#please she sounds like a deodorant

[neos-schlond-poofa]

it’s almost april fools in my time but i’m going to bed a bit early (or trying to) and i just want this time to remmeber how last year for april fools on tiktok i pretended to be the biggest barbie diaries stan ever but then it unintentionally became the biggest thing ever on my acc and mackenzie ziegler from dance moms used my audio and some people were genuinely disappointed when i revealed it was a predominantly ironic enjoyment and i was not the number one fan. i don’t think ill ever top that.

[clumsyartish]

"Who cares if she's exciting, fresh and fun?" "Please, She sounds like a deodorant" - Barbie Diaries

[palajae]

hypegirl! | final.

PAIRING ▸ soccer player! niki x afab! reader

GENRE ▸ soccerl! au, roommates!au, she's the man! au, romance, fluff, angst, humor

WORD COUNT ▸ 4k

SUMMARY ▸ all you want is to join the boys’ soccer team. all niki wants is to get minji’s attention. as roommates, what better than to strike a deal and help each other out? nothing really, except for one glaring issue: your blossoming feelings for said roommate. oh, and the fact that you’re technically supposed to be your brother, kim sunoo. 

AKA a hopefully more sfw version of she's the man? 

NOTES ▸ based off she’s the man (2006), reader is sunoo's sister and pretends to be her brother sunoo, gender swap, like one curse word, kissing,— please let me know if there’s any typos!

masterlist. | previous.

I DON’T WANNA FIGHT YOUR SHADOW…

“what? you want to do what?”

niki doesn’t say anything as his head hangs low. he stares at the ground, dark eyebags prominent. 

“niki,” jungwon sighs in exasperation, “let’s think rationally about this. we’ve been working toward this day for weeks. this is it. we can’t make any last minute changes now.” 

“right,” jay chimes in. 

“sunoo’s become a valuable player on the team. we need him. seriously, what could have possibly happened that you suddenly want to kick him off the day of playoffs?” 

niki only shakes his head as the rest of the team exchanges looks. 

“sorry man, but we keep personal business off the field. sunoo’s in, whether you like it or not.” 

sunoo’s worried—to say the least. between you not replying to any of his texts and the current dilemma at hand, he isn’t sure what to do. 

all he can do is clench his trusty flute as his band arrives at your camp. 

it’s hectic, with kids and directors running around attempting to prepare the performance for the game. essentially a perfect chance for sunoo to sneak and snoop around. 

sunoo manages to spot the boys locker room, and he takes his chance. 

the minute he steps in, he’s greeted by the smell of deodorant, grass, and… the mustiness of sport locker rooms. 

guys are everywhere, clothes and gear strewn all over the place as they prepare for the tournament. 

he glances around for any sight of you, not exactly sure what to look for but still keeping an eye out for a smaller figure. sunoo takes about three steps forward, until he yelps. 

he feels an arm roughly pulling him toward the side, and he whips his head around. 

“sunoo-dude, where were you? we were starting to think you weren’t gonna show up! get changed, the first match is gonna start soon.” 

his heart drops. no way, did they think he was-

a jersey is flung at his face. somehow, in the midst of the chaos, face paint is slathered onto his face, effectively concealing his identity even more. 

where were you? 

first match, first half—to everyone’s shock—enhypen’s down. 

most yells are directed at, who’d you least expect, kim sunoo. 

“kim! what are you doing?” 

“pass! no-here! to me! ”

“why are you so slow today?!”

all sunoo can do is apologize while wheezing. he wasn’t built for this. it’s not like he had much of a choice, he was shoved onto the field. 

at one point, jungwon’s eyes flash at him and he visibly shrinks.

“dude, i don’t know what’s going on, but we’re subbing you out.” 

you jump up to the sound of cheers, an announcer yelling—

“and enhypen takes home their first win with a great comeback in the second half!”

enhypen? win? comeback?

you scramble to your feet, heart racing. 

crap. what time was it?

you pat your pockets to no avail. 

that’s right—your phone was left in your dorm…that you couldn’t access because niki kicked you out. 

more cheers from outside bring you back to your current situation. you overslept since you didn’t have your phone alarm. 

the tournament started. enhypen played and won their first match, without you. 

you frown, scrambling to get to the stadium. who in the world played for you? 

once you make it past the crowd of people, coaches, and players, you scan the field. 

and your mouth drops open. 

on the opposite side of the soccer field, sitting on the bench right in front of you, was kim sunoo. the real one, your brother. 

he was decked out in face paint and—

was that your uniform? 

somehow, you manage to make eye contact. you begin mouthing words furiously at him, only for him to point at the crowd. 

frowning, you turn around toward the audience and performing band. you squint. 

your mouth drops again. because there in the crowd, sitting in the middle row right in front of you, were your parents.

immediately, you turn around and flee toward the locker rooms, signaling for sunoo to follow while everyone was still distracted with your team’s win. 

you don’t even get to take a single step when the announcer clears his throat to say something. 

“attention everyone! enhypen is disqualified. they must forfeit this match and immediately report to the main office.” 

gasps and protests immediately ring out. 

you hide behind a water cooler, gauging the guys reactions. they all look confused and upset. 

niki stalks over to the camp director and coach, where an unimpressed taehyun stands with his arms crossed. 

“what’s going on? why do we have to forfeit? we won fair and square, there’s no-“

“i wouldn’t count lying and having a girl on your team as fair and square, nishimura.”

the whole team outbursts, while your coach sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. 

the director eyes sunoo, “we have pretty good reason and evidence to believe that kim sunoo is not who he—or she—states they are.” 

sunoo immediately stands up as the rest of the team gapes at him.

“females are not allowed at this camp, let alone allowed on a team to play in the final championships.”

taehyun nods. he had found too many irregularities with you, kim sunoo. the conversations with your mom, video footage of you sneaking into the locker rooms as a guy and exiting as a girl, and the fake sideburns and eyebrows in the trash can. 

niki stands still, hands clenched as he glares at sunoo. 

he can hear the rest of the guys whispering in disbelief.

“this makes no sense. how could he be a girl after all this time?”

“and no one noticed…”

“—this is absurd.”

the announcer sighs, and speaks up once more to the entire stadium. “i apologize once again to the crowd and opponent team for the inconvenience. enhypen will be removed from the tournament due to dishonesty and lack of regards for the rules. 

i do not want to repeat it—no females are allowed to play on any team for any reason whatsoever!”

you gasp, covering a hand over your mouth. you were still partially hidden, and you know if you were found, it would be over. 

sunoo sighs, facing the guys and camp director. 

“put enhypen back in the game. we didn’t break any rules. i’m not a girl.” 

taehyun’s eyes narrow. “you can’t lie your way out of it again. we have all the evidence we need.”

sunoo gestures out grandly, toward your team and the crowd. 

“do i have to spell it out to you? i’m a guy. this is ridiculous. what, you want me to prove i’m not a girl? i’ll pull down my pants or-“

clamor follows, but it’s stopped by a desperate yell. 

you watch from afar, as your parents stalk up to the director. your mother, as expected, seems adamant as she validates her son’s words. 

“excuse me, but there seems to be an issue with my son, here. there’s no possible way you would be doubting his identity?”

“ma’am, we have submitted evidence that your son sunoo is actually a-“

“and so do i. would you like to see his birth certificate? i didn’t pay for my son to attend this camp to simply get disqualified for a ridiculous accusation.”

after a few minutes of deliberation, against taehyun’s protests, the director sighs and rubs his hands together. you hold your breath. the verdict?

“we apologize for our mistake—enhyphen is not disqualified and will be moving on to the next round. let the next match commence!”

you watch your team breathe a sigh of relief, clapping sunoo on the back. but your gaze can’t seem to stay off of niki. he stays off to the side, fists still clenched. he hasn’t looked or said a single word to sunoo—you. 

you know him, there’s a storm brewing inside. 

and it’s all because of you. 

you see the crowd return to normal, your mom furiously spewing nonsense as your parents walk back to their seats. 

you nod at your brother, this is your chance. 

you run towards an empty hallway, waiting for your brother to bring you your clothes. 

“sorry,” sunoo heaves, “they’re sweaty.”

“it’s okay,” you grab them and shut the unused closet door behind you. “i’m used to it by now.”

sunoo waits outside the old janitor closet, keeping watch as you change and exchange identities, once again. 

once you exit, sunoo’s eyes widen.

“wow, you look exactly like me.” 

you smirk. ���and you’re horrible at soccer.”

he shoves you softly and you laugh. “thanks bro. i really owe you one for saving me out there.”

he nods, “anything for my sister. i need to sneak back to the band though. let me know if you need anything and good luck.” 

you hug him quickly. “of course.” the confidence that surged through you as you walked back toward the field, knowing your brother had your back, empowers you. 

“guys,” you call out, “i’m back. what’s going on?”

some of the guys still send you weird looks, but you ignore it. niki’s still ignoring you, and it makes a dreadful feeling grow in the pit of your stomach. 

the matches were cut down in order to fit all of them in one day and preserve the player’s energies. 

but your team was excelling. you had already advanced to the semifinals, as expected. with you back and eager to play, the team was running smoothly. 

after winning your third match, jay and heeseung high five you. 

“nice, sunoo. i don’t know what happened to you during the first game, but you redeemed yourself.” you cough, muttering some lame excuse. 

everything was going great, all except for one person. every break, time out, the whole time, niki acted as if you didn’t exist. 

in the middle of the game, you would keep up with him, waiting for him to pass the ball. but niki being the stubborn person he was, ignored you and tried to keep going even when you were open.

mistakes were costly, and you could feel the tension building up. the other guys were getting agitated, you could tell, but he wouldn’t budge. 

you kept telling yourself, one more match. all you needed to do was win one more match and that would be it. 

it was nearing the end of the day. everyone was sweaty and exhausted. half the crowd had left, but your parents were still there, cheering for their son meanwhile in reality, he was playing in the band a few meters away in the stands and their daughter was on the field. 

the final match was occurring, enhypen vs. zerobaseone. you knew, it wasn’t going to be easy. not with an uncooperative niki. 

and by the first half, you were right. after calling out niki so many times to pass the ball and receiving nothing in response, everyone was on edge. 

the score was still 0-0. several times niki would get the ball stolen or make the ball go out, all while ignoring you. you swear he even tripped you at one point. 

at halftime, your coach and teammates were fed up too. “come on, niki. get your head in the game!”

“what’s going on with you and sunoo today?”

“you’re costing us too many opportunities. kim’s open and you’re obviously not giving it to him for a reason! figure it out, nishimura.” 

all he does is shake his head, chugging water and staying silent. 

you’re tired. your coach shakes his head in frustration, muttering off about personal issues.  

the team is completely off balance, and everyone can feel it. 

but only you can do something about it. 

with heavy breaths, you match up to niki in front of the whole team. 

“nishimura riki!” you call out his real name, causes him to react for a second with the slight widening of his eyes before he reverts to his cold facade again. 

“why are you doing this right now? we’re a team, now that we got so far, don’t you want to win?

“maybe you should’ve thought about that before lying to me and breaking our friendship,“ he replies ruthlessly.  

you sigh, pinching your nose bridge, “it wasn’t my intention to do so! i never had any intention of doing so, and i never will! i don’t like minji and i never tried to get with her.”

you exhale, trying to calm yourself while the whole team was watching. 

“i will never like minji.”

he scoffs, “why should I believe you after everything?”

“because the whole time i’ve been genuine. you’re one of my closest friends i’ve made here at the camp. if i really wanted to date minji, i would have told you that. you know i tried my best to help you,” your voice cracks at the last sentence. 

he looks confused for a second before his eyes harden. 

“whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore. i can’t trust anything you say or do now.”

you grab his arm, desperate. 

“we’ve been honest about everything, haven’t we? i don’t want to lose you, and i don’t want our team to lose this chance of winning. i don’t care about minji. i could prove it right now.”

he challenges you, eyes dark. just like he had since the first day. 

“how? how will you prove it?” 

you close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. you decided this was your chance to let it all out. after this, you would go home anyway. whether you would be forced back to your old, mundane life as your mother wanted was up to the future. you open your eyes, finally feeling like yourself as you begin taking off the fake sideburns, eyebrows, and finally, the wig. 

“like i said, i don’t care about minji.”

you finally untie your hair and shake it out free. 

“i care about you.” 

with an eruption of shocked gasps and whispers, you falter. perhaps you should have waited until after the final game. your true identity and appearance were revealed. everything was out in the open.  

niki states blankly at you, chest heaving. 

you think you faintly hear your parents shriek your name. ignoring them, you step closer to him. 

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i lied to you about this. but please believe me when i say i’m y/n, and i never meant to hurt you. so for right now, can we save this for later and just focus on beating the crap out of our opponents?”

you take the chance to glance around, seeing everyone’s shocked expressions.

silence falls as your coach speaks up, “this is illegal…”

you glance away, unable to say or do anything. 

what you don’t expect is the team’s clamors, especially from jungwon who you abruptly make eye contact with. 

he’s the first to speak up and advocate for you staying on the team. 

“coach we all knew the rules… but we can’t not let her play after she’s proven herself all this time.”

“it’s unfair to deny her the right to play after she’s been working so hard this entire season with us!”

as the rest of the boys join in, your coach looks helplessly at the director. soon enough, people from the audience join in too. 

you can’t help the hopeful smile that breaks out on your face, seeing your parents still in shock yet not disapproving.  

after a couple of minutes of deliberation (and your internal praying and pleading) along with the crowd and band’s support, the camp director begrudgingly allows you to play. 

the guys cheer, clapping you on the back and high-fiving you. all except niki, who still lingers at the side with an unreadable expression. 

then, it’s time to play. 

it feels different, already. you feel different—with the wind blowing your hair behind you and the ability to speak in your normal voice, act as your normal self.

no, to be your normal self.

you ran faster, spotted clearer, worked harder. you felt renewed. 

and once you saw the opening, with three minutes left, you glance at niki desperately. you hoped you conveyed everything in your face at that split second, like extending your arm out and hoping he would help you up from the ground. 

niki cleanly passes the ball to you, just so you can score a final goal. 

you don’t even realize it, once the final whistle blows, you almost collapse onto the grass. 

roars erupt in the air, people around you lift you up and throw you around. yet, your eyes are only on one figure to your left. somehow, in all the commotion, niki grabs your hand in happiness. then he realizes the situation and your grip is broken by your ecstatic team. 

your eyes lock for a moment before niki turns away, head slightly shaking and you frown. 

you won. but at what cost? 

on the last day of camp, after surprisingly receiving a lot of praise from your parents on your performance (as well as an apology from keeping you and sunoo from your respective passions), you finish packing up everything. 

when you got back to the dorms last night, niki was sleeping with the lights off and his back to you. you were still hurt, but at least he let you back into your room. 

you pack up silently, in case he was sleeping. 

even if he was asleep, you speak up softly. 

“i’m sorry. i’m really, really sorry niki….”

his shadowy figure remains unmoving. 

“i-i hope you know everything i ever said and did was genuine. at least, to me it was. i li-“ you bite the words back on your tongue. 

“i cared about you a lot. i care about you a lot. i’ll cherish this summer forever. thank you for the best memories. thank you for changing my life completely. thank you for being you, riki.” 

figuring that anything you two had was over, you got your stuff ready to go while blinking away the tears. 

during the final breakfast, you talked to minji and apologized. she took it much better than you expected, promising to keep in touch as real friends now with no hard feelings left. 

the boys on your team were just as quick to warm up to you. besides consoling you over niki, they promised to keep in touch as well. you were more than glad and appreciative to have friends and soccer mates. 

in your daze, reflecting over the course of the last day or so, you feel your phone vibrate. 

[11:36 am] sunbro: we’re on our way back  

[11:37 am] sunbro: better hurry up if you’re not packed and ready!

you gather your stuff and say your final goodbyes to your coaches, friends, and finally, the camp. 

you’re happy and sad to be leaving it all behind. maybe until next year now that they decided to let girls join this soccer camp. 

with your heavy bags, you trudge along your way outside. you stared around at the campus for the last time by yourself. 

it was strange to have some peace and quiet without the ruckus of the soccer camp and guys. one last attempt to capture everything one last time—one of your most memorable and life changing summers. 

and maybe a tiny bit of you was searching, holding onto that little piece of hope just to see that one person’s face for the last time. 

but it’s silent. you come to a slow when you reach the gates, gathering your stuff to head out. 

now you wait. you wait to leave with much more than you entered with. 

sighing, you freeze when you hear shuffling, the sound of… footsteps approaching you?

you don’t want to get your hopes up, but you hold your breath. 

turning around, you see him. 

your grip on the suitcase squeezes harder. 

he looks divine, comfy in his last day fit that wasn’t his jersey or training uniform. 

“hey,” he starts off. 

“hi,” you breathe. for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to meet his intense gaze.

niki doesn’t say anything at first, so you take the chance to speak up. 

“what’s up? i figured… you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”   

hands shoved in his pockets, he fidgets on his feet. a tiny smile appears on your face. 

“i don’t know, there’s a lot i’ve been thinking about.”

your chest tightens. “i see. d-do you want to share?” you finally look him in the eye and it’s like time freezes. 

niki isn’t able to handle seeing you like this, your real self. he thought you were too pretty for your own good. too good at pretending to be a guy and too good at making him react like this without even doing anything. without even knowing. 

he thought it was over too. but after he heard what you said that night after the championships, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. about the entire summer with you. this time, he wouldn’t let you slip away from him like you did at the fair.

niki glances down, taking a few steps closer as your eyes widen. “i miss my roommate who was also one of my closest friends. i really, really liked him. but i also really, really like the girl i met at the fair. she was beautiful, charming, uplifting.”

you place a hand over your chest, “i think they feel the same way,” you whisper. 

“i’m really sorry that i didn’t tell you,” you start off, “i was afraid of getting caught-and of all the consequences, so i tried to hide and cover everything up. it was incredibly selfish of me to hurt others, you, without realizing it. i’m so sorry.”

niki reaches a hand out to grab yours, “yeah, you hurt me. but you also healed me. in more ways than you think. i think, if you hadn’t snuck in as a guy, we would have never met and gotten as close as we did. you really changed my life too.” 

he says your name, and you look at him. hesitantly, fearfully. 

as if you would mess it all up again and he would leave you once more. 

you swallow. 

“everything we did together as friends, as someone i wasn’t, just made me like you even more as myself.” 

he takes a step closer. 

“is there any chance we could start over?”

niki chuckles and you feel your face getting hot.

“i’m nishimura riki. and you are?”

you stare down at his offered hand in shock. 

it takes only a second for you to proudly state your name, reaching a hand out to meet his. 

“a pretty name for a pretty face.”

you flush. where did this side of niki come from? 

“it’s very nice to meet you,” he adds, “quite nice. almost an honor after all the things i heard about you, well, from yourself-“ 

you shove niki. there was his playful side again. you relax a little seeing him be more like his old self. 

although, he catches your arm and quickly pulls you into him. 

you almost yelp, wide eyes boring into his playful ones. it feels comfortable in his embrace, almost like home. 

the distance between you two closes, smiles on your faces growing as you feel your heartbeats collide when his lips finally touch yours. 

“bye mom! i’ll text you later, sunoo!”

your mom yells for you to be careful as you slam the door shut behind you (not without giving your brother a quick hug on the way out).

you carry your duffel bag on one arm as you head over to the waiting vehicle, with a particularly dashing man inside. 

he, however, gets out as you run towards him. he picks you up and spins you around as you laugh at his excitement—it was his favorite sound that he could never get enough of.

he places a sweet kiss on your lips and you smile happily at him. 

“you ready to play, babe?”

“as ready as i’ll ever be, bro.” 

“you totally just did not call your loving, awesome, superior boyfriend that…”

“but i did?” you raise an eyebrow as to challenge him, “and you’re gonna accept it because you like me too much.” 

with a sigh, your boyfriend heeds your words as he always does. 

niki’s arms stay forever wrapped around you and your soccer bag as he awkwardly walks the both of you to your side of the car. 

“whatever, let’s just go kick some ass.” 

“oh, you bet i will.”

a/n ▸ hi guys... surprise?? yes, i'm alive. i was in the hospital for a little and really needed to focus on my health so i decided to take a break. i apologize for the longass wait on the ending of this series, so i crammed to get it done :) thank you as always for the support and love. i appreciate all the feedback <3 i'll be trying to get back on a better, more consistent schedule so see you guys soon again!

MAIN TAGLIST ▸ @precioussoulofmine @kynrki @heesterical @jungwonize @rerequire @nvertheless @duolingofanaccount @hoeshii @love-4-keum @nyanggk @luvhyun3 @dimplewonie @yjjungwon @flwrshee

@kflixnet

SERIES TAGLIST ▸ @lwavander @eloelooo @heatrache @harufluff @kjrcrz @kpopstanmeg @luvkpopp @yunicide @nunugget @kyanmeai @enhastolemyheart @j-wyoung @yinviyang @enhawinnieee @suvgs @zhounauts @123-678h @rshmra @they2luv1naia @hoodiebangtan @bachiwrld @lprww @riskiriki @minhosprettywife @fakeuwus @yumilovesloona @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @k25vi

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

I’m back in my silly nonsense again and I do have a request, if that’s ok, I seriously don’t wanna annoy or stress you out hun but I do have a specific request in mind.

A sadistic yandere doctor x reader

It starts out simple enough like the reader goes in for a simple checkup and there’s a new doctor taking care of them and it escalates from there, every appointment with the new doctor becomes more unnerving and unhinged until escalating to abducting his “patient” and keeping them to himself

I dunno this sounded better in my head and plus you’re more creative than I am😅 I had this lil idea for a while and I’d figure it was worth a shot to ask, thanks for putting up with my silly shenanigans 😅

CW: Abduction, drugging, obsessive yandere, former bully reader, foul language, trypanophobia and mild iatrophobia

I took this ask and fucking R A N

The line between hatred and love is much thinner than one would like to believe.

(Reader) sat stiffly in the waiting room, staring at their phone while scrolling, not paying attention to anything that passed their eyes. Time was not moving fast enough, and it felt like they were about to have a heart attack while waiting for the doctor, fifteen minutes past their scheduled appointment time. They nearly jumped when the nurse finally called their name, not bothering to offer even a polite grin to the nurse as they were led back to get weighed, praying to whatever was listening that their deodorant didn't fail them. Sweat glued their shirt to their back, but (Reader) refused to take off their jacket.

Going to the clinic was always a hassle, and if it wasn't for the pain in their neck that refused to ease up they would have continued to avoid it like the plague. The nurse brought (Reader) back to an empty room, and left them there again, now waiting on a paper sheet that crinkled obnoxiously whenever (Reader) shifted and was ten times colder than they were in the waiting room. (Reader) took a shaky breath and continued to scroll absentmindedly on their phone.

A soft knock at the door was enough to make (Reader) drop their phone, diving for it as a nurse wheeled in a cart. "Hello, dear, how are we today?"

(Reader) popped back up, flushed. "Peachy."

"Lovely." The older woman grabbed a chart and read over (Reader's) information. "I'm going to take a quick little blood sample and get you checked in for Dr. Campbell."

Their face felt cold with how quickly their previous embarrassment faded into fear. Both at the thought of getting their blood drawn, and in confusion at hearing a new name. "Actually, my doctor is Dr. Kowl." (Reader) tried to correct the nurse.

The nurse smiled brightly. "Dr. Campbell is our newest doctor, he'll be taking over for Dr. Kowl when he retires. Can you remove an arm from your jacket please?"

(Reader) slipped their left arm out for the nurse, holding in their breath and averting their eyes while she pulled out a clean needle. Even if they couldn't see it, just knowing that it was getting closer to their arm sent a rush of adrenaline up and down their body so quickly that (Reader) was afraid it would knock them out. They swallowed a lump of snot threatening to choke them, rolling their eyes back to look at the ceiling as they ignored the tiny prick of pain.

"All done."

The sleeve was rolled down before (Reader) turned their head, a tight grimace plastered on their face. "Great."

"Dr. Campbell will be with you shortly." The nurse's demeanor was warm, but (Reader) couldn't feel it past the cold crispness of her scrubs. Clinic doctors weren't as bad as hospital or ER doctors, but they still were not pleasant to be around.

• 17 years ago •

A chubby boy with dark curly hair obscuring his eyes nervously watched (Reader) from afar, working up the courage to go speak to them. (Reader) had a bruise on their neck, partially hidden by their hoodie, and the young man was worried for the stranger in his high school. Tugging on his baggy shirt awkwardly while shuffling his feet, he made his way to the sad looking teen, struggling not to lose his nerve. "Hey.." he struggled not to stutter. "I was just, uh, wondering if everything was.. okay?"

The look of loneliness and emptiness on (Reader's) face was gone so fast that the boy thought he imagined it, now only seeing disgust and rage.

"The fuck you just say?"

• Present •

A young doctor with wavy brown hair stepped into the room, his downward turned eyes widening every so slightly, a bright, welcoming smile contrasting his surprised gaze, as he entered (Reader's) view. (Reader) was equally shocked, taken back by how handsome their new doctor was. "How are we feeling today?"

Hearing that typical doctor's greeting paled (Reader's) complexion, reminding them that no matter how hot this man might be, he was still a doctor. "I, uh, got a pain. It won't go away."

Dr. Campbell nodded, gently touching (Reader's) jaw as he tilted their head, watching their face carefully as they grimaced at certain angles. "Have we already taken X-rays?"

"Yeah, there's nothing wrong. Urgent care said it was a pulled muscle, I'm just here for a follow up." (Reader) noted how the new doctor searched their eyes uncomfortably; it was as though he was looking for something specific. "Is there something wrong?"

The doctor removed his hands, smiling again, but this time the smile seemed disingenuous, almost melancholy. "I'm sorry, I just.. you look like someone that I used to know." His jaw clenched under his smile. Dr. Campbell swiveled away, rolling to the computer and tapping on the keyboard for a couple of minutes before clicking his tongue. "I'm sorry, (Reader), but it looks like something went wrong with the blood sample we just took. Can you roll up your sleeve for me so I can get a new sample?" He asked while already reaching into his drawer, grabbing a fresh syringe and three vials.

(Reader) sighed, frustration displayed openly on their features. "Really?.."

• 17 years ago •

"Cry, bitch!" (Reader) snarled, kicking the new kid in his ribs. His only real crime was not knowing that, despite the lack of piercings, (Reader) was practically the leader for the high school's most notorious delinquents. The only reason (Reader) hadn't been expelled was because their grades never dropped below an A-, and the school prioritized their placement as the second best school in the country over a few accusations of harassment.

"Hey (Reader), who's your new friend?" Nate asked while sauntering over with the rest of (Reader's) friends.

"Dunno. Hey new kid," (Reader) bent down, grabbing a fistful of his dark hair and yanking his head up, "what's your name?"

The kid could barely speak through his sobbing. ".. Ichabod."

"HA! What kind of name is that?!" Lily cackled hysterically.

"From now on, I think you're going to be my new best friend.. ain't that right, pussy?"

His dark brown eyes couldn't help but fixate on (Reader's) neck as they glared down at him, the bruise shaped like fingers was so dark that in the lighting it looked like it was bleeding. "Well, that's the worse fucking name I've ever heard in my life. No wonder you're such a pussy.

• Present •

"I'm here for Dr. Campbell? I have a twelve-thirty about some blood results?" (Reader) grumpily muttered, pissed that they had to be back at the clinic only a week after their last appointment. Hearing Campbell's name, one of the receptionists smiled, fluttering her lashes and biting her lip subtly.

Her colleague saw her reaction and made a noise of approval. "That new doctor, he's quite the charmer, isn't he?"

"Stop!" The younger woman smiled harder, rolling her eyes. The whole thing made (Reader) grossed out. Yeah, the man was cute, but not when you're on the job. "Besides, he's.. unavailable."

"What? I didn't see a ring on his finger."

'They have forgotten me.' (Reader) puffed out their cheeks and patted their sides loudly, hoping the two medical professionals would get the hint and just sign them in.

"Apparently, he only became a doctor because of his highschool sweetheart. He said he had somebody whose 'attention' he 'wanted'." She sighed dreamily. (Reader) sighed also, but only out of frustration.

"Hey." (Reader) snapped, embarrassing the two receptionists as they looked to (Reader), mouths open like (Reader) was an apparition. "Twelve thirty. (Reader). Is there any paperwork I need to fill out?"

"Sorry! No-"

"Great." (Reader) interrupted the lady, heading over to the horribly uncomfortable chairs a few feet away. However, nearly as soon as (Reader's) butt touched the seat their name was called out, startling them on the speed.

They raised their eyebrows but didn't complain, heading back past the smiling nurses with disdain.

Dr. Campbell met (Reader) in the hall, sneaking up behind them. "Not big on smiling, huh?" The tall man grinned, feeling immense joy at the way (Reader's) face blanched and their muscles tensed.

"I'll smile for some good news." (Reader) forced a smile onto their face, the faux sign of friendliness not reaching their eyes.

He held out a hand as if to say 'after you', directing (Reader) to an open door.

• 16 years ago •

Ichabod couldn't look away from (Reader), studying their shaky visage as (Reader) barely held themselves together, teetering in the corner of the dirty basement. It was interesting, the first real emotion Ichabod had ever detected from (Reader) besides disgust.

Fear.

The group of 'friends' all drunkenly sat around Lily's older brother while he tattooed the minors in his dingy home. (Reader) was trying their hardest not to barf as the gun entered their friend's skin rhythmically.

"(Reader), check it out!" The dumbass child held up his arm, proudly displaying a jagged dog. "What'd ya think?"

"It looks like shit." (Reader) spat. The horror was masked by their hatred, fooling everyone except Ichabod. He stared a little too hard, finally drawing the attention of (Reader).

(Reader) could see by the look in Ichabod's eye that he saw their dirty little secret. Rage buzzed throughout (Reader's) body. "Why don't you give one to the pussy?"

Gasping, Ichabod went weak, experiencing something close to betrayal. He never felt an ounce of companionship from his 'best friend' but he was always looking for something from (Reader), he just couldn't understand what. Nate jumped up, launching towards the group's punching bag with sadistic glee.

(Reader) went blank, as they often did, showing neither pleasure nor anger as their friends closed in on Ichabod. "What about it? Since you're not fighting back, I take it that means you want one?" They paused, almost hoping for a reaction other than fright. But Ichabod was frozen, pleading (Reader) with his large teary eyes.

• Present •

"Fine. Hey Marty, why don't you write-"

"This better be the last time." (Reader) finally opened their eyes, too blinded by their phobia to question why their doctor's face was pink; why his large eyes were half lidded; and why he was smiling at them like they were the most attractive person he's ever seen in his life.

Dr. Campbell shuttered, eyes glazing over as he watched (Reader's) face contort, sweat beading on their forehead as the needle pierced their arm. (Reader) was so focused on not crying that they had no clue the look their new doctor was giving them. Being able to see this side to (Reader) was a privilege, one reserved for best friends.

"This should be the last test." His voice which usually oozed like honey quivered oddly, tickling a memory (Reader) couldn't quite recollect.

"Yeah, well, bit aggravating that both times I've gotten my blood drawn, something went wrong and it needed to be taken again." They pulled on their jacket with a huff. "Arm's beginning to look like a junkie's."

"Well, I do apologize for that. You can schedule your next appointment at the front desk. Your results will be in by next Thursday, we'll discuss them together then."

"Great." (Reader) left the room as quickly as possible, the agitation felt from being trapped in a doctor's office trumping how woozy they were. The nervous adult left the doctor behind, unaware of his erection hidden under his clip board. Dr. Campbell pocketed the blood sample, casually readjusting his pants through his pocket as he did so.

His smirk faded into something haunting, something damn near evil. "Last appointment, huh?" The doctor couldn't help but roll up his sleeve, his hard on becoming almost painful in the position he was sitting. A faded blue ink tattoo fuzzy with age and poor in quality marred his arm like a beautiful blemish.

• 15 years ago •

Cigarette smoke drifted up towards the gloomy clouds, the senior leaning against the fence that separated student and faculty parking lit a new cigarette as soon as the last one finished. Ichabod recognized (Reader) from behind, and found himself incapable of running and hiding, pulled in to his tormentor's side against his will. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of (Reader's) face, one eye completely swollen shut and their skin dark purple. Their one good eye stared at nothing, unblinking and dead.

(Reader) didn't look at Ichabod, knowing there was only one person dumb enough to approach them when they looked like this. No matter how hard they pushed him, he never stopped looking at them with that pitiful sentimentality. "Don't hang out with us at lunch today." Nate failed another history exam, and would be looking for someone to take his anger out on. (Reader) didn't know why they were sparing such a little bitch from getting his ass beat. Maybe they were just bored of him.

Ichabod flinched like he had just been hit, trying to will (Reader) to look at him, to explain themselves.

"Actually.. I'm done with you." They finished off their cancer stick, and dropped it into the gravel. "Stop hanging out with us."

"Why?" It was the only thing he could force himself to say.

(Reader) wondered why themselves. Would a therapist have been able to understand? See past their anger, their disgust? The only reason why (Reader) started bullying Ichabod was because he was new, and no one told him that (Reader) wasn't worth his sympathy. They knew he saw it, the bruise on their neck, and they could see it in his stupid face. And it pissed them off. Everyone knew-

(Reader) wasn't someone to pity.

Watery eyes threatening to overflow shook under the force of his tumultuous feelings as the baby faced young man got in (Reader's) line of sight. Even getting decked would be better than being ignored. But there was nothing in (Reader's) eye. He was invisible to them. "I hate pussies."

• Present •

"So, just a pulled muscle?" (Reader) grimaced, raising their hands in annoyance.

Dr. Campbell smiled, showing off all his pearly white teeth. "Thank God it wasn't something more serious."

"Great." Slapping their knees, (Reader) stood, ready to leave and hoping to never come back again. However, their body was stopped at the door by a strong hand gripping their wrist painfully, a deep scarlet staining Dr. Campbell's face and what was visible of his neck. "What?"

"Have we met before?" His face was smiling but his voice was on the verge of cracking.

"Yeah. Three weeks ago. When I first came in."

Long eyelashes nearly pushed his glasses off his nose. The doctor had (Reader) trapped in his arms at this point. "Are you sure? Are you sure I don't look familiar?"

The rising feeling of anxiety quickly morphed into anger, just as it always did, just like when they were a little kid. It took every ounce of self control they had to not knee the new doctor in the nuts. "Am I supposed to?!" (Reader) raised their voice, clenching their fists, feeling their entire body tense as it prepared to fight.

A laugh escaped him, jerking uncontrollably as he felt himself nearly cum just from seeing the old (Reader) trapped in his arms, unable to escape him, knowing that they were just masking their fear, just like that day in the basement all those years ago. "Thank you.." The look in his misty eyes grossed (Reader) out. "Thank you for not changing."

• 15 years ago •

"What?" Ichabod asked in disbelief. The office attendant spoke clearly but her words just didn't make sense.

(Reader) had been missing for nearly a month before Ichabod had the courage to ask anyone where they went. His tan skin had already begun to heal, the bruises left by (Reader's) shoes and the cuts left from their punches had faded. The only memory he had left of them was the tattoo on his arm he kept covered up. If he ever wore a short sleeve shirt it would be over, the pain would end, but he would also never see (Reader) again, and he couldn't have that.

"(Reader) doesn't go here anymore, sweetheart. They got their G.E.D so they could graduate early. One smart cookie, that one."

'But that's impossible.' Ichabod thought to himself. He knew (Reader), knew them better than anyone else. He was special. There was no way he couldn't have known about this. He was closer to (Reader) than their piece of shit friends, and that's why (Reader) hurt him! Deep down Ichabod just knew that (Reader) only hurt him because he could see them for who they were. No one else knew how scared (Reader) was. No one else cared about (Reader's) home life. Only he did.

Only Ichabod knew how terrified (Reader) was of needles.

Through the tears and spit, hiding his body from his parents so they wouldn't know what was happening at school, lying to teachers when they voiced their concerns about potential bullying, Ichabod had convinced himself that what he and (Reader) had was special. Because only he saw how scared they were. He told himself that it wasn't because no one else cared about the "future criminal", but because he was special to (Reader), and only he was allowed to see them vulnerable. That was a privilege for best friends only.

'Was it because I didn't give them enough attention?'

He walked through the hallway without a limp, without a hunched back, just like a normal student. It disgusted him. The walls were plastered with students' artwork, motivational posters, and recruitment ads. A smiling man in a white lab coat caught Ichabod's attention, pulling him out of his dark emptiness and showing him the solution to his problem.

"I'll make you see me."

• Present •

"Stupid son of a bitch!" (Reader) moved at a fast pace through the parking garage, nearly jogging to their truck. They had been doing so well, such a good job, but one moment in a stranger's arms and their mind was invaded by a voice they hadn't thought about in almost a year.

Their mother's words tumbled from their lips as they fished for their keys, shaking with apprehension disgust. "Fucking coward, fucking pussy, goddamnit, good for nothing-"

The old familiar tingling of adrenaline, the need to punch something.

Reaching their truck didn't provide any relief. The keys they were searching for kept evading their fingers as though they had a mind of their own. In the black of their tinted window another figure approached their reflection. (Reader) angrily whipped around, ready to start swinging. Behind them stood Dr. Campbell, wearing a baby blue short sleeved polo tucked into a pair of black slacks. The collared shirt exposed his muscular arms and accentuated his broad shoulders. He would have been so attractive if (Reader) didn't know what he looked like in a lab coat.

"I'm glad I caught you! I didn't have a chance to apologize in there, you rushed off before I could explain myself."

"Don't make up excuses for being a pervert." (Reader) snarled, ready to lash out like a cornered animal. They still couldn't feel the keys in their pocket.

The man smiled so sweetly at (Reader) that it made them want to bite him. "It really hurt my feelings. I thought that maybe you just didn't remember me." His eyes looked down at his feet, but he wasn't an actor, and (Reader) could see plainly that there wasn't a drop of sadness in the man before them. "But I guess.. I do look different than I did back in highschool."

His right hand reached out towards (Reader) to caress their cheek. They almost smacked him away, but a small, shitty tattoo on his arm drained them of their blood faster than a gun shot wound, feeling their bravado leak out of them so quickly that they didn't have time to remember to be pissed.

(READER'S) BITCH

Before they could recover and throw the first punch the hand clamped over their mouth, and a needle was revealed from behind his back in the other hand.

They struggled, but Ichabod hadn't spent his years in med school working out to impress (Reader). Eyes wide with horror watched the needle approach their neck helplessly, and Ichabod could almost cry at the beautiful sight before him. The fear that only he was able to see, only he was allowed to experience, God he could have fucked them right there and then, but he controlled himself. This had all been planned out, and he couldn't fuck it up just because (Reader) was shaking beneath him so cutely.

The needle went into their neck, injecting a drug to knock them out for a few hours. (Reader) screamed silently into his palm, and he watched as they recognized the adoration in his eyes with terror. (Reader's) keys were pulled out from Ichabod's back pocket, dangling teasingly in front of (Reader's) face as they went limp. "You said you hated pussies." His smile was mocking as (Reader) went dark, unable to stay awake. There was so much they wanted to say. They wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness. To tell him he wasn't a pussy, that they were never speaking to him when they called him that.

They didn't understand why he looked down at them so kindly. (Reader) hoped that if he killed them it would be a swift death. They felt that they deserved it after all this time.

What he had in store for them was much, much worse than death.

[tw-inkl-e-tit-s]

Miguel: *rambling about a girl*

Y/n: *jealous* Who cares if she is exciting, fresh, and fun?

Mason: *annoyed* Please, she sounds like a deodorant"

Miguel: Y/n:

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Delirium Days

Pairings: Wandanat x (eventually) R

Word count: 1.1K

Summary: Wanda and Nat had wanted you to join their relationship from the beginning. But when you fall sick they can’t help but to care for you and make their feelings known.

TW: Delirium (idk if that’s a warning or not lol), one swear word

A/N Not edited.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you felt someone had replaced all the blood in your body with concrete. Your limbs hurt and they were hard to move. Your head felt like it was full of rocks and was just as heavy too. Stumbling to the bathroom, you splashed some water on your face. Of course you would wake up sick. Throwing on some makeup and taking a Panadol to stop in ache in your bones and head, you trudged downstairs looking slightly more presentable.

“Morning Y/n/n” Wanda called from where she was making pancakes. Upon hearing this Nat also looked up from where she was drowning a stack in maple syrup and ice-cream. Nat loved sweet foods.

“Morning detka.” Nat called, eyes returning to them tower.

Trying your best to keep your voice steady you bid them good morning and took a seat. Luckily they seemed to buy it. You must have zoned out because a second later Wanda was laying your own stack of pancakes in front of you and Nat looked like she was waiting for an answer to something.

“Sorry. Could you repeat the question.” You mumbled. Nat frowned and Wanda looked at you closely, making you squirm slightly in your seat.

“I asked if you wanted toppings?” She said unsurely.

“Are you feeling ok?” Wanda asked, going to lay a hand on your cheek. You dodged, putting on a weak smile.

“Just tried. I need some coffee.” You said, voice husky. You played it off as the lasting effects of sleep and got up despite your body’s protests to get coffee.

When you returned to the table, the world tilted for a second making you stumble slightly as you sat back down.

“Honey? Do you want to go back to bed?” Wanda asked, Nat eyed you closely.

Your body screamed at you to say yes but you simply shook your head. Not helping with the dizziness. You put your head down on the table. Too tired to conjure anymore of a charade for the couple. Wanda and Nat had been dating long before you joined the team. And as much as you loved both women, you didn’t want to spoil their love for each other. So you were happy to watch from afar, the twinge in your heart becoming a constant ache.

“Love?” Nat asked.

“Yeah?” You grumbled.

“She asked if you wanted anything?” Wanda frowned. Leaning forward, she brushed a hand over your head, pausing before laying the back of her hand on your forehead.

“Nat, she’s quite warm.” Wanda shot a concerned look at the other girl, who came around to feel for herself.

Upon laying her hand on your flushed cheek, Nat hissed. Her hand taking the makeup off your cheek to reveal a pink flush to your skin.

“Shes more than a little warm.” Nat agreed

“Friday?” Wanda asked, reappearing with a wash cloth to remove the makeup. She crouched down in front of you. Gently she wiped off all the concealer and set the cloth down again.

“Yes Ms. Maximoff” the AI replied

“What is Y/n’s temperature?”

“Y/n appears to be running a fever of 102.8” Friday responded.

“Shit.” Nat swore, receiving a playful slap from Wanda on the arm.

Scooping you up, Nat carried you back to Wanda and her shared room. Wanda trailed behind.

Waking up slightly, to find yourself in Nat’s strong arms, your head felt fuzzy.

“Natty?” You asked voice sounding high and slurred. Wanda shot Nat a look at the nickname.

“Yes love?” Nat cooed.

“Can you turn the sun down please.” You huffed burying your head in her armpit. She thanked god she had put on more deodorant after training.

Wanda chuckled slightly at Nat’s thoughts, receiving a glare from the redhead in question.

“Bit delirious there sweetheart?” Wanda cooed. Stroking back your hair as Nat laid you on their bed.

“‘M not your sweetheart.” You mumbled making both girls freeze. You had never denied their names for you in the past. And they knew your fever was making you say things, but curiosity won out in the end.

“No?” Nat asked.

“ B’t I wanna be.” You smiled snuggling into Wanda’s side as she ran her hands through your hair. “One day.” You grinned.

Nat retuned a moment later with two cold wash cloths. Placing one on the back of your neck and handing Wanda another for your forehead. You wined at the coldness and Wanda shushed you, pulling you in flush to her side. Your eyes fought to stay open.

“It’s alright sweetheart, close those pretty eyes for us now.” Wanda cooed.

You feel asleep to Wanda’s nails on your scalp and Nat tracing patterns between your shoulder blades.

Next time you woke up your fever had broken and both girls were asleep beside you. Your memories were fuzzy and as your words came back to you, you shot up in bed. Accidentally waking both girls in the process.

“What’s wrong detka?” Nat asked, shooting a worried look at Wanda who laid a hand on your cheek. Blushing you stuttered out an apology.

“Now. Now. There’s no need for that sweetheart. We were happy to help.” Wanda hushed.

You flopped back onto the bed. Freezing when you felt a soft pair of lips on yours.

“Sorry.” Nat grinned sheepishly. “Couldn’t help it, your so cute when you pout.”

“‘S ok” you smiled. “I kinda liked it.”

“Then maybe I can have a turn.” Wanda grinned, pulling you into her for another kiss. Her lips were soft and tasted like honey.

Realising what was happening you panicked. “Im sorry. Im so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your relationship. Im tired and sick and I let my emotions get out of check. And-“

“Its ok.” Wanda shushed, cutting off your rambling.

“We have wanted to do that for a long time.” Nat agreed.

“Don’t think we haven’t notice you watching us.” Wanda smiled slyly.

Of course they noticed. One was a mind reader and the other a trained spy. You groaned, making both girls giggle.

“If you don’t mind we would love for you to join our little relationship.” Nat smiled, brushing the hair from your eyes. Wanda smiled at the blush that rose to your cheeks.

“Ok.” You mumbled quietly. Wanda contained a squeal at your cuteness. Both girl laid either side of you pulling your body into theirs as Wanda coaxed you back to sleep. When your eyes were finally shut, Nat whispered to Wanda.

“Can we keep her?”

“I don’t think we’ll ever be letting her go.” Wanda smiled sweetly down at your sleeping form.

Master list

[barry-j-blupjeans]

"Listen," Taako said, kicking his feet up on the Director's desk. "Cha'boy needs to live somewhere else."

"I'm… sorry?" the Director said. She looked like she had just woken up. Because she did. Whoops. The concept of time and Taako didn't really agree with each other. If the best time to get his thoughts out was six in the goddamn morning, then who was Taako to reject that? Not after he spent all night with motherfucks he has to dorm with.

"Cha'boy," Taako repeated, slowly. "Needs. To live. Somewhere else."

"Can I-" the Director sighed, dropping her face into her hands. She inhaled. Rubbed at her temples. Looked back up with an expression Taako could only describe as deep and utter regret. "Do I even want to know why?"

"No," Taako said. "But I got a list, so hang onto your hat. Number one-" he leaned back in the chair, teetering on the back legs. "-I need my beauty sleep."

"Don't we all," the Director asked, deadpan.

"You'll be fine," Taako said. "But this look takes work, compadre. Do you think I just wake up looking like this?" The Director opened her mouth. "Don't answer that." The Director shut her mouth. "But I doubt Magnus even knows what an inside voice is and Merle doesn't understand the concept of closing his fucking bedroom door and I am so, so close to committing even more crimes against death."

"Taako…"

"Two," Taako said, holding up two fingers. "Merle and Magnus both, objectively, smell awful. Have you stood near Merle recently, Director?"

"I… can't say I have," the Director said. There was a deep look of worry on her face now.

"Good," Taako said. "'Cus it's bad. I think he just eats deodorant instead of actually putting it on. And number three-"

Taako considered. Being tired of having to sneak his boyfriend around probably wasn't a good excuse, considering the Director didn't know that one, said boyfriend existed, and two, that he was even on the moon in the first place. Or knew the moon wasn't, y'know, the moon. But man, it felt bad to end his list on two. That was pathetic. He at least needed a three.

"Number three," Taako began again. "I deserve it."

"You deserve it," the Director repeated dryly.

"Sure as hell do," Taako said. "Like, you deal with a weapon of mass destruction several times and you don't even get a sweet room upgrade? Do you even have a retention plan, Director?"

Yes. Score one for Taako. He was so good at this.

"I like to think that the agreement of not dying from said weapon of mass destruction is some pretty good retention for most people," the Director said, which, yeah, fair.

"But I'm Taako," Taako said.

"Yeah," the Director said. "And it's five in the fucking morning, Taako. What the hell do you want me to do about it?"

"I'll take a new room," Taako said, crossing his legs in a different direction. The Director slid some documents away from his feet. "And maybe like, a raise. Sound good?"

"Hm," the Director said. She squinted at him. Taako dropped the chair back down to all four legs. After a moment, she cleared her throat. "What month is it?"

"May-ish," Taako said. "Y'know, around there."

"Around there," the Director said, nodding. "Come back to me, uh- let's- let's say after midsummer. And we'll see what we can do."

"After midsummer," Taako said echoed. "Need I remind you that last midsummer, the entire sky kinda like, got fucked up with a buncha eyes? Remember that? That was a thing that happened."

"Rest assured that they will be dealt with this year if they so choose to return," the Director said.

"Somehow that's not really reassuring me," Taako said.

"It's part of the retention plan," the Director said. "Now if you could please get the fuck out of my office, that would be stellar."

[8-dermestid]

it's like as if somebody was gripping my throat

relationship: eyeless jack x reader

word count: 6.2k

links: available to read on ao3

warnings: canon-typical violence

M. Eerie National Park is one of the most boring places to work. You hike the trails to make sure nobody is trying to stay after hours, clean up garbage, and befriend the local cryptid.

Nobody knows about that last part except for you.

(like/reblogs are greatly appreciated, requests are open ✷)

“—Shocking news for M. Eerie National Park. Another victim, twenty-one-year-old Penn State student Ryan Sheppard, discovered on the property—”

You dig into your food, tuning out the broadcast as you scarf down your lunch and prepare for work. You rinse your bowl, toss it into the dishwasher, and move into the bedroom to change out of your pajamas and into your uniform. You pull up your cargo pants and pull on a green collared shirt with the M. Eerie National Park logo embroidered on the pocket. After deodorant, you pull on your hiking boots, grab your jacket and bag, and leave towards your car.

She’s a beat-up old thing, but she gets you to and from work without too much trouble. It’s a short, red, rust-damaged Honda Civic. Your car’s engine is strong, and it, other than the external imperfections and duct-taped-on mirror, has treated you well, and you’ve never felt the need to trade up.

(Nor the want, being a park ranger hardly gives you enough money to keep your head above the water, but you love it, and working an office job sounds worse than pulling all your toenails out at once with rusty pliers.)

The car sputters to life, rumbling beneath you in her comfortable and familiar way. You look down at the radio—the clock reads 14:37—you’ll be on time for the start of your shift. The drive isn’t exciting, and you’d take your boring drive over a three-hour drive to the office any day. Your job is so easy, too, a simple routine you follow every day—go in during the afternoon, hike the trails before closing, watch for lost folks and garbage, and close up the park. It’s easy, so easy that your job is almost dull. You walk into the break room, your lunch in your non-dominant hand, and stumble into a meeting.

“Oh. Hey guys.” You hesitate, creeping over to put your food in the fridge. Usually, the break room was empty, and Leslie, your superior in the standard uniform with her beat-up clipboard, was marching back and forth like a drill sergeant.

In the kindest way possible, you hope she retires. She’s been working here for so long and managing everything that she deserves some R-and-R. Leslie is the backbone of the team, and one would have to pry her position from her cold, dead hands (even then, it would still be a fight), but she should consider passing the job to someone else.

You plop down in one of the three empty chairs. Two of your coworkers transferred to another park (quite suddenly, too, no two-week notice or anything). It’s not good, especially considering they were the only other people working your shift.

“Alright, we can wrap up this meeting with a quick problem,” Leslie begins again, waving quietly to you. “Guests have been reporting stolen items more than usual, lots of jackets, gloves, boots, ooh—food, too,” Leslie jots something down on her clipboard, “To be honest, I think people are just misplacing things and blaming it on the wildlife, but if you see anything, just radio me, and I’ll come to help you sort it out.”

You nod. People leave things where they shouldn’t be all the time—you can't count the number of times families wake up with ransacked coolers because they leave them outside unprotected.

Leslie sighs, “And—look—there have been more than a few teens sneaking off into the woods before we close. Please, I don’t want another 24-hour challenge incident on our record. Keep an eye out for them. I mean it.”

Everyone affirms, whether with a nod or a “Yes, Leslie.”

The team filters out of the break room, and one of your coworkers (with wild, dark hair and stickers nearly smothering the Molly on her nametag) bounds to your side like a deer.

“You think it’s a bear?” She asks. She’s practically bouncing off the walls despite Park Ranger being the least thrilling job on the planet.

You shrug. You don’t carry the same energy that Molly does. She is just a wee sixteen-year-old at your side working her first big girl job, and any excitement at this middle-of-nowhere park is a godsend for her.

“Well, it could be a bear. But, I mean, a bear wouldn’t be stealing men’s jackets or boots.” she suggests, “Maybe not a bear, or maybe it’s those kids again… Remember the kids from a few weeks ago?”

Oh. Oh, of course, you remember those kids. Three of them, two girls and some in-between kid, all seventeen and seniors at the local high school (local being the closest high school, which was thirty miles away) that Leslie caught trying to stay overnight for some silly internet challenge. One of them, the in-between kid with the flattest hair you’ve seen in a while, brought an Ouija board because of some weird internet gossip about your park. It was strange—super, duper weird—because the couple (apparently, maybe? You aren’t sure) ditched the third girl to make out under an abandoned deck. Leslie only caught them because the third (a taller, more heavyset girl with colored hair) was terrified of some tall, slender man who scared her on the internet.

“God, don’t remind me.” You finally say. You still remember the three of them yelling at each other, Leslie dragging them out by the collars of their shirts like scruffed cats after they got caught (because one of the girls was a crybaby, their words, not yours).

Leaving the break room and finally feeling the sun this morning, Molly waves you goodbye and starts jogging down her favorite trail. She’s got energy for miles; if she were older and wiser, she could compete with Leslie.

Speaking of, Leslie pats your shoulder. Her grey hair shimmers in the sun, and she, with wrinkles showcasing her long and fulfilling life, smiles down at you.

“Afternoon, kiddo. You doing alright?”

You nod, more focused on the heavy workload you have in front of you.

Leslie pats your back like a coach would to her favorite player, “I know Josh and Ryan quitting hasn’t been easy on you.” Her voice is too solemn for a work transfer, “I’ll be working tonight, too, if that eases you.”

You perk up, half with relief and half because working with Leslie is the best. It’s comforting to have a superior like her around when people start getting wild in the woods; she’s good at grabbing people by the scruff and dragging them out, kicking and hollering.

“You can take care of the Southern Reach, yeah? You’re a big kid—you can handle it.”

You’re more than just a kid, but between her being near retirement age while you are fresh out of college—you are a kid in her eyes. You nod, already unhooking your heavy flashlight from its carabiner.

“That’s the ticket. I’ll take Northern. We’ll meet back up here for closing.”

“No, no, I’ll handle closing.” You persuade, “Come on, Leslie, I can handle closing a big gate. Just handle Northern and go home.”

She debates it, rolling the idea around in her mind before conceding. “Alright, kiddo. Just this once, though.”

At first, with the sun just touching the horizon, your checks go well, and you clean up a few empty beer cans along the southernmost trails. Your trash bag is light, which is a plus. You don’t need to pull your flashlight out until past seven in the evening when the moon peeks out behind you. You find an empty can of soup (chicken-noodle but with star-shaped pasta instead of noodles). The top looks messily cut, as if with a knife, which isn’t at all uncommon.

Except, well, this can has a pull tab disregarded by the previous user. You turn over the can in your palm, examining the shredded metal and paper label, and toss it into the bag with the rest of the trash.

Further, closer to the center of the trails, there is another disemboweled can. You pick up one, the lid is also ripped off, the pull-tab forgotten about, yet this soup can has more than half of it ripped off into a swirly shape, almost like someone was desperate for something to eat. It’s Campbell’s, not Grandma’s cooking.

There’s another can further into the woods, more shredded than the last, with a deep dent in the center; the can was clean, too clean, which is both weird and disgusting. Dogs shouldn’t eat this stuff concentrated—too much sodium.

Another one; there is a streaky, black substance marbling with some soup still sitting at the bottom of the can; another, and more of that black slime. You carefully pick up each one and add it to the bag. The next can has more of that substance—almost too much. The smell is putrid. It burns inside your nose, and you get a whiff of formaldehyde or something that reeks of death.

You keep traveling into the woods, finding more debris and litter, an old chewed-through sleeve, a jacket, and a glove smattered with that syrup-y oil. There’s something wet beneath your palm, and thank the stars you chose to bring your gloves this morning. It’s red, with a black slime marbled in it. It’s sticky between your fingers, and it smells awful. You follow the trail of red and black with your flashlight.

The source is the mangled carcass of a hiker wearing a high-vis vest. You suck in a breath and reach for your walkie-talkie. It’s sickening, and you can’t stop looking at the body as you radio for your superior.

“Leslie? Leslie, you there?” You plead, hands shaking and mind racing. Of all the people you want to pick up, it’s her. She’s been working here since before you were born—maybe she’s found a mutilated person in her time working the trails.

The silence stretches for an eternity until you hear a familiar voice on the other end.

“Hey, I’m here. What’s going on?” She asks.

“Uhm, I don’t know,” You make the mistake of looking at it, at the remnants of a man, at the carcass before you. “I don’t even know what could do something like this.” God, it makes you sick, but you can’t look away.

“Come on, talk to me,” She barks, her voice firm with years of seniority, “What are you seeing? Talk.”

You swallow. “Some hiker got attacked. They’re not responsive,” You mutter into your little plastic lifeline. “I’m off Trapper’s—I don’t know—Christ, I’m going to be sick.”

“...Okay,” Leslie replies quickly, “Are you safe?”

You don’t know the answer to that question. You swallow a lump in your throat as you look frantically for movement in the dark woods. Leslie says something, but you can’t hear it over the sound of your heart hammering away in your ears. You see movement between the trees, the primal part of your brain attempting to identify any immediate danger. Everything is spinning, it reeks of death, and Leslie’s voice is staticky because of the shitty speakers.

“Answer me! Come on, kiddo, where are you?” She shouted, her voice laced with harsh static.

Your flashlight flickers, and you hope whoever ordered these flashlights has something horrible happen to them. Something rustles in the bush. The only thing you have to protect yourself is a bag of loose garbage and your shitty flashlight. Leslie is shouting so loud you can only hear half of her words. Whatever emerges from that bush will eat you alive—you’re sure of it.

The stench of death gets heavier as a figure crawls out from beneath the foliage, wearing a dark hoodie and a blue mask. There’s blood and guts caked under their fingernails, and they look filthy and smell worse. They lock eyes with you and try to stand, stumbling and letting out a near-inhuman cry. You hold your heavy flashlight like a baton—all it’s useful for, considering the lightbulb works when it wants to—as the masked stranger lets out a wheezy breath and crawls towards you.

You grip the flashlight so hard your hands are shaking, taking careful steps back to maintain some distance between both of you. Their approach doesn’t stop. They reach and grab at your leg and pull you to the ground. Your head is spinning as it collides with the damp earth, and you feel two hands digging into your abdomen, sharp nails scratching and attempting to burrow into your stomach. You shout as their ice-cold hands scrape across your body, their claws raking across tender flesh.

You thrash and try to push them away, but they hold you down with one hand and remove their mask with the other.

You always said you’d know what to do if you were in a slasher flick. You always called the protagonists stupid for freezing up in front of certain death, never thinking about what it felt like, knowing you were probably going to die. You look them in the eye—more so what’s left of them, staring into two tar-filled sockets where their eyes would be—and unable to do anything.

You lay back, each breath barely making it in and out of your lungs. They stop, hands still pressed firmly against you. They crane their neck, probably just as surprised as you for simply giving up. They tug your shirt back down, pressing a palm over it and smoothing the fabric with their palm.

It reignites something in you because before either of you can register what’s happening, they’re squealing in pain as you hit them upside the head with your flashlight. You scramble away, pulling yourself to your feet and running blindly to the main trail.

You don’t stop, even after the demonic cries die out under the sound of the beginning storm. You push and push yourself until you nearly collide with Leslie.

“Stars—! Kid, where the hell were you? What the hell happened to you?”

She shines the light across your face, then brushes a leaf from your coat. It’s hard to think about speaking; Leslie knows you’re trying.

“Hey, it’s okay. Come on, I’ll drive you home, kiddo.”

“But the—”

“Don’t worry about it,” She says as softly as she can, “You’ve done all you can do. Anything about you that I should be worried about?”

You pat your abdomen, a few lines of brown blood staining the front. You shake your head, and Leslie holds off on grilling you for details.

✷𓃞 ✷

She drives you home in her big pickup truck (she even went through a drive-thru and got you something to eat on the way home). She pats your back as you dig through the bottom of the bag for scraps.

“Don’t think about coming back tomorrow—Partly because you’ve been through hell tonight—but also because there’s going to be an investigation. Look—take it easy, maybe go see your doctor, don’t come back until at least next Tuesday.”

Leslie pulls over to the side of your street and pulls out a box of cigarettes. “I mean it, take it easy. You do enough work while you’re on the clock; don’t worry about anything—I have people that can cover your shift if you need more time off.”

You nod, gathering your things and walking towards your house, digging your keys from your jacket to escape the rainy weather. You shut the door behind you, and Leslie walks towards her truck, a thin line of smoke trailing behind her.

You open the door, and a warm puff of air welcomes you home. It’s quiet and dark, leaving you on edge from tonight’s incident. Instead of relaxing—like Leslie practically ordered you to—you drop your bag at the front door and book it to your computer. It hums to life, and you punch in your password and open your web browser. Surprisingly, being attacked by a person-shaped thing did not perturb your furious web-searching.

Creature in the woods near me

Masked creature, person that tried to eat me?

Blue man— you hastily hit backspace as Blue Man Group auto-fills in your search bar.

You keep trying outrageous combinations of words, eventually finding a near-defunct blog with a picture of the freaky humanoid that almost killed you.

EYELESS JACK. Well, the name fits. At least you’ve finally got a name for that face. You read through this article, which recounts this woman—a hiker-slash-rock-climber, to be more specific—coming into contact with a human-ish guy. They had a few photos of deep claw wounds that scarred over pale on her dark skin. You jot down the name, continuing to dig into the incident recounted by this woman.

You pause and close all your curtains and turn off all the lights (and you get yourself a drink to keep yourself awake). Sinking into your chair again, you continue the deep dive into this Eyeless Jack fellow, feeling like a detective from some once-popular show that wasn’t that good. You keep searching—jotting down leads for your search—until the sun is peeking over the horizon, and you can hardly keep your eyes open. Eyeless Jack has been around for longer than you first believed—they’ve probably been terrorizing after-dark visitors of your park for years, right under your nose.

Are there more missing-person cases? Did any of your coworkers who quit unexpectedly actually have a reason? God, this journey to the weirdest parts of the internet has left you with more questions than answers.

You look down at the big sticky-note pad you used for notes. It looks like you fell off the deep end with your feverish scrawling, smeared ink, and lots of quick notes about disembowelment, kidney removal, and even cult activity. You think this may need another night of internet excavation to answer those (and inevitably, come up with more, even crazier, questions). Based on a few accounts of unwanted kidney removal in their sleep, you think about getting something to eat—

—and staying as far from your bed as possible.

✷𓃞 ✷

You can’t even eat breakfast without being tempted by your thirst for knowledge; it’s unbearable. You don’t even want to think of spending more than a few days at home. Hopefully, the police hurry up and finish so you can start your investigation.

You quickly rinse and dry your empty dish, filling a glass of water and flopping onto the couch. Surfing channels and finding something mindlessly entertaining will probably take your mind off things.

The news is boring—talking about the recent storm off the southern coast—and some cooking show. A history documentary—about someone you don’t care for—a jewelry channel, another news channel, and a kids’ show.

(Tempting, but no.)

The local news, though not mindless, is entertaining. There’s an over-top camera view of the park. Dozens of police cruisers and K-9 units are parked—and you can see your car, your old, rusty girl in the lot—Cops are infesting every corner of your TV, some moving into the woods toward Trapper’s, others lingering to talk in the view of the helicopter. It cuts to a news anchor recapping the incident from last night. They think it’s a bear attack. Leslie says it was a bear attack. Your coworkers say it was a bear attack, and Wildlife Removal will deal with it.

They don’t know anything—Jack tore into that hiker like a wild animal—and left the poor guy’s insides all over the forest floor.

You don’t stop watching the news until they start talking about the weather, where you only half-listen. There’s going to be a storm tonight. The teams at your job are probably going to try to recover the body and bring it to the morgue before it starts raining.

You turn off the TV after that. You examine your abdomen, five short lines across your belly where their claws made contact. You decide to go to the bathroom to clean and dress them.

“Better to be safe than sorry.” You tell yourself.

After a few cotton balls soaked in alcohol and big bandaids later, everything is clean enough and about as well-dressed as you can, considering your supplies.

There’s not much to do at home, and trying to take your mind off things with your usual hobbies isn’t working. You even try scrolling mindlessly online, but you can’t stop thinking about last night.

Why did they stop—and so suddenly?

You lift your shirt and brush your thumb over the bandaids on your belly, the skin still too hot and tender. Maybe you were just lucky, stupidly lucky. You pick up your home phone and dial Leslie’s number. She at least deserves a warning about what’s out there.

“...What are you doing?”

“Leslie,” there’s some strain in your tone, “Hey, Leslie. How are things?”

“You’re calling about work? You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

Yes. Yes, you are.

“I know, but—Look, it’s about last night. I know you specifically told me not to do any digging, but—”

“Kid,” She cuts you off. You can picture her frustration as she probably rubs at her temples, “Tell me you did not do that.”

Yes. Yes, you did.

She sighs dramatically. “You work too hard—even when I order you to stop thinking about work, you do it anyway.”

“Look, it wasn’t an animal. It was a guy.”

“...What.”

You pull the phone from your ear. You probably do sound crazy. And you will continue to sound crazy when you talk about what you found online from defunct blogs from 1999. No matter how you try to spin it—every time you start talking—you can not come up with the words to explain that the scary internet creature is real. Leslie will not believe you, and who the hell would?

“...Nevermind. I have to go. I have, uhh, laundry in the dryer.” You mutter.

“Well, feel better, and stop going on the internet—you’ll scare yourself out of your skin with stuff people make up for fun,” Leslie sighs, then her voice goes soft, “I mean it. Take care of yourself. We’re thinking of you, kiddo. Oh, and Molly says hi.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “...Well, let Molly know I said ‘Hi’ back.”

“Will do. Okay, see you next week.”

You hang up.

✷𓃞 ✷

It’s damp. The fallen leaves are starting to rot and turn mushy under their boots. Jack tears through another can with their claws and downs a mixture of soup and soaked-through chicken. They drink, grinding the sinewy chicken and too-soft between their teeth, swallowing harshly and curling up at the taste. Police swarming the woods like ants to fruit has been awful; Jack is tired. Everything burns, they’re tired of running, and they’re still so hungry.

Other foods are necessary to Jack’s diet—they can’t live off meat. They need carbs and stuff—but if Jack has to spend more time seeing faces, they will start digging for their kidneys. They collapse underneath a fallen tree, curling up like a woodlouse. If the police find them, Jack just hopes it’s quick.

They can hear men shouting somewhere nearby with their big, angry dogs.

Jack falls asleep there, eventually, and they don’t know what time it is when they wake up, just that it’s dark out again, and it’s so quiet.

They survive off stolen clothing and soup cans between stays at the manor. Though their vision is gone, Jack still lives with psychosis (one would figure getting their eyes melted with hot tar would prevent visual hallucinations). Eating human flesh, though a taboo solution to their symptoms, allowed Jack to clear their mind and function.

Jack sunk deeper under the heavy log when they heard footsteps and a whining dog.

“I know, boy.” A man says, coughing as the air smells of cigarettes.

Jack’s nose burns at the smell. The dog sniffs at the earth and knocks aside a pile of leaves with its nose, whining and howling. The officer kicks aside the leaves and sighs.

“...Alright,” He says, the metal bits of the dog’s vest clicking together as the dog grows restless, thrashing against it.

The man hunches down, the sound of a plastic bag crinkling in his palm, muttering something to the canine.

“Atta-boy. Come on, Chester, it’s damn creepy out here.” With the tug of the leash, the officer and his canine retreat out of the woods.

When the two are out of earshot, Jack squeezes out from under the log and feels around in the dirt, sniffing the air and only smelling wet earth. Their chest tugs in a sickened sort of way, and they sink back into their hiding place and curl up into a ball. The rain picks up again. Wind howls and thunder crackles in the sky, rattling the earth.

Their new jacket, which they snatched off an unsuspecting hiker, was Jack’s only protection from hypothermia stealing the heat from their digits. Jack breathes into their palms, hot air flowing across their stiff fingers (which Jack promptly stuffed into their underarms to warm them up).

The wind doesn't hesitate to rob Jack’s already-deprived body of what little it has. Jack can’t stop thinking about how hungry they are—and how they see faces melting in their periphery whenever their mind wanders. They pick at the raw edges of their sockets in a measly attempt to soothe. It doesn't work. Nothing works anymore, even when Jack can consume human meat. After only a few hours, Jack’s skin is already itching with the need to keep consuming, to keep eating, to stave off their psychosis by any means necessary. They tug—and tug, and tug, and tug until they’re shaking—at their raw skin, where hardened pitch meets seared flesh and patchy brows. It’s unbearably cold, it’s so fucking cold, and going back to that hellish manor sounds like paradise right about now.

But that’s not an option.

✷𓃞 ✷

Tuesday finally comes around, and you can return to work.

You pack two lunches today. Your bag is just leftovers in a takeaway container (dinner from yesterday), and the other is a sandwich with a few slices of Swiss cheese and meat (far more meat than you’ve ever used at once). It’s got other things on it; you aren't going to give some hungry person—who’s probably been living alone in the wilderness for who knows how long—a boring sandwich. Too bad if they don’t like mayo (Well, you hope they like mayo, lest they rip you in two for the offense of a condiment on real-people food).

You fill your water bottle, grab your keys, and head out the door.

Leslie’s truck is humming outside. Your car is still in the lot at work. You were not in any condition to drive after, and Leslie would not have let that happen. She moves her bags as you climb into the passenger seat. You set down your things on the floor, trying to conceal the second lunch you made.

“...Glad to have you back, got everything?” Leslie asks.

You nod, jingling your keys.

She flicks her turn signal to the left and drives onto the road, turning right onto the main road.

The car is quiet, except for the radio playing old 80s hits, thick with the tension that you almost died the last time you went to work.

“You can work wherever you want today. Molly’s willing to work with your plans. I can imagine not wanting to do trail walks after, well, you know what.”

“I’ll be okay,” You say, ”I’ll do trails today. Not a problem.”

Leslie grips the steering wheel tight. “You’re sure? After you know what, I figured you would want to quit,” She turns left, “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“No. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m okay.” You say, looking out the window.

Leslie makes some noise like she knows you’re lying. Your brush with death should have turned you off from any outdoorsy work, but here you are, making lunches for the thing that tried to rip you open like an orange. Maybe your too-empathetic and hopeful parts hope this sandwich helps them out. Everything you read about them was far from pleasant—Some of it didn’t seem real.

“A mixture of blood and hot tar poured into the eye sockets.” You recall.

This stuff about Eyeless Jack you read felt like fiction, but what you saw that night was real. God, it sends shivers down your spine, makes you feel ill—you don’t know what you would do if put in that scenario (blinded, abandoned, and left to die in the woods with an insatiable hunger for human flesh? Jack has been active for years, all alone, you think, you’re not sure how you would last even half as long).

“...Did they find anything?”

Leslie sighs. “No. But it’s an animal, so it’ll return next time it’s hungry. We’ve got more people on watch. Hopefully, we can get Wilderness Removal or Animal Control on it, maybe kill it if we have to.”

You hope not. Leave the critter that keeps eating people alone; they should just leave a plate of food out.

“Maybe don’t try to hunt down the wild critter-person like an animal.” You think. The rest of the ride is silent. You pull up to the park and see Molly chatting with a guest. She spots you looking out the window and waves, delighted to see you again.

“I wanted to give you this in case anyone tries giving you trouble.”

She passes you a black cylinder that’s roughly four inches tall. The button on top and the spray nozzle tells you it’s pepper spray.

“...Thanks, Leslie.”

“Anytime.”

You pull on your coat and leave your lunch in the fridge, taking the other out. Then, you jog over to your car and abandon the pepper spray in the cup holder; you hope that this choice won’t get you killed tonight, but you need to start on a good foot.

Your day-to-day rhythm comes back to you. You warmed yourself up on the more populated trails, picking up cans and directing folks about. It’s sparse, only seeing small groups unfazed by the recent killings (perhaps through ignorance or a belief that death is beneath them). The dread is heavier when you walk an empty trail that’s usually lively with people, even during the day, when dangers lurking in the bushes are more visible. As the sun creeps across the sky—and lower towards the horizon—fewer and fewer people choose to risk hiking after dark, lest they get disemboweled like the last guy who tried.

By 19:00, it’s empty. There’s nobody around other than you. But you know they’re still out there, listening to your every movement (and every breath and every hitch).

You scan the edge of the woods where they’re probably hiding, carefully stepping over the foliage while you intentionally stray from the carefully manicured path.

The trails are well-kept. The landscaping crew works diligently and takes pride in their work, keeping them free of debris and roots that would make the footpath a challenging terrain. Beyond the edges of the dirt roads, however, the forest is wild; vines writhe and twist along the floor, every plant fighting for sunlight in the undergrowth, with bigger-than-your-head leaves and trees wearing thick coats of creeping ivy. You witness the cycles of life and death within this delicate ecosystem—young trees climb higher and higher, growing larger and larger; insects feast upon the trees, rely on the trees, live and die by the trees; the trees, after centuries of life, die and rot; the lichen and insects feast on the rotting wood and refresh the cycle anew.

It makes you feel small and insignificant, as the world around you lives and dies without even noticing your existence. It’s like being surrounded by other people’s ideas in a museum, thousands of other people, forgotten by time, remembered by their art, or their shoes, or their stories through other people’s mouths.

Your boot slips on slick earth before you can continue your mental spiral about your insignificance as one among billions. Your boots squeal against pulpy mud and you nearly slip down into a strange recess; the earth is slick with that same slime, though it is more grainy and pus-like in texture. You follow the streaks in the muddy ground, where it slips underneath a large, rotten log.

You shine your light underneath, spotting a shivering, cobalt-blue mask underneath layers of jackets and stolen fabrics.

Maybe they’re sleeping, and waking them up (though with the promise of real people food) may upset them enough to maul you like a bear and eat you for lunch instead.

They shift and wiggle into the recess they carved out for themselves, hearing some shuffling outside of their burrowing. They suck in a deep breath through their nose, and the smell of human sears the insides of their lungs like smoke. They hunch a little bit, curling into a more upward sitting position, sniffing the air, inhaling once, twice, then a third time until they have that scent burned into their hindbrain. They can’t stop drooling, salivating at the thought of finally feeling okay again, having something to cut through the smoky, blurry feeling. They hear shuffling, their prey slinking back as they curled forward. They can’t suppress the growl that rumbles in their throat, teeth licked behind the mask. They don’t move like a person in preparation for a chase. Jack slips out of their nook, their body curled forward and arms hanging limp.

Jack reaches up and peels the mask like a second skin, revealing tar-filled sockets that bore down at your scent.

Jack lurches forward like they’re on a leash, sinking their claws into your arm and digging in, etching out five deep grooves, each weeping a stream of blood that makes Jack’s mind run wild. Without thinking entirely, Jack pulls your arm forward and sinks their teeth into your bicep, leaning their body weight against you, knocking you both to the floor. There’s kicking and screaming, high-pitched whining as Jack’s teeth tear through skin and sinew, coating your arm in blood and spit.

You cry out, trying to pull their steel trap of a jaw out of your arm—managing to loosen their upper jaw, and by shoving them away with the heel of your palm, you manage to rip out their lower jaw, too.

They shiver, licking their teeth over and over again. Feral, animalistic delight rattles their whole body; they’re giddy at the taste of your blood, but they hold some restraint at the sound of their name.

Your breathing is frantic, and your heart is hammering in your throat. Jack’s breathing slows, and they quit licking their teeth. You’re not sure where to start. You hold your breath as Jack’s tar-filled sockets bore down into yours. Their breathing is heavy, and there’s saliva dribbling down their chin. You squeeze your arm, your skin clammy with blood and sweat, while Jack stays still above you.

Your mouth is nailed and twisted shut like you’re at the morgue. Jack doesn’t finch as they, strangely again, don’t tear you to shreds like the last guy. You sigh, which comes out as an exasperated laugh, your chest squirming like a bucket of mealworms as Jack’s warm, blood-soaked breath enters your nose. Their hair is long and matted, greasy and cool-brown in color; their skin is a deep gray like the living dead, bulked up by layers of stolen sweaters and pants to keep warm.

“I, uhh…” You start, “I brought you a sandwich if you want it. I didn't know what you liked, so I just put a little bit of ever—”

Jack’s knee presses into your ribcage as they climb over you, feeling around on the ground for your bag. A wheeze rattles from your throat, and they dump your belongings onto the forest floor unceremoniously, sniffing the contents like a tracker hound.

They pinch the bag between their claws, disemboweling the brown paper bag, the contents hitting the floor with a wet thud.

You watch them eat, tearing through plastic and paper with their teeth, eating with no sensibility nor dignity. The sandwich is shoved into their mouth and swallowed in about fifteen seconds, and a crushed bag of potato chips you forgot at the bottom of your bag perishes, too. They crack open the plastic container full of your dinner and hesitate, neck craned in your direction. It takes a few moments to find them, but Jack finds the metal utensils you packed for yourself, showing the container to you.

“Oh, well, yeah. That’s mine. My dinner, I mean. You can have it if you want.”

They shake their head in a fit.

They push it in your direction, a flatly affective expression on the remainder of their face, but their body language pushes your cold leftovers on you with a lot of force. You gingerly take the container from their claws, crack it open, and eat. Jack listens attentively to you, sockets trained on you, on the sound of metal utensils clinking against your mouth, the sound of you swallowing your meal. Their hands squirm and play with the dirt and leaves, excited to share a meal of leftovers with somebody they nearly killed twice. Your arm is throbbing as you carefully feed yourself, your jacket’s sleeve shredded. Hopefully, your emergency fund can cover a trip to the hospital for however many stitches you’ll need, as well as the antibiotics you’ll be taking (or paying for amputation if this gets infected, but you try not to think about that as this demonic forest creature is enraptured by you eating supper with them). You scrape the bottom of the container, not missing a single morsel.

They move their hand under their chin, and you recognize what Jack is doing. You took a few classes in uni, so you pick up on the ASL as soon as their hand collides with the other in a neat thank you.

“Oh! You’re welcome,” You say, “Was it good? I was worried if you liked mayo or not.”

They grin. It’s small, subtle, and hard to do with the tar seared to their skin, but there’s a quiet peek of teeth as they chuckle at being understood. They like mayo.

You laugh, too, exhausted and relieved. After so many restless nights worrying about getting your organs surgically removed in your sleep, you’re looking forward to a restful night after the day you’ve had. At the hospital, because you’re arm is looking pretty ugly.

“Look, I think I have to go.”

They tense up.

“I won’t tell anyone about you, I promise,” You sigh, trying not to look down at your bloody limb, “They’re still looking for you, though, so be careful. If you need food, I can try to sneak you some from Lost & Found.”

Jack pats at their pocket, pulling out an old, beat-up phone. They pass it to you, and you type out your number and put it into a contact.

“I’ll, hopefully, see you soon?”

They shrug. It’s probably for the best that they don’t make any promises. Jack walks into the treeline, eventually disappearing from view.

[3niqma]

𝐭𝐢 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨? 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞.

-` 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ´- -` 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ´-

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; 𝐣𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐡 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐜𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐫 𝐳𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐢. ⋆｡𖦹 °✩

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢! 𝟏𝟖+. ִ ࣪𖤐

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭.

“i think that we’re done here for today; you did very well. you’re making very quick progress.” your hamon coach, lisa lisa spoke. you have been training one on one with her, starting at 5 in the morning and ending just now at 10 am. you knew that caesar had finished his training right before you as you crossed paths on your way outside, him sending you a quick “good luck, signorina.” before he went inside, presumably immediately collapsing on his bed the minute he set foot in his room.

you were tired, but you felt a wave of pride wash over you when you heard your coach say those words to you. you have an immense amount of respect for her; she always inspires and motivates you to do better. your lips curled up into a smile, still recovering from your intense training and slightly out of breath.

“thank you, coach.” you say, taking a sip of water from the glass that stood on the table nearby. she lit a cigarette and puffed out the smoke.

“you’re free today, so do as you please.” she said as she took another drag from her cigarette. you gave her a quick nod and a quick “thank you!” as you walked off to your room, desperate for some shut-eye, and a shower. you had never taken so much time walking up a set of stairs before, but you were on the edge of collapsing.

upon entering your room, you took a good look at your bed. you were very close to just saying “fuck it.” and just get into bed immediately, but the layer of sweat on your body ultimately made you decide against it. you let out a frustrated groan and dragged your ass to the bathroom, peeled off your clothes, and hopped in the shower.

you relaxed under the warm water, all the tension releasing from your aching muscles. you were so sleepy that you had to slap yourself a few times across the face to stay awake. but somehow you managed to get out of the shower without slipping or falling asleep. you got out, dried yourself off, put some fresh loungewear on, applied face moisturizer and some deodorant, dried your hair, and decided not to style it, as you weren’t planning on going anywhere today.

if your coach gives you a day off, you better make full use of it. she really wasn’t prone to giving them a lot.

just as you were planning to wrap yourself in your sheets and drift off to dreamland, the sound of faint voices filled the room. the source of the noise came from outside. wondering what was going on, you got up and walked towards your window, which was slightly opened to let some fresh air in. once there, you fully opened the window, looking down to see the source of the noise. he was currently panting, hands placed on his knees as he was hunched over. he was in the middle of his one on one training session with his coach, and it appeared that she was not going easy on her trainee.

there stood joseph joestar, your (idiot) boyfriend. his hair was messy, the skin of his stomach that was exposed from his crop top was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his cheeks were flushed, and he was breathing heavily. it was truly a sight to behold.

your mind started to wander at the sight of him. it’s like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, standing at a whopping 6’5, broad muscular frame and a chiseled face. anyone who would encounter him would no doubt piss their pants.

don’t let those features fool you, tho; he’s actually just a big klutz. he’s adorable really—he loves to cuddle, tell stupid jokes, and will always want to impress you. he’s really a ride or die bitch.

but, aside from the fact that he’s really cute, he’s also an incredible lay. you can’t get enough of him, and he can’t get enough of you either. considering the fact that you two don’t live alone on air supplena island of course fucking is not an everyday affair. but he’ll take every chance he gets to either stuff his fingers deep inside of you or have you clench around his cock.

as you stand there, daydreaming about his cock for another 10 minutes, you accept the fact that you aren’t going to catch sleep anytime soon. you were craving something else.

leaving the window slightly opened, you return to bed, your sex throbbing with need. you immediately got to work, one hand stroking over your slit, collecting your dripping arousal. the other taking a hold of your breast, pinching your nipple between your index finger and your thumb, letting out a soft hiss at the sensation.

you insert two fingers without any trouble, starting to slowly pump in and out. you imagine it being joseph’s long skilled fingers, as he warms you up for his cock like he always did while whispering all the things he planned on doing to you in your ear. he was well endowed, to say the least, always needing some kind of preparation before he penetrated you. the stretch you always felt when he entered was addicting.

unbeknownst to you, joseph had just been done with his training. not really tho, suzie q had asked lisa lisa if she’d be interested in going shopping with her. for some magical reason, she agreed to join her, so joseph just happened to be in luck for now. considering he only had 1 hour’s worth of training, as opposed to the 5 hours you faced, he was feeling just fine. he was on his way to ask you if you wanted to grab some breakfast with him, hands stuffed in his pockets.

as he stood in front of your door, just about to barge in, he heard the faint sound of your voice coming from inside. wondering what you were up to, he was seconds away from turning the handle until he suddenly heard his name combined with a strangled moan. oh god, you were masturbating, and with him in mind no less. he felt blood traveling with lightning speed towards his cock, straining his pants painfully. he quickly placed his ear against the door so he could hear you better.

he was conflicted; it was quite an invasion of your privacy to stand here and eavesdrop, but the sounds you were making were simply divine; he couldn’t get enough. he decided to take it a step further and, as quietly as possible, open the door just enough for him to see you.

he almost came right there and then; the sight of you was intoxicating to him. your legs spread open, one of your hands desperately groping your breast and the other furiously pumping in and out of you. your face flushed, your eyes squeezed shut, and your lips slightly parted as you let out little moans and whimpers, that included his name as well.

in an instant, his hand flew to his pants, undoing his belt and unzipping them. relief washed over him as his cock finally had some more room. he palmed himself through his boxers, watching you come undone before him. he had to bite his lip to not let any sound escape him.

as you were getting closer and closer to your release, you suddenly heard the creaking of your door, making you open your eyes, head moving towards the source of the sound.

there stood your boyfriend, palming himself in your doorway, his eyes wide as he realized that he had been caught. you felt insanely embarrassed, how long had he been watching you? your face reddened even more, your eyes widening in realization that he must’ve been standing there for a few minutes at worst.

“joseph, what the fuck?!” you yelled, quickly withdrawing your hand from your underwear, grabbing a pillow that laid next to you chucked it at him. joseph was equally as red. not retrieving his hand quick enough, the pillow smushed right against his face.

“i-i’m sorry, love. i didn’t mean to be rude.” he stammered. was he really sorry? not really; he loved watching you get yourself off, and he just realized it.

“ugh, whatever, you perv.” you answered, secretly finding the whole situation incredibly sexy. your boyfriend getting himself off at the sight of you doing the same. with his ego being stroked by the way you called his name, joseph quickly pulled up and buckled his pants. his lips curled up slightly.

“i just couldn’t help it; you were so incredibly sexy like that. i just had to savor it for myself.” he grinned, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. that damned shit-eating grin of his, drove you insane. he looked so, so hot in this moment. however, you didn’t want to grant him the pleasure of indulging in you, just yet.

feeling mischievous, you walked towards him, your neck tilted backwards to look him right in the eyes. your eyes then traveled down, focusing on the clear outline of his cock through his jeans. you took a hold of him, squeezing softly, which earned you a loud groan from the joestar.

you innocently looked back up at him, seeing his bottom lip tucked between his teeth and a few drops of sweat resting on his cheeks. you stood on your tiptoes, placing a soft kiss on his plump lips.

“good luck with that, love.” you said, withdrawing your hand from his cock as you shoved him out your doorway, closing the door behind you. joseph stood there, bewildered and highly sexually frustrated. he was craving you so badly right now, but he also understood that you might still be a little bit mad at him for what he pulled on you. he let out a deep sigh, dragging himself to his room on the other side of the hallway, planning on quickly relieving himself, and then thinking about how to make it up to you.

you, on the other hand, were in deep thought about some sweet revenge on your mannerless boyfriend. no sex for a week? no, that’d be cruel to yourself as well. what about not letting him cum for a week? hm, not quite.

you were pondering until a thought popped into your head that would make a perfect revenge but also caused your pussy to throb. perfect! this was going to be fun. you only needed to convince.. one other party for this.

you fixed yourself up, made your hair look presentable and applied some mascara. you quickly made your way out of your room, speeding towards the other side of the building. you reached your destination quickly, lifting your hand to knock on the door in front of you. your heart racing with excitement.

you heard a pair of footsteps approach the door, biting your lip in anticipation. a few seconds later, you heard the handle being turned down, opening the door. you were met with the sight of the figure in front of you sporting slightly messy hair, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, and a headband tied around his head.

“good morning, bellezza. to what do i owe the pleasure of you knocking on my door?”

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

a/n; this shit was so long, i had to split it up into multiple parts. part two tomorrow! leave me your feedback, it’s very much appreciated ;)

finished on 13-07-‘23, 11:15 pm, cet.

love, 3niqma.

[nerdraging4point0]

Scorpion and the Scales // Chapter Eight // Polyverse AU

Tropes and Tags: why choose romance, MF, MFM, MFMM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed musicians, polyverse, friends to lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), threesomes, light BDSM, voyeurism, exhibitionism, partner sharing, jealousy, angst.

The work below contains fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @synthetic-wasp-570 @beaker1636 @thesazzb @itsjustemily @vinyardmauro @circle-with-me @tearfallpixie @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @letmeadoreyoux @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @rumoured-whispers

Eve's POV

I was barely back home in Colorado working for a few weeks before putting in a new vacation request. I had the time, that wasn’t the issue, but the way my boss emailed me and asked me to push it out for the week after my initial request sounded like she was already annoyed. I reluctantly did as she asked and the time off was approved, but her tone filled my insides with guilt. One of these days I was going to have to put my foot down and have one of the boys visit me, no matter how inconvenient it was for work. The thought of bringing one of them back to my small two bedroom apartment that I shared with my saint-like roommate made me chuckle - she would die of shock hearing our loud, raucous extracurricular activities. With Chris, we were always vocal and laughing - sex was a fun game for us. But with Noah, it was endless; sometimes slow and sensual, other times quick and dirty, but always endless. The man had no rebound time whatsoever.

The moment my plane's wheels made contact with the tarmac at LAX, I felt a swell of excitement. Though my visit would only last a week, I was eager to make the most of my short time in the city of angels. As the plane taxied to the gate, I grabbed my trusty backpack from under the seat in front of me and pulled my carry-on from the overhead bin. I was traveling light, having packed only the essentials for my quick jaunt through LA.

I had timed my trip strategically. Noah was about to embark on the European leg of his worldwide tour. We both happened to be passing through LA this week before going our separate ways again. Noah would be completely preoccupied with last-minute tour prep during my visit. Likewise, Chris was already on a tour of his own. With the guys absorbed in their music careers, I was off the hook for any major travel plans or events after this. My boss would certainly be pleased that work commitments wouldn't be disrupted. 

Noah was waiting at the baggage claim in his signature casual style - cotton shorts showing off his tattooed athletic legs, calf-high socks paired with classic white Vans sneakers, and a soft t-shirt layered under an unzipped black windbreaker. As soon as I spotted him across the crowded airport, I felt a thrill of excitement and familiarity wash over me. Abandoning my luggage mid-stride, I ran full speed into his open arms. Noah enveloped me in a warm, tight hug, lifting me off my feet and spinning me around right there in the baggage claim. Our reunion was so emotional that Folio simply shook his head in amusement as he dutifully gathered my forgotten bags to clear them out of the busy foot traffic. I was too preoccupied to care or even notice. With my face buried happily in the crook of Noah's neck, I breathed in his comforting scent - a mix of fresh laundry and his woodsy deodorant. As I leaned back to admire his beloved face, I suddenly realized his shaggy, shoulder-length brown hair was gone. In its place was a dramatically shorter, cleaner style with his hair trimmed neatly above his ears. I ran my fingers through the top of his glossy brown locks, marveling at this stylish new look. Noah smiled sheepishly at my reaction, shaking his head a little in an endearing display of shyness. I couldn't help but giggle at this rare moment of vulnerability from my normally confident boyfriend.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his broad white smile practically blinding me even in the dim indoor light of the airport.

Unable to contain my enthusiasm, I exclaimed "Like it? I love it!" and pulled his head down to shower his soft, short hair with excited kisses.

It was a typical overcast afternoon in Los Angeles as Noah drove the three of us down to The Grove shopping center for a fun day out. As we strolled leisurely through the bustling outdoor mall, hand in hand, I was struck by a deep sense of contentment. Noah's sturdy arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders, gently guiding me to his side where he would plant the softest of kisses on top of my head. I couldn't help but wrap my own arms tightly around his torso, nuzzling my face into his side, breathing in his warm, familiar scent. At that moment, I felt like I was finally home again after so much time apart. While we browsed the trendy shops, Noah picked out a new cologne that made him smell fresh and masculine. Meanwhile, Folio found some stylish new sneakers that he just had to have. Despite the gloomy weather, being together and enjoying simple outings like this filled me with gratitude. Noah's affectionate gestures reassured me that our connection was as strong as ever.

The warm pressure of Noah's hand in mine as we strolled down the busy street made my heart flutter. I thought back to my last meeting with Chris, when he had professed his love for me not just once, but twice. At first, I was caught off guard, unsure of how to respond. But the second time, his words resonated within me and I realized that I reciprocated those feelings. Now, walking hand-in-hand with Noah, I was overcome with a similar warmth and affection. As he teased Folio playfully, I was filled with lightness, as if my stomach had disappeared entirely, leaving behind a hollowness that was somehow pleasant and freeing. Noah's voice broke through my reverie as he gave my hand a soft squeeze. "How about Mexican?'' he asked with a smile.

Alma was nothing like I expected. The restaurant was a stunning two-story building with a beautiful Spanish Mediterranean architectural style. I wasn't surprised when the staff looked at Noah with some concern as we entered. Between his and Folio's casual style of dress, with Noah covered in tattoos, and my own post-travel exhaustion, we didn't look nearly as polished and high-end as the patrons they were used to seeing. But despite our appearance, they didn't turn us away at the door. We were promptly shown to our table.

Once seated, Noah eagerly ordered himself the Birria de Res, a traditional Mexican beef stew, while Folio and I opted for the shrimp dish with a chipotle cream sauce. Not missing a beat, Folio quickly ordered himself a beer and became absorbed in scrolling through his phone. With a few moments to ourselves before the food arrived, Noah reached over and gently took my hand, pulling my chair closer to his.

"I'm sorry I will only get a week with you. It seems like forever since I saw you last," he said wistfully. I leaned in, touching our foreheads together in a tender moment. 

"Your birthday was a long time ago, Noah," I replied, thinking back to the last time we had been together in person, over five months ago now. While we had spoken on the phone every day since then, the long separation had been harder to endure than I had anticipated.

"I know, I'm sorry," he offered sincerely. I gave his hand an understanding squeeze. “How’s Chris?” When Noah asked about Chris, it brought a smile to my face. Chris and Noah had never been close - Chris was always too focused on living in the moment to care much about my boyfriend. But during our late night phone calls and text messages, Noah knew exactly who I was talking to. Though Chris didn't pay him much mind, Noah made an effort to ask about him, showing he cared about the people who mattered to me. 

“He’s good. He dyed his hair purple.” thinking back to the new edgy fade he was trying to keep secret until his upcoming music video release. Chris wanted the dramatic hair change to shock his fans and keep them guessing, building anticipation for the video that wouldn't come out for many months. I had bet him that he couldn't go that long without revealing the new 'do. Noah laughed at the idea, certain that people would notice long before the video debut. Unlike Chris, Noah was constantly being photographed and scrutinized in public. But Chris didn't have the same level of fame, so I thought he just might be able to pull off the covert purple hair until his big reveal.

As our food was passed out to us I noticed across the room a couple girls in their twenties whispering at each other across the table, their eyes locked on our table.

The hushed voices and furtive glances in our direction immediately put me on edge. I felt their eyes boring into us, no doubt recognizing Noah as an up-and-coming celebrity. My gut twisted with unease as I saw one girl slyly pull out her phone, her thumbs flying across the screen. Were they taking photos? Texting their friends about spotting Noah out to dinner? The heat rising in my cheeks confirmed my worst fears - our private date was about to become public fodder for gossip blogs and social media.

Noah's style and abundance of tattoos made him stand out in any crowd. I had naively hoped the girls were simply judging his appearance, writing him off as some spoiled trust fund kid living off his parents' money. But the laser-focused attention on our table left no doubt we had been made. My budding romance with Noah was about to be splashed across the internet, our intimate dinner reduced to salacious clickbait.

As reality sunk in, my anxiety spiked. I knew the fame game came with dating someone like Noah. But I wasn't prepared for our relationship to become a public spectacle so soon. My private life was on the verge of being picked apart by strangers and I felt powerless to stop it.

Noah's POV

Damn she looks beautiful like this. 

Eve stood gloriously nude on my balcony, back arched and hands splayed against the glass as I took her from behind. Her skin glowed ethereally in the dim light, a sheen of sweat glistening as our bodies moved in urgent rhythm. The sparkling expanse of the city sprawled below us, a sea of lights I knew concealed countless open windows. Our exhibitionist display for any wakeful onlookers to see, though propriety was the furthest thing from my mind.

It was late, or early, I don’t know what you would call it at one o'clock in the morning when you haven’t slept yet? 

We'd been tangled up in each other's arms since the moment we walked through the front door after a long day of shopping downtown. I've missed her far more than I ever expected. My exes always accused me of being too controlling and clingy, even needy they would say. But it's not possessiveness or insecurity - I simply didn't trust them. I should have listened to my gut instincts back then, realizing that if I feel the need to cling and control, she's no good for me. Too often I let my dick convince me to keep them around just for the sex, despite the headache and stress their presence caused me. But with her, everything just feels right.

Maybe it was the lack of commitment, she may have been my girlfriend-i guess that’s what you would call it-we fucked we talked every day, she called me babe. But not once was there ever I love yous or talk of moving in or talk of weddings, not even hints. It was like having a best friend I could occasionally get my dick wet with. The casual nature provided freedom but also left me yearning for more. I wanted fiery passion, not just fleeting thrills. I craved a partner who felt like home.

Her moans echoed across the hills, startling a dog that began barking in the distance. We smiled knowingly at one another, stifling giggles at having been overheard in our intimate moment. Undeterred, I drove onward, her hips rolling to meet each powerful plunge. The frenzied momentum built to a crescendo and finally, with a guttural groan, I reached my climax, spilling myself completely as her body milked every last drop. 

We stood there on the balcony, her naked body pressed against mine, for what felt like an eternity. The cool night breeze caressed our skin as I gently stroked her back, running my fingers slowly up and down the curve of her spine. Far below us, the city lights sparkled like a sea of stars, the occasional flash of red and blue piercing the darkness as police sirens wailed in the distance. But up here, high above it all, everything was tranquil. This was home. This was peace. My cock, now softened, slipped out of her as she pulled away and walked towards the edge of the pool. Without a moment's hesitation, she dove gracefully off the edge. The splash echoed through the quiet night as I sank down into the porch swing. The chains creaked under my weight as I rocked slowly back and forth. I watched her lithe form gliding through the inky water, her pale skin glowing ethereally in the moonlight. This was perfection. This was contentment. This was home.

She'd been upset since lunch, I could see it all over her face. But as soon as I had her home with me she perked right up. The moment we walked through the front door, her whole demeanor changed. The furrowed brow and downturned lips that had clouded her face all afternoon were replaced with a sparkle in her eyes.

Later in the evening we had reservations at the cool hibachi place downtown, walking into the restaurant everything was fine. But she seemed extra tense. Looking over her shoulder watching people's faces, I'd never seen her so paranoid. It was clear she was on edge about something, constantly scanning the room as if expecting an attack. Her usual carefree demeanor had vanished, replaced by jittery glances and rigid body language. Matt seemed anxious to talk to me all night, and finally when Eve ducked out to use the bathroom he pulled me in to show me what was bothering her. Some fan at the Mexican place had posted a photo of us at lunch, obviously throwing the internet into a frenzy of speculation about whether I was dating Eve or not. I read through the comments quickly, each more hurtful than the last. "If it was a date, Folio wouldn't have been there," one commented, cruelly dismissing Eve as not worth dating alone. "That's who he is dating? She looks nothing like I'd expect from him," another wrote, attacking Eve's looks and worthiness. More comments piled on, talking about how dreams were shattered and bashing Eve for every little perceived flaw. After reading a couple more, I couldn't stand to look anymore. Now Eve's strange behavior made sense - she must have seen the photo and comments, which had clearly cut her deeply. The nasty remarks had ruined what was supposed to be a fun night out, leaving Eve insecure and me furious that anyone would try to hurt her that way. I wanted nothing more than to comfort Eve and assure her none of those hateful words were true.

I started to worry about the upcoming week and how I wouldn’t just be states away from her, I would be continents, a whole time zone away. With Chris on tour through the U.S I felt like we were all abandoning her. Her vulnerability and dependence on me had grown over the last few months as she struggled with increasing anxiety and depression. I knew being so far away for over a week would be hard on her, even though she tried to downplay it. As the day of my trip grew closer, I couldn't stop the panicked thoughts from swirling through my mind about whether she would be okay without me.

"You're overthinking again," her voice broke me out of my trance-like thoughts. My eyes looked at her chin resting on her crossed arms as her legs floated out behind her. I could see the appeal sailors had for mermaids, especially if they looked like this. The moonlight glinted off her wet hair as she treaded water in the pool. Despite her lighthearted tone, I sensed a touch of neediness in her gaze.

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"Your eyes go wide when you're overthinking, baby," she said with a sad smile. I sighed, knowing she could read me all too well. As much as I wanted to be there for her, I couldn't pass up this tour. “Is it the tour, or is it the fans?”

"I'm sorry," it was all I could say as I stared into her eyes, filled with both understanding and hurt. I had never meant for this to happen. I watched helplessly as she shrugged her slender shoulders in resignation.

"It bothered me a little, but one fan post doesn't mean we’re outed," she replied softly. I knew she was trying to downplay it for my sake, but I could tell the constant spotlight on our relationship would take a toll.

My frustration boiled over as I thought of her boyfriend and fellow musician, Chris. He was just as famous, yet somehow avoided this kind of invasive speculation about his love life. I never saw headlines plastering his personal details across the internet for all to judge and comment on. It just wasn't fair.

I started to fume as I realized the steep price I was paying for my success. I had dreamed of fame and fortune my whole life, never fully grasping how it would impact those I loved most. Now here we stood: her identity and privacy stripped away, me helpless to stop it. 

All at once my anger came to a grinding halt, did she say we? I gave it a thought, pondering the idea that she was mine, obviously not entirely, but mine. The word "we" implies a togetherness, a uniting of two into one. 

I looked into her eyes, wanting desperately to believe her, to trust in the possibility of an "us". She gazed back steadily, affectionately, not recoiling from my anger but standing her ground. "Talk to me, baby," she cooed softly, and I couldn't help but smile, feeling the bitter tension in me unwinding. Her voice soothed me, as it always did, smoothing the jagged edges of my temper.

"So there is a we now?" I asked, still hesitant, keeping my heart protected. I needed to know if she was serious about this, serious about me.

"We, Us, whatever you want to call it," she replied without hesitation. She wasn't backing down or qualifying her words. She meant it.

"What do you call it?" I pressed her further, seeking reassurance.

"I call you my boyfriend," she stated plainly, simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And just like that, my doubts melted away. 

[catgirlshauna]

holy shit guys really proud of this one hope yall enjoy 😠🗣️

warnings: smut, bad jokes, gp!reneé

words: 2100

being a composer of music was hard, especially when you composed for artists who aren't exactly huge yet. you believe in them the most, though, they're your favorite kind of people to work with. humble, kind, just trying to get to stardom. but your new client had been kept a secret from you by your managers. why? you have no idea. what could possibly freak you out so bad that they had to hide it?

fucking reneé rapp. thee regina george, which was debatable, but you don't care. she is your favorite. yours. her voice is beautiful, her face is beautiful, her personality is by far the best you've seen. she is like finding gold in a pan of gravel, diamonds amongst coal.

today is the day you meet her. you're nervous, you've applied three layers of deodorant with a nice unisex cologne to cover it up. your heart is absolutely pounding, your chest thumping to the beat of the song they sent you samples of. you sit in your studio, which happens to be in your apartment, a luxury you could afford thanks to people like reneé, and wait patiently for her to arrive.

the knock at your door is done to the tune of jingle bells, which did in fact shock you into freezing. it's june? you snort and move to open the door, revealing the happy-go-lucky blonde bouncing on her feet. adhd. or anxiety. you could relate.

“please, come in.” you step to the side, welcoming her into your apartment. she steps in, hands intertwined behind her back as she closely examines the art and posters on your walls.

“beyoncé?” reneé grins, looking over at you for a moment.

“of course.” you reply quickly, hopelessly begging her with your eyes to follow you to your studio. she just smiles, shaking her head and whispering ‘not yet’.

“i like your place.” she muses, picking up books and reading the covers out loud to herself. “like your uh, books, too..” she adds, adjusting the glasses on her nose that look just a little too dirty to actually see out of.

“um, miss rapp?”

“yeah?” you have her full attention now. horrifying.

“can we go to the studio now…? i'd like to show you some lyrics i thought of the other day.” you try not to sound too… pushy? if you did, reneé does not notice, and nods eagerly as she follows you into the closet-like room. ah. you never said your studio was big. you cramp into your chair, gesturing for her to sit as well.

“kinda romantic in here… is that the point?” reneé wiggles her eyebrows under her glasses. you sputter, grabbing the remote and changing the color to a calm blue. reneé pouts. “don't wanna feel romantic with me?”

“not really. anyway, please read.” you push the pages of heavily edited lyrics into her hands. she sighs, adjusting her glasses once again and reading your papers. you hope to god she likes them, because? you don't have an option b. you weren't given enough time, enough warning, that you'd be working with one of your favorite artists in the world.

she ‘mhm’s’ a couple times, puts the papers down, and grins this million dollar smile at you.

“i love it. i knew my people chose you for a reason.” she beams, placing her hand over yours, her thumb rubbing over the skin of your knuckles. “great job, baby.”

the second time you see reneé is unexpected, rather surprising, and had you throwing your phone at the wall with a scream. on your screen appears a picture of reneé, with very little clothes on. the lingerie hugged her curves like rivers hug canyons, the way her tits pushed up just perfectly in her lacey bra, her puffy nipples perked and played with in one hand, and the thong, that left nothing to the imagination.

you wanted to scream again, but you were pretty sure you just woke up your neighbors. the message that popped up after makes you nearly pass out.

hot blonde mommy 🤕: oopsy

you put your phone down, eyes wide and fingers pinched at your nose.

hot blonde mommy 🤕: that was 4 angourie sorry, needed her professional opinion on my nudes LMAO

you put your fucking phone down again, and hid it under a pillow this time. your hands shook, and your stomach was buzzing in excitement. were you about to masturbate? to that? the definite answer was yes, and it was the best orgasm potentially ever.

the third time you see reneé, you're sat next to each other at a big round table, her managers on the other side. it's a business meeting, a very official one, that has you so stressed out you can't seem to sit still. and reneé, being reneé, notices almost immediately. the way your leg bounces underneath the table, the way you pick at the skin of your fingers. she notices it all. and she takes initiative, grabbing your hand into her own and intertwining your fingers. she rubs her thumb over your knuckles, soft, soothing circles that have you relaxing into your chair. she leans over to whisper, “relax, baby. i'm right here.” i'm right here. you flush, your heart racing in your chest.

one thing you love about reneé is how soft she is behind closed doors, how caring and quiet she can be. you find yourself falling deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole of your own thoughts… does she like me? you think as she stares into your eyes, completely ignoring the very important men talking to her. the blue of her eyes, reminiscent of the polar ice caps, makes you shiver in your seat. they're so soft, so kind, that you couldn't imagine looking anywhere else.

that is until… one of your bosses clears his throat. “the meeting is over. did you pick up anything of importance?” he smiles knowingly, the holding of hands seems to not have gone unnoticed.

“yeah. yeah… i've picked up a lot of things.” you clear your throat, letting go of reneé’s hand and standing quite abruptly. “i gotta go but um… this was really insightful.” you give reneé what you hope is a beaming smile, before walking out of the room with a skip in your step. not only were you excited to hit your dab pen, you were excited that reneé seems to feel for you what you might feel for her!

the fifth time you meet reneé… well, she's drunk, on the phone, begging to come over. who are you to say no? of course you were going to say yes! what idiot wouldn't want reneé rapp drunk in their apartment?

she shows up at your door with a crooked grin, pushing her way in as you quickly shut the door behind her.

“haven't been here in a while… anything change while mama was gone?” reneé giggles, kicking off her heels and draping her body over your entire couch. you scoot her over, gently, and sit next to her.

“nah. i know unfamiliar things stress you out.” you say, a soft smile on your face as you stare down at her. she reaches her hand out to touch your face, caressing your cheek with her thumb.

“why do you care so much?” reneé asks suddenly, her eyes wide. her pupils are blown wide, whether it be from the alcohol or the loving stare she usually gives you, you couldn’t tell.

“cause i like you.” you say quietly, placing your hand over her own. she lets out a huff, a breath of surprise, and lets her hand tremble against your face.

“you like me?”

“more than anything.”

it's been a month since you and reneé started dating, and she's been getting extremely handsy as of late. saying sweetly dirty things over the phone while she's away for her tour, her hand settling right on your thigh with the lightest of squeezes to remind you she's there.

you two haven't gone beyond making out and palming at each other, but reneé has made it very clear that she wants more. which is why… well, she's set up a date at her apartment in LA. she promises it's going to be so romantic and perfect, then asks you to open the gift she left on her bed. the lingerie set she was wearing in that picture. in pink.

you nearly pass out when she texts you.

hot blonde mommy 🤕: wear it for me… please, baby?

you don't question it, not at all, and immediately find yourself putting it on. it's tight, hugging your curves, making you look as beautiful as it made her.

hot blonde mommy 🤕: is it on

you set yourself up in front of her full body mirror, sitting on your knees with your legs spread to reveal the parts of your body you know reneé likes best. the picture is sent, and not more than five seconds later she's typing already.

hot blonde mommy 🤕: let me in, baby, i'm outside :(

you run to the door, nearly slipping in your socks on the hardwood floors of your apartment. as soon as the lock is unlocked, the door is pushed open. standing on the other side? reneé, slowly squaring up to you, pressing her chest against your shoulder.

“you look… fucking amazing.” she breathes, embracing you softly. her lips graze the skin of your throat, and you find yourself tilting your head so she can get a better taste. “are you.. ready?” reneé whispers into your neck, inching her kisses towards your ear. she's breathing heavily, nearly panting because of how worked up she is.

you gently remove yourself from her body for a moment, a shy smile on your face. “can i..?” referring to her clothes, which reneé forgot existed for a moment. she quickly rids herself of her sweatpants and sweater, but now that she's in her panties? she makes it a goddamn show. she hooks her fingers into her panties and pullssss them down, revealing her aching dick.

you know you've soaked through your pretty panties already, but you don't care.

“can i put it in?” reneé pants, grinding her cock against your thigh as she pushes you down onto the bed, climbing over the top of you and straddling your hips. you can't speak, you can only blush and whimper out a yes.

reneé positions herself in front of your aching hole, pushing your panties to the side. she’s plunging in slow, her hips stuttering slightly at how tight and wet you are for her. she's had plenty of dates before, ones that ended in mind blowing sex, but for some reason she knew… this was going to be different.

she takes the lace off of your chest, revealing neglected nipples that begged for her full attention. reneé revels in the feeling of eye contact, so brushes her nose against yours, silently asking you to look her in the eyes. you flush, yet your eyes are opening to stare back into hers. she smiles, sickly sweet, before taking one of your nipples into her mouth. her tongue licks at you lazily, and soon her hips start to move again. she fucks you low and slow, like ribs at the barbecues she'd attend with her parents in north carolina.

“you don't mind if i bite, do you, baby?” reneé purrs, digging her teeth into the flesh by your nipple. you arch your chest forward into her mouth, while simultaneously arching your back to get her deeper inside of you.

she quickens her thrusts, her hands gripping at your hips to pull you into her cock. reneé bites her lip to stop from moaning, letting out a whimper. “can i cum in you, sweet thing?” she asks, her voice husky as she whispers it into your ear. you squirm in her grasp for a moment.

“never.. been cum in before.” you mutter, looking off to the side in embarrassment. reneé smiles, oh so sweetly, before pressing you into a more provocative position. a mating press. she whispers a soft ‘fuck’ and speeds up her thrusts.

“please let me cum in you, baby…” she begs, staring into your eyes pleadingly, almost like a lost puppy. you bite your lip and nod, then gasp as she fucks you harder, snapping her hips into yours. “feel so fuckin’ good, so good for me…” reneé nearly growls, her hips stuttering as she plunges herself as deep as she’ll go. you feel all the air leave your lungs as her cum fills you, and can barely recover before she's taking you into a deep kiss. “i can't wait to do this again, sweetheart.”

[topguncortez]

CONGRATS 🎊💐💖

Sweet Creature -> ❛i haven’t laughed like this in a long time.❜ with rooster please 🥺😍

pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female!reader warnings: none other than Bradley being a sad boi Rooster Bradshaw Masterlist | Main Masterlist 3 fucking K celebration

Bradley could not remember the last time he went out on an actual date. Not just texting a potential tinder hook up to meet him for drinks at the Hard Deck. A real date, where he had to go pick her up from her house, and make a reservation, and put on something other than a Hawaiian shirt and jeans. He wasn't even sure if he had anything BUT Hawaiian shirts and jeans.

Phoenix was actually the one who set up this date for her wingman. Bradley was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he was going to be alone, but Phoenix was just not going to let that happen. He at first said no to the date, but Phoenix gave him her friend's number so things would be somewhat less awkward. After talking with you for almost two weeks, he felt good about going on this date.

You, were panicking, pacing the floor of your house as you waited for Bradley to come get you. He picked a cute little sea food place by the beach, and you had spent probably an hour trying on clothes. You settled on a sundress that went a little bit below your knee, and had a slit in it.

Bradley made sure to tuck an extra stick of deodorant in his glove box as he pulled up to your apartment. He grabbed the bouquet of carnations in the passenger seat, and fixed his hair before going up to your door.

You gasped as you heard your door bell ring, and told yourself to not run to the door and yank it open. Bradley though, felt like he thought something was wrong as there was a moment before the door opened.

"Hi," You smiled and Bradley forgot what words were. You were more beautiful in person.

"Uh, yeah, hi," Bradley said, shaking his head and you giggled softly. God, that giggle was going to be the death of him, "I got you these. Carnations. My mom once said you can never go wrong with carnations."

"She's a smart woman," You said and took the flowers from his outstretched hand, "I'm going to put them in a vase real quick. Come in."

Bradley nodded and looked around your small home. Decorations and knickknacks covered the walls. His eyes landed on the pictures you had on your bookshelf. Your smile was dazzling as you posed with some friends on what looked to be a 21st birthday. He smiled as he picked up a picture of you and your parents on your college graduation. You looked a lot like your dad, but you had your mother's smile.

"Ready?" Your voice rang out and Bradley nearly dropped the picture in his hand.

"Yeah!" He said, and then cursed himself for sounding too excited, "I mean, yeah. Let's head out."

--- --- ---

The restaurant was adorable, and Bradley had gotten the perfect reservation spot, right by the large open windows. You had mentioned once in a conversation, that you loved to watch the sunset over the water, and Bradley made sure that you could see it. The dinner conversation was light, as the two of you talked through what was usually the dreaded, awful get to know each other chatter. No matter how many dates either of you had gone on in your lifetime, the first date was always awkward as you asked "what's your favorite color?" or "did you grow up here?" or "what kind of music do you like to listen to?"

But for someone reason, it was like talking to an old friend with Bradley. It made you feel comfortable as you talked about your childhood, and growing up in Washington, and how annoying your siblings were. Bradley also found it nice to talk about anything other than work. You didn't ask him about flying jets, or deployments, or the Dagger squad. He assumed that you had heard enough about it from Phoenix.

After dinner, Bradley took you down to the beach, walking in the moonlight. You had your shoes in your hand as your feet were in the water.

"You never told me what your parents do?" You asked, looking up at Bradley. He sucked in a breath and you immediately regretted saying anything.

"My uh. . . my dad died when I was young, and my mother passed away about ten years ago."

"Bradley I am so- Ah!" You exclaimed as you tripped over a rock in the sand, sending yourself face first into the water.

"Oh shit!" Bradley said, throwing his boots down to help you up from the ground, "Are you okay?"

"Bradley, your boots!" You pointed towards were the tide was carrying his boots out to sea.

"Fuck!" He ran towards where his boots were drifting away but it was too late, they were a lost cause to the unforgiving ocean.

"I am so, so sorry! Here, let me get you money to get new- you're laughing?" You looked at him to see him trying to hide his laughter. The two of you fell into fits of laughter, clutching your stomachs. You had tears in your eyes, and had to gasp to catch your breath.

"No, I'm. . . yes, I'm laughing," Bradley smiled and you wiped at the tears under your eyes, "Listen, when Trace said you'd knock my socks off, I'm not sure this is what she meant."

"Ugh, this is so bad!" You shook your head. Bradley pulled you up from the sand, and wrapped his arm around your waist.

"It's okay. They were old and hurt my feet. I needed to get rid of them one way or another," You shook your head and laid your forehead against his chest. It was quiet as Bradley held you close to him, and the two of you basked into the moonlight and the sound of the waves crashing at your feet.

"Wait, where are your shoes?" Bradley asked and you lifted your head up. You looked to where they once were, and noticed that they too, had been pulled out to see. Bradley's chest rumbled with laughter as you groaned.

"Shoeless and soaking wet was not how I expected this night to go," You looked up at him.

"I'm glad it did though," Bradley pushed a strand of your hair back from your face, "I haven’t laughed like this in a long time, thank you."

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you looked from his eyes to his lips. He saw the flicker in your eyes, and slowly leaned in. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his neck. His lips were soft as they touched yours, like two pillows. When the two of you pulled back, you rested your foreheads together.

"I could kiss you forever," Bradley whispered.

"Please do," You said back and Bradley happily obliged.

[simpy-reader-inserts]

Blood in the Water

Pairing: Plus size, Fem!Reader x Multi

Wordcount: 2900

Summary: A story about hitting rock bottom, in a world that only ever wanted you when you let them walk all over you, and then clawing your way back up out of pure spite.

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), Unreliable narrator, AFAB!Reader, Fem pronouns for reader, hints to past abuse, reader being an absolute pushover and not standing up for herself. Reader has a quirk!

Notes: This is for all the people out there who get nervous about answering the phone, ordering food in person and for those who dread having others disappointed in them. Don't worry though, while it may get worse for the reader at first, it does, and absolutely will, get better.

---

All through your life, you’d been a pushover, soft in every sense of the word.

Soft in appearance, soft spoken, and soft in temperament and actions.

Too soft for your own good, and you knew that all too well.

Ever since your quirk had manifested, people flocked to you whenever they needed help. First, it was the children you played with, small girls asking their friend to make their scrapes better.

“Y/N *sniff* Please?”

“Okay.”

“Can you please make it better??”

“Okay.”

“He HIT me Y/N! It hurts, please help?”

“…Okay.”

Then you were sought out by friends of friends, strangers even.

… was it really so strange that you took it up as a job after all that, because really, it was all you knew by now.

It was familiar, comfortable even.

You helped people, it was something you could manage, despite how nauseating the sight of fresh injuries could be sometimes.

--

Watching the dim, old TV as the same grainy video played yet again, you found yourself stuck in an awkward, embarrassment filled limbo. The talk show was relaying the events that had occurred earlier that day (for maybe the 3rd time)- the screen showing a painfully familiar woman frozen mid retreat, only her blurred figure standing out amongst the grainy footage.

‘As if today could get any worse.’

Growing frustrated at seeing yourself plastered all over the screen, you sighed loudly, trying in vain to get the old and battered remote to work as the scene started up again, the reporters agonising over the footage of the woman who managed to ‘land a hit’ on the Symbol of Peace.

“Stoooooooop!!” Furiously banging the remote against the side of the table, you flushed a bright red, your earlier embarrassment at todays events flaring up as you listened to the host on screen start speaking again.

“She absolutely bit him, though no one has been able to figure out why. I, for one, wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of that man either!” The host drawled out, laughing with his co-star as they began to finally move onto another story. “Did he taste like sunshine, rainbows and all things good in the world? What do you think? Let us know over on our-”

“HE TASTED LIKE SWEAT, BAD DEODORANT, AND TOO MUCH SALT!” Your gritted out, finally getting the remote to work with one last thud against the table. You quickly changed the channel, trying in vain to ignore the heat still lingering in your cheeks as you tried to reason the days events away.

“Let’s just forget that happened okay. Good? Today didn’t happen. At all. Look, I’m sure if I just go and explain why I did that he’ll understand. Just go up and say ‘Hi, I’m sorry I bit you but you literally looked like death warmed over. It totally wasn’t a kink thing, I swear to god. Please don’t sue me!’”

Giving up on finding anything to distract yourself with, you fell back into your old chair, quickly bringing a pillow up as you pressed it to your face and screamed, the muffled sound echoing loudly around your apartment.

Nope.

That was not an option at all.

As you began to run out of breath, you lazily dragged the pillow off your face, your scream trailing off abruptly as you did so, your soft form sprawled across the seat lazily as you blankly stared ahead, regretting even stepping foot out of your home today.

“NO. Not happening. Seriously, what are the chances of me ever seeing him again anyway? I’ll just do as I usually do, and just stay under the radar. He’s a Hero. THE Hero. He’s-”

“-HERE!!”

And with that, your front door was kicked in, your body hastily moving to sit up with a squeak, watching in horror as the Number One Hero stood in the doorway, his large smile suddenly seeming very unnerving.

“…”

“I believe it’d be best if you came with me peacefully young lady.”

“…imsosorry.”

---

“It was an impulsive thing to do, I understand that and I really am sorry! He’s feeling fine right? Better than fine, you’ve seen him, he didn’t even look dead anymore- It was only a bite- and I didn’t even manage to break the skin. Can I go home, please?  I’m sorry. My roommates must be worried sick.” You mumbled out for the tenth time, your dishevelled form slumped over as you used your arms to cushion your head from the hard wood of the table you were seated at.

The room was quiet, plain, and only slightly chilly.

You were fine with that…..this was okay…

(dontcrydontcrydontcry)

You’d been at this for hours now, and though there were no windows in the room, you could tell it was getting late.

Why they took you to a school of all places to interrogate you, was far beyond your (very panicked) thought process at the moment. You were done with life, you just wanted to go find a hole to crawl into and disappear.

“You don’t have any roommates.”

And then if the room itself wasn’t bad enough, there was the man in the ungodly bright yellow sleeping bag. Just…sitting there in the corner. Watching you. Judging.

“…That may be so, sir… but the old lady living next to me will be very upset if I’m not home soon. Really, she would be.” ‘He’s staring into my soul….he can see every wrong I’ve ever done…oh Jesus please don’t let him have a mind reading quirk lalalalalalala-…’

A slight narrowing of his eyes had you stiffening in place, panicking as the drawstrings of the bag pulled tighter- only his pale, sleep deprived face left on display.

Like a very odd caterpillar...

‘So creepy…oh my god…’

“So, you have a healing Quirk?”  He questioned, his voice just as flat as his expression. “Explain.”

“I-I already did…”

“Not to me.”

(dontcrydontcrydontcry)

“All the details are in my file, I think? I was a Nurse? I’m registered to use it in emergencies!”

“And how does All Might walking in front of you count as an emergency?”

“Because he looked like death and I panicked? I’m sorry!”

“How-”

“- I think that’s enough for now! Let’s let the young girl rest!” Ahh, here was the cause of your problems, standing there in all his glory. First, he kicks down your door, then he drags you to a school without even giving you the chance to change out of your PJ’s, and then he ditches you and never looks back.

And here he is again, a slightly uncomfortable smile on his face as Aizawa stared him down for interrupting.

‘At least he’s not staring at me anymore…’ you sunk further into your seat, eyes wearily watching the two stare at each other, even subtle shift of their bodies making you even more uncomfortable- especially with how the air around them both hung heavy with faint wisps on untreated injuries….in Aizawa’s case anyway.

All Might still looked like he was carrying a fog machine with how heavily it hung around his body.

“Look, we need to figure out exactly what happened and why, All Might. We can’t have young women running around biting people, just for the hell of it.”

“No need to fear, I’m A-Okay! Miss Y/L/N apparently sensed that I was unwell yesterday- Recovery Girl has already looked me over and I’m better than I have been in weeks! Thank you again, young lady, but I’d have to ask you to refrain from doing so in the future. Other people may not be as agreeable as I am, and I would hate for anything to happen to you. It’s not good to go advertising that you have a quirk like this, especially since you have no hero training and aren’t signed onto an agency for protection!”

“R-Right…I can do that!” You muttered out, forcing a smile onto your face as you tried your best to just be agreeable and get this whole situation over with.

'You’re almost shrouded in death, so why are you lying?’ You’d bitten him hours ago now, and he still had a heavy air of illness. Of a severe injury. He’d have to have been hurt badly for your quirk to only heal him such a small amount…

But, that wasn’t something you should worry about.

You just needed to mind your own business and never think of today again.

(dontcry dontcry dontcry please)

“Can I…go now?” You hesitantly asked, your shoulders slumping forward as both men fixed their gazes on one another, a silent conversation happening above your head.

“Okay, fine, we’ll be in touch though. We may have further…questions for you later on.” Aizawa finally spoke, though he didn’t sound happy about it in the least. The disapproval in his voice had goosebumps raising along your arms, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to make your smile seem even a little bit more genuine.

“Alright, okay I can do that, I’m sure you already have my number.” Two nods greeted your words, and with them went any hope of a quiet life in the city. “Great! Wonderful! Perfect!”

“Have a lovely day Miss.” All Might smiled down at you, holding the door open as you nervously walked by him, the security guard outside already waiting to escort you out.

“I will, thank you… Sorry again about the biting thing…” And with that, you got the hell out of dodge, running as fast as your legs could take you away from that school.

I’m going to go home, pass out for 10 hours and hope they sent someone to fix my door…

Oh god I hope my landlord understands…

---

You were a puzzle.

A nurse who hated blood, who cringed away from illness, who apologized too much, who only helped so much…

Especially when you could have done so much more, …at least according to others who stood back and watched your every move.

‘Legal issues’, your superiors had claimed.

“We can’t have a nurse who has to bite people to do her job. You’re a wonderful woman Y/N, a wonderful nurse, but that can only help the situation so much.”

You didn’t use your quirk though, you’d gone to school and trained right along side every other person without a healing quirk.

“Okay.”

But as always, it was the cause of your problems.

“I’m sorry, I really am. You’re a wonderful employee, but unless you sign on to an agency, we can’t keep you here. People will claim we’re trying to exploit you, or that we’re willingly holding you back from helping the heroes who need you more.”

“…Okay. I understand. I’m sorry.”

It was always about the heroes in the end, wasn’t it?

--

You tried.

You always tried.

You tried your hardest to be enough for those around you, to give them whatever they needed to make them happy.

But it always came back to the heroes.

Every time someone found out about your quirk, they asked you why?

Why aren’t you employed with an agency? (You didn’t want to be used. Passed around. Only seen for your quirk…. It was already too late for that, but you could always dream.)

Why weren’t you there when an attack happened? You could have saved people! (You didn’t do well in high stress situations…too many people, too many smells, too much blood and you could barely see a foot in front of you if enough people were dying or gravely injured.)

“Why? Y/N, why aren’t you helping?”

“I tried to.” But you weren’t good enough. You weren’t Recovery girl, you couldn’t kiss things better and heal it in an instant.

You…you had to bite, you had to rip and grind your teeth and be uncomfortable with the taste of iron on your tongue for your quirk to do anything more than act as a painkiller- as a temporary solution to a bigger problem that could literally leave you blind to the area around you.

But, your comfort was unimportant to those higher up in the world, and those around you quickly followed suit and took on the same viewpoint, damning your ‘lack of care’

Heroes needed you, they said.

You need to get certified, they cried.

Join an agency and do as your told, they demanded.

You’d never be a hero.

But you were a pushover.

A damn pushover.

(but this…this was the one thing you’d never sway on.)

---

*RING RING*

“Sorry, but your call cannot be connected at this time, please leave a message and try again at a later date.”

*BEEEP* “Ah, Miss Y/L/N, this is To-All Might! It Is I! I seem to have missed you again- if you could please return our call, we have a few matters to discuss at your earliest con-” *BEEEP* “No, I didn’t mean to press that, what-” *BEEEP*

*RING RING*

“Sorry, but your call cannot be connected at this time, please leave a message and try again at a later date.”

*BEEEP* “Hello, is this Y/N? This is Midnight calling from U.A – We’ve been trying to contact you for the past few days with no response. If you could please call back, it’d be appreciated.”

*RING RING*

“Sorry, but your call cannot be connected at this time, please leave a message and try again at a later date.”

*BEEEP* “This is Aizawa, call us back.”

*RING RING*

“Sorry, but your call cannot be connected at this time, please leave a message and try again at a later date.”

*BEEEP* “That was your last chance.”

--

The days since your ‘visit to the school’ had been hell.

First you almost lost your apartment, only a hero’s word being your saving grace as your landlord fumed about the busted door, still billing you heavily for the replacement.

You were already short on cash, but handed it over anyway after he started hinting at their being ‘other ways’ to repay him.

Then, you ate your way through the week’s groceries way faster than your budget allowed- the healing you’d done on All Might having been more draining than you’d first assumed if your appetite was anything to go by.

And now? You’d just realized you’d lost your phone. How long ago? You had no idea, you never used the thing, it was way too old to do more than call with. But the fact was, you’d lost it, and it was necessary for today’s plans.

You frantically looked around, your body sprawled out over your couch as you rummaged through the gap behind it, desperately looking for your phone, the space around you torn apart in your search.

‘Where is it?? God, I have an interview in an hour, please just-’

There was a sudden loud bang as your house shook, your front door embedding itself within the wall behind it as a tall figure loomed where it once stood, backlit as a foggy haze seemed to seep into your home around him.

“I AM HERE!”

Of course.

“…my door…oh god, I’ll be evicted for sure this time…”

“AH, Miss Y/L/N! There you are, we’ve been trying to contact you! I was afraid something had happened after Aizawa informed me that you hadn’t contacted us back, so I rushed over to check on you…I…apologise about your door. Rest assured I’ll have someone fix it.”

“That’s…, well, that’s …”

That wasn’t okay.

This was your home, and he’d invaded it twice now…though to be fair, the first time was understandable.

But this…

“Wonderful! Now, if you’ll come with me, we require your presence for a meeting.”

“H-Huh? What, I can’t- I have an interview! For a job! A job I need! I need it very much-”

“Miss Y/L/N, please rest assured that you’ll be compensated for your time. We’ll send someone over to inform the person interviewing you what has happened and arrange another date for you.” His voice was softer than it usually was, still deep, but understanding and insistent that you listen to him.

Must be from all the years of talking to the victims of villain attacks.

“Is she listening?” Came a tired voice from outside. Ah, sleeping bag man. Gosh you hoped your neighbour didn’t see them come up, she’d never drop the subject- having TWO men at your home Y/N?? How scandalous!

“Please, my friend, give her a moment, this is very sudden.”

“It wouldn’t be sudden if she’d answered her damn phone.”

“Just…Can I meet you later on? I’m sorry, I need this job…” You cut in, taking a deep breath as you tried to calm yourself down, desperately trying to fight off a nervous sweat in hops of staying presentable for your interview.

“Please Miss Y/L/N, I don’t mean to push, but we need to talk.”

They weren’t really asking, you could tell. This was all for show- like so many times before.

You’d always assumed that All Might would be different than the others.

“…okay…” You suddenly felt very small, but that was right, wasn't it?

This was the Number One Hero.

How could you say no to him?

You had no ground to deny him this, especially since he’d already started leading you from the apartment without another word.

You were a Pushover.

And sometimes, in a small part of your mind that you tried your best to ignore, you hated that people took advantage of that fact.

[bigstupid69]

Can we hear your Ocean hcs? Despite having her as your pfp you don't mention her that much hc wise please tellll - 🐀

I honestly just draw Penny more. I love my stupid problem child that is Ocean O'connell Rosenberg, but I don't talk about her much on Tumblr.

Here you go under the cut

She always runs for class president and wins since there is literally no competition. She's also a hall monitor and ruins everyone's day by existing.

She hosted a feminist club that literally had only 4 members including Noel from some reason (she dragged him in there).

Honestly I threw every single diagnosed illness I have into that poor girl but BPD Ocean is real to me and I will fight anyone who opposes it.

She like completely covers herself in any deodorant or perfume, but always faintly smells of weed because of her parents.

She's the type to constantly correct people's grammar and wording, doesn't matter if it's through text or not she will hunt you down if you're not using proper English.

She also texts with perfect grammar and punctuation, and uses emojis like a wine mom. LOVES to use the heart emoji passive aggressively.

She has the immune system of a sickly Victorian child and is also pretty much built like one. She can be snapped in half like a twig and will have a seizure if given a sour gummy worm. Despite being named Ocean she will drown if thrown into any body of water.

Ocean and Tammy absolutely hate each other and are student council rivals. They only act nice with each other when there's other people around other than the choir.

She absolutely hates the sound of people chewing gum and has screamed in Noel's face multiple times because of it.

When Ocean bumps into an inanimate object instead of doing the awkward apologizing to it, she will at points literally yell at it. Like it was the tables fault for her just being clumsy.

Ocean is simultaneously a loser and one of the awful popular girls, except she's just delusional and thinks she's popular when everyone literally hates her.

Mini perfectdolls time

Ocean commonly shakes like a rabid Chihuahua if she's resisting the urge to scream at someone. So she'll just be absolutely fuming as Penny holds her hand and literally does nothing helpful.

Plus Penny barely breaks up the fights between Mischa/Noel and Ocean unless they attempt to get physical. Even then most of the time she just watches unhelpfully, as Constance is usually the one who has to separate the two. Or having to force Penny to do something, which she just drags Ocean by the collar of her shirt as she's still screaming and kicking at Noel/Mischa.

[cascowriteswords]

4 in the moment kiss where they’re enemies to lovers. Maybe coworkers? 🤔

I technically cheated and combined these two but I think it's okay because it ended up being over 3k words 😅

...

“How do I say you’re fucking insane if you think I’m doing all of this without getting fired immediately?” Clarke asks Raven, who sits in the cubicle across from hers. 

“The new boss?” Raven asks, still typing away without taking her eyes from her screen. Looking to be just about as overloaded as Clarke feels. 

“Yeah. She’s already getting on my nerves because she’s rescheduled our initial meeting like 4 times now. And she keeps sending me things that don’t even have anything to do with my department. I’m the director of People and Culture. I'm not a recruiter. I’m not in marketing. And I’m sure as shit not her personal assistant either. And it’s like -” she glances at the corner of her screen for the time “3 o’clock. I’m supposed to do the jobs of 4 people and still get out by 5? Or does she expect me to pull overtime on a Friday night? Like there’s no way I could possibly have plans. Maybe she’s one of those people who thinks that just because I’m not married and don’t have kids she can shove off everyone else's work on me.”

“Lexa’s a busy person Clarke. I really don’t think it’s personal.”

“Personal or not, it’s not fucking happening. So help me with this email or else your next cube neighbor might be some insufferable old white guy whose all-natural deodorant is just really not working for him.”

Raven relents, finding a stopping point in whatever exactly she’s doing to get up and shoo Clarke out of her chair. She ends up deleting 98% of what Clarke had written, swapping out phrases like “why the fuck didn’t you tell me you needed this done sooner” and “that’s not my fucking problem” with more diplomatic phrases such as “I’ll schedule those meetings for you at your earliest availability” and “I wasn’t involved with that project but I will forward your request to the appropriate parties”, respectively. 

“You’re weirdly good at that for someone with the smartest mouth I know,” Clarke commends her when she’s finished. 

“It’s all about balance, babe. Now can I please get back to my job? Or the Commander’s going to fire us both. Maybe your mom will let us turn her study back into your bedroom and we can crash there when we can’t make our rent next month.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. Then something registers. “Wait. The Commander? Is that what people are calling her?” she asks, a mixture of disbelief and disgust seeping into her voice. 

“Yeah,” Raven shrugs. 

“I get that she’s the boss but she’s not commanding me to do anything,” Clarke grumbles. She plops back down in her chair and starts typing angrily. 

“If you add anything to that that gets you fired after I just rewrote the whole thing for you I’m going to be so pissed,” Raven warns. 

“I’m not,” Clarke promises. “I just don’t want her to think she can walk all over me. Command me,” she adds, rolling her eyes. 

She ends the email with Hope this helps, let me know if you would like to meet with me to go over the roles of our departments and their directors to avoid misallocation of time and resources in the future and hits send. She hopes it's just passive-aggressive enough to get the message across without being able to be used against her.

She goes back to work, furiously attempting to complete the tasks The Commander had unloaded on her. She may not have kids or a significant other waiting for her at home but she does have a cat and a bottle of red wine and a new episode of her favorite shitty reality TV show to watch. 

So far the new boss has taken 2-3 days to return any of her emails. So she isn't expecting it at all when she gets the notification that someone has replied to the email she just sent an hour ago. 

That sounds like a great idea. Come up whenever you are ready. 

Clarke's initial reaction is oh shit. Followed in rapid succession by annoyance and frustration when she has the realization that it's already past 4 o'clock now and this means she most definitely will not be getting out on time, not that there was much hope she would, anyway. But still. 

She needs to learn to keep her big stupid mouth shut. 

"It was nice knowing you," she grumbles to Raven as she gets up and smooths the wrinkles from her slouch out of her shirt. Raven quirks a brow but seems otherwise unfazed as Clarke shuffles toward the elevator and her impending doom. 

…

…

Clarke knocks three times, half hoping to not be heard so she can say she tried and return to her desk. 

No such luck. 

“Come in.” The voice is muffled by thick oak and considerable distance but Clarke manages to catch it. She steadies herself and lifts her chin, prepared to simultaneously defend herself and give The Commander a piece of her mind as she opens the door and steps into her office. 

She’s wholly unprepared for the woman she finds sitting behind the desk. 

She isn’t sure what she was expecting but it definitely isn’t this. Lexa looks young, for starters, nearly the same age as Clarke. Her features are somehow both delicate and sharp, with high cheekbones and pouty lips and big round eyes that Clarke can’t quite figure out the color of at first glance. Chestnut hair is piled up on top of her head in a messy bun like it was originally down but she’d had enough by the end of the day, strands towards the front not contained by the hair tie and instead framing her face. 

Clarke’s first impression is that this might be the most attractive woman she’s ever seen in her life. Her second is that she looks tired. And her third, more of an observation than an impression, is that it looks like a bomb went off in this office. There are papers literally scattered all over the floor, boxes stacked along the walls and windows that would normally boast an expansive view of the skyline, and the couch against the far wall looks like it’s been functioning as a dresser and changing room of sorts with slacks and button down blouses draped over its back and arms. 

Between Lexa’s unexpected prettiness and the warzone that is her office Clarke momentarily forgets why she’s here and that she was even mad to begin with. 

“I apologize for the state of my office,” Lexa says, likely having followed Clarke’s gaze around the room. “It’s been a whirlwind trying to get everything in order around here. Titus gave us no warning about his departure and apparently was trying to run this company into the ground, by my estimations after going through what I could of the data.” She sighs, finishing scribbling something down onto a sticky note which she adds to a pile of other sticky notes on the left side of her desk. “Sit, please,” Lexa tells her, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk. 

Clarke has that tongue-tied feeling that she only gets around pretty women. And that - cannot be how she feels sitting across from her new boss, especially not as the leader of People and Culture. She forces herself to speak, reminding herself why she’s here and what her end goal is; to not get fired while also putting her foot down about the scope and limitations of her role. She decides to get right down to business, voicing her concerns, and finds Lexa to be… a very good listener. She listens so well and intently, in fact, that Clarke almost finds herself losing her train of thought because those eyes. 

And then she does something Clarke had absolutely not expected her to do - she agrees with her about the general mismanagement occurring and state of disarray in the company and asks for her input about the best way to move forward. She apologizes for sending a slew of information and tasks her way and explains that she never meant for Clarke to complete all of that work on her own or immediately but rather to delegate and get to things when she had the time. She thanks Clarke for her hard work and dedication and tells her that even though this is their first formal meeting she’s well aware of the hard work she does and is very thankful for her contributions to the team. 

Clarke’s been working in corporate culture long enough to be able to tell when someone is just blowing smoke up her ass. When scrutinizing Lexa’s words, all she gets is that she seems like one of the most genuine, down-to-earth people she’s ever met. She’s just swamped, stressed out, and working insane hours trying to fix all of the various fuck ups Titus made over the past 4 years as CEO. 

Very much to her surprise, she finds herself sympathetically offering to help Lexa get some things sorted out. And again to her surprise, she finds that she doesn’t mind staying and working in Lexa’s office with her, spending time helping her delegate work to other departments and creating a realistic timetable for the next few weeks with attainable goals. Clarke tells funny stories about some of the department heads as they work and Lexa spills secrets about the board members she works with after swearing Clarke to secrecy. 

She doesn’t even realize how much time has gone by until Lexa glances at the clock on the wall and looks at her from across her desk, stricken. “You should go home. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it’s already after 7. Thank you for all of your help, you really didn’t have to do all of this.”

Clarke didn’t have to. She definitely did not expect to want to when she had sullenly ridden in the elevator up here. Raven probably thinks she got herself kicked out of the 5th-floor window since she never came back to her cubicle. But now she finds herself reluctant to leave, especially knowing that Lexa will likely be here all night continuing to work. 

“Did you have dinner yet?”

Lexa looks up from her computer screen slowly. “I haven’t.”

"You just moved here, right? Have you been to Tomatoes yet?" 

"I haven't," Lexa says again. 

"It's a little hole-in-the-wall spot. Kind of…lackluster, but their tacos are to die for and the bartender is awesome. Would you want to go?"

"Now?" Lexa asks, pointedly surveying her desk that is, despite having been organized, still loaded with paperwork to be sorted through. 

"Yes, now. You've been here all day - I know because I've been here all day and you were here before me. Those papers will l still be here Monday." Lexa looks doubtful as she chews the inside of her lower lip. "Or tomorrow if you insist on working the weekend. But let's be done for the night. Both of us." 

This is so not how Clarke thought her night would go; standing in front of Lexa, her boss, The Commander, and trying to lure her out to the bar for tacos and a drink. Genuinely hoping she'll accept because even though they've been working she's actually had the most fun she's had in a while and she's not quite ready for it to end. 

Lexa looks at her thoughtfully, meeting her eyes. She glances down at her desk once more and then exhales, tossing her pen into a drawer as she shuts down her computer. She stands up and grins at Clarke as she takes her jacket off the back of her chair and shrugs it over her shoulders. 

"Alright. Let's go try these tacos, then." 

…

…

“You have to be kidding me.” 

Lexa turns around and hits Clarke with a smug, triumphant little smile. Then looks back at her achievement, a dart nestled solidly in the red bullseye circle of the dartboard, surrounded by Clarke’s failed attempts scattered haphazardly across the board. She’d gotten it on her first try, standing several feet further back than she even had to.

“You lied to me. There’s no way you’ve never thrown a dart before.”

“Do I look like I frequent establishments that have dartboards, Clarke?” Lexa asks, quirking a brow in challenge. 

No, she doesn’t. Not in the pantsuit she’s wearing, even after she shed her coat and blazer shortly after they’d arrived. One half of her shirt has come out of its tuck and the top few buttons are undone, the collar sagging open and offering the view of just a hint of collarbones on either side. Her cheeks are a little flushed from the one beer she’s had and she looks messy but somehow still put together. She’s undeniably beautiful, and she stares at Clarke expectantly waiting for some kind of comeback, unaware that Clarke can hardly think when she’s standing there looking like that. Existing in her space. Out of her comfort zone but still self-assured and confident. She’s unbelievably attractive, beyond what Clarke had even perceived when she got her first look at her earlier in the day. 

She’s so screwed.

“No, you don’t,” Clarke admits with a sigh. “I’ve been trying for months to get a bullseye. You must just have some kind of natural technique with your fingers.”

Lexa opens her mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it. But Clarke’s not having any of that. “What were you about to say?” she asks. “I don’t need you to pity me, Raven kicks my ass at darts on the regular.”

Lexa doesn’t answer right away, looking at Clarke like she’s searching for something. Clarke can’t tell if she finds it but waits patiently. “It’s not appropriate,” she says after a moment. 

Interest - piqued. “We aren’t at work right now,” Clarke reminds her. 

“But you’re human resources, essentially,” Lexa laughs, a little nervously. “Seems like a grey area.”

“We don’t call it HR because of the negative association that’s been tied with it over the years. Like this, it makes people nervous. So yeah, I’m technically HR, but I’m not a narc. And you’re the CEO anyways.”

“Which makes it an even greyer area.”

“Lexa, come on. We’ve been having a good time, right?”

She nods. Weighs her options for just a few more seconds and then says, “I was just going to say that I’ve been told I have a natural technique with my fingers before. In…other contexts.”

It takes a second for Clarke to process and then - oh. Oh. 

She’s glad she hadn’t taken another sip of her drink because she might have choked on it. 

She swallows, trying to gather herself, absolutely not letting herself take a closer look at Lexa’s hands because she’s already noticed that they’re nice but she hasn’t scrutinized them beyond that. “That was extremely inappropriate, Miss Woods,” she says, calling on her stern business-woman voice that she’s perfected over years of dealing with employee relations issues. 

Lexa’s eyes widen. “Clarke, I told you that I didn’t want to overstep. I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have -”

Clarke doesn’t have the heart to watch her flounder for more than a few seconds. She cuts her off. “It was inappropriate, but I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” She feigns more confidence than she feels as she puts a hand on Lexa’s knee reassuringly. A small gesture to make it so that Lexa isn’t the only one who has crossed a line tonight. Lexa looks a little shell-shocked, looking up and down between Clarke’s hand and her face enough times that it’s almost comical. Clarke squeezes her leg once and then lets go, standing up from the stool she’d been sitting on as she watched Lexa play darts. “Come on, let’s go sit at the bar. The next thing I want to make you try is their southwest egg rolls.”

She grabs Lexa’s hand like it’s no big deal at all and pulls her towards two open seats. 

…

…

Clarke’s not sure that Lexa has ever eaten greasy bar finger food before but the southwest egg rolls are definitely a hit. The noises Lexa makes as she eats them tell her as much, and also do things to her. But they don’t affect her half as much as watching Lexa amicably interact with some of the old townies who are also sitting at the bar with them. It turns out Lexa knows enough about baseball to hold her own talking to Bonafide Baseball Expert Jim McDonnel and she doesn’t bat an eye when a very drunk Mary Lou bumps into her seat and then talks about her 13 cats for five minutes until the bartender mercifully calls her attention back down to the other end of the bar where her actual seat is. 

Clarke feels a little bad for subjecting high-class Lexa to this place but she doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, when she turns to look at Clarke her eyes are bright and her smile is genuine and she says, “Thanks for showing me this place. It’s great.”

Clarke kind of adores her and her big dopey smile. And that’s a really scary thought to be having about her boss of all people but she’s rolling with it. Whatever it is between them, chemistry or connection or some other unnamed thing, it’s off the charts.  And Clarke can’t take it anymore, especially knowing that the night is starting to come to a close. 

Lexa is already sitting close enough that their knees are knocking together and it’s not much distance to close between their mouths at all. She doesn’t have the tact or inhibition to do it slowly, just leans in and kisses Lexa like she’s been wanting to do all night. It’s heated and languid immediately and she finds Lexa only needs a fraction of a second to adjust to her surprise before she’s kissing back, open-mouthed and hungry. 

It’s stupid Jim McDonell’s hooting and hollering that breaks them apart less than a minute later, reminding them that they’re very much in public and kissing in a way that is very much not chaste. 

A realization that is quickly followed by the fact that Clarke just kissed her boss. “Sorry,” she says quickly, trying to catch her breath. 

Lexa holds her gaze. Licks her lips like she’s trying to taste what’s left of Clarke on them. Clarke tries not to visibly squirm in her chair as she watches, and looks back up when Lexa finally says something. “No you aren’t.”

Clarke’s alma mater would probably revoke her degree if they heard her response. “No, I’m not.” Lexa smirks, then not so subtly looks at Clarke’s mouth, desire clear in the intentness of her gaze. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

When Lexa’s eyes flick up they’re darker than they were before. Heat flares in the confines of Clarke’s lower stomach and settles between her legs. “Very much so.”

Clarke’s hand flies up, flagging down the bartender to close out their tab without taking her eyes off Lexa. She tips generously and laughs when Lexa grabs her hand and tugs her hurriedly back towards the car. 

On second thought, maybe she should open her big fat mouth more often.

[imlivinginyourtrashcan]

tell me your indus and Howie headcanons please

Aaa! Of course!!! I genuienly love Indus, so theres plenty for him! Sadly for Howie, not so much :( hes great but vv hard to hc for

INDUS TARBELLA:

He loves baking! You can walk into the kitchen seeing him covered in batter and trying to muscle open something with a barrier. (Mera has to help him open things)

Loud snorer, i cant explain WHY but i look at him and feel like he does snore loudly

His not so guilty pleasure is Disney movies; he'll have Mera watch them all with him. Its kinda cute seeing him giggle at everything like hes a child

You cant take him on rides at Disney tho, he'll scream. Mera learned that the hard way

Dog person. Loves the big does, and lizards! He'll come in with a handful of lizards and be like:

"Look at what I found, Lady Mera!" Indus declared proudly, offering his two hands forward to reveal a family of lizards.

Mera looked down at them both, raising a brow in confusion. Looking back up she sees Indus' childlike grin, "May I keep them??? Please???"

Mera sighed heavily "Indus, put them back..." Indus lowers his head "Awww.. "

Hes probably eaten anything that wasnt food, either by dumb curiosity or trying to protect Mera, sometimes its the other way around and Mera has to slap something out of his hands. Or comfort him when hes coughing out a bite of deodorant

Hes like a giant pillow. You will sink if you hug him, absolutely worth it.

On that note, he loves hugs! But will absolutely crush your bones! Just like that one bear pokémon

Music taste wise, i picture him listening to the Tarzan sound track, or whatever Mera's listening to (probably grungey stuff)

Has punched a scare actor in the face many times out of fear. Hes banned from several haunted houses and thene parks

His hair is ridiculously fluffy. I can sense it

HOWIE HONEYGLOW

Prone to burnout, sometimes he will pass out from being overworked, only to get back up and continue working

Has fucked up teeth from all the honeyed snacks

Secretly collects a lot of bee related things, like plushies

Rarely gives sick days or time off, you better either be dying or dead to not come in

Unpopular opinion, I dont think Howie's aro, but i do agree that he's ace.

Doesnt listen to music; either the bee movie or buzzing asmr is playing in his ears

Probably had a speech impediment, it comes out when hes angry

An artist! He's not all that good but hes TRYING

Knows the art of pinecone milking (Percy taught him)

I feel like this man would bite into a honeycomb and like it

On that note, he eats honey nut cheerios for breakfast every day

Always has water on hand for the fellas, cant let em dehydrate! He himself? Dehydrated as fuck

Also brings snacks for the fellas! He himself? Hungry but wont say anything

Favorite pokemon are all the bee ones

Nonbinary, uses He/they pronouns

Looks at least 30 from stressed and over working himself

His diet consists of only ceral, honeyed snacks and monster energy

At least he has good iron intake?????

Hope you enjoyed, anon!