

your eyes glanced to a few other students, and you feel as if a thousand knives stabbed you as you watched two students struggle to carry a severely wounded shota aizawa. your feet suddenly broke into a frantic sprint, as you quickly avoided the blasts from all might and the creature, lunging for shota.

“I’ve got him, you guys keep going for the exit!” you called out, as you carefully scooped shota up, wincing at his weight. you willed your feet to move, as you called out to others to dash for the exit, silently praying the other teachers would show up, as more villains soon swarmed the area. you looked down to shota, and you heard his soft, jagged breaths. “just give me a minute shota, just hold on, please,” you said softly as you tightened your grip around his bloodied and battered figure. you quickly made it to the entrance of the USJ, safely getting shota, thirteen, and a handful of class 1-a students out of harms way.

you felt tears start to cloud your vision as you carefully set shota down, making sure you didn’t lay him in a way that could injure him any further. “y/n, we’ll be okay here, go back in and get more students,” you heard an injured thirteen say, and you glanced up at her, your face twisting in a phantom pain as you looked at her.

“but—“ you started, only to be cut off by thirteen again.

“aizawa will be okay, recovery girl will be able to heal him,” she added, and you gulped down the bile thag rose in your throat. you looked down once more to the man in front of you, caked in blood, eyes closed shut, chest rising ever so slightly to signify he was still alive. you bit your lip, as your mind raced a million thoughts a minute.

“y/n—“ thirteen started again, but this time you cut her off instead.

“I haven’t done this in ages, but he clearly needs medical attention now,” you said firmly, and some of the students of class 1-a looked at you, curious to see what you were talking about.

you summoned the four orbs to merge into two, and you reached your arms out over shota, as blue light began to emanate from your hands, encompassing his body in a warm, soft, blue glow. you closed your eyes shut, and your brow furrowed as you concentrated harder than you had in ages when using your powers.

“blue phantom— healing light!” you exclaimed, as you felt your power and energy slowly sleeping into shota’s body. the few students around you watched in awe as blue light filled their vision, their teacher’s injuries slowly healing, life slowly coming back into his face. it only lasted a few moments, as your power soon faltered, and you soon felt a wave of nausea and dizziness ensue as you brought your hands both to your sides. you slouched slightly, exhaling heavily as you saw shota sift slightly, and your heart sighed in relief. just as he turned his head towards you ever so slightly, you quickly stood up, head rushing as you told the students to stay put before running into the USJ.

“yo! do you think you could heal people with blue orbs?” hizashi asked, and you shrugged.

“I don’t know I’ve never really tried. I don’t even know what I’d need to do in order to try and heal someone with them,” you replied, biting into your chicken sandwich. you, shota, and hizashi sat on a bench outside quietly enjoying your lunch.

“sounds dumb,” is all shota ads, and hizashi groans.

“shotaaaaa, you’re telling me you’re not the least bit interested in seeing what orby here can do?” hizashi said, poking shota’s arm, to which he earned a glare from the shaggy black haired boy.

you noticed that on shota’s hand was a small scratch, and a light bulb went off in your head. “shota! give me your hand!” you spoke, failing to notice the faint blush that spread over his cheeks at your request. he tentatively reach a hand out to you, and you pulled it toward you, resting it on the wooden picnic table.

“y/n, what are you doing?” hizashi asked, and you smiled. “wait and see,” was all you responded with, as you willed the blue orbs to your hands, a blue glow emanating around you. you held out your hands over his own, and the two orbs merged, the blue glow growing as you felt energy rush through your body,

“blue healing light!” you called out, and your hair shot behind you, as a bright blue glow encompassed the picnic table, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you felt the energy from your body start to leave you, your mind growing dizzy with the passing moments.

as soon as you felt as if you were about to pass out, you let go, and the blue light ceased. however, just as hizashi was about to ask you if you were okay, you passed out, hitting the ground with a thump as your two friends frantically tried to wake you up.

you finally opened your eyes, and you were met with the white ceilings of recovery’s girl room. you groaned slightly, and as you turned to your side, your eyes met with hizashi and shota, who were chatting with recovery girl on the other side of the room. shota’s eyes picked up your movement, and he motioned over to your bed. the three of them made their way over to you, and you pushed yourself up, back to the pillow on the bed.

“ms. l/n, while I praise your valiant efforts to heal your fellow students, I must warn you against it next time!” she chided, and you gave her a guilty smile.

“despite the fact that you were successful, the fact that you passed out after healing a small cut means that it takes a significant toll from your energy, so unless you plan to go down the healing track, please stick to your hero studies!” she added on, and you nodded feverishly.

“yes ma’am I promise I won’t do it again!” you said, before you quickly joined hizashi and shota, who were waiting in the entrance to the recovery room.

“sorry about that guys,” you said softly, and the two expressions on your friends’ faces differed wildly. hizashi looked at you with a smile of approval, and shota looked like a disappointed dad.

“buuuuuutttt, recovery girl did say that I did heal you! show me your hand pleaseeee shota!” you spoke, not even allowing shota to give you his hand, opting to grab it instead, pulling his warm hand close to your face as you inspected where the scratch had previously, now completely gone.

“woah, i did it!” you exclaimed, and you beamed up at shota, who rolled his eyes.

“don’t do it again,” was all he said, and you sighed.

you sighed in exhaustion as you wrapped up your statement for the police. the fight had been taxing on your body, and you were sure a majority of your energy had been used up when you tried to heal shota. you hadn’t don’t that in what? over a decade? and last time that was only a tiny scratch. but now that you think about it, you could feel some dizziness start to set in, vision getting a little blurry as you saw hizashi nearing you.

“you really are the number eight hero, aren’t you orby?” hizashi said, offering you an arm, which you gladly took, stumbling into him slightly. “gosh, I feel so so dizzy,” you mumbled, and hizashi flicked your forehead, and on groaned.

“was that necessary?” you said, and your blonde friend chuckled, much to your chagrin.

“heard some kids talking about you using blue orbs to heal shota or something. you know what happens to you when you use that dumbass,” hizashi said, and you shrugged.

“I couldn’t just let him die out,” you began, and hizashi cut you off in an instant.

“from what thirteen told me, he was gonna be okay, but why don’t we see what recovery girl has to say,” hizashi said, and you nodded, feeling too weak to fight back as you and hizashi hitched a ride with a cop over to UA.

the two of you made your way to the hospital ward, passing by thirteen’s room as well as izuku midoriya’s, before you finally found shota’s room, recovery girl studying his vitals. hizashi cleared his throat, and recovery girl’s head turned toward the two of you. she narrowed her eyes at you, and you offered her a timid wave.

“I should be scolding you right now for pulling the stunt that you did,” recovery girl spoke, and you squeezed hizashi’s arm, leaning into him for support, your dizzy spell still holding you.

“but, if you hadn’t stepped in, the damage would’ve been worse to his body and quirk. and I have to say, I am impressed you didn’t faint on the spot. you’ve grown, ms l/n,” recovery girl said, offering you an encouraging smile.

“so he’ll be okay?” you asked shyly, and recovery girl nodded.

“he’ll be just fine. he may not be able to use his quirk for as long, but he’ll heal up just find, no need to worry any longer,” she responded, and you smiled. a sudden shift from shota startled you, and you found yourself peeling away from hizashi, who gave you a weird look.

“you know he won’t want to see me, i should go,” you said quietly, despite your heart telling you to stay. but, you knew better than to force yourself on him, no matter how much you craved to see him, to speak to him, to know that he truly was okay.

hizashi didn’t fight you, simply watched as you slipped out of the room. you began to take a step or two, before your previous dizziness took over, and you sunk against the wall, hand against your temple as you slowly lowered yourself to the ground. a once dull ache in your head slowly turned into a throbbing, no doubt the work of using your quirk so much, all your energy was zapped from your body.

suddenly, you heard his voice ring out, cutting through the air, and you inhaled sharply. you tried to block out the voices of shota, hizashi, and recovery girl, but it was no use. you felt bad eavesdropping but at the same time, this was the most you'd heard shota talk in ages. "if it hadn't been for ms l/n, the damage would have been far more severe," recovery girl spoke, as she went over the damages shota had endured. she listed off some recovery things he needed to note, before she seemingly went through a different door in the room. as the door closed shut, shota's voice interrupted the silence recovery girl had left.

"still doesn't change anything," shota spoke, his voice firm.

"you really can't be saying that at a time like this dude. she literally risked herself to heal you up," hizashi interceded, his voice strained slightly.

"i didn't ask her to do that," was all shota responded, and you felt your heart twing in pain. he really was just tired of you. done with your antics, personality, done with you.

"what happens when she actually gets hurt one day? are you gonna ignore it and just act like being detached from her is going to somehow make it easier to deal with the pain when she's hurt? i mean i pray to whoever's out there she'll never see death, but is this really how you want her to remember you?" hizashi spoke, voice laced with annoyance and frustration at his friend.

"you forget i did watch her die. this doesn't change anything hizashi, we've had this conversation a million times!" shota responded, voice cracking with exhaustion. you could feel your heart racing, as a whirlwind of emotions overtook you. you willed yourself to stand, but you felt so weak. you were suddenly paranoid about making any noise and suddenly getting caught by the pair.

"she survived! look, we all promised each other we'd stick together, and obviously you've ignored that. but still, at least show her a little kindness!" hizashi spoke exasperatedly. you silently put a hand over your mouth to stop the quiet sobs that had started to form in your throat.

why was it that the incident had changed everything?

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated!

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