#i have fucked up my ankle playing baseball

[of-a-toast-and-tea]

*

[sillymicox3]

The Savannah Kids Headcanons (Mostly stupid or smth)

-It would be a funny thing if Aiden were to drive a car the others would be scared to death because of Aiden's recklessness.

-At some point Logan and Ash are comfortable with each other that Logan can freely go in Ash's house. Mike and Emma don't mind it and they welcome him like he's also their child.

-Whenever there's thunderstorms Ashlyn would be under her blankets with her noise cancelling headphones on and would say to herself "I'm a teenager, I'm not a child so I'm not going to my parents" only to find herself cuddled up to her parents 1 minute later.

-Speaking of thunderstorms the twins also can't handle them and would go to their mother.

-Whenever Logan wants to visit Ash at midnight he would text her and the first thing he says is 'knock knock I know you're in there come out now'. At some times Ashlyn would mistaken him as a hacker that knows her address so now she has a bat on her side of the bed and would carry it when Logan messages her. (Sometimes would hit Logan, but Logan would dodge it because it's becoming a routine)

-When Tyler and Ashlyn get mad at each other the others form a circle around them and bet who's going to win the battle.

-Ashlyn and Logan once found a dog. Whenever Aiden tries to recklessly play with it Ashlyn beats the shit out of him mentally. Logan tries to set it free because it kept on shitting.

-Speaking of dogs since Logan keeps on forcing Ash to watch horror movies, as a payback she let's loose a random stray dog in Logan's room and the dog ended up shitting next to Logan.

-Ashlyn has a soft spot for dogs. Whenever she's infuriated at Aiden he would pull out a random picture of a puppy and she would go "aww". It's Aiden's only chance of living.

-When Aiden plays monopoly he would laugh like a mad man every time he does something. He also used the money as a fan to give "rich kid vibes".

-They share the same playlist. Aiden would add questionable songs and Taylor or Tyler would be the ones to remove them to save the other's innocence (if they have one).

-When Tyler's angry as fuck he would use a nearby object no matter how heavy it is as a weapon and would throw it at someone. If he can't, he'll destroy it. If he can't then he'll use his shoe (inspired by a fellow classmate of mine)

-As a child when Aiden was home alone he would jump down the stairs to feel adrenaline and when he broke one of his ankles he would walk it off (based on a true story of mine ig)

-When the gang was hanging out in Ash's house Ashlyn once let out a loud, blood curling, ear piercing scream. Only because there was a snake in the kitchen.

-Ben and Taylor are scared of My Little Pony because Aiden showed them those MLP infected slideshows on tiktok.

-When Tyler first played baseball he accidentally threw the bat when he tried to hit the ball and the ball ended up hitting his nose.

Yeah that's all ig. They're pretty stupid and inaccurate.

[luveline]

OK THE STEVE ZOMBIE AU BUT HE DOES FINALLY MIRACULOUSLY FIND ROBIN OR MAYBE DUSTIN OR LITERALLY ANYONE FAMILIAR. Our girl is happy but also like 👀 u finna ditch me now?

theres literally no zombies in this lmao </3 apocalypse au with new (but not really) boyfriend steve wherein you reunite with some old friends and find a community (and worry steve is gonna break up w u) fem!reader 7k words

The border between Indiana and Michigan is quiet. Nothing denotes its location besides a Welcome to Indiana sign. 

Steve's hand tightens around yours. You stand there for minutes, wind breezing past your tired bodies and ruffling his limp hair. 

"Do you think this is our last time seeing Indiana?" you ask quietly. 

There's no need to shout. The town surrounding the border is abandoned. 

He drops your hand. You miss his touch and the soothing effect it gives to hold it immediately. 

"Maybe," he says. "Does that bother you?" 

It fucking scares you. Staying there wasn't really an option anymore, not with the infestation of geeks dribbling away from Indianapolis or the lack of food. And besides that, you'd wanted to get to Michigan badly. Steve and his friend Robin had been planning to come here together before their untimely separation. Half of Hawkins had been aiming for Michigan after the news broke all those months ago — Illinois, Ohio, and Kentucky overrun by flesh-eating monsters. 

But if you leave Indiana, you're admitting it's a lost cause. That the lives you led there are gone, candles snuffed out by a sudden ripping gale. 

"I just…" You look over your shoulder at Michigan. "Can't believe we're here." 

"I think I'm glad we're here." 

You cock your head toward him. 

"Not just to find Robin," he clarifies. "But, no offence? Indiana was kicking your ass." 

You grimace at his implication. Indiana was kicking your ass. You've rolled your ankle more times than you can count. You'd fallen ten feet through the floor and given yourself a major concussion. You've been snarled at, robbed at knifepoint, and almost eaten. 

"Fucking Indiana," you say. 

"Fuck Indiana." He turns on his heel, but not before he's wrapped a hand around your arm to drag you with him. "Michigan better be nice to my girl, or we're going to Canada." 

You've already let him walk you a couple of feet when you have the bearings to splutter, "Your girl?" 

He ignores you, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips. You’re pretty confident in being his girlfriend, but something about being ‘his girl’ makes your head rush.

You'd found a gun a little ways back but no ammunition for it. It's a good prop regardless, so Steve keeps it in hand stuffed into the pocket of his windbreaker ready to scare off anyone with enough wits to find guns scary. You're sitting ducks otherwise, armed with one small penknife and the metal baseball bat that Steve keeps in the strap of his rucksack, so you stick to the side roads. Being out in the open is risky. You're used to this mode of living, adept at slinking and skulking in dimly dark places. 

"Steve?" you ask, a murmur in the ringing quiet. Cicadas chirp in the trees, leaves rustling with each burst of wind. 

"Yeah?" he asks shortly, distracted by the door in front of him. 

He's attempting to pick the lock of a convenience store's sidedoor. You're standing guard.

"Where do you think Robin is?" 

He doesn't answer for a while. He works a delicate job, the slim pick in his hand creaking formidably with every wrong move. He's too forceful, and you're the better locksmith, but your wrist still twinges from your fall in the woods a few days ago. Steve's too protective for his own good. 

"I don't know. But she's smart, and-" He hisses, hair falling into his eyes. "I'm hoping she's still here." 

"If I were her, I'd wait for you." 

He tips his head back to meet your eyes. "If you ever stay somewhere dangerous waiting for me, I'll fist fight you." 

Usually you'd burst into laughter at his familiar abrupt absurdity — you've grown to adore his jokes now that you know there's no real malice behind them — but you want him to hear what you're saying. You want to know if he'd do the same. 

"I would," you say softly. 

The lock clicks open. 

Steve grins at you. "You won't need to. You're stuck with me like glue." 

Inside of the store is a sorry sight. While the shutters had been down, a good sign, the interior is much less promising. Sunshine filters in through the smallest cracks, casting a scarce light over what's left of the aisles. Two are crushed to one side as if a huge hand has swept them away. Smashed booze bottles litter the floor. Glass like snow crunches underfoot, and a sticky sour smell is heavy in the air. 

You ease into the room on pins. 

"There's gotta be something," Steve says, pulling his pocket-sized torch out to give you a better view. 

Where the shelves have collapsed, there's a small tunnel to the front of the room. You bend down to assess it. 

"I think there's cookies over there." 

"Where?" Steve demands. You point to aforementioned treats.

He army crawls through the gap and pops out on the other side. Those few seconds where you can't see him are unsettling, and from the speed with which he looks at you, he may have felt the same. 

"Keep an eye out," he says. 

You turn to the door. You've closed it tight but it won't lock without a key, and anyone might assume what you have and come inside. 

Steve hisses an excited, "Yes!" 

"How'm I s'posed to keep watch when you're doing that?" 

"Babe, there's fucking Chips Ahoy." He loves them.

"I'm sick of Chips Ahoy," you mumble to yourself. "I miss carrots. And potatoes. I miss pasta. Pasta." 

"Should I be jealous?" 

"Definitely. I'd trade you for a full, home-cooked meal any day, handsome. Fresh made pasta, sun dried tomatoes. Garlic bread." You could cry thinking about it, all those rich flavours together. 

"Call me crazy, but I think we could make you some pasta. Look-" He holds up a small jar. "Crushed garlic." 

You brighten. "Where'd you find that?" 

Garlic is a great flavour to make literally anything taste better, like all the canned stuff people don't always take: artichoke hearts, asparagus, aubergine. 

"Holy shit, score.” Steve holds another tin up, torch held between his chest and his upper arm. 

Your eyes turn round as saucers. 

That night, you decide to stay in the convenience store. You'll be cornered if somebody tries to get in, but you'll be safe from geeks and the elements. Two out of three isn't bad. 

You and Steve share the only fork, chowing down on his amazing find of tinned vegetable soup and dumplings. It barely registers in your head that it's cold, it's so nice to be eating something that isn't spaghettios. You could've built a fire outside to warm it if you weren't scared of being spotted by scroungers. Or worse, cannibals. 

"Maybe we should go outside. Look for smoke," you say. Smoke means people.

"Good idea.” He urges you to take what's left of the soup, stands, and kisses the top of your head as he does.

You're pretty sure there's bliss like the light of a star radiating off of your skin, elated at his easy affection. You're almost as happy to get to finish the soup. 

While he's gone, you open your bag and scrounge for what little self-care you have. Toothpaste is abundant in every store no matter how looted, as is soap, but soap needs water, and you're running low. You brush your teeth with toothpaste alone and use a little bit of water on a rag to wipe the oil off of your face, guilty and thankful at once. If you don't wash yourself when you can, you'll go crazy. 

You apply another layer of roll on old spice and hope it'll hold out until you can find another lake, river, or tributary, which shouldn't be impossible. Michigan is surrounded by water, a fact that had put you off coming here at first. 

You go where Steve goes, though, so Michigan it had been, and Michigan it is. 

Your first night’s already proved fruitful. There's more than enough food here if you're willing to get weird (and you and Steve usually are). More food than you could carry. 

Which is a little suspicious, now that you think about it. 

Nobody thought to look here? 

Is there anybody to look? 

You push all your stuff aside and scramble onto your knees, suddenly paranoid. Steve's taking too long, what if this place is a trap? A honeytrap to lure in mindless ants. What if they've already grabbed him, and– 

"Oh, Jesus," Steve says as he opens the door, voice uber loud in the night time stillness. "You scared me. What's the matter, need to pee?" 

"I thought somebody kidnapped you," you say, trying for joking and missing by a mile. 

Steve leans against the door. He's regained his controlled volume and demeanour, "Safe and sound. I'm serious, do you need to pee?" 

You and Steve pad out your corner of the store against the pilfered chip aisle. He lets you use his chest as a pillow, and when he turns off the torch there's nothing to do but listen to his breathing and feel his chest move under your ear. 

You rub his sternum with the heel of your hand. "You could use me as a pillow sometime. If you wanted to." 

"Yeah? You're softer than me, I think I'd love that." 

You draw a short line to his navel, thinking. Lucky to have found him. Lucky to like him this much, and lucky that he likes you. You're 'his girl', and you get to sleep on his chest and sometimes when he's not worrying himself to the bone he'll tell you secrets. You know him better than you’ve ever known anybody.

He curls his arm around your shoulder and takes your upper arm into his hand, the heat from his fingers seeping into your skin. You've taken off your coat because it's uncomfortable. Steve will fold it over your chest when you fall asleep. 

"It was a good day, right?" He sounds terrified of jinxing it. 

You kiss his chest, or his t-shirt, so lightly he likely doesn't feel it. A kiss for your sake rather than his. "It was a good day." 

He holds you close. His heart thrums in your head. 

"Floor's like a fucking ice cube," he mutters. 

You cover as much of him as you can with your arms, sleep tugging at your eyelids. "I'll keep you warm," you promise as they close. "Wake me up when you get too tired." 

"Alright." He massages your arm in his hand gently, and you fall asleep. 

—

Steve flinches awake at the whisper of a sound outside. A younger Steve, one who'd known nothing about geeks, or people, really, how awful they can be, wouldn't have woken. Hell, Steve could've slept through a hurricane when he was in high school, all those years where he'd stayed up too late playing hooky and smoking Malboro's behind the Big Buy. He looks back now and wonders how much sleep he missed out on in his king-sized mattress, up to his eyeballs in cushy sheets and fresh linens. Why had sleeping felt like such a chore? 

And after that, when he and Robin would stay up watching shitty movies and eating the free stale popcorn from the video store. Though he wouldn't trade any of that away. 

Fucking idiot, he thinks to himself scathingly. He was not supposed to fall asleep. He checks you over quickly. In your sleep you've slid off of his chest and onto the tarp next to him, but you’re unharmed.

He sits up and scrambles for his penknife. Weak dusk light breaks through the store's shutters, dust motes disturbed by his movements diving between rays of light like lightning bugs. His joints click with the force and speed with which he springs up to protect you. 

What sound was that? It had come as loud as a crack of thunder, but could've been something small, a squirrel over a tree branch. 

He should wake you up. If it's one person, even two, you could help him. But if it's more, and they find you… 

He shoulders open the door and walks out into the morning light. 

— 

You wake to hands on your shoulders. 

You're scared instantly. Steve usually wakes you reluctantly, a shake and a whispered, "Up," or, "Up, baby," if he's especially tired. 

"It's me," he says, his voice burning with something you haven't ever heard before. "It's me. Time to wake up." 

You peel your eyes open, horrified at the sight above you. Steve face hovers over your own with his hair tucked behind his ears and a blazing smile, daylight behind him haloing him in gold. 

"You didn't wake me." You bring clumsy hands to his rough cheeks. "Why didn't you wake me? You look so tired." 

He looks electrified, the bags under his eyes no match for his smile. You can feel it as he leans down, as he plants a kiss firmly to your unsuspecting mouth. He kisses you all over, a joyous chuckle bubbling out between them. 

You laugh yourself, tickled as his stubble scratches your cheeks, your neck as he works his way down. 

"There's- There's people," he says. "My people. Fucking Robin-" 

"What?" 

You're a half inch from headbutting him unconscious. Luckily he's already veering upward, stuffing what you'd left on the ground back into your packs. 

"I haven't seen her yet, but there's this other girl we went to school with, Darcy Mulligan, and she said this is an outpost, right? They keep all this shit here for people who need it, and then they watch to see if you're dangerous-" 

"They were watching us?" 

He plows onward, ignoring you, "And they saw us and I went out thinking they were gonna shoot me but-" 

"Steve, we can't go with these people." 

His smile fades a little. "No, we aren't. I told them already, we aren't that stupid. But," — he grabs your arm — "they said they're gonna bring Robin." 

You don't want to keep fighting him. To shoot down this newfound hope, this lightness you've never seen him shine with before, feels cruel. But you don't want him to get ahead of himself. 

"What if they're bringing back reinforcements?" 

He swallows and nods, reassuring your conjectures. "Right, I thought that too, but- I don't know, baby, Darcy was with a guy, and they both had guns. They could've shot me. 'N' if they were empty, the guy could've just knocked me over the head with it, you know?" He crawls impossibly closer than he'd been, hands rubbing your arm unthinking. "I think this is real." 

I want it to be real goes unsaid. 

You're ashamed that you can't find any excitement to wear with him. Dread licks over your skin as you smile at him, as you cup his cheek in your hand, and as you stand up to help him pack away his things. You feel like you're going to your death. 

Steve can read you well. He grabs your shoulders. You're selfishly hoping he'll say you can run. He doesn't. "You trust me?" he asks. 

You deflate, shoulders falling. "Of course I do." 

"Thank you." He tries to pull you in for a hug but you're reeling, distracted, he has to persuade you, and he does so sweetly. "Hey, c'mere, come on." He pulls at you. "Come here." 

You flop into his chest with all the grace of a shored fish, arms limp. He smells like sweat which probably means you do too, but he smells like himself, and that's what's important. 

"Nothing bad is going to happen to you." 

"What about you?" 

"If Robin's here, I have to take the risk. She's my best friend." 

You understand that. You'd never ask him not to do this, because you'd do it for him. If you'd ever gotten separated, you'd spend months looking for him. Years, maybe. He's the only person left. 

You have no clue if he'd do the same for you.

He scrubs at your back roughly. Such a boyish kind of hug. 

"You have your knife?" he asks. 

You have it. Rather than let them corner you in here, you both make your way out into the woods. Steve shows you the short path he'd taken to find Darcy Mulligan and the man she'd been with, evidence of their stakeout left in the embers of a small fire. You stand frozen with a tree trunk to your back and Steve stations himself in front of you, pack secured on your back. Steve has his baseball bat in hand. What good will it serve against a possible group of gunmen? You start to panic, really panic, and you're a hair's width from begging him to run with you when his grip on the bat falters. 

"Fuck," he says softly. 

Three people turn the corner; a dark haired girl with twin pigtails and a rifle hanging at her side; a boy, presumably the man Steve had mentioned; and a shorter girl with light brown hair, her expression — her entire body — lit with happiness, elation, and her laugh loud enough to prove it. 

"Holy shit," Steve says. 

You forget to be scared. You forget to worry. Steve lets the baseball bat drop out of his hand, and then he's taking three weak steps forward to meet her, and that's it, it's her, Robin throws her arms around his neck and nearly barrels him to the ground. His hands come up to meet her. He's shaking so hard you're surprised he can grip her waist, his face crushed to the side of her head. 

Tears well in your eyes. To get to see this, so soon, when you'd thought maybe Steve might never see his best friend ever again, is a blessing. It's a fucking miracle. 

Your tears bite back when the boy moves forward and hugs him too. 

You tighten your grip on your knife and pull it from your pocket, confused and alarmed that Steve's about to get gutted, but Steve starts to shake worse. 

It takes you a second to realise he's crying. 

"Henderson," he says. 

Oh. It's Dustin. You've heard enough stories about him to know it. He has the same curly hair, and while he's taller than you'd thought, Steve had only ever talked about one Henderson. 

Steve's relief is a knot in your throat. You wipe your cheek quickly with the back of your hand and shove the knife into your pocket. 

Over their heads, the dark haired girl narrows her eyes at you. 

"I can't believe you're here," Steve says, voice raspy with emotion. 

You have never heard him cry. 

"Where have you been, Steve?" Robin asks hoarsely. 

You take a step toward him without thinking, and he hears it despite everything and looks up at you with a teary-eyed smile. 

"We got lost," he says, holding your gaze. 

"Lost? It's been months. We thought you were zombie mulch, you shithead." 

"I'm here, aren't I?" He rolls his eyes at you, like he's saying Get a load of this guy? 

It's a reassuring gesture even if he doesn't mean for it to be. You're still a team. 

"Hi," Robin says, her hands clasped in Steve's shirt, but her attention fully yours. "I'm Robin." 

You don't have a chance to introduce yourself. Steve does it for you, and he says, "She's my girl. Saved me this entire time." 

What the fuck does that mean?

Robin looks at you again. "No fucking way." 

"Only took an apocalypse for Steve to get a girlfriend," Dustin says. 

There's something about their playful arguing that makes you want to cry again. It's the relief they've padded it with. You can imagine how brilliant it must feel to make fun of somebody you'd thought long dead. 

"Don't worry, Y/N," Robin says gravely, "there are tons of dudes at camp. You have options." 

Steve steps on her foot. 

"We should head back," Darcy says shortly. 

On the walk, Steve feels very far away. He keeps looking at you to check you're there, but his thoughts are months ago, recounting the details of your survival to his friends in short. You and Steve had been together since basically the very start when you'd saved him from a horde, and he tells that with pride. So much so you feel heat blooming behind your neck and at the tips of your ears. 

"We fucking floored to to the meeting point but you guys weren't there-" 

"Sorry-" 

"No, it's okay," he says. "I get it. It was rough." All of you shiver at the memory. Hawkins had been hit hard, a close knit town with nowhere to hide.

"No we- we should’ve fucking waited- I begged them to wait," Robin says. 

"Who did you get out with?" 

And there's the list of survivors. It's short. The amount of orphaned kids is extremely depressing, and for a while there's silence. All those people. Dustin's mom, Robin's dad. 

"Hopper's here, though," Dustin adds after a while.

"That explains why you're still alive." 

"Actually, dickhead, we're alive because I'm awesome. The radio-" 

"How many people are there?" Steve interrupts. 

"It's a whole new world, Harrington." 

It's better. 

You turn onto what looks like an old college campus and suddenly, there's people. So many people you walk backward and almost tumblr off of the curb, because fuck. There's noise, and smells, and sounds. There are little kids running around in a closed off area of the quad, laughing and chasing after one another. There are guns on guards patrolling makeshift walls. 

Your ears start ringing. 

"Think your girlfriend's gonna pass out," Darcy says. 

You're the last one to figure out she's talking about you. 

"Oh, hey. Hey," Steve says, stepping toward you. 

You take another step back. 

"Baby," he says softly. 

"There's people here." 

"So many new boyfriend's to choose from," he jokes. He's tentative, but he offers his hand like he knows you'll take it. "Come on. I promise I won't get jealous when you run off with somebody cooler." 

"I don't want somebody cooler," you say. 

"Okay, awesome, 'cause I was lying. I'd be super jealous. I'd feed myself to the geeks." 

"Don't say that." 

He grins at you, hand hovering in the gap between your bodies unwavering. Trust me, it says. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. 

You take Steve's hand. 

—

The world is more than you and Steve against it. There are people to answer to. 

Chief Hopper actually recognises you when he sees you. He recognises Steve first, and he gives him a pat on the back. You aren't expecting any hellos, figuring you're barely a memory to him, but Hopper smiles at you like you've just told him you have the antidote for zombification in your rucksack. 

"It's good to see you, kid."

That night, in the dining hall, you get a small welcome between shift announcements. Hundreds of heads turn your way, and while some house cagey unsurety, the majority are happy to see you. 

You sit with Steve and his friends (plural, a growing number, because nearly all of them are here), torn between stopping him from crying his eyes out with happy tears and listening to the older woman sitting beside you. Her name is Mallory, and she offers a generous gift. 

"You have any questions at all, sweetpea, and you can come to me. Or if you just wanna talk, my shoulder's right here." She pats it for emphasis. 

"Thank you so much." But, you want to say, I have Steve.

"Young love, and in a time like this." Mallory's smile is genuine, if a little haunted. "It's amazing." 

You indulge her, turning from Steve just slightly. "But?" 

She brushes a strand of hair behind her ears. It's three colours, a faded red at the middle, a mix of grey and brown at the top. "Listen, I have some unsolicited advice for you hon, but I'm not trying to offend you when you just got here." 

You shake your head. "No," you say hurriedly, "of course not. I wouldn't think that." 

She digs around in her pocket and opens her hand covertly under the table. When you look at it, she hisses. "No, don't. Keep your eyes up." 

You right your gaze accordingly. The canteen is simply that — the college's canteen. Every night there's something cooking, and every morning if they can afford it. Although you'd been told some people eat at home, most people come here, because this is the only place with a reliable generator. From where you're sitting, you can see everybody, and you suspect Steve had chosen this vantage point on purpose. 

Hopper stands at the front of the room behind another man, who's moved from the important stuff and is now lamenting at the book club's low attendance. They have a fucking book club. You can't believe it. 

Mallory drops something into your hand. A hard-boiled candy.

"My advice," she says, the two of you watching as Hopper and the second man confer, "is to try and be in both worlds at once." 

"You've lost me." 

"That's not a good sign, I've barely started," she jokes, laughing so much that the men sitting across from you laugh too. She carries on, "What I mean is, this isn't home. It probably never will be. We fight so hard to make it home, we plant trees, 'n' we sleep warm every night, but…" She squeezes your shoulder amicably, a light, quick touch. "I know how it felt when I got here. Me and my husband, we kept to ourselves. And we were right to, not everybody here can be good. But when he died, I had nobody." 

You let your eyes drop to you plate, a small portion of a soup that's not the best and a sandwich that's marginally better. You get what Mallory's trying to say — don't put your eggs all in one basket, not when the basket might get mauled to death any day coming. 

You get what she's trying to say. You don't appreciate it. 

"Thank you," you say weakly. 

She nods, and Steve saves you from anymore conversation with an arm hooked through yours. 

“You okay?” he asks. Unmistakably fond. 

You can feel the eyes of all of his friends. All these people you knew too, or knew of, and should be happy to see. You should be so fucking happy right now. 

So why aren’t you?

You turn your face to his and take him in. He’s got a red rash of skin over the top of his head from prolonged sunburn and a scar under his left eye from a cruel tree branch. He looks different than the Steve you’d met at school, and he looks different still from the Steve you’d saved on day 1. 

But he’s your Steve. 

You drop your forehead into his neck, love like a warm blanket encapsulating you when he presses a kiss against your forehead. 

“I know,” he says, moving back, forcing you to sit up again. “It’s crazy.”

You return his smile, though you aren’t sure you're on the same page. 

—

Little Hawkins makes you want to curl up into a ball and cry. It’s a floor of rooms in the campus dormitories, and Robin shares with a couple of other people your age. She only has a mattress and her things on the ground in one room, but soon Steve and another guy are dragging another mattress from across campus while you watch. 

"No offence," Steve says, "but I'm trying to spoil you right now. Can you stop pouting? I'm giving you a breather." 

"I don't believe you." 

He and the unnamed man lean the mattress up outside of Robin's door. 

"Well," he says warmly, and you're starting to feel lovesick with how sweet he's being, nearly enough to forget how scared you are, "maybe you should try." 

Steve is nice. He's always been nice, ever since you met him, even if that nice was strapped down and buried under one layer of derision, one layer of sarcasm, and another layer of sternness for prosperity. But this is another level. Ever since he woke you up he's been ridiculous (he's been the kind of affectionate you've secretly ached for). Steve's sparing with affection but you wouldn't ever complain — can you expect him to play doting boyfriend when each day he's hardwired and on the fritz trying to make sure you both don't die agonising, gross deaths? 

This is fucking crazy, though. 

Steve pulls you bodily by the waist into his front and talks into the highest point of your cheek, words muffled by your skin, "When was the last time we slept on a mattress? Gotta be months ago," — you lean into him entirely, he takes your weight with zero qualms — "when we were in that house by the lake with all the soaps." 

"So many soaps," you murmur, melted by his closeness. 

He laughs. He giggles, all boyish and pretty and you can't help yourself, you lift your chin, practically begging for a kiss. 

You get a short one. Steve's too busy laughing. "And the canned pickles. I know they were, like, doomsdayers, but what did we count, like-" 

"Fifty seven-" 

"Fifty seven jars of pickles," he finishes. 

If this is what Steve is like here, you can make the trade. You don't trust anybody that isn't him, and it feels like you're surrounded by people who could easily hurt you, but his easy joy right now is contagious. 

Robin's voice comes loud from inside her room. "Hey, lovebirds! Are you coming in? They turn all the lights off in like, twenty minutes." 

It's obvious how much Steve trusts Robin. You get the mattress in her room through a series of squeezing and hoping, and she shows you her fancy little sink with running water, nothing short of pride in her eyes. 

"It's freezing," she says, "but you can wash up." 

It genuinely doesn't bother you that it's cold, emotionally. Physically you get the jitters, and it's worth it because Steve pities you and wraps you up tight to rub your arms. He and Robin talk a lot, so much that your brain has given up on listening. It's not something you're happy to hear anyhow, your perilous journey. Steve is generous on your account, leaving out all your most embarrassing moments. 

You sit on the end of the mattress and wonder if you can take your shoes off. 

"Robin?" you ask. 

Both turn to look at you, surprised. 

"Yeah?" 

"Does the door lock?"

She brings her legs up to her chest, chin on her knees. "There's no deadbolt, but you need a key to open it from the outside. So kind of?" She watches you for a moment, and then she nods towards the desk covered in books. "I used to put the chair under the handle when I first got here. You can do that, if you're worried." 

You nod uselessly and get up to do just that. 

"Thanks, Robs," Steve says. 

"Yep." She flops into a ball on her side and pulls the blankets up and over her face. "Goodnight, then." 

Steve laughs and steps over your legs so he can get to her. "Robin," he says, pulling the blankets down. "I- I really missed you." 

She holds out her arms and they hug. She pats his back. "Missed being a pain in my neck, maybe," she mutters. He pushes away from her in mock disgusts and they smile, a shared smile that douses you in an unfair jealousy. You shrug it off pretty quickly when he sits down on the mattress beside you, looking content and, shockingly, really tired. 

He encourages you up to the top of the mattress beside him and folds up the blanket from the rucksack for you as a pillow, sliding it under your head. When he seems confident that you're comfortable he blows out the candle burning on Robin's desk. 

This part's easy, you and Steve in the dark. You're practised in the art of moving around one another. 

Your heart pounds in your ears as Steve pulls a heavy blanket over the both of you, his arm strewn across your stomach haphazardly. 

"Are you okay?" he whispers. 

You turn your face to his though you can't see it. "Of course I am. Are you okay?" 

"I know this is weird." 

Weird doesn't feel like the right word. Surreal, maybe. Something out of a dream. 

"I think my back aches more on the mattress, I'm so used to twisting myself into knots between your legs." 

He snorts. "That doesn't sound right." 

You cover his arm with your hand. "Pig." 

"You can lie on my chest, if you want." 

"Think it's your turn to use me as cushioning." Your voice is coloured by your smile. 

He exhales into your shoulder. 

"Mm. This is nice," he murmurs. 

"You want me to take the first shift?" 

"I don't think we need shifts." 

You can't agree. Steve trusts Robin and you trust Steve, but you do not trust Robin. She seems lovely, and through Steve's stories you know she's a good person, but he hasn't seen her in a year. She could be anybody, and she's locked into a room with you.

You don't mean to be deceitful. "Alright," you utter, "no shifts." 

"You smell nice," Steve says. His lips move against your skin, and he lifts his head enough to kiss your jaw, three kisses in succession. "Goodnight, honey." 

You raise your hand to his head. "Goodnight." 

He falls asleep to you carding through his hair. Even when you're sure he's dead to the world you keep going, the feeling of it between your fingers calming. 

You don't sleep a wink. 

—

It becomes a mantra. Steve is happy here. Over and over and over. 

You're happy too by consequence; Steve is a new person, still the man you know but with this emanating happiness rolling off of him in waves. 

Chief Hopper has promised to get you and Steve a place together if you want one. This had scared you half to death, because you want one bad, but you'd been expecting a little resistance from Steve (or, admittedly, a lot). Because… 

You're starting to think maybe you aren't scared of the people here. You trust Hopper to run a community that's safe if he says it is, and as the days stretch into a week, two weeks, you start to feel secure. Steve's never far, but that's the terrifying part. 

You're worried Steve is going to leave you. 

It sounds dramatic. It is dramatic. But you're scared shirtless that Steve is going to wake up and realise he doesn't owe you a thing, that he doesn't harbour the affection for you that he thinks he does. You're worried that Steve had gone soft on you because you'd been there, like a habit. 

Your feelings for him only grow, despite this. He's fucking handsome when he's clean-shaven, clean in general. Somebody's mom gives him a haircut and you can't believe it, because he's always been good looking but you can tell he's more confident like this, and the confidence makes him golden. 

He's also super handsy. 

You love it, and you get it. You know you look prettier clean, even more so after somebody's mom gives you a haircut and you've managed to scrub the perma-dirt from under your nails. The want to kiss him is dialled up by a thousand because you always have clean teeth.  

The nagging fear remains even when he's got a mouthful of your neck. 

"Ouch," you moan, hands in his hair, legs spread enough to accommodate his figure between them, "s'like a geek, nibbling on me." 

Steve bites a little harder. 

You gasp at his show of force and push your head away from him. "Steve," you say with a laugh.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologises, pulling back. Elbows at your ribs, he holds his weight off of you though there's no reason to. "My teeth missed you." 

"What the fuck." 

"All of me missed you." He strokes the side of your face mildly. "I hate this." 

You wiggle under him, mattress springs digging into your back. He doesn't bother explaining what he'd meant, only leans down to kiss your cheek, your chin, the tip of your nose. 

You stare at him. 

"What do you hate?" 

He scrunches his nose up like it's obvious, and you're stupid for not knowing. "Us being on separate schedules. It's fucking shitty." 

You don't have an answer for him. It seems more than lucky that he would assuage your worst feelings considering you haven't told him anything at all. You haven't told him about staying up at night to make sure Robin's not gonna kill him, or how worried you are that he's gonna realise he can leave you now you're safe, now you don't owe each other anything. You haven't told him how much you love him, and how much that would hurt. 

Somehow, you get the impression that he knows anyway. 

"This is really nice," you say eventually. 

He rests his face against yours. You close your eyes. 

"What's nice?" he asks. "Our separation? You're sick, babe. I'm trying to bare my heart here and you're stomping all over it." 

"Not our separation, dummy. This. You lying on top of me. It feels really nice." 

His small laugh warms your cheek. "I know. Why'd you think I let you climb all over me for months?" 

"'Cause otherwise we'd freeze to death?" 

He kisses a line down to the skin under your ear. "That, too. But mostly because it feels good." 

You wrap your arms around him and press your nose to his hair, smelling him for your own self-indulgence. He lets his weight press down on you, shifting his arm so they're digging behind your shoulders. 

You hook a leg behind his. 

"Steve, I…" 

"I love you." 

You stiffen. 

He hugs you that tiny bit tighter. "I love you," he says again. "I should've told you before, but I- I was so afraid that you'd-" He clears his throat quietly. "I was fucking terrified that I was going to let you down. You kept almost dying on me, and I kept realising I wouldn't be able to do this without you." 

"I love you too," you say, shell-shocked. 

He kisses your cheek slowly, softly, and then he lifts himself up so you're face to face. 

"I love you," you say, because he'd said it twice. 

His smile is gentle, eyes creased with a loving amusement. "I know." Steve steals back one of his arms so he can thumb under your eye. "I know you're not sleeping." 

"Steve-" 

"No, listen. I know you don't trust Robin-" 

"I do-" 

"You don't, and it's okay." He cups your cheek. "It's okay. You know, Hopper said it wouldn’t take long to find us a room. A couple more days and you won’t have to worry. And you know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” you say, voice softening to match his own. 

He squeezes your cheek. “There’s a lot of stuff I should say to you and I’m kind of trying to hang onto my last shred of dignity here, but I mean it. More than I’ve ever- More than anyone. I love you.”

Your lips fall into a self-pitying pout. You won’t cry, though you feel like you could, because this is possibly the happiest you’ve ever been in your life. Steve loves you more than anyone, plain as day. He wouldn’t say that if he were going to swap you out for a new apocalypse girlfriend anytime soon, ‘cause Steve doesn’t mess with feelings. He’s earnest. 

“Ever since we got here, I’ve been waiting for you to break up with me,” you say. 

Which is funny in itself. You and Steve kissed each other every now and then for weeks before you had the conversation — it feels juvenile to think of boyfriends and girlfriends in life or death, and, paradoxically, it feels really important. The label means a lot to you. The ‘I love you’ means the world, even if he’s been showing it everyday since he met you. 

He makes a sound that’s a combination of a scoff, a snort, and a pitying sigh. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. 

You laugh so loudly it surprises you both. “I’m ridiculous? Get off of me, rich boy.”

Steve hunkers down. “What? No way. I live here now.”

“Seriously, Harrington, get off. I'm sick of you. Robin promised she’d find me a new boyfriend. Maybe I’ll get one with compassion.”

He laughs. He’s trying not to, and it comes out warm and soft to spite him. “Fine, let’s break up.”

“Fine.”

He tilts his head toward yours until your foreheads are touching, staring into your eyes. It takes a lot of willpower to hold in your laugh. “Wanna go on a date with me?”

You lift your chin and kiss him through giggles. “Yeah, okay. Options are pretty limited here, anyway.”

[cornie-heesan]

Cherrygirlxx

STARING| Nakamoto Yuta x fem!reader

PROMPT| of creator!reader

DESCRIPTION| After the incident that happened at the house with Mark and Yuta, the Japanese man had been scarce around the house. Only coming home long enough to grab a fresh change of clothes. No more lingering stares, comments or slightly unsavory touches between Yuta and Mark’s girlfriend. Yuta has found himself a little play thing of his own that has been occupying his time.

WARNINGS| Dubious content my friends, perv!yuta, dom!yuta, sir kink, corruption kink, spitting, rough sex, unprotected sex [don’t, you’ll get pregnant and d*e], piv, spanking, fingering, oral [m and f recieving], AFAB body description, spanking, hair pulling, face sitting, choking, name calling [affectionate], if any of the previous statements bother you, or you don’t like it- don’t read it

WORD COUNT| 1,409

A/N| I have no idea where this came from lol

A/N| Pt.2 I've been MIA because I moved 30 hours across the country and had to drive lmao, here's something even if it's not much ;)

NSFW UNDER THE CUT- read at your own discretion

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuta had made himself scarce around the house after the incident a few weeks ago- not because he was ashamed- more, curious to venture out and do something exciting on his own- preferably with a partner. He spent long nights in the library studying, watching movies, hell even sleeping- when there was one night that he’d me you, Y/L/N Y/N. All frills, ribbons, pretty nails and a devious smile.

For a few days the two of you shared flirty smiles and heated gazes- then the next Yuta’s eyes follow you around the library where he hops he could get a little glimpse under the short little skirts you wear. He takes note of your favorite drink order, the way you cutely nibble on the end of your acrylic nails as you read through some texts.

One day he sees you leaning against a bookshelf thighs continuously rubbing together. He watches as your chest heaves, cheeks a wicked shade of red and little gasps leaving your plump lips. He didn’t think you were going to be sick- his head cocks slightly as he glances around the practically empty basement level of the library.

Eyes land on a man, sitting only a few meters away from you- baseball cap partially covering his hair, a phone propped against a water bottle and another phone with an app open, that the mystery guy is currently dragging his finger against. Yuta’s eyes widen slightly as he recognizes the app- it controls a wireless vibrator. A high pitched whine draws his attention back to you- teary eyes focused on his own.

Your hips are twitching, you try to keep the noises down but you can’t help it- a squeal leaves your lips as your eyes roll back and your lips take an O shape. Yuta can’t help but hungrily roam your body- he can see the flex of your lower belly as your orgasm surges through you. Thighs twitching, nails digging into the grain of the bookcase you learned on- and he definitely didn’t miss the trickle of slick running down your thighs.

He packs up his things quickly, retreating to the single use bathroom before he got transfixed on watching the afterglow overtake your body. He was as hard as a fucking brick in his loose fitting gym shorts- a small dark patch of pre stating where the head of his cock was settled. He makes quick work of locking the door and shoving his shorts down to his ankles before gripping his cock tightly.

A hiss slips past his bared teeth at the contact, whole heartedly wishing it was your warm pussy wrapped around him. Yuta didn’t care that he didn’t know your name, he didn’t need to when just the mere thought of you made his balls heavy and stomach clenching with need. Honestly your reminded him of his favorite only fans creator- cherrygirlxx

He can’t help the debauched groan that leaves his lips as he fumbles to pull his phone out of his bag opening the app and pulling your account up- where he sees a newly posted video on your account. A very familiar shade of green is behind you along with several bookcases as the little microphone you wore picks up the little whimpers and cries that leave you only captioned

‘Please, sir 🥺’

Yuta can’t help but speed up his hand. His favorite fucking creator goes to his school and has been sending him ‘fuck me’ eyes every day in the library for the last two weeks. He subconsciously matches your frequencies- fucking his fist along with the recorded whimpers leave your lips. Dirty words leaving your lips as you beg and plead for ‘sir’ to fuck you, to make you cum. It only eggs Yuta on, pushing him over the edge as cum leaks from his reddened tip, dripping around his fingers until his balls feel completely emptied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuta avoids his normal area in the library for a few days, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in real life without popping a chub like a prepubescent boy. After the fifth day he decides that he can’t keep himself from seeing your pretty face in person any longer- that and the fact that and some of the younger brothers had figured out where he’d been hiding the last couple of weeks.

He doesn’t say a word to you- until one day you sat pertly on the chair next to him, Shining lip gloss coating your lips, skirt barely gracing your thighs, that were partly covered in stocking with little pink bows that dug into the fat of your them. Yuta’s brain short circuits, almond shaped nails ghosting over the skin of his arm where his lock and chain tattoo sat.

“I hope this doesn’t mean you’re taken,” the pout of your glossy lips draws his attention away from your pink painted nails- he’s able to give you the most charming smile “No cherry girl, it doesn’t” you don’t shy away from his silent confession instead your eyes sparkle with mischief. Confidently you move closer to him, your breasts pushing against his arm, sticky lips ghosting his ear

“Would you be down to film some content with me?” Your breath causing tingles to shoot down Yuta’s spine but he tries to cover it up with a husky laugh “Do you always try this with guys around campus, princess?” He hums sliding his hand to rest lightly around your throat “No sir,” you sigh dreamily wishing he’d put just a little more delicious pressure around your throat.

“Who was the guy last week, hm?” His lips teasing along your jaw nipping at the skin “You know him,” you giggle sliding even closer to him- not like that was possible. Yuta thinks back to the man he saw with you last week- realizing on the way out he got a look at his face.

Ten Lee

How had he not recognized his frat brother? Better yet, how did Ten not notice that Yuta was sitting right there? The universe must be out for him at this point.

Your nails scrape along his thighs as he watches you sink down on to your knees staring up at him with those same fuck me eyes you had been giving him weeks ago.

“Can I please, please, please suck your cock sir?” Yuta couldn’t deny how pleasing you looked begging him to bring his cock out. The Japanese man smirk, subconsciously spreading his thighs wider

"Since you've been such a good girl, I don't see why not."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why are you guys always watching someone fuck in this god damn living room?” Johnny groans kicking his shoes off hearing the unmistakable sound of skin on skin slapping. First with the Mark bullshit and now Jaehyun, Haechan, Jeno, Jaemin, Ten and Yangyang have only fans pulled up on the tv.

“You know how Ten is friends with that creator ‘cherrygirlxx’? She has a man on her account now. He’s been trying to figure out why she hasn’t had him help with content lately.” Jaehyun explains like it’s some kind of research project “Ten, why are all your friends outside of this house into recording themselves?” John questions only to receive a shrug for an answer. Giving up Johnny just gives in and joins the watch party.

The videos change after the last one Ten helped with, using a wireless vibrator to get you off in the middle of the library. Next is a video of you was filled with that unmistakable ugly orange carpet in the basement of the library and the thighs of some mysterious man who’s cock you were currently choking on. Wonton whines leave your lips as drool trails down your chin as you happily swallow the guys cum with a smile on your face.

Next you were still in the library but now positioned on a table face down ass up, camera focused on your fucked out face with the lewd sounds of your pussy fill the air. The camera angle changes to your pussy being finger fucked by this man, gushes of slick leaving your body as you whither and moan for sir to let you cum.

“Jesus Christ what I would do to fuck that woman..” Haechan whines awkwardly moving his hips “Bro, ain’t no way she’s gonna let your pencil dick anywhere near her pussy.” Ten snorts “What? You hit it?” Jaehyun pipes up only to receive a smirk from the Thai man and no other answer. Ignoring his distracted brothers Jaemin swipes to the next video- where there was finally a change of scenery- albeit an outside scenery, a change none the less.

The guys pants shoved halfway down his thighs as his hand wraps around your hair arching your back as he fucks you against a tree that’s not too far from the frat house. It’s dim but the familiar shrill of music from a speaker. They sat analyzing the video trying to figure out if they could figure out who the guy was when the door opened to the front of the house.

Skin slapping and moans reach Yuta’s ears as he toes off his shoes pausing before remembering it’s not Mark because he’s got a late lecture today. His eyes find the TV where the familiar scene of his pelvis rhythmically slaps into the fat of your ass- begging him to fuck you harder on his cock. He doesn’t speak to the guys as he flops into an armchair scrolling through his phone.

The next video is the one you had only just posted a few minutes ago- you’re on your back, head dangling of the edge of an unmade bed. The man is only showed from the naval down- you have tear stained cheeks as you mindlessly babble about how good the cock inside you feels. If someone’s paying enough attention they can see the slight bulging movement of where his cock is hitting your insides.

“Wait a goddamn minute,” Yangyang speaks suddenly causing Jaemin to groan and pause the video “Doesn’t that tattoo look familiar to anyone!?” Yangyang shrieks pointing his finger aggressively to the tattooed hip “Bro, I was too busy watching her get fucked- not that guys dick?” Haechan whines before freezing finally noticing the bellybutton ring in the guys naval. Where has he seen that before?

Yuta ignores their comments on his tattoos- that is until Yangyang screamed smacking Haechan on the shoulders. They exchange eye contact before Haechan joins in on the screaming as the shake each others bodies aggressively “What the fuck are you two on?” Jaehyun grumbles peeling his eyes open to look at what they see “BUTTERFLY…TATTOO… BELLYBUTTON RING!!!!!” They scream in gasped breaths.

Yuta takes this as his sign to exit the room before everyone starts to realize they’ve been watching him I dick down the baddest [affectionate] only fans creator. Ten’s eyes catching the movement of Yuta slinking out of the room catching a quick glance of a familiar butterfly tattoo adorning his hip- a panicked scream leaves his mouth

“YOU’RE THE ONE FUCKING CHERRY?!?!?”

[warringwarrioridiot]

"They was asking for it"

YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT YOU'RE ASKING FOR?? A BIG FAT BASEBALL BAT TO THE BACK OF THE SKULL AT FULL SPEED MAX ISTG

Mfs like this need to take a long walk off of a short cliff cus if I EVER catch them I'm gonna commit some good old fashion homicide.

If you say things like "You should've enjoyed it" or "at least you got some" I'm tracking your IP and shoving ten cacti in your anal hole and/or vagina.

"game is game 🤪"

You need to shut your ketchup stain, Junkrat main, micro brain, aluminium chain, ankle sprain, CHOCOLATE RAIIIIN, with your runny nose dirty toes lick hobos cOwAbUnGa BrOs, Dude, I want you to look at your entire life. All your life choices. And tell me when you had an original idea in your brain. Your ass got kicked out and disowned and you started aggressively tapping the home button on your IPhone "Oh, help. Why is it not working?". YOUR ENTIRE EXISTENCE IS LIKE A NARUTO FILLER EPISODE, MY BOY! YOUR PRANKS ARE AS REPETITIVE AS THE AD "Whopper, Whopper, Whopper, Whopper" YOUR BRAIN IS JUST AS REAL AS THE LOVE YOUR PARENTS HAVE FOR YOU! YOUR GRANDMA GAVE BLING BLING BOY A LAP DANCE FOR PAY DAY. Wait hold on! *Punch punch punch* GIVE ME THE MONEY YOUR GRANDMA! I JUST ROBBED YOUR GRANDMA! I JUST HIT A LICK ON YOUR GRANDMA, HOW DOES THAT FEEL?! SHE POOR AS HELL NOW! YOU PUT A BALLOON ON YOUR HEAD AND THOUGHT IT WAS A DURAG! YOU LIKE RONALD MCDONALD FROM OHIO! "HEYA KID! YOU WANT A BIG MAC?!" WHEN YOU WALK DOWNSTAIRS YOUR WHOLE HOUSE STARTS RUMBLING! YOU BRING THE POWER OF EREN YEAGER AND 37 COLOSSAL TITANS DOWN YOUR STAIRCASE! AFTER YOU EAT DINNER YOU EAT THE PLATE AND THEN YOU EAT THE TABLE AS WELL! CHOMP CHOMP! YOU RENT OUT THE GAP BETWEEN YOU TEETH AS A PARKING SPACE FOR ANTS! YOU LOOK EMO ASF "CUT MY LIFE INTO PIECES! THIS IS MY LAST RESORT! SUFFOCATION! NO BREATHING!" LOOK AT YOUR NOSE YOU HAVE TWO MARIO PIPES COMING OUT OF YOUR HEAD! YAHOO! LET'S A GO! THEY MADE A SEQUEL TO FINDING NEMO BASED OFF YOUR ASS CALLED "LOCATING CHROMOSOMES! IN THEATRES THIS JULY!" YOUR BEST FRIEND IS A RAT LIVING UNDER YOUR BED IN A PRINGLES CAN! YOU POSTED AN INSTAGRAM STORY ABOUT A JAMAICAN CRICKET GIVING YOU A LAP DANCE IN THE BACK OF TOYS R US! YOU TORTURED AN ANT BY TYING HIM TO YOUR BUTTHOLE AND FARTING ON HIM! I HAVE MORE ROASTS YOU KNOW! YOUR GRANDMA IS A DARK SOULS BOSS CALLED "THE WRINKLE!

EW NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO THERE IS NO WAY! THAT THIS... OLD ASS FART WRINKLE IS TALKING TO ME IN SUCH A DISRESPECTFUL MANNER. YOU KNOW IT'S ACTUALLY KINDA SAD YOU'RE OLD ENOUGH TO BE A GRANDPA NOW BUT INSTEAD OF ADVANCING YOUR BIOLOGICAL CHAIN YOU'VE INSTEAD SPENT YOUR DAYS ALONE IN YOUR ROOM READING HITLER MANIFESTOS AND COSPLAYING AS A FUCKIN' NEO NAZI. SO MANY YEARS AND SUCH LITTLE ADVANCEMENT. No seriously! Seriously I find it amusing THAT YOUR PENCIL PENIS DONKEY KONG BARREL BUILT LOOKIN' ASS WOULD ASSUME THAT I EVEN REMOTELY CARE ABOUT A SINGLE ONE. NO NO NO FUCK THAT. A SINGLE SYLLABLE OF THE VERBAL DIARRHEA GARGLE THAT'S COMING OUT OF THE DUSTY SARLAC PIT YOU CONSIDER TO BE YOUR FUCKING MOUTH! YOU WANT ME TO SHOW YOU MY FACE?? YOU WANNA SEE MY FUCKIN' FACE??? BITCH SHOW ME YOUR FUCKIN' HAIRLINE CAUSE I KNOW THERE'S NO WAY YOU'RE SPEAKING TO ME RIGHT NOW DRESSED UP AS A GOD DAMN DIABOLICAL BOY SCOUT. NAH LOOK AT THEM TEETH. BOY YOUR TEETH IN CREATIVE MODE. HELL NAH BOY STOP PLAYING YOU TOO OLD FOR THIS SHIT. BRO THEY GOT FOSSIL RECORDS FOR EACH ONE OF YOUR FAT ROLLS. NAH STOP PLAYING WITH ME BOY I CAN'T TAKE YO ASS SERIOUSLY WHEN YOU DRESS UP LIKE A GODDAMN MEDIEVAL TERRORIST. BRO IS ABOUT TO SHOOT UP HIS OLD FOLKS HOME WITH A CROSSBOW AND A FUCKING TREBUCHET. YA YEET DOM DOM DOM DOM DOM DOM! SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP. WHAT THE FUCK? A HE AHHH EEEEE SHUT UP BITCH. YOU WANT ME TO TURN ON MY CAMERA? YO DICK BUILT LIKE A INVERTED BANANA. YO FOREHEAD CRACKED UP LIKE THE AFRICAN SAVANNAH. I CAUGHT YOU AND YO SISTER BUTT NAKED LAST NIGHT. SWEET HOME ALABAMA. FUCK YOU THINK THIS IS? WHAT IS YOU WEARING WITH YO GODDAMN HONEY WHERE IS MY SUPER SUIT? NAH BOY LOOK AT YO ROOM, YO HOUSE DIRTY AS HELL. YOU GOT FOUR SEWER RATS IN YO BATH TUB RIGHT NOW FLOATING ON TOP OF A PIZZA BOX SINGING. "YO HO THIEVES AND BEGGARS". LIKE SHIT, BOY I CAUGHT YOU HAVING AN EMOTIONAL CONVERSATION WITH YO TOE NAIL LAST NIGHT. WE COULD'VE BEEN SUPER STARS REMEMBER WHEN WE AS JACKING CARS. YOU AND YO TOE NAIL WAS GOING TO BE THE DYNAMIC DUO. BITCH YOU WAS GONNA BE IN AMERICA'S GOT TALENT SWINGING THAT SHIT AROUND LIKE A FUCKING BOOMERANG. SHUT YO STUPID ASS UP. BRUH I CAUGHT YOU JACK SPARROW RUNNING AROUND YOUR HOUSE WHILE YOUR DAD WAS TRYING TO BEAT YOU WITH A TOILET PLUNGER LAST NIGHT. COME HERE BOY! SHUT YO ASS UP. BITCH EVERYTIME YOU TAKE A SHIT THE GAME OF THRONES THEME SONG STARTS PLAMMERING IN YO HOUSE.BUM BUA BUM BUDUM BUM. SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRUH.

Are you getting mad?

Are you getting mad?

DAMN You getting mad now! Cuz yo Legal name is Ledenhouser Strogenberg. Nah don't be Smiling now boy You ain't slick Boy! I caught you in the locker room after gym class Frantically wiping yo armpits down With a kleenex While tryna smell good For the girls In the hallway. OI ZOINKS! I GOTTA- I GOTTA HURRY UP. SHUT YO ASS UP YOU LIKE A DIABETIC TOASTER STRUDEL. YOU UGLY AHH AS HELL. YOU GOT THEM BIG ASS HUMPTY DUMPTY PANTS ON BRUH. YOU USE A FRUIT ROLL UP AS A BELT TO HOLD UP YO BUNG DU BUNGLA. Shut yo ugly Ass up You got Mineral deposits In your Belly button. You dumb As hell You thought Google drive Was a brand new Taxi service. Bitch yo Grandma Threw a Rage spell On the kitchen floor And started Smacking you with A weiner schnitzel. Shut yo ass up You a Diabolical Special needs Student. Boy you was In the back of a Short bus Maniacally Planning How you was gonna Take over Your school.HMMMMM YEAHHHHHHHHHH It will be MINE! Shut yo Ass up, Boy I caught you Butt Naked Playing gorilla tag With a mouse in your Kitchen. Yo ass Be sliding around The counters Like a paraplegic Frozone. Gotta Catch 'em ALL! Shut yo ass up With yo "I got a feeling Ooooooooo!" Everytime yo Grandpa Tickles yo Butthole. Shut yo Stupid ass up You thought the One chip challenge Was sticking a Hot cheeto Up your buttcrack. Ok! Here we go Everybody! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Shut yo Dirty ass up Get yo ass on bruh.

It's actually so fucking sad these people still exist in 2024.

Istg misogynists and forced birth extremists and rapists are the most atrociously ugliest love-lacking idiots.

Image ref:

I rest my fucking case, your honor. Kill every single one of these people before I do it myself.

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

DUMB ASS PLOT EXPLANATIONS OF MY TOP TWO SHIGADABI AUS (THAT I WILL MAYBE WRITE SOMEDAY?!?! WHO KNOWS) :

—- UP ON THE CLIFF.

Fantasy au. A dark sickness has pressured the people from the big cities to run away past the mountains, but not before some of them got contaminated. That's how Touya found himself on a harsh position: being asked as a sacrifice to the Count up on the cliff, as is the tradition for the clan leaders to trade a sick member of their group for a safe inhabitance of the valley.

However, soon after parting from his family, his expectations of being just another sacrificial lamb are shattered. The Count gives him the chance to continue his journey to his castle and meet his court of freaks; to live among people like him if he'd like. Or he could go back to fight his sickness, even when he knows now that his father would gladly give him away as colateral damage.

Touya tells himself that he only continues for the promise of finding a way to triumph over his sickness and not because he's curious about what the Count has to offer to man like him.

He let's himself believe it... For a while.

—- I DON'T DANCE.

College au. Every year, UA University presents to its students the chance to crown themselves with glory and fame by winning the UA PLUS ULTRA CUP. All they have to do is break the expectations in their respective courses, being Socials, Science, Arts or Sports, and one of the four cups will be theirs. To win means to win it all, but there're only 3 chances to get it right.

This year, 2nd year art student Tomura plans to win it by directing a horror musical, but his lead actor broke his ankle. Meanwhile, Dabi tries to make a final push as a 3rd year captain of the UA baseball team, but if he hopes to win the university league he needs a pitcher capable of holding back their rival's firepower.

That's how Tomura ends up challenging Dabi for a baseball game and how Dabi accepts it.

If Tomura's team wins, Dabi would have to play the leading role Tomura's missing. However, if Dabi's team wins, Tomura must become their official pitcher for the most important games of the season. A perfect plan, if only because Tomura still remembers how much Dabi loved to dance as a kid and Dabi could never forget Tomura's natural talent, if only because he was there the first time he saw him catch a ball.

When the fucking game comes to a draw, after breaking the record for the inner game college attendance, Tomura and Dabi realize their only mistake: the world will never ask for one show if it can have both.

[leviathanswingman]

15 questions tag game!

thank you so much for tagging me @melverie <33 (answering on this blog bc why not)

01 - Are you named after anyone?

nope! not with my old name, not with my current name either. I did name myself after one of my Sims characters though, which is mildly embarrassing but also very in character for me.

02 - When was the last time you cried?

i'm not that much of a crier if i'm being honest. don't wanna admit it but you really have to beat emotions out of me with a baseball bat. i think i cried a little when i finished watching the untamed?

03 - Do you have kids?

my cats are my human children boys. also my OCs Yuuta and Valac. also om!Luke of course.

04 - What sports do you play/have you played?

absolutely none :D i have always been painfully unathletic. honestly, the playground used to be my absolute fear zone, i would always manage to get a ball thrown against my head in one way or the other. i also managed to snap my ankle by running one time so. i'm trying to get into running and doing home workouts atm, but i do try to walk places when my schedule allows it (especially bc the busses in my city do whatever the fuck they want anyway)

05 - Do you use sarcasm?

I would never.

06 - What is the first thing you notice about people?

the way they treat the people that are around them. it does say a lot about a person. right after that would probably have to come the way they look at you. over here there's a lot of people who just like to shamelessly stare and sometimes you just gotta throw that stare right back to assert dominance

07 - What's your eye color?

blue-grayish

08 - Scary movies or happy endings?

both? it really depends if i'm being honest. i really like me a good slasher or thriller, but sometimes you just gotta watch something with a nice happy ending to lift your mood a little

09 - Any talents?

oh i can come up with a mean pun (threat)

10 - Where were you born?

Germany!

11 - What are your hobbies?

currently that would have to be writing, writing and writing xD i am slowly getting back into old hobbies as well. i've been really stressed for a few years and am slowly regaining the energy to do things that i like again i like gaming (currently trying to navigate between genshin/hsr/ace attorney/danganronpa) and i have started to learn Russian and relearn some French.

12 - Do you have any pets?

i have two cats! the older one is really smart, a hater at heart and an absolute bastard who WILL start terrorizing me at 7am bc he needs to be fed IMMEDIATELY. also the reason my doorhandles are turned downwards, man will just let himself in by flinging his entire bodyweight on top of the door handle. the younger one is small (klein und kompakt), kind of stupid and a bit TOO loyal for his own good (treudoof). i picked him up off the street when he was maybe 2 weeks old bc his mother abandoned him for being too sick.

13 - How tall are you?

I'm 173 cm / 5'8

14 - Favourite subject in school?

English and German classes and anything related to literature tbh. French classes sometimes. I also really loved my theatre classes.

15 - Dream job?

i don't think i necessarily have one? i really love writing and will maybe try to write my own stuff and try to publish it someday. if it doesn't work out then so be it.

i'm also currently studying to become a social worker, and i do like the work. it isn't my dream job, but i don't think it has to be for me to be passionate about it.

my dream job would be me living by the sea, going on walks, writing and doing jack shit if i'm being really honest right now.

not tagging anyone for now, but this was fun!! if you see this and wanna do it, do feel tagged by me!!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

“No homo,” says the boy, barely visible in the room’s fading light, as he cradles my foot in his palms. He is kneeling before me—this 6’2” JV basketball second stringer—as I sit on his bed, my feet hovering above the shag. His head is bent so that the swirl in his crown shows, the sweat in the follicles catching the autumn dusk through the window. Anything is possible, we think, with the body. But not always with language. “No homo,” he says again before wrapping the ace bandage once, twice, three times around my busted ankle, the phrase’s purpose now clear to me: a password, an incantation, a get-out-of-jail-free card, for touch. For two boys to come this close to each other in a realm ruled by the nebulous yet narrow laws of American masculinity, we needed magic.

No homo. The words free him to hold my foot with the care and gentleness of a nurse, for I had sprained my ankle half an hour earlier playing manhunt in the McIntosh orchard. We ran, our bodies silver in the quickening dark, teenagers playing at war.

The boy—let’s call him K—had helped me up, my arm slung across his shoulder as I limped toward his house, which sat just across the orchard. The war is still going on around us, the other boys’ voices breaking through the brambles, and the larger war, the one in Afghanistan (for it is 2005), amplified what was at stake in the outer world, beyond the feeble sunset of childhood.

No homo.

I look away, as if it isn’t an ankle, but roadkill, in his hands. I scan the room instead, the walls lined with baseball trophies catching the streetlight outside, which has just flickered on. Do I find him handsome? Yes. Does it matter? No.

“You’re really good at hiding,” he said to my foot, and though he meant at manhunt, he might as well have been talking about manhood. For isn’t that, too, a place I have hid both in and from at once?

*

I was never comfortable being male—being a he—because all my life being a man was inextricable from hegemonic masculinity. Everywhere I looked, he-ness was akin to an aggression that felt fraudulent in me—or worse, in the blue collar New England towns I grew up in, self-destructive. Masculinity, or what we have allowed it to be in America, is often realized through violence. Here, we celebrate our boys, who in turn celebrate one another, through the lexicon of conquest:

You killed it, buddy. Knock ‘em dead, big guy. You went into that game guns blazing. You crushed it at the talent show. It was a blow out. No, it was a massacre. My son’s a beast. He totally blew them away. He’s a lady killer. Did you bag her? Yeah, I fucked her brains out. That girl’s a grenade. I’d still bang her. I’d smash it. Let’s spit roast her. She’s the bomb. She’s blowing up. I’m dead serious.

To some extent, these are only metaphors, hyperbolic figures of speech—nothing else. But there are, to my mind, strong roots between these phrases and this country’s violent past. From the Founding Fathers to Manifest Destiny, America’s self-identity was fashioned out of the myth of the self-made revolutionary turned explorer and founder of a new, immaculate world of possible colonization. The avatar of the pioneer, the courageous and stoic seeker, ignores and erases the Native American genocide that made such a persona possible. The American paradox of hegemonic masculinity is also a paradox of identity. Because American life was founded on death, it had to make death a kind of praxis, it had to celebrate it. And because death was considered progress, its metaphors soon became the very measurement of life, of the growth of boys. You fucking killed it.

*

Years later, in another life, before giving a reading, the organizer asked me for my preferred pronouns. I never knew I had a choice. “He/him” I said, after a pause, suddenly unsure. But I felt a door had opened—if only slightly—and through it I had glimpsed a path I had not known existed. There was a way out.

But what if I don’t want to leave this room yet, but just make it bigger? Pronouns like they/them are, to my trans friends and family, a refuge—a destination secured through flight and self-agency. They/them pronouns allow an interface where one can quickly code oneself as nonnormative, in the hopes of bypassing the pain and awkwardness of explanation or the labor of legibility when simply existing can be exhausting. Would I, by changing pronouns, appropriate myself into a space others need in order to survive?

As a war refugee, I know how vital a foothold as small as a word can be. And since as a cis-presenting male, I don’t need to flee he-ness in order to be seen as myself, I will stay here. Can the walls of masculinity, set up so long ago through decrees of death and conquest, be breached, broken, recast—even healed? I am, in other words, invested in troubling he-ness. I want to complicate, expand, and change it by being inside it. And I am here for the very reasons why I feel, on bad days, I should leave it altogether: that I don’t recognize myself within its dominant ranks—but I believe it can grow to hold me better. Perhaps one day, masculinity might become so myriad, so malleable, it no longer needs a fixed border to recognize itself. It might not need to be itself at all. I wonder if that, too, is the queering of a space? I wonder if boys can ever bandage each other’s feet, in friendship, without a password—with only passage, between each other, without shame.

No homo, K reminds me, as he bites off the medical tape, rubs the length of my swollen ankle. He slides my white Vans back on—but not before carefully loosening the shoelaces, making room for my new damage. No homo, he had said. But all I heard, all I still hear, is No human. How can we not ask masculinity to change when, within it, we have become so wounded?

“You’ll be fine,” he says—with a tenderness so rare it felt stolen from a place far inside him. I reach for his hand.

He pulls me up, turns to leave the room. “Kill the lights,” he says over his shoulder.

And I kill them.

I make it so dark we could be anything, even more than what we were born into. We could be human.

Ocean Vuong’s debut novel is On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous. 

[iriswritesstuff]

Reimagining Masculinity by Ocean Vuong

“No homo,” says the boy, barely visible in the room’s fading light, as he cradles my foot in his palms. He is kneeling before me—this 6’2” JV basketball second stringer—as I sit on his bed, my feet hovering above the shag. His head is bent so that the swirl in his crown shows, the sweat in the follicles catching the autumn dusk through the window. Anything is possible, we think, with the body. But not always with language. “No homo,” he says again before wrapping the ace bandage once, twice, three times around my busted ankle, the phrase’s purpose now clear to me: a password, an incantation, a get-out-of-jail-free card, for touch. For two boys to come this close to each other in a realm ruled by the nebulous yet narrow laws of American masculinity, we needed magic.

No homo. The words free him to hold my foot with the care and gentleness of a nurse, for I had sprained my ankle half an hour earlier playing manhunt in the McIntosh orchard. We ran, our bodies silver in the quickening dark, teenagers playing at war.

The boy—let’s call him K—had helped me up, my arm slung across his shoulder as I limped toward his house, which sat just across the orchard. The war is still going on around us, the other boys’ voices breaking through the brambles, and the larger war, the one in Afghanistan (for it is 2005), amplified what was at stake in the outer world, beyond the feeble sunset of childhood.

No homo.

I look away, as if it isn’t an ankle, but roadkill, in his hands. I scan the room instead, the walls lined with baseball trophies catching the streetlight outside, which has just flickered on. Do I find him handsome? Yes. Does it matter? No.

“You’re really good at hiding,” he said to my foot, and though he meant at manhunt, he might as well have been talking about manhood. For isn’t that, too, a place I have hid both in and from at once?

*

I was never comfortable being male—being a he—because all my life being a man was inextricable from hegemonic masculinity. Everywhere I looked, he-ness was akin to an aggression that felt fraudulent in me—or worse, in the blue collar New England towns I grew up in, self-destructive. Masculinity, or what we have allowed it to be in America, is often realized through violence. Here, we celebrate our boys, who in turn celebrate one another, through the lexicon of conquest:

You killed it, buddy. Knock ‘em dead, big guy. You went into that game guns blazing. You crushed it at the talent show. It was a blow out. No, it was a massacre. My son’s a beast. He totally blew them away. He’s a lady killer. Did you bag her? Yeah, I fucked her brains out. That girl’s a grenade. I’d still bang her. I’d smash it. Let’s spit roast her. She’s the bomb. She’s blowing up. I’m dead serious.

To some extent, these are only metaphors, hyperbolic figures of speech—nothing else. But there are, to my mind, strong roots between these phrases and this country’s violent past. From the Founding Fathers to Manifest Destiny, America’s self-identity was fashioned out of the myth of the self-made revolutionary turned explorer and founder of a new, immaculate world of possible colonization. The avatar of the pioneer, the courageous and stoic seeker, ignores and erases the Native American genocide that made such a persona possible. The American paradox of hegemonic masculinity is also a paradox of identity. Because American life was founded on death, it had to make death a kind of praxis, it had to celebrate it. And because death was considered progress, its metaphors soon became the very measurement of life, of the growth of boys. You fucking killed it.

*

Years later, in another life, before giving a reading, the organizer asked me for my preferred pronouns. I never knew I had a choice. “He/him” I said, after a pause, suddenly unsure. But I felt a door had opened—if only slightly—and through it I had glimpsed a path I had not known existed. There was a way out.

But what if I don’t want to leave this room yet, but just make it bigger? Pronouns like they/them are, to my trans friends and family, a refuge—a destination secured through flight and self-agency. They/them pronouns allow an interface where one can quickly code oneself as nonnormative, in the hopes of bypassing the pain and awkwardness of explanation or the labor of legibility when simply existing can be exhausting. Would I, by changing pronouns, appropriate myself into a space others need in order to survive?

As a war refugee, I know how vital a foothold as small as a word can be. And since as a cis-presenting male, I don’t need to flee he-ness in order to be seen as myself, I will stay here. Can the walls of masculinity, set up so long ago through decrees of death and conquest, be breached, broken, recast—even healed? I am, in other words, invested in troubling he-ness. I want to complicate, expand, and change it by being inside it. And I am here for the very reasons why I feel, on bad days, I should leave it altogether: that I don’t recognize myself within its dominant ranks—but I believe it can grow to hold me better. Perhaps one day, masculinity might become so myriad, so malleable, it no longer needs a fixed border to recognize itself. It might not need to be itself at all. I wonder if that, too, is the queering of a space? I wonder if boys can ever bandage each other’s feet, in friendship, without a password—with only passage, between each other, without shame.

No homo, K reminds me, as he bites off the medical tape, rubs the length of my swollen ankle. He slides my white Vans back on—but not before carefully loosening the shoelaces, making room for my new damage. No homo, he had said. But all I heard, all I still hear, is No human. How can we not ask masculinity to change when, within it, we have become so wounded?

“You’ll be fine,” he says—with a tenderness so rare it felt stolen from a place far inside him. I reach for his hand.

He pulls me up, turns to leave the room. “Kill the lights,” he says over his shoulder.

And I kill them.

I make it so dark we could be anything, even more than what we were born into. We could be human.

[graveyardpublishing]

Delilah

“Ugh, this stain will never come out,” I huff, dabbing a rag soaked in hydrogen peroxide on the bloodstain covering my white dress.

Why do I wear white?

“Ughhhh…” I glance over at the man attempting to crawl away with two broken kneecaps.

“Oh baby, you’re not going to get very far like that,” I muse, tsking my finger in his direction even though his back is turned to me. My eyes flickering back to the stain in annoyance.

I stride across the room, my heels clicking as I move over the bloodstained concrete floors. When I reach him, I step my heel onto the back of his already broken knee — the baseball bat was a great choice for that. I've always wanted to do that. It’s basically on this weird bucket list I have, to commit murders and torture that are so beyond mafia cliche, but for some reason, it’s just really fucking fun.

“Ahhh!” he screams, pounding his fist into the concrete floor and trying to claw away from me.

“Where are you trying to go, baby?” I hum. “I thought we were getting along so well.”

“Crazy bitch,” he manages to stutter out, and I lift my foot slightly.

“Now, sweetheart, if we’re going to be name-calling here, I prefer Cunt.”

“What the hell do you want!” he demands, and I can feel my lips curving into a deadly smile.

I take my foot off of his broken knee, stepping around to face him. I crouch down on my haunches in front of him, reaching my hand out to roughly grip his chin and force him to look at me. I dig my nails into his cheek, feeling the heat of his blood on my fingertips as my nails slip into the wounds.

“I want the location of the girl,” I tell him, my voice low, emotionless, a drastic contrast to the evil smile on my face.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he manages to grit through clenched teeth.

Very few things get my apathy to warm into any kind of emotion, but when bastards bring innocent children into their games, it strikes a chord deep in my gut. A chord that twists until I’m tied into knots. When I feel any sense of emotion at all, I want to set everything around me on fire, burn it to a crisp, everything and everyone. Nothing is safe, not even myself.

“Look, I’ve been friendly, but you’re really trying my patience, and you already ruined my dress. You’re not earning yourself any points here,” I tell him, dropping my grip on his face and watching as he barely manages to hold himself up.

“Fine, we’ll just do this the hard way then,” I huff out, covering my emotions under a veil that I have spent years masterfully crafting.

I had plans tonight, and he is ruining what is supposed to be my night off.

I kick off my heels and walk barefoot across the cold concrete warehouse floor. Making my way to the corner, I turn the stereo on. There’s no need for the neighbors to call in the screams. Swaying as the soothing melody of Death in My Pocket by Machine Gun Kelly starts to blast through the speakers.

I look back, and Marco is still trying to crawl away; it's almost cute the effort he is putting in. If I had the time tonight, I would have set him out for a hunt, but I just don’t have time to play cat and mouse.

Turning, I walk to the center of the room, grabbing a chain and pulling it hard to gain enough slack. Then I walk back over to Marco, pulling his ankle until he screams, but I barely even hear him over the music. I wrap the chain around his ankles, making sure it’s tight enough that he can’t get out anytime soon.

We might be here for a while.

I smile as I drop my hold on his ankles. Walking back over to the center of the room, I grab the remote control and turn on the pulley system. It starts to retract the chain, pulling Marco across the warehouse floor. He screams, thrashing himself at the unforgiving floor, and does everything he can think to do to make the pain stop. I stop the pulley as Marco appears in front of me.

Looking down, I smile at him.

“Hey there, ready to talk?” I ask, cocking my head to the side. “Or shall we keep going?”

“Who. Are. You?” he manages to grit out, his chest heaving, the pain probably close to unbearable at this point. Even the most brutal criminals, the ones that have been through Hell and back, have never been a match for my level of sadistic torment.

I bend down once more, tilting my head to the side and flipping my blond hair over my shoulder, revealing the small witch hat tattooed just behind my left ear. When I look down, Marco seems as if he just saw a ghost.

My name is Delilah Beau, but they call me La Bruja — The Witch.

When I was sixteen, I took my first life, and from that day forward, I knew what Mama always said was true; I had the hands of Angels guiding me — of something a little more sinister. Maybe it was the demons of the Devil himself that set me on this path of murder — the ability to slip in and out of situations without anyone even realizing I’m there — and the inability to feel anything. Then again, maybe God and his Angels really are guiding me, looking out for me every step of the way.

Apathy is a gift I was given, and that shit was wrapped up neatly with a fucking bow on top.

A handful of people know who I truly am, that know the face associated with the name and the job. Most people that meet The Witch don’t live long enough to tell anyone about it.

I think it takes a special kind of psycho to be able to convince everyone they’re not a killer. My family thinks I’m an assistant at a big law firm downtown. In that regard, I’m a bit of a psychopath. You know, like Bundy? Because no one truly suspects me, but I am capable of caring for people; I love my brother and my best friend. So I may be a psychopath, but perhaps I’m just a girl who lacks the ability to feel like normal people do.

I slightly shake my head, forcing the thoughts away, this is no time to debate how I got this gift or why.

“Are you ready to talk now?” I ask Marco one last time, my finger hovering over the pulley button.

“She’s… They’re keeping her at a safe house in Savage,” he grits out.

“Address,” I demand.

“I don’t know,” he grits out in pain. “It’s a blue single-story house at the end of Deadman Road.”

“Creative,” I deadpan.

“How many guards?” I ask.

“They rotate, two at a time,” he pants, his pain beginning to get the better of him. Such a shame, this could have been fun.

“I was going to keep you here until I found her, but you have been super helpful. How about I just let you go?” I ask with a sweet smile on my face and my voice laced with honey.

His eyes snap open and meet mine, panic racing across his features. “They’ll kill me, I-I only talked ’cause I’m already a fucking deadman. If you don’t kill me, they will,” he pleads.

I bend over, gripping his face and turning him to look at me. “I know,” I whisper just loud enough to be heard over the music.

“I mean, didn’t you read the handbook, Marcus? Snitches get stitches.”

“Just fucking kill me, you witch!” he screams, and I grin.

“Don’t worry too much. You won’t make it very far,” I shrug my shoulder as I lightly kick one of his busted knees. I stand and press the button to lower the pulley and it provides just enough slack to undo the chain around his ankles.

“You’re free to go,” I tell him, waving him off as I turn around and walk back to the stereo, turning off the music.

I turn around, and Marco is attempting to crawl across the floor once more. It’s actually quite comical at this point. Turning towards the large gray cabinet, I punch in my code and open the metal door, tapping my finger against my chin while I muse over the various items inside until finding the perfect one. I smile, reaching in and pulling out my brand new compact bow.

Perfect for hunting, my second favorite pastime.

I  reach back into the cabinet for an arrow, feeling the feathers before loading it into the bow, pulling back the string. I catch sight of Marco’s retreating form and release. The arrow leaves the bow in a whirl, flying across the room and landing right on the target. I smile, turning around and replacing the bow in its spot, then I spin back around and happily skip my bare feet across the cold floor. When I reach Marco, there is a small pool of blood forming underneath his still body. I bend over and wrench the arrow from his back; it managed to go through his ribs and right to his heart.

Exactly where I wanted it.

I smile as I bring the arrow up to study the blood dripping off of it. Looking down at Marco’s body, I huff, realizing I’m going to have to drag him to the incinerator. What a pain in the ass. However, that new addition to the warehouse has already made body disposal a hundred times easier than it used to be. I got the tip from an old friend, and needless to say, she knows her stuff when it comes to body clean-up.

I glance around the room until I spot a rope. Walking over, I grab it and then amble back over to Marco’s dead body. I tie the rope around his ankles, then use it to pull him across the floor — deadweight is not easy to move; it’s a hell of a workout.

We reach the corner where the incinerator is, and I grab the pulley chain above it. I learned quickly that no matter how much I work out, I cannot lift men over two hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight into the incinerator on my own. So I managed to install another pulley over here that allows me not to have to worry about doing all the heavy lifting.

I press the button, lifting the body, and I shove him into the opening, making sure to slowly lower the pulley chain as I push him further inside.

When he is safely tucked in, I close the door, locking it, and start to turn on the burners, clicking the button until the flames appear.

I turn the timer on and walk out of the warehouse. By the time I get back here, there won't be anything left of Marco but ash.

* * *

Alex: Where are you?

Alex: Thought we were doing movies.

Delilah: Something came up, I can still come by. But I’ll be late.

Alex: Do I want to know?

Delilah: Do you ever?

Alex: Fair point.

Alex: I’m pretty worn out, let’s just meet up tomorrow or something.

Delilah: Sure, we can hit up Crazy Eights.

Alex: You know I hate that place, it’s such a dive.

Delilah: Someone new bought it, looks like it’s been cleaned up a bit. I might swing by tonight and check it out. I’ll report back.

Alex: Deal.

Alex: Text me when you’re home.

I stash my phone in the glove box of my car and check my jacket pockets for my weapons. Pushing open the door to my blacked-out Camaro — a car I only own because I have too much money for my own good — I step out onto the darkened street. I adjust my hair in the reflection of my window, then turn and saunter over to the last, blue, single-story house on Deadman Road.

Seriously, this town either lacks originality when naming places, or they were really shooting for a theme here. If you live in Savage, California, you probably live on a street named something like Deadman Road. You party down at Switchblade Cove. And you raft down Arterial Creek in the summer.

See? Theme.

I make my way up the driveway, unzipping my leather jacket to reveal high-waisted black leather pants and a red crop top. I knock on the door and put on my best sexy smirk, the kind that screams, I’m a paid escort.

The door opens slowly revealing one fairly large man. “What do you want?” he asks in a gruff tone.

I reach my hand up and twirl a finger through my long blond hair. “Hey sexy,” I coo. “Can I come in?” I purr as he looks me up and down.

“Depends. Why are you here?” he asks, opening the door a little wider to show another man leaning against a wall across the room. It’s a move that says they’re trying to figure out why I’m here, but also they don’t want me to leave even if I’m at the wrong house.

“I’m bought and paid for, for you and your friend,” I nod my head to the man across the room.

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Yup. Bossman said you guys earned a bonus. I’m the bonus,” I say as I pull my jacket open and twirl around on my stilettos.

“Seems like a good bonus to me. What do you think, Chad?” the man in front of me calls over his shoulder to his friend. Turning back to look me over once more, biting his lip and eye-fucking me before I even make it through the door.

“I agree,” Chad says as he makes his way across the room.

“Shall we go to a room?” I ask, batting my eyelashes at them dramatically.

“Who first?” Chad asks.

“First? Oh, I was just planning on a doubleheader,” I say and wink at them, watching their eyes grow wide with excitement. They reach their fists out for a bump, and then Chad grabs my hand and leads me down the hallway with the other one trailing behind us.

“What’s your name, handsome?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Mike.”

We make it into a back bedroom, minimally decorated, just the basics; a bed, empty closet, a single nightstand, and an attached bath. Chad pulls me over to the bed, sitting down on the end, and I move to straddle his thighs. He begins to run his hands over me, moving to roughly grip my ass as I feel Mike push in behind me. I press my chest close to Chad and quickly manage to grab two switchblades before Mike pushes my jacket off my shoulders.

I run my hand over Chad’s back, and as he moves to pepper kisses along my neck, I run a blade across his. Feeling the blood from his wound start to pour down my chest, I manage to lay him down on the mattress. Mike, too distracted at the prospect of my ass to care that his friend is dying in front of him.

I reach my hand back, gripping Mike’s wrist and urging him onto the bed by his friend that’s bleeding out. Quickly I move over to his lap, and he doesn’t even notice the blood as he grips my ass.

I stab my sharp blade up into his throat, twisting it before pulling it back out, and more blood coats my chest, effectively ruining my entire outfit but turning it a pretty shade of red. I slide off Mike’s lap, closing my blades and picking up my jacket from the ground. I shrug it over my shoulders and zip it up to cover the blood. Moving into the bathroom, I wash my hands, throat, and my blades. Then I turn the lights off as I walk out of the room and check the other bedrooms until I find her.

“Hey, are you Bethany?” I ask the scared girl, who’s huddled up in the corner. She doesn't move or answer me. I reach into my back pocket and pull out a picture her mother gave me. It’s a sweet photo, she told me she keeps it in her purse at all times, and it shows Bethany sitting on her mom's lap at her last birthday party.

“Here, your mommy gave this to me. She misses you, so I’m here to bring you home,” I inform her, slowly moving across the room.

“No!” she screams. “Stay away, I don’t know you!” she yells, and I try hard not to laugh. At least she’s a fighter; I love that for her.

“Church,” I tell her softly.

“What?” she asks, perking up slightly.

“Church, your mommy told me to tell you I’m going to take you to church.”

“You do know my Mom!” she yells and nearly launches herself off the bed and into my arms. She nuzzles her head into my shoulder, hugging me tightly.

“Yeah, sweetie, let's get you home,” I whisper.

Hugging her close to me, we make our way out of the dark room, down the hallway, and out the front door. I move quickly down the street, and when I get to my car, I don’t even bother to set her down. I slide in with her still clinging to me like a spider monkey until I have to put her in the passenger seat and buckle her in.

“What about the bad men?” she whispers as I start my car.

“They will never be able to hurt you again, I promise,” I tell her as we pull away from the curb, and I race down the street. If I have anything to do with it, no one will ever lay a hand on her again.

[crimson-wrld]

👀

It took me a bit to choose, but I ended up going for my favourite anyways, and I had to edit it a bit so it was readable lol.

CW: Electrocution, brief hand whump

"F-fuck you…" Whumpee spits after the last shock subsides, flexing his muscles to pull at the restraints again.

"Are you sure you want to keep talking to me like that, Whumpee?" Whumper says walking in front of him and crouching to his level.

He's on his knees, legs spread apart to his sides, both ankles tied to the floor. His wrists are tied together in front of him between his knees, pulled down and tied tightly to a D-ring on the floor too. To add fire to the flame, there's a collar strapped around his neck, tied to the same anchor; It forces his back to arch forward, and renders him almost completely immobile.

Whumpee glares back at him and growls, “I dont have shit to say to you.” 

Whumper tisks and stands. He guides the end of the cattle prod to Whumpees chin, lifting it so they are eye to eye again. Whumpee's gaze does not falter.

“You can hide behind your words and pretend to be strong Whumpee, but you and I both know you aren't. There's a reason I picked you instead of anyone else. You're the weakest on your team.”

"That's not true," Whumpee responds with grit teeth. His body aches and pain courses through him. He's been in this position since yesterday; 'the perfect position for whipping,' as his marred back is evidence to. He's been in this cell for the past week, suffering in endless ways. 

No food. Little water.

If this is weak, then Whumpee doesn't know what strong is anymore.

"Tell me what you know,"  Whumper demands, pushing Whumpees chin up slightly farther, straining his neck against the collar.

"Suck. My. Dick."

Whumper sighs mockingly, and in a swift movement, jabs the electrodes into Whumpees chest, pressing the trigger. Whumpee cries out as his body convulses, fighting to get away but with nowhere to go. 

When it stops again, he gasps in a breath, body shaking. Whumper raises an eyebrow at him, as if asking, "how about now?" Whumpee just shakes his head, lips pursed into a thin line.

So Whumper shocks him again, and again, and again, longer and longer each time. It gets harder to suppress the noises of pain that want to escape from his mouth, harder to pretend that it doesn't hurt as much as it actually does, to prove his words wrong. Whumpees hands unclench and push hard, flat against the concrete floor, shoulders hunched as he tries to keep himself from collapsing forward.

Whumper lifts his finger off the trigger, watching with a smirk as Whumpee spasms and struggles, ragged breaths filling the room. 

"Seems like you're getting closer, hmm? You've lasted longer than i thought," 

"I-Im n-not giving them up," Whumpee laughs bitterly. His laugh sounds more like a wheeze at this point, breaths shaky.

"Then maybe we should try a new method, something with a more lasting effect…" Whumper says, walking out of Whumpees view. Whumpee can feel his heartbeat pick up even more as he hears rustling behind him. He doesn't know what to expect. 

When Whumper comes back in front of him, he has a sledgehammer in his hand, and he crouches in front of Whumpee again, a dangerous smile dancing across his lips. He lightly taps it against each of Whumpee's knuckles.

Whumpee's blood runs cold, he tries to hide the fear in his eyes, but Whumper is smart; He notices the slight flicker and he relishes in every bit of it.

"Anything new come to mind?" Whumper taunts, stretching his arms slightly like a baseball player before they go up to bat.

Whumpee's mind nearly goes blank with panic. Whumper’s going to smash his hands to pieces. What if they never recover? What if they're disfigured for the rest of his life? How could he ever draw again, help Leader cook, play video games with Teammate, fight again?

“You gonna give me a location?” Whumper asks evilly.

Whumpee can almost hear the joyous chatter in the room as they gather in the common area, watching as food fills the table, food that he and Leader made, smiles on their faces. The smiles that they use to show love, that tell Whumpee they’d sacrifice for him if they had to. It's with those smiles in his head that he swallows his fear. He would give up everything to keep them safe, including the things that made him him. He'd die for them if he had to.

“Go to hell…” Whumpee swears, tensing up when Whumper's eyebrows draw down. 

“Now which hand should we start with, hmm? The left? Or your dominant one first…?” He asks, tapping his right hand. Whumpee gets angry with himself for letting Whumper figure that out, even though he couldn't have known this would happen.

“Oh, you talked so much before, got nothing to say now?” Whumper laughs, with a quick backhand to Whumpees cheek that snaps his head to the side. Whumpee stays quiet, doesn't let himself speak the obscenities he wants to shout. He doesn't want to give Whumper the satisfaction of getting under his skin any more than he already had. He pulls against the ropes-- If he could get out he'd kill him.

“Guess i'll choose for you then. How about the right one?” Whumper smiles, “Let's start off strong.”

Whumpee watches as Whumper raises the hammer upward, braces himself for the impact, but squeezes his eyes shut as it swings downward. 

In the few seconds that follow, Whumpee doesn't know what to feel. It feels sort of like floating on the ocean; it's peaceful, in a way, but you know that at any time you might sink. Then, the pain slams into his hand. A strong, strangled yell gets caught in his throat.

“Acting strong again? Come on Whumpee! Just tell me!” Whumper yells. Whumpee says not a word. So Whumper swings again, and this time, Whumpee screams, loud and raw as white hot pain shoots up his arm. Two more hits later, and Whumpee’s watery eyes blur over, but he still doesn't change his mind. 

Whumper goes to swing again when he hears a slam from upstairs. His arms drop, and he quickly hides the confusion on his face, quickly looking at Whumpee, who doesn't even seem to notice what's going on or even that Whumper hasn't hit him again. Another slam sounds, closer this time. Whumper slides the hammer across the room, grabbing the switchblade from his pocket when he notices the sound of footsteps rushing toward the door. He quickly picks up the cattle prod from where he left it on the floor, and gets into the perfect position behind the sagging Whumpee with the knife to his throat and the electrodes to his side.

“Dont fucking move!” Whumper yells as the door bursts open.

Whumpee's eyes widen when his team files in, stopped dead in their tracks at the glint of the knife.

“Get the fuck way from him,” Leader growls.

“Oh, so glad of you to join the party! I was just asking Whumpee about you all." Whumper sneers.

[xpeachesncream]

it takes two | one shot (myg)

summary: min yoongi was the one who came to understand you and took you for you. but, when boundaries start getting crossed and priorities begin to change, you start to question if your relationship with your bestfriend is strong enough to make it through.

pairing: athlete!reader x athlete!myg

genre: bestfriends to lovers au, basketball au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 12.3k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, protected AND unprotected sex (later on), slight breast play, oral (f. receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, missionary, riding/straddling, mentions of alcohol consumption, dancing, mention of marijuana, sex on the beach kinda?, some heavy angst, insecurities, crying, injuries (like a cut/ankle sprain), yoongi is just kind of an idiot at one point

note: heavily inspired by the movie love and basketball. unedited for the most part, pls excuse any spelling/grammar errors.

tags: @ggukkieland​ @miinoongi​ @bluesharksandfish​ @unicornbabylover​

⏏︎ now playing: triggered - jhené aiko ; sorry enough - chris brown

First Quarter: 6th Grade

You didn't really have a lot of friends in elementary school. Any, actually. Hell, the girls in your class purposely ignored you because you acted different. Dressed different. Enjoyed the shit boys liked, like playing ball and video games. You couldn't relate to their gel pens, Lisa Frank folders, cute binder stickers and bracelet charms. None of that shit was you. But you didn't care, you were fine by yourself. Nobody to please, nobody to care for.

The only person that came to understand you was Min Yoongi and that's because you played basketball with him and his friends during daycare. At first, it came as a surprise because truthfully, you felt like Yoongi only let you play because he felt bad for you. Which, okay, whatever— so be it. But, after the last round during a game of two versus two, you found yourself on the ground, huge gash on the knee from chasing after the ball before it could go out of bounds.

"Ouch! Crap!" You groaned as you sat up and checked out your knee. Yoongi walks towards you and crouches down, examining the bloody gash.

"Come on." He says, holding out a hand to help lift you up. He swings your arm over his shoulder, already knowing that any sudden movements to your knee can make the wound sting. He takes his time and walks with you as you hop on one leg towards the office, not really saying much. Yoongi wasn't the most talkative in class. He hung out with two or three other boys in your class on the daily, but they were quiet. Weren't much troublemakers, didn't cause ruckus like the other boys did. But, he was still popular among the girls because he was a little cutiepie. You remember walking into the bathroom, hearing Angie and her friends tease her about her crush on Yoongi. Then, the following week, one of her friends also ended up crushing on Yoongi and they bickered [weirdly] in the bathroom about it.

Getting to the office, he sits you down on the bench before approaching the office admin to grab some bandaids and ice for you.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Min?" Mrs. Yao comes over to greet him.

"Y/N's hurt. Can I get a bag of ice and a bandaid for her, please?" Mrs. Yao looks over her shoulder and does a head tilt before sighing. She knew you weren't like the girls in your class, always getting hurt one way or another, being more hardheaded and stubborn than the usual. She grabs a bag of ice and hands the supplies over to Yoongi before placing her hands on her hips.

"You think you can take care of Miss Y/N, or do you need me to help?" He shakes his head.

"I got it, thank you Mrs. Yao." He politely says, giving her a small toothless smile. You silently watch as he walks over, crouching down once again to tend to your wounds. "I don't think this will hurt, but stay still so I can put this bandaid on." He says softly as he spreads the small Neosporin packet across your wound. He wipes his finger down on his pants before removing the back of the bandaid and pressing it against your knee. "There. You should keep the ice on it so it doesn't bruise and stuff." He stands.

"Thank you." He nods as he watches you stand and slightly limp before you adjust your steps to the right pressure. He follows you out, coming back to your side with his hands in his pockets.

"Why don't you act like the other girls?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow at you.

"What? Not liking all the girly stuff that they like?"

"Sure, or you playing basketball. You know girls are usually like cheerleaders and cheer the guys on instead."

"Well, I don't wanna be a cheerleader. I just would rather play. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, it's just weird to see."

"You're weird." You snapped back.

"How am I weird?"

"You shoot weird."

"And you don't? I shoot better than you." He furrows his brows.

"No you don't."

"Fine, wanna play one more time? Unless you're a wuss and can't play cause of your knee." You rolled your eyes at the sudden change of events.

"I'll play you, I'm not a wuss. Unless you're afraid to lose to a girl." You taunt him as you both walk back to the court.

"Whatever, I'm not afraid cause I won't lose." He grabs the ball and checks it in. "My ball first."

"Sure, if you think that'll help."

And that's how Yoongi lost to you, busted knee and everything. From there, it was history. You became inseparable, Yoongi becoming a large part of your days and vice versa. His parents eventually became close to yours after the numerous times you both have been dropped off to hang out, or catching rides home after school. Yoongi lived in a nearby neighborhood, only being a good 7 minute walk, to be exact.

Second Quarter: High School, Senior Year

In high school, it became a little different. Yoongi grew up, played varsity basketball and became a fucking jock even though he claimed he would never. Yeah, bullshit. You too, played on the girls varsity basketball team, and surprisingly, you two kept each other close. It was a blessing and a curse though, because you couldn't see your life without Yoongi. He's been there since the 6th grade. However, girls took note of that shit. Trying to use you as their way in to Yoongi's heart, or pants, or both. You made it very clear though that you weren't interested in being a fucking messenger. Girls thought you were mean, but really, they just couldn't handle you. Hence, why you really couldn't relate and be one of them.

Yoongi was still the only person who could understand you and handle you, bad attitude and all. Tomboy habits and all. Not wanting to make friends and all.

"Jesus fucking christ, the day just started." Yoongi says as he watches you toss your duffle bag and backpack aggressively in the back seat of his car. "What's your deal?"

"Nothing, I'm just tired." You slump in his passenger seat after buckling your seat belt.

"Chill, don't start your day like this."

"Whatever, dad." You rolled your eyes, causing him to let out a pathetic chuckle.

"Are you coming to my game later?"

"Yeah, if I'm not too tired from practice."

"Y/N, I always make it to your games even if I'm tired."

"Do you?"

"The fuck? Yes I do. When haven't I?" His tone raises with yours. "Don't try and justify your shit by coming up with lies."

"Yeah, yeah bighead. You'll have plenty of cheerleaders there for you."

"Yeah and?" He smirks. "You're the one I'll be looking for though." He caresses your chin, making you smack his hand away while he laughs loudly.

"You're stupid." You groan as you sink lower in his seat. The rest of the ride to school, you shut your eyes and enjoy the peace before you're having to walk down those annoying, congested hallways.

People rave a lot about senior year, but it honestly hasn't felt special to you. Maybe because you kept the same routine since freshmen year, or maybe you really just didn't care as much as everyone else did about how "special" it was. You've always been locked in to basketball even if your mom wasn't a big fan of it. She wished you were more into cute, girly shit, like makeup, shopping, manis and pedis and dresses and heels, but she came to accept this was the way it was going to be. Especially because your dad was your biggest fan. You came to love basketball, more than just a side hobby. You joined the varsity team and practiced day in and day out. When basketball wasn't in season, you'd play with Yoongi at the park or sign up for camps and tournaments. You just wanted to keep bettering yourself so that you could play in college and get into the league post-grad. Yoongi was the same, and he may or may not have influenced your passion for ball. Either way, he was always supporting you and cheering for you even if the other females hated it.

His ex for sure hated the relationship you had with him even though you really steered clear when she was around. Wasn't your fucking problem or responsibility to take care of her insecurities. Same with his flings.

"Hey, so later, yeah?" He asks in between throwing nods and smiles to girls passing by.

"Mhm." You hum. "You gonna be free for lunch later?"

"I don't know. I know where to find you though if I am."

"Have a good day, punk."

"You too, bub. See you in English." He turns on his heel, walking towards his friends, aka his team members. Aka his jock ass group. Aka the ones females flock to.

Namjoon, Jimin, Eunwoo, Lucas.

They were all pretty boys who knew they were pretty boys and used that to their advantage to make big asshole moves. You hated that Yoonks got pulled in from time to time, but shit, it wasn't your life, you were only a small part of his. Sometimes, they also pulled in the football boys, Jungkook and Seokjin. Even the baseball boys, Hoseok and Taehyung. It was all a huge pretty boy, jock, asshole group in the making outside. A big fucking party for a lot of the girls at school, though.

So even if Yoongi was really the only one in your life, you weren't the only one in his. It is, what it is. As long as he doesn't go switching up on you, then whatever, so be it.

The first half of your classes go by quick, being that you enjoyed your chemistry, french and english classes. You had your english class with Yoongi, Namjoon and Hoseok. You had gotten to know Namjoon and Hoseok a little through it, and it was enough to know that they weren't all that bad. At least in this classroom setting.

"You two going to prom together?" Namjoon asks, making Yoongi snort.

"No, what the hell?" Yoongi responds.

"You guys can have fun at prom." You roll your eyes.

"You're really not gonna go?" Joon bites on the end of his pencil.

"No? The fuck I look like?"

"Y/N, I know it'd be weird as fuck to see you in a dress, but it's senior year. You didn't go last year, did you?" Namjoon asks from Yoongi's other side.

"Really, Namjoon?" You give him a look as if it could state the obvious.

"Well shit, I don't know. I know it's not your thing but can't really say I would have noticed either way." Hoseok laughs, causing you to throw your pen at his head before flicking him off.

"Miss Y/N!" Mrs. Maxwell calls you out mid-movie, eyes wide and in disbelief at how you're acting.

"What?! He started it." You slumped back in your seat and let out a sigh.

"Not another word." She says sternly.

"Not another word." You mock her under your breath.

"Aye, stop. You and that attitude boutta get in some trouble the last weeks of senior year." Yoongi puts his hand on your wrist, causing you to shake your head and click your teeth.

"Anyway, you should go." Hoseok whispers as he leans over on the table to look at you.

"No. Besides, with what date?"

"Take the basketball." Joon snickers.

"You're a complete dumbass, Namjoon. Stop talking." You snap.

"Maybe they're right, bub. It's senior year and it's coming to an end quick. I'd hate for you to regret it." Yoongi turns to you and says lowly.

"You know that won't happen." But really, part of you did feel a little bad. You knew it wasn't your scene, and you really didn't care what people thought of you when it came down to it. However, you always wondered what it would be like if someone liked you. If someone wanted you. Crushed on you so hard that they couldn't keep their hands off of you, couldn't stop thinking of you. Your first love. To feel pleasure, pain. Mixture of emotions simply by being in love. You wondered what it would be like to lose your virginity and have good, good sex. Besides, you were a human with needs. But the only person you have ever been close to was Yoongi. For the most part, you didn't see him that way because you knew he definitely didn't. But, you also couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to take your relationship to that point. If it was anyone, he would be the one you'd have feelings for. He would be your first kiss, your first everything. Because Yoongi was comfort and security for you.

But you valued your friendship more than anything.

"Just saying, think about it." He follows up.

"Think about getting an expensive dress and painful ass heals to wear for one night, just to dance around in 'em and take one professional pic with a date? Maybe get railed if I'm lucky?" You playfully wiggle your eyebrows making Yoongi shake his head.

"Don't be such a party pooper for once."

"Mmm. Great reasoning. Really convincing me here." You laugh it off even though in all honesty, you were thinking about it.

The bell rings and thank god it's finally lunch because you were fucking starving. Appetite and attitude on na-na, no doubt. You silently part ways with Yoongi to stop by your locker and grab your lunch. You make your way to the rowdy ass cafeteria, quickly scanning the room to catch a sight of Yoongi. You see him sitting on top of one of the lunch tables with Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin and Taehyung sitting around him. Clearly, Yoongi wasn't free today.

"Wassup baby? Wanna trade that ball in for me?" Jimin says as you pass by their table to make your way outside to the bleachers. You flick him off before rolling your eyes and pretending to gag.

"Fuck off, Park." The group laughs except for Yoongi.

"Wonder if she's got that bad attitude in bed, too." Yoongi doesn't hesitate to smack Jimin upside the head because yeah, no matter what, he was gonna protect you as much as possible. "Owwww, I'm just kidding Yoongi."

"Don't let me hear you say that shit around me ever again."

"Fuck, I'm sorry. It was just a joke." Jimin winces as he rubs the back of his head.

"Damn Min Yoonks, why don't you take her ass to prom if it's like that?" Taehyung says, chewed up food coming into full view as he smacks loudly.

"Why don't you learn how to close your mouth first?" Yoongi spits back.

"Y/N is really rubbing off on you."

"It's manners, idiot. You should've been learned that." Namjoon says, laughing.

"But foreel, why won't you take her? You both are close, you've never seen her that way?" Hoseok asks making Yoongi shake his head in response.

"She's my bestfriend. I value her just the way she is, no more no less."

"Ah, you must have thought about it at least once." Yoongi keeps silent. Luckily, the group easily gets distracted and starts paying attention to Seokjin and Jungkook coming over as they talk about the dates they've scored for prom.

Yoongi has thought about it. Still does. Just like he is for you, you're the only one who understands him and takes him for who he is. You know the real him besides basketball player Yoongi. You're the only one who keeps it real. But he would rather keep it this way than ruin things between you and him. He'd hate to fuck up with you because he knows he can fuck up, there's no hiding from it. He'd never forgive himself if he lost you.

Practice is hell today for you and fuck, you really wanna just go home and lay down for the rest of the evening. Coach had you all running suicides and conditioning drills on the courts outside and pulling scrimmages against each other left and right. Let's not forget how coach is always on your ass right before a game too. Hell, she catches an attitude way worse than you before game time and after a loss. You wanted to avoid that at all costs. But, to avoid taking the bus home and instead hitching a ride with Yoongi, you throw on a hoodie and haul your ass to the gym in some nike slippers. You take a seat on a free end at one of the bleachers, holding Spalding in between your legs with your duffle next to you on the floor. The game is off to a start in about 5 minutes, Yoongi catches sight of you on the bleachers and nods. You give him a small smile as a gesture of good luck, which he reciprocates.

The game starts off intensely, both teams scoring closely even with the boys putting straight pressure. Towards the end of the first half, Yoongi and Eunwoo are the leading scorers, putting their team up by 10. Halftime is a bunch of hoo-haa, with cheerleaders in their itty bitty skirts, trying to shake their asses as they cheer for the boys. The boys don't even hide the fact that their ogling, and it's clear as day they all want some pussy. Quite frankly, they walk around thinking they deserve it cause of how hard they try to pull some wins and put the school on the map. Student government comes up for a bit too, pulling some kind of skit to weirdly promote prom. It makes you cringe and in all honesty, it makes you not wanna go even more, but it is your senior year. If you can snag a date, then maybe.

"Hey." Terra [not a cheerleader but still a pretty, popular chick] plops next to you with a smirk on her face. Immediately, you want no part in it because you already know what she's trying to do.

"Hi?"

"I'm just gonna cut straight to it. Do you know if Yoongi is seeing anyone?"

"How the hell would I know, Terra?" You furrow your brows at her.

"Because you're close to him, aren't you?"

"And? Doesn't mean I'm telling people his business. Besides, he's not obligated to tell me everything just cause we're close." She rolls her eyes.

"Whatever. Look, can you do me a favor and give this to him?" She tries handing you a little ass piece of paper folded neatly with a pink heart decorated on the front.

"Why don't you give it to him yourself?"

"That's no fun." You scoff and roll your eyes. Really, miss girl? "Be a doll for once, yeah?" She winks and slips the note in between your wrist and Spalding so it stays put. You take the note and eye it, letting out a deep sigh as you shove it into your pocket. You weren't in the mood to be extra rude today so you'll give it to him later when he drives you home.

The game finally finishes with Yoongi making a final three, the boys keeping their lead up by 10. Everyone cheers and showers the boys with love after the team has finished shaking hands and high-fiving their opponents. You stick around until the crowd dies down, watching Yoongi flirt with Terra as you swing your duffle bag strap onto your shoulder before slowly heading down the bleachers.

"Hey bighead, good game today." You lightly punch him against the chest.

"I knew you'd come."

"Shut up. I'll be at your car."

"For what?"

"Cause you're taking me home, punk."

"No please?"

"Please." He shakes his head and chuckles before you part ways to let him gather his things in the locker room. When you finally catch sight of his teeny head coming towards you from the gym, you hear him unlock his car to let you in while he continues to walk over.

"Fuuuuuck." He says, throwing his things in the back before buckling his seat belt and switching the gear into drive.

"You have fan mail." Yoongi looks over and sees you clutching the note Terra gave you.

"What's that, a condom?"

"You're sick. It's from Terra."

"Who's that again?" You make a face at him.

"You were just telling her sweet nothings earlier after the game?"

"Oh, Terra with the tig o' bitties. Got it." He shakes his head. "I wasn't telling her sweet nothings."

"Right. You're an absolute dipshit, you know?" You prop up a leg on the seat while you unfold the letter.

"Give it!" You move it away from his grasp and begin to read it out loud.

"Yoongi, you're honestly so hot. If you don't have a date for prom, I just want you to know that I'm free, and I promise I'll give you a good time if you take me." You cackle. "Boy, what the fuck is this? Ew."

"Shut up." He blushes before laughing along with you.

"Look at her, writing her coochie out on paper."

"She isn't."

"Oh, really? Pfft." You softly scoff. "So, are you taking her or what?"

"I don't know? Maybe, damn. What about you?"

"What about me, fool? I told you I'd think about it."

"Go with Jimin. He still doesn't have a date." He hates to say it with how much of an asshole Jimin can be, but if it meant you'd be at your senior prom then Yoongi will let it pass. He'll make sure Jimin doesn't try any slick shit.

"Ew, god no."

"Look, I'll make sure he doesn't go overboard. I promise."

"Why do you want me there so badly, Yoongi?"

"Because it's our last year in high school together and I'd really like to celebrate with you somehow." You sigh heavily.

"Fair enough. Let me sit on it."

"Better hurry and stop keeping that seat warm."

"Don't rush me." You punch his arm, causing a groan to erupt from him.

- - -

Really, you'd rather be anywhere than at prom with Park Jimin holding onto your waist the way he is for the pictures you're taking with him, Yoongi and the rest of their group and dates. After all the pictures and fake smiles, you feel him slowly slip his hand down your dress to try and get a grip on your ass, but before you could do so, you're grabbing his wrist with full pressure and making him wince.

"Don't you fucking dare or else I'll cut your dick off and throw it in a blender."

"Aish, ah, fuck! Okay, I'm kidding, let me go!" He whines lowly. You let go of his wrist after one more good squeeze, causing him to wiggle his hand to get the feeling back.

"Get me some punch, will you? My mouth is dry."

"You know, I might know something else that can help." Jimin wiggles his eyebrows as he continues to hold onto his wrist.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Or not. I'll be back." He accepts defeat by smiling from ear to ear before walking off. You sit off to the side, the heels a huge pain in the ass on top of Jimin already being a huge pain in the ass. You lean over on your knees, completely forgetting you have a short dress on, causing boys passing by to whistle and eye at the easy access.

"The fuck are you looking at? Keep it moving." Yoongi says pushing the guys forward before shooting you a look. "Y/N, really?"

"Shit sorry, I forgot. I'm not used to this." You sit up and adjust your dress before rubbing your arms at how self-conscious you suddenly [and unexpectedly] feel.

"Are you having fun at least?" He sits next to you, manspreading on the seat in the navy suit he has on.

"Mmm, sure." You slightly smile at him. "What about you? You actually took Terra, huh?"

"Yeah, it's pretty fun." He chuckles. "Don't lie, I saw you dancing a bit earlier."

"That's when the alcohol hadn't worn off yet." You snort, remembering Seokjin's older brother giving the group alcohol after all the parents were done taking their pictures of you all. Yoongi laughs along with you before he looks over and simply stares at you, hair all done, makeup done perfectly without it being too much. You in a dress.

"You look beautiful tonight, bub."

"You don't look too bad yourself, bubby." You blush before Jimin interrupts the moment with your cup of punch.

"Here, princess."

"You better not be trying anything slick, punkass." Yoongi says.

"Mm, don't worry. I haven't been able to." You kick his shin as you chug your punch, causing him to cough and choke on his own words. "I'd like to peacefully have this slow dance with you at least, damn." You swallow the last bits of punch before you're taking Jimin's hand to the floor. Yoongi watches as you two make your way to the dance floor for a slow dance, slightly regretting that he didn't just ask you to dance.

"Let's dance, babe." Terra's baby voice comes out as she pulls him up from the seat to find a spot on the dance floor. Yoongi is honestly tired of having to keep up with Terra's energy and her clingy ass, but nonetheless, he was happy you were around for prom.

He was really happy you were around for prom, even though you hated this shit more than anything.

He had you in full view ahead, and so did you. He couldn't help but direct his attention towards you and keep his eyes on you. Fuck, he has never seen anyone so beautiful until you walked through Seokjin's doors with Jimin. Look, let's get this straight. Even though you had your own way of expressing yourself, he always loved your natural beauty, your natural glow. He loved watching you on the court and how happy it made you to play ball. He remembers every accomplishment, every milestone you've reached. How you've grown tremendously as a ball player. He would never admit it to you in person, but he definitely admires how you push yourself and how you always do what you can to improve. Hell, you might just be the better player between the both of you. And when you catch him looking over, he doesn't even try and hide it. He doesn't even care that he's still holding onto Terra and slow dancing with her.

Something within you flips. You feel that shit in the pit of your stomach, at the heat of your core.

But, you brush it off and break eye contact first, even if he doesn't stop staring. This couldn't happen, no. This was your bestfriend. You weren't gonna let the things you felt get in the way of that.

Nope.

Suddenly, the song changes to something more upbeat and twerkable, Jimin taking the opportunity to spin you around and grind on you. You really need a distraction anyway, something to rid you of those god awful thoughts about your bestfriend, so you let him and you have fun with it. Everyone around you is having fun anyway, and fuck, you wouldn't have to do this ever again so fuck it.

"Let me get a dance with my bestfriend." Yoongi says to Jimin.

"Go dance with your date!"

"Shut up and switch for a second!" Yoongi says, pushing him off of you so he could get behind and dance with you.

"Yoonks, what the hell?" You laugh.

"Go with it, bub. It's fucking senior year, we're graduating soon." You go with his movements, having the time of your life with everyone around you as prom quickly comes to a close.

When you get into Jimin's car, you knock off your heels as he continues to talk nonstop about the night. Jimin was a cutie but god, you could not stand his mindset for the life of you. You were grateful he had agreed to take you to prom, but damn. Prom was done and all you wanted was some peace and quiet.

"I hope you had fun with me tonight." You give him a toothless smile before slipping your heels back on.

"I did, thank you for taking me. Really." He smiles from ear to ear before leaning over near your seat.

"Can I get just one good smooch for the night?" You look at him before you smirk and lean over near his lips.

"Sure." You whisper.

"Oh fuck, this is actually happening."

"Close your eyes, I know you don't fucking kiss with your eyes open. What are you doing?"

"Right. Sorry." He closes his eyes and puckers his lips. You lean in a little closer, feeling his breath against your lips.

Then you flick his nose.

"Ouch!"

"Peace out, Park." You throw open his door to step out and shut it behind you to quietly walk into your house.

The lights are off and your parents are already tucked into the room for the night, leaving you a note on the fridge reminding you to make sure all the doors are locked before retreating to your room. You do as you're reminded before quietly shutting your door and tossing your heels to the side. You let the pins down from your hair, ruffling it around a bit and relieving any pressure on your head. Before turning away from your dresser, you notice a letter from the one university you had been waiting on. You had been waiting to hear back from Stanford for the longest time, and quite frankly, you had been upset you hadn't heard especially when their scouts were at your game awhile ago.

You had broken down to your parents, to Yoongi, automatically assuming the worst when you heard that other people had already been accepted and scouted for Stanford. Suddenly, you found yourself working harder and harder because you felt like you were lacking in so many areas. You felt low, and like your dream was running miles and miles away from you. Faster than you could keep up.

You take the letter in your hand, but don't want to open it because you don't feel ballsy enough [surprisingly]. You call up Yoongi, not caring that he could possibly be in the middle of getting his dick wet.

"Sup?"

"Are you busy?"

"I was just about to walk into my house."

"Oh, nevermind."

"Need me to come by?"

"I got a letter from Stanford."

"Shit, I'll be there in 2 mins."

And in 2 minutes, he surely was knocking at your window. You slide it up enough for him to climb in, Yoongi still in his prom get-up as well.

"Here." You instantly hand him the letter.

"What, why me? It should be you."

"I can't, I really can't." He sighs.

"Are you sure you won't regret this?"

"No, bub. Please." You sit on the bed and fiddle with your fingers as you watch him rip the envelope open and tear out the letter. You can't even keep your eyes on him as he reads the letter and starts backing away from you.

"Shit."

"What? What?!" You stand, trying your best to keep your tone low. He covers his mouth, causing you to pinch his bicep at how dramatic he was being. "Just say it!"

"You're not going." Your heart sinks, but before you could process it, Yoongi speaks up again. "To any other college because Stanford wants you."

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" You whisper and shove him.

"Congrats, bubby. Guess we'll be together in college too." Your eyes widen.

"Y-you're going? T-to Stanford?" He smiles and nods.

"Yeah, I am."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Look, I just wanted to give you your space. That's all. I found out before you went all cry baby on me."

"Shut up." You say before laughing and jumping into his arms, throwing your legs around his torso while he swings you around. As he sets you back down onto your bedroom floor, your hands linger around his neck, gently tugging on the hair that rested there. He keeps you close, his hands resting around your waist as your chests are still touching. You honestly have no idea what takes over you— perhaps all the feelings you felt tonight at prom taking over, or feeling overjoyed from finally hearing back from Stanford, you couldn't decide. But you crash your lips against his, immediately pulling back after you realized you've just kissed your bestfriend.

You just had your first fucking kiss through accidental causes.

Well, shit.

Was it accidental or no?

Mind is going off on a tangent.

"Woah. I'm so sorry, Yoonks, I—" He doesn't allow for any space between you two, keeping your body flush against his as his lips crash onto yours again to cut you off. To be quite honest, things are moving fast and the kiss deepens quick. You follow his motions, gaining some rhythm as your tongue dances along with his in the [now] wet, sloppy kiss.

"Wait, Y/N." He pulls away as the moment intensifies. "A-are you sure you wanna keep going? To be honest, I don't know if I'll be able to hold myself back and I know you haven't exactly—" He knows it would be your first time and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. I mean, sure, he loved you. You were special to him. But he wanted to make sure your first time was also special, whether it be him or whoever else.

"Please. I want this. I wanna do this with you."

By the looks of tonight, it seems like it's meant to be him.

You press your lips back onto his with the same intensity and start to unbutton his shirt when you feel his hands hike up your dress. He gently pushes you on the bed, crawling over to you as he kicks off his shoes and finishes ripping off his shirt and tie. He slowly removes the straps of your dress down your shoulders and undoes the zipper on the side before slipping it down and leave you in your panties.

You had no bra on.

Yoongi's eyes widen when he realizes such, your cheeks heating up while you watch him stare down your body. You begin to feel incredibly self-conscious so you cover your chest with an arm. Yoongi senses your uneasiness, your confidence shooting down below zero.

"You're beautiful, bub. Don't." He says, gently tugging your arm away and letting it fall limply to the side. You simply nod and let him take the reigns because you had no idea what the fuck you were doing. So many emotions were flooding your mind— you were nervous, you were scared, you were shy, you felt lost and too innocent under Yoongi, even if he knew you like the back of his hand.

And because of that, he could pick up on it with the way your body continued to tense up. He shook off his pants, leaving on his boxers until you were ready for him. Cause fuck, he was ready for you, but he had to take this slow. He had to take care of you.

He lowers himself onto you after the two of you have climbed under the sheets, lowering his head against your neck to press light, feathery kisses along the surface. You felt the tingles shoot down your spine every time his lips made contact, causing you to softly gasp and arch your back at how sensitive you were already feeling.

"If you ever feel uncomfortable, just tell me to stop okay?" He says lowly. You nod in response, Yoongi taking it as leverage to plant a kiss on your lips before moving down to your breasts. He keeps his eyes on you, making sure you don't seem uncomfortable in the slightest bit. But you don't, and it's indicated in the way you bite your bottom lip and arch your back at the way his tongue wraps around your hardened bud. He does the same on the other breast before peppering kisses down your stomach and abdomen.

"Yoongi." You slightly gasp, shy at how unusually close he is to your lady friend.

"What's wrong? Want me to stop?" His thumbs gently caressed your thighs as his head hovered over your pelvis. You shake your head and nervously swallow before speaking once more.

"I-I'm just scared, what if you don't like—"

"Shh." He shushes you. "You're everything to me, you know that. You don't have to change just so I could enjoy you in bed. I'll take good care of you, bub. I promise."

"O-okay." He nods, placing a kiss over your clothed clit before pulling them down to get lost within your sheets. He swipes a finger down your folds, causing your breathing to hitch slightly. You watch as he slowly inserts the same digit inside of you, biting onto his bottom lip watching your facial expressions turn from uncertainty to straight pleasure. "Another." You moan.

"You sure?"

"Yes, please." He inserts another digit, curling his fingers upward as he starts to finger fuck you at a steady pace.

"Shit, you're so wet Y/N." He says lowly before lowering his mouth onto you to get a taste and tease your clit. You gasp at the overwhelming sensation, feeling the pleasure bubbling in your core and you had no idea how to deal with it. He picks up his pace while tonguing your clit and sucking at the right pressure until suddenly, you short circuit and tremble under his grip. You purse your lips together to prevent yourself from moaning too loud with your parents at the other end of the hall [jesus fucking christ], knuckles turning white as you grip the sheets tightly.

Your first orgasm came and washed over you quick.

"Did you just—" He removes his digits from inside of you, drooling at your cum accumulating all over his fingers.

"Holy fuck." You whisper as you regulate your breathing, twitching when Yoongi places a quick kiss on your pussy before coming back up to you.

"How was that?"

"So good. Wanna feel you." You whine, tugging him down towards you.

"I got you, bubby." He says, kissing your jaw, cheek, nose and lips. He reaches over into his pants on the floor, grabbing a condom out of his pocket. You furrow your brow and chuckle, confused if this was something he always did.

"You just carry that around?"

"The guys and I split on a box and carried one each for tonight. Just in case."

"Total fucking assholes." He chuckles.

"Better safe than not, right?" He rips it open with his teeth, spitting the wrapper out onto the floor before rolling it down his cock. He was perfectly thick and long, and it made you a nervous wreck all over again thinking about how this could feel. "Ready? I'll go slow." You nod. You immediately felt immense pressure when you felt Yoongi dip his body and slowly enter you. You winced, Yoongi immediately pausing until you tapped his arm to continue. And so he does, and you continue to breathe through it until he bottoms out and lets out a soft groan against your neck. "Fuck, you're so tight bub. God, you're gonna make me cum quick." He slowly pumps in and out, steadying his pace when he feels you buck your hips up to go along with his motions.

The pleasure skyrocketed; You shut your eyes, letting yourself be in this moment. Feel this moment.

He picks it up a little faster, careful not to bang your headboard against the wall. His forehead is pressed against yours, watching as you let out soft whimpers against his lips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yoongi-Yoongi—" You whispered. "You're gonna make me—" It was becoming overwhelming, your clit rubbing against him as he steadied his pace and continued to fuck into you. He nods, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"Yeah, that's it. Let go. It's okay." And that was enough for you to reach your second orgasm tonight. Quick, but fuck. Yoongi made you feel so good, and you wouldn't want it any other way. You shut your eyes as you hurdled over the edge, mouth open with silent, inaudible moans being released. "So fucking pretty." Yoongi says as he feels himself reaching his high with the way your walls pulsated against his cock.

God. So, so good.

He holds onto the headboard and quickly fucks into you until he's spilling his seed in the condom, muffled moans being released against the crook of your neck. It takes a moment before Yoongi raises his head, your hands running through his black hair while he presses a tender kiss against your lips. He slowly removes himself, wrapping the condom in a tissue before tossing it into your trash can. He plops next to you and welcomes you into his arms, caressing you to soothe you from your first time.

"You okay?"

"More than okay." You say, the both of you trying to savor the moment before trying to navigate where to go from here.

What now?

Third Quarter: College, Junior Year (Present)

You bent down, hands resting against your knees as you tried to catch your breath during the timeout Coach Chu had called with 5.2 seconds literally left on the clock. He laid out the play he wanted you and the team to pull off in order to gain the win over Berkeley.

It had to be executed perfectly. No flaws.

Coach Chu had been riding your ass since you were a freshman. But, over the years, you've learned how to work through his tough love and turn it into positives, bettering yourself on and off the floor. It paid off, and he saw the fire in you, finally moving you up to starting point guard right before the season ended. Some team members hated it at first, but eventually, grew to work with it as well.

The plan was to have you come down into the paint and lay up the ball or take a shot at the very last second to avoid Berkeley from getting another chance at scoring. Sometimes you hated the pressure, but you've also learned that a big part of playing ball was thriving under pressure.

Your team closes up the huddle before you and your teammates are heading back out onto the floor to try and get this win. You shake off the nerves, bouncing the ball out of bounds until you check it in with your teammate. After that— it was like a blur. Shit happened so quick, you couldn't even process it. You passed the ball and dashed over to the other side of the court while your teammate put up a screen. You rose your hand as you ran into the paint, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you awkwardly lay up the ball in the position you were in and stumble onto the ground from losing your footing. You turn your head as the buzzer went off, noticing that the ball had bounced off the rim.

You missed a fucking lay up.

How could you miss a fucking lay up?

"Fuck!" You cry as you sit up and smack the floor.

"Aye, it's all good girl! Ain't a big deal! You win some, you lose some! We still got a ways to go!" Your teammate [roommate, and closest college friend] Clarice said as she helped you up. She was right, but every loss to you was a big loss no matter what. Coach was for sure gonna drill you about this too, and you were already mentally preparing.

"Thanks." You mumble. You look out at the disappointed crowd slowly dispersing, wishing you could still catch a familiar face in the crowd.

But, Yoongi hadn't been to your game in years. So you thought. You never caught him if he ever stepped foot into your game.

Your head hung low as the familiar feeling of pain and loneliness came rushing back while you headed to the locker room. Too bad you didn't see him hiding out on the side of the bleachers with Lucas.

"Y/N, a word." Coach Chu says, leading you into his office.

Fuck, here we go.

You shut the door behind you and stand awkwardly in front of his desk, fiddling with your fingers.

"Look, I just want to say that you put on hell of a show tonight, win or lose. We still have plenty of games left, plenty of opportunities to lock in play-offs. Alright? Don't be upset."

"Thanks Coach." You give him a tiny smile.

"Are you doing okay?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so."

"What's on your mind?"

"Nothing coach, just been a hectic couple of weeks." In which, it was no lie. You crammed for test after test, project after project. You barely had any time to breathe this year.

"Well, my door is always open if you need to chat." You nod. "I'll see you at practice. Enjoy your night."

"Thanks again." You say as you exit his office and get yourself showered and into comfier clothes.

Meanwhile, Yoongi heads back to his dorm room alongside Lucas, hands dug deep into his pockets while his head hung low.

"You ever gonna talk to her?"

"I don't know." He sighs. "Pretty sure I fucked up any chance of that."

"Look, dude. You haven't really been the same since you and Y/N fell out." Yoongi stays silent as they slowly climb the steps up to their room. "Why are you just gonna leave it like this? It's been so long already. Doesn't it bother you?"

"Positive she doesn't want me around." Lucas shakes his head.

"You haven't even tried. You just gave up and that shit is cold, to be honest. I know Y/N always held it down for you, I would have expected you to do the same." The words cut through Yoongi so deep, he doesn't even know how to respond and leaves it at that.

As you heavily dragged your body back to the dorms and took your sweet ol' time, your mind began to wander back to Yoongi as well. After he had taken your virginity that night, things took a turn for the worst.

He treated you differently, created this distance that allowed you to grow farther and farther apart from each other until he was no longer in your grasp and vice versa.

You went from Yoongi being a part of your every day to nothing. And fuck, did it hurt you. You cried and cried, until you were so tired of crying. You had to pick yourself up and keep it moving no matter what. Life waits for nobody.

You reminisce on those days of debating over who could really be considered the greatest. Although, you did pay your respects to the bigs, the greats— Kobe, Magic, MJ, Lebron— you paid respect where it was rightfully due. However, Derrick Rose at his prime? Rajon Rondo? Chris Paul?

Hell, even Baron Davis, Monte Ellis. Rookie Steph Curry? Shiiit. They were it for you, and Yoongi used to dog your ass on how unrealistic you were being.

That was all gone.

He must be having a ball watching Steph climb up those charts now, though. You wonder what he would say to you.

The days of going to basketball games, to each other's basketball games, to ordering hella pizza and creating chaos in either house over the dunk contest during the NBA All Star Week or yelling all around the living room and jumping on couches during the NBA playoff season and championship games— All gone.

If you knew this would drastically change you and Yoongi, you would have never let that night happen. You continued to put on your brave face, your thick, tough skin even though deep down, it took everything in you to suppress the hurt, betrayal and confusion. Even after all these years.

He meant everything to you. Did you not to him? You could never understand until this day. How could he dispose of you so, so quickly?

You see him on campus and quickly break any eye contact, or run the opposite way. You were tired of doing this even though you felt like you needed closure. Some explanation. You deserved it. But you weren't gonna initiate that. Even if Yoongi did, you don't even know if things could ever go back to the way it was. He promised he would never hurt you, but he has. He still is hurting you. The wounds— it cut deep. Deeper than he could ever imagine.

"Hello?" You smile, hearing your dad on the other line.

"Hey dad."

"Hey baby! How was your game? I'm sorry I couldn't catch it tonight, work kept me behind." You sigh.

"Eh, it's probably good you didn't. Didn't turn out so well." He picks up on how your voice cracks ever so slightly, enough to indicate that you were trying your hardest not to break down about your performance. "I missed the winning shot."

"Oh sweetheart, you'll get 'em next time. You always do. You still have a couple of games left don't you?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't change the fact that I played shitty as hell tonight."

"There's always room for improvement, only way to go is up from here right?" He says softly, making you smile. "You'll get 'em next time, I have no doubt. You always know how to better yourself even when I think you've already reached your highest potential."

"Thanks Dad. You always were my number one fan."

"I still am." He chuckles. "How's everything else? School?"

"Fine." He always has to stop himself from asking about Yoongi, even to ask if there's been the slightest change to your relationship.

"You sure?"

"Course." You lie.

"Alright, well you know me and your mom are here for you if you need anything."

"I know."

"I'll let you go and get some rest, alright? Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Mmm, I'll try." You chuckle. "I love you."

"Love you too. And hey, baby?"

"Yeah?"

"Always remember that you deserve everything good in this world. If someone can't handle you at your worse, they sure as hell don't deserve you at your best."

"Thank you." You smile as if your dad can see you through the phone before hanging up and unlocking your dorm door.

"Sigma Nu party going on tonight, wanna come and slide through?" Clarice asks as she watches you toss your duffle aside.

"I'm tired, not in the mood."

"So aren't I, but I think we both need it. Come on girl, just for a little." You sigh. Clarice had also been there by your side since you both were freshmen recruits. One day, she came into the room and found you a crying mess, causing her to wrap her arms around you and craddle you until you calmed down. You had spilled the beans about Min Yoongi, especially when he quickly became the talk of the campus as a ladies man and one of the best freshmen recruits Stanford has ever seen. You hated it, but a part of you still found yourself happy that he was getting the recognition he deserved as a ball player.

He wasn't the tallest, or the biggest, but boy had heart and played every game like it was his last. You had been his number one fan, and even though you hated him, that fact would never change.

Anyways, without Clarice, you weren't sure where you'd be. Definitely not here because you'd be too busy running away from your past and all the issues that came with it.

Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and say it. You would be stupid enough to not go to your first choice just because of a stupid boy.

"Fine, fine. I'm leaving as soon as someone wants to start acting up and getting all crazy though."

"Deal." She chuckles. You've learned how to dress up a little more— and by a little we mean baggy sweats, a crop tight fitting tee and chapstick. No way in hell you'd get dolled up for a party. Out of the years you've already been here, you probably went to two parties. One being the party Coach Chu threw at his house for a record-breaking season. The other was a legit party that you stepped foot in for all of 2 seconds before you figured it was time to head home, especially after seeing Yoongi hugged up with some chick and disgustingly tonguing her down while groping her ass.

Shit, you were never gonna get used to it.

The frat house is fucking packed and wreaks of weed even down the corner. You and Clarice push your way through, greeting people who were acknowledging your presence and waving at your other teammates that were also present.

"More basketball babes have arrived, let's go!" One of the frat guys cheers as you and Clarice make your way to the kitchen where all the alcohol is laid out.

"One shot?" She asks as she already has her hand wrapped around the Svedka handle.

"One and done." You tell her. You shouldn't have let her pour the shot though because now, you're stuck with nasty ass vodka near the halfway mark of the cup. "Clarice, what the fuck is this?"

"It's called savoring our one."

"You're fucked up." You joked as you tap your cup against hers and take the shot in three chugs. "Really fucked up." You wince.

"Come, lets go see what the other girls are up to and hang out for a bit." You follow her lead to the corner of the living room, chatting it up with your team before dancing around in the little corner you all occupied— keeping as far away as possible from sloppy and messy dudes.

You turned to eye the crowd at some point, catching Yoongi coming down the stairs, a female following from behind holding his hand. Then, they disappear to the outside of the house. You swallow the lump in your throat, the room feeling hotter than it already was.

Why he still had this affect on you, you had no idea.

Clarice and your teammates are too busy cracking jokes that they don't realize you've slipped away to get some air. You're finding that the crowd has come bigger in the short amount of time you've been here and navigating through it has become difficult. You're having to bob, weave and shove your way out, letting out a sigh the closer you get to the front of the house. You're also really glad you've been able to steer clear from—

"Shit, my bad." You unintentionally bump into someone making your way to the front from the side of the house due to you keeping your head low.

"Y/N?" You whip your head around to see Yoongi raising a brow, dropping his arm from the same chick's shoulders.

"Hi." You give him a fake, tight-lipped smile and rush your way to the front of the house. Thank god you finally make it because you were starting to feel claustrophobic, even being outside. However, you weren't prepared for Yoongi to come after you and grab your wrist the way he did.

"Wait, I didn't expect you to be here." Out of defense, you quickly snatch your wrist away from his grip and furrow your brows at him.

"Yeah, and now I'm leaving."

"Why, hang out for a bit—"

"And what, Yoongi? Watch you be the life of the party? Watch you walk around all fine and dandy like shit never happened between us?" You feel the tears welling up on your bottom lids, but you promised yourself you would never cry over him again. You refuse to. He had already taken up so much of you that you refuse to give him any more.

"Is that what you really think?" He says, the hurt apparent in his expression. To be frank, no. Yoongi really, really never meant to hurt you. And just like he had mentioned before, he would never forgive himself if he ever hurt you. He hasn't forgiven himself. He hasn't forgiven himself for how he let you slip out of his grasp when it was his own fault for pushing aside his feelings for you. He thought the world of you, the only woman who kept it real with him and stuck by him through the highest of highs, lowest of lows. There was no one as special as you, no one who could ever be as special as you, no matter how many times he tried to sink his dick into other females.

No one was real like you.

But, he was also conflicted because of that. He felt like he couldn't give you the love you rightfully deserved, he didn't think he could love you properly. He had so much to learn and he didn't wanna hurt you in the process. It sounds so fucking stupid [because it is] that he thought distancing himself was better than just being honest. He was a dumbass high schooler, he didn't know any better. But, he never meant to make you feel special for one night, then run from it. You were always special to him. You had always been. You always will be. And these past years hurt like a bitch, but he coudn't find the words to explain. Eventually, he just believed he would do less damage if you both remained distant this way.

Although, he longed for you. He really needed you just as you needed him. He always has, always will.

So when the two of you bump into each other tonight, he felt like maybe, it was a sign. Maybe it was time to stop being childish.

God, he missed your face.

God, he was a fucking asshole.

"No, I'm not doing this shit." You shake your head. "Just— continue to stay away from me, okay? I'm better off without you." The words sting you, but it doesn't sting you as much as it stings Yoongi. You glare at him once more before you turn on your heel and begin walking down the street to head back to your dorm.

"Y/N! Wait up!" Clarice calls for you, eyeing Yoongi as she passes him to catch up with you down the street. "Hey, hey. You okay?" She swings her arm around you when she catches you silently crying to yourself. "What did he do, Y/N?"

"He fucking exists, that's what." You groan. "Ugh, fuck! I'm not supposed to be crying over his dumbass, I'm better than this Clarice— Why the fuck am I crying over it?" You break down, crouching down to your knees, causing Clarice to hover over you and pull you into a hug.

"Maybe you just need to let it out and stop forcing yourself to not feel anything."

"I hate him, I hate him, I hate him." You bawled into your arms. "I hate him so much." She caressed your back. "But he still finds a way to mean so much to me."

"I think it's time for you two to talk."

"I can't. It's just better this way."

"Are you sure? Because look at you, Y/N. You're a mess, and this hasn't even been the first time you broke down about him. As much as you want to believe that you're fine without him, you're not. He was your bestfriend and I think you need him more than you even know yourself."

"He's doing fine without me."

"You don't know that, baby. Dudes are annoying as fuck because they can literally go on about their day and mask that shit well. If he's ready, let him explain. Hear him out. You both may be misunderstanding the entire situation." It takes you a good minute before you can finally gather yourself and make it back to your dorm room with Clarice.

She was right.

But you were so angry more than anything. You were angry and you weren't sure how you could get past it.

He left your side. 

And so the next day, you go about your day in class, staying quieter than usual during practice. For the most part, Coach Chu was always on your ass because of how vocal you were and how much you caught an attitude when things didn’t go the way you'd like it to. So, to see you this quiet, almost sullen even, concerns him. But, he already pressed you once and he wasn't gonna do it again to avoid irritating you any further.

You run the usual conditioning drills, practicing play by play before a final scrimmage game for the night. You push yourself hard like you always do, almost coming out of practice dry heaving from how tired you are. It was your bad habit though, you wouldn't quit until you got it right. Until you felt right. And unfortunately, it's another one of those nights where you feel unsatisfied with your performance. So, you take it upon yourself to continue practicing in the empty gym that was set to close within the next hour. You're tired out of your mind, and you know this is probably a bad idea, but you can't shake off the feeling of dissatisfaction. To you, that was the next worst thing. Right behind Yoongi.

You begin to work on your three pointers, lay ups and shots out of range before you start to play a scrimmage game with yourself.

"I'll play you." You suddenly hear, the sweat beads dripping down your forehead at this point. You watch Yoongi as he drops his water bottle off at the side of the court before walking over to you.

"Go away."

"Afraid you'll lose?"

"No, I just don't wanna play your ass." You shot up the ball, only for it to bounce off the backboard and land in Yoongi's hand.

"Ball up. Let's play till 10."

"Why the hell do you wanna play me, Yoongi? Don't you have a random chick to bone?"

"I'm clearly standing right in front of you aren't I? Quit fucking talking and play." He aggressively passes you the ball to check it in, you following suit, making the ball damn near bounce off of his chest with how hard you pass it back. He knew exactly how to rile you up.

You get into the zone quickly, trying to find some kind of redemption for the way you had been feeling lately. Redemption, validation, way to take the edge off— anything, really. It was only until the first person scored to 10, but Yoongi was putting up one hell of a fight, jet black hair parted down the middle and matted to his forehead from the sweat building up. You take the lead, sitting at 8 while Yoongi sat at a sad 6 points.

"Ball." You call out as you scored a layup, ramming yourself against the padded wall with the force you had put up.

"That's 10."

"Ball, Yoongi." You huffed and puffed.

"Stop, don't overwork yourself. You just got—"

"Suddenly you care? Stop being a pussy and pass me the goddamn ball." He furrows his brows as he passes you the ball, crouching down to meet you at eye level to try and guard you. You run towards the right of the court, pulling a pump fake before you pivot to get away from Yoongi's guard. You pivot hard and drive it up to the basket, only to fall on the wrong footing and twist your ankle on the way down. "Ouch, fuck!"

"Shit, Y/N!" Yoongi comes to your side, hand supporting your back as the other is on your ankle.

"I'm fine, leave me—"

"Stop being so fucking stubborn and let me help you." He says angrily. You don't say anything else while you fix your position on the floor. "Can you wiggle it at least?"

"Y-yeah." You wince as you wiggle your foot and roll it around a couple of times. Phew, at least this shit wasn't gone for good. But Coach Chu still wouldn't be happy to hear you sprained your ankle releasing your anger on Yoongi during a dumb game. Yoongi helps you stand, arm around your waist as he throws your arm around his neck and holds you steady by the wrist.

"Try walking on it."

"I can, but it hurts a little." Yoongi sighs.

"You just sprained it. Let's go get you some ice or something at the nursing center before going back to your dorm." You silently nod as you hang onto Yoongi for extra support, careful not to make the situation any worse than it already is. He has you sit on the chair within the nursing center, the nurse coming over to wrap your ankle nicely before giving you crutches and some instant hot compress to pop onto it. She orders for security to drive you two over to the dorm building in their go-cart so that you wouldn't have to do much walking on your foot while you focused on healing.

Yoongi doesn't leave your side, even after you've walked into your dark, empty dorm room, not really knowing where Clarice is at right now [possibly library]. He shuts your door and sits you on the edge of your bed, setting your crutches near your bed side and your instant hot compress.

"You need anything else?" Your head hangs low as you slightly chuckle and shake your head.

"Why are you doing this?" You ask him lowly before looking back up at him, tears clouding your vision. "Hm? Why, Yoongi?"

"You're hurt, why wouldn't I—"

"Hmm." You hum. "I'm hurt? So where the fuck were you after prom night? When I was hurt then, where the fuck have you been?" You began to cry.

"Y/N." His tongue swipes over his lips before he sighs. "I'm sorry." He says, close to a whisper.

"Are you? Because I don't think you really understand how bad you hurt me." You aggressively wipe away your tears while continuing to look at him, his body language soft and full of regret. "You didn't care about me."

"How could you say that? I cared—" He sighs as his head drops for a second. "I care about you more than you know."

"If you did then why the fuck was it so easy for you to drop me the way you did?!" You yelled. "You just don't do that to the people you care about, especially if it’s your bestfriend."

"Look, you're right. I have no excuse for the way I acted, and if I could turn back time to re-do it, I would. But I can't, and the only thing I can do is apologize and do my best to make it up to you." His bottom lip trembles as he steps closer to you, a small frown forming at the corners of his mouth.

"Yoongi." You cried. "I did everything for you, I stuck by you through everything, even during the times you didn't deserve that shit from me. But I stayed! I stood by you because you meant everything to me and god—" You groaned. "I needed you. I needed you and you weren't there! I fucking hate you for doing this shit to me but part of me will always have love for you no matter how fucked up the situation is. I will always drop everything for you. I will always care about you, and it's so unfair." It broke Yoongi's heart and he didn't know what to say, but he wraps his arms around you anyway, keeping you in a tight hug against his chest. He's surprised that you let him, even more surprised at how he feels your body soften under his touch.

"Fuck, I'm so, so sorry bub." He says lowly as he presses a kiss on top of your head. "I'm so sorry."

"Please don't ever go again." You cry against his chest.

"No, I'm not. I'm gonna be right here." He says hugging you tighter. "You're the only one who's ever understood me, who's ever kept it real with me. I don't deserve you, but I know damn sure I'll work hard to make up for letting you go in the first place." He places another kiss on top of your head. "I'm right here. Not going anywhere. I'm so sorry."

- - -

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

"THE STANFORD BOYS TAKE THE CHAMPIONSHIP!" The commentator screams into his mic, Yoongi running a lap around the court before he's cheering loudly with his teammates and joining the group hug. You run down the bleachers, dashing straight into Yoongi's arms while he swings you around.

"That's what I'm fucking talking about!" You squeal and giggle as Yoongi places you back down and plants multiple kisses around your face, hands resting on the small of your back.

"Let's get out of here." He whispers in your ear.

"I'll wait at your car, bighead." You wink, causing him to smile that gummy smile of his that you adore more than life itself.

There's obviously a huge party going on tonight to celebrate this huge achievement, but Yoongi says he doesn't wanna join for once. He's happy, yeah. But the way he wants to celebrate is in peace. After so long, he feels like he can finally say he's content with where his life is at and where it's going. He drives over to the nearest beach, backing into a space so the both of you could sit in the back and try catching all the shooting stars up above. Yoongi leans against the side of the trunk, allowing you to lay your head on his lap while you curled up beside him listening to the waves slowly crash against the sand.

"Saw one." He says, looking up at the sky.

"You're a punk, no you didn't."

"What?" He laughs. "How are you about to say that? I caught it with my own two eyes."

"Oop! I saw one!"

"Now that's a lie. I was looking up too."

"Shut up." You laugh, causing Yoongi to tickle you along the sides before he stops and plants a kiss on your lips. It's silent for a minute while the two of you take in the night view— The sky and ocean coming together as one, forming a view that seemed endless.

"Hey."

"Hm?" You hum as Yoongi's fingers gently brush through your hair.

"You know I love you right?"

"Ew with the sappy shit, Min Yoongi." He laughs.

"Seriously."

"I know." You smile up at him. "I love you too."

"Come here." He says softly, tugging you upwards. You sit up, allowing Yoongi to press his lips against yours. He pulls you in by your shirt, having you straddle his lap while he grips onto your hips and immediately grinds against you. You let out a small moan feeling how quickly he hardened, his cock hitting you in the right places as you continue to grind on him. "Fuck, wanna feel you babygirl."

"Here?"

"Yeah." He chuckles and bites onto his bottom lip.

"What, all of a sudden you're scared?"

"Fuck off." You fire back, releasing his hardened member from its confines as you stroke him gently. He tilts his head back in pleasure before tugging your shorts and panties to the side, enough for him to cop a feel of how wet you are.

"Baby's all wet."

"What're you gonna do about it?" You whisper against his lips, biting onto his bottom lip and pulling back slightly. He hisses at the sensation before he moves your hand from his cock and takes control. He pushes you upward, positioning you enough to line up with your entrance.

"Take this shit off."

"Yoongi, we're in public."

"So, you're all talk and no play."

"I hate you."

"Nobody's here." He groans. "Just take off your shorts, pleeease." He begs as he slowly strokes himself. You toss aside your shorts, Yoongi immediately hooking his finger at the bottom of your panties and tugging it aside in order to push himself into you. He does enough before he lets you do the rest of the work and sink down on his length, a gasp leaving your throat as you take all of him in. He grips your hips tightly, setting the pace as he groans into your neck, your fingers tangled in his hair resting at the nape of his neck.

"Shit, babe." You moan as you tilt your head back.

"Fuck, you always ride me so well." He presses light kisses against your neck before he's nipping at the surface.

"Godddd why do you feel so good?" You whimper.

"You like how I feel inside of you?" You nod. "Yeah? Like how my cock fills you up?"

"Never gonna get tired of it." You moan, Yoongi making you pick up the pace aggressively. Besides the waves crashing, the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin fills the car, along with your soft moans and Yoongi's groans. Your clit is constantly rubbing against him, causing the pleasure to build so quickly it becomes overwhelming. You try to hold off as much as you can but—

"My pretty baby. All I fucking need." He almost growls, the words enough to send you over the edge. You let out a loud moan, not even caring for the houses nearby as your orgasm hits hard and ripples throughout your body, sending aftershocks. Yoongi continues to have you ride him fast and hard, the overwhelming sensation causing a hint of pain to mix with more pleasure until  you feel him feel you up. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He groans as his nails dig into your skin, giving two good thrusts upwards into you to help ride out his high. You both sit in the position for a minute, trying to come back down from your highs. Yoongi gives you a delicate peck on the lips, smiling into the kiss before he pulls away. "Swear you're all I need."

"See, I don't know if I could say the same." He smacks your ass as you hike up and off of him to put on your shorts.

"Take it back."

"I'm kidding." You blush.

"My ride or die. Are you with me?"

"Always have been. Are you?"

"You know I am."

"Good. You know it takes two." He smiles before pulling you into another hug and pressing a kiss against your temple.

[parkers-gal]

simple acts of intimacy that actually mean a lot T.H.

wc: 3.1k (fluff)

taking something out of your pocket

"Tom!" you called for him.

"Hey, babe," he greeted you. You had just gotten back from a shopping spree, and you were holding about seven heavy bags, two drinks in your hand. Harrison and Harry were seated on the couch in front of the two of you, Tuwaine in the kitchen getting more snacks. 

"I didn't bring my purse," you huffed, out of breath from the walk. "Can you check for my phone? My wallet?" 

Tom smiled softly in response, sending you an easy nod. "Of course," he said, moving to the pockets of your jeans. 

He searched the front right pocket first, his fingers strong and warm and lean, and the touch made you giggle. He found your keys in the front right pocket, momentarily holding them up for you to see before moving to the next pocket. He found your phone and wallet pocketed in the back pockets, and then he was by your front again, searching your left pocket. 

"Your chapstick," he held it up, and you giggled again as he opened it and applied it to his own lips and then your own. "They say you get more alike to your significant other, y'know," he smirked, and you laughed again with a nod. 

knowing just how to calm you down

It was a dangerous scenario to be in in the first place, though it wasn't your's nor Tom's fault. After dealing with a rather rude man from the front desk, you were rushing out of the building, Tom barely trailing after you. Just as you were making it to the car, he rushed ahead of you, halting you.

"Hey- hey, hey, hey," he said, hands gesturing for you to slow. There were frustrated tears in your eyes, threatening to spill if any one move prompted them. You'd hope Tom could be the dam to keep them up. "It's alright," he assured you. 

"No, its-! It's not!" You exclaimed, breaking your silence. "N-now I have find another way to do it and I can't t-" 

"Love," he cut you off, hand caressing your arm, moving you into his embrace slightly. "He's an asshole- he had no right to tell you those things, okay? We're gonna find another way, but later, okay? Listen to me, listen to my voice," he whispered. "And look at my eyes," he moved your chin, engaging eye contact. "We're going to be alright." 

A smile broke out onto your face for the first time, and you nodded, fully accepting his hug and hiding in his chest. 

calling to make sure you've eaten

Calling in between takes and scenes wasn't uncommon, and especially calling during lunch. Tom had a tendency to forget to eat or take breaks; wearing the Spider-man suit was a big contributor to his re-prioritization, his reason for the distractions. Unfortunately, he tended to bring this habit onto the sets of different films. Luckily, you had paid mind to the habit, and made sure to check in on him everyday, especially if you weren't on set all the time. 

"Hi, angel," Tom spoke into the phone after picking it up. 

"Hi, Tommy!" You exclaimed excitedly. "How's filming?"

"Good, tiring. Miss you," he huffed out, still with a smile. 

"Miss you too bubs, tell everyone I say ''hey.'" you replied. "Have you eaten today?"

Tom was nodding off silently to a crew worker who had asked him a quick question. "Hm?" he laughed a light one. "Oh, yes I have. Have you, darling?"

"I have, I have, no worries," you assured him. "Drinking water?"

"Just got a new bottle," Tom smiled. "Alright well," he trailed off disappointingly, "I hate this part but, they're calling me now. I call you when the shoots over. Love you, baby." 

You hummed, "'kay, love you Tommy. And good luck!" You giggled before hanging up.

"Y/N?' Harry asked Tom, looking to the phone. 

"Mhm," Tom smiled. "She says 'hi'." 

wearing/borrowing clothes

"Hey, Y/N, have you seen my-?" Tom stopped short in his tracks, barely through the doorway. He smiled at the sight of you, a pint of ice cream sitting on the table in front of you, an open book in your lap and a spoon in your mouth.

You hummed, "What was that, hun?"

He eyed your figure, clad in his pink sweatshirt, before shaking his head. Upon realizing you weren't looking at him, he breathed out a laugh. "Never mind."

You hummed again, glancing up to him before smiling softly at him. 

**

"Hey, love?" Tom hollered from within the depths of the closet. 

"Yeah?" you shouted back, applying some lip gloss as you looked into the bathroom mirror. 

"Does this work with my outfit?" 

You laughed before walking over to him. You smiled at him: he was holding a baseball cap in one hand, your beanie fitted on his head. Though he loved his buzzcut, he also loved to wear matching hats, though this time you were wearing the sweatshirt. 

"I like the beanie," you agreed. 

He glanced up with a smile, setting the baseball cap down. "Me too." 

zipping up/ unzipping

Tom was waiting in the living room for you. It was almost routine, that whenever the two of you were attending a gala or a premiere together, he'd wait to see your final look, and god he loved the reveal every time. This time, however, was one of the first times you were doing everything on your own, no makeup artists or stylists there to assist you. 

"Tommy?" you yelled softly. 

Tom's head perked up, and he slipped his phone into the pockets of his dress pants before making his way to the closed bedroom door.

"Yes, love?"

You opened the door, stepping towards him slowly. Tom was awestruck, mouth agape and eyes wide. You were absolutely stunning, from every and all angles, and Tom swore his heart leapt into his throat.

"Tom?" you repeated, waving a hand in front of his face. 

It had just occurred to him that you had been talking and he had completely tuned your voice out, too taken up by the sight in front of him. 

"Sorry- what?" he asked, finally looking at you. 

"Can you zip me up?" you asked again, softly. You turned around, gesturing to your zipper. Tom smiled, fingertips softly grazing the lower portion of your back, before softly gripping the zipper. The fingertips of his left hand ran up your spine, his right hand with the zipper following along. He left a small kiss on your shoulder and you went straight back into the bedroom to get the remaining accessories for your outfit. 

putting jewelry on for each other

After you chose a few rings, you walked back over to Tom with a necklace in hand. You placed both ends in his hands with a hopeful smile before spinning around, making sure your hair was not in the way. Tom clipped both ends and let the jewelry dangle off your neck. He left another kiss on your shoulder before you intertwined your hands.

remembering coffee/tea orders verbatim

"Go find us a booth," Tom whispered in your ear, hand on the small of your back as he gave you a nudge, and the two of you separated into two different directions, you towards the seats and him towards the line to the barista. 

"Hi, how're you?" The barista greeted.

Tom returned a smile," I'm good, how're you?" 

"I'm good, what can I get you today?"

"Can I get a hot chamomile tea with some lemon...?"

"Size?"

"Uhm, medium please." 

The barista, Sophia, nodded. "Anything else?" 

"Yeah uhm, a medium honey cream latte? Not too heavy on the creamer?"

"Got it. Will that be all for you today?" 

"Yes I think so," Tom replied, handing her his credit card before moving to the counter to pick up the drinks. 

When he had both, he made his way over to you, who found a booth by a window. 

"Hey, love," Tom trailed excitedly, placing the mugs down softly. "I got your favorite." 

"Light on the cream?" 

Tom sat down across from you. "Light on the cream," he repeated with a smile.

dancing in the kitchen

A quick trip to the kitchen for some toast had started a mini concert by the sink and in front of the dishes. Tom was clad in a pair of sweats, white socks helping him slide on the cool tiled floor, his pink hoodie fresh on his torso. 

The speakers were playing a playlist of his favorites, which also consisted of your favorites, because you had introduced him to several new artists and genres. Song after song came on, distracting him from the opening and closing of the front door. 

Hearing the commotion from the cooking room, you left your bags by the door, going upstairs to change into some comfy clothes and finding your boyfriend rocking out to some of Taylor Swift's Lover. 

You giggled from the doorway, and he spun around to look at you, lowering the large metal spoon away from his mouth. 

"Hi," you laughed again. 

"Hi," he panted. 

"What," you took a sip of water. "are you doing?" 

"Dancing in the kitchen, obviously."

You nodded, drinking your water again with a smile. 

"Care to join me?"

You set the cup down with raised eyebrows. "Thomas..." 

Mariah Carey started ringing through the speakers, and the spoon went back up to his mouth as he started singing his heart out. 

"C'mon, Y/N...." he smirked. "You know you want to," he held his hand out. 

You rolled your eyes playfully before extending your arm, accepting his hand. "Fine.."

Tom grinned in victory, singing louder again, and you joined him, twirling him around as he did the same for you, toast long forgotten in the toaster oven. 

knowing what food you're craving based on your attitude

"I'm bored," you whined to Tom, who was sitting next to you on the couch, looking at his phone. 

He chuckled quietly as he clicked the device off. "Yeah, whaddya want to do?"

"Cuddle. I'm cold." 

He grinned again, turning to you, caressing the skin of your ankle, which was splayed across his lap. 

"Are you hungry, my cuddle bug?" he asked after pulling you into his chest, arms circling around you. 

"Mhm," you nodded, fiddling with his fingers. "How'd you know?" 

He grinned again, his face out of sight for you. "What if we eat... pho?"

You gasped, louder for dramatics, hand slamming down on his, halting your movements. "Thomas Stanley Holland how did you fucking know?" you whined, feet kicking lightly. 

He chuckled again, kissing the back of your ear before opening the Ubereats app on his phone. 

offering to drive instead

The gala was coming to a close, and you and Tom had both taken the clue to get ready to leave, heading out to the parking lot after saying your goodbyes to the present participants. 

Rounding the car, you pulled the key out of your hand-purse, unlocking the car. Your hand was still intertwined with Tom's, about to separate to get into your respective seats, when he spoke. 

"Do you want me to drive instead, love?" 

You glanced to his eyes with a thankful nod. "Will you?" you asked, reaching to give him the key. 

"Of course," he smiled, moving to the other side of the car, giving your temple a kiss as he rubbed your arm, taking the key from you and closing your car door after you had been seated.

remembering confessions from late nights or simple words that are forgotten by most

"Hey did you book the flights for next month?" You asked Tom, sitting across from him at the dining table, planner in front of you, a pen and your phone in each of your hands. 

"Just up till the nineteenth," he replied, thumbs moving across the keyboard of his cell phone. 

"Got it." 

"Oh also," Tom looked up from his phone, forearms leaning on the edge of the table as he looked at you, focused on writing more details into that little book you loved so much. "I booked us a round trip to Mae Raem. I talked to Harry and I managed to get a week off from work, in between films I think."

Your eyes were fixed on the boy sitting across from you, hands frozen in their places. 

"You what? "

"I booked us a flight To Mae-" 

"I heard that part!" You exclaimed with a laugh. "Why the fuck are we going to Thailand?!"

"Well I just-" he looked off to different parts of the room, the tips of his ears turning scarlet as his cheeks heated up. "I remember you saying you wanted to go to this little place in Thailand and I just- I wrote it down so I wouldn't forget. I was just waiting until I had free time in my schedule." 

"Tom you moved film times for this trip!" You laughed. "Why- how did you even remember that? It was like three A.M. when we were talking about those crazy dreams and shit," you laughed. 

"I don't know," he put his phone down, fiddling with his fingers and knuckles. "You just sounded so passionate about it- I just remembered the sound of your voice, I guess. It seems like fun." 

You clicked your pen, putting it down, and closing the planner. "Yeah, yeah it does."

remembering to buy something you'd forgotten to (grocery shopping) 

"Oh fuck, I'm out of jaffa cakes," you huffed, closing a cupboard door. 

"Let's go to the market then," Tom said, finishing his cup of tea.

**

A shower and a car drive later, the two of you were walking into the supermarket, Tom leaning on the cart as he followed you. You spotted the chip aisle, and headed straight for it. Tom chuckled at your behavior, suspecting that perhaps you were stocking up on your cravings-foods, knowing your period was coming too. 

Aisle after aisle the two of you went before grabbing a few boxes of brownie mix. You saw the aisle with cereal, and left Tom on his own. He chuckled, moving over the next aisle. 

"I think I'm done," you huffed, placing your last items in the cart. Tom nodded, putting a bag of apples into the cart before moving into a line for the cash register. 

"Wait lets do the self checkout thing." 

"Really?" Tom laughed at your suggestion before reluctantly agreeing, heading into the direction. He was scanning while you were bagging, the two of you moving like clockwork. 

Tom paid the receipt before stopping abruptly. "Wait fuck, I forgot something." 

"What?" you asked. 

"Nothing, I'll meet you at the car." 

"'Kay," you replied, rolling the cart out of the shop. Tom went off to find your favorite jaffa cakes, buying some extra danishes as well. When he paid, he added the items to the bags in the trunk before joining you in the front seat. 

"Ready?" He asked, turning the engine on. You hummed a confirmation, and Tom changed the car's shift, driving home. 

After the two of you brought the bags into the kitchen (in one trip, because two trips are for loser), you began unloading the items into their spots in the kitchen. 

"Wait," you groaned after opening the cupboard. "I forgot the fucking jaffa cakes!" 

"Ah ah," Tom spoke, pulling the sweet out of a bag he'd just unloaded. 

You gasped, jaw slightly ajar as you reached for the food. "Oh. My. God," you looked at the wrapping. "I fucking love you." 

Tom laughed, "Well," he was moving forward, his face two inches from yours, "it's a good thing I fucking love you too." 

and finally, showering together

"Tommy! I missed you," You greeted him, rushing to your boyfriend, jumping into his embrace just as he closed the front door. 

He groaned with a laugh, arms on your waist. "I missed you too, angel."

"Are you sore? Tired?" 

He chuckled again, "mhm." 

"Let's go get you cleaned up and we can go to bed then," you smiled at him, fingers running over the hair of his brows, trying to smooth out the stray one. 

"Sounds like a plan, darling." 

Making your way up the stairs, you ridded Tom of his coat. You went into the bathroom to turn on the shower, hoping to get the water warm, before pulling him into the bathroom with you. 

"We can do face masks or we can fall asleep watching movies." 

He booped your nose before answering. "Let's do the face masks tomorrow."

"'kay, arms up now, mister," you ordered him playfully, and he rolled his eyes before complying. 

"My limbs still work, yanno-" 

"Sure mister I-love-being-babied." 

"I do not!" he denied, cheeks reddening. 

"You secretly love it," you kissed his nose after removing his shirt, hands splaying across his bare chest and abs. He visibly shivered at your touch, and you smirked. 

"Now get in the shower, you big doof," you playfully pushed him in the direction of the shower before stepping out of the bathroom. 

Tom, unknowing of your full plans, hopped into the shower, letting the heated water cascade down his skin and drench his hair. As he was about to reach for the bottle of shampoo, you opened the shower door, your bare skin coming into view as you joined Tom in the shower. 

His eyebrows shot up, movements stopped. 

"Uh-" 

"Hi," you said with a giggle. "Let me," you took the shampoo from his hand, squirting some into your hand before rubbing it onto the top of his head, fingers running through his unruly curls as he hummed contently at the feeling, always loving when you did anything to his hair. 

"Rinse now," you said, moving to clean the strands out, ridding them of the suds. You repeated the process with conditioner (your conditioner, because though Tom would deny it, he secretly loved it, and cheered internally when you picked it up instead of his own) before reaching for the body-wash. 

"Uh-uh, let me do this one," he took the bottle from your hands, starting to clean himself. 

You laughed at his attempts before snatching the bottle from him. "You can't even reach this part of your back!" 

"I'm a gymnast! I'm flexible enough to reach that!" he breathed out a laugh. 

You giggled, shaking your head and letting your fingers caress his shoulder blades, his lower back as well as his ribs. You spun him around so you could continue on his chest as well, and his eyes were closed in bliss. When you finished, you walked him backwards under the streaming water of the shower head, arms wrapping around his lower stomach, hugging him, chin resting on his chest as he looked down at you. 

"Thank you for this, love." 

"Anything for you Tommy." 

He kissed the tip of your nose and smiled. 

[fruitcoops]

Hi, I love your blog so much! I recently got ankle lateral ligament reconstruction done, and as an athlete, it sucks so bad. I watched my basketball team play yesterday, and it felt really horrible to watch them lose by one point in overtime when I know I would have made a difference if I were on the court... I know you have lots of asks and prompts, but if you have the time and want to, could you possibly hurt me more than I’m already hurting with some angsty ankle injury stuff😩 like maybe Cap watching the Lions lose without him.

Thank you for all the awesome fics you write! Your blog is amazing!

Anon, this ask really struck a chord with me and I wanted to do it justice as best I could--going through a sports injury like that is the worst feeling in the world, and watching your teammates play without you just adds salt to the wound. Sending all the love and healing vibes your way, okay? Please keep me updated on how you're feeling if you feel comfortable <3

Combined with an ask for pre-Coops and Sirius' photo of Remus! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for canonical injury and mentioned scars (Remus)

Sirius felt a nudge at his arm and his irritation flared, but he did not take his eyes off the game. “Fucking hell,” he muttered as James missed yet another blatant pass. There’s three.

The next nudge was more insistent.

“What?” he snapped, sparing half a glance to his left and feeling his stomach swoop.

Remus raised his eyebrows and held the mouthguard out further. “Either put this in or unclench your jaw.”

You’re not my mother, Sirius almost snarked back, just to be even more of an asshole. He was cold from being at the rink without his gear, severely pissed off by the general bullshit happening on the ice, and the itch in the boot locked around his stupid fucked-up ankle was slowly driving him mad.

Remus offered the mouthguard again, and Sirius’ temper cooled by a few degrees at the soft encouragement on his face. Pretty, his brain supplied. He swallowed hard around his sudden dry mouth and shoved the plastic between his teeth, beating back the unruly emotions with a mental baseball bat. Nope. Not tonight. Focus on being angry.

Logan got distracted, and Finn paid the price as an enforcer slammed him against the boards; he bounced back immediately, but Sirius ground the mouthguard so hard it squeaked. “Tabarnak—”

“Come with me for a sec,” Remus said, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the angry shouts of Lions fans.

Sirius shook his head. What he wouldn’t give to be in the heart of the fight, letting off some of the steam that had been building with no outlet for weeks. “Game’s not over.”

Remus pressed his lips together, but said nothing; Sirius’ throat constricted as he looked at the scoreboard. There may have been three full minutes left on the clock, but the Lions had already lost—unless they pulled a miracle out of their asses, this game would be a stain on their record. Or if they just let me play.

Sirius sighed through his nose. The urge had been growing stronger the longer he stayed cooped up and restless, banging at the walls of his brain and bringing headache after headache.

“Cap.” The hand on the back of his bicep was surprisingly gentle and he closed his eyes as Remus gave him a light tug. “Come on. We can at least be productive instead of sitting here and stewing.”

He smells nice. How does he always smell so nice? Sirius stood and followed Remus down the tunnel, not even bothering to force smiles for the people pounding on the glass partitions. Don’t focus on the game.

Focus on his shoulders, something close to his heart suggested. You like his shoulders.

He scrunched his nose up at the thought—if he dwelled on the smooth, strong curve of Remus’ upper back for any longer, he would start remembering the one time he saw them bare, covered in sweat with scars that shone like moonlight and—

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, snapping him back to reality. Sirius jumped and concern flickered over the golden planes of his face. “You’re twitchy tonight.”

“Just…” He made a vague, aborted motion toward the ice before continuing toward the PT room, though he did not miss the worried look Remus shot him. Fantastic, now I look like a dick and an idiot.

“What’s going on, Sirius?” The door clicked closed behind them and Remus leaned against it with his arms crossed loosely as Sirius limped over to the table and sat down, pulling the mouthguard out. He stared at the floor and the hunk of plastic—don’t think about how nice his voice sounds around your name. Don’t.

He shook his head; through the door, the sounds of the game were faint. “They’re better than this.”

“Yep.”

“They’re all going to be angry tomorrow, which makes them sloppy.”

“Probably.”

“Coach will be upset.”

“No question.”

“It’s the Badgers.”

Remus made a face. “I know, right?”

“They’re a good team, but—” He tightened his jaw again and looked away.

“But we’re better,” Remus finished for him.

“Yeah.” Silence fell between them for a few moments, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Being quiet around Remus was never uncomfortable, and Sirius was pathetically grateful for every scrap of it he could get. “I—the game would be different if I was out there.”

“Would it?”

“It would.” He had been going over every mistake for two and a half hours, placing himself in like a chess piece to stop the missed passes, fumbled pucks, and thoughtless plays. “They need me with them.”

The paper crinkled as Remus sat down next to him, and every one of Sirius’ senses went on high alert. “They need to you get better,” he said simply, those caramel-apple eyes making Sirius’ knees go weak. “Have you been doing your exercises?”

“Of course,” he scoffed.

“Good.” There was no defensiveness or indignation in Remus’ voice—guilt snapped, a firecracker behind his teeth.

“Sorry.”

Remus smiled wryly. “When you’re around injured hockey players all day long, you get used to a little bit of bitchiness.”

“I’m not bitchy!” Sirius spluttered. The poorly-concealed amusement on Remus’ face made mortification heat his cheeks. “I’m not!”

“Uh-huh.” The note of smug disbelief should not have been as attractive as it was. “Alright, lay down.”

Sirius swore he heard a few crackling noises as his brain short-circuited. “Quoi?”

“I’m not kneeling on freezing linoleum to check out your ankle, Cinderella,” Remus snorted. “Now get a wiggle on.”

“You have the strangest sayings,” he said as he laid back and stretched his leg out, bewildered and yet somehow relieved.

“And you—” Remus pulled the top buckle free. “—have no appreciation for the great American north.”

“I can take it off,” Sirius mumbled, feeling redness rise once again.

He cocked an eyebrow. “The boot? I might not be a muscle-bound athlete, but I’m pretty sure I can manage a couple strips of Velcro.”

“No, it’s—doesn’t touching people’s feet freak you out? Like, the sweat and everything?”

“If it did, I’d have to find another profession, because I’m damp all the time from you fuckers and you all seem to have a habit of breaking things below the knee. Bend.”

Sirius complied, drawing his knee toward his chest. His bare foot looked weird in the bright lights, pale and still swollen, but Remus was as golden as ever. You can watch from afar, he conceded when the cute little furrow appeared on Remus’ forehead while he felt around the bone. Just for a little while. “Your hands are warm,” he said before he could stop himself.

Remus glanced up, and his small smile caused a flood of butterflies in Sirius’ stomach. “Thanks. They’re usually pretty cold, so I’m glad I’m not accidentally giving you foot hypothermia.”

“Is that real?”

“No,” Remus laughed. Sirius wished he could keep that sound forever. “How’s that feel?”

“Uh, fine.” He blinked a couple times to come back to himself as Remus put light pressure on the sole of his foot. “Still fine.”

“You’re a lot more flexible than before. Things are healing well.”

A loud buzzer went off outside—Sirius closed his eyes as disappointment and frustration fired up once more. The crowd wasn’t cheering. The windows weren’t shaking. He didn’t even want to look at the TV to check the score. I should be out there, he thought for the umpteenth time. I’m letting them down.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said quietly as he worked through a few more exercises.

“Not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either.”

Sirius wanted to believe him. “I’m the captain.”

“And you’re being responsible by doing this with me so you can heal faster.” People rushed past the door outside, but the PT room remained peaceful. Sirius stared at the plain ceiling and wished for a miracle. “They miss you.”

“Y’know, that’s not exactly making me feel better.”

“Sorry.” They lapsed back into silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Cool.”

Sirius chewed the inside of his lip for a solid two minutes, following Remus’ simple instructions without looking at him. He should have been out there with them, ankle be damned. It was basically healed anyway; they were just tying up loose ends, and maybe Remus needed to be a little less careful. “Is this really necessary?”

“I’m gonna give you five seconds to ask a different question.”

“I’m just saying, it feels fine and—”

“Time’s up.” Remus let go of his foot and Sirius only spared a moment to mourn the loss of his comforting touch before he caught the stormy, mulish stubbornness that took the place of Remus’ concentration. “Sit.”

“I am.”

He narrowed his eyes, and Sirius dragged himself upright with a huff. Arguing with Remus Lupin was about as useful as arguing with a brick wall, and that was coming from someone who won the ‘Most Stubborn’ superlative at their last end-of-year party. “First of all, ankles are annoying and the soft tissue will still be damaged even if the bone is healed. Second, it’s my job to fix you up so your boys stop whining to me about healing you faster. And third, I’m not giving up on you.”

Sirius paused for a long moment. “What?”

“I’m not giving up,” Remus repeated. His jaw set and he made direct eye contact. “I would love nothing more than to kick Snape in the kneecaps and let you go out there as soon as you can stand on your own, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure you’re ready to kick ass and take names no matter what that little shit was trying to do. So don’t you dare sit there and try to chicken out at the finish line, because I know you want this even more than I do.”

In his chest, Sirius heart was hammering like he had just run five miles. I’m not giving up on you. Sirius had never wanted to kiss him more. “Thank you.”

Remus softened with a slow breath. “We’re in this together, Sirius. You and me.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s get to work. Next time you play the Badgers, make ‘em regret this game.”

--------------------------------

Sirius walked back toward the locker room feeling rather nauseous. The whole team leaked their bad moods into the air—Arthur had barely looked at them before sending them home with a quiet “we’ll talk more tomorrow”, the equivalent of an arrow through Sirius’ heart. I need a pick-me-up, he thought as the rest of the guys trooped out in a melancholy raincloud. He fist-bumped each of them, per tradition, but their responses were weak at best.

Ice cream sounded good. Maybe a milkshake. Oh, who was he kidding, he needed a solid hug and something other than ice to look at. Not for the first time, he contemplated getting a dog, just so the house wouldn’t be empty and dark when he returned.

Laughter rang out ahead and Sirius inhaled sharply, letting the sound roll over him. “I’m not kidding!” Moody chuckled.

“Bullshit,” Remus countered, still snickering. “There is no way—”

“I’ve been around here longer than you’ve been alive, kid.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Remus groaned, though Sirius could hear the smile in his voice even from around the corner. “You only bring it up every goddamn day.”

“Brat.”

Sirius entered the room just in time to see Remus playfully knock the side of his foot against Moody’s; both were grinning. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?”

Moody nodded to him. “Night, twelve.”

“A demain,” Sirius called, offering a slight smile as his eyes lingered on Remus. He was leaning back against the wall with stick tape in his hands—his hands, which never failed to make Sirius throw caution to the wind—and raised it in farewell. “See you, Loops. Thanks again.”

“No problem, Cap.”

He grabbed his duffel off the floor and slid his keys, wallet, and phone into his pockets as Moody and Remus resumed their conversation. He wondered how long they usually stuck around, and if they would oppose him staying—he wouldn’t interrupt, but being around people who weren’t going through the five stages of grief already felt nice.

An idea struck as Remus’ laugh raised goosebumps on his arms once again. With a careful glance over his shoulder, he slipped his phone out and snapped a picture before hurrying off toward his car. His breaths were shallow; that was such a creepy move, and surely one of them noticed—

No voices chased him. Nobody gave him strange looks. He waited until he was safely in the front seat of the car before unlocking his phone, and all the air in his lungs left in a rush.

The photo was perfect. It caught the lopsided tilt to Remus’ mouth, his slender-but-strong fingers, his long legs, the scrunch of his nose mid-laugh. Everything Sirius never let himself look at for long. He didn’t have much space left among the collection of paper memories on his dresser, but maybe if he put it in the back where nobody would see it unless they knew where to look…

He turned the car on. Later. He would print it out and deal with the taut rubber-band-ball of feelings later. Until then, he could settle for the imprint of Remus’ warmth taking away the pain in his ankle and the determination on his face as he promised to bring Sirius back from the personal hell he was living in. You and me, he had said, and Sirius wanted nothing more than to believe it.

[baney-waney]

We need a complete Twilight rewrite where Bella is actually accurately portrayed as a socially anxious teenage girl who found friends she was comfortable with. I have severe social anxiety and so do some of my friends, but as soon as I realized that I felt comfortable enough around them that I wasn't even starting to panic, I let myself open up more, and be more myself.

Bella obviously has a personality, she can't possible be so emotionally constipated. But imagine what it would be like if you moved to a new town, found amazing friends you could be yourself around, and then an entire group of people made her feel like they hated her (some of them actually did). You would shut down to.

So what if, she was given just a bit more time between meeting her friends, and meeting the Cullens. What if her first day, or even her first week of school is sunny and warm, so they aren't their. She gets a full week to find herself, to bond with her friends, and to become comfortable in her new surroundings. And when the Cullens do show up and turn into wannabe ice queens she hits back at them full force with all of the sass and attitude a teenage girl can muster, and becomes and equal opponent in their strange little game.

In this new version, Bella and Edward's relationship has been transformed into and enemies-to-lovers-esque story where all of the original plot lines happen just with less "I want to kill you but I also want to kiss you" vibes.

She does play baseball with them, eventually meeting Laurent, James, and Victoria, but she's there as Alice's (because let's face it, it would be so much easier to bond with Alice then Edward) new friend instead of Edward's fragile human girlfriend.

She is chosen as James new victim, not because of Edward's reaction, but because he realized that she meant something to the entire family, and what is better than destroying one man than destroying and entire clan of vampires.

She does run away from forks to protect her father, but under the guise of a girl's trip instead of making her father feel like absolute garbage (which she wouldn't have done without Edward).

And when she does leave Alice and Jasper because she thinks she is saving her mom, she realizes that the Cullens will catch up to her, and she manages to keep him distracted by lying, making him think they were only keeping her around for show, as an alibi, or maybe even making him think they weren't the vegetarian vampire's they claimed to be and they were using her to get human victims. Forcing him to think about whether or not she meant as much to them as he thought.

And right as he decides he is going to kill her anyways, then the Cullens burst in and kill him. He does manage to beat her around so the broken ankle still happens, but he doesn't get the chance to bite her before she starts fucking with his head. Let's face it, the scene with the bite really didn't need to happen and was just some creepy was of showing that Edward had entirely to much control over Bellas life. Carlisle was older and more in control than any of them, especially Edward, and he 100% could have saved her instead of Edward.

In this version Bella accepts Jacob for who he is (which anyone would have done, how fucking cool would it be to be best friends with a fucking werewolf) and doesn't try to get him to stop being a wolf, but she does try to beat Sam's ass for not allowing her to see her best friend for over a month. She even agrees with him that vampires have done a lot of fucked up things, but that the Cullens are trying to change that and they should be given the smallest chance. No changes to the treaty, just less animosity. She eventually becomes sort of a moderator between the two groups since she can pass onto both sides of the treaty line.

Also in this Bella and Edward don't get together until the second book, which btw is a much healthier progression into a relationship than

1. Meet girl

2. Avoid girl

3. Scare girl

4. Watch girl sleep

5. Save girl (twice)

6. Scare girl again but this time in the woods

7. Suddenly start dating the girl even though there was never any confession of romantic feelings, any agreement to date, or literally anything else while in the same woods where #6 happened.

Any other ideas or criticism welcome.

[tf2husbandryofficial]

okay so, hi! anon again with the two fortresses in their backyard. i took your advice and things seem to be working out well. some of the mercs come close to my patio when i'm outside reading or having a morning tea, though most never get close enough to try talking - except for the scouts. the scouts are always in my business trying to figure out what i'm doing. earlier today though, one came up - a red scout - asking for my help, limping and bleeding everywhere. said something about his medic refusing to heal him, and from what i can tell his right leg seems all sorts of fucked up with a pretty bad break near his ankle. i decided to set it the best i could and just keep him in my garage, his fortress hasn't shown up yet to get him back. do you have any tips for taking care of a scout? at least until his fortress comes for him.

Yes, Scouts are like that.

If his Medic is refusing to see him then you're probably his best chance for any medical attention. It's good that you treated him since his pack would likely be angry if you caused him to die even if they're too angry with him to help him at the moment.

In order to stop him from aggravating his wound, you're going to need to keep him preoccupied. If you have any sports based video games, that's a great way to keep a Scout occupied for hours. And hours. You'll have to make sure he actually sleeps. If you have the patience and empathy to stand it, you should spend as much time as possible with him, playing the game with him or otherwise just talking to him. This will also benefit you in the future if the fortress overall potentially acts negatively at any point towards you or your home.

Keep in mind that this is only temporary, eventually his Medic will be bothered enough by his sustained injury that he'll come around to heal him and take him back to the rest of the red pack. For now, you should try and make sure the Scout consumes healthy enough food (they prefer food typical to Boston, especially lobster dishes, if you are somewhere where lobster is affordable) and drinks water. Actual water. Not just Bonk!.

Continue to wear purple and make sure everything you use on the Scout (blankets, pillows, gauze, etc) that can be purple is purple. This will help keep him friendly and placated so that he won't try to kill you in a feat of rage if he loses in his video game. If you can't provide a video game setup, then Scouts like books (about sports, or action adventures) and movies (about sports, or action/adventure films). You can also play catch with him using a baseball while he's in a calm enough mood not to try and throw it at mach speed.

- SF