#do you have to wash your shit food under the sink to get the salt out of it

[ansburg]

white people who have never interacted with the justice system shut up about how you think your experiences are comparable to prisoners' challenge

[janshu]

Inu!Bakugo...for @ultimate-astridwriting's Hybrid collab!

Summary: My part of the hybrid collab. I had so much fun writing an angry Pomeranian Bakugo. 10/10 would do again. I'm not completely happy with it but who ever is? I'm still proud of myself!

Word count: 2.2k.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Bakugo being an ass, sexual content, somnophilia, collars, choking, humping, creampie, name calling (bitch, slut, whore etc.), use of the word cunt.

You sigh as you rummage around in your pocket to produce the key to your home. After a long day's work all you want to do is get some dinner, take a bath and go to bed but none of those things would be possible would they?

No, not after the spur of the moment decision to adopt a hybrid of all things. The week earlier was one of torrential downpours and near freezing temperatures, the roads making a slushy substance of half-melted ice and salt to prevent the very thing it was being mixed in with. People stayed indoors the best they could when they weren't at work but life had to shit on you and make your car breakdown in the parking garage. Umbrella rested on your shoulder, rain boots on your feet with your spare in your bag and you trudged through cold, mushy hell back home. The streets were barren as a Walmart on a weekday at 4am, no life passing by you until you crossed an alley between two businesses. A pathetic whimper had caught your attention and your gaze drifted down to a soaked cardboard box. What was in that box you weren't sure if you should curse or love. A hybrid.

Narrow red eyes stared at you in suspicion, fangs bared at you but the creature didn't make any attempts to nip at your fingers when they neared to ruffle the spikey head of hair. The hybrid had leaned into your touch before recoiling away as if you had smacked him. The black and orange collar had seen better days, the charm that dangled on the hollow of his neck read "Dynamite" but he didn't give any indication that was his name when you repeated it outloud. He was barely dressed in anything, a thin t-shirt, shorts with ragged Converse that had more holes than Swiss cheese. Truthfully he looked a few days away from starvation and how could you keep that on your conscience if you left him there? After laying your warm coat over his shoulders you somehow, someway, managed to get him back to your place. Everything went downhill from there in the blink of an eye.

The weak puppy persona was gone the moment warm food settled in his belly and within the hour he acted as if you had crowned him king of the house. Beginning his rambles of curses, demands and biting at your fingers. The worst of it happened when you tried to take his collar off for a new one, one that wasn't frayed and barely hanging on. "Katsuki" as he spat out his name with enough venom to put a Black Mamba to shame had flipped over a coffee table, ripped up every couch cushion and went so far to chew on the linoleum on the kitchen floor.

No doubt you'd be greeted with the same sight as always. Messy, dirty, unknown stains everywhere and dishes still in the sink waiting to be moved to the washer. Maybe if he wasn't such a loud ass you could train him but your frazzled nerves were at their wits end. You didn't know what to do, you were about to throw in the towel and put him up for adoption. Yep, you were disappointed to be proven right. Katsuki reclining on the couch lengthwise, remote in his hand with the most bored expression on his face while idly flipping through channels.

"Fucking finally, you're home! I've been waitin' for fucking hours for your ass to get back! I'm hungry, get your shitty ass in the kitchen and make dinner." He barked. Barely giving you any time to hang up your coat and slip off your shoes before his orders began.

"Katsuki...I can't, not tonight." Could your voice portray anymore pleading? Apparently not because he didn't seem to notice, or care.

The fluffy ear at the top of his head only flicked in response, the top lip curling into his signature snarl. "Then what the fuck are you good for? Get your fucking ass in that god damn kitchen and fucking make dinner already."

All that you were good for? All that you were good for? How dare he! He's been freeloading off you for a week now without so much as a thanks for saving him from the streets, feeding him, clothing him, keeping him warm and dealing with his bullshit and this is how he repays you?

"I've fucking had it with you!" Your voice rose higher than you meant to but at this point you didn't care, a line had been crossed. "You fucking sit there and ruin my shit and yet I'm the useless one? I have half a mind to kick you out! You can make your own fucking dinner, I've had it! I'm done! I can't take this anymore!"

Despite not having any clunky shoes on your feet still managed to resonate in the small living room while you stormed past the couch. You had expected anything, anything at all. A slap, a punch, a groan, literally anything but you were met with only silence and that somehow pissed out off even more. How could silence be so infuriating?! You didn't even notice the terror that washed over his face as you screamed at him or the way his chest heaved with the sob or how he trembled underneath your wrathful gaze as you walked away. The bedroom door slamming made short work of that.

"Fuck I'm such an ass.." You mused to yourself already regretting blowing up at him but what would an apology do that wasn't already broken? So better yet why not send yourself to bed without dinner as some kind of punishment? He'd linger at the doorway to the kitchen, staring at you with those intense eyes if you made dinner anyways so why let him win? He could his own shit for fucks sake!

After a quick shower to dethaw your bones and warm up what was left of your dead soul the softness of your pajamas helped ease the guilt gnawing away like a puppy on its first bone. Laying in bed until sleep eventually overcame you and when he knew it was safe to slip in and sneak over towards your bedside.

Rustling was what woke you. The rustling of clothes and the jingle of something metallic in the darkness of the bedroom. Whatever grogginess you normally suffered when waking up was vanishing the more details were dissected and understood by your half-asleep brain, a process that took an embarrassingly long time. Clothes rustling, the bedsheets moving, heavy pants and something incredibly warm nudging up against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Naturally your brain assumed the worst and your eyelids flew open to show nothing; at first. As your eyes adjusted to the pitch black room they found the blazing stare of those vermillion eyes, the bared fangs that belonged to your hybrid.

What the hell was Katsuki doing on top of you?

Noticing that you were awake the snarl turned into a smirk as he huffed, his large chest expanding with each desperate pant. Why did your folds feel so good just as you were waking up?

"Feel that?" How could you not? The feel of a scorching cock bumping up your folds and sensitive clit, wet from the pre leaking from the tip. There was so much of it from what you could feel, too sticky to be your own. His hips had yet to cease moving, no word from your shocked form to still his rutting hips.

"W-what the hell are you doing?" Was the most logical question your brain could come up with in the moment.

"Humping...fucking dumbass." His warm breath created goosebumps on your cool skin, his head must've been so close to yours by the hair tickling your forehead. "Tryin'ta...help ya. Shitty woman.."

"Help? How the fuck is this helping?"

"You've been working so hard so I thought maybe...a good fuck would calm ya down, relax ya." Katsuki's voice was so desperate, so needy, the humping of his cock on your labia increasing.

He was trying to help? He was going to fuck the frustration out of you? Is that was he was offering? Having sex with a hybrid was common enough to not be considered taboo but you couldn't help but feel he was trying to worm his way into your good graces. Unless your words had struck some kind of cord with him. "Okay, alright, I'll let you help."

"Fuck yeah!"

With that the head of his cock nudged against your cunt, already spread and waiting for him. How long had he been doing this for? The burn of the stretch was delicious, he was just big enough to fill you up but not hurt. Settling right up to kiss the tip of your cervix when he bottomed out. His hands grip at your thigh and hip, pulling his back to slam his cock right back into you. Over and over, over and over, over and over. Practically using you as a fleshlight to get himself off but damn if it didn't feel good, him bouncing you on his cock so roughly each thrust was sending the headboard against the wall.

"Oh fuck...oh fuck, Katsuki!" Your hands pat around and eventually find his biceps and you cling on for dear life, your nails digging crescent shaped markings into his skin.

"Yeah, yeah...you like this form of stress relief, don'tcha you dirty slut?" Undoing the collar around his neck the frayed cloth of the strap is tied around your neck, the buckle clamping down tightly to constrict your airflow while two fingers slip under it to pull and tug. "You're my dirty fucking slut! Mine...mine...mine...mine, fucking mine!"

Your fingers trailed down the tiny amount of space between your bodies down to the precious, neglected nub between your legs. Barely able to wiggle your index and middle finger down there from the rabid fucking you were receiving to circle the bundle of nerves and send yourself over the edge. Each clap of your thighs smacking against each other forcing your hate for his behavior ebbing away. If he was going to act like this all the time how could you kick him out?

"F-fuck! Gonna cum...fucking cum..cum for me. Cum with me!" Katsuki snarled as the pressure around your throat increased. Your hand was smacked away from your clit and was replaced with the large pad of his thumb, frantic circles sending your body into a writhing mess of flails and kicks.

The orgasm that had been steadily building from your ministrations had been ripped away and replaced with one quickly approaching to push you over the edge. The white hot pleasure-coil that formed underneath your belly button snapped and all of it coursed through your system in one go. Paralyzing your body for a split second as you squirted all over the hybrids cock, his still rubbing hand sending the liquid everywhere. Coating his thighs, your thighs and the bed underneath you.

"Fucking fuck! Such a whore, such a dirty girl for me! Oh my fucking g-god!" One last slam of his hips and his own body stilled, burying his cock deep inside your cunt to shoot his cum deep in your womb. He stuttered before his body collapsed on top of you, suffocating you in his sweaty muscles.

Bathing in the afterglow, coming down from your high you could've sworn you heard something. Mumbling, soft mumbling too indistinct to understand. Katsuki's head laying on your shoulder, his nose brushing along your collarbone and was he laying kisses here and there? No, you must've been seeing things. Still buried to the hilt he turned his head to speak, his fluffy ears perked and his tail gently swishing behind him. The sudden light from your phone illuminated the room, casting light on Katsuki's face and the sight made your breath hitch in your throat. Clearly he had been crying. Tear stains streaked down his cheeks, brows knitted together and the same lost look he had plastered on his face appeared again.

"Please, please don't kick me out. I'll do anything, please...please don't abandon me. Not again." His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as he hid his face in your neck. Voice breaking, shoulders trembling, the verge of crying all over again quickly approaching.

Your heart broke and you returned the favor by hugging him around the shoulders, a hand carding through his hair to soothe him. Had he been abandoned? Did his previous owners not like him? Was all his aggressiveness some kind of defense mechanism? Was he giving you a reason to kick him out to keep himself from experiencing that kind of pain again? Oh, poor baby. "Never again...just don't destroy things anymore, okay? Help me around the place a little more will ya?"

"Yes." Katsuki snuggled on top of you. Finally believing he had a real home with you, a place where he could belong. "....Master."

[el-oh-her]

Dear Texas, some advice from Wisconsin

I lived in a shitty trailer for most of my life in Wisconsin, so I know some of the issues you’re going through. I’m also a skinny bitch who cannot retain heat for very long. Here is some advice to help you out a little bit. It’s not a lot, but if it saves a life it saves a life. 

Please, please spread this around for the texans. We’re all in this together. 

Get some rolled up blankets and pillows and put them in front of ALL  the cracks of windows and doors. Windows and doors--especially yours- are not weather tight. This can help slow the heat escaping 

If you don’t have pillows or blankets to spare, but you’ve got some pants (jeans are good) or sweaters or literally any clothes you’re willing to sacrafice,  then cut the jeans and stuff the jean with the excess fabric, and tie the ends off. with strips of fabric or tape or whatever you have. 

If you have rooms that don’t touch outer walls, that is the room you should focus on. Everyone in the house should be in that room as much as possible. 

It might be weird, and COVID makes this a risk but if you gotta do it you gotta do it. Sleep in the same room--have the kids share a bed if there are some kids. Your body heat will get captured under blankets and if it’s too cold this is something you can do to naturally produce some heat. Again, it’s a risk because of COVID but do what you got to do to live. 

Buy heavy curtains if you can afford them, use blankets or large sweaters or whatever you have if you can’t, and hang them in front of windows and the doors. It’ll help keep the heat in. 

The fridge should be opened only when asbolutely necessary. Yell at your kids and your roomates. They’ll get mad at you now, but it’s a small thing that can help. 

Buy some water jugs (we used milk jugs because we had a lot of them) and when your water turns on, fill as many as you can. When your water shuts off, that’s the water you can use to flush the toiilet. My family had to do this all the time. 1 gallon of water is 2 bathroom flushes. Keep these milk jugs in your warmest rooms. 

Hot air rises, cold air sinks. Get the beds off the floor. I don’t care if your bed stand is made of layers of books. The further you’re from the floor, the better you’ll be--even if it’s a little bit. Sleep in the bunk beds if you have them. 

Your carbon dioxide that you exhale can be a natural heater. Sleep with your head under the blanket, or hang out completley under a blanket and after a while it will warm up. Probably don’t do this when you’re sharing the blanket because of COVID, but do what you gotta do to stay warm. 

LAYERS. Wear them. Under shirt under your regular shirt which is covered by a jacket or a sweater. Wear Leggings underneath your pants. Boys, either invest in some women’s leggings or use your pajama pants. Fuck, wear a skirt on top of it if you’re too cold. Fuck your gender roles, this is about being warm not being pretty. 

SOCKS. GLOVES. Wear them, even if you’re in the house. It costs a lot of heat to keep them warm, so if you’re cold and you can’t get warm, get some socks and some gloves on and it will help. I promise. 

Fuzzy / thick socks are popular up here, double your socks to get this same effect. 

When you’re outside, walk like you’re trying to get away from a murder scene. Walk like you have a test in 5 minutes and you might just miss it. You will warm up within 5 minutes of walking, and you’ll produce some sweat. It’s uncomfy for sure, but it’ll produce some heat. I have taken off my coat in terribly cold weather because I walked way too fast and got way too hot. Again, a little thing. 

Candles. Get them. Check your goodwills or thrift shops if the retailres are out of it. They don’t produce a lot of heat, but they do produce something. 

How to get the ice off your car. Turn your car ON and let your car heat up. I can only assume your car has a defroster setting but if it doesn’t, the engine at least should produce some heat, which is by the windshield so it will help just a little bit. 

WORST case scenario if you don’t have a scrapper is salt. Salt will help break down the ice. 

If you’re gonna try and DIY a scaprer use PLASTIC materials not METAL materials. Metal will fuck up your wind shield, I am pretty sure. Order a scraper from Amazon. 

BUY a SHOVEL. If you can’t get a snow shovel because of the demand of them, buy a BUCKET. Get something that can hold snow to move it.  

If there is no road salt or table salt to use to get rid of ice, use SAND. Sand is used around here when there’s no salt. It’s not as great and your cars will look gross, but get a car wash when the snow melts. 

YOUR CAR KIT: When you’re stranded in your car in the snow you should have all of the following: A shovel, a snow scraper, a warm set of clothes, an extra coat, a couple of blankets, a pillow (optional) and a first aid kid if you’ve got it. 

The cold drains your battery in your car faster. If you can afford it, take your car out for drives even if you’re not going anywhere. Take the whole fucking family in the drive, it’s a small enclosed space and you all can warm up for a little bit. 

WHERE you place your heaters to warm up your pipes is just as important as just putting heaters on your pipes. To make sure they don’t burst, make sure those heaters are in places where it is producing heat around as many pipes as possibe. My family also put a heater underneath the sink in the kitchen. 

Drip your sinks. Moving water is much harder to freeze becuse of the laws of motion and science and shit. letting your facusts drip will help prolong the life of your pipes before they burst. 

If your pipes burst stay calm. DON”T FUCKING FILM IT. Call to get your water shut off. I don’t know what to do with burst pipes, someone else probably knows. You need to get it shut off as soon as possible because if that water freezes, it’s going to produce more cold and it’s going to damage your house. 

Food. Everyone is probably raiding the snack asiles because they’re foods that don’t need food or heat in order to make. I get it. Instead I suggest making large meals when you have power and stick it in the fridge, but stuff that won’t be too gross eaten cold. Spagetti, pizza, potatoe salad, etc. Salads if there’s salad stuff around. Granola and yoghurt make parfaits and are a good thing to fill your stomach. 

There is probably more but I can’t think of any right now. A lot of this are all little things but everything adds up eventually. Minus the power outages, what you’re going through was my winter every year for almost 10 years--so I have nothing but sympathy for you. My pipes have frozen and burst and all the worst things.

Please, even if you’re not from Texas, even if you ain’t in america, pass thing along. Get the word out. We’re in this together. 

[angelguk]

what happens in this section is entirely a result of what guys voted please do not! come for my head in my inbox im begging. very sad in general like Angst with a capital A with a sprinkle of despair and pain. listen to mess it up by gracie abrams. roughly 2k.

(titled — out of line)

You thought Lucas would help, the warmth of his body a distraction from your aching heart, but he didn’t. Not the way you needed him to. He was sweet enough, made you giggle endlessly before finding his place between your thighs. But even with his tongue on your clit, your (now usually sober) mind still lingered on Jeongguk, his memory a stain on your soul. It didn’t help when you spotted him with a girl hanging off his arm, her bright eyes stuck on his face, soaking him in like the earth does the sun. You didn’t know her name – Chayoung took the liberty of whispering it to you after your biology lab. She was Hyeri, a sophomore with a delicate laugh and graceful disposition. That vile vindictive black thing that now inhabited your chest swelled, brain already comparing the differences between you and her. Your clumsiness suddenly felt like a curse, even though Jeongguk had countlessly said he loved you for it (or did he say that just to ease your worries?). Insecurities spring forth like weeds and you don’t have the capacity to keep the careful garden of your heart tended. 

They take over slowly, your eyes stinging whenever you see them huddled together in the quad. Bitter tears blinked back, your blinkered senses overlooking how Jeongguk’s quiet gaze followed your figure whenever you turned your back to him, even with Yoona yapping at his ears. 

Perhaps the despondency that clung to your bones is what led you here, face planted in the musky scent of Namjoon’s sheets, your heart throbbing funny. 

“Can you even breathe?” He questions. The timbre of his voice washes over you, familiar and somewhat reassuring. You twist upright to face him, eyes squeezing tight when the bright fluorescent lights in his room assaults your vision. 

“I was hoping my heart would give up if I held it in long enough.”

Namjoon stills, brown eyes flitting over you. He coughs like he’s working through various sets of words before he decides what’s most suitable. “And then what? I get framed for murder when they find your body here?”

You laugh, and it hurts. “Maybe. My body is very portable though, did you consider first burying me in the backyard?”

“Rookie mistake,” Namjoon returns. He rises to fetch the mugs of tea sitting idle on a stool he’d dragged from the corner of his room. “The sniffer dogs would fly straight to that location. Also, I’d have to dig a hole big enough to fit your head in.”

“And why would the dogs find me immediately?” You say, shuffling upright, palms ready to receive the tepid heat that will seep through the ceramic the moment the cup settles in your hand.

“Your perfume,” Namjoon says. He hands you the mug, heat fulfilling its chosen purpose, the scent of gentle jasmine wafting to your nose.

You pout then, glancing at him. “My perfume?”

“It’s distinct. Violet, right? Maybe vanilla too?” Namjoon says it easily, sinking beside you, utterly unaware of the ticking in your brain. Your gaze falters then, shifting to his broad shoulder and thick biceps. The ivy shirt he’s got on barely contains all that muscle in, fabric stretched thin. 

You take a sip of your tea, and despite the period Namjoon gave it to cool it still scalds your tongue. 

“Why do you know what fragrance I wear?” It comes out accusatory, but Namjoon handles it well, laughing low.

“You’ve had the same one since high-school, I think. And I remember you telling me.”

The fingers around your cup squeeze tight, your brain unlocking a moment you’d forgotten in the wake of brighter ones. A quiet afternoon at the back of your high-school, Namjoon towering over you, his nose trailing the hollow of your neck, a stray comment about how you smelled good washing over you. It was followed by a flustered younger version of you deflecting, heart pounding wild when Namjoon drew back to look at you as you rattled off the different sillages that made up your favourite perfume. He’d laughed, low like did just now, before calling you cute and pulling you in for a kiss. 

“Oh,” you finally murmur. “I remember now.”

You were actually going to change it after your break-up with him, but then Jeongguk had mentioned how much he’d liked it and the bottle had stayed.

Namjoon hums, his gaze slow as it shifts around the room. It’s a space that screams of him, light wood tones and plants breaking from the pristine white walls. Space carved for nature, a grounding sensation living within these four walls – something that seems to live inside of Namjoon too.

“How are you?” He suddenly asks, turning slowly to measure your features. 

You blink hard, only realising then that you’d been staring at his face for a second too long. “F-fine. I’m okay. Just busy, y’know. Finals coming up, planning events; the usual.”

“I know,” Namjoon says with a ginger smile. “But that’s not what I’m asking. How are you? With Jeongguk and everything.”

“Oh.” You can’t answer that, his unexpected brazenness shocking your system. The smile on his lips fades, a solemnness in the brown of his eyes. His next words are earnest, and they settle in the pit of your stomach.

“Y/N, I know you didn’t just come here to chat for no reason. We can talk about Jeongguk, that’s okay.”

“N-no, we don’t need it. We’re over. It’s been two months already. We’re seeing other people and I don’t really want to discuss one of my exes with another one. And maybe I did just come to see you,” you tack on an empty laugh at the end, hoping Namjoon doesn’t read right through you.

But he does. Like a part of you hoped he would.

“I’m your friend, you know. We had something but nothing like what you and Jeongguk have. Two months isn’t going to make a lifetime disappear. It’s okay if you still feel bad.”

That’s what cracks you, a well-aimed hammer knocking your walls right down. You bite your lip hard, fingertips pinching the ceramic in your grasp, and swallow the tears looming in your throat with a choked laugh. 

“I’m fine, Namjoon. I feel a little like shit but I’m working on it. And Lucas is a great guy–”

“But he’s not Jeongguk.” The sentence feels heavy as if it carries the weight of many hearts on it. But it’s also a line you were thinking about earlier, even with Lucas pressed against you.

“That’s not what I would say–”

“But it’s what you were thinking,” Namjoon cuts. Maybe there’s a peephole in your head that only Namjoon has access to. “And that’s fine. It sucks for Lucas, though. But you shouldn’t feel bad for thinking that way. Especially when you know how special Jeongguk is to you.”

Special. The word is bright, glimmering like Jeongguk’s eyes do. 

“I-I just–it just–I don’t know.” The tears you’d attempted to seal inside burst, slipping down your cheeks quiet. Namjoon pry's the mug from your hand, replaces its warmth with his own, and for a split second things feel bearable. 

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, a calloused palm on your damp cheek, his steadiness clearing away the gloomy skies in your head. But he doesn’t tell you to stop crying, doesn’t whisper that it’ll be okay. He just tugs you closer, rests your splinting head on his wide chest, and soaks up the tears on your face with his shirt. Like the earth does for the pouring heavens. 

You eventually hiccup the despair down, finding the words to explain to Namjoon what you were feeling in between the moments where breathing didn’t feel like a race. He takes the news of Jeongguk kissing somebody days after your break-up with wide eyes, his eyebrows drawing together. And then comes the second girl, you don’t even know her name but it still cleaves something out of you. And finally, Hyeri. Her name is a lament.

“And it sucks because he looks happy with her and I still want him to be happy because I still love him. I love him so much it hurts.”

Namjoon cocks his head then, his wide palm sliding down your back. “You think Jeongguk looks happy?”

“Yes?” But it’s a question, your upward gaze on his face imploring.

Namjoon shakes his head instead. You don’t hear it, the following words a deep muffled murmur, “Both of you are idiots.” But you see the twinkle in his eyes and it makes your back straighten.  

You want to pester but Namjoon pulls you closer, and you lose yourself in the feeling of him, before a question can register on your tongue. His arms are huge, like sturdy branches defying the blistering gales of your heart. He lets you cry for a little longer, listening intently to the continuing spew of words from your lips, until the storm quiets into a breeze. 

“Okay?” Namjoon asks.

You stick your head further into his chest, breathe him in deep. “Okay.”

When he shifts away your skin freezes, but then you realise he’s reaching for a blanket. He swathes it around you fondly, pulling you in for a swift hug before falling out of your reach once more. 

“Now, I think we both need a moment to process that.” He’s talking about but you’re not listening, your eyes on his face, gaze gently trailing the curve of his lips. “I also think we need food before we start unpacking the mess you’re in–”

You swallow the sentence with your lips, salt singeing the corners of your mouth. But your movements are not reciprocated, Namjoon’s mouth is still under yours. The soft hand on your neck guiding you away is what pulls you back, right out of that strange dark desperate ocean that held you. 

“Y/N–”

“Sorry, shit–shit, I shouldn’t have done that.” But there’s no use now, you can’t take it back. Namjoon is looking at you with those eyes, the ones that feel like pity. His sympathy suddenly makes you feel sick, and you wish the ceiling would give away and shatter your head. “I should go.” 

He tries to stop you, firm but gentle with his words and hands. But you’re a wild storm again and nothing can stop you from snatching your butterfly tote bag from the floor of his room and fleeing. The black thing that had been subdued for a moment reemergence with vengeance the second you hit the sidewalks, vision reeling. How could you do that? To Namjoon? To the stable friendship you'd created? But he felt too warm, too caring, too much of everything that you longing for and that Lucas could never give you.

Just a reminder of the swimmer's name as you skidding to a halt, the thump in your chest vicious. Maybe Jeongguk was right. Constantly painting yourself the victim while actively hurting the ones around you. Maybe you should have never let him kiss you again on that rooftop. Maybe you should have never tried to love him.

—

It’s silent in your head when you get back to your apartment. Sieun is home, finally back from her trip to her boyfriend’s parents place, so you’re not surprised to hear the soft hum of laughter filtering through the house. You don’t expect to find Chayoung there though. 

They’re huddling in the kitchen, drifting out cheery greetings when you trudge it, only to fall silent when you mumble back a hollow response. A gentle song floating from the radio fills the empty space, three bodies navigating something tense.  

“Were you with Lucas?” Sieun eventually pokes. She’s not a big fan of him. She’s not a big fan of the current break-up between you and Jeongguk either. She’s going to hate you for what you’re about to tell her.

“No,” you mumble. There are twenty notifications flashing across your phone screen, all from Namjoon. You feel sick, and you might cry again.

“Well? What’s with the long face?” Chayoung adds. 

You take a deep breath, gripping the marble counter tight before twisting around. Better to rip it off all at once right? And there’s no way you could hold this inside of you, not when there is barely any room for your broken heart.

“I kissed Namjoon.”

“WHAT?” Sieun’s jaw slams into the ground and Chayoung freezes beside her, like her joints have suddenly been welded together. They stare at you for long you might have grown a second head during it. And then the questions come, a torrent erupting. You blank for a second, and then the guilt crawls up your spine. It may only be thirteen past five in the afternoon but you definitely need a drink.

[illyaana]

Collab: Chaos's Bearsday Collab by @chaos-night

Thanks for having this Collab hun! I hope you had/have an amazing birthday <3

Tags: Aged Up! Birthday boy! Izuku Midoriya x Binaural, SFW, Fluff

Synopsis: You thought this was going to be a normal birthday with Deku - the only thing that was different is you were going to make Katsudon, pork cutlet bowls, for Deku. What you weren't prepared for was a flirty Izuku Midoriya.

Word Count: 1689

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You groaned at the sound of your blaring alarm, forcing you awake. You raised your head to meet Izuku’s chin. His hands were wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his body even more. You pressed against the bed, pushing yourself upwards to face the sleeping face of your beloved.

You adored the sight of the defenceless hero.

His dishevelled green hair mimicked a bush in the woods - wild yet so adorable. His lips were slightly parted, allowing soft snores to escape the powerful quirk user. His small freckles glowed under the soft sunlight entering your shared room from the window, leaving you in awe. His long lashes framed his closed eyelids.

Thankfully, your alarm turned itself off - he wasn’t letting you move anymore, not with the vice grip he had around you tightening unknowingly.

You couldn’t resist the urge to run the pad of your thumb against his soft lips - it looked so soft and supple. The rest of your fingers found their place on Izuku’s cheek, enjoying the warmth only he could radiate. You smiled, looking at the sleeping Izuku subconsciously pressing his cheeks against your fingers.

This is what you believed a life spent with him would look like - and you pray so that it stays like this.

“Hey,” you say as you kiss Midoriya’s forehead, “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Your alarm began to ring again, causing the hero beside you to groan loudly.

“Turn that thing off,” he said, placing his head on your shoulder, “We don’t need to wake up early today.”

This man… how was he the top hero?

You ruffled his hair, chuckling.

“Weren’t you the one who told me to wake you up early today?” you ask, recalling your conversation with him yesterday.

“I just wanted to spend the whole day with you, but I think we can do it from this bed, can’t we?” he said, pressing kisses on the nape of your neck.

“I think you forgot, Deku,” you say, cupping his cheeks, “You have a press conference with Bakugo and Todoroki today - you know, about your job as a hero?”

His eyelids shot open.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbled, making you laugh.

“It’s only,” you looked at the wall clock, “9 am right now. You have about 1 hour to get ready and head to the studio. That trip would take about 20 minutes.”

You smiled when you saw him visibly relax.

“Sadly,” you say, “You aren’t getting breakfast from me since I couldn’t even move one inch from the bed,” you gesture to his arms on your waist.

You kissed his forehead again, trying to wipe off the guilty smile he had on his face.

“Happy birthday, Midoriya Izuku. Now, go get ready.”

He kissed the apples of your cheeks before pressing his forehead against yours.

“Thanks, love.”

⁜

⁜

⁜

The minute you heard the door close, you got out your phone and called your mother-in-law.

“Hi!” she answered cheerfully, “You ready to do this?”

You turned the voice call into a video call, then propped your phone behind the salt shaker.

“Hopefully…” you trail off as you put on your apron, “You don’t think I’ll burn anything or cause a fire, right?”

“If you’re anything like Izuku in terms of cooking, we’ll be fine.”

You weren’t.

Pancakes, waffles - you could handle that.

But meat? It definitely was not your forte.

Izuku’s the one who handled all the savoury dishes while you were the resident taste tester.

“Don’t worry - the very person who introduced him to the savoury dish is right here, showing you each step in detail. You won’t mess up that much,” you said to yourself as you brought out the ingredients.

You laid them out in front of her, allowing her to examine them thoroughly.

“First things first,” she said, moving to her couch, “You’re wearing your apron wrongly.”

⁜

⁜

⁜

You stared at the pan filled with onions, eggs and fried pork, feeling defeated.

You were supposed to move all of that into a small bowl of rice.

You were supposed to move a bunch of slippery onions doused in sauce, a steamed omelette that looked like it was going to break into two and a pork cutlet that you slaved over - all of that, into a small bowl of rice.

“Trust me, it’s pretty easy,” Inko said, trying to calm you down, “It just looks intimidating.”

“Intimidating is one way to explain it,” you said, staring at your hard work.

“Just do it, don’t worry - you have multiple backup pork cutlets if you mess up.”

“I know, but-”

“Just do it.”

You immediately placed the toppings into the bowl of rice without any spillage.

...or so you thought.

The whole thing spilt over the sides of the pan, missing the bowl of rice entirely.

“Try again, dear,” she said smiling, “No harm in trying again.”

⁜

⁜

⁜

After 5 tries, you managed to make two perfect bowls of fresh katsudon. The smell of the fried pork cutlets wafted through the air, making you smile at your hard work.

“It looks really good, dear,” she said, smiling, “He’ll love it.”

You smile at her cheerful gaze towards you.

“You sure you don’t want to come over? It’s just a fifteen-minute drive.”

“I appreciate you asking me,” she said, sighing, “But I think you two should spend the day together. I’m pretty sure you both haven’t spent much time together since your honeymoon.”

“You sure?” you ask once again.

“I’m very, very sure,” she says, chuckling, “Now go get ready.”

You placed your phone flat on the countertop and started to set the table. As soon as you finished, Izuku came into the house, a tired expression painted on his face.

“You okay?” You say as you walk towards him.

“How rude of them to make me work on my own birthday?” he chuckled softly.

He looked to the dining table and his eyes lit up.

“Did you made Katsudon?” he asked, the tired expression he once had leaving his face.

“Yeah, I did,” you say as you help him take off his jacket.

“However,” you place his hands on his chest, “You need to go bathe.”

“What’s with everyone bullying me today?” he huffed.

“Bullying or taking care of you?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” he trailed off.

“Just go bathe,” you say, chuckling as you push him towards your room.

“Oh no,” he said as you pushed him, “My feet can’t move.”

This grown kid.

“So I’m supposed to carry you bridal style now?” you joke.

“ I did it to you, didn’t I?” he whispers in your ear.

You felt blood rush to your cheeks the minute the sentence left his lips.

This man…

“Wow, my feet work now! I’ll go bathe,” he said as he kissed your cheek.

This man is too cute for his own good.

⁜

⁜

⁜

“This…” he said, mouth stuffed with food, “This is really good!”

You smile, looking at the green-haired male scarfing down the food you made. You loved the little sparkle he had in his eyes whenever he truly enjoyed something - and to your luck, it was the food you prepared for him.

“You seriously made this by yourself?” He asked with his eyebrow raised.

“You don’t see your mom here, do you?”

“You sure you didn’t order in?” He teased again.

You kicked his leg under the table, causing him to wince in pain.

“Oh, how you wound me,” he said, faking tears.

“Serves you right for making fun of me,” you huff.

He got off of his chair and headed to the sink to wash his bowl.

“Well, to be fair,” you add, “I did video call your mom so she could teach me.”

“So I was right, then,” he said as he places his bowl in the sink and turning to face you.

“She didn’t make it, though!”

“You said you made it all by yourself, but you got my mother’s help. Hence, you lied to me,” he put his arms on the countertop.

“I didn’t lie to you,” you say, laughing, “I really made it by myself.”

Izuku was already standing in front of you, cupping your face in his hands.

“You kicked me,” he stared at you, “You kicked a tired hero.”

“Heroes don’t tease others as much as you do,” you retort.

“What is my purpose in your life but to tease you?”

“A lot of things actually,” you say, smiling at him.

“Oh? Like what?”

“First of all,” you put your hand on his chest, “Where did this flirty Izuku come from?”

“Maybe,” he put his thumb on your lower lip, “He came because I am using my birthday privileges to be a little more flirty than usual.”

You stare at his green orbs. They glimmered even under his own shadow. Its golden flecks shined just for you and you alone. The creases of his eyes curved upwards, showing you how happy he was just to be in your presence. The wild forest he calls his hair had rogue strands that tickled your cheeks. You loved how soft they were - especially after him just washing it roughly an hour ago.

Your hand on his chest began to outline the scars he cultivated through his years under All Might’s wing and his hero training back in UA. You smiled as you remembered how strong-willed he was as a boy to become a hero, and now he was - standing on the very top.

“You okay?” he asked, worried.

“I was just thinking of how much you’ve grown from back then,” you look up to his face, meeting his eyes that were staring straight at you.

“For someone who took so many notes back then, you’re really dumb,” you both chuckle.

“How are you still bullying me?” he sighed.

“Endure it, Deku,” you joke, imitating Bakugou.

You close your eyes as you pressed your forehead against his, enjoying the small moment you’re sharing with the male in front of you.

“Happy birthday, Izuku.”

“Thank you, love.”

You both shared a kiss, both bellies and hearts full.

[dreamiesdotcom]

[7:55p.m] You hold the camera up, showing a pair of scissors and pointing it back to Doyoung's direction. You smile and wave.

"Hi, this is Y/N, and today we have with us my handsome, loving, and tired boyfriend," your eyes sparkle fondly with a hint of mischief.

You pass the camera to him so he could keep on recording you.

"Tired of your shit," he grumbles to himself. (Because what else? Tired of loving you? Never. He'd never say that verbally though.)

"You said anything, babe?"

"You heard something?"

"The sound of salt."

He fakes a smile, "You do like your food salty."

You stare at him dead in the eye through the mirror. The both of you are currently in the bathroom, you facing the sink with your hands doing weird movements as if shaking away your nervousness.

It looked stupid, which makes sense because the whole deal was stupid anyway.

"Listen, I get that things are not the best right now but we could get through it without this—" his unoccupied hand does similarly weird waving movements, "We have options that don't include... torturing your hair!"

But there you were already, untying your hair, brushing it. You wet it slightly with the spray bottle, and grab the front right section of your hair, putting it in between the scissors.

Doyoung gives you and incredulous look, "Don't do it."

You give him a determined look in return, "I'm doing it."

"Don't do it," he warns, and your hands tremble where it's holding the scissors with a tight grip, your knuckles paling in comparison of the rest of your complexion.

"I'm doing it..."

"Don't do it—"

"I'm doing it—" a loud snip was heard, and you tearily look back at Doyoung, "I did it."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, "Goddamn it."

So he stands there, watching you cut your hair unsuccessfully. It gets way shorter than you intended before you get a decent, even-like hair.

"You know this turned out really short, and I'm practically bald," you twirl your hair on your fingers.

"Stop overreacting, it's still on your shoulders."

"Barely!" You pouted, "So I thought if I'm going bald anyway then I'll risk dyeing my hair pink."

"That's a bad idea—" He stares at you, who's already pulling hair products under the cabinet — unmistakably a hair bleaching set, and a box of pink hair dye. "You planned this."

There's hesitance in your eyes even as you mix the bleach, and your boyfriend watches you with a lovingly disappointed glare, constantly sighing in his annoyance. Picking up a few strands, dipping the brush in the bleach mixture, you hover it above your hair, pretty face wearing a resigned-to-my-fate smile.

A genuine tear slips from your eye, "I'm not backing out, I'm not a little bitch."

Doyoung facepalms, because is this really the person he wants to marry?

The camera in his hand switches every now and then, his arms growing weary of holding it up for so long. He watches you go silent as you cover your hair in hair bleach, and as you whine about its current ugly bronze color. Then, he was forced to watch you celebrate your light bleached hair, then cry-laugh at a few hair strands breaking when you accidentally pull on it while it was still wet after washing it out.

Both you and him repeated the process of breaking down and getting more and more disappointed by the seconds that pass — respectively — as you mix the pink hair dye.

("I don't think you should color it now after that breaking stuff," he worriedly looked at you. You glared at him, "I WANNA BE PINK! TODAY! NOT! TOMORROW!")

And now he's standing outside the bathroom, still confused as to why he'd just been pushed out of the bathroom, but then he hears the sound of a shower turning. Right, you're probably showering. He decides he'll go to the kitchen and make you both dinner first, setting the camera down on the kitchen counter and not bothering to stop recording.

An hour later, he hears you walking towards him, and with a soft call of 'Doyoungie~' he turns around from the stove. You stand just a few steps in front of him.

He blinks as you touch your hair, smile wide and sweet. The pink color brings out your fluffy side, at least right now with the happy aura you're displaying, and the cute outfit you don.

"Ta-da~!"

Fuck yeah, he wants to marry you.

With his head hung low, Doyoung walks towards you and slips his hands on yours, mumbling under his breath.

"You said something, babe?"

"I said you look pretty."

"The sound of salt— wait what?"

"I—I'm not repeating it, dumbass!"

You look at him with a grin, a blush on your face rivalling his, and you melt into a lovesick puddle of admiration because holy shit, your closet softie of a boyfriend is blushing and he's the same shade of your hair and—

I wonder if it's normal... to always feel like this... like my heart's gonna burst... because I love him so much.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Realignment

Prompt: I love when Remus is a lot smarter than he lets on, so I’d love a prompt where Logan is overworking himself and not taking care of himself and one tic of the clock away from either passing out or having a full on mental breakdown (not the type you can recover from in a day). Remus notices the little signs Logan shows, and hears the intrusive thoughts Logan has. Remus really becomes concerned when Logan’s intrusive thoughts start to involve taking breaks, going to eat properly rather than inhaling granola bars, and even sleeping. Remus storms in and is like “Logan tf????” Then gets hella soft once he realizes the state Logan is in

Thank you for the prompts, babe! I liked this one the best so I picked it. 

GUYS PLEASE VIEW THIS AS A C H E C K P O I N T if you've been scrolling for a while (and you probably have) pause here! drink water! get food! walk around the room for a little bit! stretch! do something please! you are very important to me and I care about you very deeply!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: discussions of self-harm, nothing explicit, some self-destructive tendencies and behaviors. 

Pairings: focus on intrulogical, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic i don’t care

Word Count: 2410

Realignment: to align again.

Realignment: to reorganize or make new groupings of.

* * *

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

The problem arises when the shit he starts to hear isn't weird at all.

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

 The more appropriate definition would be ‘fucked up like you wouldn’t fucking believe,’ but one of us has a problem with particularly strong language and shit doesn’t have to be censored in a lot of media anymore. Which is so convenient! For some of us!

 It’s fucking great.

Anyway. Point being. Fucked up shit.

 Intrusive thoughts literally fall under his purview. It’s the fun stuff! The stuff you don’t wanna think about that makes your skin crawl and your eyes pop open at the witching hour and stay awake until the sun rises. That’s Remus’s job.

 And it’s like the whole Mindscape is whack-a-mole that he gets to play with! Buttons here and there, squeeze this part and watch the eyes bug out of this part, bap this one on the head, see which one pokes up next. Who’s gonna have nightmares tonight? Who is having a nightmare tonight?

 It’s fun.

 Point. Right. Right.

 It’s normally pretty easy to tell whose intrusive thoughts are whose. They taste different. Patton’s taste like sugar so sweet it’ll fill your mouth with cavities. Virgil’s taste like spiders, crawling around his mouth. Janus’s taste like salt. So much fucking salt. Dry as hell.

 Roman’s taste like blood. Problem is, Remus’s mouth normally tastes like blood, so…

 Yeah, they gotta work that out.

 Logan’s taste like ink. Which is why it took him so long to figure out that Logan was having them. Not just because the nerdy wolverine was so convinced he couldn’t have them—rationalizing them as philosophy principles, come on—but because Remus isn’t exactly an expert on pens. Writing like normal people. Ugh.

 Normal people.

 What a lie, Janny probably gets a big kick out of those.

 No one is normal and normal is boring.

 Logan. Right.

 Okay, so here’s the thing.

 Logan’s thoughts aren’t really…standard? They are to some extent, you don’t really get a whole lot of variety from him—even when Remus has been so helpful in making his room safe for him to be in during bad days, there’s such a lack of imagination there that he wasn’t sure exactly how to feel—but it’s the recent ones that’ve been getting…weird.

 Remus chews thoughtfully on the kraken tentacle. He swings up to the chandelier and hangs by his ankles, letting the blood run to his head. Makes it easier to think sometimes.

 It hasn’t been very long since they found out…well, since they found out.

 Remus frowns. Why is he censoring himself? It’s not like he can’t fucking say self-harm, it’s not like he can’t describe what it was, it’s not like he can’t close his eyes and see it happening again.

 Then his mind jumps helpfully to the shocked, panicked look on Logan’s face and the soft, furious resignation on Roman’s, and his jaw snaps shut.

 Oh.

 Right.

 He cares. So he has to be gentle with them.

 He growls, swinging himself up to perch on the chandelier proper. He turns the kraken tentacle over and chews on the rubbery side.

 The others are delicate. Not that they’re more breakable than any other metaphysical humanoid, but their minds are fragile when it comes to Remus’s side of things. Could they handle the full spectrum of his side of thoughts and shit? Probably, they’re stronger than they give themselves credit for. Should they have to? Hell to the fuck no. But it means that Remus can’t just throw them in the deep end and see if the kraken spits them out whole or in chunks. Could they survive? Absolutely. Would they still be…them? Doubtful.

 Remus lets one of his legs go, hanging by one knee as he tips over.

 Plus they’re always a little more fragile when it comes to these thoughts anyway. Poking and prodding too much would hurt. Like, the bad kind of hurt.

 They’re not supposed to get hurt. Not like that.

 So. Gentle it is then.

 Right. The others. He has a point, he’s just gotta get there.

 Roman…fuck he’s missed his brother. They got—they got so much shit to still work out but they’re gonna do it together and fuck he loves his brother so goddamn much. Roman knows that, he knows that, and he’s always there to pull Remus out of his head when he needs it, hit him with a pillow, or tackle him onto something and hold him tight. He’s—his thoughts taste like blood and Remus hasn’t bitten anything since so that he’ll never miss it again.

 But with Logan...

 Logan is…odd. It hasn’t been long since they first found out—or rather, they confronted him about it, and Remus hasn’t tasted ink without it disappearing very quickly or knocking on someone’s door to please go get your fucking nerd, please. But the ink has only written the usual suspects, whispering the theorems in dark corners, muttering about the incompleteness of a set, the need for Logic, not Logan, and how to jump through the little loophole again.

 It’s not exactly hard for the others to tell.

 Lolo hasn’t been looking great. Sure, he’s all pressed and dressed, glasses perfectly in place, tie done up just so, walking around like everything’s just totally and completely fine, but it’s in his face. Object impermanence aside, normally when Remus bugs him, he reacts in some way.

 Sass is an emotional response and you won’t convince him otherwise.

 Whether it be a wry comment, effortlessly fixing whatever Remus has done to him this time, or even just a look, Lolo does something.

 Not anymore.

 Now he’ll just kind of…sigh and move on? He’ll fix whatever it is only if it’s directly interfering with what he’s trying to do, or when Patton or Virgil come round the corner and freak the fuck out because you’re bleeding! Then he’ll fix it.

 Remus wouldn’t say he’s bored, but he’s worried.

 Mainly because the intrusive thoughts…aren’t what he’d consider intrusive anymore.

 Take a shower.

 Eat something that isn’t just a granola bar.

 Go to sleep.

 Ask someone for help.

 See?

 If those are Lolo’s intrusive thoughts, then what the fuck is normally going on in his head?

 Remus waits. Waits. Keeps waiting.

 The instant his mouth tastes like ink again, with a question of whether or not Logan should take a break, he sinks straight into his shower. He washes his hair thoroughly, gets every single bit of grime off him he can, and puts on the softest pajamas he has—thank you, Roman—and drops himself outside of Logan’s door.

 He strains, mouth still full of ink, to hear anything other than the soft click, click, click of Logan’s keyboard.

 He can’t.

 Fuck.

 He knocks.

 “One moment, please.”

 Indeed, a few seconds later, the door opens to reveal Logan, looking as annoyingly pristine as he always does, surprised to see him.

 “Remus? Did you need something? Why…” he trails off as he takes in what Remus is wearing. “What’s wrong?”

 “Can I come in?”

 “Of—of course,” Logan stammers, moving aside to let him in, “are you alright?”

 “Should be asking you that, Lolo.”

 “Remus, you’ve just knocked, first of all, on my door and asked to come inside.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he sits at his desk. “This is extremely out of character for you.”

 “Uh-huh.” Remus flops onto the bed. “You know what else is out of character?”

 “Not wearing your costume?”

 “Not hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 Logan’s eyes widen. “Has—is there something wrong? Are you not hearing any? Do I need to get Roman?”

 Remus frowns. “Why’s it so easy for you to do that?”

 “Do what?”

 “Care. Try and take care of me.”

 Logan blinks. “Because you deserve to be taken care of, Remus. Your needs are important.”

 Remus idly toys with a loose thread on one sleeve. “Why?”

 “Why? Why are you important?” Remus nods. “Because you’re—you’re an important part of Thomas, you’re important to us, and we care about you.”

 “So it’s easy for you to care for me because…you do?”

 “As simple as that sounds,” Logan says with all the softness that should be directed at himself, “yes.”

 Remus nods. “I’m not having problems with hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 “You’re—you’re not?” Logan sighs, relaxing a little back into his chair. “Then why did you say you were?”

 “Because the thoughts that I am hearing aren’t really what I’d consider intrusive.”

 Logan frowns. “Like what?”

 Glad you fucking asked.

 “‘Take a shower,’” Remus says, his eyes fixed firmly on Logan’s face, “'eat something,’ ‘take a break,’ ‘go to sleep.’”

 He watches Logan’s face tense.

 “Sound familiar, Lolo?”

 “You—I—my apologies,” Logan manages after a moment, adjusting his tie, “I did not mean to be an inconvenience. You are correct, those are not intrusive thoughts, I’m not sure why you’re hearing them.”

 He turns to his desk and begins to fish around for a notebook.

 “That is quite intriguing, I wonder what the possibilities for hearing other types of thoughts are, considering—“

 “Lolo.”

 Logan pauses, turning back. “Yes?”

 Remus fixes him with a look, getting up and walking toward him. “They are intrusive thoughts, Logan. The issue is that your intrusive thoughts are about you taking care of yourself.”

 Logan freezes.

 “W-well, I’m sure that it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “So either you can admit that was a lie or Janny’s about to get summoned.”

 “Remus,” Logan sighs, “it’s fine. As you said, these aren’t what are traditionally considered intrusive thoughts, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “No, Lolo, it is,” Remus argues, “because it means that the thought of you taking care of yourself is so foreign, so fucking out of the ordinary that not only does it happen to cross your mind—“ he takes Logan’s chair and spins it around— “but you try to force it out.”

 Gotcha.

 Logan looks anywhere other than Remus’s face and tries to stand. Only to wobble and crash back down.

 “Easy,” Remus says quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder, “you haven’t eaten in a while.”

 “But I have work.”

 “But you need food.”

 “Remus—“

 “Logan.”

 At Logan’s honest-to-fuck pout, he sighs, dragging the poor nerd up and out the chair and sitting him on the bed.

 “Why do you think you don’t deserve to be taken care of?”

 “I didn’t say that—hey!” Logan blinks up at him, scandalized and covering his stomach. “Why did you poke me?”

 “’S what I do when Janny won’t tell me the truth.”

 “I wasn’t—okay, okay!” Logan covers his stomach protectively as Remus readies another poke. “I just…I’ve already asked for help for this before. I shouldn’t have to again.”

 Remus sighs and lightly flicks the side of his head.

 “Hey!”

 “Virgil tries that too.” He stares hard at Logan. “Come on, Lolo, you can do better.”

 “It’s not your jobs to take care of me.”

 For fuck’s sake…

 Remus reaches out and tugs gently on Logan’s tie.

 “Remus, what—“

 “You taking more books outta Patton’s library now?” Remus tilts his head. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, Lolo, just be honest.”

 “I am being honest!”

 “You’re not lying, but you’re not being honest.” At the poor nerd’s confusion, he sighs and fixes his glasses on that cute nose. “Just talk to me, Lolo.”

 “I—“ Logan sighs and oh fuck why does he look so tired?

 Well, because he hasn’t been sleeping.

 Or eating.

 Or taking care of himself.

 Unbidden, part of his conversation with Roman flashes into his head.

 “Self-harm can be self-denial too.”

 “Lolo?”

 “It’s bad enough that I’ve made you all worry about me,” Logan says finally, “I would hate to be a burden.”

 Oh, Lolo. “You and Roman, huh?”

 Logan looks up warily. “What do you do with Roman?”

 “You know what I do.”

 Logan sighs. “May at least take my glasses off first?”

 “You might wanna change too, I’m not letting you up for a while.”

 Logan stretches to place his glasses on the nightstand and poofs himself into a t-shirt and boxers. He sighs and opens his arms.

 Remus takes two running steps and tackles the poor nerd onto his bed.

 “Ah!”

 “Am I hurting you?”

 “No, no, just—just a little startled.”

 “Mm.” Remus snuggles closer into Logan, his arms wrapped tightly around him. “So. Wanna try one more time?”

 Logan sighs, deflating them both to the bed. His head lolls to his left, eyes on his open computer screen. Remus follows it, barely suppressing a growl as he stretches his arm out to save whatever’s on screen and shut it.

 “I know what I’m supposed to be doing,” Logan whispers, “I understand the process, I am aware that healing is not a linear concept, I know it’s going to take time, I—I understand.”

 Remus looks down, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “But?”

 “It’s hard,” comes the soft confession.

 Oh, Lolo.

 “I know,” he murmurs, leaning down to hug him properly, “I know, Lolo, I know it’s hard. But you can’t try and do it all yourself, you’ve gotta remember that we’re here for you, we care about you.”

 “But why?”

 Remus smiles and cuddles him tighter. “You said it yourself, Lolo. We care because we do.”

 “O-oh.” He feels Logan’s throat work as he swallows. “Thank you, Remus.”

 “Of course, Lolo. I’m guessing that sinking us to the living room so everyone else can spoil you is a bad idea, right?”

 “Yes.” Finally, finally, he feels Logan shyly tighten his grip on him. “Can we just…stay like this?”

 “Do I have your permission to hold you hostage until you fall asleep?”

 “Yes.”

 “Then go to sleep, Lolo,” Remus murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness  @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes  @iminyourfandom  @bullet-tothefeels  @full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83  @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious  @firefinch-ember  @fandomssaremysoul  @im-an-anxious-wreck  @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch  @enby-ralsei  @unicornssunflowersandstuff  @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams  @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne  @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer  @i-am-overly-complicated  @annytheseal  @alias290  @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions

  If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

[appleciders]

Rachel + Leah + Water, the Director’s Cut!

Okay, so I made this gifset exploring Rachel and Leah and the ocean, but because there’s a ten gif limit and a major point of gifsets is for them to look nice, I had to sacrifice a lot of the behind the scenes thoughts and initial versions that came along the way. I still wanted to talk about them though, because I found a lot of them really cool, so I figured I’d stick all that in this post. It’s gonna get long, so you can find the rest under the cut!

So first up, we have Leah as we first see her in the water. (I’m using shitty screenshots because tumblr has a 2mb limit for gifs on text posts and I don’t feel like compressing these down lmao.) Here, she’s face-down, unconscious, floating on a fragment of the plane. This is the first time we see any of the girls in the water.

As Leah gives her dramatic speech talks to the detectives, we see flashbacks to the girl’s lives pre-island. There we see that one of them already has a very strong relationship with the water already, in her before-life: Rachel.

Rachel, as we know, is a diver. We see her take a magnificent tumble into the pool, but when she surfaces, her coach is sternly head-shaking. She corrects Rachel’s form, and after she walks away, Rachel echoes the correction, clearly frustrated with herself. 

Back to Leah. We next see Leah waking up on her lil chunk of flotsam. When she realizes what the hell’s going on, she does what we all would do and starts screaming in terror.

Her panic gets interrupted by Jeannette’s classic Raise Your Glass ringtone. (This was my alarm for two years in high school, and when I watched this for the first time I did have an out-of-body experience). She swims her way over to the Hello Kitty suitcase and—irrationally—unzips it, but we’ll cut her some slack because she’s in some serious shock. As she tries to get the phone, it slips through her fingers and starts spiraling down to the bottom of the ocean. She dives after it.

Unfortunately, she quickly runs out of air and has to give up. She then spots Jeannette floating nearby, checks her out, judges her to be “just a little roughed up,” and then sees land and has a big oh-thank-fuck moment. Because we saw Gretchen’s team placing all of the girls, we know that Linh and Leah were the only two that were put out in the open water. The other girls were put in the beach, or, in Martha’s case, near the shore. This was probably done to quell some of Leah’s suspicions about the crash, but it does give me a couple questions about how they got the other girls wet—did they hose them all down? Pour a couple buckets over their heads? Bob each of them up and down a couple times in a big net like fries in a fryer?? 

Anyway, not important. 

Next that we see, Leah has pulled Jeannette/Linh in from the water. (My Australian parents, who can never pass up an opportunity to give ocean safety tips, chimed in at this point in our first watch to say “See how she’s doing it! You always want to hold someone from behind and pull them in that way. Good job, well done.” So there’s some approval for you, Leah.) As Leah nears the shore, Dot and Toni come tearing in and they help pull the two of them out. 

The rest of the episode after that really only concerns fresh water—Toni and Shelby set out in search of it, to no avail, and Nora helpfully plugs Diet Coke reminds us multiple times that sugar’s heavier than water, so “sugar sinks.” We do set up a goal for the next couple episodes, though: Rachel says, “I'm gonna swim out to the plane tomorrow. See if I can find anything,” and Leah volunteers to come with. Rachel gives her a nod of respect.

Moving on to episode two, we have Rachel and Leah’s (iconic) first real conversation. Rachel says she’s still going out to the wreckage. Leah looks out and looks back at her, incredulous, and says, “Rachel, the water’s insane.” Here’s a big recurring association—the water and “insanity.” (I use insanity here because that’s the language they use, along with psycho/crazy. In no way does that reflect my actual beliefs about their behavior nor am I condoning the way they use those words.) Leah points out the rip current (“well done,” said my mum), and explains her very brief stint as a norcal surfer. Rachel still looks set on going, but then Leah says:

Turns out, Leah can be as ripe with foreshadowing as Fatin. This marks the appearance of their second main association with the ocean—death. After she says this, Leah turns Rachel’s attention inland, and the two agree to climb a big hill to scope out their situation.

Episode two is also obviously Rachel’s episode, so we see a lot of her relationship with diving. 

We see her plunge over and over and over again, drilling technique and form, but despite all her hard work, we learn her coach advised her to quit the team. Instead, Rachel throws herself in twice as hard, and ends up with an eating disorder. By the time the nationals come around, she’s too physically weak to dive safely, and she ends up hitting her head as she goes down. She surfaces in the pool with blood flowing around her.

She refuses to see that as the end of her diving career. She says she’s gonna “get back out there” and “be fucking great again” and she tells Nora at the end of the episode that she needs her to let her believe that.

In episode three, we finally see Leah and Rachel’s trip out to the plane! Nora comes along with them, her relationship with Rachel smoothed over after the events of ep two. “Nora’s a good swimmer,” Rachel explains as she invites her, “We were both water babies.” Water’s clearly been central to Nora and Rachel’s identities since they were really young. 

The three of them make their escape from the rest of the girls as the topic of building a shelter comes up. “Not interested in putting down roots!” Rachel calls. In keeping with the elements theme, Rachel isn’t looking to be grounded. She climbs super high into the air and she dives deep into the water, but earth isn’t her thing. (See: the quicksand scene. Whoops.)

Anyway, the three of them paddle out into the water. Rachel dives down, scopes out the plane, tells Nora she doesn’t expect her to “fucking free dive in open water,” and then looks to Leah and asks if she’s ready. Leah reluctantly agrees. 

We get our first shot Rachel swimming down into the ocean and our second shot of Leah (first the phone, second the plane). In the wreckage of the plane, they discover the black box, affixed to the wall. They keep trying to wrench it free, but it’s stuck, and Leah—who’s primary activity is, like, reading—keeps having to surface for air. Rachel gets frustrated and grabs her leg, holding her down. 

Leah screams and fights, but Rachel doesn’t let go. We cut away, and when we see them again, they’ve emerged victorious (Rachel) and drowned as dogs after a bath (Leah and Nora) with the black box in hand. Later, Leah mutters the above line to Fatin, calling Rachel a “psychopath.” For those keeping score at home, here’s where we refer back to the association between water and “insanity.”

In episode four, the ocean benevolently bestows a bag of takis upon Nora, and we have our whole shelter-building shebang. It’s all very land-based until Leah and Fatin go head to head, which ends with Fatin smearing her blood all over Leah’s face. Leah, with her usual flair, strips off her clothes as she walks into the ocean. She stays down there, passively letting the water wash the blood from her face.

This shot parallels a couple things. First, the drifting blood visually parallels Rachel in the pool after her diving injury. Second, we have Rachel staring out at the water where Leah’s disappeared and going, “Man, that is some real Virginia Woolf-type shit.” Dot has no fucking clue what she means, so Fatin interprets: “It means that bitch is crazy. She said you were the psychopath of the group.” Now it’s Leah who’s done something in the water that’s been deemed insane. The water and “insanity;” the water and accusations of insanity within their relationship. 

Those accusations pop up in episode five, but the episode is pretty focused on the inland search for Fatin, and revolves around fresh water, not salt water. (That could be a whole nother post lol.) It’s in episode six where we again see these two return to the ocean. 

Rachel is diving in the ocean! For fun! She’s picking up pretty shells (which granted isn’t the safest thing to do in the pacific, cone snails are not our friends), and she’s grinning, and she’s generally enjoying herself. With the, uh, finale situation, we’re probably not gonna get to see her smile for a bit, which is sad, because she should get to do this more often! This shot visually echoes her diving for the plane and Leah diving for the phone, except she can be in a better mood because there is no end goal. 

So she goes diving, ends up finding a bunch of mussels, gathers ‘em up, and brings ‘em back to camp. They all chow down, but wind up with serious food poisoning. Martha and Toni ring death’s doorbell a couple of times. Rachel blames herself—she’s the one that went swimming out there, she brought the mussels back. Again, we see that connection between the ocean and death.

And that association comes back bright an early in ep seven! The tide surges higher than they’ve ever seen, taking down their shelter and leaving them all scrambling. 

While Leah convinces Fatin that her life is more important than her suitcase, Rachel is left with a decision: help Nora, screaming to her from where she’s clinging to a rock for dear life, or grab the black box. In a move that contrasts Toni’s immediate and unquestioning aid of Martha, Rachel picks the black box. 

After, when they’re debriefing, Nora’s quick to bring it up. She doesn’t hide her hurt. “It happened so fast,” she says, “we all acted irrationally. Like Fatin, who jumped into a rip current to save her toothbrush. Or Rachel, who left me for fucking dead.” I think this counts as a double whammy for the “insanity” and death count—I think “acted irrationally” is as close as Nora gets to calling anyone crazy, and is honestly a better descriptor of all the other instances of “insanity” that we’ve seen, and the ocean was the source of the very real risk to Nora’s life. 

(Honestly, I think Rachel thought she was making a rational choice here—just with some grim fucking calculus. Still, given that nobody’d responded to the black box by then, I think it was a decision fueled by the need to keep hold of hope more than actual rationality.) In a fun contrast to the rest of the episode, it’s Leah that keeps a level head in this situation. 

The rest of the episode is low on water scenes, though Leah’s paranoia about Shelby is fueled by her sneaking off to the water, which could fall under the “insanity” category. It also marks where Nora begins to take an active role in breaking apart Rachel’s fantasy about diving again. 

Ep eight has one of the best montages in a series of great montages, with the playing in the water scene! A plane has seen them, they’re gonna be saved, and they all get to get high and act like kids. 

I have this lingering and probably irrational concern that the entire water play scene is choreographed and that it’s chock-full of foreshadowing. Like I know to some extent they likely were just like “yeah guys go goof off in the water,” but like...the wave pulling Rachel and Nora apart here...I mean.... (Rachel is probably gonna get more blood on Dot in the near future, too. ) That aside, their horseplay gets interrupted when Leah notices some blood on Dot, which Rachel realizes is her own period blood.  

Fatin then chimes in with her ever-gleeful foreshadowing: “Shark week for Rachel.” So while this whole encounter with the water actually seems mostly good for a change, it’s colored by the tie-in to what we know is coming.

In ep nine, reality has set in that rescue isn’t imminent. Everyone’s starving, Leah has started to spiral, and Rachel’s unusually skittish. By the tide’s edge, Nora asks for her help fishing, but Rachel refuses, saying that she’s weak. Nora flicks water at her, and Rachel flinches, clearly scared.

Starvation seems to have triggered Rachel’s trauma around the water leftover from her diving accident. In response, Nora reaches out a hand and says, “Let’s go for a walk.”

Meanwhile, Leah’s spiral has reached critical. She starts ranting about the ocean and the water and pushes past Dot, sprinting into the waves:

And so she’s taken to heart the way they think Jeannette’s body “escaped” the island—the tide—and it’s been spun like cotton candy in her head. She’s right, technically—Jeanette/Linh’s body was moved off the island by boat, and there’s definitely an argument that if they really did all swim out Gretchen’s team would save them, or at least try to. This is also a very real suicide attempt. So it’s kind of a culmination of the threats of death and mental health issues that’ve been wrapped up in the ocean since the start.

On Rachel’s end, Nora has taken her up to a cliff. Rachel calls the whole thing “borderline insane,” walking up when they’re so low on energy, but Nora tells her she needs to make a truce between herself and the water. 

“You’re afraid of it now,” she says, and Rachel replies that, “All it ever did was make me sick.” Nora immediately surges forward to say “That’s not true!” Rachel, incredulous, says, “Isn't this what you want? For me to hang it up? For me to forget the whole fucking diving game?” Nora says, “No. I don't know. I don't want you to forget you.” She then tells Rachel she should dive off the end of the cliff, that she marked it to make sure it’s safe. Rachel says she can’t.

There’s a lot here. First, there’s the first time we’ve seen of Rachel explicitly call herself sick. In episode two, even in a treatment center, she still denies it, says she’s just an athlete who knows what it takes. But now she’s reached a place where she acknowledges her eating disorder—and also probably her recent illness with the mussels—and ties it directly to the water. It’s the reason she’s sick.

Nora’s fear that Rachel will forget herself also just hammers home how central the water has always been to Rachel’s identity. Cutting herself off from the water would be cutting off a core part of herself. (...whoops) And we’ve seen that it does bring her actual joy, when she’s allowed to relax with it, but she’s had such traumatic associations rolled up into it now. Nora doesn’t want Rachel to do diving as a sport anymore, because of how badly it’s hurt her, but she does want Rachel to keep diving and swimming as like, a form of unevaluated personal expression.

At the moment that Rachel’s refusing to jump, she and Nora hear shouts from the mainland. They see Fatin and Dot screaming after Leah. Confused, Nora asks, “Where is she going?” but Rachel understands immediately, with absolute certainty, without needing to be told—“To fucking drown to death.” Seven episodes after Leah called heading into the water a death wish, she’s finally proving it true. Rachel squares her shoulders, takes a few deep breaths, and sprints into a dive. 

Unlike all her other dives high altitude dives we’ve seen her do, this dive isn’t qualified based on aesthetics. This dive matters because of what it will do, not on how it looks. And what it does do is bring her into the ocean, where she needs to be for her friend. So with strong strokes, she swims out towards Leah.

When she reaches her, she takes hold of her, pulls her into her chest from behind. She begins to swim with her back to shore. This rescue directly parallels Leah’s rescue of Linh that we talked about above. It also, as the Out in the Wilds podcast insightfully pointed out, really calls Rachel and Leah’s relationship back to the beginning. Whereas Rachel had initially held Leah down in the water, putting her in danger of drowning, Rachel here pulls her out of the water, saving her from drowning. Together, they make it all the way back to the shore.

Finally (and, like, if you’ve made it all the way down here? bless you. thank you), we have episode ten. The ocean doesn’t really figure into episode ten until the very end. Rachel has had a long episode of healing—she’s happy to be full and she’s in a good place with her sister and things seem to be going pretty okay. She decides to heal her relationship with the water, too. She heads out, telling Nora that she’s “Just gonna float, Nor. Just float.”

Just floating. After all the times we saw her plunging into the water, purposefully, with frustration, with drive, with so much to prove and with so much sacrifice and self-abuse to prove it with, Rachel finally just wants to float. She wants to let herself relax. She wants to let the water carry her.

Of course, that means there has to be, like, a massive marine carnivore waiting to mistake her for a seal.

Visually, this shot really parallels the opening shot of Leah on the fragment of plane. Instead of being face-down, though, she’s face-up, and she’s conscious, just not of the threat from below. 

The shark bites.

In a horrible parallel to Leah’s Virginia Woolf moment and Rachel’s diving accident, we see blood pool in the water. Rachel is pulled under. The girls on the land start screaming and running toward her. We know Rachel doesn’t die, but this is still a near-death experience, one that probably cost her her arm. Leah, covered in dirt and her own blood after crawling out of the pit Nora led her into, can only stand and watch, shocked and horrified.

So that got! Way longer than I meant it to! And honestly most of this was condensed into very concise tags in a post I made a few days ago! But if you made it all the way down here, you’ve now seen everything I wanted to fit into that gifset but couldn’t. Thanks for sticking with me, friend <3

[dynyamight]

“Quit looking at me with that ugly mug” for the ask prompt!

send me an interaction ask bonus + action

“Quit looking at me with that ugly mug. “

“I told you to hold still!” A shrill voice echoes.

“Don’t yell so loud, onee-san!”

“I’m not yelling!”

Under his bed covers, Bakugou winces. It’s worse that he’s overslept, but now he’s already dreading going downstairs to the loud, living room.

The morning has barely started, and it sounds like the damn rascal twins are causing trouble.

More or less, Mahoro, than Katsuma. But, Bakugou still considers him an accomplice, regardless.

After a long, needed yawn, Bakugou rolls his way out of his bed, bare footed against the tiled floor. The cool surface sends chills through his spine, and definitely helps to awake his senses. With the ends of his sweats dragging, he trudges out of his bedroom; the safe, beloved confines from parenthood.

He knows when the kids hear his heavy footsteps, when he hears Mahoro let out a loud, dramatic gasp. “Oh no! The oni ogre from upstairs is awake!”

Popping his head from the rail, Bakugou growls, “The hell you just called me?”

The kids immediately shriek, faces painted in panic from his sudden appearance. Bakugou can’t help, but puff out an airy laugh, as he eyes at their frightful expressions. Like two little deers in the headlights.

However, it is short lived. Blinking, Bakugou notices the kids are standing around Midoriya, seated with legs crossed on the floor, and back facing away.

He does find it weird that his usually affectionate husband has yet to greet him. But, after looking even closer, the floor had several makeup products scattered, open and ready for use.

When he looks back at the kids, brushes in hand, Bakugou can only suspect what is happening. “Izuku, what the actual-.”

And, just like that, Midoriya twists around, face blown with the most hideous combination of bright colors and wobbly line work.

At first, there’s a warm, bright smile, but it quickly falls. A frown replaces it. “Put on a shirt, Kacchan. The kids are here.”

“You wipe that ugly shit off your face, first!” Bakugou yells.

Immediately, Mahoro’s arms defensively hug around Midoriya’s neck. “No! We are not done with the painting!” She pouts.

“I ain’t letting you finish!” Bakugou quickly descends down the last stairs, swatting his hands in the air. “Go! Gather up everything, now!”

Midoriya holds Mahoro in one arm, and Katsuma in the other. “C’mon Kacchan, we’re having a family bonding experience. Let the kids finish, real quick.” He says softly, looking up at Bakugou.

Now, despite their plenty of years together, Bakugou’s absolutely weak to those wide eyes. They string him along to their every request, no matter how resilient, or stubborn he may be. All Midoriya had to do was look up, pleadingly.

And, his damn husband knew it worked like a charm, always.

“Thirty minutes.” Bakugou huffs, walking past them and towards the kitchen. “Breakfast should be ready by then.”

Mahoro awes, “How did you know we haven’t eaten yet?”

Of course they hadn’t. Bakugou rolls his eyes, “Because your dumbass father never eats breakfast, unless I cook. Don’t be like him.”

He hears Midoriya whine from behind, calling him out for being too mean in the morning. No matter, obviously he isn’t mean, if he’s going to cook their starving family a good, warm meal.

Tuning out the shouting and laughing from across the room, Bakugou swiftly made grilled shiozake, tomago, and warmed up last night’s rice. But, even after the thirty minutes ran out, Bakugou decided to not end their weird fun, right away.

Especially after he turned around, and saw the bright smiles from his two kids and Midoriya.

So, with an added half an hour, Bakugou made a simple miso soup. Nothing too fancy or big. Just enough to make the kid’s eyes boggle at how much food was on the table.

And, that’s exactly the reaction they give, when he finally calls them out, a little over an hour later.

Now, usually, after a family meal, the kids are in charge of washing the dishes. But instead, Midoriya chooses to help with the empty plates, ushering the kids to clean the living room.

When it’s finally just them, standing beside each other by the sink, Midoriya lets out a short laugh. “We didn’t mean to wake you up, Kacchan. I know you had a hard shift last night, so I had the kids try to whisper.”

Staring down at the running water over his hands, Bakugou scoffs as he tilts the last dirty plate. “It didn’t sound like it.”

“Well, maybe Mahoro meant to wake you.” Midoriya chuckles, “She was wanting to do your makeup, next.”

“Fat chance. If it ain’t liner, I won’t wear it.”

“If Katsuma was the one to ask you, I do think you would.”

Bakugou offers up his plate, for Midoriya to dry with a dish towel. When Midoriya takes it, he huffs. “Let me guess. It was Katsuma who got you caught up in that shit.”

Midoriya whines, “He’s just too cute, when he asks.”

Like father, like son. “I keep telling you, he’s an accomplice.”

“He’s a younger sibling.“ Midoriya corrects, offhandedly setting the plate on the drying rack. “Obviously, whatever Mahoro says, he wants to follow.”

“Tch. Same thing.”

“They just want to have fun, Kacchan! Besides, I think I look very kissable, and pretty.”

Quirking a brow, Bakugou side-eyes his husband. He meets Midoriya’s gaze, face powdered with blush all over, streaked with magenta and blue on his lids, and black liner squiggly lines on his forehead. Not to mention the red lipstick that circles all over his lips.

Looking away, Bakugou snorts, “Yeah, pretty stupid.”

Midoriya lands a good punch on his bare shoulder. It only makes Bakugou cackle even louder.

Bakugou doesn’t realize Midoriya’s leaning close, until he’s stopped laughing. He grimaces, getting an unfortunate, close look to the makeup. “Quit looking at me with that ugly mug, Izuku.”

Rolling his eyes, Midoriya slides his arms over Bakugou’s shoulders. “Kiss me, first.”

“No.”

Midoriya’s teasing smile falls. “Why?”

“You have that ugly shit still on your face. I ain’t kissing you with it.”

“Kacchan, are you-” Midoriya’s lower lip trembles, “Are you calling me ugly?”

“What- No, not you!” Bakugou growls, “I’m talking about the fucking-”

Midoriya throws his head back, letting out a sad sigh. “My husband no longer finds me attractive! My world is collapsing right in front of-!”

Immediately, Bakugou lifts up Midoriya’s chin, and brings his lips over his. With his eyes closed, Bakugou graciously blinded from the shit disaster on his husband’s face. Other than it feeling a bit sticky, the kiss still felt fluttery and sweet.

When they pull away, Midoriya’s already smirking. “You look good with a nice red lip.”

Fuming hot, Bakugou shoves away his husband, stomping out of the kitchen. And, like salt to his wounds, Mahoro and Katsuma giggle, pointing out his red lips.

He’s going back to bed.

[faerienextdoor]

general relationship hcs with (some) pastas

Fair warning, I'm using and hinting at mine and my friends’ writing for these creeps :) enjoy  also as soon as i figure out how to open an ask box, I’ll be accepting requests

Brian:

- oh where to start with this absolute himbo

- he melts around you. like he's your bitch, and you're his.

- he's the type of boyfriend that takes you out in the snow and shoves a handful down the back of your jacket, and laughs until you shove snow in his face

- it is snow war

- it ends with you cuddling him, wrapped in a blanket and content in front of the burning fire he got started just for you <3

- but he also has some weird... habits.

- drinks pickle juice.

- gets his hand stuck in the jar.

- looks at you like 🥺 until you sigh and help him. for the fifteenth time.

- he can cook some basic breakfast foods, and happily breaks out a cookbook to prepare you something as a surprise or to learn something with you!!

- baking with him would be a mess. he forgets flour goes everywhere and now you both look like you took a bath in cocaine

- but the cupcakes are mediocre at best. they aren't absolute garbage, so... cupcake points!

- he worries about how hoodie treats you. he doesn't remember anything when he regains control, but you've reassured him hoodie is just fine.

- and he is

(hoodie)

- hoodie is like a rottweiler or a doberman.

- protective. intimidating. energetic.

- but also a giant fucking baby.

- this large ass man lumbers over and drops to his knees. places his chin on your lap and stares at you from the fabric of his mask until you stop what you're doing and stroke his head awkwardly

- you could swear he does those happy grumbled a rottie does.

- hoodie is silent but shows he loves you just as much as brian does. He strokes your hair silently, even places a kiss to the crown of your head as you sink into his beefy arms.

- he smells nice too. surprisingly.

- but that raises the question: if hoodie showers, does he shower with that damn thing on?

- you won't get an answer if you were to ask.

- brian introduces you to his grandma julia. and she dotes on you.

- the immortal old lady remarks that you’re the best s/o brian has brought to her yet.

Tim:

- a lumberjack man with biceps like a fucking tree trunk

- how'd you land him? give me your secrets (/j)

- he's such a love bug. a tired stressed love bug.

- he finds /every/ excuse to have physical contact with you. it's like a little touch from you reassures him that you're real. you're like a dream to him.

- he's the best for cuddles. He holds you to his chest

- and you get special access to his moobs

- and he gently strokes your head, traces shapes into your back, etc. it's a special intimate moment each time.

- my man's is italian-american but can't cook to save his fucken life

- he always gets your favorite microwave meals though!! he never forgets.

- not feeling good? dw baby he's making it for you <33 shitty low tier bean and cheese burrito coming up

- slowly he learns the basics and surprises you with lunch or even dinner if you're lucky!!

- he loves you so much. and wants you to feel it and know it. all the time.

(masky)

- god where to start with this bitch

- he's not jeff levels of bad ofc, but he's silent and... weird. creepy, some may say. he doesn't mean to be.

- and he's a hard ass. far more strict than tim.

- he follows you around like a giant fucken puppy and will spook you by grabbing you abruptly and holding you tightly

- you can't escape him. he really utilizes his physical strength

- he loves lifting you up and just... holding you. or carrying you off.

- protective and overbearing.

- but tim keeps him under control.

(angst)

- he wouldn't want to lose you like he lost his last wife.

- you find pictures of a woman laying around and a small girl that bears a striking resemblance to her and tim.

- tim goes quiet and questioned but eventually caves and tells you about his family

- or what he used to have

- his wife died and his daughter disappeared.

- it broke him and you're all he has left now

- constantly needs your affection in return to his own

- pls love him

jeff:

- why the fuck would you date him

- he's the absolute worst in so many aspects. But he genuinely tries for you.

- even if his gifts are shitty, it's nice to know he thoughts of you, right? even if it's a half dead flower or a rib torn from a deer caraccas.

- but you get the butt end of his shithead antics. ranch bath, specifically. he smelt like spoiled milk for a week after and you had to cuddle that fucker.

- and don't get me started on mayo bath

- but he still loves finding himself in your arms. or finding you in his. he's demanding affection wise, and will yank you into him for some cuddles. whether you like it or not.

- he isn't one for a lot of pet names, but calls you curse words or "sweetheart" in polish.

- and you get to see the side of him that only shows when he breaks down.

(bit of angst)

- he misses his family and the life he used to have. he'll reminisce what it was like in poland with his mom and family with you, and you sometimes swear you can see his brown eyes gloss over at the memory of her.

- he never talks about his dad, you've noticed.

- don't ask.

- he brushes off heavy conversations with some dumb quip ("wanna see my renegade?")

- he sucks at cooking. god awful at it. but he really tries for you. manages a bowl of oat meal that's edible.

- but he overloads it with sugar and for some reason, salt.

- he's confused. he thinks that's normal (it isn't)

- his idea of a date is napping with you. or rather, forcing you into nap time.

- I mean it when I say this man is strong in a weird fucken way. latches onto you with that iron grip and you won't be able to leave for at least a few hours.

jane:

- ethereal wlw woman.

- could break you with her heels. or a flutter of what eyelashes she has.

- you're lucky to have her, and she's just as lucky to have you!

- she's sweet and charming. very smooth and takes good care of you.

- her love language is a mix of physical touch and acts of service.

- she'll cuddle you all night, and then make you breakfast in the morning.

- she loves showering with you when she's comfy enough around you! it's super intimate and she washes your hair.

- massages the soap into your hair, suds spilling down your neck and back as her fingers scrub circles into your scalp.

- it's heaven on earth. such a domestic life.

- it'll take a while for her to settle enough in the relationship for you to see her without her mask

- you make her feel so loved and wanted

- secure, even.

- she's protective but not controlling or overbearing. shes that type of girlfriend that's just a worrywart and relaxes as soon as you're curled up in her arms. you fit there perfectly, too. like you belong there.

- which you do. at least in her mind

- she has such a gentle touch and hold on you. like she's afraid you'll combust in her arms if she holds you too tightly.

- she loves stroking your hair and having you nap

- using her tiddies as a pillow 👌

(angst)

- she needs affirmation from you when it comes to her scars.

- she thinks that jeff ruined her. permanently marking her once spotless body.

- and she thinks you'll hate her or find her disgusting.

- that's why she freezes if/when you gently slip off her mask.

- she stares at you with those teary green eyes. then leans in and kisses you

- you make all of her worries disappear.

- she's also financially comfortable, but not really rich (on that topic: eat the rich)

- she spoils you every chance she gets. gifts, a nice dinner date, you name it

- she almost spoils you as much as she does her cat Emory

- little shit has the sparkliest fucken collar and acts like he's the shit

- he's your fur baby too now

Helen:

- oh my god this disaster of an art boi

- he's convinced he's the luckiest man in the world (and he might as well be!!)

- he obviously wouldn't have been the one to confess. but it was really obvious by how he painted and drew you constantly, that some feeling for you was lodged into his beating heart.

- he treats you like the finest china. with the most care a man can manage.

- he's the definition of clingy and affectionate from the very start.

- he curls around your sleeping form perfectly when y'all cuddle.

- his hand dances in your hair, soothing you into a dreamless sleep each night without fail.

- he has a magic touch and a gentle voice.

- and he cherishes you so fucken much. (like a simp /j)

- he shies away from kisses at first, but will hold your hand and melts if you hold his face in them!!!

- he's greek, and often speaks sweet things to you in it. he's so comfortable around you that he speaks in his native language to you. that's an accomplishment.

- he loves when you baby him. helen loves being cradled and loved.

- taking a nap with his head on your chest also hits different. he's so in love with you

(angst)

- he's afraid of losing you. who wouldn't be? you're amazing and you love /him/ of all people

- he thinks very negatively of himself. please scold him for self deprecating.

- he always worries he'll wake up and you'll be gone.

- so he holds you extra close at night. and follows you around when you leave for any reason. Trails behind you like a lost puppy in need of a gentle kiss.

- which, is what he essentially is

- and also: pls steal his sweater and wear it. he'll cry over how cute you are.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Survivor’s Remorse (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Set after the events of chapter 11, Naomi isn’t handling things as well as she thought she would.

Tags: @takemyopenheart @aylamreads @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @kaavyaethanramsey @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @mvalentine @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey

~v~

Naomi getting discharged into Ethan’s care seemed like a natural next step for them. After their nighttime confessions while quarantined, it sort of went without saying that they’re together. If it was up to Ethan, she’d simply move in with him as well, but for now, he is content with cohabitating until she’s recovered fully and cleared to go back to work.

To say the past few days have been exhausting is the understatement of the year. Most of the time, Naomi has a hard time believing it was even real, as it still feels like she’s sleepwalking through it all.

She’s been home for approximately 3 hours and she still doesn’t know how to feel. Ethan’s apartment is quiet, especially since he’s not even here, having run off to the grocery store. Between working 16 hour days in a hospital, living with 4 other people, and being a patient for the past 3 days, getting poked and prodded around the clock, Naomi is no longer used to quiet. It makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

So to soothe the impending anxiety, Naomi has been in Ethan’s living room, his speakers blasting some upbeat pop song that’s currently on a Top 40 chart. She can’t place it, but it doesn’t matter. She just needs background noise.

The music is up loud enough that Naomi doesn’t even hear the front door open. It isn’t until she feels another presence in the room does she look up and see Ethan standing in his mini mud area, dropping off his keys and coat.

“Hey!” Naomi instantly grabs her phone and turns down the music, her cheeks flushing as if she’s been caught. “Sorry I had it up so loud.”

“It’s fine, it wasn’t that loud,” Ethan assures her. “I just expected you to be resting. I thought you were tired.”

She is tired, but she feels restless. “I’m off of work indefinitely, I’ll have plenty of time to sleep.”

Ethan drops off his reusable grocery bag in the kitchen and quickly washes his hands before heading to the living room. He drops a chaste kiss onto Naomi’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Naomi shrugs, unsure of how to answer such a loaded question. “Same old, same old.”

Ethan raises an eyebrow at the non-answer, but he doesn’t push it any further. “Well, are you at least hungry?”

“Starving.” Between the gross hospital food and the crippling nausea, food was the last thing on Naomi’s mind. But now that she’s feeling a bit better, she’ll welcome anything Ethan gives her. 

“I’ll get started on dinner. How does French onion chicken and rice sound?”

“Amazing. Do you need any help?”

“None at all,” Ethan says. He doesn’t want Naomi lifting a finger while she’s under his care. “Just sit back and relax.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Naomi announces, standing up. “Is it okay if I use yours?”

“Of course. There are spare towels in the hall closet. But uh, fair warning, I didn’t know what type of bath products you enjoy, so I went overboard.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, I think I bought everything I could get my hands on. It’s all in the guest bathroom .”

True to his word, Naomi finds an incredibly large gift basket sitting on the counter of the guest bathroom. It’s filled to the brim with shower gels, bath salts, shampoo, conditioner, lotions, loofahs, and other goodies that will take months for her to go through, all in her favorite scents: coconut, jasmine, and raspberry. It’s very over the top and the products are clearly more luxe than what she’d buy at the Target downtown, but her chest warms at the obvious effort he’s put into it.

Ethan’s en-suite is the same as she remembers from all of those months ago, the first time they slept together. Extremely minimalist with only a few of his grooming products. Naomi is almost certain he doesn’t appreciate the freestanding claw foot bathtub nor the large waterfall shower as much as he should.

Once she gets the water started, gathers all of her products and she’s fully in the shower, Naomi doesn’t do anything except stand directly under the shower head, taking a moment to collect her bearings. She closes her eyes, but instantly regrets it.

As soon as she’s plunged into the darkness, she’s back in the Senator’s hospital room. The hissing sound of the canister rattles around in her brain, the sense of panic in her voice, the ice cold rage in Travis Perry’s voice, the retching sounds of everyone vomiting relentlessly all play through her mind on a torturous loop.

Her eyes fly open, as does a hand to her chest, and in her peripheral, she notices it. The slimy, black oil they were all assaulted with. Naomi looks down, and it’s all she can see, as thick as it was all the days ago, coating from head to toe.

A gasp catches in her throat and she stumbles back, knocking over a few bottles in the process, but she doesn’t care. There’s only one thing on her mind: getting clean.

She turns the water up as hot as possible. She doesn’t bother with any shower gel, she simply grabs her loofah, and scrubs. The spongy material is coarse against her skin, and it’s perfect in this moment because that’s what she needs, and she digs it in as roughly as she can. 

Scrub.

Naomi can still feel the poison. It’s on her skin, in her hair, lingering on her skin. Bobby’s face flashes across her vision once more, absolutely drenched as he took the worst hit, and it only fuels her further.

Scrub.

Her throat tightens, due to the extremely scalding temperature of the water, but instead of turning the water down, Naomi thinks about the tightening sensation she felt when she thought she might asphyxiate in the hospital.

Scrub.

“Dammit!” She doesn’t even realize she’s said the expletive aloud, so caught up in what she’s doing. “Just come off already!”

The concept of time has been lost completely, and Naomi doesn’t know how long she’s been standing in this same spot, methodically scrubbing and rinsing, rinsing and scrubbing. But it’s no use. No matter how much she tries, all she can see is the fucking poison. It’s past surface level, she can feel it in her blood, thrumming as it courses through her veins.

Scrub.

“Naomi?” It’s a different voice, Ethan’s. He heard the bottles fall off the shelves and ignored it, but he can’t ignore the fact that Naomi is yelling at someone or something. “Are you okay in there?”

He raps his knuckles against the door a few times, and when he doesn’t receive a response, his hand goes to the doorknob, twisting it slightly to see if she locked the door. She didn’t. Being courteous, Ethan knocks once more and when Naomi still doesn’t say anything to him, he opens the door to the en-suite and walks in.

Ethan doesn’t know what he expected to see on the other side of the door, but Naomi scrubbing her skin nearly raw under a stream of hot water was not it.

He throws the shower door open, ignoring the steam that billows out, and turns off the water. “Naomi! What on earth are you doing?”

“It won’t come off,” she cries.

“What won’t come off?”

“This damn maitotoxin! It won’t come off, no matter how much scrubbing I do. I want it off! I want it gone!”

Ethan watches as she throws down her loofah and just starts clawing at any piece of flesh she can get her hands on: her face, her chest, her arms, her neck.

Deciding enough is enough, Ethan grabs a large bath towel and wraps it around Naomi’s petite frame, holding down her arms so she can’t mutilate herself further.

“No,” Naomi argues, shaking her head, and she struggles against him.

“Rookie, breathe,” Ethan commands. He loosens his grip slightly and uses one hand to tilt her chin up so they can look at each other. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused. “Look at me. Keep your eyes on me. Listen to my voice.”

“You’re not in the hospital anymore,” he continues, struggling to keep his voice even and his emotions in check. “You’re with me, you’re in my shower. The toxin is gone, it’s not on your skin, it’s not in your system. You’re clean and you’re safe. I promise you’re safe.”

He repeats the last sentence over and over and over again, until it’s a chant. Eventually Naomi’s body loosens up and she allows him to support some of her body weight. Eventually, they sink to the floor, and Ethan cradles her close to his chest.

Naomi doesn’t know how long they’ve been in this position, but the world is finally coming back into focus. Her senses are her own again, no longer controlled by pervasive memories, and the first thing she smells is Ethan’s cologne, and she feels his fingers tracing nonsensical patterns on her back.

The silence they’ve been plunged back into is deafening, and now she’s faced with the crushing weight of her reality.

“I almost died the other day,” Naomi says, her voice barely above a whisper. It’s a fact she’s always been cognizant of, but even more so now that the adrenaline has worn off. Holy shit, she really could’ve been dead, cold and in a grave right now.

“But you didn’t.”

“Yeah, but...I was so c-close.” Fat tears roll down her cheeks, and she doesn’t have the energy to do anything about them.

“But you didn’t,” Ethan repeats, his voice coming gruffer than usual. He doesn’t want her dwelling.

“But Bobby did. And he leaves behind an entire family that loves him.” She can still see his lifeless body on the cold hospital floor, convulsing and gasping for air. “And Danny did. He was one of my first friends at Edenbrook. He was the only nurse who had my back after Landry spread lies about me. He and Sienna were…” her voice trails off as she’s unable to finish her sentence. “Sienna probably hates me.”

“Trust me, Sienna could never hate you. I’ve never seen a more steadfast and loyal friend.”

Naomi flashes back to all of her not-so-subtle matchmaking attempts to get Sienna and Danny together. After all of Sienna’s troubles with Wayne, she wanted nothing more than her best friend to be happy, and now Naomi has ruined it for her.

Another sob bubbles up in her throat and she can’t push it away. “She doesn’t h-hate me n-now, but wait until the shock wears off and the resentment starts s-setting in. This is all my f-fault.”

“Naomi, this is not your fault,” Ethan argues.

“I should’ve never poached Ed from Mass Kenmore. I s-shouldn’t have gone running guns blazing into his suite. I should’ve called more security other than Bobby to help-p, I should’ve w-waited for y-you. I should’ve called the police. I should’ve have b-been able to talk Travis down.”

Ethan clears his throat before speaking, trying to keep himself in check. If Naomi is going to be okay, he can’t let his own emotions selfishly take over. “Travis had it in his head that Ed needed to pay for what happened to his brother. No one on this earth could have stopped him from doing what he did. It’s not your fault, and you’re no less of a person for not being able to stop a psychopath. No matter how strong and formidable you are, you are just one person, and I am refusing to let you carry the weight of that burden by yourself.”

Of course deep, deep, deep down, the logical part of Naomi’s brain knows it wasn’t directly her fault, but the illogical part still feels incredibly responsible for the events that played out at Edenbrook.

Naomi sniffles, the heat of the shower now gone and a shiver racks her body. Ethan notices it instantly, and in a show of strength, he scoops her out of the shower, carrying her back into his bedroom.

He finds the warmest clothes he can get his hands on, a worn Johns Hopkins sweatshirt and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms that are entirely too big on her. He ushers her into bed, pulling the soft duvet over her.

“You’re not getting in too?” Naomi asks, and Ethan picks up on the slight panic in her voice.

“Yeah, I just need to change out of my clothes, and I’ll be right back.”

She watches as Ethan quickly discards his work clothes and he slides into bed next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. Naomi huddles closer to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. 

“My hair is going to be a disaster once it dries,” she mumbles against his skin. Her curly hair demands a very strict routine.

“I’ll help you.”

For the first time in the past 72 hours, Naomi manages to laugh. The image of Ethan trying to detangle and properly moisturize her hair is hilarious, and now she has to see it. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I should get back into the kitchen. I know you’re really hungry and dinner isn’t going to cook itself.”

Silently protesting, Naomi’s fingers dig into his arm, willing him to not leave. She doesn’t want to be left alone, especially not for something as trivial as dinner. She pulls away so she can look him in the eyes.“Can we just lay here for a little while longer?”

“I’ll stay here for as long as you want me to.”

“You promise?”

Ethan nods and places a soft kiss on her lips–they’ve made a pact to be as tactile with each other as possible, both in public and in private. After the events of the last few days, what’s the use in hiding how they feel about each other? “I promise.”

[btsmosphere]

Crossfire | KTH

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

~summary: The night your life blew up sent you on a collision course with the campus bad boy, Kim Taehyung. Though you were well aware of his reputation, it was his doorstep you ran to when you were bleeding with nowhere to go.

~word count: 2.3k

~gang!au, mafia!au, college!au, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers

Warnings: swearing, drugs, injury, mentions of death and fights (warnings apply to each part individually, please read them)

~a/n: a smaller, slice-of-life update this week, maybe definitely inspired by lockdown! I hope you guys like this, as the next update will be longer and bring more drAma...

Taehyung must be superhuman. How he had managed to go to sleep with only a few hours left before college and still be awake and gone in time, eluded you.

You, on the other hand, were still tired as you tried to convince your body to crawl away from the warm covers long after the sun had risen. Not that you had anywhere to be. Once again, Taehyung had left food and water right beside you, and even the painkillers you took yesterday.

Groaning, you let your head fall back onto the pillow.

You inhaled deeply through your nose, then finally sat up, eyes still shut. Familiar pain lanced through your side at the movement, making you grit your teeth. At least your eyes were forced open in order to grab a pill.

Next, you figured there was no use lying in bed all day. Open the curtains which were still drawn. Great. What next?

As if in answer, your stomach growled a bit, so you sat back down to eat.

What next?

Teeth. Shit, you hadn’t cleaned your teeth in over a day now.

With dim hope, you made your way to the bathroom, but to your surprise, an unopened toothbrush sat by the sink.

Unfortunately, the surprise of a toothbrush turned out to be the biggest excitement of the day until Taehyung came back home. By that time, you had given in to lying down, mapping out the blemishes on the bedroom ceiling, so the moment you heard voices, you sprung up.

Peering around the door first, you saw Taehyung waving at someone on his doorstep. You waited until they had left and the door closed behind him to come down the stairs.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

You followed Tae through to the living room where he dropped his bag carelessly beside the sofa, reminding you unwillingly of days when you were younger, waiting up when your dad was late home and latching onto him straight away.

So you hung back, chewing your lip without realising.

“How’s college?” you asked his back as he went to the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he said, coming back around the corner with a drink, “nearly fell asleep in Professor Han’s lecture though.”

“You still take his class? I dropped that the minute I could,” you chuckled.

“I think you made the right decision,” the corners of his mouth turned up even as he took a sip. For a moment he savoured the drink, then lowered it.

“They’re talking about you.”

“They are?” you took a step forward as he nodded, but he quickly held up a hand.

“Hey, curtains,” he reminded you, then tossed his head behind him, “you should come round to the kitchen.”

A glance behind you revealed wide open curtains, so you sped out of sight and down the hall, meeting him where he now leant against the island.

“Did you really think they wouldn’t notice you going missing?”

“Well, I guess not,” you shrugged, “them knowing, is it… bad?”

“Bad? No,” he grinned, “I’m still going to hide you.”

“Thanks,” you smiled back, then, “have you… has Jungkook, you know…?”

“Oh, um,” Taehyung’s grin faded, telling you all you needed to know, “that was him at the door, but he hasn’t had the chance to look for him yet. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Staring at your hands, you mentally cursed yourself. Clearly the time you spent doing nothing had got to you, to make you so impatient.

“Hey, look at this,” Tae was suddenly smiling again, and you watched as he raised the now empty bottle like a dart in his hand before shooting it off towards the bin, where it bounced from the rim with a hollow clunk.

Unable to help the laugh that burst from you, you collected it from the floor.

“My turn!”

Taehyung laughed and stepped aside while you lined up your shot, but just as the bottle left your hand, he pushed your arm and sent it careering off into the wall.

“Hey!” you elbowed him as he creased in laughter.

The next thing you knew, he was running around the island towards the fallen bottle. Realising this, you took off too, shouting after him, but were too late to wrestle it from his arms.

“You cheated! Let me try again!”

Your shouts were in vain as he easily held off your flailing body and dropped the bottle into the bin at last, then proceeded to do a victory lap. Scoffing, you stuck your leg out to trip him up as he reached you again.

“Sorry, sorry,” he lied as he got his breath back between laughs, “draw?”

“No, you win,” you rolled your eyes, “what should be your prize? I could cook tonight?”

His eyes lit up, grin still wide as ever, and accepted your offer.

Really, cooking wasn’t a punishment for you. After the most boring day on earth, you were happy to be doing something with purpose, and it came with the bonus of treating Taehyung for taking you in.

Later, once you had stored in your memory the cupboard where he kept the pans, and where the salt was, you finally sat down to eat- on top of the counter.

Still being light outside, you both agreed you couldn’t sit in the living room due to the open curtains, and this had led to your current state. Your knees were touching as you both sat cross-legged facing each other to eat from the bowls in your hands. Unfazed, Taehyung was wolfing it down in enormous bites, but you hoped that meant it met his approval.

“I have to go out again,” Taehyung spoke, causing your heart to sink, “the food was really good, by the way.”

Jumping down from the countertop, he looked up at you.

“Want me to get anything while I’m out?”

“Oh, no, no,” you assured him automatically.

However, this made him stop, turning back to you fully.

“Really? I don’t mind getting anything. You pretty much live here now so you don’t have to be polite.”

You furrowed your brows, mind instantly going blank as you tried to think.

“Maybe a book?”

“Sure,” he nodded, then his eyes widened, “wait, should I get you two? Five? What have you been doing all day without a phone or going out?”

“It was okay,” you tried, but quickly conceded, “okay, I was sort of bored out of my mind but-“

“Okay, I am definitely getting books. What’s your favourite food? We can have it tomorrow,” he suggested.

“I love anything with chocolate,” you smiled, “and I like most things, but… Italian?”

He smiled back at you just as his phone buzzed aggressively against the counter.

“Oh, shit…” he muttered as he turned it over, “I really need to-“

But he was in the hallway by then.

You fell asleep waiting for Taehyung to get back. Honestly, cooking had tired you out, as embarrassing as it was. Earlier you had found yourself needing to pause and catch your breath a few times while making dinner, but you supposed that was a minor side effect of being stabbed. It could have been much worse.

Washing up had been the final straw, after which you promised yourself you would find the energy to go and find the red pills after a short lie down.

A promise easily broken.

When Taehyung found you, you were sort of sitting, half slumped, against the headboard. As he shook you, sleep was reluctant to let go.

Therefore, by the next morning, you didn’t even remember seeing the boy. It barely crossed your mind that your clothes had changed and you were under the duvet. You were excited about the books, though.

Of course you hadn’t had time to give Taehyung any detail on what books you enjoyed, but anything was better than nothing, so after breakfast you began to read. It seemed he had been to the library at college given the stamps on the inside cover, but it was never open late and Taehyung had left in the evening yesterday.

Strangely, you didn’t feel too strongly about him having potentially broken into the place. Wow, your life really had got boring fast if even crime now counted as excitement. But if only you could go with him, break in somewhere for an adventure-

You shook yourself.

There was a small stack of books, non-fiction (being from a college library) and ranging from art to music to fashion.

Today, you didn’t run to Taehyung like a small child when he got back. Despite being later home than the previous day, he actually had to knock on the bedroom door to shake you away from the book you had almost finished.

“Oh sorry, hi!”

“Evening,” he smirked, stepping into the room to reveal a bag in his hand.

“Is that-!” you gasped at the smell wafting from it, and he grinned.

“Italiano,” he faked an accent, making a chef’s kiss with his free hand.

Practically bounding from the bed, you eagerly joined him on the kitchen counter again.

“I am so full,” you groaned after the last bite of pizza was gone.

“Really?” Taehyung raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, really! I just ate that whole thing!”

“That’s a shame…” he looked at you, amusement lingering at the edges of his mouth, “I guess I’ll have to have this by myself then.”

Your eyes grew huge as he leaned over to a drawer, pulling out an enormous chocolate bar. Paying no mind to your staring, he opened it and took a large bite, eyebrows drawing together in pleasure.

“Hey, wait-“

“I thought you were full?” you could barely make out his voice around the mouthful of chocolate.

“Can’t I have just a bit?”

“I don’t want you to be sick-“

Just then, you lost patience and took a swipe at the chocolate, but were easily evaded.

“Tae-“

Another bite.

Almost growling in frustration, you lunged forward, but he swiftly slid off the counter and took off down the hall, waving the bar over his head.

You had no choice but to give chase.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you caught up to him in the bedroom doorway and wasted no time in tackling him, throwing your arms around his waist.

“Hah! I win!”

You yanked the chocolate from his grasp and were raising it to your mouth at last when you saw his face.

As if he had burnt you, you shot up, taking your weight off him. All humour had suddenly gone from his expression, though an unconvincing smile appeared as he sat up, a hand hovering over his ribs.

“You won,” he laughed. But you weren’t having it.

His smile fell rapidly when you didn’t respond. Something was wrong.

“What is it? Did I hurt you?”

“No, it wasn’t you,” he looked down at the floor.

Lowering yourself to sit opposite him, you fixed him with a stare.

“Taehyung…”

“There was another attack tonight. Shinhyuk took someone out in one of our bars this side of town.”

“Wait… took someone out? You mean he actually-“

A grave nod.

“And… and you-?”

“I was there with Jin and Hoseok to collect something. Then, next thing, the bar goes into chaos, people saying we couldn’t get out. Shinhyuk caught a big dealer of ours as he was leaving, and shut the place down for… I dunno, dramatic effect? But we got in a fight with the men on the door to get outside…”

“Shit,” you breathed, “I’m so sorry, can I do anything?”

“It’s just bruised,” he shrugged, standing at last, “now eat your chocolate.”

For once, you were awake early enough to see Taehyung leave, his bruised knuckles lingering on the door before finally it clicked shut.

Two books later he came home.

Although you had sworn not to go downstairs after last time, you had been thirsty enough to risk it today. Being out of breath after just one set of stairs was worrying, but found the red pills you had forgotten about in the kitchen as you filled up your drink. Gulping one down, you hoped missing a couple wouldn’t affect you.

Then your fears came true.

A click heralded the opening of the door, and you were instantly moving out of sight. Pressed against the wall by the side door of the house, you prepared to open it and run if you had to, though you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep going for long.

“Y/N’s upstairs, I’ll just tell her I’m back-“

Your eyes closed as you let yourself breathe again.

“Uh, Taehyung,” you spoke, making yourself known in the doorway.

He stood on the lowest step, Jimin and Namjoon standing behind him in the hall.

Hastily, you apologised and passed them to go back upstairs, complete with your glass of water. It became clear soon after that an important discussion was being had, their voices sounding serious even though you could barely understand them from up here. Luckily, it was easy enough to make a guess as to their topic of conversation.

“He’s fighting a war with no opposition right now! He’ll steamroller us if we don’t do anything,” Namjoon’s voice was rising, and now that your book lay discarded beside you, you couldn’t help but hear. Perhaps it was against your better judgement, but the situation was relevant to you, and besides, you needed some drama to liven up your boring life hiding away.

“But Jungkookie told us he might already be in danger,” Jimin fired back.

A loaded pause.

“You know I wouldn’t put him in harms’ way. Never question that – I would do anything to protect every one of you. But that’s exactly why we need to do something.”

Taehyung’s voice cut in here, lower in volume, shepherding the conversation away from your prying ears.

“We need a plan.”

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[trillian-anders]

true love

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: fluff && smut, bucky being a cheeky little shit and soft boy

word count: 2.7k

description: stripper au; bucky is a tease and honestly just such a gooey romantic. just a little snapshot. 

A strip club before hours. Inside you’d find the dancers stretching, practicing new routines and a loop of the same song over and over again until they were satisfied or being forced to move onto something else. The servers are wiping down tables, setting up for bachelorette parties and straightening the chairs around the main stage. The host was cleaning the mirrors and the front door with Windex, knowing that they would just be covered with prints from hands and fingers an hour into the night.

The bar was being stocked, backup bottles. Fruit was being cut and sangria being prepped. Gallons of it. The clientele loved sangria. The cocktail of the night, special for the bride to be prepped for the bachelorette party, paid for in advance by the bottle. A sugar bomb of midori sour and vodka, cherries and club soda. Neon green and toxic, it made you gag just mixing it together.

It was the same thing every night. Another bachelorette party, another batch mixed drink, another stack of ones ready to be switched out for bigger bills the clients needed to break in order to stuff those dollar bills in the g-string of one of the many handsome performers that would take the stage tonight.

A destination strip club under the same corporation that owned Magic Mike, just on the east coast. It would be busy. But you and the other three bartenders were ready, the money was good here. Too good for you to ever consider leaving. And since the clientele was made in its entirety women and gay men, you felt safe working there. No sleazy guy on his sixth bud lite wanting to grab your ass as you cleaned up after his spilled beer. Granted some of the clients were still hellish, but you’d take not getting groped over being sexually harassed by bar patrons any day.

The lights would drop low soon, music pumping through the speakers as the DJ finishes setting up his booth. The endless grind from 8pm to 3am that would leave you ready for some diner food and bed.

“Boys!” You call, “What do you want?” Allowed a start of work drink, you called to the men standing on the stage.

“Anything you wanna give me sugar.” You glare at the first man to respond, his cheeky grin knowing how much you hated it when he called you sugar, how patronizing.

“Okay, everyone but Bucky,” You laugh, “What do you want?” The man in question slipping off the stage to walk over and help distribute shots.

“Why are you always so mean to me?” Pouting and arms crossed on the bar. You roll your eyes pouring the requests of green tea shots across the board. And an extra-large one for you and your favorite performer.

“Why are you always so annoying?” A rebuttal. But he loved it. He always does. Your shot glass clinking against his, tapping on the bar top and shot back in two.

“I love you.” He hums, stealing a kiss. The tip of his tongue brushing your bottom lip softly before pulling away and setting his shot glass in yours.

“I love you too.” A shared grin. “Have fun tonight.”

“Oh I will.” He’s cheeky, but it’s a part of him that you found so endearing.

A story you’re sure you’d tell the grandkids, how you met him in the first place. Back when you first started working here. He’d already been performing for a while. Back when you were waiting tables and having to deal with the sloppy drunk clients without a buffer of service bar in between.

Truly romantic how he’d been grinding himself against a woman in a bridal sash and giving you the same cheeky grin that he gives you now. You watched him grip himself through the silk thong and tripped and spilled your tray over a table and all the clients sitting there. An order to go get some air and you cried in the alley behind the building thinking that you were going to get fired and when his set was finished he came looking for you.

“They’re not going to fire you,” He soothed, pulling you into his arms, “You’re gonna be just fine.” You choked out nasty sobs into his chest, the thin zip hoodie he was wearing doing nothing to disguise the firm bare flesh underneath, you maybe pretended to have the need to be held a little longer than you actually did.

That incident was something he carefully held over your head to this day, a funny jab, especially after a night of seeing stars and loud moans. The paint chipped and wall worn where the headboard slammed into it. He wouldn’t paint over it as a matter of pride. A story of his sexual prowess and ability to bend you in half and make you cum so hard that you blackout or cry split on his dick.

He’d convinced you to go back into the club after you calmed down, he bought you a drink after the shift had ended, and then ate you out on his couch after you’d had pancakes at the diner below his apartment. And you’d been in love ever since.

That sick, ooey-gooey, no you hang up kind of love.

“You guys are so gross.” Nat bumped her hip against yours, grabbing the remaining shot glasses and sitting them in the dishwasher. You laugh.

The night began with body paint and blacklights. A steady pump of bass as each performer took the stage, they made their rounds around the room. Back curtains closing for private dances. The bar was full and service bar was popping, the tickets endless. The tip jar stuffed full. A good night. As bachelorette parties often were. They would take up a nice little section, the rest of the walk-ins and birthday parties, etc. taking up the rest of the space.

You could feel his eyes on you, the little games he liked to play at work. He knew you would look at him. The way he danced on stage, sinking down to let someone stick a dollar on his hip. The way he grabbed himself to the squeals of women.

The fucking tease, tugging his lip and meeting your eye. A playful smirk. Watching you shake a drink.

The first time he played this game was the day after he made you cum on his tongue, then his fingers, then his cock. Twice. As you wait tables, he would give you that little smirk, the grind of his hips, a brush against you as you walked around him with your tray. A playful tug on your skirt.

It would end with his back on the wood floor of his apartment, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise while you rode yourself to orgasm. Knees red and sore. And continue after eating a snack on his kitchen floor, your back now on the linoleum and your knees pressed to your chest while you dug your fingernails into his biceps and down his back. Something hastily fixed with concealer for his next performance.

Your friends outside of work didn’t quite understand how you could deal. “How could you be okay with him grinding himself over other people all night?” But you knew one thing more than anything else,

Bucky Barnes was such a simp.

He fucking loved you. And you knew it. He would never let you forget it. Bucky Barnes was the most affectionate, needy, clingy, I would die for you and all you have to do is ask kind of guy. He was the kind of guy to tell you that he missed you when you just went to the store. The kind of guy that would hop in the shower with you just because he wanted to wash your hair.

“I’m not worried.” You would laugh, “Not in the slightest.” And you knew you didn’t have to be. If the way he would hop up on your bar and tug on your hair mid dance was anything to say, him stuffing bills into your bra while you let a girl do a body shot out of his belly button. You didn’t care as much as those dollars and groping hands on his thick thighs you loved to ride would be paying your rent later.

These clients may be groping him now, but later on it’s your thighs that his head will be between.

It’s their money that will be sitting on your living room floor while both of you unwrinkled the freshly washed money. Their money you would use to buy groceries and pay for your portion of the family vacation you were going on in a few months with the Barnes clan.

The shift ends and you’re left cleaning up. With three other pairs of hands it’s quick work, but burning the ice takes a minute, long enough for Bucky to already be sitting down in front of the bar and sorting your tips out for you, sipping on an after shift drink the two of you were sharing.

“We going to Norma’s?” As the other men sunk down behind the bar, a few waving their goodbyes on their way out the door.

“Sam.” Bucky looked at his friend, “We go to Norma’s every night and every night you ask if we are going.”

“It’s because he likes that waitress.” Nat grinned, flipping the dishwasher on to run the bar mats. A glare from Sam,

“I love that waitress.” The bumbling idiot fawned over her and always tipped her $50 on his $8 patty melt. A shared laugh,

“You’ve asked her out, how many times now?” Steve, thankful for the leftover sangria in front of him, took a sip.

“Just like four, five maybe.” Bucky lifted the pint glass, salt lining the rim and a few granules left on his bottom lip. “This margarita is good sweetheart.” A recipe you found online, something new you’d wanted to try. You hum, taking a sip and nodding. “She doesn’t like you.” Directed at Sam. “You need to stop making her job so difficult, you’re a creep.”

“Am I a creep?” Sam looks between you and Nat. The two of you sharing a look and nodding.

“No one wants to get hit on while they’re working.” You laugh, “That’s all.” He huffs, leaning against the back of the bar stool.

“You guys got any of that neon shit left?” The last little bit of the bachelorette slosh at the bottom of the Cambro. Poured in a glass for him with an apologetic smile.

“I already burned the ice.” He muscled it down.

Bucky’s hand in your back pocket with you tucked into his side you entered the familiar diner and slipped into your usual booth, a playful squeeze to your ass before you sunk down next to each other. Sam, Nat, and Steve across.

His hand settles on your thigh as the waitress Sam was in love with brought over two pitchers of water and glasses, more to make her job easier because these boys were thirsty at the end of the night after performing for hours on end.

A minute later she’d return with a couple sodas and take the order. Sam looking dutifully down at his phone and trying to avoid her eyes.

“You can act like a normal person.” You laugh, our leg going across Bucky’s thigh. “You’re acting like even more of a weirdo.”

“Just relax.” Nat’s hand smoothed over Sam’s arm and he lets out a deep breath. “Don’t be weird.” Easier said than done, he took the fact that you told him not to flirt with her as erasing his whole personality.

“You’ve ruined him.” Steve sipped his water, “The both of you.” A pout to stern Dad-Steve, and he rolled his eyes with a smirk, leaning against the booth and throwing an arm over the back. “He’ll never be able to perform again.”

“Fuck all of you.” Sam glared as peals of laughter broke out at the table. A shift as you felt Bucky’s fingers play with the hem of your shorts. Dipping under a little bit. Your hand slips down and grabs his, pulling his hand away with a playful glare.

“Stop.” Whispered between you as Sam pretended to cry and Nat seemed about done with it.

“I wanna play.” A kiss on your lips. You shake your head and roll your eyes, directing your attention back to your friends.

“Later.”

Later would find him on his back lips red bitten and swollen from kissing as you yank his jeans down his legs, leaving him in just his briefs, the hard outline of his cock pressing against them. Your shorts and panties tugged down your legs, crawling over him to hover over his face. His arms wrapping around your thighs and bringing you down to his mouth.

The grind of your hips on his tongue and the rough stubble burning your thighs. Those moans vibrating against your clit, panting moans coming from your mouth as you grip the headboard and find the friction your need to cum. Working out your aftershocks on his tongue.

A shift of position would find your back against the mattress, your legs over his arms and hooked into his elbows, the blunt head of his cock circling your entrance with the teasing roll of his hips. His mouth against yours, sucking on your tongue and tugging your bottom lip between his teeth.

He starts off slow. A gasp into his mouth as he bottoms out, the tip of him brushing your cervix before he pulls almost all the way out, playing with short and fast thrusts against your g-spot. This was his major source of pride, having you drooling and stupid with lust under him, eyes rolling and nails digging into his back, clawing at his biceps, twisted in the sheets by your head while he rolls one of your nipples on his tongue.

The headboard slamming as you gush around his cock, the signal he needs to start thrusting in deeper to chase his own pleasure. Leaning back onto his heels and pressing your legs together, wrapping his arm around them and laying a kiss to your ankle. His red mouth panting as his hips slapped against yours. Your fingers dipping between your bodies to slap against your clit a couple times, the pleasure being too much. He pushes your hand out of the way, hand laying over your mons and thumb pressing against your clit, moving in tight circles.

“So fucking good for me baby.” A pant against your calf. “One more.” A groan, “Just one more.” You sob from the over-sensitivity as he brought you to one more orgasm, the towel laid out on the bed being put to good use as you squirt on his cock. His hips not relenting until you feel him cum, your legs shaking on his shoulders.

A kiss to your ankles. His hands massaging your legs as you come down. He lays himself on top of you, shifting your legs to wrap around his waist as he meets your lips once, twice, soft, “I love you.” And then with his head on your chest. You reason in that moment, and in every moment, that he was the best thing that ever happened to you.

Finding the club was the best thing that ever happened to you.

“You’re just so handsome.” Your hand on your fist, resting your elbow on the table, looking at him in admiration.

He grins around the lip of his coffee cup and softly massages your foot that was in his lap. The morning found you in the same diner as the night previous, enjoying what would be lunch for other people, but breakfast for the two of you.

“You’re just so beautiful.” His hand meeting yours on the table, a soft squeeze. “I love you.” Bringing his hand to your lips,

“I love you too.”

[mab1905]

More Fitzjames content? Yeah... here’s a playlist for ya’ll...

These are songs which I think describe him at different points in his character developement or simply different aspects of his personality. Somewhat James/Crozier (Fitzier) but all about James.

(25 songs, 1 hour 33 min)

Song List + Most Character-Relevant Lyrics:

Fancy — Orville Peck

We didn't have money for food or rent / To say the least, we was hard pressed / Then Mama spent every last penny we had / To buy me a dancin' dress / Mama washed and combed and curled my hair / And she painted my eyes and lips / Stepped into a satin dancin' dress / That had a slit in the side clean up to my hips / It was red velvet trim, and it fit me good / Starin' back from the lookin' glass / There stood a woman where a half-gown boy had stood / ... / It sounded like somebody else that was talkin' / Askin', "Mama, what do I do?" / She said, "Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy / They'll be nice to you" / "Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down / Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down / Lord, forgive me for what I do / But if you want out, well, it's up to you / Now don't let me down now / Your mama's gonna move you uptown"

gold rush — Taylor Swift

What must it be like / To grow up that beautiful? / With your hair falling into place like dominos / ... / At dinner parties / I call you out on your contrarian shit / And the coastal town / We wandered 'round had never / Seen a love as pure as it / And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea / 'Cause you know it could never be

The Name Of The Game — ABBA

Your smile, and the sound of your voice / And the way you see through me / Got a feeling, you give me no choice / But it means a lot to me / So I wanna know / What's the name of the game?

Spectrum — Florence + The Machine

And when we come for you / We'll be dressed up all in blue / With the ocean in our arms / Kiss your eyes and kiss your palms / And when it's time to pray / We'll be dressed up all in grey / With metal on our tongues / And silver in our lungs / ... / And when we come back we'll be dressed in black / And you'll scream my name aloud / And we won't eat and we won't sleep / We'll drag bodies from the ground / So say my name / And every colour illuminates / And we are shining / And we'll never be afraid again

Dreamy Bruises — Sylvan Esso

How can we question / What we knows feels right / Black eyes turn to marigolds / In the morning light / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / Shaken all over like some dogs at the pool / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / They’re kicken all the records over acting like they hanging water / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / Down in the basement where the sun don't show / Ohweeohweeoh kids movie so slow / Naked dollars wonder piles dreamy bruises rotten lovers / And they say I want you / To bend me back in two / To make me sing your tune / To make those words so smooth / Fill me like a song do

Wolf — Sylvan Esso

But no birds nor beast does he eat / He only wants the tenderest meat / And oh the sounds he makes them speak / Under all different patterns of sheets / ... / The modern wolf, the modern wolf / Drippin' in all the lives that he took / He'll go on home, try to wash them off / But when he shaves, he hears them call

Francis Forever — Mitski

On sunny days I go out walking / I end up on a tree-lined street / I look up at the gaps of sunlight / I miss you more than anything / I don't need the world to see / That I've been the best I can be, but / I don't think I could stand to be / Where you don't see me / And autumn comes when you're not yet done / With the summer passing by, but / I don't think I could stand to be / Where you don't see me

James — MGMT

James / If you need a friend / Come right over / Don't even knock / And I'll be home / The door is always open / And we both can say, "Who's laughing now?" / Oh, James / My little doll / You just go outside and you call / Oh, James / Oh, you're never too far off / If your fire's out / There's no need to shout / I'm always home / And walk on in / I'll make you tea and breakfast / And we both can say, "Who's laughing now?"

South London Forever — Florence + The Machine

I drive past the place that I was born / And the places that I used to drink / Young and drunk and stumbling in the street / Outside the Joiners Arm's like foals unsteady on their feet / With the art students and the boys in bands / High on E and holding hands with someone that I just met / I thought it doesn't get / Better than this / There can be nothing better than this / Better than this / And we climbed onto the roof, the museum / And someone made love in the glass / And I'd forgot my name / And the way back to my mother's house / With your black cool eyes and your bitten lips / The world is at your fingertips / It doesn't get better than this / What else could be better than this? / Oh, don't you know I have seen / I have seen the fields aflame / And everything I ever did / Was just another way to scream your name

Oh! You Pretty things — David Bowie

I think about a world to come / Where the books were found by the Golden ones / Written in pain, written in awe / By a puzzled man who questioned / What we work here for / All the strangers came today / And it looks as though they're here to stay / Oh You Pretty Things (Oh You Pretty Things) / Don't you know you're driving your / Mamas and Papas insane / Oh You Pretty Things (Oh You Pretty Things) / Don't you know you're driving your / Mamas and Papas insane / Let me make it plain / You gotta make way for the Homo Superior

Venus As A Boy — Björk

His wicked sense of humor / Suggests exciting sex / His fingers they focus on her and touches / He's Venus as a boy / ... / All across your lips, oh, then until / Well be that it's a little now, until / He believes in a beauty / He's Venus as a boy / He believes in a beauty and gentle

Winds Change — Orville Peck

Had a lover but I lost my patience / Gonna get a song on a radio station / Got a fire but you just can't use it / I don't mean no lies, baby, please don't lose it / Lost my way on the other side / I know why, I don't know when / From the way that we said goodbye / I knew I'd never see you again / Left my mind in the Salt Lake City / Met a lot of men who would call me pretty / Pack of reds, watch the days get colder / Don't it make you cry, how we're getting older?

Fluorescent Adolescent — Arctic Monkeys

Oh the boy's a slag / The best you ever had / The best you ever had is just a memory / And those dreams weren't as daft as they seem / Not as daft as they seem / My love, when you dream them up... / Flicking through a little book of sex tips / Remember when the boys were all electric? / Now when she's told she's gonna get it / I'm guessing that she'd rather just forget it / Clinging to not getting sentimental / Said she wasn't going but she went still / Likes her gentlemen not to be gentle / Was it a Mecca dauber or a betting pencil? / Oh the boy's a slag / The best you ever had / The best you ever had is just a memory / And those dreams weren't as daft as they seem / Not as daft as they seem / My love, when you dream them up / Falling about / You took a left off Last Laugh Lane / Just sounding it out / But you're not coming back again.

Cheerleader — St. Vincent

I've had good times / With some bad guys / I've told whole lies / With a half smile / Held your bare bones / With my clothes on / I've thrown rocks / Then hid both my arms / I've played dumb / When I knew better / Tried so hard / Just to be clever / I know honest thieves / I call family / I've seen America / With no clothes on / I don't know what I deserve / But for you I could work / Cause I don’t want to be a cheerleader no more

Queen Bitch — David Bowie

She's so swishy in her satin and tat / In her frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat / Oh God, I could do better than that / Oh, yeah / She's an old-time ambassador / Of sweet talking, night walking games / Oh and she's known in the darkest clubs / For pushing ahead of the dames / If she says she can do it / Then she can do it, she don't make false claims / But she's a queen and such a queen / Such a laughter is sucked in their brains / Now she's leading him on / And she'll lay him right down / Yes, she's leading him on / And she'll lay him right down / But it could have been me / Yes, it could have been me

Boys Keep Swinging — David Bowie

Heaven loves ya / The clouds part for ya / Nothing stands in your way / When you're a boy / Clothes always fit ya / Life is a pop of the cherry / When you're a boy / When you're a boy / You can wear a uniform / When you're a boy / Other boys check you out / You get a girl / These are your favorite things / When you're a boy / Boys / Boys / Boys keep swinging

Caterpillars (Of The Common Wealth) — Will Connolly

You know you'll always be my valentine / Now swear to god that you will never tell / They're streaming every indiscretion live / For caterpillars of the commonwealth / Gotta go / You can stay / Make yourself at home / Gotta go / This campaign / Don't run itself you know / You've got potential little parasite / I tie your hands so i can wish you well / Cuz i'm a gentleman and you are like / A caterpillar of the commonwealth / Gotta go / I said no / You need to know your role / Gotta go / I said no / It's all under control

Imposters (Little By Little) — The Fratellis

You wear your mask, I'll wear mine / They don't come cheap, but they fit just fine / You can be her and I can be him / We can both sink when the rest all swim / ... / We can pretend that our fates were entwined / A beautiful lie is the beautiful kind / Everybody knows that the sun still sets / And everybody gives and everybody gets / ... / I could be the one that you just can't shake / Till you swear that your eyes go blind / We can disappear till the sun burns a hole / In the life that we left behind

Sweet Painted Lady — Elton John

I'm back on dry land once again / Opportunity awaits me like a rat in the drain / We're all hunting honey with money to burn / Just a short time to show you the tricks that we've learned / If the boys all behave themselves here / Well, there's pretty young ladies and beer in the rear / ... / Forget us we'll have gone very soon / Just forget we ever slept in your rooms / And we'll leave the smell of the sea in your beds / Where love's just a job and nothing is said

Super Trouper — ABBA

Super trouper beams are gonna blind me / But I won't feel blue / Like I always do / 'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you / ... / So I'll be there when you arrive / The sight of you will prove to me I'm still alive / And when you take me in your arms / And hold me tight / I know it's gonna mean so much tonight

Babooshka — Kate Bush

She sent him scented letters / And he received them with a strange delight / Just like / His wife / But how she was before the tears / And how she was before the years flew by / And how she was when she was beautiful / She signed the letter / All yours...

Paris is Burning — St. Vincent

I write to give word the war is over / Send my cinders home to mother / They gave me a medal for my valor / Leaden trumpets spit the soot of power / They say, "I'm on your side / "When nobody is, 'cause nobody is / "Come sit right here and sleep / "While I slip poison in your ear" / We are waiting on a telegram / To give us news of the fall / I am sorry to report / Dear Paris is burning after all

Dream of Sheep — Kate Bush

Oh I'll wake up to any sound of engines / Every gull a seeking craft / I can't keep my eyes open / Wish I had my radio / I'd tune into some friendly voices / Talking 'bout stupid things / I can't be left to my imagination / Let me be weak, let me sleep and dream of sheep / Ooh, their breath is warm / And they smell like sleep / And they say they take me home / Like poppies, heavy with seed / They take me deeper and deeper

Hunger — Florence + The Machine

At seventeen, I started to starve myself / I thought that love was a kind of emptiness / And at least I understood then, the hunger I felt / And I didn't have to call it loneliness / ... / Tell me what you need, oh, you look so free / The way you use your body, baby, come on and work it for me / Don't let it get you down, you're the best thing I've seen / We never found the answer but we knew one thing / ... / And it's Friday night and it's kicking in / In that pink dress, they're gonna crucify me / Oh, and you in all your vibrant youth / How could anything bad ever happen to you? / You make a fool of death with your beauty, and for a moment / I forget to worry

[obxlife]

Cake and Buttercream (JJ x Reader)

A/N: This is the last request I have in my inbox and after this fic I’m going to start working on a project I have planned! Oh, and also, I’ll be writing more Kie and Pope fics too.

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Word count: 3,729

Request: Hi lovely😊please may I request a JJXreader with them baking, including the whole works; J bein an impatient little shit and sneaking the food before it’s ready, food fights, kisses while being*covered*in flour which ends with reader shoving more food in his face(cue food fight pt2)? I feel like J wouldn’t really help at all like he’s more of the sit on the counter and claims that taste-testing the food *is* helping? Could the reader be a kook if possible, please? Well done on ur test by the way!😊

Summary: Basically what the request says. It’s pure fluff of JJ annoying the reader while she tries to bake

Warnings: I think swearing…? Tbh, it’s just a lot of fluff

CAKE AND BUTTERCREAM

The table that was in the middle of the kitchen of the Chateau was covered in ingredients for the cake you were making. You loved baking, and it just so happened that Pope’s birthday was around the corner, so you were making him a vanilla buttercream cake. You had enlisted Kie to make sure he didn’t come anywhere near the Chateau that afternoon because you wanted the cake to be a surprise. As you had explained to John B before, even though Pope knew you were going to be baking something for him, you didn’t want him to know what you were baking.

JJ had promised to help you, stating that he was a loving boyfriend and that he wanted to just chip in on the work. You, however, knew that he couldn’t afford to buy a gift for his friend, so you were letting him in on the present you had planned. You also knew that JJ was a sucker for bothering you while you baked, and you knew for a fact that he was going to make a mess as soon as he arrived. You wouldn’t have it any other way though. JJ made baking a lot more fun. 

You had just taken the bowl out of the top shelf when JJ tore open the door of the house and tumbled into the kitchen. He perched himself on top of the counter and smiled at you. He rubbed his hands together before saying, “Tell me what to do, chef!”

You rolled your eyes at his antics but the smile on your lips didn’t fade. “Start by washing your hands. And then put an apron on.”

JJ groaned but listened to your instructions. He knew how much baking Pope’s cake meant to you, and he knew you wanted it to be perfect, so he complied with your demands. 

After placing the apron above his head he noticed you had taken the brand new bag of flour from the table and began to pour two cups of it into the bowl in your hands. He wrapped his hands around your waist and kissed your temple, before sticking his hand into the bag of flour and scooping some up. JJ pressed his hand into your face just as you were adding the extra fourth of a cup of flour to your altered recipe. 

The flour in your boyfriend’s hand reached your face and created a cloud around you. Some of the flour reached JJ’s shoulder as he laughed at you, tumbling away from your possible wrath.

“JJ!” you shrieked while laughing. You grabbed some flour into your hands and threw it at the blond boy, after making sure the bowl you were working on was safe. JJ managed to dodge most of what you threw at him, but he quickly realized that he was defenseless against you. After all, the recently opened bag of flour was in your right hand. 

“Babe, baby,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. He approached you slowly, afraid you might throw more flour at him. “Let’s call a truce.”

You rolled your eyes once again but put the flour down in acceptance. “Fine. And don’t mess around until the batter is done and in the oven, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” JJ nodded, mock saluting you. “What do we have to add to the batter?”

“Give me the baking powder and the salt please.”

JJ obliged to your commands, grabbing both ingredients from the table behind you. In the meantime, you took a whisk from the first drawer under the stove and placed it in the bowl. You watched as JJ opened both of the ingredients, and then rubbed his hand on his cheek, leaving some flour upon it. You smiled and dusted it off making him turn towards you.

“What?”

“You have flour on your face.”

JJ smiled and leaned down to kiss you. Your flour-dusted hands came up to grab his face, smiling into the kiss. After breaking apart, you noticed you left even more flower upon his cheeks than before, you giggled as he wrapped his hands around your body. 

“If you think my face has flour, you should see yours,” JJ muttered as he brought out a teaspoon from another one of the Chateau’s many kitchen drawers. 

“Is it two teaspoons or two and a half teaspoons of baking powder?” he asked as he was already putting one of the teaspoons into the bowl.

“Two and one fourth,” you told him while taking out three-fourths of a teaspoon of salt and placing it in the bowl. Once JJ added the correct amount of baking powder, you commanded him to whisk it all together. You took out another bowl to begin working on the rest of the ingredients. 

You grabbed onto the mixer that was placed on the table and put the paddle attachments in before plugging it into the wall. Then you took the soft butter (which you had left out all morning) and took three-fourths of a cup of it. You tossed that into the bowl before you and added a cup and a half of white granulated sugar. You began to mix them together with the mixer, causing JJ to whine that the noise was too loud and that he was tired of whisking the dry ingredients.

JJ dropped the utensil in his hand into the bowl and plugged his ears, hopping up on the counter for the second time that afternoon. His fingers were still in his ears as he watched you blend the ingredients together until they looked pale and fluffy. JJ wanted to stick his finger in and get a taste because it looked amazing, but he knew you would slap his hand away. So, just as you turned to grab the eggs, your boyfriend stuck his finger deep into the butter and sugar mix, sticking it in his mouth before you could turn around. 

You were holding the carton in your hands when you turned to see JJ licking his finger clean, and you playfully glared at him. 

“J, please let me finish the batter before you go sticking your finger in it.”

The boy smiled and hopped off from where he was, knowing that for the next part of the recipe you would need his help. 

As you always did when working together, JJ grabbed the mixer and placed its speed on low while you cracked three of the largest eggs into the bowl. You let them drop one at a time, making sure JJ completely mixed it into the rest of the ingredients before adding another. Once you finished with the eggs you placed the carton back onto the table. Grabbing onto the vanilla extract, you poured one and a half teaspoons into the bowl JJ was still mixing.

“My arm’s tired!” he began to whine. You sighed. JJ always did this when he was the one mixing the ingredients together. It always happened after he had been holding onto the mixer for around five minutes, and would complain. He somehow always managed to convince you to take over so that he could rest.

“Can you please take over for me, Y/N?” he tried to sweet talk you. It worked. Always.

“You’re such a baby!” you exclaimed as you took the mixer from his hands. JJ made a show out of shaking his arm, whining about how it felt like it was going to fall off. You knew he would soon begin to complain about how long of a process it was to make a cake. 

“J, I need you to help me by adding the dry ingredients and the cup of buttermilk. But alternate them, please! I know you always forget to do that.”

JJ opened the buttermilk and approached the bowl you were working on. He began to add a little bit of the dry ingredients and then he added some buttermilk. He continued to do this until you noticed he was adding too much of the flour all at once.

“J!”

He put the bowl down and looked at you as if you had startled him. He latched onto the buttermilk and began to add it to the mix while softly pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Sorry, I got distracted. You’re just too cute.”

Even though you and JJ had been dating for almost a year, you still blushed whenever he complimented you. So you weren’t surprised when your cheeks heated up at what he had just said. JJ smirked, knowing he still caused you to blush made him feel good about himself. You would always joke around and tell him he was just cocky.

Just as you were about to turn off the mixer, JJ said, “Why does this take so long?” You laughed, knowing that your previous predictions were right. You turned the machine off and placed a kiss to his lips, before saying, “We’re done with the batter.”

JJ tried to hold onto your waist and pull you into another flour-y kiss (you both hadn’t dusted off from before) but your hands pressed against his chest and went to latch onto the pan. Before dumping the mix into the pan, you dipped your finger in it and turned towards JJ.

“Want to try it?”

JJ nodded his head eagerly and closed his lips around your finger, enjoying the sweet taste of it. Then you turned to the counter again, and after buttering the pan, you let JJ dump all of the batter into it with the help of a spatula. You then placed it into the preheated oven, knowing you had thirty to thirty-five minutes to make the buttercream that was going to cover the cake. 

You grabbed all of the bowls you had used and put them inside of the sink, letting some water run over them before closing the tap. You would wash them later. You turned, looking for the spatula before realizing that JJ was licking it off. You giggled at him before raiding the kitchen to find another bowl. 

Once you did so, you grabbed onto the carton of eggs again and placed it next to the bowl. 

“JJ, can you bring me the trash can?” you asked your boyfriend. He did as he was told while you were cracking the first egg, not letting the yolk fall into the bowl.

“How do you do that?” JJ asked, curiosity lacing his voice. You laughed at him for the millionth time that day, and he blushed, a little embarrassed at his question. 

“When you crack the egg, you have to tilt it a bit so that the yolk doesn’t fall into the bowl. But since we want to get the most amount of egg white for the buttercream, we have to pass the yolk between the shells so that more of the white can drip down. See?”

As you spoke you were doing what you were explaining, knowing that JJ was a visual learner and was going to try to do it for himself. 

“Can I try?” he asked you. 

“Yeah, but get me a little Tupperware so that I can put the eggs yolks in.”

Following your orders, JJ fetched a little recipient to place the yolks and then grabbed onto an egg himself. You helped him through the process, instructing him on what to do and placing your hands over his if necessary. You liked how his tongue was sticking out of the side of his mouth in concentration, and you noticed that his brow was furrowed. You placed a kiss to his cheek as he dropped the shells into the trash and grabbed onto another egg. 

As he got through the eggs, which you told him had to be six in total, you grabbed onto the sugar and poured another cup and a half of it. You dumped that into the bowl as JJ was finishing with his last egg, and then you grabbed the mixer and began to blend the ingredients together. JJ wrapped his hands around your body as you worked, pressing soft kisses to the side of your face and your neck and letting his face rest on the crook of your shoulder. He liked watching you work and bake. It calmed him down, for some odd reason, so he tried to bake with you whenever he could.

When the mix was almost ready, you passed the mixer to JJ, ordering him not to stop. Then, you grabbed a pot and put about two inches of water in it, placing it above the stove and lighting a small flame beneath it. Once the water was simmering, you told JJ to stop mixing and bring the bowl to you. You placed it in the water and took the whisk that was on the counter. 

JJ watched as you mixed the eggs and the sugar until it was no longer grainy. He noticed how you had forgotten to place your candy thermometer in the bowl, and turned to get it from the kitchen. He had already seen you do buttercream so many times he was sure he knew the recipe by heart. He found the thermometer between the bag of flour and the bag of baking powder, grabbing it before thinking if he should throw more flour at you. 

Probably not a good idea right now, he told himself. JJ turned and placed the thermometer in the bowl, causing you to throw him a thankful glance. When the thermometer reached 160 ℉, you removed the bowl from the pot and began to mix the ingredients with the whisk until the meringue was stiff. 

“J, can you please turn the stove off?”

The blond followed through with your instructions. You then passed him the whisk and turned to cut some butter into cubes. Once you had two cups of that, you took the whisk in JJ’s hands and replaced it with the mixer. JJ groaned, knowing it was his time to mix, but you didn’t listen as you began to add the small cubes of butter into the bowl. Once you were done, JJ’s groaning had become so annoying that you replaced him behind the mixer, while asking if he could pour two teaspoons of vanilla extract into the bowl.

“This is taking so long,” he told you once he had finished helping. You continued whipping the mixture together, trying to make it smooth. “Why does it take so long?”

You sighed. “Good things take time, J.”

The blond only groaned louder. “That’s what you always say.”

“That’s because it’s true. Take us, for example.”

It was true. JJ was the best thing to happen to you, but it had taken you both two full years before you got together. There was a lot of denying feelings, jealousy, and crying during that time, but it led to the best thing that had ever happened to you. And to him as well.

“That is true,” JJ smirked while coming close to you again. You let him hug you to him, pressing your back into his chest just as you finished mixing. You unplugged the machine and turned in JJ’s arms so that you were facing him. 

“We’re almost done,” you whispered to him before pressing your lips to his. Just as you were getting into the kiss, you felt him dump a bunch of flour on top of you. 

Shooting your eyes open, you yelled, “JJ!” before grabbing some flour in your owns hands and pressing it against his face. He coughed a little but smiled, reaching for the carton of eggs. You knew this was going to lead to one of your classic food fights, and as much as you wanted to have fun with JJ, you needed to finish Pope’s cake.

“Babe, stop!” you pleaded, covering your head with your arms. “Let’s finish the cake first, please!”

JJ put the eggs down and scooped you up in his arms, smirking at your reaction. “It’s only two in the afternoon and you’re already begging.”

You smacked him on the chest before smiling. You turned to look at the table and saw the food coloring you brought. “What do you think we should draw on Pope’s cake?”

JJ pretended to think for a second before deadpanning, “A scholarship paper.”

This cost him another smack on the chest from you. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Okay, JJ, while you think of a real answer to my questions, let me take the cake out from the oven.”

As JJ began to think of what Pope may like, you began to cut the cake in half, creating two layers for the future cake. Then, you evened the top out and grabbed the platter where you were going to place it. You added a little buttercream to the bottom of the platter and placed the first layer on. Then, you grabbed a larger blob of buttercream and spread it out before placing the second layer on top. You began to work on the crumb coat while JJ remained quiet, still thinking about what Pope may like. 

You placed the cake into the fridge. You had to let it chill for twenty minutes before decorating it, so you decided you could begin washing the bowls and spoons you had used to make the cake. 

“How about we give it a cool design and make it look like marble?” JJ offered, knowing you were good at doing that. You nodded.

“But what about the top of the cake? I was thinking of drawing something on it.”

“How about we just write ‘Happy Birthday Pope’? He won’t care much about a drawing, really. Well, unless the drawing is Kie, he won’t care about it.”

You laughed as you began to raid the kitchen again. This time, you were looking for three smaller bowls and one bowl that was medium-sized. Once you had all of them, you separated a bit of buttercream into each one, leaving the largest amount of buttercream white. In the other bowls, you placed red dye, green dye, blue dye, and yellow dye. You began to mix them as JJ helped you, only catching the blond slipping his finger into the buttercream twice. You had smacked his hand away both times. 

JJ then sat back as you began to work on decorating the cake, admiring you from afar. He noticed how you were fussing under your breath about your baby hairs and trying to pull them back. He noticed how you seemed to bite your lips while you concentrated, he noticed how your eyes would scan every ridge of the cake while you tried to even it out. He noticed how your hands looked big while working with the small bags of icing but how they looked small while working with the larger ones.

This was why JJ liked helping you around the kitchen. He felt like your demeanor and ethic while working were calming, and he noticed things he had never noticed about you before. He liked watching you concentrate and dedicate your time to something as trivial as a cake, knowing that you did so because of the love you had for the person whose cake you were doing. And most of all, he enjoyed being with you. Deep down, JJ knew that you didn’t need any help in the kitchen and that you let him help only because he asked you to. You would make space for him to work even through his whining and complaining (although he mostly did that to rile you up).

“Hey,” JJ called out to you just as you placed the cake in the fridge again. “I love you.”

You would never get over the fact that JJ loved you. It was just baffling to you that someone like him, fun and charming and amazing, could love someone like you, small and boring and not much compared to other girls.

“I love you, too,” you told him as you took a seat on his lap. He wrapped his hands around your waist and dusted off the flour from your face. It was still there even an hour after he had thrown it at you. You both leaned in, kissing each other with passion and love. You melted into his arms, loving how they felt around you, his thumb brushing against the skin right above the hem of your shorts. Your hands were pressed against his chest, one of them playing with the shark-tooth necklace that was around his neck. 

All of a sudden, you felt something crash against your head before a slimy liquid was dripping down the front of your face. 

“JJ!” you shrieked realizing that he had cracked an egg over your head. He laughed as he tried to wipe the liquid off from your face. In anger, you grabbed onto whatever ingredient you had bought and threw it on him. The bottle of vanilla extract was open, luckily for you, and you drenched your boyfriend’s chest with it. 

He pretended to be mad but laughed as he grabbed onto the sugar and the flour and threw it upon you. However, he was still underneath you, which meant that all of the ingredients he had poured on you were falling on top of him as well. 

Your food fight continued for only a few more minutes, only stopping when you realized how dirty the floor of the Chateau was.

“We should clean up,” you muttered to JJ. He whined and leaned forward to kiss you again, not wanting to move at all. You smiled softly into the kissed and pushed your boyfriend back. 

“C’mon,” you told him while standing up. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

As you turned towards the bathroom and turned the water on, you looked back to JJ. He had a broom in his hand and was sweeping the floor. 

“I thought I said ‘let’s get cleaned up’.”

JJ only tuned towards you, confusion dancing around in the pool of his eyes. 

“Do I have to spell it out? I want to take a shower with you!”

JJ’s eyes widened, dropping the broom and almost falling down as he tried to make his way to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and pressed you against the counter. 

You spent much more time in the shower than you did cleaning up the kitchen.

[kiara-carrera]

[ COMFORT ] - noticing that the receiver has received terrible news, sender offers them a hug as a means of comforting them during this difficult time. + your choice!!!

took the prompt as a loose suggestion because it’s not necessarily bad news, but it’s a hug of comfort soooo

comfort: abby + kiara

The Kook Academy was a vicious jungle, but Kiara had learned too late that Sarah Cameron was an apex predator.

Top of the food chain, she was the untouchable, the princess of the Kooks. The Kook Academy lived and breathed as a hierarchy of power and Sarah was at the top. They weren’t even seniors yet and still, the will of the people around them always seemed to undoubtedly bend in her favor. It wasn’t hard to see why. Sarah was gorgeous, effortlessly beautiful even on her worst days. And she knew how to fake a smile, how to play the perfect student, the perfect daughter, the perfect friend.

The perfect best friend.

But it was all a lie and Kiara had found herself stuck in the middle of all of it, like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

Kie had been a fish out of water when freshman year had started. She didn’t fit in. She’d gone to the public elementary and middle schools, away from the elitism of the schools where Figure Eight residents sent their kids. But when it came down to it, she’d always been different than her friends, no matter how badly she wanted to just be a Pogue. She’d always be in the middle, a foot in both worlds, a rich kid who “slummed it” on the south side of the island. But that was how she liked it and in hindsight that was how she should have kept it.

But her parents had shipped her off to the private high school and she’d been off balance ever since. Sarah Cameron had been a life preserver when she had been drowning and next to Sarah, Kiara’s life had shifted. She’d isolated herself from her old friends, but she had Sarah.

She had the popularity, the friends, the parties, the never ending stream of feeling like she was on top of the world.

Until Sarah promptly kicked her off the very same pedestal she’d allowed her to perch on for all those months.

As she finished up in the bathroom, alone during her free period, she was reminded of just what kind of a fucking pathetic 2000′s teen movie nightmare she was living in.

Kiara Carrera's a rat! was scribbled on the stall door in bright pink sharpie, alongside multiple crude drawings, a few phone numbers whose owners probably had no idea they were there, and a mention of some guy in the grade above her having crabs. 

TMI, Kiara thought, nose scrunched in disgust.

But mostly, her eyes kept straying back to that one word, that one name that had been tacked onto her name since Sarah’s birthday. 

She figured there were worse things she could be called, but it was the principle of the situation. It had been months now. Kiara had figured that in a school like the Kook Academy, a party being broken up by the cops would have been old news by now. But when fingers had been pointed and she’d been labeled as the snitch, apparently the situation blowing over hadn’t been in the cards. 

Like, okay, sure, she technically was the one who called the cops. But no one knew that and she’d just had the crime pinned on her anyways because Sarah fucking Cameron refused to do anything about it. And what was she supposed to do? It was bad enough that Sarah had already iced her out. Kiara had been ghosted for weeks before her birthday and then the rager unfolding at Tannyhill had been all over Instagram. It was just more salt in the wound and Kiara’s jealousy had won over.

And now, she supposed, she was paying the price.

Sophomore year was like a wound that refused to heal, aching over and over again. Her distance from her newfound friends was colossal and her “Kook year” was one for the books. It was still technically ongoing, but she was back to being a fish out of water in this callous fucking school, her only reprieve coming at night and on weekends when she could fall back into the fold of Pogue life now that she’d finally gotten her old friends, her real friends, to forgive her.

But the incessant name calling, the writing on the walls, the near total isolation for eight hours a day, five days a week? A couple hours with the Pogues wasn’t enough to combat that and Kiara felt bitter, hot, angry tears stinging the back of her eyes as she shouldered her way out of the stall.

“Stupid fucking Kooks,” she muttered under her breath as she reached the sinks. Annoyance flooding through her, she aggressively began washing her hands, glancing up to look in the mirror after a few moments.

She could finally recognize herself again, the way she hadn’t been able to all those months playing make believe with Sarah and her fake friends, but she wasn’t happy here. Nothing at this godforsaken, elitist, fascist school made her happy except —

In the mirror behind her, the bathroom door burst open. “Oh, Kie, hey!”

Abigail Mitchell practically floated into the room with ease, a smile on her lips. She was in the middle of pulling her dark hair back with a brightly colored scrunchie, the red color matching the strawberry earrings dangling from her ears. Her eyes, those impossibly blue eyes that always reminded Kie of the ocean, only seemed to brighten at the sight of her friend.

Friend.

Where Sarah had been a momentary life preserver, Abigail Mitchell had been a saving grace, waltzing into Kiara’s life at the Kook Academy in the eleventh hour, right when she’d gone from top of the heap to team reject. Kiara had been hesitant, resistant even, to making another friend on this side of the island but  Abby was ... different, to say the least.

Like most of Figure Eight residents, she came from old money and she was on friendly-ish terms with some of the Kooks but the difference was all in the perspective. Despite the outward appearance and the obnoxiously large mansion she lived in, Abby had lived on the Cut for seven years before her mother died and she was shipped off to live with her grandparents. For seven years, she had known the world that Kiara had one foot in.

And although it had been years since her grandparents gained custody of her, most of Figure Eight still saw Abby as the outsider with the flighty mom. Good enough to converse with at school and at functions because of her status as a Mitchell, but not good enough for anything else, apparently. She learned how to play the part, to look the part, to make paper thin “friendships” with those around her, but Kie had been lucky enough to actually get to know the real Abby — the girl that Abby was and longed to be.

Even though they hadn’t been friends long, Kie just knew that Abby fully got what it was like to be on the outside, never truly fitting in, and not having a desire to fit in. From the picture Abby had painted for Kie, she’d never really had any real friends here, had never been able to see eye to eye with any of the facades the people around them liked to meticulously maintain.

And when Kiara had been kicked to the curb, Abby had been the only one show her actual, real kindness. Abby just ... got her, and after what Kiara had gone through, there was nothing more comforting than someone who just understood.

“Hey yourself,” Kiara mumbled, forcing a smile on her face as she finished washing hands, shaking them dry into the sink. She tried to make the expression look genuine as she turned to face Abby, although the effort was in vain.

Her lack of a good mood was apparently noticeable at the drop of a hat, a frown working its way onto Abby’s face. “Are you okay?”

Unconsciously, Kiara’s eyes flickered to the stall.

Abby caught Kiara’s glance at the stall, her brows knitting together in confusion. Her gaze shifted between the door and Kie for a moment, wheels turning in her mind, putting the pieces together. 

“Oh, come on,” she mumbled under her breath, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder as she marched over.

“Abby —”

Before Kiara could even finish her sentence, Abby had the door open, eyes locked on the words defacing it.

“This shit’s still going on?” Abby cursed, turning around on her heel to look at Kie in question. But her annoyance wasn’t directed at her, Abby’s eyes flitting to the ceiling as she continued, “I swear to God, everyone at this school has the mentality of a badly written teen soap villain.”

Kiara shrugged, rolling her eyes. “I’m used to it, everyone here hates me, I’ve gotten the memo.”

She wasn’t fine, but there was no way she was about to sob in the bathroom like a three year old just because a bunch of assholes who flaunted daddy’s credit card everywhere wanted to have her name in their mouths constantly. And not in front of Abby, especially not in front of her.

Kiara wasn’t really sure what it was about Abby that made her so comfortable and on her toes all at once. Sarah had royally fucked with her view of friendship outside of John B, JJ, and Pope, and she spent most days waiting for the other shoe to drop, to become the punchline of another joke, for Abby to ghost her too.

But then Abby would give her that look, that soft little look like the one she wore right now and the world would seem slightly less bad. Abby took short, quick steps over to the sinks, holding out an almost hesitant hand to Kiara. She looked nervous almost, like Kiara was going to bat it away, but the tension in her shoulders dropped when Kiara accepted.

Two warm, soft palms met in the middle, a jingle of multiple bracelets on either wrist as soft expressions were on either face. Their eyes locked for a moment before Abby was gently tugging her in, wrapping her arms around Kiara in a comforting embrace. Kiara’s eyes squeezed shut as the sting of tears bit at the edges of her sight as the shorter girl tightened the hug just a little more.

“Hey, look,” Abby said after a moment. She slipped loose from the hug, hands drifting up to hold onto Kiara’s shoulders, giving her a stern look. “Fuck ‘em. No one at this school is worth your time, okay?”

You are, Kie thought absentmindedly. She didn’t say that, though, the words stationary on the tip of her tongue. It was a bold statement, a heavy statement, not one for a newly blossoming friendship. But it was the truth, whether she said it out loud or not.

A small, yet vibrant smile broke out on Kiara’s face as she repeated, “Fuck ‘em.”

“That’s my girl!”